Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean should have felt happy.  After all, he, Sam, and Jack had figured out a way to defeat Chuck.  His adopted kid was now God-with-a-capital-G and had brought back everyone and everything that had been snapped away.  But it wasn’t happiness or relief that Dean was feeling–rather, the impending loneliness was clawing at his insides.

“Jack,” Dean called out softly before even realizing he intended to speak.

Jack half-turned back towards Dean, just enough to make eye contact, and offered an enigmatic smile.  “Don’t worry, Dean.  Go home.”  With that, Jack turned back around and slowly faded from view.

Sam wiped away the tears he'd shed while Dean remained rooted to the spot.  He didn’t miss Jack’s emphasis on the word home but that didn’t mean that he would find what he was looking for.  Dean didn’t dare to dream, even as both his and Sam’s phone chirped with messages from Donna, Jody, and Claire.

Dean silently climbed into the Impala, still not speaking, while Sam excitedly recounted that everyone they’d lost was back. “Sounds like Bobby is ok too, even though he’s super confused.  I don’t even know what we should tell people!  Oh!  Dean!  Charlie’s okay too!”

Dean simply drove towards the bunker, trying to let Sam’s jubilant words penetrate the protective shell currently holding him together.  It wasn’t until another chime from Sam’s phone had silenced him that Dean shook himself out of his reverie.

“Got real quiet there, Sammy.  Everything ok?”

As Dean risked a quick glance at the passenger seat, Sam looked up with tears in his eyes.  “It’s Eileen,” he said softly.  “She’s…she’s okay.  She’s heading to the bunker.”

Something in Dean shattered as he simultaneously felt happy for his brother and devastated for himself.  It seemed as if Jack had brought everyone back except the one that he truly needed…the one who truly deserved it.  

Dean nervously cleared his throat and managed to choke out, “Man, that’s great.  Really.  Good thing we’re only a couple of hours away.”

Sam finally seemed to take note of Dean’s mood and quickly deduced the reason for it.  “I’m sure Jack would have brought him back if he could…or maybe he’s still working on it?”

Dean couldn’t take the half-baked optimism in his brother’s voice, but to avoid a conversation he wasn’t ready for, he simply nodded and said, “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

The rest of the drive passed uneventfully, with Sam checking in repeatedly with their friends and Dean focusing on the road.  As soon as Dean had parked in the bunker garage and shut off the engine, Sam was out of the car and sprinting inside.

Not that Dean could blame the kid for his enthusiasm.  If Cas had been waiting inside for him, he would have done the same.  He replayed Jack’s final words in his head but tried to quell any feelings of anticipation.  If Cas was back, he would have called Dean by now.

Dean shuffled into the bunker and discovered Sam and Eileen clutching each other in the middle of the War Room.  Eileen caught his eye and Dean simply nodded at her, giving her the warmest smile he could muster.

He proceeded to the kitchen and downed a bottle of beer while still standing in front of the open refrigerator.  He grabbed a second bottle to go before tossing the first and heading in the direction of the bedrooms.

He peeked into Cas’ room and found it empty, firmly eradicating the sliver of hope in Dean’s mind.  Sighing, he cracked open the beer in his hand and finally headed into his room.

Seconds later the bottle lay shattered on the concrete floor, beer pooling into a foamy puddle at Dean’s feet.  Eyes fixed upon his bed, Dean could only stand and stare, for there was Cas, curled up under the blanket and sound asleep.

“Hello!”

The voice startled Dean and he whirled around to find Jack standing in the hallway just outside his room, the kid grinning.

“Jack?  How…?”

“He’s human now, Dean.  It was the only way I could get him out of the Empty–I had to cut out his grace.  It’s okay, though–Castiel agreed to it.”

Anger flashed across Dean’s face.  “Why the hell would he do that?  He just gave up everything that he is, and for what?”

“Oh, Dean,” Jack said softly, a pitying expression crossing his face.  “Did you ever consider that this is what Castiel wanted?  That he has given up nothing but instead gained everything?”

Without answering, Dean turned back to look at the sleeping form in his bed.  Obviously Dean couldn’t possibly consider such a thing.  He turned back to tell Jack exactly that only to find an empty hallway.

Dean ran a hand through his hair, then carefully stepped over the beer puddle to approach the bed.  All he wanted to do was touch Cas, to cradle the sleeping man’s face, to prove to himself that Cas was real.  Instead, Dean settled for pulling the blanket up and tucking it more securely around Cas.

For now, Dean would have to be satisfied that Cas was back  He had no idea how to move forward, or what to say when Cas finally woke up, but there was one thing of which he was certain:  he had done nothing worthy of Cas’ love and sacrifice, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to live with it.

Chapter Text

With Cas and Eileen living at the bunker full-time, it hadn’t taken long for the four of them to slip into a comfortable routine.  Eileen was still actively hunting, with Sam sometimes accompanying her to help.  Dean had taken a step back and along with Cas, provided research and phone verifications for hunters across the country.

Dean couldn’t say he was happy, but he was content.  Cas had stayed and their friendship resumed as though the big confession had never happened.  They never spoke of it, some silent agreement to ignore the proverbial elephant in the room having been made shortly after Cas had woken up in the bunker for the first time.  

Cas had been expecting to wake there, but not in Dean’s bed.  He had hoped that Dean would be sitting at his bedside but was surprised to discover Sam watching over him, quietly uttering, “Hey, Cas, welcome home.” 

Dean had burst into the room ten minutes later, after Sam had helped Cas sit up.  Dean had locked eyes with Cas, but without access to his grace any longer, Cas had zero hope of reading what was in those swirling green orbs.  No words were exchanged, and finally Sam coughed, relieving the thick tension.  Dean had then approached the bed, grasped Cas’ hand, and in a choked voice, said, “Don’t ever do that again.”  

Not knowing to what Dean was referring, but seeing the anguish in the man’s face, Cas had found himself nodding in agreement.

(Sam told Cas days later that Dean had been sitting with Cas for twelve hours, waiting for the fallen angel to wake up, before Sam was able to convince him to take a shower and eat something.  “I think he’s still mad at me for that,” Sam had said with a wince.) 

Thus, Cas moved into the room that had always been his.  Sam encouraged him to decorate it however he wanted, but he had no possessions to display, no pictures or letters to keep within a nightstand.  He found it easier to not settle in, to just exist in whatever space the Winchesters provided, always ready to leave at a moment’s notice.  While Dean seemed to want him there, he found that he couldn’t shake the fear that Dean would tell him that he couldn’t stay.  He didn’t dare bring up his fateful confession, as it was obvious to him that Dean didn’t reciprocate and he didn’t want an uncomfortable discussion to be what forced him out the door.

As for Dean, he felt there were so many missed opportunities.  He had imagined giving some grand, romantic speech as soon as Cas had woken up–but Sam had stolen that moment from him.  Every morning he woke up with the determination that he was going to tell Cas how he really felt–and every night he went to bed, defeated and angry with himself.  Before he knew it, several weeks had passed and it just seemed easier to ignore the issue.

Currently, Dean was working up excitement for a random article he had found while searching for a case he could work solo.  Instead, he found a story in The Newark Advocate detailing the Hebron Pie Festival, situated in a village a little east of Columbus, Ohio.  He immediately copied the link into a text and sent it to Sam and Cas.  

“Dude.  I’m right here,” Sam snarked at him from across the War Room table.  Dean just grinned while he waited for Sam to open the link.  “Pie Fest?  You want to drive…what, 15 hours for pie?”

“Sam, you should know better than to question Dean’s quest for pie,” Cas intoned as he walked down the steps from the library.

This is why I love you, Dean thought.  Hoping his expression didn’t give away his inner thoughts, he forced an oversized grin and said, “Cas is right, Sammy.  You should know better.  Plus, it’s a straight shot on Route 36.  Think more like 14 hours.”

Sam uttered a long-suffering sigh but knew he was going to agree.  Eileen was out near Seattle, working a rugaru case and wouldn’t be back for at least a week.  Things were mostly quiet and the guys could use a bit of a vacation.   “All right,” he said.  “We should probably get going, seeing as though this is in three days.”

***

“You’re so beautiful.  I can’t believe you’re all mine,” Dean crooned reverently.

“Dean.  It’s only pie.  Get a grip,” Sam fired back, digging a fork into the piece of lemon meringue on one of his plates.

Dean ignored Sam while surveying the choices before him, trying to decide where to start.  Just when he had committed to blueberry, Sam smashed a piece of custard pie in his face.

Dean couldn’t even be mad.  Cas’ laughing was such a melodic sound, and so rare.  So Dean just licked away some of the cream on his face and said, “Joke’s on you, Sammy–this is fucking delicious.”

Cas proceeded to laugh so hard that he fell on the ground, prompting Sam to slump over onto the picnic table laughing as well.

But of course, nothing good could last.

“So get this,” Sam said two hours later back at the motel, and Dean found himself digging out John’s journal.  Dean took the newspaper article from Sam’s outstretched hand and compared the sketch within it to a sketch John had made some twenty-odd years prior.

With a sigh, Dean said, “Yeah, it’s similar enough that this could be the same.  Which probably means vampires.”

Dean was familiar with his dad’s old case, having practically memorized the journal a long time ago.  It was one of the few that John hadn’t solved, but his text and drawings were richly detailed and served as a decent roadmap.  John hadn’t suspected vampires at the time, having thought they were extinct, but the lack of aging and exsanguination mentioned in the paper clinched it for Dean.

Dean was incredibly frustrated.  He just wanted a break with his family, to eat some pie, and now he was dragging Cas into danger.  He didn’t doubt that Cas still possessed some badass fighting skills, but the anxiety gnawing at his gut wasn’t listening to reason.

The three of them pored over a map of Hebron and the surrounding countryside, attempting to identify the location of the nest.  They settled on a short list of three different abandoned barns with plans to head out at first light.

The next day dawned cool and cloudy, but the trio took very little notice as they stealthily crept below window level of the second barn on the list.  They could hear movement inside and were attempting to make their way to the main door.

Adrenaline pumping, Dean reached the door first and kicked it in with dramatic fashion.  They had opted for a blitz attack and were unsurprised to find five vampires in various states of drowsiness, completely caught off guard.

Dean charged forward, decapitating the nearest vampire before she could even react.  The sounds of grunts and slashing blades filled his ears as he turned to the next challenger, putting his back to the rest of the group.  He found himself facing off against the largest, ugliest vamp.  He was trying to check where Sam and Cas were in his peripherals, but that moment of hesitation gave the vamp a window.  He charged and slammed into Dean, driving him backwards.  

Dean was still struggling to regain his footing when a force slammed into him from the right, crashing him and the vamp to the floor.

Dean extricated himself from the vampire only to find Cas partly sprawled on top of him, looking manic.  Dean didn’t have time to ponder that particular expression as Cas rose from the floor simultaneously as the vampire.

“Winchesters’ pet angel saves the day again,” the vampire gritted out.  He made a disgusting hacking sound and spit into Cas’ face.  A split second later, the vamp’s head bounced to the floor, having been dispatched by Cas’ machete.

Silence fell over the barn as Dean pulled himself off the floor.  He glanced at Sam to make sure he was all right, then turned back to Cas.  “Nice one, Cas.  Did he seriously spit on you?”

Cas didn’t answer.  He idly rubbed his face, eyes laser focused on a support post.

“Uh, Cas?” Dean prodded.

All of the color drained out of Cas’ face. “I need some air,” he whispered before staggering towards the barn door.

Dean made to follow him but was stopped by Sam’s hand on his bicep.  “What?” Dean snapped.  “What’s wrong with him, anyway?  Yeah, vamp spit’s nasty, but it ain’t gonna turn him.”

Sam heaved a long-suffering sigh and pointed to the post at which Cas had been staring.  “Think,” he said sternly before moving to start the cleanup.

Dean puzzled over the post.  He realized that if Cas hadn’t tackled them, the vamp probably would have slammed Dean into the post.

And that’s when he saw it.

There was a six inch piece of steel rebar protruding from the post about four feet from the ground.  Dean had nearly been skewered.

“Shit,” Dean whispered, turning to look towards the door Cas had exited through.

“He saved your life, dumbass,” Sam said, voice shaking.  “I could see his face the moment he saw what was happening.  That’s gonna haunt me for a long, long time.  Just…give him some space.”

That was exactly the last thing Dean wanted to do, but he nodded and proceeded to help Sam move the bodies to the center of the barn and got a fire going.

They found Cas slumped against Baby, looking like Hell but with some color back in his face.  A multitude of things passed through Dean’s head to say–Are you ok?  Thank you.  I love you.--but he settled for clapping Cas on the shoulder and squeezing.

“Let’s go home,” Dean added quietly.

Chapter Text

Cas was generally pretty quiet, but he’d been especially quiet in the 72 hours since the barn.  He’d said nothing on the drive home and immediately headed to his room.  He was refusing to join the brothers at mealtimes.

Dean wasn’t sure what to do, but forcing a guy who was clearly going through something to talk to him really wasn’t his style.  It wasn’t until Dean heard Cas violently coughing through their shared wall that he went and knocked on Cas’ door.

“Cas?  You ok in there?”  When he didn’t receive an answer, Dean grew even more worried.  “All right, I’m coming in.”

Dean softly opened the door and walked in, not sure what he would find.  Within thirty seconds, he was utterly furious with himself for not checking on Cas sooner.

Cas was in bed, burrowed in blankets that were pulled up to his neck.  It was clear they weren’t doing the job as he was visibly shivering.  A trashcan next to the bed was overflowing with crumpled tissues, a few of which had spilled onto the floor.  Cas had his eyes screwed shut and looked miserable.

Dean swallowed down his knee-jerk reaction, which was to yell something like, “Why didn’t you call for me?”.  Instead, he approached the bed and gently rested his hand on Cas’ forehead.  As he’d feared, Cas was burning up.

Cas blinked blearily up at Dean as Dean withdrew his hand.  “Dean?  What are you doing in my room?”

Dean sighed and perched on the edge of the bed.  “Checking on you.  Want to tell me how long you’ve been sick?”

“I don’t know.  How long have we been home?  It started about twelve hours after that.”  Cas was suddenly wracked with a coughing fit and Dean found himself rubbing the man’s back in sympathy.

“Right,” Dean said as soon as Cas had settled down.  “I’ll go hit up the Walgreens in Smith Center and get some meds.  Sit tight.”

“Dean, no,” Cas rasped, grasping for Dean when the man stood.  “Don’t waste your time.  I’m not worth it.”

“Baby, of course you are.  I’ll be back,” Dean said softly.  It wasn’t until he was back in the hallway that he realized he called Cas, ‘Baby’.  With a wince, he sincerely hoped that Cas wouldn’t remember and headed towards the library to fill in Sam.

He found Sam buried in some obscure Latin text and rolled his eyes fondly.  “Uh, so, Cas is real sick, I’m gonna go get him some shit.”

Sam’s head flew up, startled.  “Wait, what?”

Dean sighed.  “I checked on Cas and he’s sick.  Coughing, fever, snot…so yeah, he needs meds.”

“How did he get sick?” Sam asked.

“Hell if I know,” Dean said, thinking.  “Oh, no fucking way,” he muttered as something occurred to him.  Alarmed, he stared down at Sam.  “Was that vamp contagious?”

“I’ve never heard of that,” Sam said thoughtfully, “but I suppose anything is possible?”

“Whatever, I’m outta here,” Dean said, patting his pockets to make sure he had his phone and keys.

“You should probably wear a mask,” Sam said.

“Yeah, yeah, there’s some in Baby!” Dean called back as he headed towards the garage, heart thumping.  If a vampire could get Cas sick, who knew what that meant for the poor guy.

***

Dean wandered the aisles of Walgreens, unsure what he was looking for, and trying not to poke at the mask on his face.

As he was pondering the merits of Thera-Flu versus Day-Quil, a kind voice to his left asked if he needed help.

Dean turned and found himself face-to-face with the pharmacist, who was wearing a polite customer service smile.  “Yes,” he said.  “My friend is sick with something and I have no idea what to buy.”

The pharmacist (Patti, her nametag said) smiled wider.  “Can you describe your friend’s symptoms?”

“He’s really cold, running a fever, coughing, and sneezing,” Dean said, though he wasn’t positive about the sneezing part.

“Hmm.  Well, could be a nasty virus,” Patti said.  “Did he test negative for COVID-19?”

“Oh.  Uh.  He didn’t take a test,” Dean said sheepishly.

“Let me show you the home tests,” Patti said, leading Dean to an adjacent aisle before handing him a box.  “The instructions are inside, but call if you have any questions.”

“Um, thanks,” Dean said.  “But is there anything that will make him feel better?”

Patti gave him another soft smile, though Dean really didn’t understand why.  “Of course.  Follow me,” she said.  Dean trailed after her for a few minutes, taking the acetaminophen, throat lozenges, decongestants, and a digital thermometer that she handed to him.

As Patti rang up Dean’s purchases, she said, “I hope your boyfriend feels better.”  Dean felt his eyes go wide, but she just smiled conspiratorially.

“Uh, thanks.  Me too,” he stammered as he took the bag from her.  All he could wonder was if his feelings were that obvious to a complete stranger, had Cas noticed?  And if so, why hadn’t he said anything?

***

“I’m sorry, did you just say that Cas got COVID from a vampire?” Sam asked incredulously.

“Yep,” Dean said, dropping both ‘Positive’ test strips on top of Sam’s open book.  Dean hadn’t believed the first result, so he’d convinced Cas to do the second test of the two-pack.

“What the fuck?”

“Dunno, Sammy.  But we should probably quarantine.”

“You should probably quarantine.  I haven’t been near him!” Sam protested.

“You’ve been near me, dumbass,” Dean retorted with a snicker as he walked out of the room.

“Dammit,” Sam muttered.

Dean paused briefly outside Cas’ door, wondering if he should wear a mask for protection.  Figuring it was too late, he decided against it and let himself into the room.

Cas was breathing a little more easily after taking a decongestant and lozenge, but was still miserable.  He blinked slowly at Dean and didn’t say anything.

“Bad news, Buddy,” Dean said softly.  “You have COVID.”

Cas didn’t appear to be surprised.  He just heaved a sigh, which threw him into a coughing fit.  Dean sat on the bed and rubbed Cas’ back through it, fully aware that he would be caring for Cas for the long haul.

***

Twenty-four hours later, Dean was scared…nay, terrified.  He’d barely left Cas’ side, making sure that Cas ate and got plenty of fluids.  Despite giving Cas acetaminophen every four hours, his fever was spiking.

When the thermometer read 104.3 F, Dean decided it was time for drastic measures.  He hauled Cas out of bed and settled him into his own memory foam, which had a slight cooling effect.  He took away all of the blankets, only leaving the top sheet.  Cas was barely conscious, just groaning and shivering, when Dean apologized profusely and carefully stripped him of all his clothes except for his boxers.

A part of Dean’s brain registered the miles of tanned skin and gloriously firm muscles, but he promptly told it to shut up.

Dean wet a washcloth with lukewarm water and began to slowly run it over Cas’ body, practically imagining he could see the steam coming off the poor guy.  He had to rewet the cloth several times due to it heating up.

He toweled Cas off, who likely hadn’t even registered the sponge bath, then checked his temperature again.  It had come down to 103.8 F, still way too high for Dean’s liking, but an improvement.

Dean coaxed Cas into taking more acetaminophen then loosely covered him with a sheet.  He settled in to the chair next to his bed and watched as Cas fell asleep.

Dean found himself transported back to his vigil from a few months ago, waiting for the newly human Cas to wake up so he could say that Cas could have always had him, that he loved Cas too, and that he should have been saying it every day.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Dean carefully took Cas’ left hand in his and started talking, ignoring the tears slipping down his face.

“Cas, I know you can’t hear me.  But I have to tell you.  I never stopped thinking about those words you said before the Empty took you.  I should have said this then, I should have said this before that day, and I should have said this every day since Jack brought you back.  You always had me.  I was never something you couldn’t have.  I was yours for the asking.  I love you too, Cas, you hear me?  So don’t you do something stupid and die from a fever, okay?  You promised me you weren’t going to do things like this anymore.  I’m never going to survive losing you again.”

Dean swiped away the tears and adjusted his grip on Cas’ hand.  Now that he’d opened the flood gates, there was no holding back.  “I want to do all of the stupid couple stuff with you, man.  I want to go grocery shopping and bicker about what type of yogurt is healthiest.  I want to snuggle in the Dean Cave and watch your documentaries while you sit and correct them.  I want to hold your hand in some cowboy bar and punch the bigots who dare to say something.  I want to make you laugh, I want to make you happy, and most of all, I want to spend every day that I have left making sure you know that you’re loved.”

Dean bowed his head and let the tears flow for a few more minutes.  He wasn’t even annoyed with himself for being so cliche.  He felt free.  Now if only he had the guts to say those things when Cas was fully conscious.

“Jack, I don’t know if you’re paying attention,” he finally whispered.  “But I think I know why you brought Cas back.  Please don’t take him away again.  Please.”

Exhausted after his catharsis (and after having been awake for more than twenty-four hours), Dean leaned over and fell asleep with his head resting on Cas’ arm, hand still firmly clutching Cas’ hand.

Chapter Text

Dean jerked awake and checked his watch.  He’d managed to sleep about four hours, and his neck and back were raging a protest against the way in which he’d slept.  The side of his face and the hand joined with Cas’ were sweaty.  Come to think of it…all of Cas appeared to be sweaty.

Hoping that Cas’ fever may have broken, Dean picked up the thermometer and gently nudged it into Cas’ mouth.  Cas appeared to be sound asleep and didn’t fight him.  When the thermometer beeped, it proudly indicated that Cas’ fever was down to 101.5 F.

Dean felt himself start to breathe again, and after sending a quick prayer of ‘thanks, kid’ off to Jack, he headed to the bathroom for a quick shower and to start his day.

Dean felt a thousand times better after the shower and proceeded to the kitchen to make eggs and bacon for everyone.  Based on what time it was, he figured Sam was on a run and made a plate for him.  He took two plates down to his room, planning to wake Cas up and eat with him.

He was unprepared to find his bed empty.

He set the plates down on his nightstand and ran to the other side, concerned that Cas may have fallen out of bed–but there was no sign of him.

He headed into the hallway to check the bathroom and noticed that the door to Cas’ room was closed.  Slightly confused, but not deterred, Dean retreated to his room and picked up the plates before heading to Cas’ door and knocking.

“Cas!  I brought breakfast!” Dean called before opening the door.  He was unsurprised to find Cas burrowed in a blanket fort again.  “Hey bud, you should probably go easy on the blankets.  They’re contributing to your fever.”

Cas merely glared at him.  “What do you want?” he snarled.

Dean felt himself recoil.  Sure, he expected someone with COVID to be a little cranky, but he wasn’t sure what he’d done to earn this.

“Um…breakfast?” Dean said hopefully, holding up the plates.  When Cas didn’t respond, he slowly approached the bed and handed Cas one of the plates.

“Thank you.  You may go,” Cas said curtly.

“I thought I would hang out with you,” Dean said, alarm bells going off in his head.

A wounded look temporarily crossed Cas’ face, but before Dean could ponder it, it was replaced with a sneer.

“I don’t want you here.  I appreciate the food, and the care you’ve demonstrated thus far, but I prefer to be alone.  Please leave.”

Dean’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he simply nodded and left the room, closing Cas’ door gently.  He walked back into his room and set his plate down on the nightstand, no longer hungry.

Dean honestly had no idea what he had done to upset Cas so much.  He was wondering if perhaps undressing him had crossed a boundary and Cas felt violated.  The thought sickened him, because though he’d had good intentions at the time, it’s not like he had asked permission.

Then another thought occurred to him.

What if Cas hadn’t been asleep when he poured his heart out?  What if Cas had heard every word and was too disgusted to even see Dean anymore?

Heart breaking, Dean slumped on his side into his bed and let the tears come.

***

When Cas awoke in Dean’s bed, he found himself alone.  He’d had the strangest dreams all night, no doubt brought on by the fever, and one of them was that Dean had dragged him in here.  Finding himself in an unexpected location had him questioning what else had been a dream.

He was surprised to find he was only in boxer shorts and he had no memory of removing his other garments.  What he did remember was Dean, beautiful Dean, holding his hand and telling him everything he’d ever wanted to hear.

He looked down at his hand and flexed it, as if he could conjure some sort of flesh memory. His hand was cold, certainly not what would have occurred if Dean had been holding it last night.

Disappointment lanced through him as he recalled the cruelest dream his subconscious could have concocted.  Dean had told him that he loved him, that he wanted to do stupid couple stuff with him, that he wanted everything with him.

And yet here Cas lay, alone.

Cas could practically feel himself shutting down.  He had to get out–of Dean’s room, certainly, and eventually out of the Bunker.  He had been fooling himself all of this time, thinking that he would be content merely existing in Dean’s orbit.  

Heart aching, he pulled himself out of Dean’s bed and shuffled into his own room, wrapping himself up in blankets for comfort.  He was unsurprised when Dean arrived with breakfast, because Dean would always be a giver regardless of his lack of feelings for Cas.

Cas hadn’t honestly meant to be so…awful.  He was shocked at the words flying out of his mouth.  As he watched Dean leave, shoulders hunched and defeated, he told himself it was for the better.  But as Cas idly nibbled on a cooling slice of bacon, he got the distinct feeling he was only fooling himself and hurting Dean.

***

Dean wasn't sure how long he'd laid there, staring into space and wondering how things had gone so wrong.  Inevitably, there was a knock on his door and Sam walked in without waiting for a response.

“Dean?  Uh…thanks for breakfast,” Sam said tentatively, as though he were dealing with a spooked animal.  “So, um…why are you in here?  Where's Cas?”

“In his room,” Dean said shortly, choosing to ignore the first question and silently begging his brother not to push.

Of course, Sam wasn't going to let it go.  “You only answered the second question,” he pointed out, not unkindly.  “Did something happen?”

This was normally the point where Dean would tell him to fuck off, or hurl childish insults, or quip his way out of the awkwardness.  But honestly, Dean was exhausted.  He’d been caring for Cas, was fraught with worry, and poured his heart out only to have it crushed.  He was simply done, and ended up unloading on Sam.

Dean stood up from the bed and gestured for San to close his bedroom door.  Once Sam had done so and taken a seat at Dean's desk, Dean began in a low tone, “Do you know why the Empty took Cas?”

Sam shook his head no, even though he had his suspicions.

“You know that he’d made a deal with it to spare Jack.  The Empty would collect Cas at a moment of true happiness.  He and I got pinned down by Billie and the only way to defeat her was to summon the Empty.  The things he said, Sammy.” Dean felt himself start to choke up and began pacing, unable to look at his brother.

“He said things about me that were too…wonderful to be true, yet he sounded like he believed them.  I still remember every damn word but it doesn't seem real.  And then…then he…”

“He told you he loved you,” Sam supplied quietly.  Dean’s head shot up and he stared, shocked.

“Did…did he…tell you?”

“No, Dean.  I figured out he was in love with you years ago.  It just seemed obvious.”

Dean stood stock still, trying to process Sam’s words.  Then his shoulders dropped as he muttered, “You may want to rethink that.”

“What happened today?”

“Look, Sammy, you have to understand something.  He said these incredible things, and I just stood there like an asshole and watched him get swallowed up.  I said NOTHING back.  I was supposed to say something when he woke up after Jack brought him back but I didn't.  I should have been saying something every day, and every day I fucked up.”

“Then last night, his fever was so high.  I was trying to get it down, but I realized I could lose him over this.  He could die–for good–and I never said a word.  So he lay there, sleeping, and I said everything I should have.  I said stupid, sappy shit, like how I wanted to go grocery shopping with him and argue about yogurt.”

“Dean, you don't even eat yogurt,” Sam interjected.

“Dude, I know.  Like I said, it was stupid.  But it was real.  And I was hoping it could be a practice run.”

“I finally slept for a bit and when I woke up, his fever had broken.  So I let him sleep while I showered and made breakfast.  I had him in here last night because, you know, cooling memory foam.  When I got back here, he’d moved himself back into his room.  So I went in there and he told me to get out.”

Sam’s eyebrows winged up at that.  “He used those exact words?”

“Yep.  Thanked me for breakfast and taking care of him, but said he didn't want me anywhere near him.  So I left.”

“Huh,” Sam said, confusion evident in his tone.

“Oh come on, Genius.  He obviously wasn't sleeping when I had my chick flick moment.  I made it weird now.  I thought he was IN love with me and he only loves me like a brother.” Dean's voice got quieter and sadder with every word he spoke, and Sam felt truly awful for him.

“Dean, the guy’s sick.  He's probably just cranky,” Sam said hopefully.

Dean flopped back onto his bed and looked at Sam, not bothering to hide the tears shimmering in his eyes.  A sad smile graced his features as he said, “Yeah, ok Sammy.  Maybe.”

They held eye contact for a brief moment until Sam cleared his throat and stood up.  “How about I play nurse for awhile?” he asked, stepping over to the pile of medical supplies on Dean's nightstand.

Dean just nodded tiredly.  “He hasn't had any acetaminophen in awhile.”

“Got it,” Sam said softly before gathering everything in his arms and leaving, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Well and truly exhausted now, Dean fell into a dreamless sleep.

***

Sam headed to his room and dumped the armful of medical supplies on his bed.  He was feeling a lot of things, and ‘pissed at Cas’ was at the forefront.  He understood Dean's conclusion for Castiel’s ire, but Sam believed it was just an unfortunate coincidence.

Sam had sworn years ago that he wasn't going to interfere with the CasDean mating dance.  It was their business, and as long as it didn't overly impact their day-to-day lives or hunts, he didn't see the need to meddle.  However, this stance was predicated on two things that were no longer true–first, that Dean would never address his feelings, and second, that Cas was an angel prone to leaving when emotions ran high.

Everything had fallen into place for those two knuckleheads to finally have happiness.  Like Hell was Sam going to let them fuck it up.

***

Even though Castiel's physical symptoms were improving, he felt much worse than he had the previous day.  His stomach was in knots and he couldn't stop worrying the edge of one of his blankets.  What had he been thinking, treating Dean that way?  He had been needlessly cruel and completely illogical.

It wasn't Dean's fault that Cas had dreamed of something he could never have.  Cas was both hoping for and dreading the moment when Dean would dutifully return to check his temperature –he knew that no matter how boorish he’d been, Dean wouldn't abandon him.  So Cas rehearsed his apology over and over, sincerely hoping that Dean would forgive him.

He still wasn't ready for the knock that came.  He gulped down his nerves and rasped out, “Come in, Dean.”

Cas immediately felt his heart sink as Sam walked in and said, “Sorry, you got the other Winchester.  How are you feeling?”

Cas desperately tried to glean information from Sam’s face but it remained neutral and impassive.  Defeated, Cas sighed and said, “A little better, I guess.”

“Mind if I check your temperature?” Sam asked, brandishing the thermometer.  Cas dutifully took it from him, turned it on, and popped it in his mouth.

While they waited, Sam tidied up the room, getting rid of tissues on the floor and gathering up Castiel's breakfast dishes.

The thermometer beeped and Cas checked it.  “99.0,” he reported.

“Excellent!” Sam said, sounding sincere.  “You're probably in the clear, but let's do one more dose of acetaminophen to be sure.  I'll go grab you some water.”

The time it took for Sam to return was interminable for Cas, who wanted to ask so many questions yet knew he had no right to.  Sam finally breezed back in, face neutral as ever, and handed Cas a full glass of water prior to tapping two acetaminophen into his palm.  He tipped the pills into Castiel's waiting hand and silently watched the fallen angel swallow them.

“So, you hungry?  It's getting close to lunch,” Sam said, cheerfulness clearly forced.  Avoiding eye contact, Cas shook his head no.  “All right then.  I'll come back and check on you in a few hours.  Text me if you need anything before then.”

Then Sam was gathering up Castiel's dirty dishes and was gone with a flip of his hair.  So now Sam knew how awful he’d been to Dean and probably hated him too.  With a shaking hand, Cas set down the glass of water on the nightstand and curled into a ball, utterly miserable and alone.

***

Sam felt a little guilty over his feigned nonchalance, but it was all part of the plan.  Granted, it was a plan he was making on the fly, but whatever.

After leaving Cas, he checked on Dean and found his brother sound asleep.  He made himself a sandwich for lunch and hunkered down with Paradise Lost for a few hours, enjoying the quiet.

When Sam finally pulled himself out of his chair, he sent Eileen a quick text to check in then filled another glass with water.  A quick check on Dean revealed the man to still be asleep —perfect.

Sam moved on to Castiel's door and knocked.  Even though he didn't receive an answer, he pushed his way into the room and was unsurprised to find Cas hidden in his blanket fort.

“Hey, Cas.  Time for more fluids!”

Sad blue eyes fixed on Sam.  “No thank you,” he said softly.  “I still have some left.”

Sam saw the glass he'd previously brought had the same water volume as hours earlier.  Swallowing down a wave of guilt, Sam set down the fresh glass with a clunk that managed to startle Cas, then grabbed the desk chair and dragged it closer to the bed.  Sam straddled the chair and said, “All right, spill.”

Cas squinted at him.  “You want me to spill the water?”

Sam groaned and ran a hand through his hair.  “No.  Tell me what happened with Dean and why you're refusing to help yourself.”

“Nothing to tell,” Cas said softly, eyes focused on his own hands twisting a blanket.  “I was horribly rude to Dean when he’d shown me nothing but care and compassion.  There's no excuse for my behavior.” A tear slid down his cheek, unchecked.

“So why were you?”

“It's immaterial.”

Sam hadn't expected that answer, but he thought quickly.  “Look, obviously you know I talked to Dean.  He told me what you said and I have to admit, I'm stumped.  That's not you, Cas.  I thought you might've just been cranky, but you're saying you did that for a reason?”

Tears streaming freely now, Cas could only nod.

“Castiel,” Sam said quietly, but with a hint of firmness.  It had the desired effect–Cas locked eyes with him.  “What happened?”

Cas released a sob but didn't look away.  He took a couple of shuddering breaths before saying, “I had to push him away, Sam…it hurt too much to have him so near but not in the way I truly want.”

It's official, Sam’s going to kill both of these idiots.  He pinched the bridge of his nose and asked, “And what brought this on?”

“I had the most wonderful dream,” Cas whispered sadly.  “It felt so real.  Dean–he was holding my hand and telling me he loved me.  He said he wanted to do stupid couple stuff with me.  Honestly, Sam, I should have known it was a dream when he said he wanted to bicker about yogurt.  He doesn't even eat yogurt!” At this point, Sam’s mouth had dropped open.  Cas just plowed on, oblivious to Sam’s distress.

“I woke up and I was alone.  The chair where I dreamed Dean had been sitting was empty.  There was no sign of him.  That's when I knew it was all a dream, and it hurt.  I can't keep living at the edges of his life, pretending I'm happy.  I have to leave, Sam.”

“The fuck you are.”

“Sam?”

Sam reared out of the chair, frustrated.  He paced Castiel's room, working to get himself under control.  When he felt like he wasn't going to scream, he turned back to Cas, who was staring at him in fear.

“Cas, I love you like a brother, but you're an idiot,” Sam began.  “Dean left your side to take a shower and make all of us some damn breakfast.  This was after barely getting any sleep for over 24 hours and fighting to get your fever down.”

Sam retook his seat and made eye contact with Cas.  “Your fever was dangerously high.  Dean was terrified he was going to lose you again and he had regrets.  You weren't dreaming.  That was all real.”

Castiel's face crumpled and he sobbed quietly while chastising himself.  After Sam heard the words, “Stupid Assbutt,” he finally wrapped an arm around Cas and soothed him.

When Cas had finally settled down, Sam released him.  “How do I fix this?” Cas asked.

“First, let's get you better.  Drink your fluids, eat regular meals, and keep resting.  I'll deal with Dean for now.  I'm not gonna lie, Cas, he's hurt.  So he'll need a little time and space.”

Cas nodded sullenly and swiped at his runny nose.  “Of course, Sam.  You know best.”

With a chuckle, Sam grabbed a box of tissues and tossed it into Castiel's lap.  “And blow your damn nose.”

***

Thoroughly exhausted, Sam dragged himself to the kitchen to attempt making something for dinner.  He was pleasantly surprised to find Dean tending to tomato sauce while noodles boiled on an adjacent burner.

“You're awake,” Sam said.

Dean gave him a side glance and said, “I thought you were supposed to be the smart brother.”

Sam rolled his eyes, dismayed at Dean putting himself down but powerless to stop it at that moment.  “Whatever, Jerk.  Do you need help?”

“Nah, I got it.”

Dean finished cooking in silence and served himself and Sam.  He didn't make a plate for Cas but there was plenty of food left and Sam could connect the dots.

After bringing a plate down to an overly grateful Cas, Sam rejoined Dean in the library and resumed reading Paradise Lost while Dean worked on his laptop.  An hour or so later, Dean shut his laptop and cleared his throat.  Sam peered over the top of his book, a questioning look on his face.

“So, I think I found a ghoul thing…maybe a vamp thing…some kind of thing, anyway, up near Missoula.  Since I’d already be that close, I thought I would head up to the cabin in Whitefish.”

Sam could smell the bullshit but played dumb anyway.  “And how long do you plan to stay in Whitefish?” he asked.

Dean stood and stared Sam dead in the eye as he said, “Indefinitely.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Sam muttered.  He slammed his book down and immediately got in Dean's face.  “You're not going anywhere.  I will go to Missoula and deal with the ghoulpirething, then have Eileen meet me in Whitefish.”

“The fuck for?”

“Because I've had it with you idiots!  So you're gonna stay right here and take care of Cas, and you're going to use your damn words for once, and then you're going to live happily ever after!’

Sam suddenly dug his hand into Dean's pants pocket, yanking out the Impala's keys.  “And just to make sure you don't drive off, I'm taking Baby!”

Sam spun towards his room, smirk firmly in place while Dean sputtered behind him, “God, you're such a bitch!”

“Love you too, Jerk.  No sex on my bed,” Sam called back 

“No one would judge me if I killed him.  Eileen would never have to know,” Dean muttered to himself as he collapsed back into his chair.

***

Sam added more clothes to his perpetually packed 'go' bag and checked on Cas once more.  “I'm heading up to Montana on a case for a few days,” he told the sniffling ex-angel.

“And Dean?”

“He'll be staying here,” Sam replied smugly.  A look of panic crossed Castiel's features and Sam took pity on him.  “Look, get well.  Then when you're no longer sick, sweep him off his feet.”

“I see.  A chick flick moment, then?”

“Exactly.  Good luck,” Sam said with a wink and was gone.

Over the next three days, Dean and Cas were like two ships passing in the night.  Dean would make meals large enough for two and refrigerate what he didn't eat, always finding it gone upon returning to the kitchen.

Dean spent most of his time in the Dean Cave with the door shut and the lights off, binging every Western he could find on Netflix.  Every night he returned to his room and would pause outside Castiel's door, wondering if he should check on the guy.  Every night, he flashed back to Cas telling him to get out, so he never knocked on the door.

Cas was rapidly improving.  He was grateful for the meals Dean cooked and was drinking what he thought was an excessive amount of water (“Good,” was all Sam had said when Cas texted him to complain about that).

On the fourth morning after Sam had left, Cas felt well enough to try putting a plan into action.  He researched on his phone and found a chicken and pasta dish that seemed simple enough.

Masked up, Cas headed to LaDow’s in Smith Center where he bought what he needed for a date-night dinner: a frozen pie to bake, frozen garlic bread, the ingredients his recipe called for, and a bouquet of flowers.

“Aww, hot date?” the middle-aged cashier asked as she rang him up.  Forgetting he had a mask on, Cas smiled and nodded.

“Well, she's gonna love it,” the cashier said, winking conspiratorially.  Cas didn't have the heart to correct her and merely thanked her before making his escape.

Cas arrived back at the bunker and was putting groceries away when he found the sandwich in the fridge that Dean had left for him.  Smiling once again at Dean's thoughtfulness, he munched on it as he continued to unpack and arranged the flowers in a vase.

Finally, Cas typed Dean a simple text: “Thank you for cooking for me the past few days.  I'm making dinner tonight.  See you at 7:00 in the library.”

Cas’ thumb hovered over the send button for several moments before he took a deep breath and pressed it.

A response arrived five minutes later:  “ok”.

Chapter Text

Maybe dinner wouldn't be so bad.  If Dean was being honest, he missed his friend.  It would always sting knowing that Cas had pushed him away when he was finally willing to admit his feelings, but it was time to start moving past it.  He had to establish a new normal with Cas, however that may look.

Dean took a shower and put on his cleanest jeans and nicest green Henley.  He figured there was no harm in making a good impression –or showing Cas what he was missing.

At 7:00, Dean made his way towards the library, sniffing appreciatively.  He was pretty sure he could smell garlic and pie, and just as he was debating the wisdom of combining the two, he came to a shocked halt in the library doorway.

One of the tables was set for two.  The lights were dim and two taper candles flickered invitingly.  A vase of flowers and a bottle of wine graced the center of the table along with a plate of steaming bread.

Cas walked in from the kitchen, carrying two plates of some sort of pasta–but Dean really just wanted to devour him.  Cas was wearing tight, dark blue jeans and a short-sleeved navy button-down.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas said softly as he set the plates down.

“Uh.  Um.  Hey, Cas.  Sorry, I thought you said 7:00?” Dean managed.  Things weren't adding up for him here because this…this looked like a date.

Cas' head tilted adorably.  “I did.  Is it not 7:00?” Cas casually fished his phone out of his pocket and checked the time.  “My apologies, I seem to be running a couple minutes behind,” he said softly, not looking at Dean.

“No!  No, you're, uh, right on time,” Dean blurted out, desperate to salvage whatever was happening here.  “I thought I was interrupting something.”

Cas did look at Dean now, confusion etched on his face.  “Dean, I told you I was making dinner.  For us.  What could you possibly be interrupting?”

Officially feeling like an idiot, Dean scrambled to sit at the place setting nearest to him.  “Not a thing,” he mumbled, feeling his cheeks flush.

Cas studied him for a beat before shrugging off the weirdness and picking up the bottle of wine.  “I know you don't usually drink this,” he said as he poured half a glass for Dean, “but I thought it paired better with the meal.”

Cas was hovering in Dean’s space, so close that Dean could feel Cas’ body heat and smell his honey-lavender body wash.  At this point, Cas could have handed him a glass of sulfuric acid and Dean wouldn't have noticed.

Cas moved to sit opposite of Dean, poured his own wine, then held out his glass.  “A toast,” Cas said, a shy smile on his face, “to new beginnings.” Dean scrambled to clink his glass against Cas’, the sound seemingly too loud, while Cas’ words echoed in his head.

Dean dug into dinner to avoid having to speak and found himself groaning with approval.  This chicken -pasta-cheese thing was amazing, and combined with the wine and garlic bread, Dean was experiencing hedonistic bliss.  He finally glanced at Cas to see that the man wasn't eating, but watching Dean, a light blush staining his cheeks.

“Dude, eat,” Dean managed between bites.  “This is fucking delicious.”

Cas laughed and finally took a bite, the two of them falling into a comfortable silence.

All too soon, Dean's plate was clean and he started thinking again.  Why had Cas gone through all of this trouble?  What had that toast meant?  Dean drained his wineglass and poured more, deciding that he rather liked it.  He wordlessly waved the bottle at Cas, who shook his head ‘no’.

Cas took his last bite then stood to gather their plates.  “Oh, no, Cas, I can clean up.  You already did so much,” Dean protested.

“Nonsense.  Just sit tight, I'll be back with dessert,” Cas said, shooting Dean a soft smile.  Dean fiddled with the mostly-empty wine bottle, still trying to figure out Cas' master plan, as he waited.  Moments later, Cas returned with a slice of apple pie adorned with a scoop of vanilla ice cream for each of them.

Delighted, Dean attacked his piece with gusto and devoured everything within four bites.  As Cas finished his piece at a more leisurely pace he said, “I'm happy to see that Marie Callendar was acceptable.  Today didn't seem like the day to try making something this important from scratch.”

Dean looked down at his clear plate, saying, “I'm definitely not complaining, but I don't understand what you're talking about, man.  Is it because you're still too sick?  You shouldn't have been doing anything.”

Cas just smiled and shook his head.  “Thank you for your concern, but I'm much improved.  I feel about 80.3% better.”

Dean would have laughed if he didn't feel that stupid lump in the back of his throat.  Nothing about tonight was making any sense to him.  “So what is so special about today, Cas?  Because I have to admit, I really don't know what's going on here.” Dean had meant to come across forcefully but he sounded pathetic and needy.  Jesus, no wonder Cas didn't want him.

Cas tilted his head, catapulting Dean back into that barn when Cas had looked at him and said, “You don't think you deserve to be saved.” Cas always had a way of looking at Dean that made the hunter feel stripped bare.

“Dammit, Cas!  Is this some sort of practice date for someone else?  I know I haven't always treated you right but this…this is just cruel.”

Dean watched the shock and dismay cross Cas’ face and realized that once again, he’d been a total ass.  “Ok, so maybe I'm not a guinea pig," he said placatingly.  "Are you trying to let me down gently or something?  Surround me with things that make me happy so it doesn't hurt as much?  Well, news flash–it’s too late.  It already hurts.”

Dean stopped talking, horrified to find his eyes filling with tears.  Suddenly Cas was in the chair next to him, grasping both of his hands.

“Dean.  Look at me,” Cas said oh-so-softly.  Dean shook his head, humiliated and hurt.

Cas let go of his left hand and tilted Dean's head up with a fingertip to the chin.  Dean warily met Cas' eyes. 

“Dean, I'm so sorry.  I've gone about this the completely wrong way.  First, I need to apologize for my horrible behavior the other morning.  You had been nothing but incredible and I was inexcusably rude.  I'm so sorry.  Second, I wanted to tell you that Greek yogurt is the healthiest choice out there given its high protein content.”