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“So, are you just lettin’ the purgatory-chic look grow out, or are you plannin’ on doing somethin’ about the scruff?” Dean muses from across the map table, reeling Cas back in from the novel that he’s been buried nose deep in.
Struggling to take his eyes off of the paper, Cas finally glances up to meet Dean’s eyes. Each time the two make eye contact, it feels like the first.
Cas is reminded of an earlier version of them, some ten years ago in a barn with flickering bulbs and pointless warding—lacking in faith and desperate for connection.
An earlier version of Cas would hang his head in shame at the (ex) angel that he has become.
A current version would, too.
“I hadn’t considered it,” Cas mumbles as he returns to his gaze to the page, remembering that Dean is still awaiting his response. Who is he to not respond to the man he has dedicated his life to?
Words hold great weight for Cas. He is sure, by now, that Dean cannot say the same.
They still haven’t discussed what happened that day; the things that were said.
Slightly less than 3 weeks have passed since Cas was tugged out of his fitful rest in the empty, awaking to astonished exclamations of success from Jack and Sam. The warmth of his son crashing into him with an engulfing hug had washed over him immediately, heating the stiffness of his senses as he’d readapted to the chill of the bunker.
The warmth was no match for the aching, though.
As he’d grounded himself in his newly regained aliveness, Cas had then recognized the familiar, human ache in his bones.
As he'd then raised his eyes to connect with his Righteous Man’s, Cas had then recognized the familiar, human ache in his heart.
The two of them have since then only interacted through occasional awkward dances around the elephant in the room. A clap on the shoulder in passing paired with a “Good to have you back, buddy” and a brief, polite smile from Dean.
Castiel is tired of being treated as if he’s fragile. Maybe he is.
“I’ll make sure to tell Sam to pick up some extra razors next grocery run,” Dean continues before stammering out a “I mean, y’know, if you don’t want to trim it, that’s fine, but if you want to then I was just saying—”
“I’d appreciate that, Dean,” Cas (thankfully, to Dean’s embarrassment) concludes to cut off the spiraling ramble. He returns his gaze to the novel, not noticing the concerned glint in Dean’s eye.
It takes Cas far longer than it should to finish the page.
Castiel glares at the unopened pack of razors held in his hand as though they have personally offended him.
In some ways, maybe they have.
At least half of a decade has passed since his first experience in shaving his facial hair, following his return from purgatory in the motel with Sam and Dean. Cas was an angel, back then. Back then, the razor was not a threat to him—or his dignity, at that.
To face the brothers after a failed attempt at a very human activity is the last thing Castiel wants right now. Castiel has fought wars. He has slaughtered thousands of his brothers and sisters, all in the name of love for the Winchesters. He has overcome death a multitude of times. He cannot be bested by a simple razor.
He does not think he could face the shame.
Castiel puts the unopened pack of razors back down.
“And how many pieces of bacon for you, caveman?” Dean toys as he walks over towards Cas’s seat at the table while carrying the breakfast pan and spatula. At the sight of the ex-angel's utterly irritated expression, Sam quickly catches a hand over his mouth to contain the milk he'd just sipped from his glass.
“Caveman?” Cas repeats challengingly.
“I mean, c’mon, you can’t start growing it out and expect me not to tease at least little bit,” Dean light-heartedly pesters.
To Cas's demise, Sam joins in, lightly giggling as he comments “Yeah wait a minute, why did Dean grill me about buying ‘extra razors for Cas’ if you’re not even gonna use ‘em?”.
It is fortunate that Jimmy Novak maintained proper heart health and can safely sustain the swiftly rising pulse that Castiel is experiencing.
He quickly cuts his glare to Sam—straightening the younger Winchester up immediately—before shifting his fiery gaze back to Dean.
“Considering that the humane circumstances I am facing are of no fault of my own, I don’t see the point in belittling me for struggling,” Cas spits out, growing red in the face.
Sam sits stunned as he witnesses the scene unfolding before him as Dean moves to backtrack with a “Cas, buddy, I didn’t mean—”
“No, Dean. You didn’t mean it like that, because words clearly don't mean anything to you,” Cas venomously snaps, gaze unwavering.
Moving to lay a placating hand on the man’s shoulder, Dean apologetically attempts to soothe by starting, “Cas, I—”
“Don’t touch me,” Castiel snarls as he makes haste to get out of his seat at the table, shoving the hand off of his shoulder as he storms out of the kitchen and makes way to his bedroom.
For a still moment, neither Sam nor Dean move. A door in the vicinity of the bedrooms slams shut, echoing throughout the bunker’s halls.
“Dude,” Sam hisses with a bewildered expression. Dean, eyes wide and mouth agape with the bacon pan and spatula still in his hands—all while donned in a classic “kiss the cook” apron—opens and closes his mouth a few times, not unsimilar to a fish.
“...I’ll go talk to him,” the older eventually states as his eyes dart around the room with slight panic as he attempts to make sense the interaction that just took place.
Dean is not afraid of Cas.
Cas has sacrificed wars, armies, his life—all for Dean Winchester. Dean knows that Cas would never do anything to hurt him. Cas loves Dean.
Dean knows this, and while he may be afraid of that, he is not afraid of Cas.
Dean is afraid of Castiel.
Castiel has existed for millennia, witnessed the formation of the mountains and the evolution of man. Castiel, who smites foes, leads armies, fights wars, and rebelled against his very nature in order to be beside Dean Winchester.
Castiel, who has the power—even as a human—to leave Dean Winchester once he’s finally had enough.
Dean is afraid as he softly knocks on the door to Cas’s bedroom.
“...Cas?” he questions when he receives no response. An untamable fear of abandonment borne from years of his loved ones leaving him behind—both by death and otherwise—leads to a tremor in Dean’s hands as he knocks once again.
“Cas, man I’m coming in if you don’t respond,” he calls out through the door with thinly veiled worry. After a few seconds of silence pass, Dean nearly falls face first into the room when at the very moment that he puts his hand on the knob to turn it, a force opens it from the other side before he gets a chance.
Hardly sparing a glance at the older Winchester as he stumbles his way into the bedroom and attempts to save himself from an embarrassing fall, Cas walks back over to assume his previous position at his desk and returns to the page of his book that he was interrupted during.
“C’mon, Cas, don’t be like that,” Dean weakly argues upon realizing that Castiel was not only completely fine, but that he was just merely giving Dean the petty silent treatment.
“Don’t be like what, Dean? Not respond to what you’ve said?” Cas bites out before adding a mutter of, “I’d think you’d be fairly familiar with the concept,” without so much as turning his head and sparing a glance at Dean.
Breathing in and releasing a harsh, frustrated breath through his nose, Dean continues to speak to the back of his friend who won’t even turn around in his chair to face him.
“Look, Cas...” Dean begins in a more serious tone, “I’m sorry that I upset you man. I was just trying to make you laugh because you sure as hell seem like you need one,” Dean reasons with him.
A beat of silence passes between them as the words hang heavy in the air—not being the first time that this experience has occurred for the two men—before Cas lowers his head with a sigh, bringing his thumb and middle finger up to rub the bridge of his nose.
“No, Dean. I’m sorry,” Cas remorsefully starts, before growing more frustrating again as he explains himself, “Humanity is proving far more difficult than I remember it being, and I just can’t figure out how to—”
“Cas, dude it’s okay,” Dean cuts him off graciously, similarly to the manner in which Cas put an end to his own rambling spiral a few days prior. “I get it man. You’re definitely entitled to be a little overwhelmed by all of this human stuff,” he placates as he provides one of his nervous, gentle side-smiles reserved only for Cas.
Unfortunately, as though all of Dean’s encouragement went entirely in one ear and out of the other, Cas still bears a frown as he grumbles under his breath, “I should be able to do something as simple as shaving my own facial hair”.
Now that stuns Dean.
He hadn’t even considered that maybe Cas wasn’t just not wanting to shave his face...but that he couldn’t.
As Dean connects the dots together, the silence clearly has left Cas sitting with his shame for too long, made evident as he begins to usher Dean out of his room.
“Dean, I appreciate your apology, but I really would like to be left alone for now,” Cas begins dejectedly as he starts to stand up and head for the door, clearly ready to be left with his thoughts and the little dignity he has left.
“Woah, woah, woah. Wait a minute,” Dean starts as he quickly moves to stop Cas from opening the door.
At the realization of being found out, Cas’s face quickly begins to turn red hot with shame. “Dean, I—”
“Dude, if you needed help, all you gotta do is ask. Hell, I practically taught both myself and Sammy how to shave when we were younger, so—”
“Dean, I know how to shave,” Cas exasperates as he tries to put an end to the conversation.
“Then what do you mean you ‘should be able to do it’,” Dean responds, mocking the ex-angel's grumbly voice as he imitates him.
“I mean I know how to shave, but I can’t,” Cas annoyedly finishes, breathing heavily as he finally meets Dean’s eyes for the first time in the entire conversation.
“When I last tried to, I was poorly successful but was still—” Cas stops to take in a breath and Dean watches as the ball of his jaw works, “—was still an angel, and was able to heal myself after the fact. I didn’t want to face you and Sam with obvious proof of my own inability now that I don’t have my grace anymore,” Cas finishes solemnly.
“Cas, man why didn’t you just say something?” Dean asks on a sigh.
Cas drops his gaze back to the floor.
“It’s easy for you to face this type of simple embarrassment. I have led armies, Dean. I am a humiliation to the image I was created to be, now being a failure in the face of something as human as a razor,” Cas pours out.
A moment of silence passes between the two as Dean finds the right words to say, worried to set off his friend once again.
As a faint blush creeps over Dean’s cheeks, he finds himself stammering out, “I mean, I could help you, y’know. If you want”.
He dips his head down to bring Cas’s eyes to meet his own, reminding himself of an earlier version of the pair back when Castiel first rebelled; that same day that Cas first bled for Dean to help defeat Zachariah.
Dean is brought back to the present as Cas weakly, but genuinely, murmurs out a, “I would appreciate that, Dean”.
Cas is riddled with shame as he stands beside Dean at the sink of the bunker’s bathroom.
They are both visible in the wide mirror, only adding to his dismay. Both of them are dressed in t-shirts and pajama pants (all Dean’s), making such a domestic image that it makes Cas a little nauseas.
He can’t even hide from himself, let alone from the man he loves.
As though sensing the stiffness of the man, Dean continues preparing his supplies as he tells Cas once again that he “really doesn’t mind doing this for him" and that it's "nothin' to be worried about,".
Cas is silent as he nods in acknowledgement. He does not deserve a man as caring as Dean Winchester.
“Alright Abe Lincoln, turn towards me,” Dean jokes as he maneuvers Cas by his shoulders to face him, earning him a rewarding eye roll from the ex-angel.
The utter intimacy of the situation at hand already has Cas even higher-strung than normal, feeling like one thing going wrong will be enough to make him explode.
They still haven’t talked about...it; that day when he was taken by the empty. It was the happiest moment of Castiel’s long life.
Selfishly, he'd partly found comfort in the knowledge of the lack of repercussions that he would have to face upon saying those words, thinking that he wouldn’t be there to ever witness a reaction or have to face Dean afterward.
What was initially one of the best things he has ever done now turns sour in his mouth at the thought of it.
He does not regret his love for Dean. He dies for Dean over and over again, and lives for Dean, over and over again.
He does not regret telling him all of the things he confessed to him before he was taken by the empty. There was no one part of what he spoke that was untrue.
Dean deserved to know that someone cares for him the way that Castiel does, whether that love is reciprocated or not. Cas does not require that Dean love him back for him to have meant all of it any more than he already did. All that Castiel cares about is that Dean understands that he is loved.
But God, does it hurt.
“Cas.”
Cas recognizes Dean’s hands firm on his shoulders, lightly jostling him back to reality. He must have zoned out. At least he was at peace.
Was he really?
“Cas,” Dean worriedly barks out.
Cas blinks and peers into the familiar green eyes that he has come to know so well. Hurts. “Sorry. Zoned out,” Cas responds shortly with a tired sigh as he averts his eyes to look around the room in a poor effort to conceal his nerves.
He is not at peace, even in his own thoughts.
Dean stares at him exasperatedly. "Yeah, ya think? Had me freaked the hell out for a second. Don’t do that, man” he rushes out, voice gruff in a poor effort to conceal his panic that had risen when Cas's eyes grew distant.
Castiel is stung by a fleeting memory at the words.
“Don’t do this, Cas.”
One thing that Castiel has come to understand well is the way in which Dean’s worry often disguises itself as anger. Dean is full of rage, because he is full of terror.
“Alright uh, we're gonna wet your face and get it nice and clean, then we’re gonna put the shaving cream on,” Dean narrates as he picks up the wet, slightly sudsy washcloth.
With rosy cheeks, Dean situates his hand to cradle the side of Cas’s jaw, forefinger resting just below his ear and thumb lightly resting on his cheek. With his other hand, he begins to gently cleanse Cas’s face, moving his opposite hand to the previous position when he reaches the other side.
For hands that have ended bloodlines, Dean holds Castiel’s face as gently as though it were made of porcelain.
The sheer tenderness of Dean’s movements has Cas praying to Jack that he does not humiliate himself and end up crying in front of Dean Winchester, using all of his humane power to resist against the subtle warning of a painful lump in his throat.
Cas wonders if Dean can feel the tension in the intimate actions, too.
Cas does not allow himself to hope.
Rinsing the washcloth and hanging it on the edge of the sink, Dean then pumps some shaving cream into his hands and lathers it between them.
“Make sure to keep your mouth closed while I lather this. It doesn’t taste very good,” Dean instructs softly as he lifts his hands to Cas’s face. The Dean-esque joke delivered so softly brings a fond smile to Cas’s face as he keeps his mouth closed.
“Hey, now there’s that smile I like to see,” Dean comments in an equally as fond manner.
Castiel can’t recall the last time that he smiled, really smiled.
With a stabbing feeling in his gut, he thinks of the few moments in the dungeon where he stood with a wide smile on his face.
“You changed me, Dean.”
Cas is thankful that Dean doesn’t notice, or at least pretends not to notice, the slight stinging behind Cas’s eyes.
At the same time Cas realizes that Dean has been soothing the shaving cream into his skin for what is probably longer than necessary, Dean seems to realize as well, withdrawing his hands as the blush on his cheeks renews.
Cas feels a bit silly standing there with the lower half of his face covered in shaving cream, struggling to continue to quell the feelings of uselessness that have been nagging him since he was brought back.
He hopes that Dean can’t see through his stoic facade.
After rinsing his hands, Dean picks up the razor and continues narrating to Cas that he’s going to “shave in the direction of the hair growth first”, or something like that. It’s hard for Castiel to listen with Dean in such close proximity to him.
Dean’s hand comes up to rest slightly differently than before, now with his thumb propped up on Cas’s cheekbone while his fingertips rest in Cas’s hair (just above his ear).
Cas knows that Dean is just being practical and that he shouldn’t take advantage of his friend’s kindness—especially with Dean knowing what he knows—but he has never been held so tenderly before.
He leans into the touch despite himself.
Cas tries to look anywhere but at Dean as the hunter slowly and methodically drags the razor down Cas’s face.
(Cas fails.)
Castiel is no stranger to torture. He has been tortured for information, for fun, for control. It should be easy for him to pretend that this is normal and to let himself have this in this fleeting moment of intimacy—but he can’t.
To let himself be this close to Dean Winchester—to have his hands gently caressing and cradling his face—is torture unlike any that he has faced before.
Dean instructs Cas on how to hold his mouth for when he shaves around the gentle area of Cas’s lips. Cas revels in the closeness of Dean to his own lips, knowing that this is the closest he will ever come to having it.
Maybe Dean is doing this on purpose. Maybe he knows just how torturous this is for Cas, and is doing it to punish Cas for burdening him with the knowledge of his love.
Cas takes it anyway.
He can feel himself shaking, and hasn't been human long enough to know if that's normal or not. His heart feels as though it trembles with the ache of his love for Dean. His teeth, his fingertips, his chest, all tremble in the wake of harsh reality.
Cradling the back of his neck with his palm as his thumb meets the point just below Cas’s ear, Dean instructs him to tilt his chin up towards the ceiling as he begins to shave the underside of Cas’s jaw and the upper portion of his neck.
Bearing one's neck is one of the purest forms of vulnerability, but Cas does it anyway. He would give anything of himself for Dean.
“Hey, there he is!” Dean remarks fondly as he shakes off the razor beneath the water for the final time, setting it down on the side of the sink.
He takes the washcloth after wetting it once again, wipes off any remains of shaving cream, then dries the wetness off to reveal soft, smooth skin. Taking Cas's face in his fingertips, he tilts his head side to side and up and down, just to ensure that he didn’t miss a spot.
The silence between them is comfortable, yet weighted. It is weighed down not only by the words spoken, but also the ones not.
Castiel wonders with an even heavier heart if things would be different had he not said the things he did. He wonders if, if he hadn't said the things that he'd said, then Dean would still look at him the same. He wonders if things can ever go back to the way they were.
But, unfortunately, Cas knows that he can't take back what he said. On one hand, he doesn't want to, because all of it was true. But, on the other, he selfishly wishes that he could go back in time and clap a hand over his past-self's mouth before the fatal, "I love you," could have passed his lips.
He swallows hard, and takes a quiet deep breath through his nose so as to not give his emotions away. Dean clearly does not care about his emotions. It would just probably just bother Dean even more if he suddenly broke down right here in front of him.
Get it together, Cas tells himself. He can't even blame his emotional state of being on his humanity. This is just the same sensitive personality that he always has had and—apparently—always will have.
He wishes that he could change his stupid, sensitive personality. Maybe, then, Dean wouldn't look at him with that unreadable look in his eyes like he so frequently does these days.
“Alright, almost done, just some aftershave. This stuff’ll make it feel real good,” Dean explains as he squirts some into his palm, rubbing it together as he initially did the shaving cream.
As Dean brings the aftershave up to his face, Cas inhales as he closes his eyes and comments absentmindedly on a breath out, “Smells like you”.
What are you doing?, he thinks to himself in a scold for making the soft, near-flirty comment. He isn't quite sure why he questions it, though. He knows that self-sabotaging is in his very nature, and what greater sabotage to his sensitive self is there than being tender towards someone who he knows does not reciprocate?
In a way, continuing to treat Dean with the same tenderness that he always has is a torture to himself greater than whatever Dean could do to him. It is as though he is looking at something that he longs for through a glass window, though with a sign of "do not touch" stickered onto the glass. Castiel can look, but he cannot have.
He will continue to look anyway, despite how much it hurts him.
Why stop himself from indulging while he can? They both know the true feelings behind Cas's "friendly" compliments and comments, now. He may as well continue to say them while he still can before Dean inevitably comes to his senses and kicks him out of the bunker just like he did years ago. It would be what Castiel deserves.
If Cas's eyes were open, he would have seen the pure look of fluster on the older Winchester’s face at the comment, but instead just hears the nervous chuckle that Dean gives in agreement.
You made him uncomfortable, Cas thinks to himself. Dean shouldn't have to continue to put up with him. His presence is a disservice to the man he loves.
“Alright tiger, keep your mouth closed again while I do this,” Dean instructs gently as he starts to rub the gel onto Cas’s face.
Cas finally opens his eyes back up so that he can watch the Winchester’s face once he finds himself thinking that Dean—once again—is taking a little bit more time than necessary to rub the product into his skin.
Despite the thought, he revels in the feeling of having Dean so close in front of his eyes that he can see all of the details etched into his skin, and he savors it. He knows that it is fleeting.
Cas finds himself wondering if this will be the last time that Dean has his hands so tenderly on his skin.
Cas wonders, now, if this will be the last time that Dean has his hands on him at all.
He prays to Jack even harder than before, mentally begging his son to help him have some composure as he once again is fighting to swallow against the painful lump in his throat.
Castiel is not going to make it out of this room alive.
A secret part of him wishes that he wouldn’t.
Still gently rubbing his hands along Castiel’s skin, occasionally swiping into his hair, gently sweeping a circle around his ears and back to his cheeks, Dean begins to speak.
“Cas, I uh—” pausing to clear his throat, Dean resumes as he looks to his hands that are still rubbing the ex-angel's skin, unable to make eye contact any longer, “I know we haven’t talked about what happened”.
Castiel thinks that he can physically feel the air drain out of the aftershave (Dean) scented bathroom. Or maybe he just feels it drain out of his lungs. The sensation is the same either way.
He watches the grief and discomfort distort Dean’s face. Dean continues what, to Cas’s humiliation, is obviously a very hard conversation for him to discuss, “What happened before...y’know. Look, Cas, I just really wanna tell you—”
Castiel can’t face it.
He has led armies. He has fought wars. He has overcome death.
He has been God.
Castiel’s brain provides him with a memory from years ago, his first time being human. “Buddy, you can’t stay,” Dean had said to him that day. Cas wonders just how long it will take until he is hearing those words again.
Maybe, that is what Dean is about to say now. Cas should go ahead and brace himself.
That is what he deserves, and he knows that that's what he deserves, but God he does not want it.
Castiel survived the rejection of Dean Winchester once. He will not survive it again.
As soon as he’d begun to overcome the lump in his throat, Castiel’s efforts turn futile as it returns in full force. To his horror, he feels his eyes and nose begin to burn in an almost painful tingling sensation as water begins rapidly pooling in his eyes.
There is nothing that a prayer to Jack can do for him in this moment.
Castiel breaks.
Unbeknownst to the panic that has been building in the man before him, Dean’s sentence completely trails off when he hears the strangled noise that escapes his friend. His eyes snap up to identify the threat as his hands finally fall from Cas’s face.
Before Dean, though, is no threat.
Instead, it is simply the careful walls that Cas had built up over the few weeks since his resurrection, now coming completely crumbling down right in front of him.
Cas hangs his head forward as his chest heaves, trying (and miserably failing) to conceal the sobs beginning to wrack his entirely too humane body as he wraps his arms around his torso in a pitifully tight mock-hug.
He does not deserve the comfort, even from himself.
He grips himself tighter anyway.
“Cas? Cas. Hey,” Dean frets as he reaches his hands up towards his friend’s shoulders, completely confused at what went wrong and unsure whether to make physical contact or not.
“Cas. What’s going on?” he worries in his best soothing older-brother-mom-dad voice that he used to use on Sammy when they were little.
If only Dean were able to see the all-consuming shame weighing down Castiel’s lungs. He would understand, then.
Cas just continues sobbing, leaning his chest forward and breathing too heavily to make out words as tears pour uselessly down his face. Dean decides impulsively to touch him, firmly grasping his friend's shoulders as they shake with his sobs.
He curses himself when Cas jerks backward out of his grip.
On a constant loop inside of Cas's frantic mind is that he doesn’t deserve the care of Dean Winchester. It’s his fault that Dean is in this situation in the first place. The least he could do is spare Dean the inconvenience of having to put up with this.
Castiel is spiraling.
Dean has never seen the ex-angel like this, ever. He has seen Castiel cry in one instance, albeit tears of joy in his final moments as he gave his dying speech and profession of love. But never has Dean seen the angel as upset as this.
This is grief.
Dean tries to get Cas's attention again with a gentle (albeit terribly worried) call of his name, trying to bring the ex-angel back from the place that he is currently trapped within his mind.
Castiel is unreachable, and he’s so sorry. Everything is his fault.
“I can’t—I just...Dean I—” Cas breaks off with a sob and a violent inhale, doubling over where he stands as he desperately tightens his arms around his torso.
Throwing caution to the wind, Dean grabs Cas by the shoulders again, pulling him upright and rubbing his hands up and down his arms as he attempts to soothe the panicking man. He urges out a desperate string of, “Shh. Hey, Cas, it’s okay. It’s okay, Cas,” as he frantically tries to calm Cas down. His heart hurts at how distraught the ex-angel is.
Dean mentally thanks Jack—even promising him a practice drive in Baby—when Cas pitches forward into his space, allowing him the opportunity to gather Cas up in his arms as the ex-angel continues bawling.
Castiel is so sorry.
Castiel is ashamed.
Who was Castiel to want? Should he not have known better? Just look at where it’s gotten him: pathetically crying, and unwanted by the one man he gave everything up for.
Dean’s attempts to calm Cas fall on deaf ears, drowned out by the ex-angel's insistent apologizing. Though, Cas is barely able to even get a syllable out without a harsh gasp and sob breaking up the word.
Dean presses his palm to the back of Cas’s mess of black locks—to which he makes a mental note about trimming as well—to guide his head towards the crook of his neck, wrapping his other arm around Cas’s back to rub soothingly up and down as he shushes him.
“Dean, I—I’m so sorry...I just—” Cas starts before breaking off from his words to sob into Dean’s shoulder, clutching desperately at the back of his love, “I’m so sorry—God, I’m so...I can't—” he cuts himself off with a harsh few sobs, trying to catch whatever breath he can get.
Dean feels his own eyes burning in sympathy, looking up to the ceiling to try and quell his own tears as his best friend wets the shoulder of his shirt with his own.
It is clear that the breakdown that Cas is having in Dean’s arms has clearly been building up for some time, and now suddenly the overwhelmingly humane emotions are all crashing at once like the waves of an ocean beneath the thunderous sky.
An ocean, similar to none other than the amount of Castiel’s siblings’ blood stained on his hands.
An ocean, similar to none other than Dean’s thrashing rage that Castiel knows all too well.
An ocean, similar to none other than the untamable love Castiel feels for the Righteous Man, remaining strong even in the face of Death herself.
Castiel aches.
When Dean clues back in to Cas’s gut-wrenching sobs about having “ruined everything”, he knows that he has to put a stop to this and has to put a stop to it now. He begs Cas to stop apologizing, leading to Cas just endlessly bawling into Dean’s shirt instead.
Worried that his friend might either pass out or make himself sick from the severity of his crying, Dean pulls back just enough that he’s able to cradle Cas’s face in his hands.
His heart breaks at the sight of his friend so distraught, Cas's face displaying nothing short of agony.
Castiel continues to pour out tears of despair—a feeling he has become eerily familiar with—as Dean swipes his thumbs softly across Cas’s cheeks, windshield wiping the tears as they fall.
The tender touch slowly helps calm his crying to where he isn’t sobbing as harshly as before, rather snuffling and catching his breath as tears flow silently down his face. The tender touch does, however, still increase the hurt in his chest. He does not deserve this, and yet he indulges anyway. Castiel can look, but he cannot have.
The combination of Dean whispering reassurances coupled with the tender gestures of Dean wiping away his tears eventually becomes enough to nearly start him back up again though, face crumpling as he tries to avert his face away from Dean’s gaze, yet is stopped by Dean’s hands holding his face.
“I’m sorry,” Cas croaks out after some beats of silence with a voice that he hardly even recognizes. He is met quickly with a serious “None of that,” from Dean as he shakes his head at Cas's apology, green eyes red-rimmed and coated with concern.
“C’mere” Dean whispers as he pulls Cas back into a hug similar to the position that he was holding Cas in before. He rocks the two of them softly as he strokes his hand through Cas’s hair, not yet speaking. He isn't even sure what to say.
He knows what to say. He just has to stop being too scared to say it.
Cas is reminded of the hug that they shared in purgatory recently, where Dean prayed to him before they found one another again and then greeted him with a desperate hug.
Cas had thought, then, that maybe Dean felt the same way.
He was wrong.
Cas begins sobbing into the crook of Dean’s neck all over again.
Dean uncharacteristically lets out a disappointed coo at him getting worked up all over again, whispering “Cas,” all heartbroken and grieving. Cas sobs even harder at the soft, gentle tone from Dean Winchester.
He knows that he does not deserve Dean’s kindness. If only Dean would stop pretending like he doesn’t know that, too.
The hunter continues coddling him and soothing him as though he were the child that neither of them ever got to be. He continues smoothing a hand over the back of Cas’s hair, and a soft press to the crown of his head is what Castiel belatedly realizes are Dean’s lips.
The realization just makes his eyes sting even more.
“Cas, honey what is wrong?” Dean questions desperately as he continues to rock and sway them gently in place.
The pet name goes over Cas's head. He knows better than to try and hope that it's anything more than the platonic nickname that it is.
His fingers cramp where he’s been fisting the back of Dean’s shirt so tightly, expanding them back out and regripping the back of his shirt as he selfishly pulls Dean in closer. Tears continue to roll silently down his cheeks.
If he hasn’t lost Dean yet, he’s about to, so he may as well savor this while it lasts. At least he’ll know how to shave now when he’s back out on the street.
Pulling him back to the previous position of cradling Cas’s face in his hands, Dean firmly insists, “Cas. We are never going to tell you that you have to leave, ever again. You are always welcome to stay with us. You belong here. You’re family”.
He must have said some of that out loud. Dean is kind for pretending as if he doesn't agree.
Castiel still does not allow himself to want.
Dean is looking at him with such grave concern in his eyes that it almost makes him forget what he’s done wrong; but, the longer he looks into Dean’s eyes, he remembers.
“I’m sorry,” Cas pathetically croaks out, lungs exhausted from his hyperventilating and eyes swollen from the tears still wet in his eyes, but now looking directly into Dean’s eyes as he says it. He wants Dean to know that he means it.
Dean’s brow crinkles in a sad-looking confusion, eyes somehow softening and growing more concerned at the same time as he quietly asks, “Why?”.
Of course Dean is going to make him say it out loud and admit to his sins. It is what he deserves, after all.
“...Because I love you,” Cas whispers with a tremble of his lower lip.
Now, it seems, it is Dean’s turn to cry. His lower lip curls up beneath his teeth as his brows furrow, tears that had been slowly gathering now dripping down onto his cheeks.
He releases a poorly concealed, sob of a breath through his nose as his eyes search Cas's face.
Seeing how upset he's made Dean—again—Cas tries to lower his head in shame, biting his lip to hold back another new wave of sobs. He can't tell the difference between the shame, guilt, and humiliation that he is drowning in. He thinks, maybe, that it's all three at once.
He only is able to lower his head so far before Dean maneuvers it back up (considering that his face is still cradled in the hunter's hands) to look force them to make eye contact. It hurts.
“Dean—” Cas starts wetly before Dean moves one of his hands from the side of Cas’s face to hold his index finger over Cas’s mouth, imitating a shushing gesture.
Cas silences immediately. He got his chance to plead his case. Now he has to stand and listen to what Dean has to say, no matter how badly it hurts.
Cas braces himself.
“My turn,” Dean says as he raises his eyebrows and slowly nods his head up and down, signifying a “don’t interrupt me” sort of attitude. Cas weakly nods his head, putting on a brave face.
He waits patiently to hear the expected "get your things and go". He waits patiently for the "buddy, you can't stay".
His lip trembles and his eyebrows crease despite his best efforts to keep his face steeled.
“Let me tell you about love,” Dean begins as Cas averts his gaze in shame at the word, but then meets Dean’s eyes once again. It’s the least he could do for Dean.
“I always run back to you. Every time. Do you know the amount of people who’ve left me, Cas? The amount of people who I’ve left? Do you know who never has left my side, that I always wind up crawling back to, no matter how little I deserve it?” Dean pointedly questions.
Castiel feels frozen between Dean’s warm palms.
“I pray to you. I never had anything to believe in until I met you, Cas. And then I started praying to you, and I prayed to you every night. You gave me faith,” Dean says with an eerily familiar, teary smile that makes Cas feel like he’s looking in a mirror of that fateful day in the dungeon.
Castiel is afraid.
“I mourned you, Cas. I mourned you every time, and I especially did this time. I sat on that floor for hours and cried. And I didn’t mourn you like a brother, Cas. I mourned you like a widow,” Dean emphasizes.
Castiel’s chest is getting tight.
“I had to watch as Lucifer exploded you in front of my eyes. I had to carry your coat around as the only memory left of you after the leviathan. I had to watch the life leave your eyes after that reaper stabbed you. I had to wrap your dead body and burn you on a pyre. I had to—” Dean chokes, taking a breath before he continues as tears continue rolling down his cheeks, “—I had to watch you get taken from me after you told me you loved me, with no friggin’ idea how to get you back,” Dean finishes harshly with tears streaming down his face.
Castiel wants to reach out and wipe them away. He doesn’t move.
“Cas. I’m a mess when you’re not here,” Dean sobs out. “You don’t know how bad I get when you’re not here. Cas, when you die, I die”.
“Dean,” Cas murmurs sadly as he reaches out to softly wipe Dean’s tears the same way he had done for him. Dean leans into Castiel’s touch, nuzzling his face further into Cas’s trembling hands.
Cas stares in awe, afraid. He does not let himself hope (but God does he want to).
“Cas. Look at me,” Dean croaks out. It feels a bit funny, the two of them standing there with barely any space between one another’s bodies, holding each other’s faces in their hands.
Cas hesitantly meets Dean’s eyes again, not noticing when he had stopped doing so.
“I love you,” Dean starts.
Cas inhales sharply and tries to pull away, but is stopped by Dean’s hands holding his face, gentle but firm.
Dean continues despite the panicked expression in his ex-angel's eyes, "I love you. And I don’t care if that scares you. It scares me, too. And I don’t care. Because I love you”.
Castiel is sobbing again now, his hold on Dean’s cheeks tightening.
“I love you. Not like a brother and not like a friend. I love you like ‘I’m your Huckleberry’. I love you like Harry and Sally. I love you like Bert and Ernie. I love you, Cas,” Dean finishes, a teary-eyed but triumphant grin growing on his face.
“I love you,” Dean says again, wiping Cas’s tears with his thumb. He leans forward to pressing a kiss into Cas’s forehead, eliciting a watery gasp from the man.
“I love you,” Dean says again, just because he can. He presses kisses onto Cas’s temples, on his cheekbones, on the tip of his nose.
“I love you,” Dean says again, smiling, because he means it. He presses his forehead to Cas’s, patiently sharing breaths with him until Cas surges forward to connect the little remaining space between their mouths.
Dean’s noise of surprise is muffled by Cas desperately trying to push closer to Dean and pour over a decade’s worth of pent-up passion into the kiss.
Their bodies are lined up lips to knees, not allowing an inch of space between them. Not anymore.
Cas moves his hands to grasp at the nape of Dean’s neck with an honest-to-God whine, while Dean—despite the intensity—softly swipes his thumbs across Cas’s cheeks over the newly-wet tear tracks.
The two stand in the open bathroom, sharing muffled “I love you”s against one another mouths and frequent gasps for air—they both just cried their eyes out, no way they're breathing through their noses easily—for what could be both minutes or hours, neither one of them really care.
Dean eventually breaks away, still holding Cas’s face in his hands. Despite the heartfelt, loving confessions that just occurred, the expression on his face is shockingly serious in a way that makes Cas immediately worried.
He starts to mentally question what he must have done wrong until Dean thankfully speaks up upon noticing the slight panic.
“Y’know, especially now that you know that I love you, I think its acceptable for me to also be allowed to confess that you are worrying me,” Dean reasons with concern lacing his features as he looks into the tired eyes of his exhausted, now cried-out lover.
Cas glances down at his feet, unsure of how to respond, before glancing back up to look at Dean’s nose. It's easier than making direct eye contact.
Soothed by the thumb softly caressing his cheek, he mumbles ashamedly, “I was scared. And embarrassed”.
“You thought I was going to kick you out for being in love with me, Cas,” Dean lightly, but lovingly, scolds. “You nearly passed out because you were so scared of what I would say”.
“In my defense, when do things ever go our way?” Cas questions with his signature sassy tone starting to drip back in despite how wet and hoarse his voice currently is, reminding Dean of an earlier version of them.
An earlier version of them, sitting around the bunker table laughing.
An earlier version of them, having movie nights on Tuesdays with Jack and Sam.
An earlier version of them, sharing mixtapes made specially for one another, just as Dean’s parents did with one another.
An earlier version of them, constantly denying the love in their actions despite knowing exactly what the emotion charging the air between them was.
An earlier version of them, who would be so, so proud of them right now.
Dean pulls Cas into another hug and kisses the side of his head with a sigh of, “Who the hell knows?”. They sway for a few moments, simply basking in the comfort of one another that Castiel cannot believe he has, before slowly pulling back away as before.
Dean strokes Cas’s cheeks, softly musing, “Y’know, the scruffy actually wasn’t that bad”. He then cuts Cas’s exasperated attempt to respond off with a teasing, “Makes you look so masculine,” making a show of wiggling his eyebrows and all.
The fond eye roll and kiss on the cheek that Dean gets is a reward in his book.
“How’s about we trim that mane while we’re at it too?” Dean quipped, turning cas to face the mirror and ruffling his hair up, feeling entirely and warmly domestic.
The warmth of Dean's smile is everything to combat the ache that had so persistently been weighing upon Castiel’s heart.