Archive of Our Own ^beta

They don’t talk about what happened before Cas was taken by The Empty. They just… don’t.

When Jack had brought Cas back—the two of them appearing in the bunker’s kitchen like they’d never left—Cas had stood behind and to the side, clearly nervous and unsure but Dean had dove straight for him, pulling him into a too-tight hug, and roughly gasping, “Cas. Fuck.”

Cas’ breath had hitched and he’d tensed at the first initial contact before sinking into him, arms slowly coming around Dean’s shoulders.

He’d then murmured quiet, relieved, and undeniably tender, “Hello Dean.”

Dean had felt an overwhelming wave of emotion. He’d wanted to shout so many things—‘how could you do that—leave like that?’ or ‘never, ever do that again!’ and maybe, ‘why would you make that your fucking happiest moment, you fucking moron?’—but the words hadn’t come, mostly because the only sound he’d felt capable of was a strangled sob.

So, he’d kept his teeth gritted, lips sealed. He’d also kept his hands clutched in the familiar trenchcoat for longer than normal, wanting to shake the angel—or maybe he’d have been the one shaking, coming apart at seams he’d only just barely kept held together in the aftermath.

But all too soon, Sam had been at his side, so Dean had forcibly let Cas go and stepped back, allowing his brother to hug the angel as Jack explained his single interference by negotiating with The Empty.

Cas was back, alive, with no more deals and mostly human. Cas was hoping to stay in the bunker as long as he was welcomed, to which Dean had snapped, ‘of course he fucking is’ only to gain a shyly relieved smile from the angel, making his stomach churn with something uncomfortably like guilt.

Jack had then flickered off back to Heaven, task complete, and Dean had been left handling the whiplash of his grief from Cas being dead to his elation of Cas being back that he just... hadn’t brought it up.

Fuck, he’d never been good at that sort of thing.

He also hadn’t wanted to ruin this too-good moment. This had been their overwhelming, impossible fucking win, and talking aloud about Cas’ confession? Being forced to tell Cas it just wasn’t going to happen? Dean had felt sure it would shatter the sense of peace they’d miraculously gained.

And Cas… well, he’d never mentioned it either.

They’d just silently and discreetly returned to normal. Or rather, the kind of normal they’d rarely had the chance to gain—a normal without some world ending or life-threatening event weighing them down or forcing them apart. Just the three of them living together, sharing small nearby hunts, going on grocery runs and watching movies in the Dean Cave.

But even though Dean had determinedly decided to let it go, to sink them back into the status quo of best friends… it didn’t mean that he could forget about it. Not when Cas walked around looking like he truly was fucking happy with the situation, like there weren’t words still hanging in the air between them.

I love you

The one thing I want, it’s something I know I can’t have.

Dean didn’t understand how he could do that. How he could be content with that. How Cas could look at him, smile at him, pat his shoulder and make coffee for him and not feel… bitterness. Other people sure would, but apparently not Castiel. No, he was happy in the knowing not the having.

Dean didn’t get it, wasn’t sure he’d ever get it, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to ask Sam or fucking Cas to explain it.

So, in the absence of anything else, it was back to normal, back to a world where Cas loved him but they didn’t talk about it.

The scariest fucking part was how little actually changed. Because, when he got injured, Cas used the little grace he had left to heal him, even when Dean told him not to—his anxious frown only easing when Dean’s pain did.

When women flirted with him, Cas said nothing. He either wandered away to give them privacy, or turned his attention and focus to Sam. It left Dean with a sour, guilty twist in his stomach every time. Cas never asked if he got their number or took them up on their offer of a motel room, and Dean sure as hell never said. (It wasn’t like he was looking to date anyone right now anyway.)

But it wasn’t all shit like that.

Sometimes, it was just him introducing Cas to new experiences, or laughing at him over whatever ridiculous statement he’d given, whether deliberately or by accident—that was when he’d see it sometimes. A fond little smile that he’d noticed for years, but now sucked the breath from Dean’s lungs with the weight of what it actually meant.

Other times, it wasn’t a smile or a glance at all that caught Dean off guard. It was when he’d be cooking and Cas hung around the kitchen, listening attentively to whatever he said about the new recipe he was trying. Or the afternoons he’d be washing Baby as Cas sat nearby with a book he barely read—just keeping him company, looking for all the world like the only place he ever wanted to be was by his side.

And you know, it probably could have gone on forever like that; both of them ignoring the elephant in the room, their relationship unchanging—but like everything in their lives, it only took one bad hunt to permanently alter everything.

Because even though Chuck wasn’t writing the script anymore—wasn’t throwing fresh bullshit and heartache their way to deal with—it didn’t mean shit couldn’t still go sideways.

Sometimes, it was just good old fashioned bad luck.

Because it should have been a simple hunt, not exactly a milk run, but nothing they hadn't done a hundred times before. But instead of a single witch, it was a small fucking coven and they didn't like their plans being interrupted. It wasn't even the worse they'd seen, but one lapse in concentration had a curse flung Dean’s way. That was always bad. But this? It was the kind of spell that was going to be awkward no matter how they cut it.

Opening his eyes and deciding he’d do anything for the witch because she commanded it? Turning his gun on his brother or Cas and shooting point blank so she could escape? It would have been child’s play for that type of spell.

And hell, he could have started acting like that towards Sam, falling creepily and horrifyingly into obsession because curses were curses and they didn’t give a shit about familial ties once the spell latched on.

But instead, it was Cas he saw first—because Cas ganked the witch and ran to his side immediately, always the first to make sure he was okay. So of course it had to be fucking Cas.

And so, Dean Winchester blinked open his bespelled eyes, looked at Castiel, half-powered angel, best friend, and… fell in love.

“Dean?”

Dean stared at Castiel from where he knelt on the ground, dazed not from hitting the dirt, but completely transfixed. How had he ever managed to hunt and fight and live when he wasn’t looking at beautiful blue eyes in a handsome face?

“Dean,” Cas said, his voice sharper. “Are you all right?” The worry carved frown lines in his angel’s brow, distracting Dean from his admiration. His heart ached for his angel. “Dean—”

“Cas,” he whispered, sucking in a lungful of air and reaching out blindly.

Cas immediately stepped closer, crouching down. Dean grasped his angel’s hands, wanting to touch, wanting to soothe. His best friend remained worried, a brief glance down in confusion, before his gaze was darting over Dean’ face in concern.

“Dean? What’s wrong? Do you feel unsteady? Disoriented?”

Dean smiled, warmed by the blatant display of concern. So, he admitted, as easy as breathing, “I love you.”

Cas’ eyes widened, his expression flooding with shock, but beneath that was a yearning as sharp as his angel blade.

Dean closed the space desperately, pressing his lips to his angel’s. Cas released a needy, wrecked sound and for a moment, he was kissed with a hunger that Dean could scarcely comprehend.

Yet, a beat later, Cas yanked their mouths apart. Dean whined at the instant ache, but Cas didn’t reclaim his touch. Dean blinked, staring mournfully at Cas’ closed off expression.

“Cas—”

“You’re cursed,” Cas whispered, his wavering voice at odds with the blankness of his features.

“No. What?” Dean shook his head. “No, I’m not. You ganked that bitch, Cas. You got her, you saved me.” He smiled adoringly. “You looked so goddamn gorgeous—”

Cas scrambled away as if burned, pulling his hands from Dean’s grip. The sharp motion and loss of contact made Dean fall forward, bracing his palms on the ground. Cas stumbled into a standing position but Dean stayed on all fours, looking up at his angel. Cas seemed unnaturally pale, his hands trembling where they rested at his sides.

Dean wanted to kiss him again. He wanted to put his mouth everywhere until Cas felt better—felt happy. His angel deserved nothing but pleasure, happiness and love.

“Cas?” Sam asked.

Cas tore his gaze away. He also turned his back on Dean—but Dean stayed staring, he couldn’t look away, not even to check on his brother. He only had eyes for Castiel.

“It’s an affliction of devotion,” Cas croaked, he tried to stand straight and tall, but he still shook faintly. “I inadvertently took her place as the target.”

“Shit,” Sam said. “How do we break it?”

“I’m uncertain, but—”

Dean, unable to stay on the ground and out of touching distance any longer, got to his feet and closed the space between him and Castiel. He wrapped his arms around his angel’s waist, sighing happily and turning his face into Cas’ neck.

Cas went rigid in his arms, but Dean stayed plastered against the angel he loved, the one being in all the universe for whom he would do anything.

It was a three-day clusterfuck of a curse.

And hindsight really was a bitch.

Maybe, if they’d talked about Cas’ feelings when he first came back, they would have been able to handle it better. Maybe clearing the air and laying some ground rules might have saved them both some pain.

Or maybe Dean was kidding himself. Maybe it would have done fuck all and it was always going to be awkward and really fucking painful for their resident angel.

But, either way, the moment that the curse broke and Dean blinked open his eyes to stare at the bunker’s roof, it wasn’t Cas’ concerned gaze that appeared, but his brother’s. That, of all things, wasn't really much of a surprise.

Sam helped him up onto shaky feet but when he looked around, Cas was nowhere in sight.

“You remember anything?” Sam asked, looking wary.

Dean winced so hard that Sam hadn’t really needed to ask a follow up question.

Did he remember acting like a lovesick puppy for Cas? Yeah, yeah, he did.

Did he remember the barely hidden agony on his friend’s face as the ‘thing he wanted but couldn’t have’ was offered on a cursed silver platter for three days?

Yeah, he fucking did.

He kicked up the biggest fucking argument when they got back to the Impala.

Cas and Sam had insisted they clean up the remnants of the coven. Dean had been unhappy about letting go of Cas, but he’d complied when his angel had insisted. Dean had made sure to keep the angel in his sights as they worked.

But now Sam wanted him to sit in the back without Cas? His angel riding shotgun? Away from him? Fat fucking chance.

He’d dug in his heels, refusing to even climb into the car. In the end, Sam had whispered something quietly to Cas. It had made him grimace, but he’d slid into the back. Dean had immediately brightened and clambered in after him, plastering himself to the angel.

He tucked his arm through Cas’ the moment they were close enough, their elbows hooked together. He took Cas’ hand next, linking their fingers. Cas tensed and tried to pull them apart, but Dean scowled—or, well, pouted.

“Cas?” Cas continued to try to untangle him, but Dean held firm. “What are you doing?”

“Dean,” he said, an edge of desperation threading through his voice the longer Dean refused to let him go. “There is ample space in Baby and it… it would be better if we didn’t do this.”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

Dean tried to catch his gaze, wanting to get his point across, but Cas refused to look at him and, well, Dean got a little distracted staring at the handsome profile of his angel’s face. He could look at him forever.

It was only when Sam started up Baby that Dean jolted from his easily-distracting adoration for Cas. He knew they weren’t far from the bunker, Sam would get them home today, and without needing to stay the night anywhere.

He couldn’t wait to be home with Cas.

Dean tugged up Cas’ hand, wanting to kiss it, but Cas locked his arm, angelic strength making it impossible for Dean to move it.

“Don’t Dean,” Cas said, firm yet weary.

“But, Cas,” he whispered, feeling helpless. “I love you.”

Cas swallowed hard, his eyes shutting tightly. Dean tried to press even more of their bodies together, wanting to help, to ease the unmistakable pain in his love’s face. He curled his other hand around Cas’ so he was cradling it in both palms.

“I really do, Cas,” he promised. “You don’t need to be sad, angel.”

“Please, Dean,” he choked out.

Dean felt helpless. He lifted one hand, cupping Cas’ cheek and stroking away imaginary tears—or, not imaginary, remembered tears: the ones in the bunker that he’d never been able to touch.

Cas’ eyes snapped open, his head jerking to the side to look at him. Dean couldn’t feel anything but love as he looked at his angel. It wasn’t Cas’ true form, he knew that, but this was so much more than just a vessel to both of them now.

He ducked forward to kiss Cas, but his friend’s free hand caught him on the chest. He blinked and looked down, frowning at being kept away.

“Do not do that,” Cas said, voice low and almost fearful.

“But—”

“If you really… care for me, you will not do that.”

Dean frowned, not understanding why Cas wouldn’t want that when they both loved each other but…  “I’ll do anything for you.”

Cas swallowed harshly, his expression turbulent. He tried to smile but it didn’t reach those fathomless eyes. “Good. Because that is what I want you to do for me, Dean.”

He nodded slowly, still not really understanding but agreeing.

“Okay, Cas.” He smiled lovingly. “Anything for you, sunshine.”

Cas shut his eyes again, like he was upset. He turned away, facing the opposite window. Dean dropped his head to Cas’ shoulder. He kept their hands entwined on Cas’ thigh and snuggled closer to his favourite person in the whole world.

His Castiel. His angel. The love of his life.

Dean left Sam at a fast clip, not wanting to look into his brother’s worried puppy-dog gaze.

It was the first time he’d been truly alone since the whole mess had begun. There was a relief in that and a bit of squirming guilt too. It was just… fucked. God, it was fucked.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face.

No wonder, with the spell broken, Cas had scarped. He might have fled anywhere—some out of place storage room? The roof? Hell, he could have outright left the bunker.

Dean didn’t know, and, guiltily, he didn’t want to check.

There was just too much in his head, too many memories crashing against his mind like stormy waves on the beach.

He’d spent so fucking long thinking of Cas as his best friend, as family, and then, after the confession, he’d pointedly not thought about anything else. Now it was all jumbled up in his head, like someone had tossed everything into a jar and hit blend.

And how the fuck was he meant to sort things out—sort them out now?

They arrived back at the bunker and instantly started researching.

Well, Sammy researched. Dean had refused to let Cas go once they left Baby. He’d followed him all the way to the library and then sat down beside him. Now, he held tight to Castiel’s hand and watched him read, unable to help commenting whenever he thought of some new wonderful thing about his angel.

“You’re so smart.” He praised, squeezing Cas’ hand—Cas smiled thinly.

“You read so quick.” He admired, rubbing his thumb over the angel’s knuckles—Cas nodded tightly.

“I love your eyes.” He admitted, wanting to reach out and thumb away the concentrating furrow—Cas’ frown only deepened.

“Your hand feels so good in mine.” He murmured, squeezing again—Cas winced, shoulders stiffening.

 “I love you, Cas.” He confessed adoringly— Cas flinched, arm jerking and dislodging Dean's hand, sending a shard of pain through Dean's heart.

But Dean didn't stop, he couldn't. He retook Cas’ limp hand when it fell back to the table, stroking in gentle comfort. He needed to prove it, needed to show it until he finally made Cas smile and believe him.

He even asked questions:

(“What’s wrong, Cas?”

“Nothing, Dean.”)

(“Are you okay, Cas? Can I make you something?”

“No, thank you. Please focus on your own reading.”)

And, finally, a little desperate.

(“Tell me what you want me to do, sweetheart.”)

He’d followed it by kissing the back of Cas’ knuckles lovingly, but it had only made Cas yank his hand away again. This time he even stormed out of the room.

Dean had immediately gone to follow but Sam had blocked him, holding up a book and attempting to get his attention. He’d tried to weave around his brother, getting more and more apprehensive for every minute Cas was out of his sight.

He’d ended up shoving Sam forcefully out of the way and storming out of the room, ready to rip the bunker apart—rage and need an overwhelming animal, tearing apart his chest. He’d only calmed when he saw Cas at the end of the hall, leaning heavily against a wall, his head buried in his arms, as if all the strength had been ripped out of him.

Dean rushed over and scooped the angel into his embrace, tucking Cas’ head into his neck and murmuring soothing words against his love’s hair.

‘It’s okay’ and ‘I’ve got you’ and ‘I’ll always find you, angel. No one will keep us apart, I’ll never let ‘em’.

It was only when he placed a kiss to Cas’ hair that his angel pulled away. He held his hands out between them as if warding him off. Dean felt helpless and sad, gutted that he couldn’t make him feel better.

“Cas—”

“Please, don’t say anything else, Dean. Please.”

Dean frowned harder, but he stayed silent. Cas shut his eyes, breathing deeply; in and out, like he was meditating. When he eventually opened his eyes, he looked worn out in a way that plucked at Dean’s heartstrings.

“We should return to researching with Sam.”

Dean scowled. It was the last thing he wanted—he wanted to fold Cas back into his arms, sweep his hands up the angel’s back and promise to take on the world all over again if it would just make his love smile.

But, what Cas said, Dean would do; whatever his angel wanted, he would make happen.

So, he nodded.

But as Cas went to leave, brushing past him to return to the books and Sam, Dean snagged his hand again, linking their fingers. Cas stiffened briefly, a barely-there hitch to his steps before he continued as if nothing had happened.

Sam looked just as pained as Castiel when they re-entered the room, but Dean barely noticed, he only had eyes for Cas. What did it matter about Sam or hunts?

His angel remained sad, still upset in some way he couldn’t soothe. But he could do one thing, even when it was hard. He could listen to Cas’ command. He wouldn’t say a word. He would research.

He just didn’t know why they were looking up curses. Didn’t they realise the only thing that mattered was making Castiel happy?

But he dutifully read spellbooks, one hand still linked with Cas’. He barely absorbing a word.

Dean wasn't really thinking of a destination as he walked. He just wanted privacy, wanted to be alone to think— only, he froze when he got where his feet had taken him; his bedroom.

His hand hovered over the doorknob because. Fuck.

He’d been determined not to let Cas out of his sight during the curse. It meant that if Cas left a room, Dean followed. The bathroom had been the only concession, but only if Cas hovered just outside the door, staying in hearing distance.

They’d been some of the fastest showers he’d ever had. One time he’d walked out without a towel, thinking Cas would be happy. Instead, Cas had covered his eyes and spun around, his neck bright pink and his voice colder, smite-ier than it had been in years, “Do not do that again.”

Dean had hunched, upset with himself for upsetting Cas. He’d changed quickly and had tentatively tugged his angel’s shirt sleeve afterwards, whispering, “I’m sorry, Cas.”

Cas had shaken his head, still not meeting his gaze. When he'd answered, his voice had been softer, yet so, so tired: “It’s not your fault, Dean.”

Now, of course, it felt a whole lot more like his fault. Because Cas, even in the midst of all that heartache, had only wanted the best for him. But combined with Dean's obsessive need to be near? Well, he basically hadn’t been in his room for the last three nights.

Hesitantly, Dean pushed his door open, but it was the same as always; sheets still rumpled from when he’d kicked them off the morning before leaving on the case, all his belongings untouched and unmoved.

Somehow, Dean had expected some big change—some sense of wrongness like the curse had been feeding him when it told him anywhere that wasn’t plastered to Cas’ side was devastating.

And… look…the curse had been a curse for a reason. He’d been creepily obsessed and dependant to unhealthy levels… but wanting to stick by Cas? Wanting to make him happy? They weren’t exactly foreign feelings.

He’d always been a wreck whenever Cas died: always overwhelmed with shaky relief and something damn-near euphoric when he clutched the angel to him in a tight embrace upon his return.

So, yeah, similarities but not the same.

And yet…

Dean walked over to his bed, taking a seat on the mattress and gently touching it. His bedding was loads better, couldn’t fucking compare when Cas barely slept and didn’t care about memory foam but… shit, falling asleep with Cas for the last three nights?

He’d slept better than he could remember in years.

As the hours of research passed, Cas remained tense with his lips downturned and his mood dark. Dean had kept opening his mouth to talk, only to remember his angel’s order and closing it again.

At least he still held Cas’ hand.

Sam got up to make them coffee a few times, but Dean stayed rooted to his angel. He had to be there, had to be ready if his angel needed him for anything. But not even his dedication and devotion could stop tiredness from catching up with him. Sam started yawning first and Dean soon followed. He even started nodding off with his head in his palm, gaze fighting to stay locked on Cas.

When Cas noticed, he insisted that they go to sleep, that he could keep researching in their absence. Sam had agreed, but Dean immediately protested. “No, you can’t.”

Cas’ smiled tightly—Dean didn’t like it. All his smiles lately were so pained. “You know I don’t sleep much, Dean. I will be fine.”

Dean scowled, because angel or no-angel this was more important. “No. You look tired, Cas. And sad. Sleeping will help.”

Cas shook his head, even Sam tried to side with Cas but Dean climbed out of his chair. He closed the distance and lightly gripped Cas’ trenchcoat. Cas’ eyes widened. He looked up at him nervously, his free hand clenched tight around the edge of the table.

Dean held his love’s beautiful, expressive, troubled eyes and asked, “Please, Cas?”

“Dean…”

“Please you need to rest. Please. For me?” Cas visibly wavered, so Dean pressed close, resting his forehead against the side of Cas’ head. “Please?”

And like Dean had just cut all his strings, Cas crumpled. He nodded helplessly and Dean smiled, relieved. He shifted, kissing Cas’ cheek with affection—but his angel flinched violently, wrenching away and staring at the opposite wall.

“Cas—”

“Just… just go to bed, Dean.”

“Not without you.”

He let Cas’ trenchcoat go if only to retake his hand and try pulling him. Cas didn’t budge.

“Cas,” he pleaded.

The angel was unmoved—not until Sam said, “Cas, man, maybe it’s like the car, you know?” He smiled but it looked apologetic. “Or back in hotels, you know, when you—”

“When Dean told me not to watch him sleep?”

Cas sounded so exhausted. Sam just grimaced and shrugged awkwardly.

“Fine,” Cas bit out, standing from the chair.

Dean brightened and started pulling him down the hall towards his room. When they reached it, he threw open the door, but the moment he crossed the threshold, he jerked backwards, unable to keep pulling when Cas had locked himself in place.

Dean looked over his shoulder, frowning and ready to protest, but Cas said, “I will stay here until you fall asleep. I will then return to researching.”

“No,” he protested, spinning on his heel and grabbing the trenchcoat again.

“This is my compromise—”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Dean,” he sounded frustrated.

“You need to sleep too, Cas,” Dean protested, fear and hurt catching in his voice. “And I’m only going to sleep with you. I can’t be anywhere else. Don’t make me. I love you, Castiel. I don’t wanna be anywhere without you. Just let me be with you, please? Don’t leave me, Cas.”

Cas, for a moment, shut his eyes, looking like his heart was breaking. Dean hadn’t known why he would ever look so sad. He cupped his angel’s cheek, upset and sorry and not sure what to do. He wiped away a tear.

“Don’t cry, angel,” he whispered. “I want to make you happy. How can I make you happy, Cas?”

But Cas pressed his lips together and shook his head. So, Dean kept pulling him towards his bed—but Cas stopped him. He shook his head, but instead of arguing, he directed him down the hall and into Cas’ room. Dean had been delighted, happily going where directed and stripping down to his boxers and shirt.

This was better than his room, this was Cas’ room. This could be their new room, he didn’t mind, as long as they were together.

Cas took some coaxing to get onto the mattress, and when he was there, he sat rigid, still clothed, with only his shoes removed. His back was pressed to the headboard and he stared at the roof, but Dean snuggled close regardless, his head inches from his angel’s hip and his hand still tangled with Cas’.

“Love you, Cas,” he mumbled. “Night.”

Cas didn’t say it back, but that was okay, Dean knew. He’d known since The Empty that his angel loved him too.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face for the second time, grimacing as it all played back for him like the world’s worst slow-motion trainwreck. Under the haze of the curse, all he’d been able to see was Cas—and not in any of the ways that truly mattered.

He’d been head over heels in love with him—blindly devoted and ready to take on the world or jump off a building at Cas’ command, but all Cas had wanted was for him to stop.

Cas had stood, rigid and silently cracking, forced to watch the object of his affections express unending devotion to him.

And it wasn’t… like, shit, Dean was devoted to Cas, okay? He had and would take on the world for the guy. And, if Cas told him to jump off a building, he’d do it near-instantly, confidently trusting Cas to keep him from harm.

The curse wasn’t that far off. It was actually scarily similar at times. Just… not the, you know, mushy stuff.

The constant ‘I love you’s’, the kissing and the hand-holding… just that whole deal. Hell, his cursed self would have jumped into bed with Cas quicker than the angel could say ‘strip’. But Cas had been as far from propositioning him as possible. No, for a guy completely in love with him, Cas had tried to keep them as platonic as possible.

And, what else would he have expected? Of course Cas wouldn’t have wanted to take advantage of him, to take what wasn’t freely offered and one-hundred percent reciprocated. He’d been forced to stand there and take it, more of a victim to the fucking spell than Dean had ever been.

Dean shut his eyes tight, guilt twisting sharper in his gut, but the images still came, as unshakeable as a nightmare.

The second day of the curse, he’d spent almost the whole time chasing after Cas.

Any time Cas had shifted in the night, Dean had jerked awake until Cas had given up trying to leave and promised to stay the night. But, upon waking up, Cas had fled, leaving Dean to try and close the distance that Cas kept trying to implement. He almost came to blows with Sam when he tried to keep them apart. He just got so angry so…so hurt when Cas tried to leave.

What did he do? Why was he wrong?

He begged at one point, pleading through a locked door, on his knees, hands clasped in makeshift prayer, uncaring about Sam watching as he tried to get Cas to stay with him.

When Cas had finally opened the door, he’d fallen against him, wrapping his arms around Cas’ legs and pressing his face into his angel’s hip, whispering ‘thank you’ and ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘I love you’.

Sam had said something weird about: ‘Side effect of the curse. Proximity and making sure he, uh, pleases you, I guess’.

Dean hadn’t understood it, but Cas had slumped like he’d just had some new trial upended in his lap. Sam had squeezed Cas’ shoulder, but Dean had stayed hugging him tightly.

When Cas had forced him back to his feet, he'd gripped his angel’s trenchcoat and kissed Cas’ temple, but Cas had only flinched.

He’d stopped trying to stay away from him though, not even protesting when Dean had held his hand, complimented his eyes and, after dinner, followed him to bed. Even though Cas had stayed sitting like before, Dean had been able to pillow his head on the angel’s thigh this time. It had been so nice, like maybe his angel was finally realising he loved Cas back.

But waking alone in the morning? Dean had needed to fight panic as he’d flung out of bed and hurried through the bunker, searching familiar rooms until he found him in the war room, sitting at the table and staring at a book.

Dean had brightened with relief and hurriedly crossed the room. He swept in, his arms wrapping around Cas’ shoulders. He bent down to kiss him, but Cas jerked, his hand flying up between them making Dean’s lips and nose mash into the angel’s knuckles.

“Wha—?” he muttered.

“I told you,” Cas said, voice tight. “Don’t do that.”

Dean frowned, because while he wanted to make Cas happy, to follow whatever he said…

“But you want me to.” Cas stiffened, but Dean continued, “You told me you want me, you love me. I want you too. You can have me—”

“Stop,” Cas said harshly. His hand shaking in the air until he lowered it, clenching it in his lap.

“But, Cas—”

“Don’t Dean,” he interjected, sounding raw. “We have not… you do not want to talk about it and I… I have told you." He squeezed his eyes shut. "I am… I have been happy in just the telling not the… the having.”

“But you can have—”

“I cannot,” he forced out. His breathing coming harsh and erratic. He brought up his hands, hiding his face in a startlingly human and thoroughly helpless gesture. “You are cursed, Dean. You do not understand that, you do not see it, but you will. In a few hours or days, you will…” He shuddered. “Please, Dean,” he whispered. “Please know that I am doing everything I can to… to not make you angry with me.”

“I couldn’t be angry with you, Cas,” Dean said, feeling just as helpless. He leant his head against Cas’ feeling a gut-wrenching sadness for his angel. “I love you. You’re my everything, Castiel. No curse could make me forget that.”

Cas choked on a sound, something horribly similar to a sob. He then said, so softly, so brokenly that Dean wasn’t even sure he was meant to hear it, “Only a curse could ever make you feel it.”

Dean frowned, but he hadn’t known what to say to his angel, so he merely tightened his hold and, for a moment, he felt Cas lean into him, soaking up his warmth and touch.

His heart leapt, happy and excited to be finally getting something right—but the sound of Sam’s footsteps made Cas go rigid again and try to shove Dean off him.

Dean hadn’t understood why. They loved each other, Dean would do anything for Castiel, why wouldn’t the angel let him comfort and love him the way he deserved?

Dean wasn’t angry at Cas.

He was angry at the witch, at life, at their shitty fucking luck. He was also angry with himself.

Because what he’d put Cas through? He felt like the biggest asshole in the world. It didn’t matter that he was cursed, that it had, for all intents and purposes, been outside his control. He’d still done it.

He couldn’t… fuck he couldn’t even really blame Cas for the guy’s little slips. Cas had tried his best, and yeah, saying ‘he’s only human’ didn’t fully apply to him, but even angels had their breaking point.

Dean doubted he’d have lasted as long if the person he loved was all over him practically twenty-four seven. Because, even if that wasn’t enough to crack the angel’s control, Cas hated hurting him. Cas wanted to protect and look out for him above everything else, even himself.

And cursed Dean? He’d only wanted one thing to be happy.

The second day since defeating the coven was much better.

After their talk in the war room, Cas stopped shoving him away.

He let Dean put his chair right against the angel’s, holding Cas’ hand and leaning against him. Sometimes, he rubbed his thumb in soft circles against the angel’s skin, once, he even nuzzled Cas’ neck, just barely brushing a kiss there before Cas tensed and Dean withdrew quickly.

He also ran to get him coffee or anything else he asked for, craving the small, tight smiles of gratitude he received.

Any time Cas left the room, he followed behind, gripping his trenchcoat if he couldn’t take his hand. He’d even giddily carried books for Cas, feeling like a teenager head over heels for his studious sweetheart.

Sam stopped trying to get in the way too, just watching them carefully and asking Cas if he was okay. Sometimes—coming back from making coffee or sandwiches at Cas’ request—Dean caught them having quiet conversations. Dean didn’t hear what they were about but that was okay. Sammy was his brother and Cas was the love of his life. He wanted them to get along. If Sam had only understood their relationship from the start, he’d have never shoved him around or gotten angry.

Sam had just needed to understand that Cas was everything to him.

Cas needed to understand it too.

When they retired to bed for their third night Dean was vibrating with excitement. He rushed through his bathroom routine. He hated being forced to leave Cas, but knowing he could come back and be with him all night after? Dean was thrilled. He'd even agreed to meet the angel in his room.

He entered it with a bounce in his step, finding the angel with his back to the door. Dean launched at him, snagging arms around his waist and resting his chin on Cas’ shoulder. “Missed you, Cas.”

“Dean.”

He pouted, missing the warmth of ‘Hello Dean’. This was so much flatter and… neutral. He loosened his hold but only to tug Cas toward the bed—but his angel wasn’t moving.

“Cas,” he pleaded. “Please come to bed with me.”

Awkwardly, Cas started to allow his tugs. Dean delighted in it, already having a sneaking plan. Dean didn’t climb onto the bed first, he waited. Cas grudgingly removed his shoes. He sat down and threw up his sock-clad feet but Dean straddled his waist.

“Dean!” Cas yelped.

Dean draped his arms over Cas’ shoulders crossing them behind the angel’s neck. “Don’t make me go away. Please, please, please, Cas.”

“Dean—”

“I just wanna hold you, Cas,” he pleaded, bottom lip trembling with the aching need. “I’m trying so hard to be good—be good for you.”

“You are good, Dean,” Cas said hoarsely. “You… you are doing nothing wrong.”

“Then please, Cas? I just…” his voice broke, honesty escaping unfiltered. “I just want you. It hurts when you’re so far away.” Cas’ shoulders slumped under his touch, his head fell forward, pressing against Dean’s chest. His heart sparked with hope. “Cas?”

“All right, I can… can lie down.”

Dean’s heart leapt and his expression exploded with happiness. He scrambled to climb off Cas and lay on his side beside his angel. Cas didn’t move initially, he stared at the door, but eventually he placed his hands on the bedding, lifting up his body and shuffling until he was flat on the bed, head on the pillow.

Dean immediately latched onto him, curling around his angel and placing his head on Cas’ chest, listening to each beat of his heart. It was a little silly and unnecessary for an angel but Dean loved hearing it race beneath his ear.

“You feel so nice, Cas,” he confessed lovingly.

Cas exhaled heavily, but instead of tensing, he hesitantly raised his hand, resting it on Dean’s head. Dean sighed happily, melting into Cas.

Gently, his angel began carding fingers through his hair and his eyes went half-lidded with pleasure This was the best. He didn’t know why Cas kept saying they couldn’t have this. Wasn’t it so much better than being apart?

In fact, he wanted to make sure Cas knew it!

Turning his head a little, Dean pressed a firm, affectionate kiss to Cas’ chest. The touches to his hair stopped and he frowned, shifting a little more to look up at Cas. His angel was staring at the roof only he looked so… miserable.

“Cas?” he whispered.

The petting started up again haltingly, but the angel’s expression didn’t change. “Go to sleep, Dean.”

“But you’re sad.”

There was a long, weighted silence before Cas said, “I have been happy, Dean. Since returning from The Empty, since learning I have maintained your regard. Your continued friendship has meant more to me than I can ever express.”

“Cas—”

“Be quiet, Dean.”

It was a low but firm command and Dean snapped his mouth shut, scowling but accepting his beloved’s order. In response, Castiel sighed, as if even getting what he wanted was exhausting and upsetting.

Which seemed right, really. Cas had said he wanted him, and he wasn’t doing a good job at accepting when Dean offered himself to him.

“When this is over,” Cas said, his voice almost too quiet to hear, “I hope you will forgive me.” Dean frowned, but stayed quiet. “I am trying, Dean, but even cursed, your emotions influence you. I cannot stand to see you in pain over my actions. Your requests hurt us both. And selfishly…” he trailed off but Dean tilted his head, finding Cas already watching him, smiling sadly. “Selfishly, I enjoy having you close.”

“You can always have me—”

“No,” Cas said harshly, expression twisting. “I cannot, Dean.” He shut his eyes. “I know that, even if you have forgotten.” He exhaled heavily. “And if you are… are angry with me for this, I will understand. I only hope…”

“Cas?” He asked, frowning.

“I hope you will not ask me to leave.”

He instantly shook his head. “I wouldn’t!”

Cas released a dismal sound, either a laugh or a sob, Dean couldn’t tell. He wanted to protest more and convince his angel, but Cas’ free arm wrapped around his back, holding him in a tender embrace.

Dean flooded with delight, easily distracted as he snuck his own arms around Cas in a loving cuddle. He nuzzled his beloved’s chest, kissing over his heart again. Cas’ hold briefly tightened before loosening.

“Go to sleep, Dean,” Cas murmured.

“You won’t let me go?” Dean asked hopefully.

“I won’t,” Cas whispered.

“Awesome,” he breathed, closing his eyes and sighing happily. “Love you, Cas.”

Cas didn’t respond immediately, but as Dean was drifting off to sleep, he swore he heard a trembling whisper, breathed to the silent room: “I love you too, so very, very much.”

I love you too, so very, very much.

It echoed in Dean’s head, just as daunting as the initial confession from before The Empty took him—and yet, that soon took second place to something else.

I hope you will not ask me to leave.

Dean released a shuddering breath and scrubbed his palms over his face again.

“Fuck,” he grunted.

He wasn’t exactly keen to have a chat with Cas about all of this but… burying his head in the sand certainly hadn’t helped before the curse, and it wouldn’t do to let it stew now. The last thing he wanted was to finally suck up the guts to talk to Cas and find out that the angel had fled in the middle of the night.

His heart lurched at the very idea and he was on his feet before he could think. He paused for a moment, wondering if the curse wasn’t still lingering, still making him want to keep Cas close, to soothe and protect him… but, no, this was all him.

He didn’t want Cas to leave and stop spending time around him.

They’d work through what had happened… they’d… well, they’d…

Dean woke up warm. He woke up happy, so happy, and it only took him a few moments to realise why: Cas.

He blinked his eyes open, admiring the chest he still rested against, only to let his gaze go further up. Cas’ expression was almost peaceful in sleep, no longer heavy with a scowl or sorrow.

Dean had never seen anyone more beautiful.

When Cas’ eyelashes fluttered, Dean stayed watching. They opened slowly, but quickly found him. Cas smiled, instantly soft with warmth and love. Dean’s chest flooded with it; happiness a wave so strong he could drown under it.

“Dean,” Cas whispered, cupping his face.

Dean arched into the touch and it was so, so good—until Cas flinched. He released Dean’s face and turned away, but Dean still caught the guilt and regret.

“I apologise." His jaw tightened. "That was…” He shut his eyes. “I forgot.”

“It’s okay, Cas.”

“I assure you, it is not.”

Dean hurt so much for his angel. He lifted one hand and tentatively took Cas’ jaw, turning it until the angel looked at him. All that misery should never be on his love’s face.

“It’s okay, Cas,” he repeated.

But Cas just shut his eyes again. Dean wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he shifted out of his embrace with the angel. He wanted it, of course he wanted it—but he wanted Cas happier more. It was why, he rested his head on the pillow and gently folded the angel into his embrace, tucking Cas’ face against the crook of his neck.

Cas’ hands flexed for a moment against his chest before curling into his shirt.

“I am so sorry, Dean,” he rasped out.

“I—”

“You would hate this,” Cas confessed, sounding wretched. “You will hate this.” He pressed his face a little closer, nose and lips brushing Dean’s skin. Dean shivered in delight. “Dean,” he exhaled. “Oh, I am so sorry, Dean.”

“Cas…” He rubbed one hand over Cas’ back, the other he stroked gently through his hair. “It’s okay, Cas.”

A damp patch was forming, and Dean felt grief and rage at the world for allowing him to feel his love’s tears against him. His only relief was that Cas was here, in his arms, and he could do something to comfort and protect him.

Dean turned his head, pressing his face to Cas’ hair and humming a wordless tune. He didn’t care how long it took; he would do this forever for his angel.

When Cas’ breathing finally seemed to settle, Dean gently pulled him from where he’d been hiding.

Cas’ eyes were red-rimmed and his eyelashes were damp. Dean cupped his cheeks and thumbed the last hint of tears away. Cas was so sad. So beautiful.

Dean leaned in to finally kiss him again—but Cas yanked his head to the side. Dean froze, his hands still hovering near Cas’ jaw.

“I don’t understand,” he admitted, hurt and helpless. “Why won’t you let me? You… you said you love me. You want me.”

Cas shut his eyes, his expression twisting. “I love you more than anything.”

“Then, why—?”

“Because you’re cursed, Dean,” he snapped.

The sharp tone had Dean’s hands retreating fully, dropping to rest between their bodies—but when Cas didn’t move away, Dean placed them against his angel’s chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath. He’d never felt worse, knowing he’d failed Cas.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said miserably, not sure what he’d done wrong, but willing to do anything to fix it. “I just… I just want to make you happy.”

Cas exhaled, his anger seemingly expelling with it. He pulled Dean against him, tucking his head under Cas’ chin. He immediately brightened. He liked this position. Cas was wrapped all around him this way. He smelled like ozone and safety: like Cas.

“This is not your fault,” Cas murmured, sounding so tired, as if despite Dean seeing him wake up, he’d never once slept. “I am sorry. I am not… handling this very well.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You look at me with love, Dean,” he answered flatly. “Unabashed, unflinching, adoring love." He huffed, but the sound was mirthless, it bordered on defeated. "Your affection, when you find a target, is limitless. I have never been nor will I ever be that target. Faced with it now? I am… I am not as strong as I should be.”

“You don’t need to be strong,” Dean protested, looking up at him, hoping to be understood. “I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”

“Dean.” He chuckled, so sad yet so fond. “You are missing the problem entirely.”

He frowned, but Cas shook his head. He then seemed to hesitate, a strange look coming over his face before he bent down. He pressed a firm, lingering kiss to the centre of Dean’s forehead. Dean practically melted under the touch.

“I am sorry,” Cas breathed the words against him. “Sorry for acting in ways unbefitting of my status as ‘friend’ or,” he hesitated again, as if the word pained something deep inside him, “‘brother’.” Cas touched Dean’s face, gently stroking one thumb near his temple. “I am telling you this now in the hopes you will remember it.” His smile was more of a grimace. “As I am sure you will be unwilling to be around me once this is over.”

“Cas, I wouldn’t—”

“It’s all right,” Cas interrupted. “I will not resent it. Rather, I will understand.”

He dropped his hand and lightly pushed at Dean’s chest, trying to make space between them, Dean frowned, but grudgingly released his hold on Cas so the angel could climb out of bed.

Cas did pause, sitting on the edge and twisting to look back at him. His gaze raked over Dean like he was trying to capture the moment in his memory.

It softened Dean heart and his expression. He smiled at Cas.

His angel’s hand lifted, seemingly of its own volition, coming to rest gently on his chest, right over his heart. Dean’s breathing picked up, and he felt a rush of love, hope and need. He wanted this, he wanted Cas—and he could see on the angel’s face that he wanted him too.

Cas looked like he was going to do it too, finally lean down, finally kiss him the way Dean had been wanting—needing for days.

The pounding of a fist on the door had Cas flinching so hard that he looked physically unwell as he stumbled off the bed. He didn’t stop moving until he’d pressed against the wall, far away from Dean.

“Cas. Cas!” Sam shouted, pounding on the door again. “I got it! I got the cure!”

Cas didn’t say anything, he just stared at Dean looking regretful and resigned.

Dean stood in his room, indecisive in a way he rarely was. He just didn’t know what he was going to do. Well, scratch that, he knew he was going to talk to Cas, but beyond that? He was stumped.

His determination still got him out of his room and down the hall, but when he was at his best friend’s door, he just… stalled.

He couldn’t help remembering the last time he was in that room, the way he’d been wrapped around Cas, the things he’d said:

You look at me with love, Dean. Unabashed, unflinching, adoring love. Your affection, when you find a target, is limitless. I have never been nor will I ever be that target, faced with it now… I am… I am not as strong as I should be.

It took a lot to throw Dean Winchester for a loop, but this was spinning him off his fucking axis. Because Cas thought he’d want him to leave. Cas thought he’d be angry or not want to be around him anymore.

Cas thought the absolute worst of him—probably because, right now, Cas thought the absolute worst of himself.

And that decided it.

Dean raised his hand and brought it down in a gentle knock, a stark contrast to Sam’s hammering only hours before.

Sam set up the spell. Dean would have helped if Cas asked, but he didn’t. They stood to the side, his fingers linked through Cas’ as they waited. Dean had expected Cas to avoid him after the way he’d looked in the bedroom, instead, he seemed to be doing the opposite.

He didn’t cling to Dean, but he didn’t resist any of his touches. In fact, Cas curved into him; like a flower starving for light.

Dean loved it.

Maybe, Cas was finally believing him? Finally going to let them be together and in love? Because oh, he wanted this forever. Even if Cas still looked upset, it couldn’t be with Dean anymore. They were together now!

When Sam asked him to let go of Cas and go stand in the centre of the sigil he’d drawn, Dean refused. He would have crossed his arms too, but one hand was still occupied by Cas’ and he wasn’t going to lose that for anything.

It would have become a very heated argument, but Cas tugged on his hand, walking him up to the spot and telling him to stay. Yet even as he nodded his agreement, there was something fluttery and panicked in his chest. It was because of the way Cas was looking at him, like he was guilty, but also like he was savouring every moment.

“Cas?” Dean asked, gripping a little tighter to his angel’s hand.

For a moment, Cas squeezed back. He then closed the limited distance and dragged Dean into a hug. Surprised, Dean let Cas’ hand go if only to more tightly wrap himself around his angel.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Sam looking away, staring at the wall as if it had suddenly become fascinating.

Cas turned his head and pressed a fierce, loving kiss to his temple, lingering there a long moment as if he was breathing everything in.

When Cas pulled back, Dean wanted to sway after him, but Cas placed a hand on his chest, keeping him in place.

“Stay in this circle,” Cas commanded. “You will not leave it, will not move. Do you understand, Dean?”

“Of course,” he said. “Anything for you.”

Cas shut his eyes, so clearly pained. He nodded and went to step back, his hand dropping, but Dean quickly grasped it. He brought it up to his lips, kissing his angel’s fingertips. Cas’ eyelids fluttered open, and he looked both longing and lost.

“I love you, Cas” Dean promised.

Cas smiled, a single tear sliding down his cheek. He looked so beautiful—he looked so heartbroken.

“No, you don’t, Dean.”

Cas wrenched his hand away without another word, turning his back on Dean and ignoring when Dean called his name. He joined Sam and Dean was forced to watch from afar, staring at his beloved as he helped Sam, never raising his head, never even looking at Dean.

All Dean wanted was to make Cas happy, to love him like he deserved—all Dean wanted was Castiel.

But he was trapped in the sigil, feeling like he was too far away and that he was failing at even loving his angel. It meant that when the spell reached its peak and he blacked out from the power of it, Cas was still the only thing on his mind and in his heart.

There was no immediate response to Dean’s knock and Dean felt a surge of worry that he was too late, that Cas had already booked it out of the Bunker, maybe even out of the state.

It was enough of a concern that he actually opened the door, not waiting for a response. He regretted it a split-second later when he came face to face with Cas who had clearly been on the way to open it.

Cas’ eyes widened in shock, and a glimmer of something that looked like fear, before he carefully shut it down.

“Dean,” he said. “Are you… are you well?”

“Uh.” He cleared his throat. “Curse is, um, broken, if that’s what you mean.”

“Good. That is… that is good.”

“Is it?” Dean asked, only to want to kick himself a second later.

Cas shot him a sharp, indignant look. “Of course it is, Dean. I would not want you held under the influence of a malicious spell.”

Even when it gave you what you want?

But… no, Dean managed to keep that question contained, because it was damn obvious Cas had been suffering the whole three days. Yeah, he’d been a little… selfish at times, but he’d hated it far more than he’d liked it.

Yet, whatever outrage Dean’s comment had sparked, it was quickly snuffed out as Cas sighed, looking down at his feet.

“But I suppose that is a rightful question.”

“Cas—” he tried.

“You would be justified to hate me, Dean," Cas interrupted. "Or at least, be furious. I was well aware they would be likely reactions. Suspicion too, I suppose, is only fair.”

“I’m not suspicious,” Dean snapped. “I know you didn’t do anything to me. You didn’t take advantage.”

Cas’ expression turned wry. “Didn’t I?”

Dean's skin prickled uncomfortably. “Okay, so you like, hugged me back and shit.” He cleared his throat. “You didn’t kiss me though. Not once you knew I was cursed, even when I, you know,” he gestured vaguely, “offered.”

Because yeah, that first kiss? He wasn’t going near that with a ten-foot pole. That, over any of the others, had been instinct and accident. It said a lot, about Cas, the way he’d kissed him for that heartbeat, believing it was real. It was probably why Cas avoided it too.

“I kissed your forehead,” Cas pointed out quietly. “And your temple.”

Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, whatever.”

“And held you. I knew you would hate that.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, getting a sense of what his friend was doing. “Are you trying to convince me to get mad at you? Because it ain’t going to happen, buddy.”

Cas’ frown deepened, annoyance building. “You should be angry, Dean.”

“Why? Because some shitty curse created a shitty situation? You know, you’ve got a lot more right to be unhappy than me.”

Cas blinked, looking startled by the concept. “I have no right to be angry.”

“You got fucked over, man.”

“No, I—”

“You. Got,” Dean insisted, pronouncing each word, “Fucked. Over. You had the shittiest three days possible and—”

“I didn’t,” Cas protested, voice a little strangled.

Dean scoffed. “Oh, yeah right. Like I’m going to believe—”

“I got everything I ever wanted!” Cas expelled, his shout briefly echoing down the bunker’s hall.

Dean blinked, but Cas quickly looked away, arms wrapping around his chest.

“I got you… wanting me, loving me. It was untrue, yes, of course, but I… I experienced it for a moment.” He shut his eyes, expression twisting. “This is why you should be angry, Dean. I have and will hold that moment tight to my heart, it does not matter how wrong it was, how unwilling. I am too selfish, I will take it gladly, and revisit it often.”

Cas swallowed; Dean watched the harsh bob of his throat.

“My only regret is that the act itself will be a source of disgust for you,” he whispered. “You will pretend it didn’t happen, and that is best, but I can’t, I won’t. It will always be special to me.”

“It wasn’t even real,” Dean whispered, feeling rocked all the way down to his toes. “I wouldn’t… I don’t act like that. I’m not that… sappy.”

“I know,” Cas admitted. “But there were some parts… some aspects that are indicative of what you would do when in love.”

Dean exhaled heavily. In some ways, it was more potent than the original confession. He’d been so sure that Cas hated every second, that it had to have been breaking his heart. Three days of pure torment. He hadn’t realised that Cas would be… hoarding it, savouring the memory even knowing it was wrong. Because he wanted him so much, even a facsimile was… precious.

“If you wish for me to leave the bunker, I can—”

“No,” Dean forced out.

He met Cas’ sorrowful gaze—like a fucking kicked puppy who knew he’d fucked up and was waiting to be shoved into the dog house.

“Then I can avoid you if—”

“No,” Dean gritted out.

And there it was—a spark of hope, of hesitant relief.

“If… if you’re sure?” he asked it so tentatively.

And frankly, Dean wasn’t sure about much of anything right now. Well, he knew he wanted Cas to stay, wanted to keep him close so he wouldn’t suddenly go up in a puff of fucking smoke.

But what else?

Because if Dean was really fucking honest, he’d expected to be disgusted or freaked out the moment he saw Cas. He’d been prepared to be uncomfortable and awkward, to fake everything being fine so that Cas stuck around. But it just… wasn’t there.

Like, fuck, it would have been horrible if it had been directed at Sam. But they were adults, they were solid enough to dismiss and repress it. If it had been any of the women in their life, his skin would have fucking crawled over being so vulnerable and he’d have felt even worse if he’d been pushy.

And if it had been any of the men, he doubted he’d have been able to look them in the eye for weeks, maybe even months.

But with Cas? Well, it was different.

He’d never imagined holding Cas’ hand before this, but now that he had, Dean couldn’t say it was horrible. He couldn’t say sleeping curled up in Cas’ arms hadn’t been really fucking nice. He couldn’t say, if it had been anyone else, he wouldn’t have felt so damn okay with it all. And that was... unexpected.

“Dean?” Cas asked uncertainly, making Dean realise he hadn’t answered the angel’s question.

Was he sure?

He looked Cas up and down—the nervous twitching of his fingers (hands that Dean knew were warm), the Jimmy-Novak trenchcoat combo (strong arms which gave good hugs, and a chest that was comfortable to lie on), his messy hair (softer than it looked).

His blue eyes were so wide and worried and Cas loved him: from his good parts, to his bad, when he was an asshole, or under a curse of devotion.

“Cas,” he said, hesitated.

Because ignoring everything and going back to the status quo was what had landed them in this situation, had kept them in an easy stress-free holding pattern that Dean knew couldn't make Cas happy, not in the long run. But turning them down a different path was a whole new level of mess and Dean didn’t know if he could do it. It could all go so very fucking wrong if they tried.

“Dean?”

But Cas deserves to be happy, to be loved, to get what he fucking wants and maybe… maybe some of the things we were doing was kinda nice. Maybe, it’s not all that fucking different to how I feel now, even with the spell gone.

“I’m going to be honest, man,” Dean murmured. “I’ve never looked at guys.”

Cas nodded. “I know, Dean.”

“I never looked at you.”

“Yes, I know.”

Dean wet his lips, and for the first time outside of the spell, he thought about kissing his best friend. He thought about holding him in a gentle embrace or taking him out for burgers and meaning something with it. It wasn’t an epiphany, it wasn’t a sudden understanding—it was just a gentle acknowledgment that: huh, yeah, that could be okay.

And after everything in their life, after all the pain and hurt and fucking lows, Dean could take a chance on something that might turn out good, that might turn out... happy.

“But I…” He swallowed. “I could. Now, I think.”

Cas stiffened noticeably. His expression also closed over, nothing but a severe assessing squint as he stared at Dean. He tried not to fidget under that gaze. He tried to let it all wash over him; the memories of what they’d done, the confessions Cas had spilled, and the entirety of their long friendship.

Cas meant almost as much to him as Sam, and he couldn’t imagine anyone else matching the feelings in his chest, both when Cas was gone and when he stayed. Cas had a guy-vessel, yeah, but Cas was Cas. Different rulebook.

And maybe, some of that showed, because Cas swallowed hard.

“I never expected anything from you,” he murmured.

“I know.”

“I would have—I was happy with our friendship.”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. “I get that.”

“But now you want to…?”

“Look, I’m just saying, the last few days. They aren’t exactly bad memories for me, either. Like, it sucks that it was hurting you, but some of the stuff... it was kind of good too, you know?”

Cas’ exhaled shakily. “Yes… yes, I do know.”

Dean nodded. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Right, so, uh. Did you want to do something, or…?”

“I would do absolutely anything with you, Dean.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Jeez, man. Don’t leave this all up to me, I’m a fucking mess and I can’t guarantee shit.”

“I understand,” Cas answered, looking nervous but hopeful. “We can wait a few days, make sure this isn’t an after effect of the curse. We can—”

“Yeah, fuck that.”

Dean stepped forward, not wanting to think it through. He curled a hand in Cas’ trenchcoat, and before he could react, he yanked him ever so slightly forward and pressed his lips to his best friend’s.

Cas squeaked, a cute little startled noise before his breath hitched and then tentative masculine hands rested on his shoulders. Dean shivered a little. That was new, but he didn’t let it derail him. He darted his tongue out, running it along Cas’ bottom lip. The angel’s lips parted and Dean took the invitation.

He deepened the kiss and Cas outright moaned, his fingers tightening to almost pain. He also leant forward, desperation and need making the kiss a little clumsy. It was just so Cas, and damn if Dean didn't feel oddly charmed.

When he pulled back to smile, Cas’ eyes blinked open, wide and shocked. He bit down on his bottom lip, and Dean could read the restraint keeping him from tumbling forward into Dean’s embrace.

Lifting a hand, Dean very lightly rubbed his thumb against Cas’ bottom lip. Cas’ eyelids fluttered and he let out the softest little sound. Dean’s smile grew.

Yeah, he thought, we can work with this.

“Soooo,” he drew out. “I’ve been stuck in this bunker for a few days. Wanna come for a drive with me in Baby?”

It seemed to take some effort for Cas to focus and Dean politely dropped his hand from Cas’ mouth in order to help.

“I—yes.” He blinked, still a bit dazed. “I would, Dean, yes.”

Dean’s grin grew, feeling a rare rush of excitement. He liked this, he realised. More than having some pretty girl flirt with him. It wasn’t just being so openly wanted—it was seeing Castiel so affected by him.

Man, what’s it gonna be like if I get him on a bed? Bet the guy will blow in minutes.

And the funny thing was that he wasn’t even weirded out or uncomfortable about Cas being guy-shaped. Maybe, he’d already experienced the free trial, so the product itself seemed a lot more workable. Whatever the reason, he wanted to experience it. He wanted to see his angel flushed with pleasure—completely overwhelmed by happiness he provided.

Which was why, instead of wrapping his arm around Cas’ shoulders like he might have done a few days ago, he held out his hand.

Cas glanced down, uncomprehending. Dean wiggled his fingers in the air.

“Come on, Cas. I know you know how to hold my hand by now.”

Cas still hesitated, his hand even faltering twice before it finally lowered to rest over his own. Dean twisted his in an easy gesture, linking their fingers and giving a small tug as he stepped backwards.

Cas followed haltingly, but Dean didn’t let it stop him. He pulled Cas through the bunker, only pausing at the kitchen where he heard Sam making food. He stuck his head through the door and called out, “Thanks for breaking that curse. Cas and I are going out on a date, see you in a few hours.”

The sounds of his brother choking on his sandwich had Dean fighting a grin, but when he looked at Castiel—so stunned and delighted with none of that pain or sorrow trapped behind his eyes—Dean finally let his grin break out.

Cas reached up with his free hand, brushing Dean’s temple. Dean stilled, letting that touch, half-marvelling, half-tinged by grace, continue.

“The curse is really gone,” Cas whispered. “but you’re looking at me like… like…”

“Like what, Cas?”

He swallowed hard, and his next words were watery. “Like you could fall in love with me too.”

Dean knew he couldn't promise Cas it would happen. This could all still be a very dumb decision that could blow up in his face the moment they tried to push for more than a kiss… but Dean’s gut had rarely been wrong, and it was telling him to give Castiel—give them a chance.

So, he lifted their joined hands, holding it between them and quietly promising, “I’ll give it a shot, Cas. I’ll give us a shot.”

Cas smiled and very gently cupped his cheek, bringing their foreheads to rest together in a soft, intimate touch.

“Even if it does not work, even if you cannot love me back, Dean, this moment will be one of the greatest in my life.” Dean flushed and he wanted to squirm away, but Cas’ held him in place, whispering, “Thank you.”

Dean’s mouth opened and closed, certain his neck was going pink from embarrassment—but he didn’t pull away, he didn’t break the moment in half, instead, he lifted his arm and wrapped it around Cas, dragging the angel against him in a hug.

Cas sighed softly and buried his face in Dean’s neck, but unlike hours ago, there was no wetness from tears. There was just a happy and hopeful angel who, if Dean’s was reading his gut and heart right, he could fall in love with someday.

Hopefully, one day very soon.