Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There's a big storm coming tonight. Castiel knows it. The smell of salt is heavier than usual. Castiel is used to it. He has been a lighthouse keeper since he was 20. It was that or working on building railroads every day for more than 12 hours a day with so many other exhausted men just to make rich people richer. It seemed louder. More suffocating than 7 years of loneliness 7 miles away from land in the middle of the sea punctuated by storms.

That's what Castiel likes about his job. It makes him appreciate more the daily calm.

He takes care of the fire at this hour, while the orange almost red sun in the sky is being eaten by huge darkness. He adjusts the Fresnel lenses and reinforces fasteners, thirty minutes before the sun goes down, like every day.

He spots a boat far in the North’s direction that he sees often travelling near his lighthouse. It’s a merchant ship probably sailing the sea to bring back tea, cotton, charcoal, or other useful products.

Then Castiel writes down what he observes about the weather. There’s some heavy, dark clouds up to the East, and that’s not just the night gaining territory. The wind has changed his trajectory. That’s why the smell of salt is heavier than usual. That’s why those threatening clouds are heading in his direction.

Castiel knows this night isn’t going to be an easy one. He’ll have to make sure the fire is still on to guide the poor sailors fighting for their life in the middle of the great sea, tossed back and forth, up and down by the waves with no control over their fate. Only God knows what will happen, and they have no choice but to rely on Him if they want to get through the night. Castiel will keep the fire on and pray for them all.

Two hours later the storm is finally here, as Castiel predicted. He hopes the boat he saw earlier has been able to leave the area before it started. The wind makes this ghostly howl that Castiel feared when he was young, but now he knows there’s no ghost. There’s only him and it’s just two currents mixing and causing the air to vibrate. Nothing can stop the gusts of wind in the middle of the sea, not even Castiel’s lighthouse. The building is just there to guide those who are lost in the sea and to serve as an obstacle to the water from the sky and the sea that crashes relentlessly against its walls.

On nights like that, there's no rest. Castiel alternates between checking the fire and praying.

“Dear Lord, please keep those men safe from that storm. Let the fire guide them.” Castiel repeats among other prayers, kneeling in front of the cross hung up on the wall above the headboard of his bed. He tries sleeping 30 minutes here and there, but he feels guilty about not praying enough.

Mostly he just lies in his bed praying and looking at the cross above his head, when he is not rushing upstairs to make sure the fire is still working.

Even once the small, steady waves are back and the morning sun is starting to let its first rays shining over the horizon, he can't sleep. He can’t help but think about the boat he saw last night before the storm began. He’ll never know if they were able to leave in time or if they all disappeared, taken by the sea. He’d prefer the first option obviously or at least that they were able to navigate through the storm and make it out safe. He hopes his fire was enough to help them. Maybe it wasn’t shining enough throughout the torrential rain. Maybe it faded when Castiel was praying or sleeping and it’s his fault they all died.  

He needs to get out and see. Plus, he should go outside anyway, to make sure the lighthouse isn’t damaged.

He walks down the long stairs, finally able to leave the fire alone now that the sun is here. He opens the door, water dripping from it. The smell has changed.

It smells like wet grass now as he steps outside on the platform circling around the lighthouse above the cliff where the building is planted.

The platform seemed to have survived the storm, but there’s some bricks missing on the East side of the lighthouse’s front. Castiel will have to fix that today in case another storm shows up. During winter, it’s regular. There’s a storm at least once every two weeks. Sometimes it’s like the one from last night, sometimes it’s a snow storm or even, more rarely, lightning storms.

Seagulls fly away, squawking loudly at him when Castiel disturbs them as he finishes his circle around the lighthouse. They were probably eating some worms from the wetted soil there, searching for strength after a storm like that when they had to find a place to hide and wait until it’s over. Just like Castiel did, but they don’t have a fire to take care of though.

When he’s about to go back inside, he sees some wreckage on the little beach surrounded by rocks down the cliff. He’ll have to clean this mess too. Maybe he’ll be able to find some usable equipment, like wooden planks not too damaged, or a rope not too waterlogged and long enough to still be useful.

But first, he has to go upstairs at the top of the lighthouse now that the sun is fully here to turn off the fire. That’s part of his usual routine, so he should start with that since he can’t sleep. He has a timing to respect, plus oil should not be used unnecessarily.

Once it’s done, he takes the stairs down to the exit, then the ones that lead to the beach. Castiel looks around, to see what he could use. There are planks but broken, a torn fishing net, a third of a barrel and someone. Wait. There's a man.

Well, a body is more likely, because no one can survive a storm like that. The swell of the waves must have brought him up here. If he was alive before, the strength of the water hitting against the cliff or the wall of the lighthouse must have killed him on the spot.

Castiel runs towards the body anyway. He looks old, his skin probably wrinkled by the time spent in the salty water. He touches his shoulder. He's cold and soaked. He checks if he’s breathing to be sure, two fingers pressing against the man's pulse point.

There's a pulse. He's alive. How? Castiel tries to shake him. “Hey, sir! Do you hear me?” He tries, his voice rougher than usual from not having spoken in days or from the lack of sleep, then he slaps the man’s face to wake him up but there’s no response. Castiel has to figure out how to bring him inside. He has to act quickly before the man gets too cold, before it’s too late. If it isn’t already, but he can’t think about that, he has to keep hope. Maybe God brought this man on this beach for something.

Castiel is used to carry heavy oil containers from the storage underground to the very top of the lighthouse to make the fire work. He either climbs them by hand, or uses a rope to drag them upstairs. This daily routine should help him carry the survivor. Fortunately he has to bring him up only to the first floor, where his living quarters are. Though it’s different than a container, probably heavier because he’s a dead weight, and more cumbersome with arms and legs. So, he gathers the man’s arms on his torso, hoping they won’t get in the way, then slides his own arms under the body, one under the knees and the other under the upper back.

He takes a deep breath and starts lifting. The man looked thin with his damped clothes sticking to his skin, but he’s heavy, probably muscular, and the wet clothes are probably not helping. Water runs down Castiel’s clothes, damping him as well but he doesn’t care right now. Adrenaline kicking in helps him act quickly and carry the survivor up the stairs anyway.

Castiel lays him down on the wooden floor of his living quarters. Suddenly aware that he is bringing a stranger in his lighthouse. That’s definitely not part of his daily routine. It never happened to him before. He never had to take care of someone whose survival depended on his own actions.

Actually he did, he does every day. The survival of those at sea depends on him. But it’s not the same. And maybe it’s because he failed last night that this man ended up here. Maybe it’s his second chance to save him. So, there’s no more time to think about that. He needs to warm him up as fast as possible.

Castiel’s living quarters don’t look like much, it’s just a room but there’s everything he needs. He lights the stove he uses to cook and keep warm, before he gets down on his knees near the man, and unbuttons his damped shirt. It’s sticking to his skin, and Castiel struggles to take it off his shoulders and arms. When he judges it’s been too long, he gets up and grabs a knife from the small kitchen.

Hopefully the man won’t wake up right now and see a stranger with a knife above him, trying to get him naked. Fortunately he doesn’t until Castiel finishes to cut the last sleeve. He realizes how that man is not really as thin as he thought, and he’s surprised by his own ability to carry him this far from the beach without dropping him.

He’s still unconscious when Castiel takes his pants off. It’s also hard to do so, because they are soaked and clingy but it’s easier than the shirt. The only sock he had on his right foot is taken off with the pants.

He decides against taking all of the man’s clothes, at least what it remains. It’ll have to dry on him. Castiel can finally dry him as best as he can with the few pieces of cloth he got there in his simple kitchen. He uses one for his torso and arms, using this opportunity to check on any injuries. There are cuts and bruises here and there but nothing too serious on this part of his body. Same on his legs, only one of his ankles seems swollen and a bit purple. He uses another piece of cloth to dry each legs carefully.

And he takes the last one for his head. He realizes there’s some blood dripping from his skull. That can’t be good. His hair isn’t that long, Castiel might be able to stitch him up later, when he’ll put him in his bed and let him warm up a bit. In the meantime, he wraps a cloth around his head to stop the bleeding while he keeps drying him.

Then he wipes his face, and realizes how his facial features look soft now that he’s less wrinkled. His fingers tracing them perfectly one after the other. He realizes that the survivor is not that old after all. Probably around the same age as him, maybe even younger. He tenderly dries the man’s lips with his thumb buried in the cloth. Then the survivor’s long eyelashes catch his eye, like a creature seeing a human for the first time Castiel has been staring for too long and comes back to himself to finally put the poor unconscious stranger in his bed. 

Like on the beach, he folds the man’s arms on his torso as best as possible and passes his arms under him to lift him up. He lays him down carefully on his bed and covers him with every blanket he finds. He even gets some of his clothes, like one of his big coats and two jackets, to put on him. Castiel only realizes now that his clothes are wet too, but have started drying out by themselves. He doesn’t really care about that right now anyway.

Now he has to take care of that man’s wounds, especially the one on his head. Maybe he'll never wake up, but he has to try.

Hopefully he will.

Chapter Text

Since he has done everything he could to warm up the survivor settled in his bed, he fumbles into his little kitchen drawers to find the emergency kit he’s got somewhere. He is lucky, because he never had to use it before, except for the one time he cut himself with one of the knives while cooking.

At the time he cleaned the wound with as less water as possible because he needed to last until refueling and wrapped his finger with a clean cloth to stop the bleeding. It wasn’t much but it was still annoying in his daily life and work. It made it more difficult to clean the Fresnel lenses. The product used to clean them made his wound sting day after day until it healed completely, which took more time than usual with that product wetting it every day.

It was definitely nothing compared to what that man has probably been through and how his body might have suffered from it. Castiel saw earlier when drying him how many wounds were covering his body. Those will have to wait though because Castiel has to take care of the one on his head first.

He has found some new clean and dry clothes he could use, and thread and needle to stitch him up. Castiel has never done that to a human before, he is able to fix his own clothes when he needs to but fixing a human’ scalp is definitely not the same. Nobody else can do it though, so he has to.

He sits on the edge of his own bed, next to the stranger lying there. He seems to be still unconscious, which is kind of good news for now since Castiel has to stick a needle several times into the skin of his head.

Castiel puts everything he needs for that on the shelf above his bed. Clean clothes. Thread. Needle. He has everything he needs to be ready. So why does his heart beat so fast? Why are his hands shaking?

“God, please. Let me help that man. Give me the strength to stitch him up.” Castiel says, looking up at the cross standing just above his stitching material. He closes his eyes, joins his hands and takes a deep breath. He somehow feels God here with him and it calms him down enough to unwrap the cloth he put earlier around the man’s head to stop the bleeding.

He leans above him to study the wound and judges that it’ll need at least 5 stitches.

He can do this.

The bleeding seems to have stopped a little bit. Hopefully he won’t have lost too much blood to survive. There’s nothing Castiel can do about that, but he can at least stop it from now on.

He sits up, puts the thread through the needle easily thanks to his returning calm and leans back down above the man to start stitching. While he’s focused on doing this well, his mind wonders. What happened to create a wound like this? He’s so close to him and sticking a needle through his head, he hopes the survivor won’t wake up. Because right now would be a bad time. How did that man arrive alive and unconscious on that beach near his lighthouse? His hair, dry at last, feels soft under Castiel’s hands. What did he have to do to fight for his life? It’s been 2 stitches, only 3 more. What’s God’s plan for him? Maybe he has laid down a soon-to-be-dead man in his own bed, for him to die in the warmth of a semblance of a home. Will he open his eyes for Castiel to see?

He ends his stitches with a solid node to make sure it’s stay there. He can pull as much as he wants since the man is still unconscious. He looks at his own work, satisfied, and cleans the remaining blood. As he does, his hand brushes the man’s skin and he realizes how cold he still is despite everything he did.

There’s one last thing he can do though.

Body heat.

He tries not to think too much about it, because he wouldn’t do it otherwise. Settling almost naked against a total, unconscious stranger in his bed. That’s a life or death situation, no need to overthink it.

He takes off most of his clothes and slides himself under the pile of covers and clothes, against the man he is trying to save.

Castiel handles him as best as he can in this position to hold the man’s back against his bare chest. His skin is still so cold despite the layers above them and the working stove. Castiel shivers at the touch.

It’s been a while since he has felt another human’s touch. Months. Maybe more. And it was just a pat on the shoulder or in the back. Castiel usually doesn’t miss physical contact with humans, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to do this job. It’s not something that weights on him during the months of solitude, he is used to it. But when he settles next to that man, he realizes that, weirdly enough, he missed it. He missed that touch. One that he’s never known before, which makes it all the more disturbing.

To avoid figuring out why, he focuses on another sense instead and realizes that this man smells like the air just before the storm arrived yesterday. Salty. Iodized. Castiel’s eyes close dangerously. The previous sleepless night not helping. He shouldn’t let it get him so easily. He can’t fall asleep right now, he’s late for his daily work. By this time he usually has brought up 2 or 3 containers of oil at the very top to feed the fire for the next nights. Four floors from the storage underground to the fire room at the very top of the lighthouse. Plus, he has to change some of the bricks of the lighthouse in case another storm come up. He wouldn’t want water to infiltrate the building. And he has to gather useful things that came up on the beach with the man who is pressed against his bare chest.

To stay awake, his mind wonders again. Who is this man in his arms? What is his name? Will Castiel have the chance of knowing him? Where does he come from? So many questions unanswered that Castiel will have to let there in this warmed up bed to go work.

He did everything he could. And he will do everything he has to in order to keep him alive and make him wake up.

He gets out of the bed, judging the survivor has warmed up enough, and dresses back up. When he is about to leave his own living quarters to go down in the storage room, he stops at the door and glances at the man in his bed.

There’s something more that he can do, even should do.

He takes the water container on his kitchen counter and opens it. He takes the last clean cloth he threw earlier on the same counter and dips one of its corner in the water. He approaches the man lying down with his hand under the dripping cloth while the other holds it.

His thumb delicately pulls the man’s chin down to open his mouth, his lips slowly parting, letting Castiel catch a glimpse of that stranger’s tongue and teeth. That’s weird, he thinks, knowing someone’s body before even getting to know their name, while he presses the wet corner of the cloth between two fingers and watches as the droplets trickle down the stranger’s lower lip, like the sea between rocks the water snakes between his teeth, and ends up into his mouth.

There. If that man has spent the whole night lost at sea alone without a boat, he’s probably thirsty. A cruel irony when water is everywhere and yet undrinkable. Castiel will have to repeat this ritual multiple times a day if he wants to keep that man hydrated.

Now that this is done, he can finally start his daily work. He starts with fixing the wall outside of the lighthouse. The sun is shining brightly at this hour, the previous storm already forgotten. No obvious evidence of its passing once the wall has been repaired.

Castiel takes a break to go hydrate the stranger in his bed, then on the beach he gathers and stores useful stuff that arrived with him. He stops his usual work and go check on the survivor and gives him water again. Finally, he brings the oil containers from the storage underground up to the fire’s room.

What if he dies? It’s a thought that crosses his mind as he settles the last oil container at the top of the lighthouse. His mind explores this possibility, even if it’s something he doesn’t want to happen.

Castiel will have to carry him again, but won't carry hope with him this time. He knows he can lift him until he reaches the outside, physical exercise would not be the hardest part.

Failing would be. For the second time.

He feels responsible for him, like a guardian angel would. Though Castiel has no pretention to call himself like that. It's just that he feels like he has to take care of him and if that man dies, it would mean that he would have failed twice. His first failure would be because his fire wasn't strong enough to guide this stranger and the boat he was on through the storm. The second, because he wasn't able to heal him and take care of him once he ended up on that beach.

The other difficult thing to do would be to bury him there and having to live with his failure deep in the ground next to his lighthouse. He knows he wouldn't be able to forget him that easily despite never having talked to him. At least not really, because he has talk to him, but just to try to wake him up while he found him unconscious on the beach. And Castiel would continue to talk to him even if he died. He'd talk to a standing stone. It would not be the same, but he wouldn't be able to leave him and forget about him, not knowing if someone else will think about this man and grieve him.

He's struggling to focus on his work as he tries to write what he observed from the weather this morning and that a shipwreck has probably occurred at sea since he found a man on the beach. He feels like he should be by his side, praying as much as possible for him to wake up. But if he’s efficient enough he could do that after his work is done.

It helps him focus back. Plus, there are other sailors that might count on the fire to guide them tonight. First, he goes back downstairs to hydrate the wounded man in his bed and then he finds some remaining clean clothes, fortunately he didn’t use them all earlier, and climbs upstairs to clean the Fresnel lenses. With their many glass surfaces, they are dirtied with traces of oil caused by the combustion of the lamps from the previous night. This is part of his daily work as lighting the fire before the night.

He alternates between his usual tasks and taking care of the survivor. Filling the tank with oil. Checking the man’s head wound and others. Cleaning the lighthouse. Making sure the surviving sailor is still warm. Storing the wreckage that he brought from the beach to the storage. Hydrating the stranger lying in his bed.

Castiel is exhausted by this relentless rhythm that has punctuated this day. The previous short night is probably also half responsible for his tiredness.

As he prepares the fire for the night, Castiel imagines the stranger waking up and being completely lost and hurting, or even worse, dying alone there in an unknown place lost at sea, away from people who cares about him and will never know what happened to him neither how Castiel failed to keep him alive.

Refusing this last possibility, once the fire is lightened, Castiel busies himself with something useful. He hasn’t even took some time to read and draw today as he usually does. He needs to do something useful for that man. Since he can’t make him wake up and has prayed several times already, he decides to start patching up the sailor's pants, torn by the events he had lived through.

He can’t fix the shirt he had to cut when he freed him from soaked clothes, but hopefully he’ll be able to fix that man. Even if it’s been several hours since he found him and he hasn’t opened his eyes yet, nor moved a finger, Castiel is still hoping the sailor will survive.

Chapter Text

It’s dark. There’s rain everywhere. Or maybe it’s the waves. Impossible to know, all the water is mixing and surging from every side. The wind is strong and works with or against the water, depending on which one is wining the fight.

Between the noises of the nature unleashed, men’s voices are perceptible. Impossible to know what they say though. Mostly they’re screams or unrecognizable words, silenced by the clatter of nature's fury. It’s cold and wet and there’s this feeling of emergency.

Then a dull pain on the head. And back on what seems to be a boat and people running everywhere, scared. It reeks salt and fear, and there’s this need to do something too. This responsibility. This weight. Or maybe it’s just the thing on the head that still hurts.

The salt in the air is suddenly replaced by the smell of food. There’s nothing wet anymore, just warmth and comfort. The pain is weirdly still here, but more bearable in this context, what’s not is the hunger. The one that feels like the stomach is eating itself. The smell of stew-like food doesn’t help.

It’s soon forgotten when the screams of those men ring again. Louder this time and there’s this voice. This recognizable voice that makes this fear grow stronger, because it sounds scared too. And this feeling of powerlessness starts taking all the place in this dark and hostile environment.

The dark darkens and there’s that heat again. It’s not the cold and damped clothes sticking to the skin anymore, it’s the comfort of dry and soft blanket and pillow.

There’s a dim, yellow light but it’s too much. Too bright compared to the previous darkness.

///////

“Sam.” It’s called, lowly. In a voice so rough and raspy it hurts to be spoken and to be heard.

But it draws Castiel’s attention even though he’s making noises while he cooks, one of his final tasks of this endless day. It catches his ear anyway since he’s not used to hear another human voice here. Especially this one.

First, he thinks he’s hallucinated it, believing his tiredness is starting to weigh on his sanity. But then hope takes over. He turns around and hears a groan. This time he’s almost sure this is not his imagination. It’s the stranger in his bed, he’s moving. At least he thinks he’s seen him move.

In this entire day of waiting, hoping and imagining how this situation would turn out, he never thought about what he would say to that man who would eventually wake up in an unfamiliar place.

He pictured what he would do if he died. He visualized him waking up and screaming, or just leaving without Castiel noticing. He imagined him thanking the man who saved him from a certain death.

But he never thought about him waking up while Castiel was there and the survivor calling another name.

He approaches slowly, carefully, letting him some time to wake up. It’s good to have some time for himself anyway, to think about what he is going to say.

“Hello, I’m Castiel. I’m the one who carried you here and healed you.” Castiel starts but sees how that man looks at him with puzzled eyes. “How are you feeling?” Castiel adds then.

“Like shit.” The man answers, after clearing his throat, his hand hesitant as he lifts it and rubs his face with it. His finally moving face.

“I’m not surprised you’re feeling like – that, after what you must have been through –“ Castiel doesn’t know what to do with himself, he’s not used to having a guest, especially one lying in his bed half naked and injured. He stands there, his hands fidgeting with the cloth he usually uses while cooking. His eyes deeply planted in those green ones he can finally see.

“Dean. And thanks for – you know, saving me and all.” Dean says, squinting his eyes in pain. Castiel approaches him to help, even though there’s nothing he can really do. “Castiel, right?” Dean asks between two groans as he tries to get up, stopping Castiel in his tracks.

“What are you doing?” Castiel studies him with wide eyes.

“Look, Castiel. I've got to borrow a boat and set sail. ” Dean tries to lift his upper body but reality catches him back. “Argh!” He groans. “I’m sure you have that somewhere.”

“Dean.” Castiel notices how this name feels on his tongue. It’s unusual. “This is not reasonable. You should keep lying down and rest.” He approaches, his hand pressing on Dean’s shoulder to make sure he lies back down. Dean doesn’t fight back, he can’t anyway, at least physically.

“Hey.” Dean retorts. “I have to go. My mates, they – I need to know what happened to them.” Dean raises his head trying to get up but suddenly everything is spinning around him. “Wow.” Dean has never felt sea sick on a boat before but maybe he’s starting right now, wherever he is. Castiel notices him turning green and hands him the bucket that was carefully settled next to the bed by him in case anything like this happened. Dean pushes it away, closes his eyes, swallows hard and lies down again.

“You can’t go anywhere, not in that state of yours. Stay here.” Castiel leaves his side and comes back with a glass of water. “Drink that.” Castiel doesn’t need to insist, Dean swallows it all really fast as Castiel watches him until the last drop. His Adam apple bobbing up and down until he finishes the whole glass, not taking a breath between the sips. When he's done, his lips are glistening, wetted by the water. Castiel takes the empty glass back, his fingers brushing Dean’s in the process.

“Where am I?” Dean asks, studying the room around him for the first time. It’s really warm here, no wonder he felt it before he came back to himself.

“In my lighthouse.” Castiel answers as he goes back to finish cooking, turning his back to Dean.

“So, you’re a lighthouse keeper.” Dean observes, and Castiel doesn’t note the simplicity of this deduction, given the state of the man.

“I am.” He simply answers.

“Must be lonely.” Dean states.

“It depends.” Castiel glances at him. After a silence between them, Castiel finally remembers what Dean’s first word was. “Who’s Sam? One of your mates?”

“Kinda. Yeah.” This is all Castiel will have as an answer, before Dean fakes going back to sleep and ends up doing so anyway.

“Dean, are you hungry?” Castiel asks softly, waking him up with a hand gently touching his shoulder.

“No, I’m fine.” Dean lies, because he knows he can’t get up to eat. But Castiel sees through it, he knows how little he ate since he ended up on that beach.

“I’ve made enough for both of us. I can feed you.” Castiel offers, a genuine gaze on his face.

“No.” Dean says, a little too loud, which unsettles Castiel. “No need.” Dean adds more softly. He hates himself for behaving like that with the man that probably saved his life. Castiel doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.

After that, Castiel eats quietly while Dean falls back to sleep. He finishes quickly and tidies the small kitchen before going upstairs to check on the fire. He climbs up the three floors and since there’s nothing wrong, he goes back downstairs in his living quarters.

He finds Dean half on the bed and on the floor, with blankets that he dragged down with him.

“Dean! What did you do?” Castiel hurries to help him.

“I just tried getting up.” Dean sounds annoyed. He just lay on his side and tried to tip over into a sitting position using the weight of his legs to sit up on the edge of the bed, but as soon as he found himself sitting up, he saw stars. Especially when his right foot hit the ground and he tried lifting up from the bed. In addition to the stars, his ankle was hurting like hell, causing him to fall to the ground.

“Keep your arms on your chest.” Castiel orders and lifts him almost like he waits nothing. Dean is impressed and realizes that it’s nothing compared to his dead weight Castiel had to carry from where he arrived to this bed, wherever he arrived it ain’t inside anyway. Then he is suddenly aware of his own nakedness as he feels Castiel’s hands on his back and thigh. As soon as he is back in the bed, he covers himself with the blankets with Castiel’s help.

“I’m – I’m hungry.” Dean closes his eyes as he admits it, feeling ashamed. He’s almost naked. He can’t get up. He has to be carried by a man he met today to go back to bed. He can’t just leave the bed and eat by himself.

“I’ll feed you.” Castiel offers, like it’s nothing. Dean feels like Castiel knew him before he did, which he finds weird. That guy seems weird anyway. He’s working there, alone all day. Who choses this life and why?

“No, just – just help me sit.” Dean looks at the wall to his other side. “Please.” He adds, whispering. He can’t accept being fed by someone else. By someone he just met. Castiel has already done enough. Dean will leave as soon as he’ll be able to.

“Okay.” Castiel agrees. He takes two more pillows that were settled at the end of the bed. And he places himself above Dean, pulling down the pile of blankets covering him, enough to slide his hands under the man’s upper back and lift him. He puts those extra pillows under him and lies him back down. Dean realizes how gentle Castiel is while he handles him, carefully cradling the back of his head to lift it and delicately resting it back on the pile of pillows. Nobody ever treated him like that before. Maybe his mom but it was a long time ago, barely a faint memory. Dean hates how it makes him feel.

“Are you alright?” Castiel makes sure Dean can handle this new half sat position.

“I feel like I’ve been through a storm. But I’m fine.” Dean jokes, his own mouth turning into a grin, but Castiel doesn’t laugh. Weird man, Dean thinks. “I’m fine.” He repeats to make sure the lighthouse keeper understood that part at least. “How long?” Dean asks. And Castiel’s gaze makes him realize he has to give more details for him to answer that question. “How long you had to, you know, play the doctor?”  

“I found you on the beach outside, early this morning.” Castiel explains, showing his back as he rummages in the kitchen drawer.

Dean lost track of time anyway, so he couldn’t tell if it’s true or not, but he feels like Castiel wouldn’t be the type to lie, at least not about this. “I gave you water the best I could to keep you hydrated. But you must be starving.” Castiel remarks as he prepares a plate for the survivor and Dean’s stomach growls at Castiel’s words, giving an answer for him.

Castiel approaches with the food. “I made a stew with potatoes, carrots and some salted meat.” Castiel explains. It smells good. It doesn’t seem much but Dean is used to eat things like that on the boat where he works, sometimes he even helps in the kitchen. He likes doing that, so he knows how to make a pretty damn good stew.

“Thanks.” Dean smiles, slightly embarrassed when Castiel comes closer and hands him the plate and a fork. Dean doesn’t wait any longer to dig in, planting his fork in a potato to bring it to his mouth.

Having warm, salty food in his mouth feels like it’s bringing him back to life.

This stew is not that good though, but Dean has to act like it is since the man is still standing near the bed, watching him eat. That's fine because Dean's too hungry and thankful to say anything about the food, the staring or the closeness but on a regular day he wouldn't eat this, would tell him to look away and teach him about personal space. He focuses on the plate in front of him instead.

The thing about the stew is that it’s not very tasteful, there’s too much water somehow. But at least he’ll stay hydrated and it’s mostly solid food. Something he apparently didn’t have for at least a day, so it’s improvement.

“No need to thank me, Dean. That’s part of my job.” Castiel answers, with what seems to be a smile on his face. Dean thinks he saw something resembling it when he glanced up. A slight quirk up of the mouth and barely squinted eyes, but he’s not sure. He swallows what’s in his mouth and puts the fork in the almost empty plate. His hand approaches the wound on his head carefully.

“Did you stitch me up?” Dean asks, wincing after touching.

“Yes, and I also stitched up this.” Castiel leaves Dean’s side and fumbles in one of the cupboards next to the oven. When he turns around, Dean recognizes the pants he is not wearing anymore. “They had holes and were torn at the ankle. I fixed that.” Castiel carefully lays the folded piece of clothing on the bed.

“Thanks, Castiel.” Dean says, looking at the pants. “For both.” He continues, speaking about the stitching up of his head too.

Castiel doesn’t seem to be like other people. He’s definitely not like Dean’s mates, joking all day, loud and rough, but solid and joyful. Castiel seems quieter, more observing, more silent, but also softer and more careful. He seems solid too, but weirder, more unsettling.

Chapter Text

“Everyone switch to emergency mode, do you understand me?” Bobby shouts but it’s not really a question, more like an order. There’s a storm coming and he’s the first one to having figured it out. He has been travelling the sea for a while now. All the sailors believe him and know what they’ve got to do to prepare. Storing sails and equipment. Make sure they’ve got everything they need, water and food. Stay safe and sound.

The clouds get darker and darker and the wind starts to grow stronger first. Then the rain comes and waves start to get bigger. That’s not Dean’s first storm at sea, and hopefully not the last either. He knows how to handle it, watch out for his mates, especially Sam, his little brother. Plus, he trusts their captain, Bobby. He’s one of his dad’s friends and like a second father to them. Dean could die to save him, like he would for his little brother. He knows Bobby wouldn’t allow it though.

As the storm intensifies, everyone hurries up too, making sure everything is in order as their captain asked. Bobby starts struggling to handle the boat among the strong currents, but will never admit it. Benny, Sam and Dean drain the water that starts flooding the deck. Everybody is doing what needs to be done. It gets harder and harder by the seconds as the waves grow bigger and bigger.  

There’s this huge one coming. “Hide and hold tight!” Bobby yells to them. Dean never saw one like that before and it’s targeting them. There’s no way the boat will survive this. Them either probably. He hides as much as he can, but sees Sam gathering forgotten ropes in a hurry. Dean realizes fast that he won’t be able to finish before the wave hits them.

“Sammy, move!” Dean shouts, but the storm is too loud, the wind carrying his voice in the wrong direction. Still, in this deafening din, ‘look out for Sammy’ he hears his dad's voice resonating in his mind, before he decides to throw himself on the deck and pushes Sam somewhere safer. He smiles, proud of saving his little brother as the wave hits him at full strength, he uses his arms to shield himself but there’s nothing to do against such a force of nature.

He hears a loud noise followed by a pain at the head before everything becomes blurry.

“Dean!” He perceives Sam’s voice calling for him, then another rougher and lower but as worried, Bobby’s. But it must be too late for him. Their voices seem so far away and everything becomes blurry before it’s all black. At least they are safe, he hopes.

The first night isn’t an easy one. Dean preferred when he was too tired to dream. Too exhausted to have nightmares. But now that he has rested for most of the day. Now that it’s dark outside and Castiel left to watch after the fire, he’s alone in the room and when he closes his eyes he can only see what happened the previous night.

Dean keeps hearing Sammy’s and Bobby’s voice screaming his name. And he wants to tell them he’s safe but he can’t. When he finally falls asleep again, his mind fills in the blanks of his memory and another big wave hits the boat, splitting it in two. Bobby and Sam, everyone else, disappear in the immensity of the sea. At first he thinks it’s real, that maybe he saw this happened but he just refuses to believe it. But when he sees his father is here too, who disappears with them, disappointed by Dean for not being able to save them, he knows it’s his subconscious playing with him. Taking reality and twisting it.

Dean wakes up suddenly, feeling too warm and sweaty.

“Dean.” That voice is calmer than the last ones, there’s less emergency. “What’s happening?” Castiel asks, coming back to the living quarters.

“Nothing. I’m fine.” Dean lies. He needs to know what happened to his mates, to Bobby, to Sam. He’ll have no rest if he doesn’t. This answer must have been enough for Castiel because he doesn’t say anything more, he just lies there in the spare bed, which was stored in the underground floor in case he needed to change his someday or in case that kind of situation happened maybe. Who would have thought? Dean wasn’t supposed to survive this. How can someone be hit by a wave huger than anything else he knows and be still alive?

Dean won’t have the answer tonight, maybe he never will, but what he knows is that he’s got to get out of here. Thank Castiel for saving him and set sail to find out what happened to his mates.

///////

The next day all Dean can think of is getting the hell out of here. He doesn’t have anything against the man that saved him but he can’t stay in bed and just patiently rest while waiting for someone to come here. He needs to know where Sam and Bobby are. He needs to be sure his little brother is still alive. He feels guilty for having abandoned them when they needed him most.

He shouldn’t have survived this.

What brings him out of his thoughts, and blaming himself, is seeing Castiel kneeling on the floor next to his bed, his hands joined together and eyes closed.

“What are you doing?” Dean interrupts. Too surprised to think about not disturbing him.

“I’m trying to pray.” Castiel explains, eyes not opening. Dean finally realizes that he shouldn’t have spoken so he doesn’t add anything else. He turns around in the bed, showing his back to the man kneeling too close to him. That’s when he finally sees the cross hanging on the wall just above the head of the bed he’s in. He notices how his head hurt less than yesterday too.

It’s a good thing. He’s getting better already which means he might be able to leave soon. He wonders if his ankle will let him walk. He should try, but not until Castiel has finished his prayer. Whatever he’s praying for.

“You believe in God.” This is not really a question Dean says to the wall as he hears Castiel getting up.

“I do.” Castiel simply answers. “I usually pray for the men at sea. I see how dangerous it can be. So I pray for them to be safe and for the lighthouse to guide them as best as possible.” Castiel adds, but he’s not done. “I prayed to Him when I found you.” Then he pauses, letting Dean some time to consider what he said. “Do you have no faith, Dean?”

“I have faith.” He whispers to the wall. Then he makes the effort to turn around, wincing when he uses the ankle he shouldn’t. “I have faith in people. My family, my mates. You’re the one that saved me. And you’re the one that makes sure sailors can travel the sea safely.” He explains. He’d like to stand or at least sit up to make his point but he can’t. He gives everything he can with his voice and eyes instead.

“I have faith in people too.” Castiel replies. He had faith in this stranger that he found on the beach. Damped and hurt. He believed he could fight and survive, because he had already survived in the sea alone during a storm.

“I don’t have faith in God.” Dean throws, without Castiel asking him. “If he’s out there, then why –“ Dean stops, realizing where he’s going with this talk. Is he really going to say this to that man he met yesterday? Castiel doesn’t say anything, he leaves all the room for Dean to decide to continue or not, fumbling into the kitchen as if they weren't having a whole theological conversation. “Why my mom had to die?”

Castiel stops instantly what he’s doing. He turns around and looks at the genuine pain that fills Dean’s eyes. “Don’t tell me He’s got a plan or that He works in mysterious ways!” Dean warns. The pain in his gaze has shifted into anger.

“I wasn’t going to.” Castiel admits. “I’m sorry for your mother.” He adds. He can’t say he understands, because he lied earlier. He doesn’t have as much faith in people as Dean does apparently.

Maybe he did once, he doesn’t anymore. That’s why he left. That’s why he chose this lonely life as a lighthouse keeper. Though he didn’t lie about having faith in Dean’s survival. “I should check your wound.” Castiel changes the subject. He picks up a clean cloth in one of the kitchen’s drawer and wets a part of it.

He approaches Dean who doesn’t have much to do but lay here and let Castiel do his thing. “There is some dry blood I need to clean. Don’t move.” Castiel warns and Dean winces when he feels the touch of the wet cloth rubbing around his wound. “Tell me if it hurts too much.” Castiel specifies, not feeling Dean’s breath against his arm. He must be holding it, Castiel thinks.

“No, it’s fine.” Dean keeps his eyes closed, focusing on Castiel’s gentle hand holding his head in place instead of the one working near the stitches. It still surprises him how gentle he can be. It’s so foreign to him. That’s probably why it’s easy for him to focus on it.

Shortly after, Castiel leaves the room to go about his day and Dean is left alone once again.

The sailor is more accustomed to living in a community with lots of chores to do, outside on a boat in the open ocean. He is not used to stay inside, all alone, with his thoughts freely invading his mind.

For now, it keeps replaying what happened during the night of the storm. He tries to connect the missing parts. He still doesn’t know how he was able to make it out alive. Maybe he never will.

He remembers Sam and Bobby calling his name, maybe other mates too. He recalls his head hurting and the feeling of the warm blood dripping from his head to his forehead, contrasting with the cold of the rain and sea water surrounding him.

He closes his eyes and grabs the blanket with one hand to lower it down a bit. Castiel made sure the room keeps being warm while he isn’t there. Maybe too warm, Dean thinks.

By touching the blanket he felt something gripping into the fabric fibers on his index finger. He takes a closer look at it and it seems like there’s a splinter inside it. He tries to take it off with his nails but fails before stopping and remembering suddenly that he used a big wooden plank that must have come from the boat to hold on to when he ended up in the water that night.

It’s probably what helped him not to drawn. That splinter is a little reminder of his first savior.

His stitches a reminder for his second. He’s lucky he had both. He wouldn’t be here without them.

As he keeps trying to figure out what happened during the storm, he falls asleep. The previous short night, the head injury and the heat in the room slowly teaming up to make him surrender.

Later in the day, Dean wakes up. He’s a bit dizzy and lost. It seems to be kind of late, judging by the growing darkness in the room. He must have missed Castiel coming back here at some point. He decides to get up. He tries to do it slowly this time, he doesn’t want to see stars again. His head seems to let him handle the sitting position well enough.

The next step is harder, his body feels sore and his ankle hurts like hell when he lets some of his weight on it. He takes a deep breath and puts more of his weight on his other foot then he’s finally up. He wants to celebrate but he’s alone. Castiel is still out doing whatever a lighthouse keeper does at this hour of the day.

Fortunately for Dean, the room is small, so he could use furniture to move around. There's no way he's going to eat that stew again, especially now that he's not that hungry anymore. So he has to reach that kitchen counter and cook some better tasting food.

But first he has to find some clothes even though it's not cold in here since Castiel kept the oven running all night, probably afraid Dean might still feel cold. He doesn't have much to put on himself anyway. There's just those pants Castiel fixed for him, which lays on the bed. He might as well put that on and find a shirt later. Maybe Castiel will let him borrow something of his own. Dean can use a blanket if it's not possible.

He struggles putting the pants on. He sits back on the bed to not fall on the ground again but it hurts when he has to bend his ankle to put it inside. It’s blue and clearly it must have been twisted at a wrong angle to look like that. He greets his teeth and manages to slip on the pants. Once it's done, he gets up again and starts moving towards the counter. He leans on the back of the nearest chair to take some of the weight off his injured ankle.

He drags the other chair next to him to use as a cane while he cooks.

///////

Castiel is scared when his eyes lend on the empty bed as he enters his living quarters. "Dean!" He calls, thinking he left without telling him. Worried about his physical state.

"Over here." Dean says, standing in front of a kitchen counter, knife in hand, shirtless.

"Dean." Castiel says more softly, less panicked. He takes in the sight in front of him as he enters the room and closes the door behind him. Dean's upper body is covered in bruises that must have grown during the night.

"I'm cooking some dinner, I hope you don't mind." Dean explains, turning a bit towards Castiel.

"There's some stew left outside." Castiel remarks, pointing towards the door. He always leaves his food outside during winter. It's cold enough to keep it there. It prevents him from cooking every day. He just have to secure it against animals, seagulls are particularly motivated and smart thieves.

"Right, I forgot." Dean lies.

"We can eat it later, but you shouldn't have gotten out of bed." Castiel argues a little bit late. "Your ankle must hurt." He realizes Dean is using the back of a chair to lean on.

"I'm fine as long as I don’t put all my weight on it." Dean assures.

"Hold on." Castiel says before disappearing. And this is all Dean can do anyway, holding on to that chair while he tries cutting the last vegetables. In less than two minutes Castiel is back. "Here you should use this." He approaches and hands him an old wooden cane.

"Where did you get that?" Dean asks as he faces Castiel to take the cane. And it hits Castiel suddenly. Dean has a tattoo on his chest, a sort of pentagram near his heart. He knows tattoos are a common thing for sailors, but how come did he missed that? He has seen him without a shirt before. He even undressed Dean himself. Maybe it's because he was too busy trying to keep him alive.

"You have a tattoo." It's not really a question, it's more of a statement, but Castiel's voice is still full of surprise. Dean guesses he'll never know where that cane came from.

"Yes. My dad made us do it." Dean starts and sees Castiel's puzzled eyes. He's clearly more than ready to hear more. "My little brother and I, after my mom died. He thought it'll protect us against evils, bad things in general." Castiel wants to trace it with his fingers, instead he does it with his eyes.

"Do you think it works?" Castiel asks, remembering their previous talk about faith earlier that day.

"I don't know. I mean I survived that storm after all." Dean chuckles and gets back on cutting carrots.

"I'm going to find you a shirt." Castiel disappears again. It’s not like he minds seeing Dean shirtless but he has to take care of his guest.

He comes back as fast as when he went to find the cane with a dark green shirt in his hand. He gives it to Dean, who puts it on while trying not to fall when he lifts his arms up to do so.

“Thanks.” Dean says, then adds, “dinner’s almost ready,” as he stirs the food in the simmering casserole.

“Thank you, Dean.” Castiel replies, wearing his discreet, almost imperceptible smile. “I’ll start the fire upstairs for the night and I’ll come back.” Dean nods in response.

Chapter Text

There’s plenty of oil in the tank for the night, the Fresnel lenses are perfectly clean, so the light is able to cut through the darkness like a knife through butter.

Once the fire is all set and Castiel has checked everything he needed to, he can finally get back downstairs. Get back to Dean, who’s cooking for him, for them.

He stops in front of the door leading to his living quarters, afraid to discover that this was all a dream or that Dean left after all. He takes a deep breath and opens it.

Dean is still there. In front of the kitchen counter. He has placed plates and cutlery on the little table at the end of the bed while Castiel was upstairs as if Dean always lived here. Castiel notices how the yellow light from the oil lamps highlights the golden reflections in Dean’s hair and makes the freckles at the back of his neck stand out.

“Hey!” Dean greets him as if Castiel is the guest here. “Let’s eat and you’ll tell me what you think of it.” He adds, removing the saucepan from the heat to put it on the table. Castiel doesn’t have time to react and take care of it himself instead of the injured man. He’s blinded by that smile, it’s the first time he witnesses it. A proud one. For cooking this meal, he guesses. “Sit.” Dean waves towards the chair.

“You should be the one sitting, Dean.” Castiel retorts.

“No, I’m fine. Plus, you’re the one who worked all day.” Dean explains. And Castiel sits, frowning. He watches Dean serve him food.

“You don’t have to-“ Castiel begins, it feels weird being served.

“Are you kidding? It’s the least I can do, Cas.” Dean lets out, and quickly adds, “you saved my life and let me stay here. I swear, as soon as I can walk without this.” He points toward the cane. “I’m out of here, I don’t want to impose myself more.”  Dean rambles as he keeps adding food in Cas’s plate, only realizing now how he called him. Neither of them points it out.

“Dean.” Cas says softly, his hand stopping Dean's as he holds the large wooden spoon filled with food. “You can stay here as long as you wish.” Suddenly the spoon falls out of Dean’s hand to the ground and he steps back, hurting his ankle in the process.

“Ouch, sorry.” He says, trying to pick it up.

“No, I’m sorry. Just sit, I’ll take care of this.” Cas offers and gets up to clean the mess, while Dean sits quietly on his chair. It’s not his fault he dropped the spoon. Cas doesn’t seem to be aware that a man isn’t supposed to touch another man’s hand with his, especially when they met a few days ago. Maybe it’s Dean’s fault, he shouldn’t have called him by this nickname, Cas. Maybe he’s not used to seeing other people. Maybe he has spent so much time here, he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do and not do anymore. It’s fine, Dean can explain it to him. He can tell him they shouldn’t touch hands. Not like that.

But somehow nothing gets out of his mouth. “Dean!” Cas wakes him up. He has cleaned everything and sat back on his chair. “It tastes so good!” Dean smiles but doesn’t say anything. He settles on the other chair and they eat quietly until Dean’s discomfort and guilt takes over.

“So, do you have a boat for me to use when I’ll be ready to leave?” He asks, not meeting Cas’s eyes.

“I do, but it’s just a rowboat, it’s not usable to sail across the open sea, it’s just supposed to be used to fish around the lighthouse.” Cas answers. There’s no way he’s going to let Dean risk his life by using that little, ridiculous boat.

“What do you mean ‘supposed’? Do you not fish?” Dean wonders, frowning and able to look at Cas now.

“I do fish near the shore, on foot to pick up shells clinging to the rocks, but not with the boat. I never learned how to use a fishing rod.” Cas admits, shameful. Dean notices and changes the tone in his voice. Instead of a judgy one, he uses a gentler one.

“I can teach you. I often went fishing with my dad when I was younger.” Dean confesses. And he also knows how to cook those fishes pretty well.

“I’d like that.” Cas nods.

“I’ll teach you, but you’ll have to teach me how to do some lighthouse keeping so I can help you.” Dean states, stuffing the food into his mouth. He out did himself on this one. It tastes so good that Cas has almost already finished his plate.

“No, Dean. You don’t have to. This is not your job.” Cas declares, mirroring Dean.

“Cas, if I don’t do anything, I’ll go crazy.” Here’s that nickname again. This time it seems intentional, Cas heard it well. It catches his attention and his eyes meet Dean’s. The green turns yellow when it’s bathed in the light of the oil lamps. It’s almost like looking straight through the fire of a lighthouse at night.

“You’re in no shape to do so, for now.” Cas tells him but he’s frowning, mostly confused about Dean’s intentions. Does he want to leave, or does he want to stay? He decides to clarify that point, “but I thought you wanted to leave as soon as possible.” Dean is speechless at first. He takes his time before swallowing the food in his mouth.

“I’m not sure the rowboat will survive this and me neither.” Dean admits. He seems to have come to terms with staying here until someone else comes here with a bigger boat and Cas seems to be okay with this. More than okay judging by the slight quirk up of one corner of his mouth which Dean is now able to identify as a smile.

“How did you learn to cook like this?” Cas asks curiously.

“As surprising as it sounds, my captain taught me. Bobby.” Dean answers, not without an ounce of worry.

“This is unusual. I didn’t know captain cooked.” Cas says and it makes Dean chuckle.

“He might be the only one.” Thoughtful, he adds, “he always said – says that a good captain must be able to survive on his own. I guess that includes being able to cook.”

“I think it works for everyone, but after tasting your food I’m not sure I’m able to cook. Though I manage to survive on my own until now.” Cas thinks out loud.

“You know he’s also a grumpy, alcoholic old man.” Dean laughs heartily.

“But you care about him.” Cas can tell.

“He’s like a father to me.” Dean confesses. “He taught me everything about cooking, fixing things and sailing.” Dean notices how much he shared about his family already but Cas never said anything about his. “How’s your father? Did he teach you anything?”

“Not really.” Cas politely answers and changes the subject, “you never told me who’s Sam.”

“I didn’t?” Dean is surprised, he remembers talking about his little brother but maybe he never said his name. “He’s my little brother. He’s also one of my mates on Bobby’s boat.”

“Oh.” Cas understands better now, but something’s still bothering him, “why did you call his name when you woke up?”

“I don’t remember doing that, but huh – I don’t know.” Dean tells the truth but he might have an idea why he called his name. He was probably having another nightmare from that night. Probably remembering how he had to call Sam’s name multiple times before he had to jump to save him from the big wave that ended up bringing him here.

After that they remain silent for the rest of the dinner, still getting used to sharing a room together. Dean is not used to being alone with someone else, usually he’s surrounded by at least 10 of other mates. While Cas is not used to having someone here with him at all. He’s more familiar to the quietness lulled by the sound of the waves crashing gently against the rocks and the lighthouse.

When they’re done, Dean insists on washing everything while Cas goes upstairs to check on the fire. Cas is not happy about it at first, he doesn’t want Dean to do everything around here, but Dean finally convinces him by saying, “I’ve made a mess while cooking, I’ll take care of it, go Cas!” That final word might be the one that convinces him.

He runs upstairs to the very top of the lighthouse and makes sure everything is in order before he stops at the floor just under to write down some of his weather observations of the day. It was fully sunny today, a bit windy but nothing compared to the previous storm.

Before he finishes, his mind wonders what his father actually taught him, while he scribbles in his book, next to his notes for the day.

“Castiel, it’s time for you to come with me to the clinic.” Chuck declared one day while he was preparing for work. Castiel was only 8 years old when his father dragged him there for the first time, like he did with Michael and Gabriel before him. Once Chuck was ready, he made sure Castiel followed him.

And Castiel did, he couldn’t refuse anyway. When his father decided something, nobody could go against it. Castiel remembered Gabriel saying no once.

“Castiel, when it’ll be your turn, you just go, okay? Every time! Even if you don’t want to.” Gabriel had explained. Castiel nodded, learned and complied with his father’s wishes. He did that every day after seeing the fear in the usually mischievous eyes of his brother.

As soon as they arrived there, Castiel met Arthur Ketch, one of his father’s colleagues. He was nice with Castiel. He always had a comforting gesture towards Castiel, a pat on the shoulder or a ruffle of his hair. Castiel liked him. He was thoughtful when he saw Castiel wincing at the sight of the first drop of blood on the 3rd patient of the day. He brought him some water and a good distraction until Castiel was able to go back to a less translucent skin color. Thanks to him, Castiel handled that first day without much trouble. Thanks to him, he validated that rite of passage his father established for every boy in the house. Thanks to him, Castiel learned to handle himself when he saw blood.

So, it wasn’t really his father who taught him that. Chuck only taught him how to obey and shut up, even though Castiel has never been someone who talks a lot.

While observing him time after time, he also learned how to clean and stitch up a wound, how to stop a bleeding and how to stay calm in an emergency situation. He’s thankful for those lessons at least, because it might be what helped him save Dean.

He realizes he could have answer Dean’s question with that. He has to tell him.

He walks back downstairs where Dean is. Maybe he’s already sleeping, he hopes not. When he opens the door, Dean is still up with the cane Cas gave him. His ankle must still be hurting him. It’s perceptible how he’s putting more weight on his other leg.

And, wait! Those legs, Cas knows them. He knows those bowlegs pretty well even. He might have drawn them multiple times already.

“Cas, are you okay?” Dean asks, probably worrying about the look of shock on Cas’s face. Cas looks up to meet Dean’s eyes, eyes still wide.

“Y – yes.” Cas stutters. It can’t be him. How? How the man Cas kept drawing on that boat happens to be Dean? Was it Dean’s boat the one he often saw around the lighthouse? Is it the boat Dean works on? How Cas only realizes this now? Nothing is sure anyway. He has to check his paintings.

“You don’t look like it.” Dean chuckles, but his eyes betray his concern.

“I’m fine, Dean.” And Cas disappears upstairs again. It’s a good thing Dean can’t go after him with that ankle. Cas should have noticed before. He’s usually more observant than that. It’s not like him. Maybe it’s Dean’s eyes which distracted him from everything else around him. Those he couldn’t see from afar and couldn’t draw. Now that he can look at them, he only sees those.

He arrives on the first floor and rummages in his paintings. The first one he finds represents a man standing on the deck of the boat he often witnesses sailing around the lighthouse. That man shows his back as he watches the sunset over the horizon. His bowlegs are clearly visible in this painting.

Cas searches for another one. He finds the one where the man faces the lighthouse but Cas couldn’t see his face from afar so he imagined his features as best as possible. There are the bowlegs again. And the color of that man’s hair is close to Dean’s. It can’t be. But it must be.

Cas hides those among other paintings and goes back to his living quarters.

Dean is sitting on the bed but not sleeping yet, unfortunately.

“Are you feeling better?” He wonders, looking at Cas walking in.

“Yes, I wasn’t sure I’ve checked everything for tonight’s fire. But everything seems – right.” Cas avoids Dean’s gaze and quickly settles in his own bed.

“Good.” Dean declares before doing the same.

Chapter Text

The following days after their first dinner together were the exact same day repeating itself. Dean rested and cooked. Cas worked on his daily tasks. They ate together, talked and slept in the same room.

One more day of this and Dean is going to become crazy. He hasn’t seen the light of day since Cas carried him here. Just through the small windows there. He only knows this little room, which fair enough has everything a man needs to survive but it’s the same fourth walls and Dean is sick of those.

Two days ago, he asked Cas for paper and a pen so he could at least write when he’s sick of reading, sleeping or cooking and fortunately Cas did. The sailor was able to write down all his misadventures, how he arrived here, at least what he could remember of it, how the lighthouse keeper took care of him and how the fate of his mates is haunting his nights.

When Cas leaves the living quarters to go switch off the fire in the morning, Dean gets up and decides today is the day. He’s going outside.

His ankle doesn’t hurt him that much anymore, but he’s still using the cane Cas gave him. He uses it while he stands in front of the door leading to an unexplored world, the exit door of the living quarters. He has seen Cas disappear through it countless of times. He also has seen him coming back from it. It’s not really unexplored since he has been there already, it’s just that he wasn’t conscious to remember it.

His hand settles on the doorknob and he opens it.

He finds stairs here, going up or down. He’s not sure which one he’s supposed to use to go outside. Before he decides, he notices another door there, on the same floor. Maybe he doesn’t have to choose between up or down. Maybe he can just open that door.

He walks carefully towards it and opens it as slowly as the last one, also because it's surprisingly heavier.

His eyes close fast when the sunlight hits his face for the first time in days. It takes time to get used to it. He’s still frowning when he steps outside. His eyelids are half closed, when he lets the sun shine on his face for a few seconds. It feels so warm compared to the wind caressing his skin, but his nostrils were dying for some fresh air. He takes it all in. Listening to the calm sound of the waves crashing against the cliff.

He probably shouldn’t stand there in just a shirt at this time of the year but it feels good. He feels alive and free.

“Dean.” Cas calls, his voice filled with worry.

“Over here.” Dean shouts and it scares the seagulls eating around the lighthouse. Cas rushes towards the entrance of the lighthouse where Dean is.

“Dean, what are you doing here?” Cas is still a little breathless, as if he ran fast to arrive here next to Dean on the platform circling around the building.

“I’m just getting some fresh air.” Dean explains, letting the sun shine on his face again.

“But your ankle.” Cas worries, looking at the sailor. He never saw him in the light coming from the sun. His freckles stand out even more. The ankle is already forgotten.

“It’s fine. It doesn’t hurt much anymore when I walk.” Dean opens one eye to glance at Cas standing by his side.

“What?” Cas frowns.

“My ankle, it almost doesn’t hurt anymore.” Dean is the one frowning now as he turns to face Cas and properly look at him. Cas’s blue eyes are almost as bright and piercing through Dean as the sunlight.

“Right. Good. But you should still be resting.” Cas answers, mesmerized by how green Dean’s eyes are, compared to them the grass surrounding the lighthouse seems bland.

“No, man, otherwise I’ll go crazy. You know what?” And judging by how Cas tilts his head to the side he probably doesn’t. So, Dean adds, “you should give me a tour of the lighthouse.” He waves towards the building.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea.” Cas gives his opinion.

“This is a great idea! I always wondered how a lighthouse works.” Dean confesses, he knows by now that Cas can’t resist to talk about this subject. He already knows a lot of things from spending the past few days here with him. He knows how Cas has to wind the weights to maintain the rotary movement of the whole mechanism up there, like it's done for a clock. How sometimes he’s got to do several windings a night. How he should grease the gears often and check that no components are damaged or jammed. How his whole life is rhythmed by his job. How lonely it must be and how it must feel like being held captive. But when Cas talks about it, it doesn’t seem like it. Dean has seen his face when he does and it seems like he feels like having a mission. It’s his duty and he’s happy to do it. Almost like it’s given him purpose in life.

So, Dean wants to see it for real, with his own two eyes. He rushes as much as possible with his ankle and his cane to the stairs leading on the first floor. Cas follows him resignedly.

Dean scans the room as he climbs up the last stairs. He’s disappointed to see how empty it looks. The only things he see are containers that Cas must have put here and a door just in front of him.

It’s like it’s calling for him, so he opens it. The room here is completely different. Less empty. Cozier. Warmer. More personal. It looks like the second part of Cas’s living quarters here.

There’s a sailboat hung on the wall, just to the left of the door, in front of the stairs leading up. The room seems divided in several parts. First, there’s that little desk where an oil lamp rests near a book. Then, Dean’s eyes fall on an easel where a half-painted canvas lies. It looks like the sea or the sky based on the blue covering most of it.

“You paint.” Dean doesn’t ask, he just notices. He can’t believe Cas never mentioned it between two stories about the lighthouse history.

“I do, but it’s not done yet. I haven’t got the time to paint since you’re here.” Cas explains, walking past him to stand in front of the draft of a painting, hiding it with his body.

“So, you’re saying this is my fault.” Dean jokes, but like the last time, Cas doesn’t seem to get it.

“Oh no. No, no, no. This is not what I’m saying.” Cas defends.

“Relax. I know. I was joking.” Dean chuckles, then he points at the last part of the room, a bit hidden behind the stairs. He can clearly see the comfortable chair from where he’s standing and Cas’s probably finished paintings. “Maybe you can show me those then.”

"No!" Cas shouts a little too loud. "No," he adds more softly, "I'm not comfortable enough about my skills to show you." Cas lies, but hopefully Dean will not perceive it.

"I'm sure it's not true but – alright." Dean doesn't insist if Cas doesn't want to show him now, maybe another day.

He wonders, looking down, as he climbs the next stairs going up, if Cas came here multiple times to escape Dean. Has he been annoying enough for Cas to want to fly away? There’s not much option to go anywhere else here, maybe this is Cas making other living quarters for himself to be away from him when Cas is sick of seeing him.

Stumbling on another container is what gets him out of his thoughts. “Damn it!” He shouts, because he hurts his ankle in the process.

“Sorry, Dean.” Cas apologizes, his hand resting on Dean’s shoulder as he goes around him and lifts the tank like it weights nothing to put it out of the way. Dean should be the one apologizing, he wasn’t paying attention, because he was too focused on the old shelf against the wall at his left.

There’s old books there. A Bible, obviously. Also binoculars and old stuff that were probably here before Cas. There’s another desk here but bigger. Different from the previous one.

Dean approaches it carefully, placing his hand on the wooden furniture.

“It’s where I write down everything that happened during the day. The weather. When I stopped and started the fire.” Cas explains, opening it on his report from the previous day.

“This is your logbook.” Dean touches it, his fingers running on the pages. “Did you write something about the storm?” Dean’s curiosity is picked.

“Yes, I did.” Cas finds the right page to show him and points at it. “I said that I found a wounded man and some wreckage.” Cas declares and Dean doesn’t know why but he’s kind of feeling disappointed. He doesn’t know what he expected exactly to find in this. It’s not like Cas needed to write any detail about his rescue, he told him most of it anyway. It just feels like it was just another unremarkable event in Cas’s life, while it wasn’t for him. He wrote more on the journal Cas gave him.

To see the third floor there’s no stairs this time, it’s just a ladder. Dean puts the cane against another furniture and gets ready to climb.

“Dean, you shouldn’t use your ankle already.” Cas observes. He knows this is not supposed to be healed completely yet, based on the color it had last time he saw it and on the way Dean walks around.

“It’s fine.” Dean lies. He winces when he puts all his weight on the wrong foot to climb up. But he takes a deep breath before Cas notices anything and reaches the last floor without falling.

Cas rolls his eyes but follows him anyway. He knows by now that it’s not easy to reason Dean, especially when it comes to his well-being.

Dean finally discovers for the first time what Cas has been talking about. The whole machinery behind that light piercing through every night. Cas tells him how it works and Dean notices there’s other containers here.

“What’s in those? They’re everywhere.” Dean wonders, pointing at one of the containers.

“There’s oil in it. I fill this tank here with it to be able to start the fire at dusk.” He explains, putting his hand on the said tank. “One container is enough oil for 2 nights during winter. I have to carry them from the storage room up to here. I try doing it regularly.” Dean understands better why they are everywhere, Cas probably doesn’t carry them all up in one time. It must be too heavy and exhausting.  

He doesn’t answer him, because suddenly something else catches his eye.

He can’t look away. The immensity of the ocean where water and sky merge catches his whole attention.

“Wow.” Dean breaths out.

“I know. I never get tired of it.” Cas answers, knowing what he’s reacting to.

“I’ve never got the chance to see it like that.” Dean confesses, approaching slowly one of the windows. He’s careful not to touch anything he shouldn’t and Cas notices and appreciates it.

“What?” Cas wonders, looking where Dean’s eyes are looking.

“The sea. I’ve never got to see it all.” Dean’s eyes can’t move away.

“It’s not all of it.” Cas watches the view, standing near Dean’s side.

“No, I know. It’s just – it’s – beautiful.” Just looking at it, Dean feels free. He gets that feeling he has when he’s on the boat sailing on the little waves. But a thousand times more intense.

“It is.” Cas agrees, glancing at Dean.

They stay there for what seems like an eternity, until Dean comes back to himself and realizes Cas is standing beside him.

They end their tour in the underground storage room, the last one Dean hasn’t seen yet. It’s definitely darker than the last one. Dean’s eyes take some time to adjust, then Cas lights up an oil lamp.

“There’s not much to see here.” Cas says, following Dean with the lamp while he wanders in the room. Dean thinks he’s wrong, there’s a lot of things here. It’s the most filled room so far. There’s obviously other oil containers, but not only. This is where the supplies are stored. Food, water, tools, and many other things.

Cas doesn’t want to repeat himself but Dean should rest and not walk that much with his recovering ankle. But Dean cuts him before he gets the chance.

“There’s definitely interesting things here. Like fishing rods.” Dean grabs one and studies it. It seems in perfectly good condition. Cas didn’t use them at all according to what he said a few days ago about not knowing how to use one, so it makes sense. “Let’s take those upstairs. It’ll be useful for tomorrow when I’ll teach you how to fish with it.” Dean is excited about it. He’ll finally be able to do something else during his day.

Cas doesn’t have time to stop him before Dean is already climbing up the stairs with the fishing rods, forgetting his cane in the process.

He’s fast for someone with a sore ankle, Cas thinks. He doesn’t say anything, it’s too late Dean isn’t on the same floor already. Instead he takes the cane before turning off the light and walking up the stairs.

He supposes they’ll fish tomorrow if the weather allows it.

Chapter Text

Dean has never been as much excited about something in days. He’s finally going to do something else than resting or cooking. Even if he likes cooking he wants to do something more useful than resting all day.

It’s something he is not used to. On Bobby’s boat, there’s always some work to do. Before he became a sailor he had to take care of Sam and do everything around the house, like fix things, cook too and find money to make sure he had something to cook for his little brother.

Sitting all day and doing nothing, being alone with his thoughts, is not for him.

That’s why as soon as Cas is back from his morning routine, Dean offers to go fishing. The sun is shining. The fire is turned off and there are enough oil containers upstairs for the next nights. Cas can take a break, because Dean will help him after fishing, though Cas doesn’t know that yet.

“Dean, I don’t have much time. I’ve got work to do.” Cas explains to the man standing in front of him with a fishing rod in each hand.

“No, I know. But it’ll be quick. The rowboat is already on the beach waiting for us and here’s your fishing rod.” Dean hands it to him and Cas instinctively takes it. How could he refuse when he's never seen Dean so happy since that storm brought him here?

“Are you even sure the boat is able to float?” Cas asks, following Dean outside and downstairs towards the beach.

“We’ll figure it out soon. Let the sailor take care of this.” Dean turns around looking at Cas with a bright smile. He’s walking so fast for someone whose ankle just recovered from an injury. Or it’s that smile that took Cas’s speed away.

“Dean.” Cas doesn’t know why he calls his name. Maybe to tell him to wait for him or go slower for his ankle or just to see that smile again.

“Come on, Cas. Jump in.” Dean offers, throwing the fishing rods into the rowboat, ready to push it in the water.

There’s nothing like fishing in the early morning. The sun is a comforting sensation against the cold wind. The little waves make the boat rock from a side to another at a steady rhythm. A feeling Dean had lost and missed these past few days. He feels in his element again. Especially with the fishing part.

He’s missed the smell of the sea too.

“So, let me show you.” Dean grabs his fishing rod and begins his demonstration, while the boat is casually floating and drifting. “You need to make sure the reel is attached to the rod.” Dean points at the reel to let Cas know which part he’s talking about. “Then check your line is thread through the rod guides.” Cas studies his with a puzzled gaze. “The small rings.” Dean specifies and sees how it all clicks in Cas’s mind. “Now you should tie a weight about 6 inches above the hook. It’ll help it go under water, it’s a sinker.” Dean explains as he opens the little metallic box on the floor of the rowboat, next to his feet.

He takes two sinkers and gives one to Cas. He ties his quickly while Cas is still trying to figure it out. Too lost in watching Dean’s hands carefully and methodically working on the rod like it’s something easy and natural.

It’s not. Not for Cas.

“Dean.” He calls for help. The sinker in one hand and the fishing rod in the other. Dean rolls his eyes but moves closer next to him, causing the boat to tilt to one side and some water to jump in as a small wave hits them. He puts down his own rod and takes Cas’s.

“You have to put the sinker 6 inches above the hook. Right there.” Dean places the hook on the wood bench Cas is sitting on, right next to him. “Now place the split sinker onto the line.” Dean points at the right spot. “Put the line in the slit.” Cas does as told. His fingers unintentionally brushing Dean’s hand in the process.

He notices and struggles to focus.

“I prefer fishing on the ground at low tide.” Cas complains. It’s easier to just bend down and pick up shellfish or crabs. They haven’t even tried to fish yet and it feels like it’s almost noon.

“It would have been easier if the fishing rod were already prepared. Next time will be faster.” Dean observes, pushing Cas’s hands away to do it himself. He uses pliers from the metallic box to gently pinch the sinker and close it around the line, making sure it’s secured and that the line isn’t pinched too tightly. Cas can hear Dean’s annoyance in his voice. He feels instantly bad about it. He didn’t want to ruin this for Dean, who offered kindly to teach him how to fish. “There. Some corn to put on the hook.” Dean hands him the bait without looking at him.

“Thanks, Dean.” Cas replies. He silently watches how Dean puts it on the hook and imitates him. Without a word he sinks his line in the water like Dean does. The sailor sat back on his own bench, as far away from him as possible. “Sorry, Dean.”

“You’re not supposed to talk. You’ll scare the fish.” Dean mumbles.

Cas frowns at him, he doesn’t know if it’s true or if Dean is mad and doesn’t want to talk to him. He just sits there, quiet, waiting for a fish to bite.

There are seagulls flying above them as if preparing to swoop down on them as soon as they pull a fish out of the water to steal their meal.

Cas is not sure if he likes fishing that way. It’s boring. He has other things he could do right now. He doesn’t understand why Dean was so excited about it. They can’t even talk. They just have to stay quiet there and sit side by side, with the sea rocking them from side to side, the winter wind freezing their bones and the fish probably mocking them from down there, just like the seagulls seem to be doing above their heads.

When Cas was about to give up and ask for Dean to bring them back to the shore, he feels some vibrations along his rod. Like something is pulling at it.

“Dean.” He whispers, waving with his head towards the end of his line. Dean understands instantly.

“Alright, you just need to give a quick, firm tug on the rod to hook the fish in the mouth, okay?” Dean explains quietly. Cas nods, grips the fishing rod firmly and applies Dean’s advice.

Dean’s smile comes back. His eyes seem to shine, or maybe it’s just the sun reflecting in the sea and then in them.

“Okay, careful, don’t pull too hard. You don’t want to break the line. Now’s not the time.” Dean chuckles, coming closer to Cas, kneeling next to him. “Use the reel to slowly bring the fish up. Keep the rod angled upward.” Dean carefully places his hand under the rod, not so far from Cas’s to make sure it stays up.

He shouldn’t do that. His proximity, his heat and excitement are radiating from him and invading Cas’s surroundings, which makes it more difficult for him to focus on the task.

He can’t lose that fish. He can’t stand seeing again the disappointed face Dean made when he said he preferred fishing at low tide. He can’t be the reason for it.

So, he focuses back and listens carefully to every word Dean says. “If the fish plays hard to get, let it tire itself out before reeling again.” Cas notices how Dean would like to take charges but also how much he wants Cas to experience it for the first time. “Here it is.” Dean finally talks normally, Cas only realizes. This whole time he was whispering to his ear. Cas brings the fish up to the surface and lifts the rod to put it in the boat.

The fish is moving in every angles, slipping on the wooden floor of the rowboat, still fighting for its life.

The seagulls dangerously fly closer to them, but Cas isn’t bothering to look at them, too hypnotized by the joy on Dean’s face. “Well done, Cas! That’s a big fish for a first time.” Dean congratulates him with a few slaps on his shoulders and chest. He can’t help but mirror his smile. Though it doesn’t come up as wide as his. Now he understands why Dean enjoys fishing. It’s worth the wait.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, Dean.” Cas’s shy smile is still sticking to his face.

“No, come on. You did all the hard work. Now, let’s get back to the real work. I know what to cook for later.” Dean grabs the train sets and rows towards the beach.

“The real work?” Cas wonders, looking at Dean with a frown.

“Yes. That was the deal, remember?” But based on Cas’s gaze he doesn’t, or acts like it. “I taught you how to fish. And it was a success.” He points at the now dead fish at their feet. “Now you’ll teach me how to work around the lighthouse.”

“No, Dean. This is not your job.” Cas defends.

“I know. But I want to help. I can’t keep doing nothing.” Dean confesses. He sounds like he’s asking for a favor, while it’s more like he’s doing one, Cas thinks. But he doesn’t want to risk to disappoint him again.

“Fine.” He accepts.

And he does as promised. He shows him how everything works around the lighthouse, especially the fire. The most important part. The heart of the lighthouse. Everything else revolves around it. Every other task is a way to make sure the light would be able to guide the sailors out in the sea through the darkest nights.

Dean, as a sailor himself, understands how high the stakes are. He doesn’t want to mess that up. So, he listens carefully to every instruction Cas gives him. He applies them and works methodically. He imitates Cas perfectly and the lighthouse keeper notices.

Cas has trusted him from the start, but now that he has seen him work. He blindly does. If something happens to him, he knows his work will be done, and with care. 

Dean starts helping him on his different missions of the day. After a few days, they get into a little routine. They work together so it goes faster. It gets half the time Cas usually needs to bring up those oil containers. Cas appreciates the help and Dean’s company. It’s better to work with someone else. When he’s tired he knows Dean is there and happy to help him.

Once they have finished with the work of the day, they usually settle and relax in the room above the living quarters. Dean is happy to finally change rooms often. It’s better than his first few days here.

When the fire is on, after dinner, Cas often reads at the table near his easel with the unfinished painting. Dean never saw Cas paint. Never saw Cas paint. On the armchair across the room, Dean writes in his journal about his day, what he did in the lighthouse with Cas, about their fishing session together when the weather allows it, and how he is getting used to this pace of life.

“Why did you become a lighthouse keeper, Cas?” Dean asks, out of the blue. This question was on the tip of his tongue for a while now.

Cas slowly puts the open book down on the table in front of him.

“I – I didn’t really had attachments. And I enjoy being alone.” Cas answers. And Dean doesn’t know how to take that last part. He remembers Cas insisting for him to stay while he was still recovering. But quickly he thinks, maybe he’s annoying. Maybe now Cas wants him to leave. Maybe Cas is sick of having him around every hour of every day.

“Okay. Huh – sorry. I should leave you alone.” Dean closes his journal and is ready to stand up before Cas reacts.

“No. Stay. This is not what I meant. I – no one is missing me and I’m missing no one. That’s all.” Cas is closing his eyes, head up towards the ceiling. Dean studies him and wonders why nobody’s missing him. “Why did you become a sailor?” Cas changes the subject, glancing at him but still trying to avoid eye contact.

“My father’s a sailor. After my mom died, he trained us, my brother and I, to become sailors too.” Dean confesses. It was never a choice and Cas understands it that way. Dean never chose this life, but it’s what he’s always known. “How? How do you do it?” Dean starts. Reminded of his sailor life, it strikes him how different it is compared to his daily routine of the past few days. “Staying alone all day, for months?” Dean also had this question in his mind for a certain amount of time. That’s something he can’t wrap his mind around. Now felt like the right time to ask about it.

“I’m used to it. I stay busy.” Cas replies, looking down at the book in front of him after gazing at the easel between them.

I’m better off alone, he could have added. But he’s not sure that’s true anymore. Not with the past few days and Dean’s constant presence. Plus, he doesn’t want Dean to think again that he’s not welcome here.

Dean’s eyes stay focused on him, watching him resume his reading. They travel into the room. That’s part of his writing. Sometimes not only his eyes but his mind too drifts away.

He wonders how Cas’s paintings could look like as his gaze ends up on the easel, standing there alone in the middle of the room bathed in the yellow light created by the oil lamps. Then it shifts to the paintings next to him. They are carefully stored.

He notices different shades of blue on one of them, and it picks his curiosity. He only needs to pull one of the blank canvas to properly see it.

His hand does the job by itself, revealing the painting behind. The different blue tones represent the sky and sea. And there’s also a boat.

It’s the boat he works on. Bobby’s boat. A man is drawn on the deck. He’s working and wearing a sailor uniform.

Shit! It’s him. It can’t be, right?

It’s not his face but – but those are his legs. His bowlegs. How?

Dean is confused, his brows are frowned. He pulls at that troubling painting to look at the one behind it.

Blue.

Boat.

Sailor.

Bowlegs again.

“What the Hell!” It slips out of his mouth, drawing Cas’s attention.

Chapter Text

Cas’s eyes instantly end up on the sneaking hand of the sailor. What the Hell indeed. Cas knows what Dean saw. Something he wasn’t supposed to. Something private. Something Cas wasn’t ready to share yet. Something that someone who never draw couldn’t understand.

It was just for practice. Dean only happened to be the most recognizable man on that boat. The one he started painting the first time, when he decided he wanted to practice painting humans. It’s not like there’s much human around here. It’s not his fault his eyes landed on him the first time he used those binoculars to find someone to paint.

He remembers the first time he saw him. It was last summer, Dean, who he didn’t know the name at the time, was wearing the usual sailor uniform in blue as deep as the sea. He was standing there on the deck of the sailboat, taking a big rope between his hands to pull at it with all his strength. Cas couldn’t see his face due to the distance but he saw how his legs were when he was just waiting and standing.

They formed two bows aiming in opposite directions, as if he spent too much time riding a horse. It surprised Cas and he kept watching him until he started working on his task to unfold one of the sails. Even after that he kept watching, he needed to make sure to see and understand how his whole body moves to draw and paint him as perfect as possible considering the distance and his skills in drawing people at the time. He watched him until he disappeared inside. Then he started drawing, just for practice.

At least this is what Cas repeated himself when he started drawing him the second time. Just for practice. Nothing particular about that man. Nothing hypnotizing. Nothing appealing. Nothing calling for Cas. He couldn’t see his face after all. Just those recognizable legs. Just for practice.

“Cas! What the fuck is that?!!!” Dean stands up and points at the paintings next to him. The journal Cas gave him, closed on the armrest of the armchair behind him.

“Dean, I can explain.” Cas moves his hands up in front of him, trying to calm Dean down.

It doesn’t work. The sailor is angry for sure, judging by the way he is frowning and how it makes a vein on his forehead pop out. But there’s something else in his eyes. Fear. And Cas is shocked to see it. He never thought Dean would look at him like that one day. It hurts him somehow.

“Did you messed up the light that night?” Dean lets out, eyes piercing through Cas like a harpoon through the thick skin of a whale, but not killing it in one shot. Cas feels like the whale, hurt and wounded, betrayed by the humans it has dared to approach.

“What are you talking about?” Cas gets up too, meeting Dean’s eyes, to make sure he heard well. Because he must have hallucinated it. There’s no way Dean truly believes that. They don’t know each other for a long time, but he should know that Cas would never hurt him. After all, he did everything he could to save his life. He gave him care, shelter and his own bed. He prayed for him.

“Did you do it on purpose? Did you messed up the light to make the boat crash on your damned little island in the middle of nowhere?” Dean accuses, his gaze darker than usual.

 “Dean, how –“ How could he think that? How could he think that Cas would risk sailors’ life like it’s nothing? He, who gets up every morning and every night to make sure they can travel well. He remembers how that night was dangerous. There’s nothing more he could have done. He barely slept just to keep the light on. He only wishes he could have done more. How could he think that Cas would risk his life like that?

Now, hearing those words. From Dean.

He can’t believe it.

This accusation wakes up that pain he swore he never wanted to feel again. And he hates Dean for making him feel just a glimpse of it.

There’s no way he’s going to deny it, because Dean shouldn’t even think that it could be the reason he ended up on that beach. And this accusation is ridiculous. How could messing up the light would make Dean’s boat crash at the foot of his lighthouse? There’s thousand other directions in which it could have drifted. Cas wouldn’t be able to predict that. He wouldn’t even think just a second about doing something like that. He feels anger growing inside him too.

“Don’t bother. I’m out of here.” Dean simply says, voice still angry, and climbs down the stairs in a rush.

“Dean. Where are you going?” Cas looks at him leaving the room before deciding to follow him.

He’s going outside. There’s no way he’s going to leave, no. Cas can’t let him. It’s dark outside and there’s a storm coming, based on his observations earlier when he ignited the flame.

Dean is freaking out. What does Cas want from him?

He should leave and fast. Lucky him, the rowboat is secured on the beach from their last fishing session which occurred no later than this morning. When everything was still normal between them. When Dean was still oblivious about Cas’s weird obsession with him. When Cas was still this honest, trusting and caring man, Dean thought he knew.

Why did he do that? Why did he draw and paint him multiple times? He wasn’t the only one on that boat after all. Dean didn’t let him the time to explain because he’s afraid of what his answer might be.

No time to think about that. He unties the rowboat and gets ready to throw himself in the sea with it. He pushes it towards the water with all his strength. He didn’t even get his belongings, not that he has much of those. But he realizes how freezing it is outside when the wind blows in his face. “Dean!” Cas screams, running towards his direction. “You can’t leave.”

“Why? Because you’re keeping me hostage?” Dean accuses again. Throwing that harpoon again to finish the whale.

“No!” Cas throws, offended. “There’s a storm coming.” He points at the sky in the direction of the South. He knows Dean, as a sailor, should be able to recognize that kind of clouds as bad news. “If you leave right now, you’ll die.” His voice shakes as he speaks the truth Dean already knows. “Please.” He whispers, almost muffled by the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks surrounding the beach. He is angry at Dean now, but he can’t let him risk his life like that anyway.

It works. Dean stops in his tracks.

Cas is shaking, from the cold or something else, he’s not sure which. His heart beating fast in his chest from running, probably.

He watches the sailor stand up, showing his back as he faces the sea.

“Leave me alone.” Dean speaks quietly but curtly to the salty water. Cas doesn’t insist, he’s almost hundred percent sure Dean isn’t going to leave tonight. He walks back towards the lighthouse, but he doesn’t go upstairs to finish the book he let open on the table on the first floor.

He doesn’t feel like reading right now. Instead he walks straight to his bed, the spare one. He’s still leaving the comfortable one to Dean. It’s been like that since he’s arrived here and now doesn’t feel like the right time to reclaim it.

He won’t sleep well tonight anyway. He’ll have to watch the flame like every night, but even more often when a storm arrives. He doesn’t want to risk to be accused of messing it up on purpose, again.

He lies down and closes his eyes. The only thing he wants to see right now is the darkness. Leave me alone, he recalls.

His mind shows him images of Dean alone and scared on the beach. Lost to the elements. Just because he doesn’t want to face Cas. He’s so stubborn sometimes. Cas appreciated that at first, but right now not so much. He rolls over and settles on his left side, facing the wall.

His heart clenches in his chest at the thought of Dean’s accusation. How could he think that?

Instantly he’s up and leaving the room. Making sure to leave Dean alone, as he asked for, and aiming for the very top of the lighthouse. He’ll spent the night here, that’s settled.

Dean is still looking at the sea in front of him. He hasn’t moved yet. He is thinking about his options while he knows he doesn’t have many. Either he throws himself into the sea and let fate decide what it’ll do with him, or he stays here.

He looks at the dark clouds approaching and at the even darker sea far away. Then, his eyes switch to the lighthouse, where the light is shining brightly at the very top, illuminating the threatening clouds in the distance and the surroundings of the building.

The sound of bigger waves crashing against the rocks around him and the freshness of the water reaching his feet bring him back from the deep corner of his brain he was in. He doesn’t know what was in that corner exactly. But what he knows is that a storm is coming.

He should get back to safety before it’s too late. He takes the rowboat with him to store it inside.

When Dean comes back to the living quarters, he walks in with a node in his stomach. It’s still there, even though he realizes Cas isn’t in this room.

He breathes in and out, but doesn’t know what to do with himself. His gaze scans the empty room, looking for something. Anything.

This past few days have been a lie. Cas knew him before he arrived here. He feels sick. Lost. Betrayed. Angry because this is almost always how his feelings turn out. He walks back and forth across the room, like a lion in a cage. He’s stuck here with a liar and it makes him angrier.

He punches the wall.

He hisses at the pain, but it makes him feel better somehow, even though blood is dripping from his knuckles. He cleans it quickly and lays in his bed with a cloth barely wrapped around his injured hand.

He closes his eyes. He didn’t think it would be this fast, but the anger must have exhausted him. The pain in his hand probably helps him focus on it. He feels like he’s drifting away, sleep gaining his body.

Suddenly, he hears something outside. His eyes open widely when he realizes this is the heavy rain pouring down on the lighthouse. Soon followed by the sound of probably huge waves crashing against the building and the cliff, he can’t close his eyes again. He looks up at the ceiling, eyes wide open.

Cas is probably up there watching after the flame, leaving him all alone here with his own thoughts and fears from the previous storm he survived to. Dean wishes Cas was there with him, even though they wouldn’t talk and Dean wouldn’t admit he’s scared, because he’s still angry at Cas for hiding things from him. But just knowing he would be next to him would help a bit, but he’s not. Because he’s a liar, who has probably a weird obsession with Dean and he is not someone who can be trusted.

So, instead, Dean hides under the covers. Only half his head out, injured hand resting on his stomach, and ends up falling asleep only when the storm is gone.

Chapter Text

This was an awful night. The noises of the storm kept interfering with Dean’s dreams, bringing back memories from the previous one and mixing with what happened with Cas. It produced an awful nightmare where he was trying to not drown and survive in the sea during a storm while Cas wasn’t helping him, instead he was painting him struggling.

The thing is that the little rest he had wasn’t really restful.

Every time he woke up, his hand hurt, and he felt anger rising again. As he did the first few days he was here, he felt stuck. Imprisoned even, with no way to escape this new life.

The grey outdoor light entering the room by the small windows and the acceptance of not being able to sleep leads him to sit up on the side of the bed. He realizes that Cas never came back down to sleep here. He must have stayed with his weird paintings up there, Dean thinks.

He undoes the poorly wrapped cloth around his hand to look at it. He winces when he tries to close his fist. The dry blood on his joints pulls at the skin there with the movement. He should clean it.

///////

Cas had a restless night. He kept watching after the flame, to make sure it didn’t switch off. To make sure it lightened as far away as possible. To make sure not to mess it up. He barely slept, except for the few times he drifted away involuntarily.

The night was long and the storm, up there on the last floor, was probably even more fierce. But he knew Dean was safe inside, he wasn’t on the beach anymore and the rowboat was gone too. That or he left. Either way Cas couldn’t do anything for him.

He probably would have seen him sailing away up there. He checked everywhere as soon as he was at the top of the lighthouse. Dean didn’t leave. He’s 99% sure. He kept reassuring himself the whole night about that.

He’s got to climb down those stairs now that the sun is up. Not much sun but it’s daylight at least, so he doesn’t need to watch the flame anymore. It turns it off.

He needs to pray. After what happened yesterday and all the thinking he did last night, he needs to face that cross on his knees and pray. He needs God’s guidance on how to deal with this new situation with Dean. Or if he left, he needs God to look after the sailor alone at sea. And that’s the reason why he’s got to go back to his living quarters, this had nothing to do with the need to reach those 100% of certainty that Dean is safe. Nothing.

He walks down the stairs convincing himself of that and when he reaches the door, he stops. If Dean is here, he wonders why he's about to do this to himself. He should turn around and avoid confrontation. He shouldn’t take that risk to be hurt again. If Dean is gone, he also wonders why he’s about to do this to himself. Why he’s about to make himself face that reality.

But he frowns and grabs the handle when he realizes that it’s his home after all. Either Dean is there or not, he can enter this room. He can do whatever he wants to. He can – he opens the door.

Dean is there. 100%. Cas unconsciously sighs from relief. Dean is sitting on his bed, still wearing the clothes from last night and not paying attention to Cas while he is fidgeting with a cloth in his hands.

Cas’s eyes are drawn to it instantly, also because he is avoiding any eye contact. His legs lead him to Dean as soon as he realizes there’s blood on it.

He stands in front of him and silently asks to be allowed to help him with his own hands stretching out in front of him for Dean to give him the cloth.

The night must have eased Dean because he lets him. After a few seconds of hesitation, he lays the cloth in Cas’s hands without looking at him. Unhappy to capitulate and accept the help. Cas takes this as a victory, because he remembers how much Dean didn’t want his help when he arrived here. His mouth quirks up a little at a corner, but he doesn’t say anything.

They don’t say a word. No need to. They already know what they think. Things have been said. Awful things which don’t need to be repeated. They are still echoing in Cas’s mind, and Dean can still see those paintings when he closes his eyes. It’s too soon to be talking again. Too soon to look at each other without remembering what happened. It still hurts, just like a burn when it gets too close to a heat source not long after being burned.

Cas finds some water and washes the blood from Dean’s hand. He doesn’t ask what happened, he guessed it, and he knows that he is responsible for it. He feels guilty about it. Something to pray about after that because that’s why he came after all.

They both look down at what Cas does to Dean’s hand. His own serves as a support for Dean’s, palm against palm, and he rubs the wet cloth on Dean’s injuries with the other. He feels it when it hurts, because Dean’s hand reacts to the pain. So, he stops. And then he’s even more careful and tender. He doesn’t think too much about how much he missed it. Taking care of Dean. Dean letting him do it. Touching Dean.

He dries the wounds with another part of the cloth and finds a new one, clean enough to wrap it perfectly around Dean’s hand.

When he’s done, they don’t say a word. Cas stays there and Dean doesn’t leave.

Cas gets on his knees beside the bed and starts praying because that’s why he came downstairs. Dean sees him and guesses that Cas is asking for forgiveness to God for those paintings while he should be asking for forgiveness to him instead. Because it’s Dean who Cas betrayed. It’s Dean whose trust has been broken. It’s Dean who has to live stuck here with someone who might have been responsible for his boat to crash and for maybe killing his crewmates, Sammy and Bobby too, just because of his weird obsession with him. But he doesn’t say anything. He decides to let him pray alone and start with the tasks around the lighthouse that Cas has taught him. Without a word he leaves the room.

Without a word, they keep sharing the same building. They still work together but on separate tasks. Dean still cooks them dinner but doesn’t eat with Cas, not at the same time or not in the same room. They only share the same space when they sleep. Otherwise they avoid each other, or when they cross paths they don’t look at each other. Cas fixes Dean’s shirt which he finds on the bed with a hole near the shoulder, but Dean doesn’t thank him. They don’t talk about it. About anything.

They don’t talk.

///////

Two days after the last word they spoke, Cas has to carry oil containers to the very top of the lighthouse. It’s been a while he hasn’t done it since Dean helped him before it all changed between them.

Maybe that’s why it feels harder today. Maybe he has lost the habit of carrying them. But it’s not only that. When he walks, his body feels two times heavier than usual, like he’s walking around transporting two oil containers on his back. He feels hot and cold at the same time. Goosebumps regularly forming across his skin. Maybe the shaking from two nights ago when he was outside trying to convince Dean to stay was because he was feeling cold after all. Maybe that’s why he’s not feeling well like that. Maybe that’s why it takes him more time to do every single one of his tasks today. Maybe that’s why he misses Dean so much.

In the meantime, Dean cleans the first floor. The one where his trust has been crushed and stepped on. He tries to ignore the paintings and not look at them, but he’s got to clean next to them too anyway. He wipes the floor too fast in this area, trying to finish this quicker, and it makes some of the paintings fall on one side, revealing a new one of him he hasn’t seen last time, before his anger took over. It’s different from the ones he saw.

It’s like a portrait, so it’s not really him because Cas couldn’t see his face from afar, maybe that’s why it’s easier to look at it. It must be him though, because the guy is wearing a sailor uniform very similar to his, except for small details. The legs are not visible to be 100% sure it’s him but it looks like him somehow. At least, it’s his hair color.

He studies the painting for a few seconds, the way the guy’s gaze is intense, dark somehow but also the way his face is surrounded by light. It’s beauti – it’s bad, he thinks and he’s going back to the anger he’s supposed to feel about those paintings. He puts it back where it belongs and hides it behind a painting representing the sea during a sunset. That one looks gorgeous. The colors seemed to have been chose carefully. Dean has seen multiple sunsets as a sailor and Cas was able to capture the beauty of the sea when it happens. Cas is really good at this, he realizes.

Then, Dean searches for the broom he must have put somewhere around him, when his eyes suddenly end up on his journal. The one he left there that night, two days ago. He takes it and realizes he stopped in the middle of a sentence.

He forgot about it, but he’s glad to have found it again. He puts it back there on the armrest of the armchair. At least now, he remembers it’s here.

At this time of the day, Cas must be preparing everything to start the flame for tonight. So, Dean knows the living quarters are clear for him to cook dinner and eat alone. He stores the broom in the storage room, underground, and climbs up the stairs.

When he opens the door, he’s not alone. Cas is there, sitting on the floor, which isn’t normal. He looks pale.

“Cas?” This is the first word spoken between them in two days and it sounds shaky. Of course, this has nothing to do with Dean’s worry about finding Cas sitting on the ground, skin as white as snow, it’s totally because recently his voice hasn’t been used at all.

Cas doesn’t care if it’s shaky or not, nor why. What matters is that Dean is here, finally has spoken to him and said his name.

Dean rushes towards him. His hand gently slapping his cheek to make him react.

The lighthouse keeper is burning hot. Dean’s hand moves to his forehead and it’s even warmer. No wonder he looks pale. “Come on!” Dean says as he stands up. He extends a hand towards Cas to help him get up. But he sees how weak he is when he places his hand in Dean’s without being able to add tension to his arm and lift himself up.

Dean acts quick and places his hands under Cas’s armpits and lifts him up. Carrying those oil containers since he’s started helping Cas around the lighthouse must have done something to his body because he doesn’t really struggle to handle Cas and put him in the comfortable bed. Right, it’s only a few inches away but Cas is heavy and not helping at all. He wonders how he ended up here without hurting himself. “You should have told me you weren’t feeling well. I could have done all the work.” Dean declares as he makes him comfortable. He arranges the pillow under his head and covers him up with a blanket, because he’s shaking.  

Then he grabs a cloth which he deeps in some cold water, and places carefully the wet cloth on Cas’s forehead.

“Dean.” He calls quietly, feeling the cold on his forehead.

Cas’s eyes are already half-closed and he’s probably dreaming or hallucinating due to the fever because he hears Dean saying things he has never heard before. “Lord, please. Make sure he wakes up. I can’t – he can’t die, okay? Not now. Not after what happened.”  Dean prays. Cas smiles, at least he thinks he is, while he feels Dean’s presence next to him before it all turns black.

Chapter Text

Cas settled in the comfortable bed. Wet cloth placed on the forehead. Dean has some work to do.

That fire isn’t going to light itself. Someone has to take care of it and it’s not going to be Cas. It’s got to be Dean. As he climbs up the stairs, the sailor repeats out loud the process Cas taught him. It’s not like he’s done it himself, Dean just watched him do it. He attentively did. He watched Cas’s hands carefully cleaning the lenses with all the gentleness in the world and how strong they firmly gripped the oil container to fill the tank. He watched the different steps closely, but he is still a bit nervous to mess something up.

“Make sure the Fresnal – Fresnil – whatever lenses are clean. Oil reservoir full. Wick trimmed, clean and in place. Clockwork system wound up. Light the flame. Activate the clockwork mechanism.” He repeats until he reaches the very top of the lighthouse. Where the magic happens.

He’s surprised how different it is at this hour of the day. The sunset is as beautiful as in Cas’s painting. The sea is bathed in that characteristic orange light with a hint of red and pink.

He should hurry and check everything that needs to be done.

Fortunately it’s all fine, Cas had done most of it. Dean is not surprised about it, but he has checked everything anyway considering the state of Cas when he found him. Now, Dean just has to light the flame.

He takes a long match but when a big flame suddenly bursts out in front of him he reflectively steps back, eyes wide open. As a reflex, he drops the match which fades out with the fall, leaving a wisp of black smoke in its path. Fear taking over. It didn’t happen when he has watched Cas do it. He doesn’t know why, but now an awful memory flashes in front of his eyes.

His old house. The one where Mary died. Something that haunt his nights sometimes, but more rarely his days. He comes back to himself. Cas counts on him. He’s the only one who can do this right now, so he does. He starts over and this time he expects the flame, he controls himself, his fear, and doesn’t step back. He turns on the light. The wide beam of light illuminating the distance.

Mission accomplished. Not without difficulties.

Now, he should get back to Cas to check on him. When he arrives in the living quarters, he approaches the bed, looking at the man lying here. Not so long ago it was him and the places were reversed. Cas was the one taking care of him. It feels like a long time ago. More recently, Cas also took care of his hand when he stupidly injured himself, two days ago. Fortunately it doesn’t hurt anymore, it’s just dry old wounds on his joints. Dean is glad he can return the favor and take care of Cas, not that he has wished for Cas to be sick.

When he touches the cloth, it’s warm already. He needs to do something. He needs to do more. He’s got some time before he has to go upstairs to check on the light and rewind the weights of the clockwork mechanism. He rummages through the kitchen cupboards and finds what he was searching for. A small bowl. Made of wood, he fills it with some cold water. He grabs a chair near the little table at the foot of the bed and sits near Cas’s face.

He removes the cloth from Cas’s forehead and dips it in the bowl filled with water. While he lets it soak in water, he realizes it wet some of Cas’s hair and one of his locks is sticking to his forehead. He can’t help but to take it between two fingers and remove it. The lock has other plans though, because it rebels against Dean and comes back to Cas’s forehead. Dean isn’t going to capitulate in front of a simple lock. He turns it around his index finger and pulls it away. He thinks he won this fight, but the lock comes back to its place when he’s not looking. This time he’s had enough, he dips his hand in the water in front of him and pushes it back with the rest of the hair. His fingers deep in Cas’s hair, which feels wet and soft between his fingers, his palm pressed on the lock. And he wins. The lock finally stays where he has decided.

He takes the wet cloth out of the water and wrings it above the bowl. He presses it against Cas’s forehead again. A drop travels to his temple and then disappears in his hair.

“The light is on.” Dean informs Cas. He doesn’t react. He seems asleep. The fever must be exhausting him. “I took care of it.” He chuckles once, quietly, at his own words. He took care of it like a scared little child, scared of a big flame. He almost messed it up.

He takes the wet cloth off Cas’s forehead and presses it against Cas’s left cheek. Just to cool it down. “I – I couldn’t.” He swallows. “It brought back some bad memories.” The ones about the day his mom died. It was a bright sunny day in summer. His father was away at sea. He and Sammy were playing at Bobby’s house with Jo, while Mary was alone in their house.

He smelled smoke first. He went to call for Ellen. He wasn’t older than 8 years old. Sam and Jo even younger. That smell didn’t come from her house. It wasn’t something she was cooking. As she came outside with him to investigate, he saw the way her eyes went suddenly wide. Also the horror on her face when she saw the smoke in the sky and where it came from. Dean turned around and started running. ‘Dean’, she cried at the time, running after him. Jo and Sam followed them. Their house was burning and Mary was nowhere to be found. ‘Mom, MOM!’ Dean had screamed.

Dean presses the wet cloth on Cas’s other cheek. “I can still smell that smoke sometimes.” His eyes are focused on his hand trying to cool down Cas. “The flames were so big. I couldn’t do anything.” He swallows back, trying to contain his tears. It works for now.

He tried to get inside, but Ellen stopped him just in time. He was ready to throw himself into the fire, just to try to save his mom. Ellen held him strong, but he was struggling to get free. ‘Mom!’ This one was muffled by tears. Sammy and Jo were standing behind Ellen, eyes filled with tears. Sam's sobs were so loud. Even louder than the crackling of the flames burning down their house and their mom with it. Dean can still hear his little brother’s sobs and those flames too.

He dips the cloth again in the water and moves it along Cas’s jaw and down on his throat. “I couldn’t save her. I don’t even know what happened. How that damn fire started. I –“ He doesn’t know why he keeps talking, maybe it’s because he didn’t for two days or because he needs this after those flashbacks. It keeps coming and coming out of his mouth. And out of his eyes too now, because he can’t contain his tears anymore. They run along his cheeks, drop and, with the way he’s bending over Cas, wet the blanket. The sound it creates when they fall on the fabric makes him aware of his position, so he straightens on his chair and wipes his tears with the fabric of his shirt on each shoulder.

He could feel the heat from where Ellen was holding him back. He could feel his tears being quickly dried on his cheeks. He could feel his heart breaking in his chest. He could feel his childhood ending. “She burned and died because – ‘cause of me.” He knew his dad would blame him if something happened. He would be mad at Dean for leaving Mary’s side to play with the neighbor girl instead of watching over his mom. And he was right. His dad did. As soon as he came back and never stopped blaming him since that awful day. Dean blames himself too.

He sniffles as he presses the wet cloth against Cas’s collarbones from left to right. “So, yeah, that flame upstairs brought back those bad memories, but huh – it’s on now. You can rest.” It’s not like Cas was waiting for Dean’s approval to do so, but somehow he sighs in his sleep. Dean doesn’t know if he can hear him or not but it feels good to let all of this out of his chest. He mentioned his mom before but never told Cas how she died and how he was a powerless witness and a bad son.

Dean wets the cloth again and places it back on Cas’s forehead. “You can’t die on me, okay!” He adds, quieter but as an order, before he stands up. “Gotta check everything is fine up there. I’ll come back.” He finishes, hoping for a reaction but there isn’t, so he leaves the room.

Everything seems in order, the light is still working and lightning far away in the sea, which looks once again different from earlier and during the day. It is darker and deeper, more threatening.

This is going to be a restless night again, but Dean is ready for it. He’s going to take care of both the lighthouse and the lighthouse keeper.

///////

When Dean wakes up, he’s sitting on the ground, back and head resting against Cas’s bed, a trail of dry saliva at the corner of his mouth. He wipes it with his tongue and the back of his hand. The white light from outside hurts his sleepy eyes. He needs to get up.

His body suffered from that night, and sleeping on the ground probably didn’t help, he feels it as he gets up. Cas is still asleep. He wets the cloth again. It’s probably the 40^th time he does that since last night. He places it back on Cas’s forehead. Cas seems to be less warm, but still has a fever, based on the way his cheeks are a bit pink under his long, black eyelashes.

Dean stops staring and worrying, and climbs up the three floors to turn off the light. Once it’s done the real outside light catches his attention. He approaches the windows and squints his eyes to see better. It’s snowing.

The ground at the foot of the lighthouse is covered with a white layer and the sky is full of more snow, judging by how white it looks. It turns the sea into a whitish grey. It all looks calm and quiet as Dean watches a snowflake falling from the third floor to the ground.

As Cas explained to him, he writes down everything he did last night and how the weather is. All of it in Cas’s logbook, before going back to the living quarters. He knows he’s got some work to do since Cas can’t do anything today, but he’s got to check on him first. Just like Cas did when Dean was at his place.

“Dean.” Cas whispers as soon as the sailor closes the door behind him. His voice sounds like his throat hurts.

“Hey, I’m here.” Dean answers softly, rushing near the bed. Dean smiles at him, then asks, “how are you feeling?”

“Not great.” Cas only replies and Dean frowns as he looks at him. He doesn’t know if he’s talking about his health or his anger towards Dean because he’s here. They haven’t talked about why they weren’t talking yet. Dean needs to know why Cas is not feeling great even if he fears his answer.

“You want to elaborate?” Dean encourages, relieved that Cas is finally awake at least. “Do you still feel warm? Does your head hurt? Or it’s something else?”

“I’m still warm yes, but less than yesterday I think.” Cas explains.

“You think?” Dean’s worry is kind of coming back anyway. Cas doesn’t seem to be talking about Dean’s presence at least and doesn’t seem mad at him either.

“My head doesn’t hurt that much. My body feels heavy though. Every movement feels like I’ve lifted all the containers of the lighthouse during the night, which I didn’t.” Cas describes seriously and it makes Dean chuckle.

“You didn’t lift a finger. You slept all night. You need more rest.” Dean suggests.

“I’m fine. The fever means my body is fighting back.” Cas knows this from his dad’s lessons. As he tries to get up, the wet cloth which has dried now falls from his forehead on the pillow.

“How would you know? You’re not a doctor.” Dean replies.

“No, but my father is. And he taught me a lot of things.” Cas confesses. He wanted to tell Dean a while back, when Dean told him how his dad taught him to fish, but he just forgot about it. Dean is surprised by this reveal, but it actually makes sense. That’s probably why Cas was able to save him. “Dean, I can take care of myself if you want to stay away from me.” He finally lets out. He seems embarrassed and doesn’t look Dean in the eye.

“No. Lie down, please.” Dean kind of orders and finally Cas looks at him, as he lies back down. “This is not what I want.” Now it’s Dean who looks away. “It was stupid not to talk for two days when we are the only ones living here.” Cas realizes Dean must have suffered loneliness because of him. Cas suffered of it too. “I’ve seen more.” Dean admits and Cas looks at him with a questioning gaze. “More of your paintings about me.” Dean clarifies.

“Dean, I’m sorry. This was for practice.” Cas explains and lies to Dean, he wanted to change from the landscape and try something else. Dean happened to be here the first time he wanted to paint a human, but the next times were different. Cas searched for him. Though he’s honest about the apology, he’s really sorry it made Dean feel uncomfortable.

“Why me?” Dean asks the question he was holding for a few days. “Why did you draw and paint me?”

“You have recognizable legs.” Cas says, it’s half the truth. Sure, that’s what caught his eyes at first but it only explains the first painting. Not the others. He painted him multiple times because there was something about that man he couldn’t quite catch.

As he is facing him, he realizes what was missing. His eyes. This green. The way wrinkles appear at the corners when he smiles, while he tenderly places the renewed wet cloth on Cas’s burning forehead. Esthetically speaking he’s a work of art but what was lacking in Cas’s paintings was Dean’s soul. It’s even more beautiful. The care he shows when he’s taking care of Cas. The attention to details with which he carries out the tasks in the lighthouse. The dedication with which he cooks for the both of them every day, even when he’s angry with Cas. The way he’s able to forgive Cas after feeling betrayed. All of this, that’s what is missing in those paintings.

Dean accepts Cas’s answer, though he’s not sure why he’s not really buying all of it. What would be the reason otherwise? At least now, he understands better why Cas looks at him like he’s trying to remember every proportion of his body, how it moves, how every part of it is important and like he’s trying to see his soul. It’s still disturbing but it kind of finally makes sense.

Chapter Text

Before Dean has a chance to insist on why Cas has painted him, Cas suddenly coughs. His throat hurt like hell and his head too now.

“Cas, are you alright?” Dean worries, his hand resting on Cas’s shoulder.

“I’m fine.” Cas lies. “But my head hurt. My whole body does.” Cas admits, closing his eyes because the dim light of the living room is already too much, bringing his hand to rub at his forehead like he’s trying to take some pain away. It doesn’t work.

“What can I do?” Dean wonders. He really wants to help, like Cas did when Dean was unable to move from that bed. “I can wet the cloth again, cook you something, tell you a story, I don’t know. Tell me.” Dean offers and Cas would smile if someone wasn't playing drums in his head. He can’t eat anything, but he’ll take the wet cloth again and he could use some distraction from the pain.

“The cloth and – and the story.” Cas answers, still holding his forehead.

“Yeah, okay.” So, Dean stands from the chair next to Cas and wets the cloth. What story though? He hasn’t thought it through. “A story, okay.” He presses the excess of water out of it and joins Cas’s side again. He carefully and quickly folds the cloth, like he’s done it a thousand times and places it on Cas’s forehead. “There.” Dean says.

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas closes his eyes at the contact. Cold and wet. Some water travel along his temples, but he doesn’t mind at all.

“Ain’t nothing.” Dean replies. Even if Cas can’t see him, he senses that Dean doesn’t know which story to tell.

“Tell me what you remember about the night before you arrived here.” Cas suggests. He truly wonders what circumstances led Dean here, with him. “Only if you’re willing to.” Cas specifies, while he adjusts the cloth on his forehead.

“Okay.” It’s all Dean answers. Cas can’t say he’s not surprised but he’s happy Dean wants to share this with him. He opens one eye and his mouth quirks up a bit to encourage him. It works, Dean smiles back and Cas is able to witness it. Dean takes a chair and sits next to the bed.

“Everyone was panicking on the boat. Bobby was screaming orders above the din of the storm coming. It was kinda already there. Big waves, rain and wind. The whole package.” Dean starts telling, he’s not looking at Cas, just at the wall in front of him.

“It must have been terrifying.” Cas realizes, as he opens an eye again to look at the sailor. Judging by the beginning, Dean seems good at telling stories. At least good enough to distract Cas from the pain in his head. He opens the second eye.

“It was not the worst. I mean it was like every other storm at first.” Dean remembers. “Sam, Benny and I were draining the water that was flooding the deck, while Bobby was trying to navigate among the strong currents.”

“Who’s Benny?” Cas asks, curious. Dean should have expected this question.

“One of my mates.” Dean simply answers, and it’s true but he’s not like any other mates. Besides Sam and Bobby, Benny is the most reliable of his mates. Benny is his friend. They have lived through long travels and big storms together. They have shared a lot of laughs, doubts and more. A secret that none of them ever talked about, even to each other.

One time, they had spent a long time at sea and had just survived a pirate attack. Dean needed some release. He found a calm, dark place in one of the storage of the boat and took care of himself. It had felt so good until someone entered. He stopped and tried to hide and stay silent.

He quickly realized that it was Benny. So he relaxed a bit and resumed touching himself. He let out an involuntary moan he thought he could contain. It brought Benny’s attention to him. Dean kept touching himself. He knew it was bad but he couldn’t stop. Benny didn’t say a word when he found him. He just looked at Dean. And Dean looked at him then quickly looked away, as he kept moving his hand along his shaft. He moaned again when Benny started touching himself too. Dean finished first and waited for Benny to do the same. Then Benny left and minutes later Dean left that room too and their secret with it.

They never talked about it. Benny is a very good friend. Dean really hopes he is fine. He hopes they all are. “I hope he’s okay. And my other mates too. Sam and Bobby.” Dean confesses, looking at his knees.

“I’m sure they are. They must be worried about you.” Cas suggests. And Dean didn’t think about that so much. They must think he’s dead. Who wouldn’t think that after seeing him disappear in the stormy sea?

“Maybe they are…” Dean doesn’t know what to believe. He would like to have as much faith as Cas. But the thing is, he doesn’t.

“How did you end up in the water?” Cas asks, really eager to know what happened.

Right, Dean is supposed to tell that to Cas. It’s still a bit blurry in his mind, but he’ll try his best.

“I was on the deck. And suddenly Bobby screamed for us to hide and hold on tight to anything we could. So I did. But Sam didn’t hear him or was too stubborn to let go of those ropes he was gathering.” So Sam is stubborn too, Cas thinks. He knows where that comes from. “I screamed too to tell him to hurry the hell up. But he didn’t listen. So I jumped in and pushed him away before the biggest wave I’ve seen in my life wiped me away from the deck.” Dean’s fear is still perceptible on his face. He probably threw himself in front of that wave, knowing damn well it might have been the last thing he'd ever do.

“Dean.” Cas’s tone is accusatory but fond, because he knows Dean sacrificed for Sam out of love for his little brother. Despite it being dumb for his own survival, knowing Dean, Cas isn’t surprised that he threw away his own life for someone else. Now Cas can’t help but picture it in his mind. It would make a great painting, he thinks, but he keeps it for himself.

“I know it was stupid, but I couldn’t just watch him and do nothing.” Dean defends, but Cas knows this already.

“I understand why you did it. And I’m glad you did.” Cas confesses, a slight smile on his face, and his eyes meeting Dean’s.

“Good.” Dean only answers, looking away. “Then I felt something hit my head hard.” He touches the stitches on his head. “So I don’t remember what happened next. I just know that I somehow found a wooden plank which prevented me from drowning and probably carried me all the way to the lighthouse. I was lucky.” Dean admits. He is lucky. For ending up here and for Cas too. If it had been an empty island he would have died from blood loss. If it had been someone else, maybe they wouldn’t have been able to take care of him and save him. He’s lucky Cas was there.

Cas feels lucky too. Everything aligned and that’s what allowed Dean to arrive here. That’s why now he knows Dean. That’s why now Dean is the one taking care of him.

“You were brave.” Cas states. Maybe there’s luck, but not only. Dean threw himself in front of a big wave, ready to face his fate, whatever that was. Dean doesn’t answer, he just looks away, shaking his head to disagree. But Cas doesn’t back down. “You are brave, Dean.” Cas insists.

“No, I should be dead. It’s not fair if I survived and they didn’t.” Dean confesses. The guilt of the survivor showing on his face and Cas would like to tenderly stroke it away.

“Dean, I’m sure they survived. And I’m glad you did too.” Cas replies. Dean thinks that maybe he’s not thinking a word he’s saying, it’s just the fever talking. “Thank you for telling me all of this, I feel better now. My head isn’t hurting anymore.” It pains Cas to see Dean being eaten by guilt and self-hate.  

“Good.” Dean says, standing up. “Work now.” Dean has a lot to do.

“You’re right. Let me some time to –“ Cas tries to get up but is quickly stopped by Dean. His injured hand pressing flat on Cas’s chest to push him down on the bed. “Dean.” Cas is surprised.

Then he looks at the hand against him. He has lived alone for a while now and he’s still not used to receiving touches just like that. He has touched Dean more when he needed care but now that he’s feeling better, Cas has missed it. With no opportunities to touch him it’s difficult to know what Dean will accept. Now Cas knows touching each other’s chest is okay for Dean.

“You are not gonna work. You need to rest.” Dean says with a smile, hand still against Cas’s chest. Cas frowns, not happy about having to stay in bed. He feels like Dean is taking revenge on him for telling him the same thing when Dean was at his place.

“Let me check your hand at least.” Cas offers, but takes Dean’s injured hand off from his chest with his before Dean gets the chance to show him himself. Cas’s thumb rubs gently on Dean’s injured joints. Only dry blood remains now.

Dean is taken aback by the gesture. By its tenderness. Dean has lived surrounded by people on a boat for a while, but he’s, almost as much as Cas, foreign to gentle touches. But he complies. “Does it hurt when you use it?” Cas asks. And he sounds like a doctor.

“N – no.” Dean replies, shyly. Flustered maybe? No, no he’s not. He clears his throat and repeats, “no, it doesn’t.” He sounds surer of himself this time and it convinces Cas.

“Okay.” Cas says. “I should check your stitches too at some point. Maybe remove them even.” Cas adds, letting Dean’s hand go.

“Right.” Dean answers, turning the hand which lost the warmth of Cas’s into a fist, he almost forgot about his stitches when they aren’t itching. “Now, rest.” It’ll have to wait for Cas to get better anyway.

“Dean, are you sure you’ll be able to manage everything? If you need anything I can –“ Cas feels bad for letting Dean do his work instead of him.

“Don’t you trust me?” Dean jokes with a cocky smile, even though a negative response from Cas would hurt him. Cas frowns and rolls his eyes.

“Of course I do, Dean.” Dean didn’t expect this answer and feels his cheeks warm up a bit again, maybe he’s got Cas’s sickness too. He turns around fast, and walks to the door.

“Dean, I appreciate talking to you.” Cas confesses as Dean handles the doorknob. He realizes how much he has missed it when they weren’t talking for two days. Dean stops, but doesn’t say anything, and leaves. At least Cas knows he has heard him.

The whole day alone and resting, it’s not something Cas is used to, especially when someone else is doing his work. If Dean wasn’t here, Cas would be working anyway, whatever his condition.

Dean regularly comes back to check on him and wet again the cloth on his forehead. Cas is thankful for it and keep asking Dean how work is going. What tasks has he done already? What’s left to do? He’s annoying but Dean answers him anyway, because he’s kind and caring. And when Cas is alone, he misses him. Each time more than the previous.

Maybe it’s the fever speaking but he wants Dean here with him. All the time. He doesn’t want to think about when the supply boat will come and Dean will leave with it. He doesn’t want to think about how it would feel to be alone again, now that he’s known how it is when Dean is here. He doesn’t want to think about never seeing him again. So, he doesn’t.

Instead he thinks about how lucky he is for meeting him, for getting to know him and share a part of his life with him. Even if it’s for a short time. It still makes him a lucky man.

Chapter Text

Cas feels like a lucky man now for meeting Dean, but Castiel hasn’t always been this lucky before.

Castiel's dad had been in business with the same man since Castiel was born. Ketch, also a doctor and sharing the same clinic as Chuck, has always had a nice thing to say to Castiel. He always complimented him and hugged him when nobody was around. Castiel trusted him because his father did and he was nice to him.

When Castiel started coming more often to the clinic, as his father requested, Ketch was even nicer to him. He kept touching Castiel's shoulder. Sometimes he dragged his hand down his arm or along his back. Some other times his fingers even brushed Castiel's hand. He kept asking questions about Castiel's love life. He always wanted to know if Castiel was going to get married soon, if Castiel has had sex with a woman. Castiel kept avoiding those questions as best as he could or he lied, because no one else was in the room when he asked those questions or touched him.

Castiel always wondered if Ketch was also friendly like that with his brothers and sisters. He couldn’t know but it made him feel special. It was different from home, where his brothers and sisters took up all the attention. He liked being noticed and having someone caring about his well-being, always asking about his life and how he was doing.

One night, when Castiel was old enough, he went to a bar after work with his father, his brothers and Ketch to celebrate the end of a long and exhausting day and week. Castiel needed some fresh air at some point during the evening, so he excused himself and went to the alleyway behind the bar, but Ketch followed him there.

"Finally alone." He had said, pushing Castiel against the nearest wall.

"What are you d -" Castiel was able to say before Ketch pressed his lips against his. He was soft at first. He took Castiel by surprise.

"I've waited so long for this. And you too." Ketch stated.

"What? No, I'm not –" Castiel got cut by Ketch's mouth on his again, hungrier this time. His hand snaked between them and cupped Castiel's bulge, ripping out a moan from Castiel's mouth.

"There you go. Look at you." Ketch declared, attacking his neck and working his hand more intensely. "You're so beautiful, Castiel. Always have been." Ketch added, rutting against Castiel's thigh. He held Castiel’s head up with his other hand under his chin and mouthed at his jaw and neck when he wasn’t looking into his eyes. “Those blue eyes. They’ll be the end of me.”

He kept touching Castiel where it felt good even though Castiel knew it wasn’t. At church, they always told him sex was bad. It should be done only once you’re married. He knew that for men it was less strict but it was forbidden between men. Castiel couldn’t help feeling bad about this. About what he felt when Ketch touched him. He shouldn’t enjoy this. He shouldn’t let Ketch touch him like this. “Your lips are perfect, Cassie! Your mouth must feel so good.” Ketch’s praises kept chasing the shame away, the pleasure he felt too.

That night is engraved in his memory for the rest of his life. He still feels the shame and the pleasure he felt at the time. This single night changed the course of his life forever, because remembering it also makes him feel angry and betrayed.

They shared months of secret meetings here and there when they could be alone. Ketch welcomed him to his house when his wife was away to visit her family with their children. He took care of Castiel like nobody did before. He let him sleep here in his bed with him. It always made Castiel feel uncomfortable for Ketch’s wife. But Ketch kept repeating this had nothing to do with her. What they had was completely different.

And Castiel believed him, because he was young and he trusted him because he made him feel special. He had such a way with praises. Even if he wasn’t always gentle, he always made up for it by saying things like, “you’re beautiful, Cassie. There’s nobody like you. You’re the only one who understands me. You take me so well. You feel so good. Cassie, I like kissing your lips so badly. I like the sounds you make. I could stay inside you all day.”

Of course, the guilt was still there. At some point, he decided that he needed to confess at church, because the guilt was growing and growing. And he was lucky enough to find a priest to talk to, who seemed different. Whose faith probably saved Castiel's life.

“Father, I have sinned.” He began on his first confession.

“Tell me, my son.” The priest responded.

“I’ve had sex with another man.” Castiel couldn’t see how to phrase it another way. There was only silence for a few seconds which felt like hours. But then the priest made Castiel see things differently. He reminded him that God loved everyone whatever their sins, and mostly whoever they were. Confession was really helpful, and knowing God loved him for who he trully was really chased away the shame months after months. Castiel’s faith evolved thanks to that priest. He knew that at least God would love him.

Though the priest also warned him about the way Ketch treated him on several confessions, the praises were always so good to hear. Castiel fed on those and didn’t listen to that warning. He knew he had God’s love but he needed Ketch’s other kind of love too. So, he behaved purposely to receive those praises as much as possible. And it often worked. Except sometimes when they were at a gathering with their families and friends there, and Castiel wanted to kiss him behind a door, Ketch pushed him away. Castiel’s heart broke every time he did, especially when he yelled at him for doing so. He was more distant when other people were there and Castiel hated it. He hated how it made him feel. He felt like he wasn’t cared for anymore. Like he was nothing. Worthless. Invisible. Like he has always felt before Ketch kissed him for the first time.

Fortunately, Ketch often made up for it. After that kind of interaction, he would take care of Castiel. He would take him in his mouth and make him feel good or he would eat him up and make him shake and scream. Something he rarely did, but that Castiel enjoyed. It was usually the other way around, Castiel responding to all of Ketch’s desires.

But Ketch knew what to do in those situations. And it worked. Castiel forgave him every time. They kept going like that until it wasn’t a secret anymore.

On another evening at the bar with Castiel’s brothers and dad, months after Ketch kissed him for the first time, he drank too much. He asked Castiel to meet him in the alleyway where they often found themselves alone. Even though Castiel warned him and told him it was too risky with that crowded bar, Ketch was too wasted to care. He wanted Castiel. The younger man couldn’t deny him anything, so he agreed and met him there.

Ketch pushed him against the nearest wall and kissed him angrily. A little taken aback, Castiel took some time to kiss him back, but he finally did. Ketch turned them around and pressed down on Castiel’s shoulders. Castiel knew what it meant. He needed to get down on his knees. He was used to it so he did as told. It didn’t bother him that much, he knew he just had to relax and wait for Ketch to finish. There was a chance Ketch might be rough with how drunk he was, but Castiel has come to enjoy it anyway.

He kept repeating someone could come up, but Ketch was hard already and pressing his crotch against Castiel’s face. Totally careless.

Castiel was right, someone came up. Michael, his older brother, exited the bar and ended up in the same alleyway without warning. He kicked the door open and a second later his eyes fell on Castiel kneeling down in front of Ketch on the paved ground, Ketch’s cock in hand. Then Michael looked up at his dad’s coworker standing against the wall.

Before Castiel could react, he was pushed away and he fell backwards on his back. Lying on the cold, wet ground of that dark alleyway with the two other men looking down at him with disgust. It wasn’t surprising, coming from Michael, but it was, coming from the one who looked at him with so much lust seconds ago. He hurt his hand a bit on the gravelly ground, but it didn’t hurt him as much as Ketch’s words, “stay away from me, you’re sick Castiel.”

The next ones which came after added just some nails to his coffin, “I was just peeing, and he pushed me against the wall, then – I didn’t want to hurt him, I’ve known you all Chuck’s boys since you’re born. It breaks my heart to see what he became. There’s no other choice but to inform your father before it’s too late.” Ketch finished his explanation, full of lies, as he adjusted his pants, and Michael just nodded, believing every word Ketch said, “we’re not going to make a scene of this, we’ll deal with this at home.” His big brother didn’t even look at Castiel before they both disappeared inside, leaving him alone and sitting on the ground, palm bloody from the pebbles, eyes wet and heart broken from the rejection.

He stayed there for a while, nobody even noticed him. He was invisible again.

At some point, Castiel came home. All of his brothers and his father were there when he entered the main room. All waiting for him.

“Castiel. Your brother Michael and Ketch told me what you did.” Chuck started, and with a movement of the head he made Michael understand that it was his turn to do something. And he did. He threw a bag on the table which separated Castiel from the rest of his family. “Take this.” Chuck continued, pointing at the back. “And never come back. You have dishonored us. You’re no longer part of this family.” He finished and turned away. He was scared of being beaten up by all of them but it was worse. It was ignorance. It was like he never existed and was already no longer part of the family.

Michael followed Chuck close. Gabriel looked at Castiel with a pained gaze and followed them. Castiel said nothing. He couldn’t. He thought they were going to try to cure him, but they didn’t even give him a chance to redeem himself. He was feeling this shame again, but not only. There was always the betrayal from Ketch who literally threw him on the ground. The abandonment of his family. Everyone throwing him away like he’s nothing. He took the bag from the table and one last look around before leaving. Vision blurred by the tears that were once again threatening to fall.

After getting rejected by his family, he lived in the streets for a little while. Some people were nice to him and brought him food. He could still go to the church and ask for help from time to time, but didn’t spend too much time there, too afraid to see his family.

His faith is what saved him. After getting rejected by everyone supposed to love him, he knew at least God still did. It was all he had so he held on to it like his life depended on it. And it did. He tried to keep hope and faith and he was right too. God still had plans for him.

It was late on a Thursday, Castiel has been a homeless for around a month at the time. He was sitting in front of a bar, waiting for the last costumers to go outside and maybe give him some money or some food. It was almost midnight when a man came out of the bar with his friends talking loudly. "The last guy went crazy. I don't want to go in replacement, I need to find some poor bastard ready to live and work alone all year in that damn isolated lighthouse."

"I'll do it." Castiel stood up and faced the man, cleaning some dust of his clothes. "I can live there alone and do all the work you need me to do." Castiel continued, trying to convince him.

"That's settled then." The man said, slapping on Castiel's shoulder. He didn’t even argue. He was probably as desperate as Castiel was. "Meet me tomorrow at 6am at the port. I'm Adam by the way, don't be late –" he pauses.

"Castiel. And I'll be there." Castiel confirmed. He felt hope again, this time it wasn't just because he believed in God but because he might have a future. And he trusted God with it.

Chapter Text

Cas swore to never get attached again to a man like he did with Ketch. What happened with him hurt Cas irreversibly. He lost everything. His home, his family, his future. It changed his life forever. For better or worse it changes often. When he has a long day of work, it’s for the worse. When he realizes how free he is, it’s for the better. When he feels alone, it’s for the worse. When he looks at Dean, it’s for the better.

Unfortunately, right now, he’s not able to look at him because Dean has left to do the lighthouse keeper’s work, his work, while Cas is still resting. He has done that for at least two days, which feels like a really long time. He is sick of laying down and waiting. Well, not as sick as a couple of days ago. He has no fever anymore, but his head still hurts sometimes. His throat hurts too when he swallows.

But he’s feeling better and tomorrow he should be able to work again with Dean. He’s looking forward to it. And in the meantime, he has to do something. Something which is on his mind since Dean told him what happened on the night of the storm. He wants to paint his vision of Dean during that night.

Now that he knows Dean’s body pretty well, since he has painted him multiple times already and even got the chance to feel some parts of this body under his hands, it’s going to be easier than the previous times.

He also knows how his face looks like now, so he has to paint him. He hopes Dean will be okay with it. At least he won’t be watching him. He’ll do it from memory. So, maybe it’ll make him less uncomfortable. Cas knows Dean was feeling like that mostly because Cas chose him and not someone else and he didn’t see why. He seems to have forgiven Cas about that anyway, and he’s more accepting of the fact that Cas paints him.

The lighthouse keeper finally leaves the living quarters to go to the first floor. As he prepares the colors, he realizes how long it’s been since he painted something. There’s that unfinished painting on the easel to remind him. Since Dean is here, he has not touched it. He’s not sure he remembers what he wanted to paint in the first place. But he’s not going to work on this one today anyway. He puts it away and picks up a new, blank canvas.

He draws lightly what he’s going to paint, even though he has a really clear image of it in his mind. Then he dips the brush in the grey blueish color. He takes a deep breath before touching and tracing on the canvas. He hopes Dean is going to like it.

At some point during his work Dean walks through the first floor, climbing down the stairs, and is surprised to find Cas there in the middle of the day while he should be resting.

“Cas?” Dean astonishes. “What are you doing here?” He wonders, as he climbs down the last stairs. He clearly sees what he’s doing but wants to hear it from Cas.

“I’m painting. But it’s not done. Don’t look at it.” Cas says as he turns around and hides his work with his body, by standing in front of it. Dean tries to glance behind him but he can’t figure out what it is.

“It’s good you’re painting again.” Dean observes, waving towards him as he looks at the brush in Cas’s hand.

“Yes, I’m feeling better.” Cas answers.

“While someone else is doing all the work.” Dean completes Cas’s sentence jokingly.

“I – I can stop, Dean. And I –“ Cas puts the brush down on the little furniture where he puts the colors, but soon he notices Dean’s cocky smile. “Oh. You’re joking.” Dean nods still smiling, he’s proud Cas finally gets sarcasm. The sickness must have changed something in him. “Tomorrow you won’t have to do all the work. I can do it, and you can rest. I –“ Cas adds anyway because he feels guilty about painting while Dean is working. He doesn’t want him to think he’s letting him do all the work.

“Cas, it’s fine. Take the rest of the day off, I’ve got it.” Dean chuckles, which reassures Cas, but also makes him feel even luckier. He has made Dean laugh. Now he wants to make it his goal.

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas sincerely answers.

“You’ve got to show me when it’s done though.” Dean smiles and winks.

“I will.” Cas agrees, and Dean leaves him alone. He has never painted this fast before. It’s like the brush is doing all the work by itself. He finishes it quickly. Fast enough to be able to pray before Dean has finished work. He’s proud of how it looks. He hopes Dean will like it too or at least will not be mad at him for it. He can’t handle not talking to him. It was too hard the first time. He missed him so much.

He puts it on the side, hidden, to let it dry and walks down the stairs to go into the living quarters.

Once there, he settles down on his knees in front of the cross hung up above his bed on the wall. With his right hand, he makes the sign of a cross on his forehead, sternum, then shoulders, before bringing his hands together and intertwining his fingers.

“God. Thank you for allowing me to recover from my sickness and letting Dean watch out over the sailors at sea. Thank you for your love and guidance. I’m grateful for all of it. I’m grateful for Dean too. Since he’s arrived here, I feel luckier each day. I – I don’t know if I should say this.” He stops, his fingers tighten on each hand, making his knuckles turn white. He breathes and remembers those priest’s words, ‘God loves you, Castiel, and he always will.’ He closes his eyes. “D – Dean is my friend, but I feel like I’m feeling more than friendship towards him. What should I do? Should I tell him? Should I say nothing and be happy with our friendship? I’m already happy with it after all. But when he touches me, I – I wish he wouldn’t remove his hand from me. I wish I could touch him and leave my hands there on him forever, where it feels like they belong. I guess I should let your guidance show me what to do.” He ends it with another sign of cross.

As he gets up, Dean enters the room. He seems exhausted.

“Dean, I can cook dinner.” Cas offers, knowing Dean worked all day.

“No need, Cas.” Dean approaches the counter with something wrapped in his hand. “I went fishing this morning and caught that.” Dean unwraps it on the counter to show Cas. ‘You went without me?’ It’s what Cas wanted to say. And at the same time he’s glad Dean has finally taken his mark around here. So, it doesn’t really bother him, on the contrary, but Dean stopped him before he gets the chance to say something. “It was less fun alone.” He throws and Cas shouldn’t, but he smiles. “What’s funny?” Dean wonders.

“It’s smaller than the one I first caught.” Cas is still smiling. That fish is not as big but that’s not really what makes him smile, Dean’s words are the reason. But Cas’s remark shuts Dean’s mouth for a few seconds.

“Is it you trying to make a joke?” Dean asks to be sure, eyebrows raised. That sickness really did something to Cas, Dean thinks.

“Does it work?” Cas looks so innocent, but his gaze not so much.

“Yes, I mean, if you don’t want to eat that small fish it’s fine, I can eat it alone.” Dean teases, as he starts cleaning it. Cas thinks and Dean can see it. He’s trapped in his own little joke and he wants to eat that fish.

“I want to.” Cas confesses and Dean would pat him on the shoulder if his hands were free. Instead, he nudges him with his body as Cas stands next to him, ready to offer his help. And he takes everything in Cas not to drape himself around him. “I can help you.” He says instead, pointing at the fish and offering his hands like Dean did for the lighthouse.

“It’s fine. I’ve got it, it’s just a fish.” Dean doesn’t need help. “Did you finish your painting?” He asks, curious.

“I did. It’s drying.” Cas answers. “I’m going to check on the light then.” Cas says, leaving Dean’s side suddenly. As he closes the door behind him, he takes a deep breath. It becomes harder not to say anything about what he’s feeling when Dean is here, smiling, cooking and pressing his body against Cas’s.

When Cas gets back, Dean is done cleaning and cutting the fish, which is now cooking.

“Did I work well?” Dean asks, looking at Cas to try to know his answer before he says it, because he’s slightly worried, he has messed something up. As usual.

“You did.” He answers, and adds quieter, “perfectly.” Dean looks at him like he doesn’t believe it. “Thank you, Dean, for everything you did these past few days and even before.” Cas keeps going.

“Cas, no nee –“ Dean starts.

“Dean.” Cas cuts him short. “Thank you!” He insists, so Dean doesn’t say anything. He just nods and focuses back on that cooking fish.

And while he does, Cas prepares the table. It’s the first time they’re eating dinner together since they are talking again. The last couple of days Cas barely ate at all, the sickness prevented him from feeling hungry when he wasn’t sleeping, but now he is and it’s smelling so good. He has missed Dean’s cooking, but most of all, he has missed eating with Dean.

He places the plates at the neighboring sides. The cutlery next to them with a glass for each. When he’s done, Dean is ready to serve the food too. He cuts the fish in half and gives one part to Cas before putting the other on his own plate. Then he serves the vegetables and the rice on the side of the fish on each plate.

Cas notices how much Dean looks like he is in his element. With a dishcloth on his shoulder, the way he handles the food, that big wooden spoon, and how he places the food in the plates like he is doing a painting with it.

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas repeats, his stomach asking for him to throw himself on the food in front of him, but he waits for Dean to sit before picking up his fork. He digs into it as soon as Dean is settled, taking a bit of everything at once and stuffing it into his mouth.

“You’re hungry.” Dean observes, smiling. He has never seen Cas like that before. He, who always seems like he is in control of everything around the lighthouse. He, who seems even more in control about himself and his own emotions. He, who doesn’t get jokes. Dean has found him a bit stoic at first, like he had some tree shoved up his ass. It’s good to see him painting, trying jokes, throwing himself on the food like – like a human being.

Cas stops chewing at Dean’s statement and nods. The sailor chuckles, he’s not really surprised. Cas didn’t eat anything lately. “You’re looking good. I mean, like you aren’t sick anymore.” Dean wants to be sure Cas is feeling fine. The lighthouse keeper swallows the food in his mouth.

“I feel better, yes. I don’t have fever anymore.” Cas coughs a bit, he still does but less often than before.

Reassured, Dean starts eating. “You, on the other hand, look like you could use a good night of sleep.” Cas notices but Dean looks beautiful, nonetheless. Cas feels responsible for his state.

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean answers sarcastically but Cas doesn’t get it, judging by the way he tilts his head on the side. There’s still some place for improvement on that. “I wanted to make sure the light stayed on at night.” Dean explains, and he did that for only three nights in a row, Cas has been doing this for months, years even. Maybe he’s not like any human being.

“I’ll watch over it tonight.” Cas offers, noticing once again how good the food tastes as he takes another bite.

“I can do it, you still need some rest.” Dean can take care of it. He doesn’t want to admit that he would like to sleep all night without having to wake up, because Cas gave him this mission to take care of the lighthouse, and he attends to do it.

“We can take turns.” Cas compromises.

“Yeah, alright.” Dean agrees anyway, and he fills Cas in on what he did around the lighthouse in the past few days while they keep eating.

Chapter Text

As Dean tells him what he did around the lighthouse it makes Cas wonder what his tasks as a sailor are. He tilts his head, thinking.

“Cas, are you listening to me?” Dean notices that Cas’s mind has gone elsewhere.

“Dean, what do you do on the boat?” Cas asks. “Except cooking.” He adds, because he already knows about that.

“Huh.” Dean didn’t expect that question, and it seems like another life. A long time ago. “I assist Bobby. I load the goods. I fold and unfold the sails with my mates. I do lots of different tasks.” Dean explains.

“What else?” Cas wants to know more about Dean’s life on the boat.

“I also pour drinks into those sons of bitches’ glasses and sing sailors’ songs. Things like that.” Dean confesses.

“Can you sing one to me?” Cas says, surprised by this reveal. He’s curious to know how Dean’s voice sounds when he sings.

“Nah, you don’t want to. I mostly do that when I’m drunk. My father never even heard me sing.” Dean doesn’t know why he says that about his father, even though it’s true.

“Dean, please, I do want to.” Cas insists, looking at Dean with begging eyes. How can Dean say no to that?

“I – okay, fine.” Dean capitulates. He drinks a bit of water and takes a deep breath. He looks in front of him, not at Cas on his right, and starts singing. Cas though is definitely watching him, he can’t keep his eyes off him. It’s like Dean is a mermaid and Cas has been enchanted. He kind of was already but now it’s even worse. He could hear him sing all day long. He doesn’t notice his mouth is open until Dean stops singing and says, “and yeah, now you probably regret it.” Cas closes it.

“No, I don’t. Your voice sounds –“ Cas stops because maybe he’s going too far. He doesn’t want to scare Dean, but he feels that swell in his chest.

“Sounds like I’m winding up the mechanism. I know.” Dean chuckles, he did a lighthouse keeper joke and he’s proud of it.

“Beautiful.” Cas says anyway, because he can’t let Dean believe otherwise. No matter if he scares him. Dean doesn’t chuckle anymore. He seems shocked by this word. He remembers the cheering and the pats on the shoulder from his mates after he sang one of those sailors’ songs. He remembers the “that was good, man” that usually came with it, as they hold onto him to remain steady. He remembers their smiles and them singing along with him. But he’s never heard that word before. Not about his voice. Nor anything else about him. It would have been weird. Is it weird? It doesn’t feel like it coming from Cas’s mouth.

“The dishes aren’t going to clean themselves.” Dean changes the subject and gathers his cutlery on his plate. But before he has the chance to get up from the dinner table, Cas stops him.

“Stay here, I’m going to remove your stitches. Let me look at it first.” Cas explains, standing up and placing himself behind Dean’s chair. Dean instinctively leans his head back to let Cas see.

Cas needs to be sure he can remove them, but it seems like it. The wound looks closed and clean. And Dean’s hair seems longer than when he did the stitches. “Good.” Cas concludes and gets his scissors and tweezers in one of the kitchen drawers and cleans them.

“Is it gonna hurt?” Dean asks, looking at the tools that Cas places on the table in front of Dean.

“If it does, you tell me.” Cas establishes and Dean nods. The lighthouse keeper stands behind the sitting sailor. “Lean your head backwards.” Cas orders and Dean obliges, but it’s not leant enough, as if Dean is scared Cas is going to hurt him.

Cas won’t ever do that. He hopes to never be the reason of any pain Dean feels. So, he gently places his hand under Dean’s chin, the stubble there prickling his fingertips, and pulls it up lightly. Dean’s shoulders are against the back of the chair and his head is now resting against Cas’s stomach.

Cas feels how tense Dean is, the weight of his head not fully pressed against him. He doesn’t want to push him though. He notices how Dean is closing his eyes before he removes his hand from under the sailor’s chin. He needs both of them to take those stitches off. He uses the scissors first to cut them between each node. He’s methodic like the way he works around the lighthouse and Dean notices.

“Why didn’t you become a doctor? I mean, it’s prestigious and you’re good at it. You saved me.” He starts, then looks at the cross hung on the wall, and adds, “or – or a priest? You have faith in God and pray often.” Dean asks and Cas frowns, wondering where this comes from.

“It wasn’t possible.” Cas only answers.

“Which one? Doctor or priest?” Dean insists. He thought Cas was ready to share more with him. He has seemed more willing to lately. Cas doesn’t answer right away. He places his hand on the back of Dean’s head to support it while he reaches the table with the other. He puts down the scissors and takes the tweezers.

“Both.” He answers flatly, as he comes back behind Dean. His family rejected him, so he couldn’t become a doctor or a priest, because he was alone and lost and had nothing, not even a roof above his head. This work as a lighthouse keeper came as a lifeline to save him from drowning. He needed a fresh start, far away from everyone who had hurt him.

Old habits die hard. Cas responded fast and on the defensive, but he realizes that if he wants Dean to lean against him fully maybe he needs to let himself go too. He trusts Dean after all. He wants to add more as he already regrets not doing it, but Dean speaks before him.

“Oooh I see. You want to get married.” Dean makes his own conclusion about the priest thing, just as Cas pulls gently to remove the first stitch. He nearly lost the tweezers from his hands. He breathes and swallows.

"I don't know. It's not like I'm meeting a lot of people around here." Cas admits. That’s the kind of talk he had with Ketch before anything happened between them. He’s not meeting many people, sure, but he met Dean and it's enough for him. He doesn’t need to meet anyone else.

"Sure. You would have preferred a beautiful, lost woman arriving on the beach." Dean chuckles. Cas thinks Dean couldn't be more wrong. He's happy with the beautiful, lost man who arrived on the beach.

"What about you?" He doesn't react to Dean's statement but asks the question in return. Now that he has removed half of them, Dean is fully leaning his head against Cas’s stomach, more relaxed. From where he stands Cas can easily see the green of his eyes hidden behind his long eyelashes, his freckles on his forehead, nose and cheeks, his growing stubble framing his soft-looking lips. Cas licks his own and focuses back on the stitches.

"I’m supposed to get married to Lisa. She's nice and smart. She has dark hair just like yours, and brown eyes. She's a beauty. Nice and sweet when she wants too." Dean explains, chuckling. But Cas has stopped at the 'just like yours'. Was it necessary? What does it mean? Does it mean something at all or Dean was just helping Cas to visualize better the woman he is going to marry. "I'm supposed to marry her when I'll get back from that trip. But it's taking a bit more time." Dean chuckles again and Cas smiles in response, even though his stomach twists. Being a woman would have been easier to tell Dean how he feels about him. As a man, he’s pretty sure, he’s going to get rejected. But Dean is worth the risk.

“That’s the last one.” Cas declares at some point as he pulls at the last stitch. “You might have a scar.” He adds as he runs carefully his finger on the closed wound, feeling Dean’s longer, soft hair under his fingertips.

“It’ll be a mark to prove that I survived a storm. My mates are gonna be jealous.” Dean touches his head where Cas’s finger was seconds ago and stops leaning against Cas.

Cas smiles but it drops fast when he realizes that it means Dean is going to leave at some point to get back on that back. To get back to his life. Without Cas. He has always known it somehow but hearing it from Dean feels different. That awful thought is cut short by Dean. “So, are you gonna show it to me or what?” Dean turns around on his chair to look up at Cas. “Your last painting.” He specifies.

“If you want to.” Cas makes sure Dean knows what he’s asking for. He steps away from Dean’s chair to let him stand and Dean follows him upstairs.

Dean waits and watches him as Cas fumbles into his paintings. He takes it but keeps it hidden from Dean as he stands in front of him, the painting turned backwards.

“So –“ Dean waves at it for Cas to show him.

“Dean, you should know that you telling me what happened on the night of the storm inspired me.” Dean frowns so Cas adds, “if you don’t like it, I can burn it or throw it away.” Cas is still careful with the way Dean can handle his paintings of him.

“It’s fine, Cas. Show me.” Dean’s face has softened. Dean has gotten used to the idea of Cas painting him. He’s not fully at ease, meaning he’s not ready to pose for him, but if Cas wants to practice, he’s fine with it. But he’s not sure if it’ll look like him or not. So, Cas shows him. He turns the painting around to reveal it. “Oh.” Dean exclaims at first. He seems to be surprised, he keeps looking at it without saying anything. It does look like him. How did Cas do that?

“You don’t like it.” Cas states and it’s okay. He knew it was a possibility and even told Dean he could get rid of it if Dean asked him to.

“No, it’s not that. It – it looks great.” Dean admits, then thinks to find the next words. “It’s just that it didn’t really happen like that.” There’s a big, threatening wave ready to crash on a boat, which looks like Bobby’s, and Dean is standing on the deck in the front, wearing his sailor’s suit. He’s alone and facing the wave but he doesn’t look scared. He’s smaller but he’s bathed in a glowing yellow light piercing through the heavy dark clouds, which implies he’s going to win this fight against that wave. At least this is how Dean understands it. “I’m no hero.” He says and it’s the sign Cas was looking for.

God’s guidance. Dean didn’t hate the painting. He’s just not at ease with the way Cas chose to paint him, brave and strong. Just because he thinks he doesn’t deserve it. But he does, Cas wants him to know that, now he’s sure of it. He knows Dean could hurt him, but the sailor is worth the risk of feeling that pain of rejection again. So, he decides to go for it. To let Dean know how he sees him.

“No, you’re not.” Cas answers and Dean looks at him now. “You’re a human. But not any human. You’re the most selfless and caring man I’ve ever met. You helped me around the lighthouse with so much care, you cooked every day for both of us even when I hurt you, you taught me how to fish, and you took care of everything when I was sick. You throw yourself in front of a huge wave to save your little brother.” Cas finally lets out, pointing at the painting he holds in front of him for Dean to look at it again.

“Cas.” Dean only replies, because what is he supposed to answer to that?

“Dean.” Cas says, putting down the painting against the shelves with others. He approaches Dean carefully and places his hand flat against Dean’s chest. Cas knows it’s the kind of touch Dean is okay with since he’s done it to Cas a few days ago. Dean’s heart is beating so fast. “Dean.” He repeats as Dean is looking down at Cas’s hand against him and then at Cas with surprise filling his eyes. “You make me feel like I can trust people again. That I deserved better.” Cas’s hand moves to cup Dean’s jaw tenderly. “I wish you could think you deserve the best.” Dean’s eyes flutter at the touch and words, as quickly as he realizes what’s happening.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks, fear starting to build up in his stomach. Cas swallows, but he can’t turn around right now.

“If you’ll let me, I’d like to kiss you.” He manages to let out and he feels lighter. It’s the first time he’s doing that, confessing to a man that he wants more than a friendship. He’s asking for permission, like Ketch never did, he just took what he wanted. Cas doesn’t want to act like that. Dean deserves better.

Chapter Text

“What the Hell, Cas? I’m not like that!” Dean replies and pushes Cas’s hand away from him as he steps back. “Don’t – don’t touch me.” Dean warns.

“Dean, it’s fine.” Cas tries to calm him down, he wants to add ‘if you don’t want to.’ Dean could have just said no, but too late, he is already freaking out.

“Stay away from me.” Dean keeps stepping back, as if he is scared of Cas, or maybe of what he would answer him.

“Dean, please.” Cas tries softly. “Don’t leave.” Cas approaches slowly but Dean leaves the room anyway.

Cas reflects on what to do next. As he does, he feels his heart clench in his chest. Dean can’t leave. Cas can’t let him. He won’t ever speak to him if this is what Dean wants. He can even let him live in the living quarters while Cas sleeps elsewhere. He’ll do anything for Dean to not risk his life and go away at sea. Cas would never forgive himself if he did. “Dean!” He screams before going after him. He finds him easily in the living quarters. “Please, stop.” Cas begs as he enters the room and sees him gathering his stuff.

He watches him picking up the clothes Cas gave him. Then he takes his sailor’s pants that Cas has sewn up. All of those in a pile that fits in one arm. “Dean.” Cas insists, louder this time.

“I’ve told you to stay away from me.” Dean finally answers but he doesn’t look at Cas. He scans the room searching for something he might have forgotten but doesn’t find anything else that belongs to him. So, he aims for the door, but Cas is standing there, in his way. “Move.” Dean orders, still not meeting Cas’s gaze.

“No.” Cas refuses. “You can’t leave. Not like that.” He adds, standing there, strong on his feet and in his voice in front of the exit door.

“Let me go.” Dean warns but Cas doesn’t want to move. He has to try anything to not let Dean die at sea.

“I’m sorry I can’t.” Cas doesn’t let go, but Dean doesn’t give him a choice either. He lets the pile of clothes in his arm fall on the ground, grabs Cas’s collar with both hands and pushes him against the wall of the lighthouse, near the door, out of his way. There’s a silence, only the noise of Cas’s back hitting the wall is heard. Cas is surprised by this gesture and even more by the next one. Before he’s able to catch his breath, Dean’s lips are on his.

It’s not a great kiss, Dean is too rough, too angry, their teeth collide, Cas’s head hits the wall behind him. But it’s also really great, because it’s Dean. They are clinging to each other, Dean’s warmth contrasts with the cold wall. And Dean’s lips are so soft. Dean kissed him first.

When he is about to let go, Cas catches him by the back of his neck and presses him closer, sealing their lips again. He unbuttons Dean’s shirt, while kissing his neck then down to his chest. Nobody is talking, scared to break that precious instant. There’s only the sound of the ocean hitting the lighthouse on the other side of the wall.

Cas’s hands and mouth on him feel like something forbidden. Dean knows it’s bad. But why does it feel so good then? Dean’s hand intertwin in Cas’s hair and pulls at it to remove his mouth from him.

“Stop.” Dean closes his eyes. “We can’t. That’s not normal.” Dean declares. It must be because it’s been a long time since he hasn’t seen or been with a woman, that’s probably why it feels good. They’re still glued to each other though. Cas’s hand is still around his neck and the other on his waist.

“You can’t say that.” Not with the way it feels, Cas wants to add. He tries to pull Dean’s neck to bring him closer. He doesn’t understand, he’s frustrated to know how Dean tastes like and not being able to taste it again.

“Just stop touching me, alright?” Dean warns. “What do you think God would say about that, huh?” He adds as he steps back, breaking all contact between their bodies and glancing at the cross above the bed.

“Since when you believe in God?” Cas asks him, with a challenging gaze. Plus, Cas knows God loves him for who he is. He never lied to Him about it. ‘You kissed me first’ is what Cas wants to add but doesn’t. Cas has asked Dean if he wanted to be kissed, based on his reaction he thought he didn’t want to, but now Cas doesn’t know what Dean wants anymore. He would have preferred Dean not to kiss him. It would have hurt less. He would have preferred the simple rejection rather than him playing with his feelings like that. It feels like what happened with Ketch, who showered him with compliments, spent time with him, kissed him, slept with him, and then ended up pushing him to the ground as if Cas were nothing and he had forced Ketch to put his dick in his mouth, when in fact it was the other way around.

“I don’t.” Dean declares, “nevermind.” And he takes his belongings on the ground, abandoning Cas against that cold wall. As he grabs the doorknob, Cas stands there gazing at his back.

“You said you believed in people, because you blame God for your mother’s death. See, me, I believe in God because people are the ones who hurt me. And you’re doing it right now.” Cas throws, surprising Dean, who straightens up. “But please don’t leave the lighthouse.”

“I’m not.” This is all Dean answers and he’s out.

Cas remains against that wall for a while, tears travelling down his cheeks. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes.

He is alone again in the living quarters, but for a different reason this time. He’s not sick anymore and Dean is not working. Now, Dean probably thinks Cas is sick and Cas wishes Dean was working. But instead, he’s somewhere else in the lighthouse and doesn’t want to speak to Cas.

The lighthouse keeper finally moves from the wall at some point. There’s no point in trying to relive what happened again and again, it won’t change the outcome. And he has to clean the dishes on the table.

He takes Dean’s plate and puts it on his. He remembers their dinner, the way Dean sang, how good the food was and how much he enjoys the sailor’s company. He puts his cutlery on Dean’s plate when suddenly he hears the door open.

He turns around and looks at the man who keeps invading his thoughts despite the hurt he feels.

“Dean.” He can’t help but say. It’s like taking a breath, after being underwater for a while. But Dean doesn’t answer, he takes the spare bed and leaves again without even looking at Cas. ‘Where are you going?’ It’s what he wanted to ask but the words couldn’t get out of his mouth. Not without tears anyway.

How are they supposed to take turns to watch the light if they don’t talk? Cas doesn’t know. For now, he washes the dishes.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t prevent him from thinking about Dean. He still feels his lips on his, Dean’s skin under his hands instead of the plates.

Once he’s done cleaning the table they ate dinner on, it looks like nothing has happened. It looks like Dean isn’t there anymore, especially with the spare bed gone. It looks like Cas is all alone again and Dean has left or worse, never came here.

It’s an ache to Cas’s heart. It hurts him to not be able to talk to him or - or touch him. He misses it all already. He almost regrets having said anything. He thought Dean felt the same way or at least that he would not have judged him for it. He’s the same man who Dean chose to name Cas. If he’s changed it’s because Dean made him believe he could trust other people again. His heart aches because Dean refuses to talk about it, not because Dean doesn’t feel the same way.

He can’t stay here in this room alone. He has to do something.

He decides to go into the storage room downstairs to check on the amount of oil containers which remain because he didn’t ask Dean, and he can’t ask him now anyway. He counts them and realizes that the supply boat is going to come in six weeks, more or less, but he doesn’t want Dean to leave. Not like that.

It’d be a waste. It feels like they’ve shared so much since he met him. He won’t be able to forget him so easily. He won’t be able to forget him at all. From the moment he started taking care of him, he knew he wouldn’t be able to, no matter what happened.

And he hates that, because Dean hurt him, but still, he wishes he could be by his side again.

He leaves the storage room but doesn’t want to return to the living quarters. So, he aims for the other floors, probably hoping he’ll figure out where Dean is, probably hoping to see him.

There’s nobody on the first floor, just his last painting resting against the shelves under the stairs. It’s dry but Cas doesn’t store it. He leaves it there for Dean to see and to remember how Cas sees him. Brave, caring and worthy. Even though Dean rejected him, Cas still thinks Dean is all those things.

He also notices Dean’s journal on the armrest of the armchair, the one he gave him. He takes it. He looks at it. He scrolls through the pages without reading it, but he sees how much Dean has written since he gave it to him. It makes him smile despite the sadness he feels.

He keeps it with him as he climbs up to the second floor.

Dean is here. On the left, up the stairs.

“What are you doing here?” Dean asks, as he installs his bed.

“I wanted to give you this.” Cas approaches carefully and stops at the shelves, where he puts Dean’s journal. He is trying to reach out to him, but he’s unsuccessful.

“You can keep it.” Dean doesn’t look at him. He’s cold and responds more curtly than usual. It’s like a stake through Cas’s heart. No little smile. No big, bright green eyes. No warmth. Cas doesn’t listen to him and leaves the journal there.

“I check the light now so you can do it in an hour, and then I’ll do it an hour after.” Cas offers, since they are supposed to take turns.

“Whatever, I don’t care.” Dean replies, but Cas knows that’s not true. Dean cares, he can’t help himself.

The lighthouse keeper leaves to go check on the light.

Chapter Text

That fear Dean felt just before Cas asked him if he could kiss him, Dean still felt it when Cas arrived here on the second floor to bring him his journal. Fortunately, he’s gone now. He has checked the light and is back downstairs, probably in the living quarters at this hour. It’s been dark for a while outside.

In less than an hour, it’ll be Dean’s turn to check on the light. He knows he won’t be able to fall asleep by then, even though his previous days of work have exhausted him. 

He needs to release some steam, because that’s probably why he did that.

It’s been a long time since he hasn’t been with a woman. The last one was Cassie. With his sailor life and long travels, he has met a lot of women and spent some more time with a few of them. But Cassie, she was something else.

He met her at the port where they stopped. He was loading some merchandise when he stumbled on her and made her drop the fish she had just bought minutes ago. He was about to apologize when she started yelling at him.

"Watch where you go, dumbass!" She shouted. Dean got a bit taken aback but smiled anyway as he saw her, frowning.

"I'm truly sorry. I can redeem myself by buying a new fish and cooking it for you." Dean suggested. He knew what he was doing, and it worked, she wasn't expecting that answer. But she seemed to think fast.

"It's the least you can do. I live at the corner of this street." She pointed at it. "The yellow house, see you later." And then she left. Just like that.

Dean smiled widely. She seemed different. Confident. Bold. He liked it. He liked her. So, as promised, he showed up to the yellow house for dinner with some fish and some other ingredients like spices, vegetables and some rice.

He knocked on the door and she answered.

"I'm Dean by the way." He said before entering. It was warm in her house. It looked tiny but there was enough space for both of them.

"Cassie." She answered, leading him to the kitchen. He put on the counter everything he brought and started cooking. She stayed there with him. They talked a lot while he cooked and then while eating. It felt like they had known each other for a long time. She told him how her husband had disappeared at sea. She did not seem particularly affected by this loss. And she clearly wasn’t when Dean was about to leave, because she grabbed his arm and pulled him back inside. She closed the door, pushed him against it and started kissing him.

Dean loved the way she took charges and handled him however she wanted. He complied and answered all her wishes that night. They saw each other again, every day they ate dinner and Dean spent the night there.

They kept talking and talking. Dean told her everything about his family and his life. It was the first time he shared that with a woman he had just met. But it felt right to do so.

When Dean's boat had to leave, she came to the port and kissed him goodbye in front of the whole crew yelling and whistling. Dean was going to have to face them after that and he knew they’d keep asking questions about her, which made that goodbye even more difficult.

As soon as he got back on the boat, it didn't miss.

"You love her." Sam stated.

"Shut up, Sammy." Dean replied and left. He couldn't keep looking at her while the boat was getting far away. It hurt too much.

So no, he can’t think about her, it still hurts somehow. He has to focus on someone else like Lisa, his future wife, or maybe Layla, the first woman he slept with.

At the time, John led Dean to a brothel when he thought it was the right moment for Dean to discover a woman's body. Dean did as told because he didn’t have much choice. John paid for half an hour and left Dean in there with nothing more than an ‘enjoy son, you’ll thank me later’ and a pat on the shoulder.

Dean stood there in a room with a half-naked woman in the bed, one of the few furniture there, apart from a nightstand where a lamp stood and an armchair in a corner facing the bed. Old green curtains barely covered the only small window.

The woman left the bed to take off Dean's shoes, then took his hand and pulled him to stand on the red rug at the foot of the bed. This was the first time he felt the warmth and soft touch of a woman since his mom’s death.

"You're handsome, sweetie." The woman said, tracing the features of his face with her long, thin fingers. "I'm Layla by the way. I'm gonna make you feel good, okay?" Dean nodded. "Lie down there." She instructed, pointing towards the bed. She stripped of the few clothes she was wearing and climbed on top of him. She kissed his lips softly and started rubbing against his crotch slowly. "Someone's awake." She noticed after some time. She winked at him then looked down at the growing bulge in his pants.

Layla was so gentle with him and made him feel so good, as promised. Dean kept chasing that warmth and soft touch from a woman to another. He often came back to Layla. He met other women too, but then he met Lisa. She was the daughter of one of his father's friends. They were sailors together and talked about having kids who could get married. They met once and Dean found her beautiful. She seemed soft and kind, but also reliable like her father seemed to be. So, Dean agreed to marry her and is supposed to do so when he gets back from this mission, which is taking more time than predicted.

He can think about her instead since she’s supposed to become his wife. He starts rubbing his crotch through the fabric. It’s been so long, it feels good already. He pictures her, her lips and hands on him, her body moving along his. His hand sneaks under his pants and takes his length. He rubs the head of his cock with his thumb, gathering precome to use it to bob his hand up and down his shaft. He covers his mouth with his forearm as he feels the heat rising. He definitely doesn’t want Cas to hear him.

He turns around and rests on his left side, showing his back to the stairs just in case and facing the wall near the shelf. He focuses back on Lisa and takes his cock out of his pants. He’s close. So close so fast. But something’s wrong. Her eyes are blue now. And her hair is the same color but shorter and those lips. It’s not hers. Damn it! Dean is coming, hiding his face in the blanket under him, as the picture of Cas’s mouth around him pops up in his mind and flashbacks of that kiss too, he even feels those strong hands on his body again.

It feels so good, and the wave of his orgasm is so long and intense. It was a smart decision to turn around, because he would have made a mess of his pants and bed. At least his cum ended up on the floor and he can clean it easily. But that’s not really what bothers him right now, it’s more the fact that Cas is occupying his thoughts. Especially at this moment.

A tear escapes from his left eye and falls on the blanket. He’s thinking about him, probably because Cas said all those things about him being caring and all that. It’s Cas’s fault. Not his.

He remains in the same position as he gets down from the high of his orgasm. After some time, once he has recovered, it’s his turn to check on the light. He cleans the floor before leaving the room. He decides to focus on his task instead of thinking about what happened.

But as soon as he’s back in this room. It hits him again. As if he doesn’t want to face it, he looks away from the bed and his eyes falls on his journal which Cas brought him here earlier. Everywhere he looks, there’s Cas. It’s like he can’t escape him, just like he can’t leave the lighthouse. But his recklessness in putting his life in danger to leave is no longer as strong as before. It’s as if he has accepted that he can’t go away from here, from Cas.

So, he takes the journal and settles in the spare bed. He looks at the pages and reads some of it. It’s the first time he wrote about someone, there wasn’t much else to talk about otherwise. He realizes how much his opinion on Cas has changed since he met him. From the time he was stuck in bed with a weird, stoic guy taking care of him, to the moment he could finally explore more of the lighthouse and discover the lighthouse keeper, to the fear he felt when he found Cas burning from fever and on the ground.

He realizes that there are some missing parts in there, since he didn’t touch the journal when they weren’t talking anymore but as soon as Cas was feeling better, he started writing again. He wanted to write about his first steps as a lighthouse keeper to remember those, and left the journal where it was, on the armchair, where he likes to write. He usually enjoys it even more when Cas is there with him, reading, but he was too sick at the time. And now – now Dean has no pen to write, and Cas is not there. And it's Dean’s fault.

Like it always is, because Dean is responsible for people leaving him. That’s probably why his mom died. Maybe Fergus was right after all, when he told him she probably killed herself because death was better than having Dean as a son. That’s why John doesn’t want him on his boat. Because Dean hurts people and sometimes it ends with them dead.

That’s probably why John has always treated him differently, as far as Dean can remember. He is glad John was always gentler with Sam. Dean doesn’t know what he did to make him angry like that. Maybe there’s something he could see in Dean that Dean couldn’t, because he was rougher with him, always has been, even before Mary died.

Mary compensated that lack of gentleness in John, Dean almost didn’t notice how rough he was until she died. It got worse from there. John was grieving and as soon as they were back in their rebuilt home just the three of them, they were no gentleness at all anymore.

When John was there, which wasn’t really often since he spent a lot of time at sea, he trained them and taught them everything he knew about sailing. Dean knew he was a bad son for thinking he preferred that John was away. The training was hard, and John was more demanding of Dean. He was mostly a drunk shadow of himself and took it out on Dean. When Bobby was there, he behaved but when he wasn’t, Dean knew it was going to be hard.

Dean cooked good meals, which Bobby taught him, to make sure John would be happy with the food and would fall soon asleep with it and the amount of alcohol he consumed. Because when Sam was in bed, things became more complicated. If Dean did only one small mistake, he knew it was going to be a bad evening.

He hid it from Sam, from Bobby too. Even though Bobby knew John wasn’t gentle with his sons, he didn’t suspect it was that bad. No one could know, Dean hid it so well.

There’s only one time as far as he can remember, John has been proud of him. It was the day that guy, named Fergus MacLeod, one of their neighbors, had talked badly about Mary. Soon after after her death, he suggested she killed herself using fire because she couldn’t handle having Dean as a son. Dean didn’t really appreciate Fergus since he met him, because he was always annoying and always pressed where it hurt most. Not even a second after he had finished his sentence, Fergus’s face ended up covered in blood. Dean’s fists too. Dean still remembers the smile on John’s face and his hand ruffling his hair when he told him why he had fought.

“Good.” He only said, but it was everything to Dean. The next day it went back as usual.

He doesn’t dare to imagine what John would think about Cas, Dean’s relationship with him, and what he would do to Dean if he knew.

If he knew that his son touched himself thinking about another man. If he knew that his son had kissed another man’s lips. If he knew that Dean misses Cas right now and wants to feel his touch again.

Dean falls asleep at some point. He doesn’t wake up until it’s his time to go check on the light. He didn’t even hear Cas coming upstairs and back downstairs after his watch.

The night seems long anyway. He feels like his mind is working hard. He keeps thinking about Cas. He replays what happened. Cas’s declaration. The way it made him feel is completely different from the way it makes him feel now. He doesn’t feel fear anymore. He still feels like he doesn’t deserve those words being said to him. But what’s new is that he feels like his heart is beating faster, but not only from fear now, though it’s still there.

The light is still on and lightning far away in the sea.

The kiss. He shouldn’t have done it. Not like that. Cas deserves better. The way Dean treated him. He feels guilty about it.

The lenses still seem clean, Cas must have cleaned them just before his turn.

After everything that happened between them. Cas fixing his pants. Cas welcoming him in his home. Cas saving his life. Cas was nice to him and Dean treated him badly. He regrets it.

Everything seems in order, Dean can go back to sleep if he manages to.

He eventually does and wakes up again for his last turn to check on the light. He climbs up the ladder and sees Cas there. It’s weird that he’s here. Normally, it’s Dean’s turn. But what’s also weird is that one of the windows is open. Dean didn’t know they could open.

“Cas, what are you d –?” And before he finishes someone pushes Cas out of the window. Dean’s breath is taken away from his lungs. He sees who did this as the man turns around.

It's him. It's like looking in a mirror. He wakes up suddenly. Out of breath. Sweating.

Cas! Where is he? Dean has to find him.

He climbs down the stairs so fast, his old ankle injury hurts a bit, but he doesn’t care. He needs to see Cas. He’s not in the living quarters. “Cas!” Dean calls, but he’s not outside either as he runs on the platform circling around the lighthouse. “Cas?” Dean calls again above the stairs going to the storage, but no answer.

His heart is beating so fast right now and he’s still out of breath from his nightmare or from the running. Cas is not here and not on the other floors he had to climb down to come here. There’s only one last floor he hasn’t checked. The fire room.

He rushes up the stairs, and then the ladder. “Cas!!!!” He almost screams before he reaches the last floor.

“Dean?” Cas is astonished to see him here and especially calling his name.

Cas is here. Finally. Dean doesn’t take the time to catch his breath. Cas notices that he seems in distress. “What’s wro -?” Cas doesn’t have time to finish that he is caught in a hug he did not expect. It almost makes him fall. “Dean.” There’s surprise but mostly tenderness in Cas’s voice. Dean has draped himself over him. Head resting on his shoulder, arms circling them and hands against his back. Cas has that familiar salty smell from the sea and Dean breathes him in.

Cas doesn’t hug back at first because he has to catch himself and make sure he is stable. He also has to make sure this isn’t just a dream. He doesn’t remember the last time someone hugged him. But he doesn’t really care, for now he carefully wraps his arms around Dean’s lower back. He’s hesitant. His hands unfold slowly and lie flat against Dean. He doesn’t want the sailor to freak out again. He doesn’t want to lose that warmth he thought he’ll never experience again.

Dean could stay there for a while. The light is still on, Cas is in his arms, safe, and the red sun is starting to shine just above the horizon.

“Cas, I’m sorry.” Dean apologizes as he stops hugging Cas, one hand still on his shoulder.

“It’s fine, Dean.” The lighthouse keeper’s hands stroking Dean’s sides as he steps back. And maybe it's the adrenaline still kicking from that nightmare or the running through the lighthouse that’s talking, but he wants what Cas has offered.

“Cas, I – I want to.” Dean licks his lips but can’t look at Cas.

“What?” Cas frowns, tilting his head.

“Kiss me.” Dean whispers and looks at the light, but regrets it instantly. He shouldn’t have done that, because now he sees a spot with his eyes when he looks away. When he looks at Cas. The light might have blinded him, but he has never seen clearer in his life. And now he knows that he wants his other senses to be overwhelmed by Cas. Cas’s smell. Cas’s taste. Cas’s voice. Cas’s touch.

Chapter Text

“You sure?” Cas asks, because he doesn’t want to take the risk of being rejected again and doesn’t want Dean to stop talking to him, even though he really wants to kiss him without thinking.

“Do it before I change my mind.” Dean warns. And Cas obliges, but he takes his time. He wants this one to be better than their first. Less rushed. Less angry. He cups Dean’s jaw and smiles slightly as his eyes travel on the face of the man in front of him, asking to be kissed. Dean finds it hard to maintain eye contact.

Cas takes it all in as he notices Dean closing his eyes. The lighthouse is lightning the sea far away from this private moment and the sea reflecting the rising sun is lightning back at them, bathing them in a red, orange light, making Dean’s freckles stand out.

Quickly Cas’s gaze falls on Dean’s lips. He leans in and he presses his against the sailor’s. Cas kisses him so softly, taking his time to feel every curve of Dean’s mouth with his until he can’t resist anymore and kisses him more intensely. His hand slides at the back of Dean’s head, fingers intertwining in his hair. He pulls lightly and tentatively, and he’s rewarded by a gasp escaping from Dean.

Cas swallows it and then stops. Their lips are not touching anymore. Cas wants to look at him. He wants to know what he thinks. What he feels. Dean’s eyes are still closed, his long eyelashes covering the top of his cheeks, now turned in a pinky shade, probably intensified by the light surrounding them.

When he opens his eyes, they look almost yellow, with orange stripes. Cas takes his time to be in awe in front of them. He doesn’t want to rush him, but he’d like to kiss him again and touch him more.

“I – I” Dean is only able to say. Cas’s hands come to cradle his face, his thumbs stroking each cheek. Cas smiles softly.

“I know.” He says because he felt it too. He feels it now. The way his body feels like it lights up as well. His senses finally wakening as the sun does. Slowly but surely. And he wants to savor each second of it.

“Again.” Dean wants more and Cas can’t help but smile more widely this time. So, he obliges, he kisses him again, but this time Dean responds. It’s not like their first kiss, he knows what he’s doing and his hands too, they press Cas closer to him. Cas doesn’t mind at all. His hands are glued to Dean too anyway.

Dean is gentler than last night. He grips on Cas but there’s no anger in it anymore. It’s not a grip to throw him away after, it’s a grip to keep him there. Against him. And Cas could stay there forever, his hands on Dean’s neck and waist, and Dean’s on his back.

The sailor doesn’t control his own body anymore. His hands stroke Cas’s back by themselves. His mouth asks for permission to explore Cas’s and it gets it. So, his tongue licks into Cas’s mouth. And when he feels Cas pulling his hair again, a moan leaves his mouth. Everything seems so natural that he doesn’t need to think about it, he just does it.

He bites Cas’s lower lip because he can now. Because it’s only the two of them and nobody’s here to interrupt this moment. Nobody can see them. Despite the fact that they are at the very top of the building, exposed in soon-to-be broad daylight, they are alone. But Dean doesn’t feel like it, with Cas’s mouth traveling along his jaw to reach his neck. He has never felt less alone in his entire life, lost in the middle of nowhere.

“We can stop if you prefer.” Cas offers, against Dean’s skin, and resumes kissing him.

“Please, don’t.” Dean says, one hand buried in Cas’s hair. He closes his eyes and feels the heat invading his body because of Cas and the sun passing through the windows. He doesn’t want Cas’s lips to leave him, nor his hands, especially now that they’re travelling under his shirt. He can feel Cas’s fingers tentatively brushing his stomach. It tickles him. Dean assumes that Cas probably wants to take off his shirt. “Do it.” He tells him, even if he misses Cas’s mouth as soon as it leaves his skin.

Cas hesitates for a second. Of course, the wisest and safest thing to do would be to stop here, like he suggested sooner, but it’s too late. He already knows how Dean tastes like. How his lips feel against him. How much Dean loves cooking and fishing. How much Dean cares about everyone but himself. And Dean asked him not to stop. He asked him to ‘do it’.

So, Cas happily obliges and sees that tattoo again, near Dean’s heart. The first time he saw it, he was only allowed to trace it with his eyes, but now he can trace it with his fingers, and he does. He looks at it and his fingertips brush it softly. He can even kiss it, so he does that too. There’s so much skin he has not tasted yet, it almost feels overwhelming. He wants to taste it all at once but also wants to take all his time. He can never have enough of Dean. He craves him. He knows that he always will, now that he knows how he tastes and how his skin feels under his mouth, tongue and hands.

Dean notices the way Cas looks at him, like he wants to eat him or paint him again, Dean isn’t sure. Either way he’s okay with that. He kind of feels like the fish he cooked last night for their dinner. It’s like Cas hasn’t eaten in two days, he’s starving, and Dean is the meal. His mouth and hands are all over him. And when Cas’s tongue flips over his nipple Dean’s hips thrust forward, and his hands grip on Cas’s shirt. He’s seeking more and Cas must have noticed because he places his thigh between Dean’s and a hand on Dean’s hip.

That’s a good thing Dean took care of himself not so long ago, because as soon as he rubs his crotch against Cas’s thigh, he feels it all over his body. That instant pleasure of finally having something that wasn’t possible to have for a long time.

“Cas.” He moans, holding on his shoulders tightly. Cas encourages him by pulling him closer and kisses him. He meets Dean’s thrusts with his own and groans into Dean’s mouth.

They hold on to each other while they breathe each other’s air between sloppy kisses.

“Dean, can I – can I grab your butt cheeks?” It’s becoming harder for Cas to form sentences with a shirtless Dean humping against him, with Dean’s hands flat against his skin under his shirt, with Dean’s length rubbing against his own through too many layers of fabric.

He doesn’t want to scare him. Dean seems more than comfortable with what’s happening right now, but Cas is not sure that he’s ready to go further. He’s not sure Dean wants to see him naked. He’s not sure Dean would let him take him in his mouth. He’s not sure Dean would want to fuck him. It’s easier to pretend that way. It's easier to act like nothing happened as long as they haven't been fully naked in front of each other. And to be honest, Cas is more than happy with what’s going on right now anyway.

He's happy with the way Dean holds onto him. He’s happy with Dean’s mouth brushing his. He’s happy with Dean’s cock rubbing against his. But he had to ask if he could put his hands there. Just to handle him more easily and add more friction, that’s all. “You can – it’s okay if you don’t –“ Cas warns.

“Yes.” Dean simply agrees. He is breathless. He’s enjoying this too damn much to refuse. He wants to know how it feels like, to have his butt grabbed by another man’s hands. Cas’s big and strong hands. He’s so close already, it might be what finishes him.

He feels how carefully Cas slides them down from his back to his butt cheeks. His long fingers dragging down over the fabric. It pulls down his pants a bit, but not enough for it to reveal skin. He just feels it, like he feels Cas’s fingertips and nails digging into his skin as he presses him closer. It shoots him a strike of pleasure. He moans. He can’t help it. “Please, d – do that again.” Dean almost begs, burying his face in the crook of Cas’s neck.

Cas obliges. He brings Dean closer, their cocks rubbing harder against each other. They moan in each other’s open mouth. Until Dean’s hip lock and he shakes in Cas’s arms, breathless and moaning his name.

Seeing Dean like that, spent and coming down from his high, having let himself be vulnerable in front of Cas, triggers Cas’s own orgasm. Dean kisses him through it.

They stand there, catching their breath. Cas holds on Dean’s back while Dean’s hand is cupping his face. Forehead against forehead. Dean chuckles.

“We should change pants.” He observes, because he feels the fabric starting to stick to his skin and soon it’ll be hard to remove it. And it’ll dry. It must be the same for Cas.

“Go. I’ll turn off the light first.” Cas realizes that the sun is really up by now, far enough from the horizon that it’s broad daylight. They shouldn’t be wasting the oil, now that he knows how many they have left in the storage. “I’ll meet you downstairs.” He adds when he sees Dean isn’t willing to leave.

“Yeah, okay.” Dean says and goes to the ladder, his hands leaving Cas’s body and Cas’s leaving his.

As promised Cas joins him in the living quarters, where Dean is wearing a new pants and took one out for him.

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas says when he picks it up from the bed.

They don’t know how to act around each other now. Because despite being friends already, this changes it all. It’s completely new to both of them and they don’t have much choice but to live with it, just the two of them.

But when Cas changes his pants, Dean turns around to give him privacy, and Cas thinks that he was right. Dean doesn’t want to see him naked.

He’s confused, because Dean is smiling at him when he turns around after Cas is done changing. A wide, genuine smile.

“What?” Cas wonders.

"I should have known." Dean chuckles, as he remembers that secret he shares with Benny.

"Known what?" Cas asks, tilting his head.

"You remember, Benny?" Dean asks, coming closer to Cas.

"Yes, he's one of your mates. A friend of yours." Cas recalls, and watches Dean as he sits on the bed.

"He is. And maybe he could have been more." Dean confesses and he realizes that maybe it's not the right time to tell that to Cas.

"What do you mean?" Cas frowns, standing in front of him.

"I – huh, I mean there's one time when I gave myself some good time in a hidden place on the boat and – and Benny found me. I never told that to anyone, we never talked about it actually." It feels like ages ago and like nothing, almost ridiculous, compared to what he just did with Cas. "He didn't say anything, he just - did the same thing as me. Away from me. I think I secretly wished he had –"

"Touched you." Cas finishes.

"Maybe. I don't know. I probably wasn't ready at the time. I'm glad it was you." 'my first' Dean swallows back and looks down at his knees, maybe he's sharing too much now, he doesn't want to scare Cas. Not right now. Not after what they just shared.

"I wish it had been you." Cas answers, knowing what Dean is talking about. Dean looks back up at him with a concerned frown. "I had a secret relationship with my dad's coworker. He didn't really treat me well. He often made me feel bad. And then when he wanted something from me, he praised me. I was young and so stupid at the time because it worked."

"You're not stupid, Cas." Dean feels the need to let him know.

"I was blinded by those praises, he made me believe I could trust him, that he cared about me and then he rejected me. Threw me away like I was nothing to him. My family rejected me too, I was so stup –"

"No!" Dean stands suddenly to stop him fast, "you didn't deserve to be rejected. I better not see him or I -" Dean’s anger rises but then he pauses. “I’m sorry I rejected you at first.” He says quietly, feeling guilty about the way he treated Cas.

"It's fine, Dean. I’m fine now. That's why I became a lighthouse keeper. I had to leave. And it allowed me to – meet you." Cas blushes and looks down. Dean pushes his head up with his curled index under Cas’s chin to be able to look into his eyes. And then Dean kisses him, because he can. And he's so glad Cas was able to share something about his past. Something painful, because he trusted Dean with it.

When they stop kissing, Dean finds it hard to hold Cas's gaze. The way he looks at him, like no one before. He tries to escape it as best as possible.

"So –“ He clears his throat. “Everything you said about me being the most caring man or whatever. Did you mean it or where you just trying to get in my pants?" He jokes but deep down he really wants to know.

"I mean it, Dean. And I haven't gotten in your pants." He clarifies, "yet" he whispers, as he moves away from Dean’s space.

"I heard you." Dean replies, chuckling, as he takes his hand and pulls him into another kiss. Maybe Dean isn’t that much against the idea of Cas touching him there after all, the lighthouse keeper thinks.

“We should start working.” Cas remarks, as Dean’s mouth starts travelling into his neck. It’s not that he wants Dean to stop. It’s kind of the opposite, but they still have to take care of the lighthouse.

Chapter Text

Dean takes off his mouth from Cas’s skin, reluctantly. But Cas is right, they have work to do. It doesn't prevent Dean from feeling frustrated despite his previous orgasm.

The sailor wants more. He’s glad Cas didn’t rush him. He's glad Cas was considerate enough not to push him to undress so quickly. So soon. In front of another man. Worse still, in front of another naked man.

Cas kept his clothes on when Dean humped against him. Dean is thankful for it, because he doesn’t know how he would have reacted.

But judging by the way he felt during the humping and the way he feels right now as he climbs up the stairs behind Cas, Dean realizes that he wants more.

“Dean, you should bring back some more oil containers, while I clean the Fresnel lenses.” Cas suggests, standing at the base of the ladder, and facing Dean.

“Right.” Dean realizes that he just followed Cas without thinking. “Are you giving me an order?” Dean asks, suggestively.

“Oh no, you don’t have to if –“ Cas explains while Dean approaches slowly.

“Because I can get behind that.” Dean smirks, his hands grab the ladder, trapping Cas between his arms.

“Oh.” Cas repeats, slower this time, and he feels goosebumps covering his skin. “Kiss me.” Cas jumps on the opportunity, even though it’s hearable in his voice that he is unsure how Dean will react to this order.

Dean chuckles, but comes closer. He teases Cas, approaching his lips to his, but getting past them to his ear.

“As you wish.” He whispers into Cas’s ear and kisses him softly. Just a press of lips first. And then he darts his tongue, tentatively asking for permission to explore Cas’s mouth and Cas grants him, eagerly. He wraps his arms around Dean to keep him there and responds to that kiss like nothing else matters anymore.

Breathless, the sailor breaks the kiss first.

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas strokes his chest with both hands. “I wish we could keep going but –“

“I know. Work. I’ll go in the storage room and bring you those oil containers.” Dean stops holding the ladder and gives more space to Cas, even though his whole body is telling him to stay here.

Cas nods and turns around to climb the ladder. Dean watches him.

Instead of being with him, doing something for him should be enough to satisfy Dean. At least this is what he tells himself as he looks at the oil containers in the storage room. He bends his knees and wraps his arms around one to lift it from the ground. It’s easier than the first time he did that, but it’s still heavy.

He walks towards the stairs, when something makes him stumble suddenly. He drops the oil container, fortunately not on his feet, and catches himself with the stair railing.

“What the –“ He starts shouting. But his anger disappears quickly when he realizes what has almost caused him to fall and be crushed under a heavy container.

He chuckles. “What are you doing here?” He asks the object lying on the ground. “I remember you.” He adds, picking up the wooden cane he used in the early days when he was able to get out of bed shortly after arriving here. It would have been a shame to wake up that ankle injury with the thing that actually helped him recover from it.

He stores it carefully under the stairs so that it won’t go in anybody’s way anymore. And he realizes how everything has changed since he had to use it.

How he enjoys being here now, how he finds freedom in living in this place. How he knows how to take care of a lighthouse. But mostly how his relationship with Cas has changed. How he has changed. The Dean that arrived here would have never asked Cas to kiss him, he would have never kissed Cas in the first place, because he couldn’t see another way to live his life than the one his father decided for him. Become a sailor. Marry Lisa. Build a family.

But Dean has always felt like somehow this life wasn’t his, like it wasn’t for him. It was the life of someone people thought he was, and there’s no freedom in that.

Here. It’s different. With Cas. It’s different. Dean might have felt trapped at first, but he was actually freed. 

He grabs that oil container again and carries it to the ladder leading to the last floor and brings three more containers there until Cas climbs down, done with his work upstairs.

“You’re sweating.” Cas observes as he sees Dean placing the last oil containers there, breathlessly.

“Well, yes.” Dean agrees, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Then he notices how Cas looks at him. “You like that.” Dean states.

“No – huh – I” Cas stutters. Of course, he wants to lick it. All of it. He’s sure Dean tastes as salty as the sea surrounding them. “Thank you for bringing the oil containers here.” Cas tries to remain professional but it’s too late, Dean has seen how he was looking at him seconds ago.

“You can say it, Cas.” Now Dean can hear what Cas thinks about him. Happily hear it.

“Yes, I appreciate it, Dean.” Cas admits, his cheeks tainted with a slight shade of pink.

“You’re not looking bad either.” Dean teases, approaching.

“I’d like to taste you.” Cas manages to shut Dean’s mouth with those words. “All of you.” He specifies, cupping Dean’s jaw.

Dean swallows and licks his lips. His body tells him he’d like that too, but his mind says otherwise. He leans his head into Cas’s hand, closing his eyes. “But I can wait for that.” Cas declares, tenderly smiling, as he understands Dean’s inner fight.

“I’m sorr –“ Dean starts.

“No.” Cas cuts him instantly and places his other hand on the other side of Dean’s face. “You don’t have to apologize for that. I don’t want you to do something you are not ready for.” He says, making sure Dean looks into his eyes. “Of course I want to kiss you all the time. And I want to discover your body under those layers. And I’d like to feel almost as much of your skin against mine as is physically possible.” ‘Again,’ Cas could add because he had warmed up Dean when he arrived here. “And I want to make you feel good. But you don’t have to pretend for me. I’m already happy with what you give me.” Cas explains.

“I’m not pretending. I mean I can’t do all of that yet, but I do want to kiss you all the time too.” Dean confesses, looking at Cas’s lips. They have to find their new balance in this evolving relationship and Dean is glad Cas is willing to give him more time to adjust.

Cas closes the gap between them and presses his lips against Dean’s. Dean’s eyes stay closed when Cas breaks the kiss.

“You should rest. I can do what’s left alone.” Cas quickly pecks him again, with his hand holding the back of his neck.

“No, I can –“ Dean objects and Cas kisses him again.

“Please. Get some rest.” Cas whispers against Dean’s mouth. Dean chases his lips.

“Yeah, okay.” He capitulates, feeling exhausted by the lack of sleep the night before. Then he leaves Cas’s personal space.

“Go in my bed so I don’t wake you when I work.” Cas suggests and Dean nods before leaving the room.  

Cas is more efficient to do the rest of his work for the day without Dean distracting him. Though from time to time he goes into the living quarters to check on him. When Dean is awake, writing or doing something else he wants to do around the kitchen, Cas lays a kiss on his mouth. Sometimes he kisses him multiple times because Dean holds him there, a hand at the back of his neck, or his back or in his. It’s harder to get back to work after that. And when Dean is sleeping, Cas kisses his forehead softly. He leaves soon after, fighting the need to settle next to him.

When the day is finally done, Cas is tired too, because the previous night wasn’t restful for him either. He was too worried about how things would turn out with Dean, but now he’s not anymore.

He’s relieved and he’s exhausted. The only thing he needs right now is to be in his bed with Dean against him.

“Dean, where are you going?” Cas asks, lying down on his mattress under the covers.

“I’m going to sleep. I didn’t bring the bed down here again. I’ll do that tomor –“ He stops and watches Cas’s hand pats the mattress next to him.

“Stay here. Come in this bed. With me.” Cas offers and gets a smile from Dean. The sailor approaches slowly, and Cas lifts the covers up for him to join.

At first Dean lays on his back not knowing how to move, what to do nor what to say. It’s the first time he shares a bed with another man. Even if as a sailor he’s slept close to his mates’ hammocks in the cabin, here it’s not the same.

It’s just the two of them. In one small bed. They have kissed, multiple times. They have orgasmed in front of each other. Cas invited him there. So, it must mean that he wants him there. Maybe he wants more. Maybe he wants Dean to touch him. Maybe he – “Dean.” Cas whispers softly, stopping Dean’s thoughts and worries instantly.

Dean turns his head to face Cas. “I just want to rest with you next to me.” Cas confesses.

Dean exhales loudly, relieved. And Cas brings his hand to Dean’s jaw and comes closer to lay a quick kiss on his lips. Dean turns around to fully face Cas. They are close now, due to the size of the bed.

“How was work?” Dean asks, feeling Cas’s easy breath against his chin.

“I managed to do everything I wanted today.” Cas answers, covering Dean’s legs with his right one.

“Good. I’ll help you tomorrow and tonight too. I’ll watch the light since I slept during the day.” Dean offers, seeing Cas’s eyes closing thanks to the last oil lamp on the shelf above the bed, lighting Cas’s right cheek in yellow and making his strands of hair shine with a golden glow. Dean’s hand buries itself in Cas’s soft hair, stroking a soft lock between his index and thumb. 

“Thank you, Dean.” Cas replies, and then he remembers to warn him, “be careful with the oil. The supply boat will only come in six weeks and we don’t have much left. I counted the containers in the storage, plus the ones on the other floors. We have more or less enough.”

“What?” Dean says. He stops stroking Cas’s hair, surprised like he forgot about that. Like he forgot there was other people and a whole world running out there. “You said you could wait.” That’s what come to his mind instantly. He doesn’t really care about the oil. Sure, he’ll be careful and won’t waste it. But why did Cas say he could wait for Dean to process things about their new relationship when they have so little time left together?

“I did.” Cas confirms, knowing what Dean is talking about. His eyes are now fully open again.

“Why would you say that when the boat is coming in six weeks? You know I can’t st –“ The rest of the word catches up in Dean’s throat.

“I know, Dean.” It’s a stake through Cas’s heart every time he thinks about it. So, yes, he knows. “And I also know that I don’t want to force you to do anything.” He smiles tenderly.

“I want to.” Dean almost cuts him.

“Dean, you don’t have to.” Cas replies.

“I do, I’m just scared but I – I trust you.” Dean confesses.

This is all Cas needed to hear. Dean trusts him. He kisses the sailor again. This time more intensely. And Dean responds with the same intensity.

He turns and lays on his back again, bringing Cas with him and Cas places himself over him. Dean is inviting. He wraps his arms around Cas and presses him closer until his hands work at the hem of Cas’s shirt. He hums in Cas’s mouth to make him understand that he’s got to get rid of it.

Cas stops kissing him and rests on his knees, straddling Dean. He waits to make sure Dean wants to. When Dean’s hands help him, he understands that Dean does. So, he takes it off.

It’s the first time Dean sees his torso and stomach. Maybe he has seen Cas’s back once or twice when he changed his shirt, but here it’s different. With Cas’s weight on him and the way the light from the oil lamp shines on his skin, Dean doesn’t control his hands when they reach in front of him and slide down from Cas’s chest to his stomach and then rest on his hips just above the hem of his pants. Dean’s thumbs rub against each of them.

“Are you okay?” Cas asks. He’s still concerned that Dean might not want to see him naked.

“Yes, more than okay. I mean look at you. I can see that you’ve carried a lot of oil containers. And I understand why you were able to carry me from the beach to the lighthouse.” Dean says, as he keeps staring and lets his hands roam over Cas’s body.

Cas looks at himself and the way Dean’s hands touch him. He places his on Dean’s, which are resting on his stomach. He takes one and brings it to his mouth. He has to bend a little because Dean’s arm is too short and then he kisses softly the back of his hand.

“You should take off your shirt too.” He says against it and kisses it again on the fingers this time. He trails his path with more kisses along Dean’s arm, feeling Dean moving under him when it probably tickles him.

“I can’t do that if you’re keeping my arm hostage.” Dean remarks. He’s got a point, but Cas can’t help it.

“Sorry, Dean.” He apologizes.

“Oh no. I don’t mind. It’s just –“ Dean explains but is quicky stopped by Cas pulling at the hem of his shirt. “Yeah, okay.” Dean helps him and squirms under Cas. They work together to get rid of it as soon as possible.

Once it’s done, Cas lays down on him. Chest to chest. Stomach to stomach. Lips to lips. Feeling Dean’s hot skin against his is a whole new sensation for Cas, completely different from the time he had to warm him up. It’s a sensation he thought he had forgotten about. One that he thought he’ll never know again. One that he never knew. Because it’s Dean and with him, everything is different. Everything is familiar and everything is also new.

He’s clinging to Cas like he doesn’t want to let him go and Cas wishes it was true. But Dean has just said he couldn’t stay. Cas knew that somehow, but it hurts to acknowledge it. He doesn’t want to think about that, not right now, not ever, but especially not when Dean is kissing him like he’s not going anywhere. Kissing him like he’s going to stay in Cas’s bed forever. Because at this moment, Cas wants to believe him. So, he does.

He lets himself believe it, and embrace it. Him. His neck. He kisses, bites and licks it.

This is all new to Dean. Having another man straddling his hips. Feeling his stubble rubbing against his neck. Being able to feel his skin against his. His strong body covering his. Seeing someone so patient and understandable about that. He lets himself take his time because he knows he can and has never been able to do it before. He never needed to. Because he knew what he had to do. He knew what people expected him to do.

With Cas, he doesn’t know what to do but he doesn’t need to think about it because it feels natural. He wants to do something for him. “I – I want to try something.” Dean suggests and Cas stops instantly. Dean feels him breath against his neck.

Cas sits up, his hands flat on Dean’s torso.

“I’d like to touch you.” Dean admits. “There.” His eyes look at Cas’s crotch.

“Only if you really want to.” Cas reminds. He sits back and places his hands on his own thighs. He’s half hard already.

“I do.” Dean can see Cas’s length through his pants. He touches Cas’s stomach once more and slides down. He rubs tentatively through the fabric like he does on himself from time to time. Cas bites his lower lip and patiently waits for more.

He hums quietly and closes his eyes, while he tries to take deep breaths. His hips chase Dean’s touch. He wants more. Of course, it would be a lie to deny it, but he feels Dean’s hesitant touch. He also feels Dean’s growing erection under him. He doesn’t want Dean to feel like he has to go further. So, he takes Dean’s hand off his crotch and pins it above his head as he bends down and kisses him.

“Can I taste you, Dean?” Cas asks for permission, planting his eyes in Dean’s.

“Shit, yes!” Dean agrees and watches Cas as he travels down along his body. He kisses his neck, and moves to his collarbones then plays with Dean’s nipples with his tongue and lips. Dean’s back aches up from the bed, with his hand buried in Cas’s hair, accompanying him on his way down. “Cas.” Dean starts getting less and less patient.

“I could do this all night.” Cas mumbles against Dean’s stomach. He was tired but now he’s fully awake.

“What? Torturing me?” Dean wonders, looking down at him. And Cas puffs against his skin. What a feeling that brings to Dean’s stomach! But not on his skin. No. It’s something deeper. Something he never felt before. Something foreign but real and true. Something that feels right.

And what feels even more right is to let Cas take off his pants. He lifts his hips up from the bed as Cas’s hands grab the hem of the fabric. He keeps laying kisses against Dean’s skin. Though Dean likes those, he wants more. Needs more. He helps Cas and pushes his pants down.

His cock is standing up in the air, but Cas doesn’t pay attention to it yet. He kisses Dean’s thighs, then his knees, his shinbone, his ankles and the tops of his feet as he removes Dean’s pants. He throws them on the ground somewhere in the living quarters and places himself between Dean’s legs.

The sailor doesn’t miss a bit of it. He watches every single one of his movements and reactions. His little smile as he strokes up Dean’s legs with each hand. The way he looks at him. Like an artist finally able to enter his own painting. Like he’s checking every detail, but even if he finds a flaw he doesn’t correct it. He lets it be and worship it. He kisses one of Dean’s old, small wound on his inner thigh.

“Cas, please.” Dean almost begs. He wants Cas to touch him there so bad and if he’s not going do it. Dean will do it himself. He approaches his hand from his leaking cock, but Cas pushes it away and intertwines their fingers. Dean’s head falls back on the pillow and he groans in frustration.

“Don’t touch yourself.” Cas orders and it wakes up something in Dean. He bites his lower lip and looks down at Cas. He’s so close. His mouth is almost where Dean wants it to be. He’s kissing his hipbones now.

Dean is quickly rewarded for his patience by Cas kissing his tip. And the sailor grabs the sheets already. So when Cas’s lips wrap around the head and his tongue circles around it, Dean lets this word out uncontrollably.

“Fuck!” He says. And he knows he’s not going to last long. Especially with the way Cas' mouth envelops him so perfectly when he takes him whole. His other hand intertwines in Cas’s hair, giving him the illusion he’s in control, while he’s not controlling anything at all. Not when Cas hums around him. Not when he looks up at him while he does it.

“You taste so good, Dean.” Cas’s mouth leaves Dean’s cock for a second just to let him know and Dean grips tightly Cas’s hand, which is holding his.

When he does that Cas imagines Dean’s hand on his cock as he touches himself, with Dean’s in his mouth. He blows him as fast as he moves his own hand. His own moans are muffled by Dean's cock, but Dean’s aren’t.

And it’s a good thing that they are alone in the middle of the sea, at least only the seagulls are able to hear him.

“Cas. Cas. Cas.” He repeats as he falls over the edge. Cas swallows him clean. And he spills his load in his pants as he watches Dean coming down from his high.

“Dean.” He moans with Dean’s hand still in his hair. Spent, he rests his head on Dean’s stomach.

He could fall asleep like that, but he gets up instead and cleans himself. Then he brings back the pants he had thrown away to Dean. While Dean puts it back on, as well as the shirt that was lying next to him. Cas puts his shirt back on too and fills a glass with water. He drinks a few sip and brings the rest to Dean, sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Thanks, Cas.” Dean says as he takes the glass. Cas sits next to him, while Dean drinks, and lets his head rest on Dean’s shoulder. “We should rest now. Come on.” Dean pats Cas’s cheek and gets up to let him settle in the bed. Then he joins him, welcomed by Cas’s arms open for him. They wrap around him and keep him close.

“Good night, Dean.” He whispers, eyes closed already. Dean wraps his arms around Cas too.

“Night, Cas.” He answers and tenderly kisses Cas’s forehead.