Chapter Twenty

Cas' cellphone may as well be an extra limb for how often he checks it. It's been over two weeks since their spontaneous trip went awry, and still no word from Dean. Cas has lost track of how many times he's hit compose and typed up something feeble, completely unable to encompass everything he wants to say.

Dean, please talk to me.

Backspace.

You said you'd never shut me out again.

Delete.

I'm so sorry, this is all my fault. Please don't hate me.

Erase.

Every attempt sounds more and more desperate, and Cas hates himself for it. He's tired. Tired of feeling vulnerable and sad and hopeless. He wonders if this is how Dean feels, stuck with an affectionless man seemingly broken beyond repair, an ingrained sense of heartless duty that's slowly killing him, and a younger brother he can't save from any of it.

For a moment, just a moment, Cas had thought that maybe they could help save each other, to lift the other up and show that there was something that made it all worth it. That the two of them, together, were worth it. He chides himself for ever being so foolish, so naïve to think that he could have a happy ending. He doesn't deserve one.

As much as Cas tries to tell himself that maybe this is for the best, that his second life doesn't need any more complications, he still practically dives for his phone when it beeps.

It's a text from Charlie and Cas sighs, disappointed, and immediately feels bad about it. He's been keeping her at arm's length, and she knows it. She's been giving him space, but Cas can tell she's worried.

Received 7:48 pm:

haven't heard from u in a while… everything ok?

Cas is about to send a reply in the affirmative, before he changes his mind at the last moment, thinking Charlie deserves better than a boldfaced lie.

Delivered 7:49 pm:

Not particularly.

Received 7:51 pm:

im here if u wanna talk. i hope u know that.

Delivered 7:52 pm:

I do. And we will, I promise. I just need a bit more time.

Received 7:55 pm:

k. just don't beat urself up 2 much in the meantime alrite? :(

Delivered 7:56 pm:

I'll try. Thank you.

Received 7:56 pm:

any time 3

While a part of Cas aches to confide in someone about what he's feeling, he knows Charlie would say all the right things and try to make him feel better, and for now, Cas just wants to wallow. Maybe stewing in this sinking feeling of pain will help him to move on from memories of something that can never be. It's not the healthiest thing, but Cas decides to indulge this pull towards masochism, idly thinking that maybe feeling this sorrow is better than feeling nothing at all.

So caught up is he in his ruminations, that he almost doesn't hear the telltale rumble of the Impala coming up the street. Cas sits up immediately from where he'd been lying on the couch, moping, and Dorian perks up his ears from his position at Cas' side. Cas freezes for a moment, before he's vaulting off the couch and racing to the door despite every logical bone in his body telling him not to.

He throws open the door and stands looking at a surprised Dean, whose hand is raised in a fist ready to knock.

"Uh. Hi," Dean says. He looks at his hand for a moment, as if just realizing it's still raised, and awkwardly lowers it.

Cas is filled with about a hundred emotions, all warring for their time in the spotlight. What his brain decides to settle on, however, is anger.

"What are you doing here?" Cas asks coldly. Dean looks taken aback by this and winces, but Cas holds his ground, defensive walls already securely up and brick-solid.

"I… I wanted to talk."

"It's a bit late for that, isn't it?"

A small, desperate part of Cas wants to take the words back, to say that it's never too late, but he knows he can't take much more of this. Dean can't just stroll in and out of his life whenever he feels like it.

"I'm sorry," Dean breathes out in a rush, and Cas can clearly see that he means it, but he remains on his guard. "After what happened… I shouldn't have left like that."

"Then why did you?" Cas asks, his voice coming out choked with words he can't bring himself to say, words like I needed you.

"It's kind of a long story. Could I come in? It's freezing out here."

"I wouldn't know."

Cas isn't sure where the flippant comment comes from, if maybe he's trying to emphasize their difference to make sure Dean isn't going to turn right around again. Dean doesn't say anything, just regards Cas, his eyes pleading, clearly asking for the second chance that Cas had already wanted to grant him before he even opened the door. Cas sighs at his own infernal weakness, and steps back, allowing Dean to walk through. He closes the door behind him and Dorian bounds up, tail excitedly wagging at the sight of their guest.

Dean crouches and gives Dorian a fond scratch behind the ears. "Hey, buddy."

"Dean," Cas says, his voice serious and tinged with impatience. His arms are firmly crossed, perhaps so that they won't reach out for someone who may not want to stay.

Dean straightens and evidently sensing the change in atmosphere, Dorian slinks away back to his spot on the couch.

"Right. So." Dean takes a deep breath. "I needed some time to get my head straight, to sort through the freaking thousand or so things I was thinking and feeling. What happened… it was just a lot, you know?"

"I'm aware, Dean. I was there," Cas replies, his voice like ice.

"But that's the thing, you weren't."

"What are you talking about?"

"When you turned… You were gone. Checked out. You didn't see what I saw. It was… Cas, it was horrible."

Cas can't help it, the words sting sharply. The hurt only feeds the anger that continues to burn through Cas. His face darkens and he steps forward, getting into Dean's space.

"It's been made perfectly clear to me several times over that I am a monster. Do you really think I need you to remind me? That there isn't a voice in my head plaguing me with that very same fact every waking moment?"

"That's not what I mean! The things I felt… I can't— I don't know how to—"

Dean cuts himself off, his eyes darting around the room as if the right words are going to be floating there somewhere. His frustrated gaze lands back on Cas, and his expression turns to one of determination as he surges forward and closes the distance between them.

Dean's lips collide with his roughly and it's reminiscent of that first kiss in the park, but it's not anger and self-loathing fueling the kiss this time, but urgency and desperation and want. Cas can feel all those things in the way Dean's fingers catch and pull at his hair, at the way his tongue slides against his own insistently, at the way Dean seemingly tries to meld their bodies together with sheer force of will.

Cas closes his eyes on instinct and lets out a whimper as he receives the contact he's missed so thoroughly. He wants to melt into this embrace, to forget about everything else and just be here in this moment with Dean and let the rest of the world fade away into useless white noise. And he almost does.

But they've tried carving out their own little world before, and it didn't work. It was stupid, dangerous even, to try. Hadn't they learned that the hard way?

So, Cas gathers up every ounce of his willpower and pushes Dean away.

They stand close together, Dean's arms still partially looped around Cas, but Cas' hands are firmly planted on Dean's chest. Cas keeps his eyes closed for a moment, catching his breath and attempting to collect his thoughts into something coherent.

Cas fists his hands in the material of Dean's jacket and finally looks at him. "No. You don't get to do that. I can't read your mind, Dean, I need you to talk to me."

Dean sighs. "I know. It's just… I'm not so great with words."

"Try," Cas replies in earnest.

Dean's ensuing silence lasts for so long that Cas begins to wonder if he somehow hadn't heard him, but then Dean finally begins to speak, his words quiet and devastatingly sincere.

"When you turned… I don't think I've ever felt so fucking terrified." Seeing Cas' involuntary flinch at the words, Dean quickly barrels on. "Not of you, Cas. For you. All these years that I've worked with my dad, I don't think I've ever once seen a rabid as a person. Not really. They were an obstacle to eliminate, just part of the job," Dean continues, voice steely with self-hatred. "When I saw what was happening to you, all I could think was that you were in there somewhere, trapped and unable to do shit about what was happening."

"I don't want your pity. That's not— I don't need that from you," Cas interrupts without venom, his words shaky. He unconsciously grips Dean a little tighter as a spark of real hope begins to bloom traitorous in his chest.

"It's not pity, it's…" Dean loses his words for a moment, trailing off with a frustrated huff. He pauses for a moment, evidently trying to form the right words, before abandoning the notion completely. "Fuck, I just don't want to lose you, okay?"

"What does that mean?" Cas can't help but ask, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice and ultimately failing. He needs the meaning behind Dean's words to be crystal clear, he can't get his hopes up again. He can't.

Dean smiles a little at that, his mouth just barely curling upwards in the corners, before he's impossibly closer, his breath ghosting over Cas' mouth as he speaks. "It means, I want this. Us. For real this time, no bullshit. I want… I want you. All of you, however it comes. Just you."

"Dean," Cas says, his voice choked with a sudden rush of emotion. He finds he's embarrassingly incapable of more than the single syllable.

Dean pays this no mind, his smirk growing. "Don't know if you've noticed, but I can be pretty goddamn stubborn. I'm not letting you go. Not unless you ask me to."

Cas relaxes his hands from where they're still held tense on the fabric of Dean's jacket, allowing them to slide up to Dean's shoulders and around his neck. He smiles and starts to lean in, when Dean pulls his face back just a little, maintaining eye contact.

"Well?" he asks, a teasing lilt to his voice. Cas blinks in confusion.

"Well, what?"

"Are you asking me to?"

Dean says it jokingly, but Cas can hear the hint of a real question behind the words. Cas toys with the hair at the nape of Dean's neck.

"I believe you already know the answer to that question," Cas replies, looking up at Dean through his eyelashes. Dean begins to close the distance between them, his lips just barely grazing Cas'.

"Tell me anyway," he whispers.

"Don't let go," Cas murmurs before the dam breaks and he can't take it any longer. He closes the torturously infinitesimal distance between them and seals their mouths together.

The kiss starts off slow and almost too gentle, both of them seemingly testing the waters of this newfound dedication to the other. And when Dean's tongue swipes across Cas' bottom lip seeking the entrance that Cas grants without a second thought, Cas assumes that Dean's found whatever he's looking for.

Cas' dulled senses only make him hungry for more stimulus, more contact, more Dean. He curses Dean's preference for layering, suddenly deciding that there are far too many barriers between them. He takes it upon himself to remove one, sliding the jacket from Dean's shoulders and letting it drop to the floor. There's barely any space left between them now, but that doesn't stop Cas from trying to press himself closer anyway. From the way Dean wraps his arms tightly around Cas' waist, he doesn't seem to have a problem with this.

Cas can feel something different in this kiss. He can't put his finger on exactly what it is, but he knows what it's not; it's not angry, or rushed, or hesitant. This kiss feels like acceptance and it's a feeling Cas could quite willingly drown in.

In an attempt to do just that, Cas takes them a few steps until Dean's back is pressed up against the door. He disconnects their lips just long enough to hear Dean's breath of surprise before the sound turns into more of a moan as Cas starts to pepper kisses across his jawline and down onto his neck. Dean tilts his head to the side giving Cas more room to work, which he gladly takes advantage of, pressing open-mouthed kisses along every available patch of tender skin along Dean's throat. Cas takes note of which areas make Dean shudder and gasp, and ensures he pays them the extra attention they deserve by sucking marks into the skin, his mouth quirking into a smug smile at Dean's audible reactions to his ministrations.

"Jesus," Dean breathes as Cas lavishes the junction between his neck and his shoulder. "Why is it always the quiet ones, huh?"

Cas looks up into Dean's amused face, regards how his pupils are blown wide. He smiles and shrugs, a little coy. He leans closer and relishes the way Dean's lustful gaze drops to his lips and back again. "Maybe it's just you."

Before Dean can say whatever clever quip is surely on the tip of his tongue, Cas finds far better uses for that mouth by kissing it again. He gives in to his fingers' exploratory whims and sneaks them under Dean's shirt, feeling the smooth planes of muscle he finds there. Dean shivers a little under his hands and when they part again reluctantly to take a breath, Dean croaks out, "Bed?"

Cas freezes and withdraws his hands. His typically overactive brain function had until this point been put on hold, replaced instead by pure mindless sensation, but now it all comes rushing back to him. Is he ready? Is Dean ready? Their kiss may have instilled within him a feeling of acceptance, but Cas knows that if something more were to happen between them, that it would have to be acceptance on an entirely different scale.

Evidently sensing the shift, Dean breaks the silence. "Hey… We don't have to. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"No!" Cas says, perhaps a bit too quickly. He can't stand the thought of Dean thinking he's done something wrong when he hasn't. "It's not that. I want this, I do. But there's… things. Parts of me that you haven't seen, that you may not want to see, and I—I just want you to be prepared for that because I couldn't take it if you saw and then you— if I saw in your eyes that you—"

Cas cuts off his own rambling, unable to speak past the sudden lump in his throat. Just the mere thought, the possibility, of Dean's disgust and rejection was too much for him to even contemplate, let alone voice aloud. But as he looks into Dean's eyes now, all he sees is gentle sympathy and a deeper emotion that neither of them have dared to put a name to. Dean reaches forward and cups Cas' face in his hands, forcing Cas to hold his gaze, but Cas knows that he wouldn't have—couldn't have—looked away even if he'd wanted to.

"I meant what I said before, that we don't have to. We'll go as far as you're comfortable. But… Cas, if the only thing holding you back is your worry that I'm not going to want you? Then you're fuckin' crazy."

Cas can't help but laugh, Dean's bluntly honest comments always giving him the bizarre comfort that he needs. The moment passes, however, and he sobers, still feeling unsure. Dean dips his head forward and kisses Cas lightly, a kiss of reassurance rather than fire.

Against his lips, Dean whispers, "Let me prove it to you?"

Cas can hear the question in it, knows that if he says no that Dean will drop it completely, but Cas finds, with no small amount of alarm, that he doesn't want to say no. He looks into Dean's eyes and, not trusting himself to speak quite yet, just smiles and nods his head. Dean grins broadly and Cas is filled with the desire to kiss it, so he does.

And keeps on kissing it as they somehow manage to fumble their way up the stairs, neither of them wanting to be more than an arm's length from the other.

Cas leads them to his bedroom, trying not to be self-conscious of his space as he realizes Dean has never actually seen it before. Then again, Dean seems a little too distracted to focus on the particulars of Cas' decor. Dean walks them backwards until the back of Cas' legs hit his bed, which he lowers himself onto. He expects Dean to follow suit, but is surprised when Dean remains standing. Dean cups the back of his neck, giving him a lingering kiss, before breaking away and looking around the room.

Cas sits there rumpled on the bed, his hair mussed and lips kiss-swollen, and can only stare at Dean for a moment in utter confusion. Is now really the time to investigate Cas' things? Cas is just about to voice this thought aloud when Dean gets there first.

"This your make-up stuff?"

Cas can only nod dumbly, still confused as to where Dean's going with this. It becomes shockingly clear to him, however, as Dean grabs one of the cleansing wipes that resides beside his cover-up, and approaches him. Dean raises his arm towards Cas' face, but Cas grabs his wrist before he can make contact.

"Dean… You don't have to," Cas says quietly.

"Yeah, I know," Dean replies with a comforting smile, his eyes radiating kindness. Cas can feel his throat thicken with emotion; he lets go of Dean's wrist.

Dean slowly raises his hand to Cas' cheek and begins to gently wipe the make-up from his face. Dean takes his time, making sure to remove every trace of the substance covering Cas' natural undead pallor. Cas can only sit there, stock-still in fear as more and more of his true self gets revealed to the boy in front of him. Cas shuts his eyes tightly, unable to bring himself to look at the reaction the sickly grey is illiciting.

Soon enough, Dean removes his hand, but Cas still doesn't want to open his eyes.

"Hey, look at me," Dean murmurs.

And just like that, Cas is suddenly powerless to do anything but. He slowly opens his eyes, still half expecting revulsion, but only seeing smiling acceptance.

"I told you, however it comes," Dean intones quietly, and Cas is overwhelmed. Dean's brow soon furrows a little as he looks in Cas' eyes and Cas is just starting to panic before Dean once again surprises him.

"Wait. Those too." Dean gesticulates at his own eyes, and Cas realizes with a fresh stab of fear that Dean's talking about his contacts. He hastily looks away, mind whirring.

Cas' eyes are now easily the part of himself he hates most. Such an obvious sign of his undead state, he'd always viewed them as something that made him inhuman—a visible reminder of the monster he would always be. Hiding them had not been something he had ever resented; it had made it so that Cas could almost stand the sight of himself in a mirror. And now Dean wants to see the full horror of it—of him—and Cas isn't sure if he has the courage to let it be seen.

Because if eyes are the window to the soul, then what does that make him?

Dean soon coaxes him out of his dismal thoughts by hooking his finger under Cas' chin, gently turning it to face him once more. "I'm not going anywhere this time, okay? I promise. Just give me the chance to prove it."

Cas stares into Dean's green eyes, looking for any reservations and seeing none. So, gathering up every ounce of bravery he can muster, he stands and walks on unsteady legs to his dresser where his contact case rests. Trying to calm his shaking fingers, Cas reaches up and carefully removes each of his contacts and places them in their container. He takes a deep breath, and turns around.

Dean locks eyes with him and holds the eye contact as he gets up, making his way across the room, expression giving nothing away. He pauses right in front of Cas and places a tender hand on each side of his face before leaning in.

Dean kisses him with surety and absolution.

After a minute, Dean pulls away and regards Cas with serious eyes, but a smile is playing at the corners of his lips. "Okay?"

"Okay," Cas all but rasps, nodding.

Dean beams before kissing Cas with renewed fervour. Cas sinks into it almost immediately, his body relaxing in a combination of pleasure and sheer relief. The fire between them earlier quickly reignites until Cas is tugging impatiently at the hem of Dean's shirt.

Catching the not-so-subtle hint and running with it, Dean pulls off his shirt and lets it fall to the ground. Cas only has a moment to appreciate the view before Dean is kissing him again with lustful urgency. Cas' hands explore the smooth muscle of Dean's lean torso as Dean's hands start to raise Cas' own shirt. Cas begins to help the process along eagerly, before his fingertips brush the ridge of a scar and he remembers himself, tugging the shirt back down in one sharp movement.

Dean halts immediately. "Everything all right?"

Cas nods. "Yes. It's only… remember when I said that there were parts of me you haven't seen?"

Dean smirks playfully, "Yeah, kinda trying to fix that here."

Cas huffs out a self-conscious laugh in spite of himself. "You might change your mind about that."

"I doubt it, but I'll bite. What do you think is gonna make me run for the hills?"

"I just— I should warn you that there's… some scarring."

Dean scoffs, not unkindly. "Is that it? I've gotten some pretty gnarly ones myself over the years. It's fine, Cas, really."

"No, you don't understand. They're not— They don't look the same. They happened when I, well. When I died."

Dean's eyes widen a little in understanding. "Oh."

Cas has kept his eyes mostly trained to the floor for this whole exchange, but his gaze shoots up when Dean continues.

"Show me?"

And it's now or never, Cas thinks. So he lifts his arms and works his way out of his shirt, letting it fall to the floor beside Dean's. He tries to stand tall, tries to convince himself that one wrong word from Dean won't make him crumble.

Adorning Cas' torso are multiple deep lacerations that his body never had the chance to heal. They've been stitched together tidily by a mortician's deft needle, and Cas has never felt like more of a corpse.

"Jesus," Dean breathes, and Cas immediately misses the way he had said it earlier, breathless and moaning rather than laden with pity.

Cas makes a move to pick up his shirt, but Dean reaching a hand out stops him in his tracks. Dean takes a step closer, eyes trained on the scars and hand outstretched.

He stops just short of making contact and looks in Cas' eyes. "Can I?"

Cas can't speak, so he just nods. Dean lightly begins tracing the scars with his fingertips, his expression free of any revulsion. Cas closes his eyes and just lets himself feel this moment as much as he can, every caress feeling like it's washing something away that he never needed in the first place, like every place Dean touches is now brand new.

Cas' eyes fly open and he lets out a small involuntary gasp as Dean drops his head and places a soft kiss to a scar right beneath Cas' collarbone. Dean pulls back a little, before doing the same on the other side. He lingers there a short while longer, before working his way up Cas' shoulder, to his neck, to his ear, where he whispers, "See? Still here."

Something inside of Cas snaps, a dam breaking and spilling forth unencumbered joy, and suddenly everything is too soft, too gentle, and he wants in a way he's never felt before. He considers an attempt at voicing this, but opts to just attack Dean's lips instead, throwing his arms enthusiastically around Dean's neck and pulling them flush together, rejoicing in the simple pleasures of skin-on-skin.

Dean laughs a little into the kiss while returning it fervently. Dean hooks his fingers in Cas' belt loops and starts walking them backwards to the bed without breaking the kiss. They fall back onto it in an awkward tangle of limbs, but neither care. They quickly situate themselves—Cas lying on his back with Dean straddling his thighs.

Dean strokes his hands tantalizingly down Cas' torso, a teasing smile playing on his face. "So, any more surprises you got for me?"

Cas beams, still not quite able to believe his luck. "Not that I can think of."

Dean puts on a look of faux shock. "Cas? Not being able to think? I guess I must really be doing something right."

Cas rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Shut up and kiss me."

"Oh, yeah, definitely on the right track," Dean replies smugly before bracing his arms on either side of Cas' head and doing exactly what Cas wants, exactly how he wants it.

Cas clutches at Dean's side, grasping at every part of this radiant boy he can reach. Suddenly emboldened and utilizing a strength he didn't know he possessed, Cas flips their positions so that Dean is gazing up at him with pleased surprise. Cas regards how Dean's iridescent green irises are nearly swallowed with the black of his dilated pupils, and Cas still can't believe he's the reason for such a reaction.

In an attempt to settle in and get comfortable—Cas wants to be here a while—his hips grind down into Dean's and both boys let out a shuddering gasp. Wanting to drag all the sinful sounds from Dean's lips that he can, Cas repeats the motion, slower and more purposeful, elated that he can feel the result of Dean's body responding to his movements.

"Oh, fuck," Dean moans, biting his bottom lip wantonly. "Jesus Christ."

"'Cas' will do just fine, but thank you," Cas replies teasingly, accompanied with another rock of his hips.

Dean laughs shakily. "You're such an—ah—asshole."

Cas smiles and takes revenge for the insult by kissing Dean mercilessly. Evidently not one to be outdone, Dean's hands move to Cas' fly, making short work of the zipper and—

"Is everything okay?" Dean asks, breaking the kiss.

Cas huffs a sigh, fondly frustrated. "Dean, I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine. More than, actually."

"Really?"

"Yes. I'm not sure what else I could be doing to convince you otherwise," Cas replies jokingly.

Dean laughs a little, but it sounds more awkward. "It's just that, well. You… You're not, uh…"

It's not until Dean looks pointedly at where his hands had just been, that Cas realizes with the utmost mortification what he's referring to.

"Oh. Oh."

"Yeah…"

"It's not you," Cas says in a rush, and immediately feels even more embarrassed at the understanding look that comes over Dean's face.

"It's okay, happens to the best of us. Don't worry about it."

Cas wants to crawl under the covers and never resurface.

"No, no, it's not that. I should have realized I wouldn't be able to— That is, I lack the, um. Blood flow." Cas is grateful that he doesn't have to explain further as he watches Dean's eyes widen in understanding. Cas sighs and leans his head on Dean's shoulder. "I hate this," he mumbles miserably.

Dean places a comforting hand on the back of Cas' head. "Hey, it's all right. We knew we weren't exactly signing up for 'easy.'"

Cas tilts his head up to look at Dean, brows furrowed in frustration. "But it should be easy. You… You deserve easy." He says the last part quietly, almost to himself.

"Stop that," Dean says kindly, but firmly, "I'm right where I wanna be. Okay? I'd rather have you, and 'easy' can go straight to hell."

Cas huffs a small laugh and nods, sealing his agreement with a kiss. As they settle into the kiss, Cas shifts his hips and Dean hisses a sharp intake of breath.

Dean chuckles a little self-consciously. "Sorry, you might have to give me a minute to, uh, calm down."

Cas looks down at Dean—bare-chested and flushed—consideringly, before his face breaks into a teasing grin.

"What if I don't want you to calm down?"

Dean's faces scrunches up slightly in confusion. "But... You can't—"

"Yes, but you can."

Cas can see the reply trying to form on Dean's lips, but effectively distracts him by beginning to plant kisses down the length of his chest, trying to wordlessly explain the idea that's taken mouth-watering shape in Cas' mind.

It's not until Cas is almost at his belly-button when Dean is finally able to string his words together, all but rasping, "W-wait, hold on a sec."

Cas looks up, an eyebrow arched in surprise. "You don't want me to?"

Dean licks his lips a little before quirking them upwards in a smile, "It's not that. Definitely not that, trust me. But, Cas… you don't have to."

"I know. I want to," Cas replies with conviction. He lowers his head again, letting his next words ghost over Dean's skin in a way that makes the other boy shiver. He maintains eye contact, looking up through his lashes in a way he hopes is enticing. "Let me?"

Dean regards him for a moment with a look that's almost hungry in its intensity before he nods, the movement jerky and seemingly overexcited. Cas smiles and lets his kisses trail ever lower, overwhelmed by how wanted he feels, still in partial disbelief that it's Dean who wants him.

Cas wasn't sure he could ever have this and now that he does, he's determined to make the most of it.

Afterwards, Cas lies comfortably encircled by Dean's strong arms, feeling more content than he can ever remember being. And from the happy sigh that passes Dean's lips, Cas can only assume he feels the same.

There's an inherent vulnerability in nakedness—for Dean had quickly divested Cas of the rest of his clothes as well, remarking that it was a two-way street—but it's comfortable in a way Cas hadn't previously thought was possible. Between the two of them lies an openness and an honesty that wasn't there before, and with the largest of the unseen barriers down, the small addition of clothes seemed almost laughably inconsequential in comparison.

But Cas' insecurities, evidently not to be tamed overnight, spit timid words from his mouth before he can stop them, "Was that… okay?"

Dean's answer is immediate. "Are you kidding? That was... That was awesome."

It's such a mixture of unbridled exhuberance and blissed out satisfaction that Cas can't help the laughter that bubbles from him, leaning over to steal a kiss from grinning lips.

They stay like that for a while, their kisses unhurried and languid, before Cas reluctantly pulls away for the air he doesn't technically need. As he does so, the blanket slips a little, revealing his torso scars. Dean's eyes follow the line of the falling blanket, and it takes all of Cas' willpower to not immediately yank the covers up to his chin.

Dean idly traces the scar nearest him on Cas' side, focussing on it for a moment before looking at Cas with wary curiosity.

"Cas… Can I ask you something?"

Cas knows exactly what he's going to ask, and gathers up his courage to let this conversation go where he knows it needs to. He can't avoid this forever.

"Of course."

Dean lets it out in a rush, "How did you die?" The moment the words escape, Dean looks like he immediately regrets the line of questioning as he hurriedly continues, "Fuck, sorry, I shouldn't have—Jesus, talk about a mood killer. You don't have to tell me."

Cas takes a deep breath. "No, it's okay. I don't want any secrets between us."

Dean nods and grasps his hand, wordlessly signalling for Cas to continue. Cas grips Dean's hand, using it as a much-needed anchor as he delves into his painful past.

Cas takes a moment to collect himself and gather his scattered thoughts, and begins to speak.

It's New Year's Eve, 2008, and Castiel is already feeling uncomfortable. His parents are taking them to a party at a family friend's, a yearly tradition that Castiel never looks forward to (though, to be fair, he doesn't actually look forward to any party). His parents have already been ready for twenty minutes, and are taking on the Herculean job of rounding up Gabriel and Samandriel. Castiel is ready in his best black suit, but after a series of unsuccessful attempts, still cannot seem to get his blue tie right. He continues to fidget with it, trying to let the menial task distract him from his fluttering nerves about tonight.

Most days, Castiel can handle this fluttering just fine with steady breathing and constant inner monologues of comforting platitudes, but there are some days—like today—that it's not nearly as simple.

He has a thin moment of victory as he secures his tie for the umpteenth time, and looks in the mirror, only to discover that somehow the tie is backwards. He sighs in defeat and decides to just leave it.

"Castiel, are you ready to go?" his mother calls from downstairs.

"Yes, coming!" Castiel replies, giving himself one last look in the mirror before trudging down the stairs.

On their way out the door, Castiel grabs his reliable trenchcoat and his mother gives him a fond—if slightly long-suffering—look.

"Sweetheart, do you really have to wear that tonight?" she asks.

Castiel shuffles his feet a little awkwardly, avoiding eye contact. "It helps."

His mother sighs, but smiles. "I know it does." She places a reassuring hand on his arm for a moment, as if in silent apology for her natural dislike of the baggy garment. Castiel smiles back, if a bit timidly, and follows his family to the car.

They make quick work of the drive and before Castiel knows it, he's in a house surrounded by not-quite strangers having to suffer through the same conversations over and over again.

So, Castiel, what are your plans after high school?

I was hoping you would bring a girl this year, Castiel!

Castiel, what are your New Year's resolutions?

On and on it goes until Castiel wonders if his face will freeze like this, painted with a false smile. He begins to duck out of conversations early, sticking to the walls and trying to avoid peoples' eyeline, but to no avail. It's a relatively small gathering, perhaps thirty people at most, but to Castiel it suddenly feels stifling. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to breathe through it.

"Castiel, honey?" comes the concerned sound of his mother's voice. "Is everything okay?" Castiel tries to offer up his best smile and nods. His mother looks unconvinced. "Why don't we leave early?"

"Oh, no, it's fine, I'm fine. Really. Just fine," Castiel rambles.

His mother cracks a wry smile, "One more time and I'll believe you."

Castiel returns the smile as much as he's able, but doesn't say anything.

His mother takes the silence as the confirmation he intended. "I'll let your father know so we can round up the troops."

Castiel looks at her then. "Thanks, mom," he says quietly, giving her a hug. She drops a kiss on his temple and sweeps across the room to where his father is.

Castiel watches as she leans in to whisper in his ear, a moment of confusion written upon his face before it dissolves into understanding. Castiel can't help but think how lucky he is to have such supportive parents; he never even has to say when he's having a bad day, they just seem to know—especially his mother.

Not only are they supportive, but Castiel quietly observes their cleverness in action as they come up with excuses and manage to artfully maneuver themselves out of a New Year's Eve party at 11 p.m.

Gabriel and Samandriel gripe on their way to the car, but when his father promises them that they'll ring in the New Year at home with ice cream, the younger boys' complaints come to an immediate halt, both of Castiel's siblings apparently very content with this compromise.

As they continue to drive, however, Gabriel and Samandriel's overtired brains encourage them to snipe at each other, which soon turns into full blown fighting. His parents try to discipline them from the front seat, but it's a difficult task.

Just as Castiel is about to suggest that perhaps he should sit between them, his mother beats him to it. "All right, that's enough! I'm coming back there. Castiel, switch with me when we pull over, please."

Castiel does what he's told, moving to the passenger seat as his mother reorients the two younger boys so that she's sat between them, effectively stopping their fighting (if barely). As the vehicle lurches into motion once more, the underlying tension isn't helping Cas' already frayed nerves, distracting him to the point that he forgets something that's been ingrained in him since early childhood: fastening his seat belt.

It all happens very fast.

Time seems to slow down as Castiel watches on helplessly, not even realizing what's going on until the accident is already well underway. He's an unwilling observer of cause and effect as the transport truck coming towards them hits a patch of ice, the large trailer fish-tailing into their lane until the front left side of their car collides with it in a direct impact.

What Castiel remembers after that is disjointed, but it's more than enough. He remembers the sudden rush of cold air as his body flies through the windshield, the pain of glass shards slicing his torso. He remembers his entire body aching as he comes to in a ditch, yet still crawls his way out with the singleminded direction of needing to know his family is safe.

He remembers seeing the car, the same car that went to libraries and school plays and sports tournaments, now near totalled, wedged under the truck's trailer. Castiel can just make out the shapes of his family through the shattered windows. Desperation overriding the agony, Castiel slowly makes his way to them, screaming their names through an already ravaged throat and straining his ears for the reply that doesn't come.

The last thing he remembers is the sickly sweet smell of gasoline and his mother's form shifting sluggishly into wakefulness, her eyes opening and her panicked gaze falling on him as her mouth forms his name, before a deafening blast sends everything up in flame.

Castiel can barely hear his own screams through the ringing in his ears and the sirens that now surround him. As his vision goes black, the blinding brightness of the fire still flickers behind his eyelids.

Until his return, he didn't know exactly what happened. He didn't know his family had been pronounced dead at the scene at 11:27 p.m. He didn't know he'd been rushed to the hospital with severe internal hemorrhaging. He didn't know that he died on the operating table.

He didn't know until he came back that he died at 12:03 on New Year's Day.

2009.

"Three minutes. Three minutes and I could have been with them!" Cas sobs, getting more and more inconsolable the more he talked. Dean hasn't once let go of his hand, even when Cas is sure he'd gripped it to the point of discomfort.

"Cas, I am so, so sorry. I don't even know what to say," Dean replies solemnly, pulling Cas in a little closer.

"But don't you see? It's my fault, it's all my fault!" Cas despairs.

"No, it's not," Dean says firmly, "You couldn't have known that would happen, no one could. It's no one's fault. Sometimes the universe is just… crap, you know?"

Cas knows Dean well enough to recognize the other boy's frustration at not being able to come up with what, to him, are the right words. But Cas thinks that they're the perfect words, because they're genuine and Dean, because he tries.

"Thank you," Cas says quietly, but sincerely. He tries to truly believe Dean's words, but constantly re-routing your brain into less guilty channels is much easier said than done. He sniffs a little and tries to calm down, before he goes to wipe his eyes out of instinct.

His hands come away wet.

For a moment, Cas can only stare at the tear drops on his hands, the naturally occurring salt water his body shouldn't be capable of producing anymore, and yet, here it is in front of his eyes. His crying eyes.

"Dean, I'm… I'm crying."

Dean, evidently mistaking his shock for self-consciousness, replies, "Hey, it's okay. I got you."

Cas pulls back and looks at him, eyes wide. "No. Dean. I'm crying."

Dean brows furrow for a moment in confusion, but Cas watches as Dean takes in his tear tracks and watery eyes. His mouth drops open in a small surprised 'o'.

"Holy shit."