Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean’s hands are shaking. He can feel the trembling in his fingers as he holds his head in his hands.

His phone keeps buzzing, but he lets Sam’s calls go to voicemail, his throat closed around words he should have said.

His eyes sting with unshed tears, like his body is still too choked up over the everything that has just happened.

It’s too still, too quiet. The air feels tight in this dusty dungeon.

Cas . . . he . . . he said . . .

Finally, his phone falls silent.

Dean gasps, taking in a lungful of air as he lifts his head from his hands. A yell suddenly rips itself from his throat, anguished and desperate, “Argh!”

Cas, Cas, Cas!

His heart beats in time with his thoughts, fluttering in his throat. With a shudder, the shock and awe of it all washes over him, and he let’s go in a way he never has before.

His strangled yell turns into a sob, and once it starts, he can’t stop. Dean Winchester curls up on the concrete dungeon floor and he weeps. Something looses in his chest, suddenly pulled up from somewhere deep and buried, and he lowers his head as tears stream down his face.

His amazing, beautiful Cas had just sacrificed himself for him . . . he’d done all of it for him? How is Dean worthy of this kind of loyalty? Of his otherworldly friendship? Of his . . . love?

Dean shuts his eyes tight as another sob bubbles past his lips, still in disbelief, still knee-jerk denying that Cas could actually be in love with him.

Because if Dean had ever allowed himself to be truly honest with Cas, he would have said it back. He would have said, “I love you, too, I always have.” He’d known for years that his feelings for Castiel went deeper than friendship. He hadn’t known just how deep until April the Reaper had run Cas through and he’d been gone. For just like now, Dean hadn’t had the chance to tell him before he went just how much the angel means to him.

Oh, God. My God. Cas . . . I would have said it back.

Dean’s chest heaves in a tangled sob and his eyes blink back at the floor, unseeing and blind to his surroundings. Everything is foggy through his tears. His shoulders shake and absentmindedly, he brings his left hand up to brush his right shoulder. He can still feel the warmth of Castiel’s hand on his shoulder, first in a tight grip, then in a shove out of the way.

His fingers come away with a stain of blood and Dean realizes with stark shock that Cas had left a bloodied handprint on his jacket . . . not unlike the mark he’d left on him after he’d pulled Dean out of hell all those years ago.

Dean grips at his shoulder now, holding on to it as this is his last memory of Castiel.

Cas, Cas . . . Cas.

Dean sits with desperate, errant hope that if he stays there long enough Castiel will rematerialize out of thin air, and miraculously he’d be returned to him.

He waits, and waits, and waits . . .

Dean had no idea how long he spent on that concrete floor; but when he finally stands on shaking legs, pulled up to his feet by one last phone call from Sam, the sense of desolation he feels is something he’s only felt while roaming the pits of hell.

When you said your last goodbye
I died a little bit inside
I lay in tears in bed all night
Alone without you by my side
But if you loved me, why'd you leave me?

Chapter Text

Warmth.

His body craves the warmth of another’s--of arms wrapping him in a close hug, of a head landing on his shoulder. The warmth of one’s breath on skin. There needs to be a burn to return life to his aching bones.

He starts waking very slowly, his forgotten frame feeling only sensations. Centimeter over inch, there is nothing but a harsh clutch of cold at his toes, his fingers, then his hands and feet. His limbs begin to shake as the coldness crawls over his arms and legs.

When it reaches his torso, the feeling of cold climbs straight to his chest; and with a jolt, there is a heaving in his chest and Castiel’s eyes fly open.

His first breath is as he wakes in The Empty.

His next breath happens in time with a bright flash of light.

There is a tight grip on his shoulder, and he feels his body and soul being dragged through dimensions.

Castiel next feels his feet land on solid ground. He immediately recognizes the weight of gravity on his body, centering him to this very point in time. Earth, he thinks, There. It’s warm.

Castiel sways in place, uncertain on his feet, but aware enough to know that he is standing.

And then, he opens his eyes.

Dean.

The two men are standing face to face.

Dean takes one step forward and he wraps his arms around Castiel so tightly that the breath he just regained is momentarily pushed out of his lungs.

Castiel sags into him, warmth spreading out from his chest and traveling to his numb, frozen limbs.

Home, home, home. His heart thrums with the feeling, the single thought filling his mind. His next breath is filled with the scent of Dean. Castiel rests his head down on Dean’s shoulder, fatigue trembling at his knees.

Cas grips Dean back tight, using his weak strength to gather as much of Dean Winchester into his arms as he can.

A weary smile graces his lips and a rush of pink graces his cheeks. He thinks, I’m finally home.

I live here on my knees
As I try to make you see
That you're everything I think I need here on the ground
But you're neither friend nor foe
Though I can't seem to let you go
The one thing that I still know is that you're keeping me down
You're keeping me down
You're on to me and all over
Something always brings me back to you
It never takes too long

Chapter Text

Dean kept watching Castiel like he was going to disappear at any moment. Though Cas admittedly had done that, it wasn’t something that was possible in this new world they were braving.

All of his observation was making Castiel’s skin itch, and he was growing tired of seeing Dean’s face momentarily fall in disappointment when he thought he wasn’t looking. The two had been dancing around each other in the Bunker for a full two weeks, and they were in desperate need of an honest conversation.

That morning, Cas finds Sam in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee and staring down a loaf of bread.

“Sam. Good morning.”

“Hey, Cas.”

“Are you going to make toast?” Cas’s stomach grumbles in question.

“Uh-I think this is moldy,” Sam holds up the bag of bread for clarification. “But, we do have cereal in the pantry. And um, actually I don’t know what else there is. We have to make a grocery run.”

Castiel nods in understanding and proceeds to the pantry to dig up his breakfast. Once Cas is settled at the table, Sam turns to him from his seat at the barstool.

“Cas . . .” he hesitates, gathering his thoughts. Cas looks up, waiting for the rest of Sam’s query. “Yes? Do you need something, Sam?”

Sam fiddles with the bag clip with his finger. “Uh, Dean is in the garage, he’s giving the Impala a wash. Since we need food, maybe you could go and do a grocery run with him. I’ll write you a list real quick.”

Cas nods in agreement as he takes a bite of his breakfast. “Sure.”

“Good.”

Sam checks through the pantry and cabinets in the kitchen, checking their stock to see what needs replenishing. He fashions a grocery list.

Cas finishes up his food and washes his hands at the sink. Once his hands are dry, Sam turns to hand him a piece of paper with the list on it. “Thanks, Sam,” Cas reaches out to grab it.

Sam draws back for a moment, and Cas pauses, confused.

Words suddenly spill forth out of his mouth, “Cas, I just wanted to say that I am really happy you’re back. We thought you were gone forever this time. And—and, I wanted to let you know that you're my family, too.” Sam’s eyes are shiny with tears, his nose a little red. He sniffles and finally hands Cas the grocery list.

Castiel takes it and smiles wide back at Sam, his heart kindled by his sincerity. “Thank you for telling me that, Sam. I care for you, as well. We have been through a lot together, you and I. We’re a right band of brothers, aren’t we?”

Sam’s voice is a little thick when he responds. “Yeah, Cas, yeah. I think we are.”

*****

Once again, there are too long, too many glances in Castiel’s direction and at this point, Cas snaps at Dean not unkindly.

“Dean, take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

Dean’s eyes bulge at the sass and in reaction to getting caught.

Cas growls, “You're not very discreet.”

Blush floods Dean’s cheeks, embarrassed. But then he quickly smiles and tosses his head in a crooked smile as his eyes swing back to the road. “Heh, well, just want to make sure you're not goanna melt . . . or worse.”

Castiel levels Dean with a look that Dean momentarily ignores, but once he feels the weight of his stare, he flicks his gaze back to him and he is suddenly awash in emotion.

They had only needed a completely private moment together, driving in the Impala, for the dam between them to start cracking.

Silence expands between them, and though it is not uncomfortable, it is pressing. Dean gives a relinquishing sigh and moves his hands over the steering wheel.

“Here, let’s stop for sec.”

Dean moves on instinct, the idea forming as he’s driving. He knows a good spot to park. In about eight miles, he spots the turn off and takes the right turn on to a dirt road. They pass by a golden yellow painted wooden sign that says, Ohmstede Honey Farm, in bold black letters.

Cas notes this with interest, curious to see where Dean is going to park, but he is ever patient.

Dean drives a way down the dirt road, eventually winding the Impala down another left turn and then he gets to the slight crest of a hill and pulls off underneath the shade of a large oak tree.

“Where are we?”

“It’s a honey farm, where they raise bees on a bee farm, and sell the honey to customers. They have a walk-in store, but they also have a nice picnic spot. And look down there,” Dean nods his head to the view in front of them.

Cas is struck by all the colors of the wildflowers. Where they are sitting on this clear summer day Castiel can see grey beehive box colonies nestled in a valley of colorful wildflowers. The landscape is dotted with pink, purple, and yellow flowers, growing amongst the tall green grass. Daises are sprouting in between the wildflower bunches, along with a swath of yellow daffodils. It’s a breathtaking sight, all highlighted by the midday sun, drenching the valley in sunshine.

“Wow, that is beautiful.”

Dean’s blush returns, though he tries to mask it. “I always had this place in mind . . . to show you, once you ever got back to the Bunker, that is.”

Cas nods, “Thank you, Dean,” he says, suddenly not sure what he is thanking him for. Is it for rescuing him from The Empty? Was it for letting him sacrifice himself in the first place? Was it for just spending time with him on this beautiful day?

Castiel’s throat is suddenly full, but his head is empty. All he does know is that his body acts on instinct and he turns to face Dean fully.

There is a searching in his soul, just as there is a searching in Dean’s green eyes as he meets his gaze.

“Dean, I--”

“No, Cas--”

They spoke at the same exact time, voices overlapping with each other. Castiel waits, eyes boring into Dean’s, sensing his quiet desperation and hoping to coax it out.

Without preamble, an openness cracks in Dean, and he says in one single, measured breath, “I wanted to say it back, Cas.”

“That-that you . . .?

That I love you, too.” Dean’s eyes are so fresh and green, face framed by the valley in bloom surrounding the car. His sincerity is so palpable that Castiel cannot deny him.

He subconsciously inches closer to Dean on the bench seat. Words bubble forth, unbidden he confesses, “I didn’t want to leave you there, Dean, but I had no regrets in my last moments. I was saving you. I was honest with you . . . and I was honest with myself.”

“Yeah, yeah I know, Cas.”

A collective beat, and then, “But you’re here now,” Dean says.

Castiel’s eyes burn like fire on the man, and he surges forward, two weeks of pent-up tension and hope both bursting in his chest at once. He reaches forward and takes Dean’s face in his hands. His thumbs brush his cheekbones in the softest touch Dean has ever felt.

He smiles gently at Castiel before Cas draws him in for a kiss, bringing his lips to his, and when they touch, it’s igniting.

They start slow at first, but then Dean grabs his right hand at the lapel of Cas’s jacket and Castiel surges forward a second time—gentler--but no less intense, and he sweeps his tongue over Dean’s lips.

They kiss and wander their hands over each other’s shoulders, touching, exploring, holding on to each other. Eventually, Castiel places his right hand on Dean’s left cheek and pulls back from him. He holds his hand there, cradling Dean’s face, oh so lovingly.

Dean nuzzles without thinking into the touch, wanting it to linger on his skin as long as possible, wanting to savor it.

Cas pants, not realizing how much his lungs had been missing air.

His eyes are full of nothing but Dean Winchester’s face, and he shakes himself a little to remind himself that this is real and that this is happening.

This time, Dean is the one to move and he reaches over and draws Cas into an embrace, seeming to want him back close immediately. He lets himself be drawn in, settling into Dean’s arms like he’s always fit there. His body molds quickly to Dean’s and there is an unfamiliar ease in their movements, in the way they hold each other; both men simply marveling that the other feels the same. That either of their feelings are reciprocated and valued.

Wanted. Dean is so very wanted, by this angel of a man. That ocean of desire pulls him in, and he can’t get enough of it now that he has it. Oh my god. Cas . . .

“I love you so much, Dean.” Castiel tucks his chin over Dean’s shoulder, rubbing his back softly up and down.

Dean realizes he is crying softly, and he lets himself for a moment. Tears slip down his cheeks in overwhelming emotion. He is feeling everything at once; shock, awe, grief, pity for himself, sadness for Cas, a blooming sense of happiness, and underneath all of that, there is the piercing, sharp, bleeding undercurrent of love. For Cas.

Dean realizes something in this second, and he comes to the quick conclusion that he needs to rectify it right now.

Dean continues holding on to Castiel, and takes in a breath, making sure his voice will be steady and sure when he speaks next. He pulls back out of the embrace, hand left on Cas’s shoulder, while Cas’s hands fall down to his lap.

Dean stares him in the eye, face to face. “Cas, I love you.” He almost breathes out a laugh as he smiles at Castiel.

That may have been the biggest grin that Cas has ever seen on Dean’s face. In response, he leans forward to kiss Dean tenderly on the forehead, then again on the lips and finally, he takes Dean’s hand and kisses the back of his hand softly. His eyes shine so brightly with love back up at Dean, that Dean is taken aback by the intensity.

They are in a little bubble, sitting in the Impala on a honeybee farm, atop a hill under the shade of an oak tree. Nestled under the shade, there is no one around to bother them. No one around to knock on the car window and tell them to move. No one . . . it’s just the two of them, sharing in this blissful moment together.

“I don’t want to leave yet,” Dean tells Cas, his eyes subconsciously roaming the picnic tables, wondering if a family is going to pop up to eat.

“We don’t have to. We have all the time in the world, don’t we?”

Dean matches Castiel’s grin at his reassurance. Cas is right. They have time. Time to get this right. Time to learn each other. Time to say all the things that they haven’t been able to say. Time to be together and just enjoy a sunny day.

The loosening that happened in Dean’s chest once Cas was taken by The Empty, looses now in the same spot, but this time in freedom instead of the chains of grief. It’s a relieving type of feeling, a lightening, a fluttering, it’s the beginnings of hope.

Deans nods, “Yeah, Cas. You’re right. We’ve got time.”

He intertwines his fingers with Cas’s and holds on tight, knowing—with every fiber of his being--he will never let him go.

The two men lean into each other, shoulder to shoulder, and silently watch the sun bathe the valley of wildflowers. They watch the bees flit around their hives. They are each warm and content, marveling at the world around them, for it is has now opened up to them.

They have time.

And miles from where you are
I lay down on the cold ground
I pray that somethin' picks me up
And sets me down in your warm arms

Chapter Text

Sam hears Cas and Dean return from their really, really, long grocery run, and his stomach grumbles in impatience as he leaves his bedroom and steps out into the hall. The Bunker was really low on food because they’d been busy since Castiel’s return. He’d been weak and depleted of strength from his time in The Empty. Getting his strength back and getting him healthy had been the brother’s specific focus throughout week one. And week two had brought on larger cooked meals and protein shakes all made up for Cas so he could put on some weight over his thinned-out frame. Rolling into week three, now, Cas was doing good and there was more color in his cheeks, but they had all but cleared out the kitchen in that time. On top of that Cas had developed a fondness for midnight snacks when he struggled with sleep, depleting their reserves even further, yet neither Dean nor Sam had the heart to tell Cas to stay out of the kitchen.

He hears Dean and Cas’s voices from the kitchen now, their warm voices rolling over him like a wave.

“Hey,” he says once he’s standing at the archway.

“Sam,” Dean grins at him, a shit eating grin if there ever was one. “Can you get the rest of the bags? We’re gonna start on the burgers.”

“Burgers? Tonight?” Sam is surprised.

“Yup, I’m grilling,” Dean all but dances past Sam, slapping him on the shoulder as he brushes past him out of the kitchen.

Slightly stunned, Sam makes a face at Cas and points a thumb over his shoulder in Dean’s direction. “Uh, he’s in a good mood?”

“A very good mood,” Cas smiles back at him in agreement, and leaves Sam to his assigned task while he turns away to stock the fridge.

Sam doesn’t think any more of it. He’d take Dean in a good mood over a shitty mood any day, but he wonders faintly what could have prompted him to pull out the grill?

......................................................................................

The next morning Sam shuffles into the kitchen, a double stack of pancakes waiting for him on the table.

“Sammy! Rise and shine!” Dean crows from the stove, flipping over a pancake on the griddle, still wearing that same shit-eating grin.

Sam goes to the coffee maker, and grunts at Cas eating his breakfast in greeting as he gathers himself a cup of coffee. The three of them had cracked open a new flavored bottle of whiskey last night after dinner, and though Sam had turned in early for the night he still felt like he was dragging this morning.

He smells bacon and eggs, too, cooking on the stove. He eyes the fluffy round pancakes on the table. Pancakes? Since when did Dean make pancakes on a random Tuesday morning? And the grill and the burgers from last night, too?

“You making a whole buffet over there, Dean?” Sam asks as he sips his coffee.

“Ah, you know, gotta beef Cas back up.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder at Cas.

“I think I’ve decided that pancakes is by far my favorite breakfast,” Castiel says assuredly to Dean from his seat at the table, grinning over his own plate of buttered chocolate chip pancakes. Everything was hot and ready.

Dean laughs softly at the shrouded compliment, “Well, everything tastes better with chocolate, Cas.”

Sam can’t help but give a nod of agreement to that, and as he nurses his coffee cup, something occurs to him. The grill was only pulled out on the rarest of occasions, and pancakes for breakfast were only generally reserved for special requests or hangovers. Between Dean’s obviously elevated mood and the way Castiel was eyeing Dean last night more than the usual, Sam wonders if there was some kind of sign he might have missed while swimming in the haze of alcohol the night before. With clear eyes, it dawns on him that something must have happened between Dean and Cas on their grocery run yesterday and Sam looks quietly between them now, studying them for a moment as he continues to sip his coffee.

Dean is turning to the table with some extra plated pancakes in hand and with a quick flick of his eye to Sam, his face instantly fills with something more when he looks at Cas.

Castiel smiles up at Dean in gratitude for the breakfast spread. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Yeah, eat up Sam.” Dean sits across from Cas, pushing Sam’s waiting plate towards him in invitation.

Face pinched in silent calculation; Sam pours himself another cup of coffee and sits down at the table next to Cas.

All three tuck into their meals. Sam is surprised to find that Dean had put cinnamon into the pancake batter along with half of the pancakes being chocolate chip. They were really good and though he is grateful for the food to curb his slight hangover, he’s still confused over the long running buffet. Last night, Dean had showed Cas how to work the grill and told him his not-so-secret spice recipe for the burgers.

Dean did love to cook, but not usually this much.

Dean reaches for the syrup on the table, and Sam raises an eyebrow at the specialty flavor. Dean offers it to Cas first in a silent question, but Cas declines with a wave of his hand and he instead reaches for the plate of eggs and bacon Dean had made up to share.

Dean’s lips tighten in the tiniest show of disappointment and then he syrups his own pancakes.

With a shock, Sam realized he is trying to impress Cas. Grilling last night, and pancakes, and bacon and eggs this morning? Fancy syrup? The new flavored bottle of whiskey last night? They never splurged on the good stuff. He was showing off for Cas; in the best way he knew how, with food and lots of it.
Sam settles with this information, his head back online with the caffeine in his system. He eyes Cas briefly as Sam eats his food, and there is a content look to him, maybe more contentedness than Sam had ever seen out of him. A shrug of his shoulders and a laugh at Dean’s incoming joke about bacon has Sam smirking silently, but he notices a shine in Cas’s eyes that wasn’t there before.

The two look at each other, smiling, in one of their too long stares over the spread of food and Sam notices again that something more look on Dean’s face. Cas’s eyes are . . . yep, decidedly twinkling. Yeah, okay.

He puts his fork down with a little more force than necessary on his plate, breaking the momentary silence with the clatter and getting their attention. “Okay, what happened between you two?”

Dean’s face pales instantly and Cas looks away from Sam, seeming thrown off track.

Sam’s eyes dart back and forth between them for a sec, waiting and hinting. He’d always kind of figured that something was there between his brother and the former angel, he just never knew what exactly it was that had them looking at each other like that all the time.

“Well?” he prompts at their sudden silence.

“Uh,” Dean mumbles, stabbing his fork into a pancake to avoid Sam’s gaze. “We, uh-” his eyes dart back to Castiel’s and Sam suddenly knows when he pulls up his face in a bare, questioning look at Cas.

“You guys finally go for a back seat drive or something?” Sam quips. He can’t help his shit-eating little brother mentality sometimes, and he smirks to himself as he picks back up his fork and takes a bite of his food.

Dean almost chokes on his coffee and Castiel turns to Sam with wide eyes. Worth it, he thinks.

“Um, I’m going to get some coffee,” Castiel stands at this announcement, and he quickly makes a coffee cup and makes a swift exit out of the kitchen. Sam shrugs his shoulders at his leaving and then turns to Dean, who is looking at Castiel’s empty seat with an unrecognizable expression on his face, eyes blinking rapidly in astonishment.

Sam is still waiting for a response to his original question as he takes a sip of his coffee, “So, uh, you have something to tell me?” he prompts Dean, a careful tease in his voice.

Dean’s face is pinched in a scowl now, and he throws up his hands. “Jeez Sam, why you gotta be like that?”

Sam laughs hollowly and levels off Dean with a look that is far from unkind. “All that eye-fucking over the years and I mention it now and now you’re mad?”

The back of Dean’s neck instantly blooms red, flushing his face, but he tries to hide it with a wave of his hand to the doorway and a look back down at his plate. “You made him leave,” he deflates half-heartedly into his pancakes.

“He was done eating,” Sam says in way of explanation. “And maybe we should, you know, talk.” He lets this single sentence hang over them both, trying to bridge the gap of apparent confession Dean is currently wrestling with. Sam watches silently in patience as Dean’s face flits through a range of emotions; confusion, anger at Sam’s shit-eating remark, a touch of wariness and trepidation, and finally he sees his throat close around honesty.

Dean’s face has finally settled on shock, mouth almost agape. Then he shakes it off to ask, “How did you figure it out?”

“The grill, the pancakes, the fancy syrup.” Sam gestures to the bottle of syrup, “We don’t ever eat like this unless it’s a special occasion, and well, I guess we have something to celebrate.” He smiles gently up at his brother, coaxing and supportive of him. “Dean if your happy, that’s all that matters to me,” he adds without preamble, making sure to look him in the eye when he does.

Dean’s eyes are filled with something Sam didn’t expect at his words. His green eyes gleam with hope for a moment, though he’s still too stunned and trying to gather his thoughts. He blinks owlishly and finally mumbles, “Just wanted to get some good food in his system.”

“Cas ate like a king when he first got back. I’m sure he’s well on the road to recovery. Pretty sure your burgers would’ve won him over, yeah? I mean chocolate chip pancakes is a bit much. That’s kid stuff.”

“He still deserves it, he hadn’t had pancakes like that before,” Dean realizes he is staunchly defending his choice to feed dessert pancakes to his family and his cheeks color slightly, but he doesn’t back down.

At Sam’s raised eyebrow in surprise and humor, Dean comes back to himself. Sam watches his eyes harden before suddenly seeming to make a decision. He scrubs a hand over his face, taking a calculated breath before he gets up from the table to grab a shot from the honeybee whiskey that had been left out on the counter from last night. He pours the shot into his coffee cup and briefly stirs it with a spoon. “I guess I do have something to tell you, uh . . . but it’s about more than just me and Cas going grocery shopping.”

Dean sits back down in his seat, a heaviness to his bones. “When Cas was taken by The Empty . . .” Dean starts, voice gruff in aquacise, “He said a lot of things. He gave me a whole deathbed confession, man. I know I told you he sacrificed himself to save me from The Empty, but it was more than just that.” He takes a swig of his coffee, eyes boring into the drink like he wants to be anywhere but here remembering this. When he looks back up at Sam, Sam is stunned by the way his face falls, pain bared. “He made a deal, Sam.”

Sam’s mouth turns up in understanding and past pain, knowing the levity of those deals. He chews on the inside of his cheek.

“He did it to save Jack,” Dean explains, and Sam understands instantly, nodding in confirmation and waiting for Dean to continue. “And he said, Cas said that . . .” he heaves a heavy sigh, “He said he loves me and that I changed him and all that. He said his whole worldview changed because of me; that that was why Cas fell from Heaven. . . he was saying goodbye . . . and then—then he was just gone.”

Sam is shocked, rooted to his seat. This was a much bigger confession than he had been expecting. He just thought Dean was going to step fully out of the closet, but this was major. To lose Cas like that, after saying that to his brother. Recalling Dean’s behavior, Sam understands better now why Dean had been so particularly shell shocked after Cas’s death. He was almost as hollow as a ghost, untethered, unmoored, with long days that stretched into haunted nights where Sam had been forced to wake him from some terrible nightmares. Sam didn’t know at the time what had such a chokehold over Dean. Losing Cas was one thing, but now the insomnia and the nightmares and the severe uptick in his drinking all made sense in hindsight. This kind of loss had birthed a wholly different type of monster of grief in Dean, and it’d hurt Sam to witness it. It was a kind of pain that they hadn’t been able to shoulder together, even though Sam called Cas a brother, too. Now, it all made sense. Cas was more than just a brother to Dean.

“Wow, Dean, I’m so sorry,” the gravity and truth of what happened falls on him now and he stares at his hands to digest it all.

A particular silence hangs over them, unassuming but heavy. Dean, trying not to relive his past trauma as he sucks down his spiked coffee and Sam notices a slight tremble in his fingers as he brings the cup to his lips. Shit. That really fucked him up.

Sam clears his throat and decides to move on to lighter topics. He gently probes, “But, something happened yesterday? When you went to the store?”

“We didn’t go for a back seat drive,” Dean snaps at him, indignant, but a hint of a smile has returned to his face. Sam lets out a small breath of relief as the heavy air around them lifts. Dean puts his coffee cup back down on the table, leaving his fingers threaded through the handle. “We just talked and drove to a bee farm,” he confesses, “That’s where I got the syrup and the whiskey actually, too. I found the spot awhile back and I wanted to take Cas there if he ever got back, and hell, now he’s back,” Dean shrugs.

“Yeah, I’m glad he’s back, too,” Sam’s voice is warm, eyes catching Dean’s in gleam before he clears his throat. “And uh, yeah, Cas and I are together now. As of uh, yesterday,” Dean finally says, looking like years of secrecy and hiding had just fallen off his shoulders, something buried deep come to light. He straightens his back and looks at Sam with an openness on his face that he’s never seen before. “But you meant it when you said you want me to be happy? Even if it’s with Cas? Cause I do want that, Sam. With Cas.”

“Of course,” he promises, voice sure and resolute in his response. He knows in an instant that it’s not just about Cas being a guy, and even Dean liking guys, but that it’s because it’s Cas. He’s their family, their brother, their battering ram of a former angel who had a “more profound bond” with Dean. It’s about being with someone who was a former supernatural entity turned human; something they thought they had to hunt upon Dean’s first meeting.

“Yeah, Dean, if he’s your guy, then he’s your guy, you know? I’m not going to lie, I’ve always wondered if there was maybe something going on between you too, but I never said anything . . .”

Dean’s eyes roll at the open ended comment, but his hand is on his mouth, like he’s thinking next about what to say. “I never was, well, with anyone serious except Cassie, you know that.”

“Right,” Sam nods.

“But I guess I swung the other way once or twice.” Dean’s eyes are trained on Castiel’s empty seat, shoulders now tucked back into his chest, like his hackles are raised. Maybe he’s unsure? Sam simply wants to smooth over any awkwardness or fears his brother may have; he doesn’t have to worry about that with him. Though Dean may not have remembered this, he’d actually come out to him once many, many years ago when Sam had still been back at Standford. Dean had been shit-faced drunk, but a giggly type of drunk at the time, and had found Sam at his apartment. He’d broke in and randomly told him about how he hooked up with some guy at the school while he’d been searching for Sam’s place. “Took a little detour, Sammy!” he’d crowed, and Sam had all but shoved him out of the apartment after, not wanting to have to explain his brother and his state to Jess when she got home. But he had kept that talk they’d had and that confession from Dean in the back of his mind since then, though that night had never been mentioned between them again.

Sam splays his hands out in front of him, “Dean, we’ve been through too much to worry about being happy now or who makes you happy. I mean, I’ve got Eileen, and she’s in the life. Makes sense to me if you and Cas have something going. If it’s a good thing, then you have my support, okay?”

Dean swallows hard at the show of support he’d needed to hear, and that final inch of scarcity leaves him. Sam can tell by the way he lets out a long-held breath that he believes him. “Thanks, Sam.”

“Anytime.”

Dean eyes him for a second more, scrutinizing at his clipped tone, pausing Sam’s move to get up from the table. “Wait, do you remember--?”

“Remember what?”

“Didn’t I see you at Stanford once, I mean like, before the hunting trip? Before the Woman in White?”

Sam nods silently, lips tight in remembering how annoyed he was with Dean on that night. “Yeah, you did.”

Dean’s eyes widen in disbelief, face flushing, and he instantly downs his spiked coffee on reflex. “Ah man, and I told you?!” he sputters.

“Yup.”

“Sunovabitch,” Dean grumbles and a laugh bursts forth from Sam, amused by the abject horror on his brother’s face.

“I knew all along, man. Some "Night Moves", huh?” he teases mercilessly.

“Shit, man,” Dean laughs at the remark, finding the fumbling truth in it, and is beside himself in recalling his younger self. He knocks his head back, shaking it in his laughter. “Whoo,” he lets out a breath as the two settle back down.

“I can’t believe I told you about that.”

“I didn’t expect you to show up unannounced like that . . . but, you were clearly on a high and you did say you hooked up with a dude. I said the same thing I told you now; if you’re happy, then that’s all that matters to me.”

Dean smiles briefly at him, his eyes telling him all, the sincerity touching him. “Thanks, Sam. You’re a good brother, even when you’re a little shit sometimes.”

Sam huffs another laugh, “Anytime, Dean, anytime.”