Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Castiel waits for Dean's hands to fall from his eyes before opening them, squinting into the sun.

A small, red-bricked cottage sits huddled against the chilled autumn gale. Its cracked sidewalk ambles crookedly up to the door. The hydrangeas lining the path are wilted, bowing low to the cottage’s guests. Someone's lit a fire, if the smoke twirling up from the chimney is anything to go by.

When Castiel doesn’t speak, Dean bites nervously at his bottom lip. "Do you, uh. Like it?"

"Yes," Castiel finally breathes out, and catches the hem of Dean's jacket to pull him close. To press their lips together in something sweet and chaste with the promise of more. "Is it ours?"

"All ours," Dean whispers. "You and me. Forever."

Castiel wraps his arms around him just as a siren blares.

Opening his eyes again for a second time, Castiel jolts up in his bed.

"Just an ambulance." Dean's already there, kneeling beside the bed, a hand on the back of Cas’s hand. He presses a kiss against the knob of Castiel's shoulder. "No police."

Castiel nods, trying to slow his shaky breathing. The siren still reverberates in his ears in time with his frantic heartbeat. "I was dreaming," he says, just to think about anything else.

Dean hums, sitting down on the bed. The mattress sinks with his weight. Castiel wishes that Dean would just curl up beside him, tiny, narrow bed be damned. "Tell me about it."

"You bought me a house."

"Oh?" Dean asks. Castiel can't see him in the dark, but he can hear the way Dean's lips tick up in a grin. "You mean with all the oodles of money I make at the printer’s?"

"My dream didn't supply those details. Simply that you did. And we were happy."

Dean's silent for a moment. A car alarm blares outside. "We are happy," he says. Softly, almost accusingly.

Lifting the back of Dean's hand to his lips, Castiel presses a promise into his skin. "We are, of course we are," he assures. "But... in this dream..."

He doesn't go on, because Dean already knows: in the dream, they had a place where they don't need to watch their backs. A place where they can rest. A place where sirens don't jolt them out of their beds in panic every night.

"Charlie finally got a job lined up for me at the club," Dean says softly. "I know you don't like the thought of me dancing again, but it gets good tips. It's how I was able to live in a one-bedroom before, instead of this shared tenant bullshit."

Castiel huffs out a laugh. He could certainly do without Garth's obnoxious singing in the morning or the way Charlie hogs the shower.

He would love a place with a bed big enough for him and Dean to fit into together.

"It's not that I don't love the idea of the job," Castiel says softly, "it's—"

"The safety thing. I know. But Charlie says they haven’t been raided by the cops in months.” When Castiel gives Dean a frown, he adds with a grin, “And she knows all the back exits.”

“That does not fill me with confidence.” 

Dean huffs out a laugh. Castiel runs his thumb across Dean's knuckles. They're likely still stained with ink from the printing press. It's another job that Charlie was able to get for Dean with her connections. Castiel also owes her the job he’s been working at the docks, and he’s grateful, though he loathes coming home smelling like fish. 

"Go back to sleep, sweetheart." Dean smooths back Castiel's hair, hand trailing down to rub at the nape of his neck. Castiel closes his eyes and leans into it. "It'll keep 'till the morning."

Castiel nods, slumping back onto his pillow. Even though it's been months since his shifts at the lighthouse, his body still tenses after the sun sets, ready to stay awake until dawn. He wonders if Dean, who worked those shifts years longer than Castiel, feels the same.

He waits for Dean to stand, his weight to disappear. Instead, Dean keeps rubbing Castiel's neck, fingers digging deliciously into the muscle. Castiel tries to remember when they last had sex, but can't place the time. Garth and Charlie hang around like unwanted specters after their work hours, and the apartment is too tiny to sneak away into a quiet corner.

He misses Dean's touch. Misses touching Dean. He wants to reach out and smooth the sharp lines, the right angles that Dean always seems to carry in himself lately.

"I'll get you that house, Castiel," Dean whispers into the dark. "I'll buy you that house and we'll fill it with furniture. And I'll cook you dinner in a proper kitchen without leaky pipes or cracked countertops or what I think might be a mold infestation. And we're gonna be happy. Not just 'I'm in love with you' happy—like, together forever kind of happy. Okay?"

Castiel's throat constricts. He nods, although he knows Dean can't see him in the dark. And Garth is sleeping on the other side of the thin wall, snoring louder than the rattle of the Third Avenue Line down the elevated tracks, but—

"Dean," he whispers. His voice wobbles, and he knows Dean can hear it too. "Can you..."

Dean is already moving, pushing into Cas's back as he lies down behind him. The bed is much too small, but they've squeezed into something like it before: a narrow bunk in an old lighthouse, with the ocean outside their window. Dean rests an arm over Castiel and grabs his hand, which Castiel holds close to his chest. There are traitorous tears in Castiel's eyes that threaten to spill over.

"I don't regret it," Dean whispers into Castiel's ear. Because he knows what Castiel needs to hear in every moment of every day; of course he does. "I don't regret a damn thing. Okay?"

Castiel hitches out a breath. Squeezes Dean's hand. "Okay."

"Only thing I regret is not being able to make love to you so hard you'd see stars," Dean says, giving the skin behind Castiel's ear a little nibble. "But, besides that."

Castiel huffs out a shaky, wet laugh. "Something to add to our list of things to do."

"Right after 'get milk' and before 'shoot Lucas in the face'."

Castiel turns his head so that his lips brush Dean's. Dean returns the kiss, mouth opening to let Castiel in. After a few push and pulls of their mouths, Dean pulls back and sighs, resting his forehead against Castiel's.

On the other side of the wall, a loud snore pierces their peace. Dean rolls his eyes.

"Fucking Garth," he mutters.

Castiel chuckles. He presses a kiss to Dean's nose. And then he turns around, smiling when Dean tucks his face into Castiel's neck, and drifts back to sleep.

When he wakes, Castiel rolls onto his back with a sigh, regarding the pockmarked ceiling, eyes still blurry with sleep. The nightmare came for him again: where he’s tied to an anchor, sinking deep below the darkest parts of the ocean. He always wakes before he can hit the ocean floor.

Instinctively, Castiel reaches next to him, even though he knows no one will be there. Dean left for his shift at the Pioneer Press hours ago. Crowley none-too-politely asked Dean to open for him, which meant Dean had to get up even before the birds started to sing.

An errant horn sounds outside of their tiny apartment window. With a groan, Castiel rubs a hand down his face. The noise. The goddamn noise . He hadn't realized how loud a city truly was until they settled here.

Just shy of six months after moving to New York City, he still hasn’t acclimated to it.

He splashes cold water on his face in the kitchen sink. Twists the faucet shut as a siren wails past. He fills the coffee machine with grounds in the filter and stabs the switch, wincing at the sound of a faceless neighbor slamming their door shut down the hall.

The phone rings on its cradle in the living room. Since it's only a few steps away, Castiel takes the luxury of pouring himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee before picking up the receiver.

"Hello?" he asks, tucking the phone between shoulder and ear. Whaleback Light, this is Castiel , echoes a distant memory.

"Is there a Cas Winchester there?" an operator inquires. "I have a Gabriel Milton on the line."

Castiel nearly drops the coffee mug. Instead, he stares at the pastel yellow of the living room wall.

"Sir?" the operator prompts.

"Y-Yes," Castiel manages to spit out. "I’m Cas, I’ll—I'll accept the call."

His suitcase is under the bed, next to Dean's. They both keep the essentials packed at all times, but he'll need to remember to grab Dean's toiletries from the bathroom. Going by when he last checked the time, the quickest train out of the city will be in half an hour. If he can just run to Dean at the printer’s, maybe take the subway, simply sprint, maybe—

A click over the line. Then: “Cassie.”

Castiel swallows a lump in his throat. “Gabriel, what—”

"Have you seen it?" Gabriel asks, breathless.

But not with fear. With excitement. Castiel tenses, whether for flight or fright he's not sure.

"Seen what?"

"The newspaper, the goddamn—" Gabriel lets out a sound. A laugh. "He's dead. The bastard is dead ."

"Dead," Castiel says. “What…”

"As doornails, dear brother!" Gabriel whoops. "What a Monday!"

Castiel opens his mouth to ask, but then the apartment door bursts open. He drops the mug, dark coffee spilling over the rug, and spins around to see—

Dean. He nearly melts with relief at seeing Dean coming toward him, face red and sweaty, a newspaper clutched in his hand.

Gabriel's still yelping over the line, but his voice fades out in favor of Castiel drinking in the sight of Dean in the sunlight.

"It's over," Dean whispers. There are unshed tears glistening in his eyes. He presses the newspaper into Castiel's hand, his fingers stained black from ink that's still wet.

ASSASSINATION OF CHICAGO JUDGE , screams the headline in bold. There's a picture underneath of a body on a street, a sheet over it, policemen huddled around it.

Officer Gadreel Eden in custody after shooting Judge Lucas Morningstar in broad daylight on Maxwell and 3rd. Judge Morningstar served on many trials involving hardened Chicago criminals. The shooting follows an unsuccessful case that attempted to bring charges of corruption against the judge. When asked why he killed Judge Morningstar, Officer Eden said, "Justice."

Castiel shakes his head. The paper trembles in his hands. "I... I don't..."

"It's real, Cas." Dean's eyes are right there, anchoring Castiel. Holding him in place as his body threatens to shake apart. "I promise it's real."

The newspaper drops like a stone to the ground, landing in the coffee. Castiel moves at the same time Dean does, colliding into each other, pulling each other in. Castiel buries his face in Dean's neck, nose pressed to his warm skin.

Six months of hiding. Of running. Of waiting for the other shoe to drop, for danger to come around the corner. Of walking around with a heavy weight on their shoulders, knowing their loved ones were out there, but not being able to see them, talk to them, for fear of Lucas getting on their trail.

"I gotta call Sam," Dean says, voice choked where it's pressed against Castiel's shoulder. He pulls back and Castiel sees the tears tracking down his cheeks. "Oh, shit, I just—ran out of the press. Crowley’s gonna kill me."

Unbidden, a laugh bubbles out of Castiel's throat. "Dean," he says, "it doesn't matter."

Dean smiles. It's as bright as the sun.

It doesn't matter, because they're free . They can go wherever they damn well please.

"Kittery," Dean whispers. "First bus back. Let's get out of this shithole. Let's go back to the ocean where fresh air smelled nice . And, oh my god, Ellen's meat pies. We can have those meat pies again. And we can—"

Castiel can't stand to wait anymore. Grabbing Dean by his shoulders, he captures Dean's mouth with his own. Frames Dean's face in his hands.

They're free .

Chapter Text

They say their tearful goodbyes to Charlie at the bus station. She lightly punches their shoulders and tells them to be good, and visit often, even as her lower lip wobbles.

"You visit us, too," Dean says firmly as he hugs her tight. "I'll call you when we land somewhere permanent."

"You goddamn better," Charlie says with no heat, pointing at Dean with narrowed eyes. To Castiel, she says softly, "Take care of him. Okay?"

"I will," Castiel promises. 

The bus starts its engine behind them, a rumbling and groaning thing, and Charlie gives each of them one last hug. Then Castiel picks up their bags and follows Dean onto the bus.

They watch Charlie's shock of red hair recede as they amble down the road, until she gets swallowed up by the crowds of people milling along the sidewalk. Dean sniffs and wipes his eyes; Castiel puts his hand on his shoulder in a silent show of support. It's all he can offer with this many people around them, but by the way Dean relaxes under Castiel's touch, it appears to be enough.

The scenery changes as the bus leaves the city. It's been months since Castiel's seen open space or a grove of trees clumped together in a field. To hide from Lucas, as well as lower the odds of anyone recognizing Castiel as the man still wanted for Kelly’s murder, they stayed inside the city, where he was only one in a sea of faces. Going back to Kittery has its risks, but without Lucas leading the charge for Castiel’s arrest anymore, the odds of anyone searching for him are slim. 

Dean cracks the window at one point, pulling in deep breaths of fresh air until an elderly woman behind them snaps about it being too chilly.

A few hours into the ride, Castiel pulls out the sandwiches Charlie packed them (tearfully, although she would never admit it, not even when Dean poked fun at her) and passes one to Dean. Silently, Dean eats, his attention still fixed on the window.

"He won't be angry," Castiel says. Dean turns to him, eyes wide, like he's surprised that Castiel can parse what Dean's thinking, even after all the time they’ve spent together. "You called him. He has enough time to process this."

Dean puts his sandwich back on the brown paper, wiping his hands. "Yeah," he says. "Right."

"You did call him," Castiel says—it's not a question. When Dean's eyes try to find anything but his own, Castiel's brows rise. "You didn't? Why?"

"I don't know, Cas, I just—" Dean scrubs a hand down his face. "The past few days have been crazy. And—every time I went to pick up the phone I just... chickened out, I guess."

Castiel can't exactly judge. He hasn't even called Anna yet, although she's likely heard the news.

"All the same," Castiel says, taking Dean's sandwich and carefully wrapping it up to put back into the canvas bag, "he won't be angry. Shocked, perhaps. On the precipice of a heart attack. But not angry."

Dean rolls his eyes, knocking his shoulder into Castiel's. "All right. You gonna get some shut-eye or what? I can keep an eye on our stuff."

"No," Castiel says softly. The dark circles under Dean's eyes haven’t gone unnoticed. "You rest first. I'll be all right."

"You'll take first shift, huh?" Dean asks, grinning, folding his arms and tucking himself up against the window.

"Yes, Dean. I will tend the light."

Dean smiles at this, shaking his head fondly. "Man. I'd almost say let's have our little house connect to a lighthouse if the Coast Guard would take me back after my Houdini act."

"Greater miracles have happened," Castiel allows. "Now sleep."

Darkness descends on the rolling countryside only an hour later. Dean's head drops onto Castiel's shoulder, his snores soft in Castiel's ear. Finding he doesn't care much about the opinions of the people around him, he leans his head against Dean's, taking his hand under the bags that lie on their laps between them.

A lighthouse to tend to again; but this time, with a house and garden and roads to roam freely attached. Somehow, the idea doesn't seem so terrible.

Dean jolts awake at the sound of the brakes to find Cas shaking his shoulder. "I'm up!" he declares, whipping his head up, nearly taking out Cas's chin with it.

"We're here," he hears Cas’s voice say, a little amused. As the bus comes to a complete stop, Cas stands up and Dean wipes the sleep out of his eyes.

"Already?" he asks dumbly. "You let me sleep the whole damn time?"

"Yes, now get up. The driver is glaring at us."

Grumbling all the way, Dean clumsily climbs out of his seat and follows Cas down the metaphorical gangplank, hauling the duffel bag over his shoulder. It's not like he's unhappy to see Sammy—the whole freaking opposite. It's just the fallout that'll happen after.

He's supposed to be dead, for all intents and purposes. He's going to have to go to the bank and ask to open up his line of credit again, for Christ's sake. Apologize to those bastards at the Coast Guard, or, with any luck, never run into them on the street. He's going to have to stand there and get an earful from Sam about how stupid he was to run away with Cas in the first place, because he won't understand.

The bus barrels down the road as soon as they leave it. Dean stands next to Cas and looks out at the familiar fields, chest tightening. Kittery is just down the hill. He can already see the peak of the harbor.

"It's as beautiful as I remember it being," Cas murmurs. "This may even be..."

"The same month you came here in the first place, yeah," Dean says. He sighs. "I need a cigarette."

Cas kisses the side of his head, quick and perfunctory, before picking up their bags from the road. "The drinks are on me later."

"Yeah, if Ellen doesn't pour them all on my head," Dean grumbles.

Cas hums. Tilts his head at the town. "There is the option of not seeing… everyone at once."

Dean grins at Cas. "Chickening out like me, Milton?"

"Less chickening. More... evaluating our situation with new evidence."

"Which is?"

"I'm tired."

Dean lets out a surprised peal of laughter. It's loud enough to startle the cows across the fence. Putting a hand on Cas's shoulder, he shrugs. "Winchester house is probably still empty. Bobby usually makes sure to keep the heat on so the pipes don’t freeze, too. We could start there, make a home base out of it. Take it one step at a time."

Cas nods, relief evident on his face. "I do like that plan."

"Great. We'll take the backroads." Hoisting the duffel bag back on his shoulder, Dean winks and leads the way.

Being back home gives Dean the worst yet best feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

It hasn't even been that long. Barely six months. He was away at war longer than this. But this time, he feels like an unwanted guest in his own town; like it outgrew him a long time ago.

The house is still the same, at least on the outside, as he and Cas approach. Dean finds the spare key under the little porcelain angel in the corner of the stoop and fits it into the lock. 

"Home sweet home," Dean says with a bite of sarcasm to it as he pushes open the door.

In the dim light of dawn, everything looks cleaner than he expected. Bobby must be cleaning it every once in a while. There's no dust on the surfaces, and everything's tidied away from when he and Cas were there last. 

Someone must be keeping the place clean and ready in case Dean ever came back. Bobby or Sam, most likely. 

"I'm going to sleep in a bed, musty sheets or no," Castiel declares as he shrugs off his coat. "Do you want to wait for me to see Sam?"

"Probably," Dean sighs as he brings their bags to the living room, so as not to clog up the foyer. "A human shield is always nice."

Cas sags into the couch—didn't that have a sheet over it before Dean left?—and scrubs his hands over his face. "I cannot possibly hope to be your human shield before I shower."

Dean grins, kicking Cas's ankle lightly with his foot. When Cas looks at him, Dean waggles his eyebrows. "Dean," Cas says patiently, "you got eight hours of sleep on the bus. I did not."

"Oh, I bet I could wake you up," Dean says with a leer. He falls onto the couch next to Cas, sighing, tipping his head back. “But yeah, I’d like a bath first. And I ain’t gettin’ out until I’m wrinkled like a prune.”

Cas quirks a small smile. "Would this, along with propositioning me, be a form of stalling?" he offers.

"’Course it is," Dean shoots back. Cas smiles and huffs out a laugh. Dean reaches out and slides his fingers across the bolt of Cas's jaw. "You remember when we were here last?"

"I don't think I could ever forget it."

Right here, next to Cas, everything seems so far away: dealing with Sam, revealing himself to the whole town. There's only the blue of Cas's eyes and the burning in Dean's blood.

"C'mon," he says softly. Pulls Cas up to his feet. "I wanna take care of you."

Cas quirks an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Yeah." Dean runs his hand up and down the sleeve of Cas's trenchcoat. Dean found it at a second-hand shop; just Cas's size. Not warm enough for the winters in New York by any means, but judging by the smile Cas gave him when Dean presented it and the way Cas refuses to ever take it off, Dean would say he did all right.

"Let me take care of you," he says again. "Please."

Cas's expression softens. Because he knows what Dean means, what he needs—of course he knows. "Okay," he agrees.

Dean leads him up the stairs, their bags in tow, to the bathtub. He pulls off Cas's shirt, tie, and slacks. Presses kisses into his neck—not to incite anything, just to make Cas melt and relax in that way he normally does with Dean's hands on him. Turning on the faucet, on this side of too hot like Cas likes, Dean sits next to the tub as Cas slips into the water.

He hasn't been able to appreciate Cas's naked body for a good long while. It's just been furtive fucks and quick blow jobs in the corner, usually in the dead of night where he could barely make out Cas’s shape. But now that Dean’s able to really take him in, Dean notices that Cas has put on some muscle since their time in the lighthouse. His arms bulge where they didn’t before, likely from working the docks and hauling all those boxes around. His thighs are even a little thicker, too—how did Dean not notice that before?

Dean’s mouth goes dry as Cas rests those large, hulking arms on either side of the tub, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Well, stud," Dean says, voice heavy with arousal, "you're just as hot as I remember you."

“Thank you for the report,” Cas says blandly. Dean flicks water at him.

Luckily, there’s still soap. Dean takes the bar in hand and crawls around the claw-foot tub to wash Cas’s thick, dark hair. Cas tips his head back and lets out a little sigh when Dean's fingers start rubbing into the tight muscles of his neck.

Through the water, murky with soap, Dean sees the evidence of Cas's arousal swelling against his thigh.

"Still tired?" Dean asks softly. "I can stop."

"Don't stop," Cas rumbles. "Unless you don’t want to..."

"Hell, yeah I do." Dean presses a kiss to the top of Cas's head before scooting to the edge of the bathtub. Cas watches him with wide eyes, pupils blown, as Dean reaches down into the water. Grasping Cas's cock with a soap-slicked hand, Dean's insides turn to molten lava as Cas lets out a breathy moan.

"Dean," he says, pulling up his legs, the water agitating from the movement. "I—"

"I've got you," Dean says. He pumps his fist, reveling in the way Cas's head tips back. "I've got you, Cas."

He dips another hand in the warm water and circles Cas's rim with his thumb, just the way he knows Cas likes it, for good measure. Cas lets out a full-blown whine at the ceiling and Dean thinks that probably, most definitely, he's going to expire right on the spot.

"More," Cas grits out, hips jerking up. "More , Dean—"

Ever the good listener, Dean slips his index finger in. 

Cas all but growls as he grabs the back of Dean's head, crushing their lips together. Dean, clumsily, keeps stroking Cas's dick even though he's fully aware he's lost any control of the situation. He’s sparked the fire; now he gets the privilege of watching it burn. 

Cas comes up on his knees, water splashing over the sides. He grinds down on Dean's finger, mouth opening in a breathy gasp. "Another," he chokes out, voice somehow still commanding authority while being utterly shattered. Dean is helpless to do anything but obey.

Dean's only done this to Cas once before, when Garth and Charlie were gone during Easter, visiting their families out of state. Where Dean enjoys luxuriating in being coaxed open for hours before Cas fucks him, with Cas enjoying slowly taking Dean apart until he's shaking in turn, when Cas bottoms he's of the opposite opinion: he wants it fast, hard, now . Dean always knew he was an impatient bastard, but apparently this just ups the ante. 

"Bed," Cas says, eyes opening, catching Dean in an endless blue storm. "Now ."

They find one eventually, in a chaotic flail of limbs and slick floors and Dean grabbing the Vaseline from the medicine cabinet which, thank Christ, is still there. Otherwise he's certain Cas would insist on doing this dry.

Cas pulls him down to the bed before Dean even has his shirt off, hands framing his head, pulling him into a deep kiss with tongues and teeth. Dean fumbles the lid off the Vaseline jar and nudges Cas's legs apart. Cas obliges, then gasps into Dean's mouth as he pushes one slick finger in. Two.

He loves it when Cas fucks him. Delights in it, even. But the noises Cas makes when Dean's pushing into him, those little breathy groans, send Dean into a whole other stratosphere. 

Feeling inspired, Dean breaks away from Cas's lips. He shimmies out from under Cas, fingers leaving Cas empty, and nudges him to lie on his back. Cas is barely able to sound a protest before Dean crawls down Cas’s body and swallows his cock down whole. 

Cas thrashes on the bed, hand tangled in Dean's hair, letting out a string of incoherent curses. For good measure, Dean pushes his fingers back into the tight ring of muscle, moaning around Cas’s cock. This just drives Cas wilder, has him murmuring breathy little fuck fuck fuck s as he drives his cock into Dean’s mouth. 

This man, beautiful and terrifying as he is, used to be a priest—and now he's cursing the Lord while Dean worships him on his knees. 

That realization is probably what drives Dean the craziest. 

"Dean," Cas pants. "I can't—you need to—"

Dean pops off Cas’s dick with a filthy little sound, shooting Cas a sharp grin. He adds another slick finger for good measure, making it three, and Cas hisses at the pressure, then arches his back off the bed as Dean crooks his fingers. Precome buds at the tip of his cock. Dean, naturally, greedily licks it up. 

"Dean," Cas moans, equal parts impatient and pleased. Dean gives the wet tip of Cas’s cock a chaste kiss before gently pulling out his fingers.

Cas watches him through hooded eyes as Dean dips into the Vaseline, slicking it over his cock. At the touch, a sudden fire lights in his gut, and he closes his eyes for a moment, moaning. He hasn't been able to take himself in hand like this for weeks.

"Keep going," Cas whispers. Dean opens his eyes to see Cas sitting up, crawling to his knees. "Keep stroking yourself."

Dean bites at his lower lip, a small moan trapped in his throat as he does what Cas asks. His hand flies up and down his cock, desperately. He runs a thumb over the tip and tilts his head back to the ceiling.

"Fuck," he whispers. 

Then yelps as Cas's hand is suddenly pushing at his chest, making him fall back onto the mattress. He watches, eyes wide and wild, as Cas carefully lines himself up against Dean's erect cock and—oh. Dean is going to die. He will not survive this. All the thoughts in his mind turn to white noise as Cas slowly lowers himself onto Dean, enveloping him in a tight, wet heat.

"Jesus Christ," Dean pants. "Jesus fucking Christ—"

Cas lifts his head, a beatific smile on his face as he grabs Dean's hips. "It’s a sin to take the Lord’s name in vain.”

Dean bursts out a hysterical laugh, despite it all—and then Cas begins to move. Letting out an incoherent sound, Dean grabs Cas's thighs, holding on for dear life.

Cas rides him, cock bobbing, looking like the most beautiful thing in the world. Dean tries to grab that gorgeous cock, stroke it, but Cas bats his hand away. He falls forward to press his hands into the mattress, bracketing Dean’s head. His hips roll slowly—exquisitely.

“ Cas ." Dean has to concentrate very hard on not coming so soon into one of the best moments of his life. "You're so—holy shit. Make me feel so good, sweetheart, yeah, just like that..."

"This is all I wanted," Cas says, with another roll of his hips. How he sounds so freaking composed, Dean will never know. He bites at the shell of Dean's ear. "To envelope you, to take you apart."

"Yeah," Dean whispers. "You have me. Have all of me, Cas."

"You're so good to me, Dean." Cas snaps his hips down again, this time a little harder, and Dean sees stars. "You take such good care of me."

"Cas," Dean pants. "I'm gonna—I don't know if I can last, sweetheart. I—"

Cas leans back to sit on his ankles, putting Dean's hands on his hips. His pupils are blown, eyes wide. "Then fuck me."

And, well, Dean's not going to argue with that—he finally moves like he wants to, feet planted on the mattress and snapping his hips up into Cas at an unforgiving pace, and his vision spins with the sounds Cas is making, those breathy little grunts that Dean holds and cherishes and presses into his mind forever, especially as Dean’s hand flies out to grab Cas’s cock, stroking in time with his thrusts, while Dean can't stop the feeling right at the precipice, and—

Cas punches out a moan that's different from the rest. He folds over and—he’s coming. He's coming, spilling onto Dean's stomach and chest.

Dean cries out, hoarse and broken, and comes inside of Cas, the rhythm of his hips stuttering. He rides through the aftershocks, moaning, as Cas murmurs encouragement, hand rubbing Dean's stomach, sticky with come. Murmurs praise.

Spent dick softening inside of Cas, Dean knows he should pull out. But he can barely catch his breath. Cas is slumped over him, breathing just as heavily. Dean holds out his hands and catches his cheek.

"Cas," he pants. "Are you..."

"I'm all right." But his voice sounds heavy. Thick. "I need a moment."

Dean swallows. He pulls Cas closer, gently, so that when Dean does slip out it won't hurt him. Usually, Dean is the first to quickly clean up the cooling come on their skin, but at the moment, he couldn't care less. He pulls Cas close and tucks him into his side and brushes his hair back from his eyes. Plenty of time to clean up later. 

"I've got you," Dean whispers. He presses a kiss to Cas's forehead. "I've always got you."

Cas's breath hitches. He buries his face in Dean's shoulder. And Dean knows it's not the sex—it's the release. It's the relief of it all. It's being able to hold each other like this in a bed they're not in danger of falling out of. That they can shout their love for each other without the fear of being heard. 

"I love you so much," Cas murmurs. It's quiet, but it's fierce. "And at times, it's…"

Dean winces. "Too much?"

"No. Never." Cas wraps an arm around Dean, pulling him closer. "I never knew it could feel this way. Like being born again and dying all at once."

Dean huffs out a breath. He plays with the delicate hairs at the nape of Cas's neck. "My little poet.”

He doesn’t say, since it’s a little terrifying to admit it, that he knows exactly what Cas is talking about. 

Outside the window, dawn is breaking. The day is starting, the town below them bustling. Cas's breathing against the bare knob of Dean's shoulder becomes steadier, heavier.

Dean rests his cheek against the top of Cas's head. The day is starting and there's things to do. Sheets to launder. People to face. But they can keep. 

For now, they'll have this.

Chapter Text

Castiel, in the midst of contending with the ancient coffee maker and likely equally ancient bag of coffee grounds he found in the back of the cupboard, smiles when he feels Dean’s arms snake around his middle. 

“Mornin’, sunshine,” Dean murmurs into his neck.

Castiel twists just enough to give him a kiss on the forehead. Then, “We may be without coffee this morning.”

“The horror.” Dean presses an open-mouthed kiss on Castiel’s neck; he’s insatiable, considering yesterday’s activities, but Castiel can relate. 

They slept between the musty sheets of Dean and Sam’s childhood bed until around dinnertime. By that point, Dean declared that it was too late in the day for any reconciliation with Sam, and Castiel, still exhausted from traveling and from their morning athletics, was in no shape to argue. They ate the rest of the food that Charlie had packed for them (a few bags of trail mix, another questionable aged ham sandwich, and a bar of chocolate) while sitting on the back porch in the dark. Huddled under an afghan, they watched the stars: a novelty they couldn’t experience in the ever-bright city of New York. 

Afterwards, a bath for Dean. And after that, Castiel taking Dean into his mouth until Dean was gasping and writhing, spilling down Castiel’s throat. 

It was a good night. 

But now: the cold light of the dawn, and no coffee to comfort them. 

“We’ll have to leave the house sometime, Dean,” Castiel says. “Unless you intend on starving before facing Sam.”

Dean scoffs, a hot breath against Castiel’s ear. “You’re in fine form this morning.”

“There’s no coffee,” Castiel patiently reminds him. 

“All right, all right.” Dean flicks Castiel’s ear. “We’ll get dressed. Then we’ll stroll into town and scare everyone off their breakfast.” 

“That sounds reasonable.” Castiel gives the coffee maker one last glare before following Dean up the stairs. 

Dawn means activity in Kittery, but only for the docks. It's a small enough town, thankfully, that store owners push the opening hours just a bit over the edge in order to enjoy their breakfast at a leisurely pace. As they walk down the deserted streets that still yawn, open and wide, in the early morning hours, Castiel glimpses Whaleback Lighthouse off in the harbor.

His heart constricts unexpectedly at the sight.

"Not missing that place," Dean grumbles next to him, apparently having caught sight of it, too. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched; like that'd make him unrecognizable to wandering eyes. "Wonder what bastards the Coast Guard chose for it."

"I wonder if your records are still there," Castiel replies.

"If they are, the new keepers better not have scratched them. And if the needle's off balance on the record player, I'll—" Dean shakes his head, waving a hand. "Doesn't matter. Not my problem anymore."

Castiel frowns. In the months they've been gone, Dean's expressed regret over leaving Sam and Eileen. His new nephew. Bobby and Ellen—even Benny. But not the lighthouse. The one time Castiel asked, Dean's face got a careful, blank look.

"Nothing for me there anymore," was all he said.

But there was us , Castiel wanted to argue. The lighthouse brought me to you.

For that, it's one of the most important places in the world to Castiel.

They've discussed how to approach Dean's miraculous resurrection, at length. In the end, they decided that the best approach was to simply go to Sam's apartment above Ellen's diner and hope that he's home.

The wooden stairs creak as they make their way up to the exterior door of Sam and Eileen's apartment. A little welcome sign is tacked to the door, with fall leaves decorating the edges. The Winchesters , the name on their mailbox says.

Dean's gone pale. Castiel reaches out—to soothe or protect, he's not sure—but then Dean's knocking on the door with a clenched fist. He catches Castiel's concerned gaze. "Just—don't leave, okay? Even if he's pissed."

"I won't," Castiel says firmly.

That seems to settle Dean a little. And then the door swings open.

Eileen, her hair in curlers and her bathrobe wrapped around her waist, stares at them with her mouth unhinged.

"Hi," Dean offers.

Eileen blinks. "I thought you were the milkman."

Dean shakes his head. Shoves his hands deeper into his pockets and seems to curl even further in on himself. "Is Sam—" It's all he gets out before Eileen surges forward, grabbing him into a hug.

"Oh my god," she says on the heels of a laugh. "Am I dreaming?"

Dean squeezes his eyes shut. Shakes his head, puts a hand on her back, embracing one of the missing pieces of his family.

"Sam's with Henry in the nursery," Eileen says. She pulls back from the hug, grasping both Dean and Castiel's arms and all but yanking them through the door. "Don't leave. I'll get him."

"You got it," Dean says with a weak smile. Eileen points at him sternly, then turns on her heel and hurries down the narrow hallway to the bedrooms.

Castiel and Dean stand in the foyer. Dean lets out a strangled breath and Castiel catches his arm before he can tumble.

"You can do this," Castiel says, holding him tightly. "I've got you."

"Fuck," Dean whispers. "I don't know. I don't—"

There's a noise, then the sound of a door opening. Castiel's breath catches when he sees Sam, eyes wild and frantic, bolt through a bedroom door.

"Holy shit," he says.

Dean waves, a weak flick of the wrist. "Hey, little brother."

Sam stares at Dean. Then his eyes flicker to Castiel. There's a brief moment of hostility, which Castiel can understand, but it's gone as soon as Sam barrels down the hallway to grab Dean into a firm hug. Almost immediately after, Sam pulls back and swats Dean over the head.

"A postcard, Dean? That's it? Are you serious ?"

"I know," Dean says, hands up defensively in case of another swat. "In my defense—"

"Cops were swarming Whaleback, looking for evidence of your murder!" Sam swings his glare to Castiel. "Both of you!"

"I apologize for the inconvenience," Castiel says solemnly, but that just makes Sam's eyes bug out of his head. He looks like he's about to truly hit Castiel before Dean holds out a hand.

"Hey. Listen. We'll explain everything, all right? There was a reason we had to lie low. Cas was framed for murder. And it wasn't safe for certain people to know where he was. That cop that came looking for him had the wrong info. Cas—"

"Didn't kill anyone, I know," Sam says, sighing, rubbing his forehead. "No, it's—it's fine. I'm not—just give me a second."

"Sure," Dean says, nodding, his face twisted into a guilty, unhappy expression. "I should have called."

Castiel resists the I told you so on the tip of his tongue. Instead he gives Dean a steady, encouraging nod.

"Sam?"

They all turn to Eileen at the end of the hallway. She's holding a baby with brown eyes, dark hair, and the bright, happy face of a six month old.

Dean's face melts. "Is that Henry?"

Sam gets a fond look on his face. He nods at Eileen, who walks to them, smiling as she hands the baby over to Sam. "Yeah. This is Henry Dean Winchester."

Dean looks at Sam, startled. Sam shrugs a shoulder. "John didn't feel like a fitting middle name. Wanted it to be the man who raised me, instead."

Dean's face crumples. His jaw works, but he doesn't have the words. Castiel had felt guilt before for taking Dean away from his family—but in witnessing this reunion, it’s even more acute, lancing through him like a hot knife.

Dean spent six months away from Sam, unable to help guide him into fatherhood. Six months away from his nephew, not able to watch him grow.

Castiel knows how that feels, with Jack still being so far from him. Not knowing what he looks like now. What his favorite books are, what words he's saying, what clever sentences he’s stringing together.

Henry, curious about the situation, clumsily tilts his head toward Dean with a gummy smile. He reaches out his hands. Sam hands him to Dean without hesitation, and Dean reaches back, putting Henry up against his shoulder. Dean laughs, a wet but happy sound, and remarks on how Henry is just as hefty as Sam was at that age.

Castiel's hands shake at his sides. He smiles weakly when Dean turns to him with a bright grin. A relaxed, joyful one that Castiel hasn't seen in months.

Suddenly, Castiel wants to be very, very far away.

A hand gently lands on Castiel's shoulder. He flinches and looks down at Eileen, who's giving him a knowing look. "Coffee?" she asks. "While they catch up?"

Castiel nods gratefully. He sits, all awkward knees and elbows, at the small circular table in the kitchen while Eileen fusses with the coffee pot. Dean sits on the couch with Henry, laughing at his babbling, tickling at his chin. His green eyes are bright with life.

Stomach twisting, Castiel looks away.

As far as “surprise, I'm back from the dead” reunions go, Dean's cautiously optimistic about this one.

Sam doesn't punch him, so that's a win. And he lets him hold Henry; another win. Eileen even lets Dean give Henry a bottle, which fucking delights Dean to no end.

A nephew. He knew he had a nephew—but not one this cute or one that is a carbon copy of Sam when he was a baby.

Dean has to fight back the tears more than once that morning. He's missed so much.

"Ellen's going to kill you, you know," Sam comments, taking Henry back and bouncing him on his knee. "Bobby, too. They might take turns."

"Yeah, well." Dean leans back against the couch cushions, crossing his arms. "When I explain it, maybe they'll be less inclined to murder."

He frowns at the empty kitchen table. Cas was there just a second ago—Dean must have been too absorbed in Henry to notice where he went. Bathroom, most likely.

"They know why."

Dean hums distractedly. "Know what?"

"Why you left." Sam puts Henry on the floor, on a little blanket with toys dotting the perimeter. On his tummy, Henry blabbers and flaps his arms and legs as if in flight. "I told them everything."

Dean opens his mouth; clicks it shut. "Whaddaya mean you told them everything? Like, that I sent you the postcard?"

"That. And..." Sam sighs, rubbing his palms on his legs. He always did that when he was nervous or guilty of something. Dean braces himself. "Benny and I went to Whaleback to search it, after the police ransacked it. We found a few things that explained... some stuff."

Dean frowns. "What kind of things?"

"Uh." Sam coughs, shifts on the couch. "A letter? From Cas."

Dean blinks, gears turning, just as Cas enters back into the living room stage left. "What letter from Cas?"

Cas stops in his tracks. His eyes widen. And then, suddenly, Dean remembers. The letter Cas left him. The letter where Cas told him everything about Jack and Kelly. The letter where Cas calls loving Dean the truest thing he's ever known.

Cas waits, muscles coiled like a cat's as his eyes flicker between Dean and Sam. Dean just tries to get the damn air back into his lungs.

Sam wouldn't hurt him—judge him, maybe. Sam let him into his home, let Dean hold his baby. He wouldn't do that if he was truly disgusted, right? But with Dean disappearing and Sam learning all this, and Dean not being able to explain it… brothers have sold each other out for less.

"Sam," Dean says, voice tight, as Cas moves in closer, almost protectively. "Me and Cas. We..."

Sam frowns. He looks between what's probably Dean's pale and terrified face and the way Cas is standing over them, coiled like he's ready for a punch. Sam gapes. "Oh! No, I don't—Dean. I didn't tell them that. I don't—I don't care about that, okay? Well, I mean, I care. But not like that. You're my brother, nothing’s gonna change that."

Dean still can't find the air to breathe. "Oh," he says.

"I'm pissed you disappeared. I'm pissed you didn't tell me why or ask me for help, but—not about that, no, God. You..." Sam breaks off. Frowns up at Cas, but when he turns to Dean, his face has softened again. He sighs. "You can love who you like. Okay? And that's all I got to say about it."

Dean lets out a laugh in nervous staccato. "Oh. That's uh—that's good."

Cas's shoulders relax, even though his face still has that impassive expression he usually wears when something's eating him. Dean will have to poke that bruise later, because something has been eating Cas since they got there—his broody silence at the kitchen table didn't go unnoticed.

"You, uh." Dean coughs, desperately wishing to change the subject. "Noticed the house was pretty pristine. Bobby been keeping up with it?"

Sam frowns; then understanding crosses his features. "I did," he says. "In case you were able to come back." He chuckles, picking at a thumbnail. "Turns out cleaning helped me whenever I got... stressed out about your absence." 

"Oh." Dean swallows. "They're not working you hard enough at Whaleback?" 

"Sam looks at Eileen, who's in the kitchen washing bottles, her back to them. "Well... I actually, uh, just got an offer to move to Owl's Head."

Dean's eyebrows fly up his forehead. "Oh. Wow.”

"Yeah." Sam grins. "A family light. Eileen's pretty excited to move there. An actual house, with an actual yard for Henry to run around in.”

Dean's lungs constrict painfully. He forces a smile. "That's great, Sam. Really. When do you move?"

"Uh—next week?" Sam pulls in a breath, then lets it out. "Eileen's parents are coming, too. We have a little guest house they’re going to stay in. But that's before I knew..."

Dean cuts him off, waving a hand. "Oh, Sammy, hell no. I wouldn't say yes to it anyway. You're a big boy now. Gotta sow your oats and shit."

Sam raises an eyebrow at Henry on the floor. "I'd say I sowed them."

"Dude—I'm proud of you. Okay? Rockland’s not gonna know what hits them when a Winchester rolls into town.”

Eileen joins Henry on the floor, tickling his cheek. She signs something to Sam, who says back with his hands moving, "We're talking about Owl's Head." Eileen's face brightens.

"Sam will be the last keeper there, too," she tells Dean, placing a toy in front of Henry. "Lots of lighthouses are automating already."

Dean raises his eyebrows. He'd heard about it happening in other parts of the country, but not yet Maine. "Which ones?"

Sam nods toward the window. "Whaleback, for one."

Dean's stomach twists and there's an audible intake of breath from Cas. "Whaleback's automated?"

Sam grimaces and shakes his head, exchanging a glance with Eileen. "With your disappearance... it caused a lot of uproar. It was already in the works—the Coast Guard decided to push ahead with it. They had a skeleton crew for a few months, then they left it."

Dean's heart beats rabbit-fast under his skin. "So it's just... empty?"

"I have your stuff in storage," Sam says carefully. "Dad's, too. It's not all gone."

There must be some kind of expression on Dean's face, because Cas moves to put a hand on his shoulder. Dean forces a smile, patting Cas’s hand. “I’m okay,” he mutters. 

It shouldn't matter. It shouldn't bother him. But the thought of the only true home he knew standing empty and cold—it makes his chest ache.

There's no one cooking in the kitchen. There's no one keeping the heat on. There's no one tending to the light, manning the radio. There's no him and Cas dancing slow to a record spinning on the dial.

The idea of that absence, of his former home standing alone, hurts more than he expected it to. 

Sam’s puppy dog eyes are in full force. Dean clears his throat and waves his hand. “I mean—was gonna happen at some point, right?” 

“Right,” Sam agrees softly. 

Eileen pats Sam’s knee, pointing down to Henry. Her hands move, and Sam’s eyes light up in understanding. “Oh! A burp cloth. Yeah. I’ll get it.”

Henry coos and kicks his feet. Dean grins and takes Sam’s place on the floor to gently tickle his nephew on the stomach. Delightfully, Henry’s face breaks into a gummy, happy smile that mirrors Dean’s. 

They’ll build a new home, Dean decides, letting Henry capture his finger. Him and Cas. Home is wherever they’ll go.

“Do you want to hold him?” Eileen asks.

Dean looks up, but Eileen’s not asking him; she’s asking Cas. On the couch, Cas is gazing down at Henry with these wide, unsure eyes. “I don’t know if…” he begins.

Eileen scoops up Henry, then stands in front of Cas. “Arms out,” she instructs. Cas obeys, arms open, and she gently places a squirmy, happy Henry in his arms.

Cas on his own is a wonder. Cas with a baby? Dean’s heart is on the verge of melting. 

“He’s so small,” Cas all but whispers. His face is warring between a smile and a frown. He brushes a hand over Henry’s bouncy, dark curls that are just beginning to sprout out of his head. Finally, he looks up at Eileen. “He’s beautiful.” 

Eileen nods. “I’m biased, but I agree.”

Dean chuckles. He joins Cas on the couch, tickling Henry’s little chin. “Looks just like Sam when he was little. Not the curls, though. That must be you, Eileen, through and through.”

“Right,” Cas whispers. “The curls.” 

Dean peers at Cas’s face, which looks downright upset. “Cas? You okay?”

“Yes. I—I need a moment. I’m sorry.” He hastily passes Henry back to a confused Eileen, practically jumping to his feet and running from the room. Sam rounds the corner from the hallway as Cas passes, their chests nearly colliding. The bathroom door clicks shut a moment later. 

Eileen gives Dean a confused look; he shakes his head, because he doesn’t know why Cas holding a baby would make him so—

Oh. Oh. 

“Fuck,” Dean whispers, scrambling to his feet, past Sam, who’s holding a burp cloth in utter confusion. “I’ll be right back.”

He goes to the bathroom door, tucked between the bedrooms. He softly knocks. “Cas?”

Predictably, Cas doesn’t answer. So Dean turns the knob, tucks himself between the door and the frame, and jams himself into the small bathroom. Cas is doubled over the vanity, hands framing the sink, eyes squeezed shut. He flinches when Dean touches his shoulder, then pulls away. 

“I need to be alone,” he says flatly. 

Dean pushes away the hurt that brings. “Are you thinking about Jack?”

Cas still doesn’t look at him, and that gives Dean his answer. 

“We can go see him now,” Dean says softly. “Gabriel knows where he and Anna are, right? You can call him up, we can—”

“No.” The word hits flat and hard against the air. Cas sighs, running a hand down his face. “No,” he repeats, more gently this time. “Not right now.”

Dean frowns. “Why not?”

Cas hangs his head. His shoulders tense. Dean has become intimately familiar with that posture over the last six months, every time Jack or Anna or Kelly came into the conversation: the wall that Cas puts up to keep Dean out of it. 

“Okay,” Dean snaps. “You wanna be alone? You got it.” 

It's unfair, the tone he's taking with Cas. Dean knows it. But he can't find the words to apologize for it. They promised each other no more lies, no more secrets; and here Cas is, shutting Dean out of what’s hurting him the most. 

Turning the knob, Dean opens the door, and goes back out where he came.

Chapter Text

The sea pulls him down. Deeper and deeper. Instead of fighting, Castiel holds out his arms and legs and lets it take him.

The anchor tied to his leg hits the ocean floor. Castiel floats there, in darkness.

It should scare him, but it doesn't. Down here, nothing can hurt him. Down here, he can't hurt anyone.

Cas.

Dean's voice hits him like a wave. He thrashes, pulling against his tether. His lungs burn.

Cas, c'mon. Wake up.

Opening his mouth, Castiel lets out a scream silenced by the waters.

"Cas!"

Castiel jolts awake. Dean's above him, eyes wide and hair disheveled. He's holding Castiel's wrists.

"Are you okay?" Dean asks. His voice cracks.

He sounds scared. Castiel’s doing, no doubt.

Slowly, he extracts his wrists from Dean's grip. He tries to breathe. Slow down his heart rate. "I'm fine."

"Sure as hell didn't look fine a few seconds ago." Dean sits back on his heels, scanning Castiel head to toe. "Bad dream?"

"Yes."

Dean’s silent, waiting for more, but Castiel doesn't feel like giving it. Even with his eyes trained on his hands, he can feel Dean's stare drilling a hole in his forehead.

"Okay," Dean says, eventually. Voice detached. "You need water or something?"

Castiel shakes his head.

Dean rolls back to his side of the bed, pulling the covers over his bare chest. Castiel settles back into his pillow. The ceiling above him is as inky dark as the sea.

Dean's hand finds Castiel's over the sheets. Breath hitching, Castiel squeezes it back. Dean murmurs, "Oh, sweetheart," and then he's pressing against Castiel's side. Because Dean knows. He always knows, even when Castiel doesn't say it. Even when he tries to keep it a secret.

"You'll tell me about it tomorrow?" Dean asks.

Castiel doesn't answer. He and Dean promised, long ago, that there would be no more lies between them. So instead of breaking that promise, he stays silent.

Sam offers to bring Dean to see Ellen and Bobby. Cas, in turn, offers to stay behind. Dean wants him to come, but when Cas reminds him that he's still technically a wanted criminal and his reception might not be so magnanimous, Dean takes the point.

"Cas seems…” Sam begins as he and Dean walk down the road to Main Street shoulder to shoulder. After a moment, he settles on: "Subdued."

Dean’s hands suddenly itch for something to do. He adjusts his jacket buttons, fusses with his pockets. “Yeah, well. He’s uh—upset.”

“About what?” 

Dean shrugs. “Not my business to say.”

Sam hunches his shoulders against the wind, eyes narrowed. "Not a lot different than it was in the lighthouse. You two in one corner, me in the other."

"Yeah, well. We're a unit. Just like you and Eileen are."

Sam steps onto the curb as they turn down Main Street. "So you're going to stay together, wherever you go?"

"Yeah."

"How do you..." Sam twists his lips together. "Look, don't take this the wrong way. But with the whole not being able to be... married thing—"

"We're bonded to each other in every way it counts," Dean says. "And that's the end of it."

"Sure. Yeah. So—you'll stay in the house?"

"Geez, Sam, what's with the third degree?"

"Just checking where I should call," Sam snaps back, voice a little testy, "since you didn't exactly send me a forwarding address last time."

And, okay. Dean deserves that. He sighs, throwing his hands up. "I don't know, man. The house is fine, but—Cas can't stay here. Too many people know him. And me. I'll meet up with Ellen, Bobby, Jo, even Benny, to give them all peace of mind—but I think a fresh start is best."

Sam shrugs. “Okay. Your choice.” 

Dean glares at him. “That wasn’t back-handed at all.” 

“I don’t know what you want me to say! If you and him are a… unit going forward, then yeah, it’d make sense you’d make choices together. Like going to reunite Cas with that kid he mentioned in the letter.” 

Dean scoffs out a dark laugh. “Yeah. Right.”

They approach the Roadhouse diner. The sign is still crooked, one of its screws in the brick facade having emancipated itself years ago. Sam stops at the door, Dean almost running into him. 

“Is that where you’re going next?” Sam asks.  

“Huh?”

“Jack. Cas wants to find him, right? From what I read in his letter, it’s like he practically raised the kid before they had to be separated.” 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, that’s probably what we’re doin’.”

Cas hasn’t said a word about his nightmare last night; barely said a word to Dean this morning at all. The last time he went this quiet about stuff…

Dean chews at the inside of his cheek and tries not to worry too much about it. 

“Ready?” Sam asks, tilting his head toward the door.

“What? Oh. Yeah,” Dean lies. Running out of the trenches felt more doable than this. “I’m ready.”

Sam opens the door, the bell chiming, and Dean braces himself for the metaphorical gunfire.

Castiel sits at the kitchen table where Dean dined as a child, hands on his knees, and stares at the phone on the wall in its cradle.

He promised Gabriel that he'd call once he's settled. But he's not settled—not quite. Dean doesn't plan to stay in this town beyond the brief reunions. And they don't know where they're going next.

He could stay if it wasn’t for you , a vicious little voice reminds him. That voice has been getting louder lately; it’s the same that told him to run away from the lighthouse for Dean's sake.

Castiel gets up, chair scraping, and crosses the floor to the phone.

Gabriel picks up after only two rings. Castiel can't help the spark of amusement he gets at the lazy way his brother answers the phone; like he doesn't have a care in the world.

"Hello, Gabriel."

"Jesus— finally !" Gabriel scoffs. "Where in the hell are you?"

"Kittery."

" Maine ?"

"Well," Castiel says, "I'm not sure there's another—"

"Why are you there?"

"Dean wanted to see his family again." Family that I kept him from . Castiel rubs at his brow. More sleep; he just needs more sleep. "With Lucas gone, it doesn't matter anymore."

"Sure," Gabriel says carefully, "but you're still wanted for murder."

"I do remember that, yes."

"You can use those fake identification papers I gave you, but if word in Kittery has spread about who you really are—"

"I know." Castiel sighs and rubs his brow. "Dean's only revealing our return to a handful of trusted people."

"Well. If you're sure."

Castiel sucks in a breath. Lets it out.

"I've gotta say, I'm kinda surprised," Gabriel says, carefully. Slowly. "For all the desperate attempts you made to get in touch with Anna... you're not really chomping at the bit now that you—well, now that you can."

Castiel's gut rolls unpleasantly. He thinks of the way Dean's nephew babbled and laughed. Jack was that age, the last time Castiel saw him. A bright, happy baby.

"Cassie?" Gabriel prompts. "They're not far from you, ya know. I can give you the town."

"I..." Castiel closes his eyes. Nods. "All right."

"They're in Maine, too. Monhegan Island."

Castiel skips a breath. "They're in Maine?"

"Yeah," Gabriel says with a small laugh. "You never met her, but Dad had a great-aunt with property out there. You getting a lighthouse job a hundred miles away was just a happy accident."

Castiel tells himself to stay calm, but his stomach just keeps rolling over itself. "Where is the island?"

"There's a mail boat that goes out there from Port Clyde. Anna says the guy's really wary of new people; won't take anyone he doesn't know. Felt like the perfect place to hide 'em."

Castiel takes measured breaths. In and out. 

“How will I get to the island, then?”

"Say that you're a Milton," Gabriel says. "That you're Anna's brother. Anna told him to expect you, well... someday."

"Okay," Castiel says. He huffs out a laugh, pressing a knuckle to his eye. "It feels as if you're sending me on some sort of quest."

"Well, it's Maine, and things are weird up there. So maybe I am." Gabriel silent for a moment. "Think that Dean would be okay with you jetting off?"

Castiel swallows a lump in his throat.

"I mean, I'd imagine he'd want to stay in Kittery," Gabriel says slowly. "Right?"

Gabriel’s suggestion echoes Castiel’s previous concerns all too well. 

Even though the lighthouse is decommissioned, he has this house. He has his things. Sam will only be a few hours away. 

But Castiel is the one preventing him from being able to stay. 

"Yes," Castiel croaks out. "I'm sure he'll be fine with it."

"Okay." Gabriel's silent for a moment. "Hey. I told you it was going to be okay, right?"

Castiel's lips lift in a smile. "Yes. You were right, as always."

"And I'm going to get time off to visit you and Anna, okay? She's got a trundle bed for you. You can stay as long as you want. It's all arranged. We were just... waiting for everything to blow over. And for you to be ready to see Jack again."

His throat closing despite himself, Castiel nods. "Okay."

When he replaces the phone on the cradle after their goodbyes, it's with shaking hands. He sits back down at the kitchen table, gaze fixated on the lines in the wood, not moving for a very long time.

When Dean comes back to the house, it's dark but for a small light on in the bedroom window.

He spent more time at the Roadhouse than he expected. Bobby and Ellen (and Jo, when she came bursting in from the back of the kitchen) were pissed, rightfully so—but when that anger burned out, there were tears. And explanations. And more tears.

Dean's exhausted from it all. He's ready to curl into bed, pull Cas to his side, and sleep into oblivion.

Something's been bothering Cas—Dean can tell. And now that Sam's mentioned Jack, Dean's decided that bingo, that's the reason. Maybe Cas is scared of going down that road, seeing Jack again, opening old wounds. Maybe Anna's keeping Jack from Cas for some reason. Whatever it is, they'll figure it out. Dean's had his reunions; now it's time for Cas to have his.

Unlocking the front door, he walks in, taking care with his paper bag of food (compliments from Ellen, with grease blooming on the bottom of the bag). "Got some grub!" Dean calls, kicking off his boots.

Cas doesn't reply. Probably in the bath. Parking the food bag on the table, Dean stands in the eerie silence of the house. He can't hear the bath running.

He pulls in a breath, then releases it. Cas is upstairs. He still hasn't looked upstairs.

But there were no lights on.

Dean slowly heads up to the second floor. The stairs don't twist around in a circle, but the memory hits him all the same: going up and down, endlessly, for days, while Cas was gone. While he slowly lost his mind alone.

If Cas left again—

No. He didn't.

Dean opens the bedroom door, and his breath sticks in his throat.

Cas isn't in the bed.

Or in the bathroom. Or in the other bedroom. Or... anywhere.

"No," Dean says, voice firm. "No, he didn't leave. He didn't."

He sprints down the stairs anyway.

When he told Bobby and Ellen that he'd run away with Cas, there was that... look on their faces. The same one Charlie got, when they first ran to New York and before she got to know Cas: worry. Judgment. Fear. Like Dean had gotten mixed up in something that he shouldn't.

"You weren't the one wanted for murder, son," Bobby told him, shaking his head. "Why the hell did you leave?"

For Charlie, Dean had told the truth. For Bobby, he said simply, "He's my friend. I didn't want him to be alone."

It was also half of the truth—he didn't want Cas to be alone. The other half is that he didn't want to be without him, ever again.

"Cas!" Dean bellows, running out to the backyard. The afghan they were huddled under last night is still on the bench, discarded and cold. His eyes sting from the wind. He runs, coatless, around the side of the house, down the sidewalk and past a lady walking her dog, looking at him like he's gone insane. And he probably has.

"No fucking way you're leaving without me," Dean growls, all but sprinting through the neighborhood, looking for any sign of a trenchcoat. "You goddamn bastard. You goddamn—"

He stops dead in his tracks as he gets to the crest of the hill looking down toward Main Street. His heart all but falls into his socked feet.

There, in his thin trenchcoat and mussed hair— Cas .

"Jesus fucking Christ," Dean mutters, heart racing, then: "Hey!"

Cas looks up. His eyebrows rise, then his face drops in alarm. He breaks his walking pace to run to Dean, eyes taking him in, hands reaching out.

"Where's your coat? Your shoes? Dean, what—"

"You left!" Dean spits. He holds out his arms. "What the hell, Cas?"

Cas stares at him steadily. "Dean..."

"Ever hear of leaving a damn note?"

"I didn't think it pertinent," Cas says in that slow, measured way of his, "because I didn't know when you'd be back. I needed to take a walk and clear my head."

Dean scoffs, throwing up a hand. "Oh, okay."

"I did that in New York, too—Dean, what's the matter?"

"What's the matter ?" Dean points a hard finger at the ground. "The matter is that I came back to an empty house. The matter is that I just wanted to hug my partner after a long, shitty day of me having to tell the people I love that I'm not dead, and you weren't there ."

Cas's eyes go a little wide. He licks his dry lips. "I'm sorry. I—"

"Let's go inside, it's cold." Dean spins on his heel and stalks back to the house, socked feet feeling every freezing step.

He knows he's being unfair. Far in the back of his mind is a little voice telling him to stop and shut up and listen to what he has to say . But the rhythmic beat of terror and hurt presides over all of it, drowning everything else out.

Cas follows Dean slowly through the front door. Locks it behind him. Dean watches, arms crossed, as he shrugs out of his trenchcoat and hangs it on a hook.

“How are Bobby and Ellen?” Cas asks, in a rumbling baritone.

“Fine. Don’t change the damn subject.”

Cas closes his eyes, briefly, like he'll find patience behind his eyelids. “I’m not—”

“Why did you go on a walk? You do that when you’re upset. So what the hell is going on?”

Predictably, as it usually goes when Dean really asks about his feelings, Cas’s expression closes off. The blinds draw, the lights shut off, nobody is home, move on.

“Yeah,” Dean says with a rough laugh, “fucking figures.”

Cas’s face stays still as stone. “I don’t know what you want from me, Dean.”

“Why don’t you want to see Jack and Anna?” Cas flinches like he’s been slapped, but Dean plunges forward all the same. "Why are you letting me see my family again, when you don't even want to know where yours is?"

"Dean..."

"You never talk about them. You told me what happened with Kelly, but every time I’ve asked about it since, you shut down. Shut me down. You're perfectly happy to bring me back to this shitstorm, stir up all these feelings again—"

"That's not fair," Cas says hoarsely. "You wanted to—"

"Yeah, I wanted to, and you knew that! Because I told you! But you never tell me what you want. You just sulk and get sullen and quiet and I know something's wrong, I know something's bothering you, but you just stay tight-lipped, so—what? Am I not important enough to confide in?"

"Stop," Cas hisses, fists clenched at his sides.

"No, you stop!" Dean takes a step forward, finger jabbing at Cas's face. "Stop putting up all these damn walls! You insisted on breaking mine down, and congratulations: you did it. But you don't get to shut me out in turn. You don't get to stand there and be a self-sacrificing bastard while I'm left to wonder what the fuck is going on with you."

Cas takes a step forward, looming. Dean's got an inch or two on him in height, but right now, he's thunderous enough to look seven feet tall. "Do you want me to describe the depths of my guilt that I still feel for Jack losing his mother?” he demands. “Do you want me to tell you that I don’t feel as if I deserve to see my family again? That I barely feel as if I deserve you?”

“Jesus,” Dean snaps, looking away. “How many times do I gotta—”

“Would it make you feel better to hear that I still don’t feel as if we’re safe? That I’m waiting, glancing over my shoulder, for something to take you, too?”

Dean tilts up his chin. "You're not gonna lose me.”

“When Kelly asked me for refuge, I thought I could protect her. But then I became too comfortable in the life we’d built, too complacent, and I lost her. My heart shattered, and unlike you, she didn't hold my very soul in her hands!"

His voice rises enough to shake the walls. Dean doesn't back down, but it's a close thing. Each breath feels heavy in his lungs.

“I chose to come with you,” Dean says, hands shaking. “I chose it.” 

Cas’s eyes stay chained to the floor. “When I saw you with Henry, I thought that I felt… guilt, because you came with me. But it wasn’t guilt.”

“What was it, then?”

“Jealousy.” Cas finally meets Dean’s gaze. “That you were able to reunite with your family, without the stain of failure on you. When you left, it was for love and freedom. When I left, it was because I had let down every person I ever cared about.”

Dean reaches into the chasm between them. Takes the cuff of Cas’s sleeve.

“Anna loved Kelly,” Cas says. “It broke her apart, to lose her. According to Gabriel, taking care of Jack was the only thing keeping her going. She blames me for all that happened.”

“Cas,” Dean says softly. “It’s not your fault. Kelly chose to go talk to Lucas that night. And Lucas was the son of a bitch that killed her. Not you.”

“I know that. Logically.” Cas runs a hand down his face. “When Lucas was gone, I expected to feel relief. But all I feel is…”

“A really awful pit in your stomach?” Dean guesses. He lets out a flat laugh when Cas nods. “Yeah. Adrenaline will do that to ya. The danger is gone suddenly and—poof. Feels like you’re going to lose your dinner.”

“Or never want dinner again,” Cas says softly. “But, yes.”

Dean moves his hand from Cas’s sleeve to Cas’s fingers. Thumb running across knuckles, he tries to soothe the tremor in Cas’s fingers.

“Most nights, I have a dream,” Cas says. “A nightmare. I’m being dragged down by an anchor to the bottom of the sea. But I don’t fight it. I simply… let it happen?”

“Why?” Dean asks softly. 

“Because I crave oblivion. Because—” Cas stops. Screws his eyes tightly closed. "Because every day in New York, I lived in a constant state of... panic. That the other shoe would drop. And now that he's dead, I don't—I don't believe it. If Lucas won't take you, something else will."

"Cas," Dean says.

“To lose you, when I’ve barely had you—” Cas’s breath hitches, his face crumples. Dean, I can’t—” 

Dean moves an arm around Cas's shoulders and pulls him in. Cas buries his face in Dean's neck, his breaths erratic. "Listen, I know that feeling, okay? That the danger isn’t gone, that the other shoe’s gonna drop. When I came back from France, it was like my muscles couldn't unlock. I kept a newspaper clipping about the end of the war. Was in French, couldn't ever read it for shit, but—still. Some kind of physical reminder that it was done. That I was free from it."

“I don’t know how to feel free,” Cas murmurs.

That breaks Dean’s heart, just a little. He pulls in a painful breath. “Sweetheart, I don’t think we’re ever truly free from the shit we go through.” 

Cas’s breath hitches.

“I’ll never be over Simon dying by that sniper. Or my dad falling. Or… all the people I lost in the war. But you know who taught me to move forward?”

"Who?" Cas rumbles.

" You , dumbass." Dean folds Cas into himself a little tighter. "Me leaving with you wasn't bad —it was a fucking marvel. Bobby and Ellen were just shocked I was walkin' around in broad daylight after being cooped up in that lighthouse all those years."

Cas lets out a weak chuckle. Dean strokes a hand through his hair. 

“So,” Dean says, “you call Gabriel to ask where Anna and Jack are yet?”

Cas pulls back. Scrubs at his face as he nods. “That's why I went for the walk.” 

Even in the dim light of the bulb above them, Dean can see the dark circles under Cas’s eyes. “Come eat a Reuben and then we’ll go to bed. Things’ll feel better in the morning.” 

Cas doesn’t look convinced. Hell, Dean’s barely convinced himself. But he lets Dean tug him toward the kitchen where the bag of food waits. 

"Why don't you trust that I'll stay?"

Castiel asks the question after they’re tucked in bed, when it’s dark and the moon casts a pale light over the sheets. Dean turns his head on the pillow so that he's facing Castiel. 

Castiel, for his part, doesn't dare breathe while he waits for the answer.

"I don't trust myself enough to keep you," Dean says, finally. "You wanna talk about fear of the other shoe dropping? Yours is losing me to some outside force, but mine is that you’ll shut me out again.”

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel whispers. “I’m sorry.”

“I told you to take it all,” Dean says. “Back in the lighthouse. And you took all of me but you, uh. Sometimes I feel like you didn’t…” 

“Give you all of me,” Castiel softly finishes.  

“Yeah.” 

Castiel waits, for a long moment, until his heart doesn't feel like it's tearing in two. Then he turns so that he's on his side, facing Dean across the chasm between their respective pillows. "I was raised, like you, to shield how I feel. Not burden others with it. You have a better knack of breaking that ingrained rule than I do, it seems.” 

“Sometimes I feel like—I dunno. That I’m too much. Or too angry, or…” Dean huffs out a shaky sigh. “I come on too strong sometimes.” 

“No. No, you encourage me to not lock my feelings away. You changed me, Dean. For the better. And it's because of how you love—because of who you are."

Dean sucks in a breath. "Oh."

Castiel reaches out a hand in the space between them. Cups Dean's cheek with his palm, thumb stroking his temple. "Do you want to stay here? In this town?"

Dean shakes his head.

"Then I want you to come with me to see Jack and Anna." Castiel licks his bottom lip; a nervous motion. "Please."

And, as with most things to do with Dean, the unexpected happens: Dean's face blooms into a smile.

They move at the same time; pressed close, hands searching, mouths slotted together. Let no man tear asunder.

"Fuck me first," Dean whispers into Castiel's mouth. He grinds the evidence of his arousal into Castiel with a snap of his hips. "Fuck me, then we'll ride off into the damn sunset again. But this time with no one at our heels."

With a growl, Castiel all but tosses Dean onto his back. He peels off Dean's briefs, swallowing his cock down. Dean cries out, arching off the bed. Castiel hollows his cheeks.

Castiel takes his time with Dean, as he usually does. He relishes every sound, every moan, working Dean open with his fingers and tongue. "Come on, Cas," Dean always gasps, and that's when Castiel knows he's at his limit, shaking apart. Castiel slicks himself with Vaseline and pushes into Dean. He bottoms out, and Dean gasps, face lit up with pleasure, grasping at Castiel's hips.

Nothing can touch them here, when they're connected like this. Here, in this bed, in the push and pull of Castiel's hips and Dean's breathy gasps, they're gods. Unbreakable. Unreachable.

Castiel takes Dean's cock in hand. Dean thrashes and clenches around Castiel, barely lasting a moment before he comes. The feeling of it sends Castiel over the edge, and he collapses, boneless, while Dean pets at his hair.

"Love you," Dean slurs. "Love you so much."

Castiel takes Dean in his arms. He kisses him on his temple, his hair, his neck. "I would marry you, Dean Winchester," he whispers. "I would put you on the altar and worship you."

Dean laughs; a soft, breathy thing. "Marry me, then."

Castiel looks up to see Dean's eyebrow raised, a challenging, sated smile on his face. "Castiel Milton is a man wanted for murder, right? So marry me. Take my name."

"Dean," Castiel sighs, "the law—"

"Fuck the law. Marry me."

Castiel lets out a chuckle, but Dean doesn't break to finish the joke. He blinks. "You're serious."

"As a heart attack." Dean's fingers gently stroke Castiel's naked back, making him shiver. "You don't want to lose me. And I don't want to lose you. So marry me."

Castiel's throat is tight all of a sudden. He surges forward and kisses Dean soundly. When he pulls back, he sees something endless in Dean's eyes. "Yes," he whispers. "Every day, every moment—yes."

Dean's eyes are shiny and wet. He nods firmly, tapping Castiel's nose. "Good."

Chapter Text

Sam and Eileen claim they don’t have much to pack in their apartment, but Dean and Castiel come to help anyway. Dean spends most of the time cooing at Henry and bouncing him on his knee while Eileen packs up the dishes in the kitchen with her mother. Sam and Castiel move the furniture to the rental van parked next to the building outside. 

At around noon, Dean and Eileen announce they’re going to Ellen’s diner to grab sandwiches. It leaves Castiel and Sam alone in the apartment, sitting on the couch and a kitchen chair—the last of the furniture left in the living room. 

“So,” Sam says. “Dean says you’re going to Port Clyde to find Jack and Anna.” 

Castiel clears his throat. “Yes.” 

Sam nods. He drums his fingers against his knee. This is the first time since arriving in town a week ago that Castiel and Sam have been alone in the same room, and Castiel is painfully aware of it.

“Sam,” Castiel begins. “I wanted to apologize for—”

“Wait, I—I want to go first.” Sam’s lips twist. He isn’t looking at Castiel. “Your letter said why you had to leave. But it didn’t explain why he did.” 

Castiel straightens in his chair, ever so slightly. “He chose to come with me.”

Sam's eyes lift. "He chose it," he repeats.

"I tried to talk him out of it. It was unsuccessful."

"Clearly."

Castiel holds in a breath. Releases it. "I can understand your anger. I have two older siblings. If either of them were spirited away and assumed dead—"

"No, you can't understand." Sam scrubs a hand down his face. "Cas, I—I trusted you. I told you to take care of him."

"I know."

"I mean I know he was miserable, but, God—leaving in the middle of the night with no word?"

"It had nothing to do with you," Castiel says. "Dean was dealing with your father's death, he—"

"Don't lecture me about my brother," Sam snaps.

Castiel's jaw clicks shut. Sam lets out a sigh, shoulders sagging.

"Sorry. I don't—I'm not trying to be an asshole about this. I just..."

Castiel's stomach twists in that telltale anxious way. "You have every right to feel whatever you feel," he says. "I was the catalyst that took Dean away. It makes sense that you'd direct your anger at me."

Sam lets out a laugh, humorless and flat. “It’s almost like you used to talk to people about their feelings for a living.” 

Castiel allows himself a small smile. "Being a priest did teach me how to read people. For better or worse."

Sam nods. Runs a hand through his hair. "When I got that postcard, I was relieved. But then I was... angry, after a while. I don't want to be angry. I got my brother back."

"Be angry at me." When Sam snaps up surprised eyes at Castiel, he stares back steadily. "I can handle it. Even if you never forgive me."

Sam scoffs. "I'm not going to—"

"I love your brother," Castiel says, "and I'm prepared to take on far more than just your anger for him."

"What does that mean?”

"That I would do anything for him." Castiel says it simply. Truthfully. He has nothing else to offer. "That I would do anything to make him happy.”

“And him going with you to Port Clyde? Instead of staying here, with people he knows?”

“If he chooses to return here, I won’t try to convince him otherwise.” 

Sam’s eyes flicker to Castiel’s left hand. Specifically, to the ring on his smallest finger.

The morning after their declarations to each other, Dean had placed a ring in Castiel's hand: Mary's wedding band, kept carefully tucked into a box with her things. Tarnished gold, fitting perfectly on Castiel's pinky finger. They'll get it resized—one day. And get Dean a matching one, too.

“He said you’re a unit now,” Sam says slowly. “For better or worse. That true to you, too?” 

“Sam,” Castiel says, voice firming, “if the law allowed it, I would marry your brother tomorrow. Before God, before family—I would make the vows to never leave him. I hope you can trust me on that.”

Sam stares at him for a long beat. Castiel stares back. And whatever Sam finds, it makes him relax. He rolls his eyes, but this time good-naturedly. 

"You must have given a few good sermons with those pretty words of yours."

Castiel’s lips tug into a grin. "My parish never complained."

The door to the apartment opens, Dean and Eileen bursting through with bags of food. “All right, get your grub before I eat it all, I’m starving ,” Dean announces, snapping his fingers at Sam and Castiel. 

Sam rolls his eyes. “You’ve been holding my baby all day.” 

“Yeah, and that’s hard work, jackass! Now get over here!”  

Exchanging a smile, one filled with understanding, Sam and Castiel go to the kitchen where hot food waits. 

They wait to leave until Sam and Eileen are packed up the next day. They exchange their hugs and their promises to visit, then watch the moving truck amble down the road. Dean says his goodbyes to Ellen and Bobby at the Roadhouse. Both of them give Castiel narrowed-eyed glances, but it's easy to ignore them. That suspicion, that judgment, won't be the last. Years of enduring it makes it easy for Castiel to brush off.

"Don't forget to write," Bobby tells Dean, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Still got my alphabet all memorized up here," Dean says, tapping his head with a grin. Bobby cuffs him for that one, but there’s fondness in the way he rolls his eyes.

"You'll take care of him," Ellen says to Castiel. It isn’t a question.

Castiel nods and says, "I will," anyway.

An hour later, they're on the only bus line that goes to Port Clyde.

Castiel sits at the window for most of the ride, eyes trained on the outside. Dean is a silent, steady presence next to him. When Castiel twists the ring on his pinky finger, Dean catches the movement and they exchange smiles.

Port Clyde is smaller than Kittery, with fewer people milling the docks. A dog runs free in the street, nipping at his owner's heels, and children play with marbles on the sidewalk. Everyone gives Dean and Castiel curious glances as they pass. As newcomers, they stick out like sore thumbs.

They inquire in the general store about the mailboat; the pimple-faced teenager at the register, Alfie, says with a shake of his head that Frank won't be running his route until six tomorrow. Dean flicks a coin at Alfie and buys a pack of beef jerky. He shares it with Castiel on the bench outside the store.

"Think we could swim it?" Dean asks.

Castiel takes a bite of jerky. "I'm not above stealing a boat."

Dean laughs at that, head tipped back toward the sky. A warmth strikes up in Castiel's chest.

They get a room at the local hotel. Two beds to a room, but they only use one anyway, limbs spilling off the mattress as they hold each other.

Morning brings them to the docks, where they meet Frank. Gabriel's description of him was apt: he narrows his eyes at the two of them and goes very stern at the mention of Anna. But when Castiel mentions his name, and Gabriel's, Frank’s shoulders sink down from his ears.

"Get in," is all Frank commands before hauling himself into the boat.

Dean exchanges a look with Castiel. "He and Bobby would get on like a house on fire," he mutters conspiratorially, helping Castiel into the boat.

Maybe it’s Dean’s experience with Bobby, or the fact that Dean could likely charm paint off a wall, but by the end of the stomach-lurching ride, Frank is sporting a grin at one of Dean's jokes. 

Frank shoves Anna's mail at them, and another resident's too. Dean and Castiel walk down the path as the boat putters away.

The island is larger than Castiel anticipated: ten miles across, Frank told them on the ride there. Only twelve houses and forty souls accounted for, with dense forest and craggy rock stretching wherever a road or house isn't.

"Pretty place," Dean comments as they walk down the meandering road that stretches between the brick cottages. He points to a structure in the distance. "Looks like they got a lighthouse, too."

Squatter than Whaleback light, but still stretching towards the blue sky, is a windowless lighthouse.

"Probably a fourth order," Dean says, frowning at it thoughtfully. "Since there's another lighthouse near Port Clyde on the mainland."

Castiel vaguely remembers Dean mentioning lighthouses being categorized into orders that determine how powerful their lenses are. "Do you think it's automated?"

"Seems to be the trend, these days."

Castiel hums. His thumb worries at the ring on his pinky finger. Dean must catch the movement, because his elbow bumps into Castiel's.

"End of the road and on the left," Dean says. "That's what Frank said."

"Correct," Castiel says. But his feet don't move.

Dean smiles. He takes Castiel's pinky finger—the one with the ring, briefly squeezing it before letting go. "We'll go together."

Castiel wants to kiss him, in the middle of this street, with the dawn at their back. Instead, he nods. "Okay, Dean."

Dean flashes him a smile—one of Castiel's favorites, where his bottom lip is caught between his teeth—before walking down the road.

"So your great aunt used to live here?" Dean asks. His shoulder brushes against Castiel’s as they walk. "The cottage Anna and Jack are in?"

Castiel nods. "Great-aunt Amara. I met her only once, when I was a child. Gabriel claims we visited her on this island once, too—but I was only a baby at the time."

"Aw. You must have been a cutie pie."

Castiel bumps his shoulder into Dean’s; Dean huffs out a soft laugh. "Anyway,” Castiel says pointedly, “when she died, she willed the property to my father. And then when he and my mother died, it simply... sat."

"Gabriel wasn't worried about Lucas lookin' into the property? Putting two and two together?"

"According to Gabriel, the willing of the property wasn't a... legal transaction." At Dean's cocked eyebrow, Castiel explains, "It was never documented in writing. More of a spoken agreement."

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. "That's Mainers for you. This it?"

Castiel slows to a stop where Dean stands, in front of a fading wooden fence that needs a good stain and a cottage with its red brick caked in brine. There's a garden in the south corner of the front yard, brown and hibernating for the coming winter. It looks quiet. Quaint. Exactly the sort of place where Castiel imagined Jack growing up.

Dean unhitches the latch on the fence and lets Castiel go first. Unsteady steps take Castiel to the front door.  A shaking hand knocks against the door.

It's barely dawn. Maybe they're not awake yet. Maybe—

The door swings open, and on the other side of the threshold, Anna's jaw drops.

Castiel expected the tears to come, but not so soon. The moment he sees his sister, it's as if every wall he's constructed to hold back any grief for Kelly's death, any melancholy for their broken family, crumbles to the ground.

He also didn’t expect Anna to rush forward, without a word or a hesitation, and embrace him.

"It's over now," she says firmly. "All right? It's over, and it's behind us."

Castiel sucks in a gasping breath, the tears falling freely. He's shaking—he's not sure when that happened, but it feels as if he's going to come apart. "I'm so sorry, Anna. I'm so—"

"Come on." She ushers him through the door. "I don't want to do this on the doorstep. Dean, I'm assuming?"

Dean nods, shoulders hunching. "I can stay out here if—"

"No, of course not. I just made a huge pot of tea and I don't want it to go to waste."

Castiel lets his older sister all but manhandle him and Dean through the door. The house is as quaint inside as it is outside: a fresh pot of mums on top of a doily sits next to the coat rack. Anna takes both their coats, they wipe their feet, and next thing Castiel knows, he's on a faded, checkered couch next to a bay window with the sun streaming through.

He wipes at his eyes. "Is Jack—"

"Asleep," Anna says. She stands there, stiffly, before she snaps her fingers. "Tea. You drink tea still?"

The words stick in Castiel's throat. Before he can nod, Dean says, "He does. Splash of milk, too."

Anna's lips twitch. "Same as I remember. I'll be right back."

A clock on the fire mantelpiece ticks loudly in her absence. Dean's hand catches Castiel's, a quick squeeze of his fingers, and Castiel gives him a grateful smile.

Anna returns with the tea on a tray. Dean takes the cup she offers him, even though Castiel's heard him proclaim tea “a step down from drinking grass.” Holding the cup in his lap, Castiel waits for Anna to speak first.

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes shine with emotion, but she keeps her poise. That's how Castiel and his siblings were raised: with restraint. It seems to be the armor she's donning now.

"I'm not mad," she finally says.

Castiel lets out a breath. "You have every right to be."

"I know. I mean, I was. For a while. And you were the easiest to be angry at, since Kelly was..." Trailing off, Anna licks her lips. Takes a sip of tea. "Gabriel told me you had a job as a lighthouse keeper."

Castiel nods.

Smiling, Anna raises an eyebrow. "Really." She looks at Dean. "How'd he do?"

"Worst keeper I ever had," Dean says, clapping Castiel on the shoulder. "Never could keep the brass polished."

"Our mother never made him polish the silverware," Anna says, nodding solemnly. "He missed too many spots."

"Sounds familiar," Dean says with a conspiratorial wink. He pushes an elbow into Castiel's side. "You were good at keeping the logs, though. Until, you know, you saw something shiny."

Anna chuckles behind her hand as Castiel fixes Dean with a look. "You trained me, if you'll recall."

"Oh, I recall," Dean says with a wide grin. He glances at Anna, then hooks a thumb over his shoulder at the bay window. "Tell me if this is out of turn, but I noticed the hinges on your fence door are a little crooked. If you got some tools, I can fix that right up for you."

Anna's eyebrows rise in surprise. "Oh. You don't have to do that."

"You kidding? I'd love to do somethin' with my hands after that bus ride."

"Well..." Anna glances at Dean, then Castiel. "If it latches, I could keep Jack from wandering out of the yard."

"Great!" Dean slaps his knees, then stands. "Got a toolbag?"

"Hardly," Anna says with a wry laugh. "But I think our great-aunt had a handyman who kept his tools in the shed in the backyard. I'm sure they're rusted over."

"Eh, I can work with it." Dean gives Castiel a quick wink before leaving the room to grab his coat. The front door opens and shuts a few moments later.

Anna coughs. "He seems nice."

"He's the best man I know," Castiel says.

Anna grips her tea cup delicately. "Are you and him..."

"Yes." Castiel sees no point in lying. After all, he knows Anna's proclivities, after accidentally walking in on her and Kelly in the kitchen a few months after Jack was born. What would be the harm in her knowing his?

Anna smiles, and it seems genuine, even if tinged with a shade of sadness. "That's good."

Castiel takes a fortifying gulp of tea. In the corner of his eye, he catches Dean passing the window, a bag of tools in hand.

"Jack still asks about you."

Castiel looks at Anna in shock. "He does?"

Jack was barely a year old when Kelly died. Castiel didn't expect him to remember.

"He's the smartest three-year-old I've ever met," Anna says with a small chuckle. "Keeps asking about 'Cassie Elle.'”

Castiel's heart twists; Cassie Elle was how Kelly used to jokingly refer to him when Jack was a baby, because, as she put it, the name would be easier for Jack to pronounce. "What do you tell him when he asks?"

"That you love him very much and that one day, you'll be able to visit us again."

Castiel closes his eyes against the sudden rush of pain that floods his chest. "Anna..."

"I know I was angry after Kelly died," Anna says. "I know I said cruel things to you—that it was your fault and you didn't protect her—"

"It was," Castiel croaks. "I didn't."

"But I was out of line. I was blinded by grief. I had lost...someone I loved. And I didn't know where to put it. My grief, my anger. So I put it on you."

Castiel presses his lips together and stares down at his white knuckles wrapped around the tea saucer.

"Gabriel told me how you..." Anna pauses. "How after the church fired you, you disappeared. Practically lived on the street.”

"To hide," Castiel says.

"To punish yourself," Anna corrects. "The plan was for Gabriel to find a place for you to lie low. But it took months to find you." Her eyes drop. "I... felt like it was in part what I said."

"No, Anna. You said you were blinded by grief; I was, too. Living that way... it felt as if that was what I was meant to do. To atone."

"I understand." Anna sets her tea on the small table between their chairs. "I felt responsible for Kelly's death, too. I felt—stupid, that I couldn't see the hooks Lucas still had in her."

Castiel huffs out a sigh. "I turned it around in my head. Again and again. What I could have seen differently, done differently. The letters she kept writing for Jack, even before she died..."

Anna nods. "It's like she knew. Like she already made her decision."

Hanging his head miserably, Castiel nods. "I still have them. If you..."

"Yes," she says in a tight voice. "I'd love to see them."

Above them, a sound clatters. Then footsteps, small and light, patter across the floor upstairs. Anna smiles as white-hot anticipation burns through Castiel's gut.

"That'll be the little master," she jokes, rising to her feet. "Do you want a moment before seeing him? Or..."

"No." Castiel nearly spills the tea in his haste to stand. He puts it on the table with a clatter. "Can I see him now?"

Anna places a hand on his arm. "Of course you can."

He waits a few paces behind as Anna goes to the staircase. "Jack!" she calls. "Are you awake?"

A small voice answers, one that's already breaking Castiel's heart and putting it back together in one fell swoop: "Yes, Auntie Anna! I have my pants on, too!"

"Oh my goodness, you've had a big morning already!" Anna calls back with an indulgent smile. "I have a visitor for you, so come on down."

Jack gasps with excitement. "Who?"

"Come on down and see!"

Those little light footsteps run to the staircase. The old stairs creak as Jack comes down them. His little hand holds the railing, his bottom lip caught between his teeth in concentration. Castiel stands there at the end of the staircase, breath caught in his throat.

Anna says that Jack remembers him. But what if not by sight? Or what if he gets upset, because Jack associates Castiel with his mother, who is no longer around? What will Castiel even say? Or do? Or—

Jack looks up. His blue eyes widen. Then a wide smile splits his face. It's like the sun rising. "Cassie Elle!" he cries, holding out his arms.

Castiel runs up the stairs, taking two at a time. He grabs the boy, pulling him into a tight hug. Jack's soft blond curls tickle his cheek; just like when he was a baby, tucked into Castiel's chest.

Jack wiggles out of Castiel's hold, and Castiel lets him. He can barely see Jack through the tears wobbling in his eyes, but his gaze holds him all the same.

"I got my pants on!" Jack proclaims proudly, gesturing to his khaki-colored trousers. "See?"

Castiel lets out a choked laugh. "I see, Jack."

At the bottom of the stairs, Anna is smiling up at them, and it feels as if Castiel has finally come home.

Chapter Text

When Dean meets Jack, it’s easy to see why being away from him caused a hole in Cas’s heart.

Jack's a wonder: bright blue eyes, with a mop of curly blond hair on his head, and talking a mile a minute. He reminds Dean a lot of Sam when he was that age: intelligent, talkative, and insatiable. He and Cas come out while Dean fixes the fence, and not a second after Cas introduces him, Jack's picking up the rusty tools from the bag and asking Dean what he plans to do with each one.

He also insists on sitting in the grass and supervising Dean's use of a screwdriver on the gate hinges while Cas beams ear to ear a few feet away.

Dean hasn't seen Cas smile this much. Anna insists they stay for breakfast, and they sit around the table while Cas watches Jack eat his porridge like it's the most fascinating thing in the world. Anna and Dean hang back in the kitchen while Cas sits with Jack in the living room and reads him books and Jack tells him all the letters and numbers he knows.

When Dean runs out of things to talk about with Anna, he starts fixing up things around the house: a leaky faucet, a door that doesn't quite close, the water heater that's making a weird clanging noise. He works with his hands and tries to work it out in his head: how they can stay close to Jack. Because there's no way in Hell he's going to ask Cas to be even a mile away from the kid.

After screwing in a loose knob on one of the dresser drawers in Jack's room (he'll have to mount it to the wall at some point, that thing's a tipping hazard), he finds Cas, Jack, and Anna in the back garden. Jack and Cas are bent over a cluster of rocks, and Cas is nodding seriously to whatever Jack's explaining. Dean joins Anna in a rickety lawn chair in the grass. She smiles at him.

"They always were thick as thieves," she remarks. "It's like they haven't spent a day apart."

Dean hums. "Cas even looks like the kid's dad, too. We sure that—"

"Yes," Anna huffs, rolling her eyes. "Unfortunately, Lucas is definitely his father. But Kelly said the same about the similarities between Castiel and Jack: those blue eyes, the way their noses are shaped."

"Crazy," Dean says.

"I like to think of it as fate." Anna nods, as if deciding something. "This is what Kelly wanted. She trusted me to take care of Jack, of course, but—Jack is Castiel's, as well as hers. He has been since the moment Castiel first held him in his arms."

"Yeah. I can see that." Dean shifts in the rickety lawn chair. "There's only two bedrooms, but Cas could stay in a pullout bed in your room, or Jack's. My brother's at Owl's Head a couple of hours away—I could probably stay with them."

Anna frowns at him. "You mean you want to leave?"

Dean shrugs a shoulder. "Not much room on this island. And I'm not going to ask Cas to leave the kid again. It'll just be temporary 'till we work something out."

Anna frowns. She looks to Cas and Jack, who have moved on to jamming a small spade into the cold dirt. "Castiel has a ring on his finger that I didn’t recognize. I take it that you gave it to him?"

Dean swallows. He coughs into his fist. "I don't—"

"Kelly and I had plans to be married," Anna says with a small shrug. "Unofficially, of course, but..."

Dean's lips twist. "Oh, that’s… I'm, uh, sorry about what happened to her."

"Me too. But she made her choices. I can't fault her for them, or I'll spend the rest of my life being bitter. I don't want that." Anna inhales, eyes closing. When they open, her green eyes fix on Dean. "I could give you and Castiel the house. To stay with Jack."

"Two men bringing up a kid?" Dean chuckles. "I don't think that's gonna go well around here."

"We could say you two are cousins. Folks around here don't care beyond that. Amara had a younger 'cousin' living with her up until she died."

"Yeah, but..." Dean shifts in his seat. "With two women... I dunno. It's different. Two men raising a kid—I think people would get a little weird about it."

Anna's expression doesn't falter, but she nods slowly. "Have you and Castiel talked about this?"

Dean huffs out a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. It's sweaty from the labor he's been doing inside all afternoon. "Not exactly. But, uh—I haven't seen him so at peace since I met him. So I'm not taking that away from him."

Anna pats his shoulder. "You're good to him."

"I try."

Settling back in her chair, Anna chews at her lip. "Let's keep the cousin story. I'll ask around town, see if there's any upcoming vacancies. People get old, they move... It happens. Rarely, but." She shrugs.

“Saw a lighthouse on the boat trip in,” Dean says. “There still a keeper there?”

Anna’s eyes light up with interest. "Oh—you mean Cain? He's been there for... well, forever. His children are grown up, and his wife died a few years ago."

Dean settles back in the chair, hands clasped on his lap. "Lightkeepers tend to stick together like glue on a boot. Maybe I'll ask him if he has any insider information. A job, or... I don't know."

Anna hums. "Can't hurt to try."

Jack runs up to them, a bucket swinging in his hand, Cas in tow. "Aunt Anna! I found a beetle!"

"Oh," she says, nose wrinkling as she takes the handle. "That's wonderful."

"It's dead," Cas explains.

Dean barks out a laugh. He holds out his hand for the bucket, which Anna gratefully passes to him. Making a show of peering inside, Dean grins. "Oh, man—yeah, that's a huge one! I'd stick a pin in that, put it on paper, have it forever."

"No," Anna says firmly as Jack's eyes light up.

"Put it on paper?" Jack gasps.

"Oh, yeah. It's what a good naturalist does." Dean winks over Jack's shoulder at Cas, who’s lit up brighter than a Christmas tree.

"I'm going to find more!" Jack cries, spinning back around at full sprint to the garden. Cas, his hand still in Jack's, happily lets himself get dragged back to the dirt.

“It’s probably nice to see him happy again,” Anna says, a knowing smile on her face. 

Dean nods. “Yeah. It really is.”

Cas takes the couch that night, Dean the floor. He reaches up and takes Cas’s hand, stroking his knuckles. As with most nights, they’re content to hold each other in the silence.

“I was thinking,” Dean says softly. “If we can’t find a place here or in Port Clyde, then you can stay here. I’ll go bother Sam for a room.”

Cas shifts, peering at Dean with a frown over the edge of the couch. “You mean split up?”

“Only for a little bit,” Dean says with a casualness that he doesn’t feel. “That way, you can stay here with Jack and Anna.”

Cas is silent for a minute. Then he lets go of Dean’s hand to wrestle the ring off his pinky finger. Panic jumps in Dean’s chest, and his mouth is open to backtrack, say he’s sorry, say he didn't mean it.

But then Cas takes Dean’s hand again and pushes the ring onto Dean’s index finger. His knuckles are smaller than Cas’s, so it slides on easily. Cas gives him a very fierce look. 

“Wherever you go, I go,” Cas says. “We made promises. Remember?”

“Yeah,” Dean says hoarsely. “I was there.”

Cas nods, satisfied, then leans back on the thin, quilted pillow. “Anna told me that you disagreed with her idea of us staying in this house, and I share your sentiment. But we can find another way.”

Dean twists the ring on his finger. It’s grounding; he can see why Cas has been playing with it ever since Dean gave it to him. “Anna told me it’s a civilian one. Last one in Maine, too. The Coast Guard keeps knockin’, but the guy running it, Cain, managed to keep it in the family up until now.” 

“You’re thinking of asking him for a job?” 

“I’m thinking that he’s old and alone,” Dean says, nodding, “and if we pretend I’m yours and Anna’s cousin, the Coast Guard will be none the wiser if they come around again. So… might be something. I don’t know.” 

Cas laces his fingers between Dean’s. “It very well might be,” he says firmly. 

Dean smiles as he gives Cas's hand a reassuring squeeze. 

Anna works at the General Store in Port Clyde on Monday mornings. Normally, she’d bring Jack, but Cas asks her to leave him at home so they can play in the garden some more. Dean sips at his coffee and watches them from the kitchen window as their cheeks grow pink from the cold.

In actuality, the thought of going to Cain mildly terrifies him. It feels like one of the only shots he has on finding anything on this island. There’s a grocer, but it’s small and family-owned. There’s already a handyman that pokes around at people’s houses. 

Besides, Cain has a house. Rooms to stay in. If Dean could rent one of them while helping with the lighthouse and Cas was staying here…

Well. He’s not going to get ahead of himself.

Pouring the rest of the cold coffee down the drain, he raps at the window. Cas looks up and frowns. Dean mouths, Gonna go, and Cas smiles. Nods. Jack, noticing Dean, waves wildly with a spade in hand, dirt flying. 

Dean chuckles and waves back. He shrugs on his coat, twisting one of the long wooden hooks on the coat rack that came loose. Then he goes out the door.

More people are outside today, the sun having finally poked out of the clouds. A woman sweeping her sidewalk gives Dean an odd look. Dean stops and introduces himself, sticking to the cousin story. Her face brightens at the mention of Milton and she shakes his hand. This happens a couple of times down the road: he meets Mildred, a nice old lady that neighbors Anna’s house, Claire, a very suspicious eight-year-old and her mother Amelia, and Mort, a very solemn man who introduces himself as the island’s physician. 

Dean tells Amelia that he’s going to see Cain. She laughs and waves a hand. “I mean, good luck, if he answers the door. We haven’t seen him around town much since his wife passed.” She leans in, covering Claire’s ears. “He’s not right in the head, some of us think. But we leave him be, as long as he leaves us be. You know how it goes.”

Dean tries to smile and nod, even though the story is sounding really damn familiar. 

The lighthouse is a few minutes’ walk from the rest of the houses, clustered at the edge of the island. Craggy rocks dot the sea over the edge of the cliff. There’s a house tucked in between the road and the lighthouse. The lighthouse itself, once white, is now yellow with brine and decay. Coming up to the faded blue door, Dean sees at least ten things that need fixing. 

What lighthouse keeper worth his salt would let the place go to ruin like this?

Setting his shoulders back, Dean knocks on the door.

He hears something shuffle inside, but no one answers, even after a long minute that Dean silently counts in his head. Sighing sharply, he knocks on the door again. 

“Who is it?” snaps a voice from inside.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Answer and you’ll find out,” he shoots back.

Silence. Then: “I’m busy.”

The plan was to at least get in this guy’s good graces. But the way Cain’s tone is hitting him makes Dean’s irritation flare. “It’s high noon and the light doesn’t have to be kept,” he says. “You can answer the damn door.”

“What do you know about it?”

Dean rolls his eyes to the high heavens. “I’m a cousin of Anna’s,” he says. “Anna Milton? And I’m here to ask about a job.”

The door swings open. Cain, a bearded man with stains on his white shirt, takes up the doorway. “What cousin?” he asks with narrowed eyes.

“Dean.” He holds out a hand. “Dean Smith.”

Cain gives him an unkind smile. “I’ve known the Milton family my whole life. There’s no Smiths.”

Dean drops his hand. “Well, there is. Anna’s dad’s sister married a Smith.” Maybe throwing family lineage at Cain will confuse him. 

But it doesn’t. “Chuck didn’t have a sister.” 

Dean sets his jaw. “And what, you’re an expert?”

Cain leans against the doorway, crossing his arms. “People around here thought Amara Milton was crazy. So she kept to herself when she lived here. She only talked to two people: Mildred and me. Me, because I fixed stuff around her house and actually sat down and listened to what she had to say. She told me all about her favorite nephew, Chuck Milton, and didn’t once mention a niece. So how about you tell me who you really are?”

Dean’s shoulders sag. He runs a hand down his face. “All right, fine—I’m a friend of the Miltons. And… I need a job.”

Cain’s eyebrows rise. “A job?”

“Yeah. I kept Whaleback Light before it was decommissioned. I got experience.” 

“Whaleback,” Cain says carefully. “That where those two keepers went missing?”

“Wouldn’t know.” 

Cain frowns. Then his eyes widen, just a fraction. “You’re John Winchester’s boy, aren’t you? I see it now. You got his jaw.”

“Hang on—you knew my dad?” Dean manages to sputter out. 

“Sure did.” Cain assesses him for a moment longer with narrowed eyes. Then he steps back from the doorframe. “You got five minutes.”

Dean steps in, the door shutting behind him. 

Jack falls asleep sometime in the afternoon, sprawled across Castiel’s lap as he reads one of Jack’s favorite books, Harold and the Purple Crayon. Castiel lets him snore softly, a hand on Jack’s back, as he watches the afternoon slip by the living room window. 

Dean’s been gone for hours. Maybe his conversation with Cain didn’t go well and he took a walk to cool off. Maybe he’s trying to figure out how to break the bad news to Castiel.

It isn’t as if Cain is their last option. But, given the size of the island, and how insular the community is, it likely is one of their only viable ones.

His head rises, heart quickening, when the front door opens. But it’s only Anna, coming back from her shift at the General Store. She smiles fondly at Jack asleep in Castiel’s lap. 

“Want me to carry him up?” she whispers. 

Castiel nearly says no, but then nods. He should go find Dean. Carefully extracting himself from Jack, he lets Anna drape him in her arms, his head against her shoulder. In true toddler fashion, he barely stirs, staying fast asleep. 

“I’m going to look for Dean,” Castiel whispers. “He went to see Cain hours ago.”

Anna nods, then carefully walks up the stairs with Jack. Castiel watches them disappear before shrugging on his trenchcoat. 

The cold sea air blankets him as he steps onto the stoop. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed it until he came to this island; its sharp, bitter sting that makes his lungs inflate. It brings a certain clarity; like being on the edge of a razor, forcing his mind into focus. Standing there, the wind battering him and ruffling his hair, he thinks of where Dean would be.

He could still be at the lighthouse. Perhaps Cain offered him the job on the spot, then put Dean to work. 

Castiel goes to turn the ring on his pinky finger before he remembers having given it to Dean. Walking down to the gate, he opens it, then turns his steps in the direction of the sea. 

Most of the island is dense forest that stretches from one edge to the other. Castiel feels the immediate itch to explore those woods; bring Jack and his bucket, show him the shedding, golden trees in autumn and flowers in the spring. Help him find pine cones and sticks for his ever-growing collection that they’ve hidden from Anna behind the shed.

There’s a beach that Anna mentioned, south of the docks. The rocks are craggy and there’s no sand, but that’s where the sun is setting. Castiel sees a lone figure sitting on a rock, silhouetted by the fading sun. His heart lurches: Dean. 

Carefully, he walks around the rocks, watching his step so as not to slip. He sits next to Dean, who still hasn’t looked at him. 

“Dean?” Castiel asks. He puts a hand in the crook of Dean’s elbow. “Are you all right?”

Dean’s eyes flicker to Castiel’s. Fear flashes through Castiel, because he’s seen this hollowed-out look before, in the lighthouse. After Dean had been alone for days. He grips Dean’s arm a little tighter.

“What happened?” he asks softly. 

“Uh, well.” Dean runs a hand over his mouth. Shifts on the rock. “Talked to Cain. He knows who I am, that I’m John’s son. Guess they met before, when Dad first dragged me and Sam to live in Maine, after Mom died. He went lookin’ for a job around here, too, just like me.” 

Castiel’s eyebrows rise. Out of all the things, he didn’t expect that. “Was he…” 

“He liked my dad, according to him. So he heard me out.” Dean sucks in a breath, shoulders rising then falling. “He, uh—seemed like he hadn’t talked to anyone in a while? I started with asking about a job, tellin’ him my credentials, and then he just… started talking about himself. The lighthouse, his family. How his wife died a few years ago, how his sons don’t call.”

Dean’s lower lip quivers. He puts a hand over his face. Castiel wraps an arm around Dean’s shoulders and pulls him in tighter. 

“I saw, uh—my dad in him,” Dean says, voice shaky. “Angry at the world, railing against it, stubborn, but… lonely. Grieving. Everyone having turned their back on him. Except he didn’t have a son like me to stick by him anyway.”

Castiel nods. Waits for Dean to go on.

“Cas, if I hadn’t met you—if I had stayed in that lighthouse.” Dean lets out a scraped-out noise that sounds like a sob. “I was so close to being that angry, lonely man. I just—”

“But you’re not,” Cas says firmly. “It must have been impossibly hard, seeing someone who reminded you of your father. But that’s not your path, Dean.” 

“I know. I just… I felt so fucking sad for him.” Dean scrubs a hand down his face, sighing. “The house was dirty, stuff piled up—dust on every surface. Things falling apart. He’d just completely given up.” 

“Did he agree to your help?” Cas asks gently. “To give you a job?”

“Says he doesn’t have the money to pay me. We talked for a long time about that , too. How he barely has enough to make ends meet. Government doesn’t pay a lot to fourth-order lighthouses.”

“I’d imagine not,” Castiel says gently. 

“So then he said—” Dean huffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he tilts it back. “Well, then he said, how about I take it?”

“Take what?” Castiel asks.

“The lighthouse. The whole thing.” 

Castiel frowns. “You mean…”

“He owns it. The checks will keep coming. He’ll just have them changed to my name. Was gonna do that with his sons, but they didn’t want to inherit the family business.”

“But what about him ?” Castiel asks. 

“He wants to leave the island. Apparently he was a week away from just giving it over to the Coast Guard. But then I showed up on his doorstep.”

“Dean,” Castiel breathes out. “That’s…”

“Crazy?” Dean scoffs. Wipes at his wet cheeks. “Yeah. Been thinkin’ that myself.” 

Castiel looks out to the waves crashing against the rocks. A seagull screeches overhead before flying to the distant horizon. “Do you want to have the responsibility?” he asks. 

Dean chews at his lip. He seems to consider the question in a long, extended silence. 

“I hated Whaleback,” he finally says. “I hid away in it, and I hated it. But that’s because my dad…” He sighs sharply. “Even before he died, Dad’s stain was on everything. I looked at the counter and remembered when he slammed my head into it after I fell asleep on the light. I passed by his room and remembered when I had to haul his drunk ass into bed and make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit. Even the house we had on shore—I remembered how fucking scared I was to have him come home from his shift. To have him…” 

Castiel holds Dean tighter. He presses a kiss to the side of his temple. “It was haunted,” he says. “It held too many ghosts. Your father’s abuse, your forced return after the war, his death…”

“Yeah, but then it held us.” Dean turns his eyes to look at Castiel, his green eyes bright. “You coming along made me realize I didn’t hate the work. I liked having the routine, the light to keep. I liked being able to help guide people back to shore. I liked… having you there. To take shifts with, to bring each other coffee. To work the night, then spend the day curled up together without anyone to tell us otherwise.” 

Castiel smiles, painful nostalgia twisting in his chest. “I liked that, too.”

“So when Cain offered me the lighthouse…” Dean sucks in a breath, releases it. Looks at Castiel with a lost expression. “I kind of… said yes.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows. “Oh.” 

“I can work it alone, while you stay with Anna and Jack. Or hire someone in town. But—I think it could be good for us. I think we could be happy. There’s a garden that Cain’s wife used to tend, so we could bring that back to life. And the house is in disuse, but I can fix it up. There’s two bedrooms, so Jack could split his time between Anna’s and ours if he wants. And Cain said he wouldn’t breathe a word about me not being your cousin. We could keep that cover story, we could—”

“Hold on,” Castiel says, catching Dean’s hand with a breathy laugh. The ring grazes against his finger. “Breathe.”

“Right, sorry.” Dean huffs out a laugh, ducking his head. “This probably isn’t what you expected. It’s probably—” 

“Dean.” Castiel holds Dean’s jaw with one hand, his fingers curling in Dean’s hair with the other. He smiles. “Ask me.”

Dean frowns for a moment, confused. Then his face brightens in understanding, as his own words from months ago are said back to him. He turns so that he’s facing Castiel, and takes both of Castiel’s hands in his. “Cas,” he says, “will you keep the light on with me? For the rest of our days?”

Castiel’s face melts into a smile. He loves this man, he realizes, just as he has done countless times before. Loves him to his very bones. 

Pulling Dean forward, he rests their foreheads together. Their lips brush in a soft, gentle promise. “For the rest of our days,” he whispers.

The sun is setting across the harbor and the wind is at their backs. But holding each other like this, it’s as if the dawn is breaking, bright and lovely, between them.

Chapter Text

Castiel waits for Dean’s hands to fall from his eyes before opening them, squinting into the sunlight. 

A yellowed, broken-toothed cottage sits huddled against the chilled autumn gale. There’s a cracked sidewalk that ambles crookedly up to the door, a slumbering patch of garden in the front yard. A fire is already lit inside, smoke twirling through the chimney. 

Dean’s arm wraps around Castiel’s waist. Dean smiles and Castiel smiles back.

“Is it really ours?” Castiel asks. His voice shakes. Because he doesn’t quite believe it, even with the property signed over to a certain Dean and Castiel Smith and now that Frank has already taken Cain—who wore a smile that everyone on the island was equally shocked to see—to the mainland. 

Anna and Jack are close behind them, with bags of food to stock the tiny fridge. Mildred has threatened to come armed with cleaning supplies. Claire will no doubt be there under strict orders from her mother to help, and Amelia has already proclaimed she’ll make a roast for dinner. 

There’s things to clean. The light to tend. A house to make a home. But for now—they’ll have this. 

“It’s all ours,” Dean whispers. “You and me. Forever.” 

As they walk through the door, the lighthouse stands at the edge of the patch of property—tall and proud, prepared to take its watch.