Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The bunker library was hushed but restless, the way it always got when the night stretched too long and the lamps burned hotter than the sun had any right to at that hour. Papers spooled out across the table, books stacked precariously high, Latin scrawled in Dean’s cramped handwriting on half-crumpled notepads. The air was dry with old paper and the metallic bite of too much caffeine.

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face, jaw tight, eyes gritty from hours of reading and re-reading the same cursed paragraph. Another innocent’s life hanging in the balance, another clock ticking down. He could feel it, that pressure in his ribs like he’d swallowed a time bomb.

The door creaked open, soft. Heavy footsteps crossed the floor. Each step so deliberate, so steady, so familiar. Dean didn’t even look up until the sharp scent of hot coffee cut through the fog in his head.

Cas set the steaming mug in front of him, quiet, precise, as if even that little gesture carried weight.

Dean’s lips quirked despite himself. “Man, you’re a lifesaver.” His voice was rough, sandpaper from disuse and exhaustion.

Before Cas could straighten, before Dean could second-guess, his fingers hooked into the trench coat sleeve. A rough tug, more instinct than thought.

And Cas, Cas leaned down without resistance. Without pause.

Dean pressed a quick, clumsy kiss against his cheek. The angle was off. His aim skewed, lips brushing the corner of Cas’ mouth.

Warm.

Real.

Gone in a heartbeat.

It wasn’t until he let go, until Cas’ coat sleeve slipped free of his fingers and Dean wrapped both hands around the mug like it might anchor him, that the weight of what he’d done crashed down.

He swallowed scalding coffee, too fast, burning his tongue, but the pain was nothing compared to the sudden clarity gutting through him.

He’d just kissed his best friend.

His Angel.

His…Cas.

It wasn’t a joke. Not a slip of the tongue. Not some half-drunken accident. He’d kissed Cas for the first time.

The silence stretched, thrumming. Dean could feel John’s belt breaking through the scared skin on his back. He could smell the liquor on his father’s breath.

It was the low hum of the bunker lights that pulled him out of the memories, the ticking of his watch, the slow deliberate breath Cas drew beside him.

He didn’t dare look up right away. His pulse was too loud in his ears, his throat too tight. His hands curled around the mug, trying to ground himself, trying not to shake.

When he finally glanced sideways, Cas was still standing there. Watching him. Blue eyes steady, searching. Unreadable in that way that always rattled others, but to Dean it was like looking into his own soul.

And Cas didn’t move. Didn’t comment. Didn’t even blink too fast. He just stayed there, like he was giving Dean the choice to backpedal, to make it a joke, to bury it under sarcasm or gruff denial.

But Dean’s lips still tingled, the taste of coffee bitter on his tongue, and for once in his damn life, he couldn’t think of a single excuse.

Chapter Text

Dean’s gut twisted. That kiss… no it was barely a kiss. It was just a damn brush of skin.

Whatever it was, it hung between them heavier than any hunt, any prophecy, any apocalypse. He could face down a monster with a shotgun in hand, but this? This was the kind of thing that made him want to crawl out of his own skin.

He stared down at the mug, knuckles white around it. ‘Fuck, what the hell did he just do?’

“Dean,” Cas finally said, voice low, careful. Like he was handling something fragile. Maybe he was.

Dean’s breath stuttered. He forced a smirk, that automatic armor. “Relax, Cas. Just sayin’ thanks for the coffee. Don’t get your halo in a twist.”

But the words tasted sour, empty, even to him.
Cas tilted his head, studying him the way he always did, like Dean was both a riddle and the answer.

“You don’t need to explain. Not to me.”

That hit harder than Dean wanted it to. He gritted his teeth, looking away, eyes snagging on the spines of the books littering the table. Latin, lore, centuries of dead men’s words. Books full of stuff he understood or at least pretend that he did, and stuff he could fight.

But Cas?

Cas wasn’t something Dean could ever fight, not really. It would be like fighting the other half of your own soul.

Pointless.

The uniform book spines blurred into one as the floods of memories spiralled through his head, uninvited.
His dad’s voice, sharp as a belt buckle: “That’s not what real men do. You walk straight, you hear me? You don’t show weakness, boy. Don’t you dare be soft.”

That voice had never left him. Even now, with John long gone, it slithered in at moments like this, turning warmth into shame, twisting love (especially this kind of love, the kind he has suppressed for so so long) into fear.

Dean’s chest clenched, hot and suffocating. Son of a bitch. Why now? Why him?

Because it was Cas.

Because Cas had been there through every goddamn war, every broken bone, every night Dean thought he wouldn’t make it out alive. Every night he didn’t want to.

Cas was the one who dragged him out of Hell, literally. Who believed in him when Dean didn’t even believe in himself. Who looked at him like he was worth saving.

And Dean had just kissed him.

“Dean.” Cas said his name again, softer this time, almost a whisper.

Dean finally looked up.

Big mistake.

Cas’ eyes weren’t just blue, they were endless, unshakable, full of something that looked a hell of a lot like love. Not pity. Not confusion. Just… love.

Dean’s throat went dry. He wanted to say don’t look at me like that. He wanted to push Cas away, laugh it off, bury it deep like he always did. But the words stuck, trapped under the weight of years of things unsaid.

So instead, he muttered, rough, broken: “I…uh… shouldn’ta done that.”

Cas didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. Just leaned in slightly into Dean’s space. “Why?”

Such a simple word, yet it left him reeling.

Dean’s jaw worked. He could hear his dad’s ghost sneering at him. Could feel the panic clawing up his ribs. But under it, somewhere buried deep inside, was something stronger. Something that felt like relief. Like the truth he’d been running from forever, but it was just out of reach.

His voice cracked when he finally got it out: “’Cause it ain’t… it ain’t what I was raised to—” He cut himself off, biting down on his father’s words, shame flooding hot in his chest and up his neck.

Cas’ expression softened, pain flickering across his features. “Dean,” he said gently, like he was reaching into the center of Dean’s fear, “you don’t have to be what you were raised to be. You only have to be you.”

Dean swallowed hard, looking down at the coffee again, blinking fast. The steam blurred his vision. His hands shook, just slightly, and he hated it.
Hated feeling this exposed.

But when Cas’ hand brushed over his, just a light touch, steady, patient, Dean didn’t pull away. Couldn’t.

The panic was still there, gnawing at his ribs, his father’s voice still a ghost in his ear. The voices in his head were screaming at him, shouting, but Cas’ hand was so warm, so safe, he could almost ignore everything else.

He felt like he was standing on the edge of the water, the sun in his face and his hammering heart in his chest, knowing all he had to do

was

fall.

Chapter Text

“Hey.”

Sam’s voice cracked the quiet like a gunshot. Dean jerked his hand back, chair scraping loud against the floor as he shoved himself upright. The coffee nearly sloshed over the rim.

His chest constricted, too tight, like there wasn’t enough air in the whole damn bunker.

Sam stood in the doorway, hair a mess, hoodie half-zipped, blinking blearily first at Dean, then to Cas, and finally back to Dean. He frowned.

“You guys still at it?” He rubbed the stumble on his chin, exhausted. “It’s like 5 in the morning.”

Dean’s mouth went dry. He forced out a laugh that sounded too sharp, too quick. “Yeah, well, demons don’t exactly punch a timecard Sammy.”

He grabbed a stack of books just to have something in his hands, something to do.
Sam’s eyes flicked between them, between Cas still sitting, composed as stone, and Dean, jittery and sweating under the collar.

Dean felt the scrutiny like a spotlight, like Sam could see every damn thing written on his face. His pulse spiked, breath coming short.

Don’t look at me.

Don’t look at him.

Don’t see it.

Please don’t see it.

“Dean?” Sam’s brow furrowed. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” It took Dean a long time to reply, to swallow the terror in his chest. He set the books back down on the table, avoiding both their eyes. His skin felt too tight, like if he stood still one more second he’d come apart at the seams.

Cas rose slowly, as if to steady him, but Dean took a sharp step back.
“I’m…uh…I’m gonna hit the garage, check Baby’s tires,” Dean muttered, already moving, the excuse clumsy but desperate. He shoved past the table, past Sam’s confused look, past Cas’ unreadable stare.

The hallway swallowed him up, cool air against hot skin. His breath hitched, shallow, panicked, as his father’s voice rattled in his head like chains: “You keep like this and you’ll be no son of mine, ya hear? I’d rather you dead than a…”

Dean squeezed his eyes shut at the memory, begging it to stop.

And Dean Winchester, hunter, killer, survivor of Hell and Heaven both, pressed his hands hard against the bunker’s concrete wall, trying to keep himself from falling apart.

Chapter Text

Dean’s back hit the wall harder than he meant, rattling through his bones. His chest heaved, air scraping rough, every inhale a fight. Words swelled in his throat but broke apart before they reached his tongue. He opened his mouth, but only jagged gasps came out.

Sam tightened his grip on his shoulders. “Dean, it’s okay, just…just talk to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

Dean’s throat bobbed a few times before he managed a strangled “I…” His mouth worked, jaw trembling. “I can’t…Sammy, I…” His eyes squeezed shut, head tipping back against the wall like maybe the concrete could hold him together. “I c…c…” The word stuttered, collapsed. His throat locked, refusing to let anything out but a harsh, broken breath.

Sam’s face tightened with worry as he moved closer to his brother, hands out and ready to catch him if he fell.

“Hey, hey, it’s fine. Don’t force it. Just breathe, Dean. Remember, you’ve just gotta breathe, alright?”

And Sam was trying to help his brother…Gods, he was trying…but his words bounced off the panic, thin and useless against the weight crushing Dean’s chest. Because it wasn’t just the panic. It was John’s voice, seared into his skull. ‘Don’t cry. Don’t show it. Don’t be weak. Use your words damit! Don’t you dare go quiet on me again.’

Dean’s hands fisted in the hem of his shirt, tugging hard, needing something, anything, to ground himself. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Just air, choked and uneven.

Shame burned hot under his skin.

Dean’s chest convulsed, ribs seizing with every failed attempt to drag in air. The harder he tried, the less his lungs seemed to work. Each inhale snagged, shallow, choking him from the inside out.

Sam’s hand pressed firm against his chest, steady, trying to force a rhythm. “With me, Dean. In… out…”
Dean’s head thrashed against the wall. His eyes were glassy, wild, panic swallowing reason whole. “No,” he rasped, voice torn and cracked. His hand shot up, shoving Sam’s away, not to hurt, but because every touch burned, every sound felt too loud. “It’s not…it won’t…”

He doubled over, his shakey hands gripping onto his knees. His breaths stuttered faster, more frantic, and his vision blurred at the edges. He couldn’t get control. He couldn’t get his father’s voice out of his head.

‘Pathetic.’

‘Weak.’

‘Not a man.’

‘Not my son.’

Sam hovered, helpless, watching the panic claw deeper. “Dean! You’re here, you’re safe, you just gotta…”

“Can’t…” Dean’s voice broke, a strangled gasp. His knees buckled under him, and his body shook hard, fighting itself. “I c…can’t…Sammy, I can’t….” The words collapsed into raw sounds, guttural, desperate. He was losing himself to it, drowning in it.

Then, like a light in the dark, there it was. There he was.

“Dean.”

Cas’ voice cut clean through the noise, low and steady, not pushing, not pitying just…just there- like it always was.

Dean’s eyes snapped open, darting toward him.
Cas had stepped closer, trench coat brushing the floor, his hands relaxed at his sides. He didn’t crowd, didn’t touch…just met Dean’s frantic gaze with eyes that burned that steady blue that reminded Dean of the endless sky.

“You’re here,” Cas said, even, unshakable. “You’re at home in the bunker. You’re safe, so is Sam. You’re here Dean, you’re with me.”

Dean’s breaths still came ragged, but something shifted. The wall of panic cracked just enough for him to hear it.

Cas took one step closer. His shoes scraped the floor, quiet but deliberate.

“You don’t have to talk,” he said. His voice was even, but not cold, gentle in a way that made Dean’s chest twist harder. “If you can’t, that’s alright.”

Dean’s breathing stuttered, sharp, uneven. His hand fisted in his shirt, tugging at the fabric. He couldn’t force words past the panic. Couldn’t force anything.

Couldn’t…

Couldn’t…

Cas hesitated, and when he spoke again, his tone dipped…lower, softer than Sam had ever heard from him. “Just…stay with me.”

It wasn’t polished. It wasn’t some angel’s perfect reassurance. It was raw, clumsy almost like Cas had dragged the words straight out of his gut. It was Cas.

Sam’s head jerked toward him, surprised, but Cas’ eyes didn’t move. They stayed locked on Dean.

Dean’s jaw trembled, it hasn’t stopped, his throat bobbing. He tried again: “I…” The word fell apart, but Cas didn’t flinch, didn’t fill the silence with noise. He waited.

Dean’s eyes shone wet, wide and scared in a way Sam hadn’t seen since…, since Dean had taken a crowbar to Baby and Sam has found him later choking on words that wouldn’t come.

Cas tilted his head slightly, softer now. “You are not him Dean,” He lent closer, “We are not our father’s, nor are we their soliders.”

The words hit like a hammer. Dean sucked in a breath, shaky but fuller this time, like air was finally breaking through the vice on his ribs.

Sam glanced between them, helpless, but he saw it, the way Dean’s eyes locked on Cas like he was the only lifeline that mattered.

Dean pressed the heel of his hand against his chest, still trembling, but managed to rasp out, broken: “Cas….” It was the most solid thing he had been able to say in minutes, the name torn from somewhere deep, raw and unguarded.

Cas’ gaze didn’t waver. “I’m here.”

And somehow, impossibly, that was enough. Dean’s shoulders sagged against the wall, breaths still uneven but no longer strangled. He blinked hard, trying to keep from falling apart completely in front of them.

Too late.

Sam stayed close, silent now, realizing what Dean needed wasn’t him talking. It was Cas.

And Dean, terrified and so so tired of fighting himself every second, let himself breathe.

He let Cas anchor him.

Chapter Text

Dean’s breathing slowed, the sharp edges of panic dulling, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion. His legs felt weak, like he’d gone ten rounds in the ring. Sweat cooled on the back of his neck, shirt clinging to him. Every muscle trembled with the afterburn. His body finally realising that there was no monster, no fight.

He slid down the wall without meaning to, knees bending until he was half-sitting on the cold concrete floor. His head tipped back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut.

God, he was just so tired.

Sam hovered a few feet away, torn between staying and giving space. His jaw tightened as he watched his brother, as he watched Cas kneel down next to him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Dean dragged a hand over his face, breath hitching as if the panic might come back any second. His voice came out hoarse. “Don’t… don’t look at me.”

Cas shifted, quiet. “I’m not.”

Dean cracked an eye open, saw that steady blue gaze locked on him, and shut it again fast. “Yeah, you are. You’re...” He swallowed hard. “You’re looking at me like I’m screwed up.”

Sam took a step forward. “Dean...”

But Cas spoke before he could finish. “That’s not it.” Dean let out a rough laugh, short and bitter. “Yeah? Then what is it?”

Cas tilted his head slightly, a small smile on his lips despite the worry in his eyes. “It’s you. That’s all I see.”

The words hit harder than they had any right to. Dean’s jaw tightened. His chest ached. He turned his face toward the wall, biting down hard against whatever wanted to spill out. His breath still came too fast, but now it was heavy, weighed down. Cas didn’t reach for him. He just stayed there, steady, close enough to feel but not pressing in.

Sam shifted his weight, eyes flicking between them. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he cleared his throat and stepped back. This wasn’t his moment to fix. “I’ll be in the library if you need me.” His voice was quiet, careful.

Dean cracked an eye open, guilt already tugging at his chest. “Sa...Sammy...” But Sam was already moving, his footsteps fading down the hall.

Dean shut his eyes again, head tipping back against the wall. His breath rattled out of him, scrubbing a shaky hand over his face. “Son of a bitch.” His voice was rough, scraped raw.

“He only cares about you,” Cas' voice is barely a whisper.

Dean huffed a humourless laugh, then groaned. “That’s the problem, isn't it. That's what started all..." He cut himself off, letting the rest of the sentence turn into shaky breaths.

------

Dean’s fingers twitched against his knee. He struggled, like he always did when the truth threatened to choke him. “I didn’t mean...it just...” He broke off, shaking his head hard. His lips pressed into a thin line, frustration simmering in every line of his body. Dean’s words hung in the air like jagged glass. “I didn’t mean… it just… I...” His voice broke, ragged and small. He swallowed hard, trying again. “What I did in the library… the kiss… I don’t know what the hell to do with it.”

He felt exposed, naked in a way he hadn’t let himself be in years. His father’s voice haunted him, sharp and judgmental, ready to tear him down for even saying the words aloud. Shame twisted deep in his gut, hands clenching into fists at his knees.

Cas was silent for a long beat. Dean almost wished he’d stay silent, let it die there. It would be easier.

Safer.

Then Cas leaned in slightly, just enough that Dean felt his presence press sharp against him. His voice was quiet, measured, but underneath it all, certain.

“Dean,” Cas said, “I… I don’t know how to explain this. Angels aren’t supposed to feel this way. I’m not… we were told to love humanity, but this...I shouldn’t care about a human like this. And yet…” His gaze never left Dean’s, unwavering. “It’s you. Always you. Since the beginning, I have been drawn to you in a way that doesn’t make sense to me...or to Heaven. And I can’t change it. But even if I could, I wouldn’t.”

Dean’s throat tightened, a painful knot forming. His lips parted, but no sound came. Not a single damn word.

Cas’ expression softened, almost human in its vulnerability. “I’ve loved you since… since I pulled you from Hell. I didn’t understand it at first; I didn't have a word for it. I only knew I wanted to keep you alive, to fight beside you, to see you live when everything else demanded you die. Every choice, every moment." He gently took Dean's trembling hands in his own. "It’s always been you. Not fate, not Heaven, not some grand plan. Just… you.”

Dean’s chest heaved, panic melting into something strange and raw. His eyes burned, moisture threatening to spill. He dropped his gaze, shaking his head. “You don’t get it, Cas,” he rasped, voice cracking. “I’m not...” He sucked in a ragged breath. “I’m not the guy you think I am. I’m screwed up. I drink too much. I...” He pulled one hand from the warm embrace and gestured around helplessly, as if cataloguing every sin might drive Cas away before the words even landed.

Cas didn’t flinch. Didn’t step back. His eyes never left Dean’s. “You’re the man I love, Dean. That hasn’t changed. It never will. You don’t have to do anything with it. It’s yours. All of it, all of me. No matter what happens.”

Dean froze, chest tight, air thick in his lungs.

For a long, bruising silence, he just sat there, trembling, staring at the floor like it might swallow him whole. Slowly, his head tipped back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut, and a single, broken laugh escaped him. “Christ, Cas,” he muttered, voice rough, unshed tears threatening. “Why’d you have to go and say that?”

Cas tilted his head, quiet, awkward even, “Because… It’s the truth.”
Dean finally looked at him—really looked—and for the first time in years, the fear didn’t fully win. There was still panic in his bones, shame in his blood, but beneath it all was something new.

Something terrifying and beautiful.

Something like being seen.

Chapter Text

Dean let the words hang in the air between them, heavy and jagged, and for a long stretch, neither of them moved. The bunker around them faded into nothing. No monsters, no cases, no darkness. Just the heat of their shared exhaustion and the weight of what had finally been said.

Dean’s fingers twitched against the floor, restless, unsure. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths, and yet, for the first time, the panic had loosened its grip. He wanted to close the distance between them, to touch Cas, but his hands felt too clumsy, too human.

Cas shifted slightly, a subtle movement that made Dean’s heart stutter. For a breath, Dean thought he was leaving. “Cas?” His voice was small, strained, almost panicked.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Cas said softly, almost a whisper, his presence solid and grounding. “You don’t have to move. I’m right here.” He shifted slightly, kneeling so he was almost level with Dean's seated form on the floor. Close enough that Dean could feel the warmth radiating off him without being crowded. One hand rested lightly on his knee, steady, a subtle anchor, while his eyes never left Dean’s.

Dean’s throat tightened again. He blinked rapidly, trying to gather the courage to speak, to do more than just exist in this moment. “I… I didn’t think. Hell, I didn’t think this was… possible. Not for me. Not for… us.” His voice cracked, low and rough. “Not after everything.”
Cas smiled at him, soft and warm, his blue eyes luminous in the dim light. “Nothing about you is a mistake, Dean. Nothing about us is wrong. We don’t have to figure it out all at once. We can work it out at our own pace, together”

Dean let out a sharp breath, jagged and broken, like a sword scraping stone. “Yeah… yeah, I guess I’m just… I’m scared. Scared of screwing it up, scared of losing you before I even… before we even start. All my life I've just let...”

Cas cut off Dean's rambling by putting a warm hand on his cheek, “You can’t lose me.” Cas's voice was gentle, but left no room for argument. “Not now, not ever. Not if you don’t want to.”

Dean’s chest tightened, and he finally let himself lean toward Cas, almost instinctively, drawn by something he couldn’t name. Without thinking, his hand reached out and clutched at Cas’s trench coat, fingers gripping the fabric like a lifeline.

For a second, he wanted to pull away, embarrassed by the automatic gesture, but then he looked up. Their foreheads were nearly touching, breaths mingling, and something raw and aching in him shifted. He craved this closeness. Needed it. And Cas… Cas leaned in enough to meet it. One hand resting on his cheek, the other brushing Dean’s shoulder, steadying, grounding, wanting the closeness just as much.

“I… I love you,” Dean whispered, voice fragile, almost gone, like saying it aloud might shatter it.

Dean caught himself in Cas’s eyes. He was lost in the endless, quiet universe swirling with light and gravity and something he could never name. It was infinite, steady, and entirely him, and Dean felt himself falling into it, letting the weight of years, fear, and survival slip away.

Cas leaned closer, slow, deliberate, giving Dean every chance to pull back,

But he didn’t.

He let himself melt into the kiss, heart hammering, hands gripping the fabric of Cas’s trench coat, fingers brushing against the warmth of him, the safety of him, the person who had always been his anchor.

The kiss deepened, not rushed, layered with everything they’d carried...the panic, the fear, the years of fighting, running, surviving. Soft turned to steady, tentative turned to grounding. Dean pressed closer, leaning into it, and Cas met him fully, letting the closeness stretch into something more than words ever could.

When they finally pulled back, just a fraction, Dean’s forehead rested against Cas’s, the heat of him burning through every layer of fear and armour he’d carried for years. Their breaths were ragged, a wild, uneven rhythm that matched the rapid drum of Dean’s heart, but he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t.

Every scar, every panic, every night spent running from monsters and ghosts, it all seemed to dissolve in that moment. And Cas, steady and unwavering, held him there like the world could wait, like time itself had bent to let them exist just like this.

“I love you too.”