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The garage was dark, but the Impala gleamed under the flickering light like she knew he was hurting.
Dean sat on the floor, back against one of the workbenches, bottle of Jack half gone beside him. His knuckles were raw from punching the hood. His eyes burned. He hadn't cried. Not yet. That felt like admitting something.
The girl had been fifteen. Just a kid.
He could still hear her mother screaming, asking why he didn't save her.
He didn't have an answer.
The door creaked open behind him.
"Dean," Castiel's voice was soft, but it cut through the silence like a blade.
Dean flinched. "Don't."
"You weren't answering your phone."
"Didn't feel like talking."
"Sam's worried."
"Sam shouldn't be," Dean muttered. "He wasn't the one who let a kid die tonight."
Silence. Then slow footsteps. Castiel sat on the floor a few feet away, careful not to crowd him.
"I didn't come to lecture you," he said.
Dean scoffed, rubbing at his face with the heel of his palm. "What, just here for the show?"
"I'm here because I care about you," Castiel said simply.
Dean looked away. His throat ached.
"She was just a kid, Cas. I hesitated. One second. That's all it took."
Castiel didn't argue. Instead, he said, "Do you remember the town in Nebraska? The one with the cryptid that turned out to be a frightened seraph hiding in a church?"
Dean frowned. "Yeah. That was a weird one."
"I killed him," Castiel said. "He was harmless. Just... confused. He begged me not to. I still did."
Dean blinked. He looked over at Cas for the first time.
"I was following orders. I told myself it was for the greater good." His eyes were far away. "But it wasn't. I was wrong."
Dean swallowed hard. "So what, you're saying it's fine? That I should just forget it?"
"No," Cas said. "I'm saying you're not alone in your mistakes. Or your guilt."
The bottle slipped from Dean's hand. He pressed his palms into his eyes and shook his head.
"She looked at me, Cas. Like she trusted me. And I—"
His voice broke. He couldn't stop it.
It came out in a sob.
Castiel didn't say a word. Just moved closer. Hesitated. Then opened his arms.
Dean stared at him, chest heaving.
Then he gave in.
He leaned into Cas like a man collapsing under his own weight.
And Castiel held him like he was trying to keep him from shattering.
Castiel didn't speak at first.
He just held Dean.
It wasn't perfect, it was stiff and unfamiliar, the way people who've always lived in armor try to hold someone for real. But Dean didn't move. Couldn't. He pressed his face into Castiel's shoulder, jaw clenched so tight it hurt, like if he let go it would all come spilling out in a way he wouldn't be able to stop.
Minutes passed.
Finally, Dean rasped, "You shouldn't be here."
Castiel's hand moved slowly along his back, fingertips light but sure. "I disagree."
Dean huffed out a bitter laugh. "Course you do."
He pulled back slightly, just enough to look down at the concrete. His eyes wouldn't meet Castiel's. "You ever just... feel like it's all catching up with you?"
Cas tilted his head.
Dean rubbed at his eyes, shame hot behind his lids. "Like every time you think maybe... maybe this time'll be different — maybe you'll save the girl, or the kid, or the dad, or the whole damn town and then it's just blood again. Just more weight."
He looked up, jaw trembling. "And everyone still looks at you like you're supposed to fix it. Like you're the one who's got the answers. But you don't. You never did. And no matter how hard you try, you never save enough."
Castiel's gaze didn't waver.
Dean laughed again, this time raw. "She trusted me. Fifteen years old. Her mom said I'd protect her. And I fucking froze. Just one second. Just long enough for it to go wrong."
Cas didn't interrupt.
Dean's voice cracked. "And now she's dead."
The silence that followed felt sacred. Heavy. Like if either of them moved too fast, the moment might shatter.
Then Castiel said quietly, "And you think her death means you're not worth saving anymore?"
Dean blinked. His breath hitched.
Cas continued, "That because you failed once, or twice... or a hundred times, that it erases the times you didn't?"
Dean scoffed. "Don't—don't give me some silver lining crap, Cas. You didn't see her. You didn't hear her mom scream. You weren't there."
"No," Cas said, voice steady. "But I'm here now. And I see you."
Dean flinched like he'd been hit.
Cas went on, "I see a man who keeps showing up. Even when he's exhausted. Even when the world keeps punishing him for trying."
"You don't know what I see when I look at myself," Dean said, his throat burning. "You don't know how much I hate him."
"I do," Castiel said softly. "Because I've looked at him too. I've seen the man who wants to carry everyone's pain, even when it's killing him. Who thinks love is something he has to earn."
Dean's lip trembled. "Stop."
"You think you're broken, Dean. But you're just—hurting."
Dean shook his head. "I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to come back from this one."
"Then don't," Cas said. "Not alone."
He reached up, slow, letting Dean see every movement. His fingers brushed over Dean's cheek, then rested at the back of his neck.
"Let me sit with you in it," Castiel whispered. "Even if I can't fix it either."
Dean's breath stuttered. His walls were so high, even now, but something in him cracked.
He closed his eyes. "I don't want to feel this way anymore."
"Then let me carry it with you. Just tonight."
Dean opened his eyes.
And for the first time in hours, maybe days... he nodded.
Castiel didn't move.
He didn't press for more, didn't ask Dean to speak again. He just sat with him, one hand warm on the back of Dean's neck, the other resting loosely against his shoulder, as if anchoring him to the moment.
Dean's breathing stayed shallow, uneven. But he didn't pull away.
Not this time.
Seconds passed. Then minutes.
"You always do that," Dean murmured eventually, voice rough from crying.
"Do what?" Castiel asked, still gentle.
"Sit there like you got all the time in the world. Like I'm not a complete fucking mess."
Cas's thumb brushed the nape of his neck. "You're not a mess, Dean. You're grieving. And I do have all the time in the world. I'll give it to you."
Dean let out a shaky breath and leaned forward slightly, forehead resting against Castiel's shoulder again. This time he wasn't hiding. He was reaching.
"You make it so damn hard to hate myself," he muttered.
Cas gave a faint smile, almost sad. "Good."
They sat like that for a long time. Dean's weight slowly shifting, allowing himself to sink further into the warmth of someone who wasn't asking him to be okay, just letting him be.
When Dean finally spoke again, it was softer. "I keep thinking if I was someone else, someone better, maybe she'd still be alive."
Cas tilted his head slightly, then pressed his lips together, choosing his words with care. "And I keep thinking... if you were anyone else, I wouldn't still be here."
Dean's breath caught. He pulled back just enough to look at him.
Their eyes met, not like before, not in anger or deflection, but truly met.
And something passed between them. Wordless. Heavy. Ancient.
Dean's throat worked. "Why do you always... stay?"
Cas didn't hesitate. "Because I love you."
Dean's world narrowed to that. To him.
To the quiet certainty in Castiel's voice. The way he said it like it wasn't up for debate. Like it wasn't something Dean had to earn or beg for.
Dean licked his lips, heart pounding. "You... you don't have to say that. Not tonight."
"I didn't say it because I had to," Castiel replied. "I said it because it's true. And because you deserve to hear it, especially tonight."
Dean blinked hard, fighting fresh tears. "Cas... I don't know how to do this."
"You don't have to know," Cas whispered. "Just let me be here."
Dean hesitated, then leaned in, not with desperation, but with intention.
His lips brushed Castiel's cheek first, tentative and soft. A test. A thank you. A plea.
Cas turned slightly, and their mouths met.
It wasn't fireworks.
It was warmth. Familiarity. Breath shared between two men who'd lived through too much silence.
Dean's hand curled into Castiel's coat, just below the collar, tugging him closer. Not rough, wanting.
And when they finally pulled apart, Dean whispered, "Stay. Just... stay with me tonight."
Cas nodded. "Always."
They didn't speak as they left the garage.
Castiel's coat rustled quietly in the hallway, footsteps echoing down into the Bunker's stillness. Dean walked beside him, not quite touching, but close enough their arms brushed. He kept his eyes forward, jaw set, but his hand hovered near Castiel's, like his body knew what his pride still couldn't ask for.
In his room, Dean didn't turn on the overhead light. Just the bedside lamp, warm and soft, casting shadows across the books piled on the table and the old leather jacket slung over a chair.
He stood awkwardly by the bed for a moment, then muttered, "I should shower or something... I probably stink like blood and whiskey."
Castiel shook his head. "You smell like yourself."
Dean let out a rough, embarrassed huff. "Yeah, well. That's not always a good thing."
But he sat down on the bed anyway.
Castiel followed, slow, careful. He didn't press. Just toed off his shoes and shrugged out of the coat. When Dean finally kicked off his boots, he looked over at Cas like he wasn't sure what came next.
"You don't have to figure it out tonight," Cas said, voice low.
Dean looked away. "Yeah, well... I think I'm tired of sleeping alone."
That was all it took.
They moved in sync, not dramatic, not sudden. Just quiet, like it had always been an option and they'd finally decided to choose it.
Dean pulled back the covers. Cas slid in beside him, staying on top of the blankets at first. But Dean turned toward him and tugged lightly at his sleeve. "C'mere," he said. "I'm not made of glass."
So Cas lay beside him. Fully clothed. Warm. Steady.
And Dean just breathed.
He laid his head on Castiel's chest, eyes fluttering closed, and listened to the beat of his borrowed grace.
"Do you remember that cabin in Montana?" Dean murmured after a while. "The one with the broken heater?"
Castiel hummed. "You refused to admit you were cold."
"Damn right I did. I'm tough."
Cas smiled into his hair. "You were shivering so hard you dropped your coffee."
Dean chuckled, just a little. "You lit the fireplace with your fingers. Scared the shit out of me."
"You said it was cheating."
Dean tilted his head up. "Still is. But... I think I'm okay with cheating sometimes."
Castiel looked at him, brow creasing softly. "Then let me cheat a little more."
He raised his hand and pressed two fingers gently to Dean's temple, not to erase anything, but to soothe.
Grace spread through Dean's skull like warmth slipping into cold bones. The tightness in his jaw lessened. The pounding ache behind his eyes ebbed. It wasn't gone, not all of it, but it didn't hurt to breathe anymore.
Dean let out a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding.
"You good?" he asked, voice low.
"Yes."
"You didn't take it away?"
"No. I just... made space for the pain to rest."
Dean swallowed, throat thick again, but not from guilt this time. From gratitude. From love he hadn't been ready to name.
"Thanks," he whispered.
Castiel brushed a hand through Dean's hair. "Sleep."
"Will you still be here when I wake up?"
"Always."
Dean's last thought as he drifted off was that for the first time in weeks, maybe months, he didn't feel like a walking wound.
He felt... held.
—
At first, it was quiet.
Then came the breath, sharp, ragged, broken at the edges.
Dean jerked upright in bed, chest heaving, sweat slicking his brow. The room was too dark. The air too thin. He dragged a hand through his hair, his whole body trembling.
It had been the girl again. Her eyes. The blood. The way she reached for him.
"No—" Dean rasped, the word choking in his throat like gravel.
"Dean." A hand touched his back. Gentle. Real.
He flinched hard, gasping.
"It's me," Castiel said, voice low and grounded. "You're safe. It was a dream."
Dean squeezed his eyes shut. "Felt real."
Cas sat up beside him, letting the silence settle around them like a blanket they had to pull tighter. He didn't push. He just stayed close.
Dean rubbed his face. "God, I hate this. Hate waking up like this. Hate that she's still—"
His voice cracked.
Castiel leaned in. "You're not alone in it."
Dean swallowed hard. "Feels like I am. Feels like I always have been."
Cas reached out, his hand finding Dean's where it lay clenched on the sheets. He threaded their fingers together slowly. Dean didn't stop him.
"You're not now," Castiel said softly.
Dean finally turned his head. The low lamplight didn't reach them, but the dark made it easier to look, to see without being seen.
"You mean it?" Dean asked, hoarse. "Even after tonight?"
"Especially after tonight."
Dean blinked. His fingers tightened around Cas's. "I don't... I don't know how to be okay."
"Then let me remind you what it feels like," Cas murmured. "Even if it's just for a little while."
Dean leaned forward before he had a chance to overthink it, pressing his mouth to Castiel's in the dark. It was less of a kiss and more of a question.
Cas answered without hesitation.
He kissed Dean like they'd done it a thousand times in other lives. Like grief didn't need to be the only thing that touched him deeply.
Dean's hand came up to cup Castiel's jaw, calloused fingers trembling. He kissed harder, more desperately, pulling Cas closer like he couldn't get enough air unless they were touching.
"Cas," he whispered, voice cracking.
"I'm here."
Dean pressed their foreheads together. "I need... I just need—fuck, I don't know what I need."
Castiel kissed the corner of his mouth, the line of his jaw. "Let me show you."
"Okay," Dean breathed. "Just... don't stop touching me."
"I won't."
Dean lay back on the bed, body tense but not resisting. His legs shifted restlessly beneath the sheets, chest rising and falling too fast. Castiel watched him closely, one hand still resting on Dean's chest, over his heart.
"We can stop at any moment," Castiel said again, voice quiet, firm.
Dean shook his head. "I don't wanna stop. Just—don't make me feel like I gotta put on a show, okay? I'm not good at this when I... when I feel like shit."
Castiel's eyes softened. "You don't have to be good. Just be here."
That undid something in Dean.
He leaned up, catching Cas's mouth in a kiss that was softer now, less desperate, but no less aching. He opened beneath him, mouth parting as he sighed, letting Castiel take the lead, letting himself be kissed.
Clothes came off slowly. Not ripped or shoved away, just peeled back in careful layers. Castiel kissed down Dean's jaw, down his throat, mouthing at the hollow beneath his collarbone like he was learning him by touch and taste.
Dean gasped when Cas bit gently at the skin there, not hard, just enough to feel claimed.
"Fuck, Cas—" His fingers curled in Castiel's hair, dragging him back up for another kiss.
They pressed together, chest to chest, skin on skin. Dean was warm and trembling, every muscle tight with emotion. His cock was already hard, twitching against Castiel's stomach where their hips met.
Castiel moved a hand between them, wrapping it around Dean's length, slow and steady.
Dean hissed through his teeth, head tipping back. "Shit—yeah, that's—" He broke off with a groan, hips rocking up instinctively.
Cas didn't rush. He stroked him in long, smooth pulls, watching every change in Dean's expression, every sound he made.
"You're beautiful," Castiel whispered, eyes fixed on Dean's face.
Dean flushed, shaking his head. "Don't—don't say that."
"But you are," Cas insisted gently. "Especially now. Especially when you let yourself be seen."
Dean didn't answer. Just kissed him again, rougher now, like he couldn't bear to hear kindness and not take it.
Dean let out a shuddering breath when Castiel shifted lower, lips trailing down his stomach, every inch kissed like it meant something. And maybe it did.
He was panting already, hips twitching as Castiel nosed along his hipbone, then to the crease of his thigh. "Cas..." he whispered, voice tight, "fuck, if you're gonna tease, just—"
He didn't finish the sentence, because Castiel licked a long, deliberate stripe up the underside of his cock, and Dean's back arched off the bed like he'd been shocked.
"Jesus—"
"No," Castiel said against the flushed head of Dean's cock, "just me."
Dean let out something between a laugh and a moan, his hand flying to the back of Castiel's head. He didn't push — just held — grounding himself.
Cas took his time. Tongue swirling around the tip first, slow and sinful, collecting the pre-come already gathering there. Then he wrapped his lips around it, taking him in inch by inch with agonizing slowness.
Dean groaned deep, his thighs already trembling. "Oh my God, that's—fuck, Cas."
Castiel sucked him in deeper, jaw flexing, eyes half-lidded with focus. His hand wrapped around the base, moving in tandem with his mouth. The pressure, the rhythm, it was perfect. Consistent. Deep. Worshipful.
Dean was squirming, his heels digging into the sheets, his fingers tightening in Castiel's hair. "You're gonna kill me. Holy shit—don't stop."
Castiel moaned around him, the vibration making Dean cry out. His cock twitched, overly sensitive already, but Cas just bobbed his head with aching patience, letting Dean grind up slightly into his mouth. He didn't gag. He wanted it.
He pulled off only to suck gently at the head, tongue flicking along the slit, then lowered again, deeper this time, slow enough that Dean could feel every inch of heat and slick glide.
"You're gonna make me come," Dean warned, voice wrecked, "but I don't wanna yet—fuck, you're too good at this."
Cas hummed again like he was proud of that, letting spit drip down Dean's shaft as he jerked him slowly, messily, before swallowing him down again.
Dean gasped, eyes squeezing shut. "Shit, shit, shit, Cas—I can't—"
Cas pulled off with a wet sound, hand still stroking him at a brutal, perfect pace, and leaned in to press hot, open-mouthed kisses to Dean's hip, his belly, his trembling thigh.
"Let go," he whispered. "Come for me. I want to feel you fall apart."
Dean didn't last another second.
He came with a loud, desperate moan, body shaking, come spilling across his stomach and Cas's hand as his hips jerked and stuttered helplessly through it.
He trembled all over, not just from orgasm but from something deeper. From trust. From being held in a way he hadn't let himself feel in years.
Castiel didn't leave him. He kissed softly up Dean's stomach, wiped his hand on the sheets, and then leaned down to press a kiss just below his collarbone.
By the time they were face to face again, Dean was flushed, wide-eyed, and visibly shaken, but not in fear.
"Holy shit," he rasped.
"You're alright?" Cas asked softly.
Dean nodded, eyes darting across his face. "Yeah. Just... felt like more than sex."
"Because it was."
Dean's hand came up, cupping Castiel's jaw. He pulled him in for a kiss, deep and grateful, tongue sweeping slow into Cas's mouth like he needed to taste himself there. Like he needed to feel how cared for he'd just been.
Then he whispered, hoarse and aching, "You gonna fuck me or what?"
Cas froze slightly. "Dean—"
"I mean it." Dean's voice shook, but his eyes were steady. "I want you inside me."
Castiel cupped his face gently. "Then I'll go slow. I'll make it good."
"It's already good," Dean whispered.
They kissed again, slower now, their mouths learning each other without the urgency of panic or grief. Dean's hand found Castiel's chest, resting over his heart like he needed to feel it to believe it was real.
"I haven't done this in a long time," Dean admitted quietly. "Not like this."
Castiel nodded against his lips. "Neither have I."
Dean's brows furrowed slightly. "Seriously?"
"Dean," Cas said, brushing his thumb across Dean's cheek, "I have never done this, with someone I love. I've never had the chance."
Dean didn't answer with words. He just kissed him again. Harder. Deeper. Slipping his fingers down Castiel's spine like he was holding something precious for the first time.
Castiel reached into the drawer beside the bed and found the small bottle of lube. He sat back on his heels, spreading Dean's thighs with care, his eyes asking permission even now.
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Do it. Please."
Castiel slicked his fingers and leaned back in, kissing Dean as his hand moved lower, teasing circles around his rim until Dean was panting again.
"Relax," Cas murmured against his lips. "You're safe. I won't hurt you."
Dean exhaled shakily. "I know. Just... feels like a lot."
"Because it is. And you don't have to do anything but feel it."
He pushed the first finger in slowly, watching Dean's face for every twitch, every breath. Dean tensed, then relaxed, his head falling back against the pillow with a soft groan.
"That's good," Cas whispered. "You're doing so well."
Dean let out a weak laugh. "Say that again and I will fall in love with you."
Castiel leaned down, voice like a prayer. "Then fall in love with me."
He added a second finger, scissoring gently, stretching Dean open with slow precision. He kissed Dean's temple as he worked, lips brushing over his brow, his cheek, his mouth.
Dean clutched at his arms, gasping when Cas curled his fingers just right. "There—fuck, right there—"
"I know," Cas murmured, pressing deeper, hitting that spot again. "You're almost ready."
By the time the third finger slipped in, Dean was panting, cock half-hard again, hips pushing down into every slow thrust of Castiel's hand.
"You can take me," Castiel whispered. "You're ready. Let me make you feel good."
Dean nodded, dazed, needy. "Yeah. Fuck, Cas — I want you."
Castiel pulled back just long enough to slick himself up, eyes fluttering closed as he stroked his cock in preparation. When he opened them again, Dean was watching him, flushed and breathless, thighs spread, chest rising and falling like he'd just run miles.
"Look at me," Cas said softly as he lined up.
Dean did.
And Castiel pressed in — slow, unbearably slow — every inch easing past resistance until he was seated fully inside, hips flush to Dean's ass.
Dean's mouth fell open. "Jesus—"
"Is it too much?"
Dean shook his head rapidly. "No. Just—stay right there a sec."
Cas did. He reached down and laced their fingers together beside Dean's head, grounding them both.
"You feel incredible," Castiel said softly, eyes searching Dean's face. "I want to remember this forever."
Dean swallowed hard, eyes shining. "You will. I swear."
Castiel began to move — slow, deep thrusts that filled and rocked Dean without rush. Every movement deliberate. Every roll of his hips answered by Dean's soft gasp or groaned curse.
"Fuck, you feel so good," Dean whispered, clinging to him. "So good, Cas. I didn't know it could feel like this."
"It's because it's you," Cas murmured. "You make it feel like this."
Dean's legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Harder," he breathed. "Please."
Castiel obeyed, hips snapping forward with more force now, pace increasing. But the tenderness never left. He kissed Dean between thrusts, whispered affirmations, pressed their foreheads together.
"You're not broken," he said, breath warm against Dean's lips. "You're not alone. You're mine."
Dean moaned, overwhelmed, trembling under him. "I'm close—Cas, I'm—"
He didn't need to finish.
Castiel wrapped a hand around Dean's cock and stroked in time with his thrusts, and Dean shattered.
He came with a sob, eyes squeezing shut, body convulsing under Cas as he spilled between them. His whole body shook, and Cas fucked him through it, still whispering soft praise as Dean clung to him.
"I've got you," Castiel murmured. "You're safe. I've got you."
Dean whimpered, hips still twitching as Castiel thrust a few more times, then groaned deep and came inside him, spilling warmth as he collapsed forward, burying his face in Dean's neck.
They stayed like that — tangled, panting, holding on like the world might take it away if they let go.
Dean turned his head and kissed Cas's temple.
"You still here?" he rasped.
"Always," Cas whispered.
They lay tangled together in the quiet aftermath, sweat cooling on their skin, the weight of everything finally softening beneath them.
Dean's breath was still a little shaky, his chest rising and falling under Castiel's hand, but the tension was gone. His body was loose, open, pliant in a way Cas had never seen before, not even after battle, not even after relief. This was something different.
Dean let out a soft, nearly embarrassed huff. "You, uh... you ruined me."
Cas pressed a kiss to his temple. "Good."
That made Dean chuckle, soft and low. He wiped a hand across his eyes. "Shit. I'm all sweaty and gross."
"You're perfect."
Dean groaned. "God, you're so corny when you're not smiting things."
Castiel smiled. "You seem to like it."
"Unfortunately," Dean murmured, nuzzling in closer. "You got water or...?"
Cas shifted just enough to reach for the glass on the nightstand, holding it for Dean as he sat up slightly and drank. Afterward, Dean wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and then collapsed against Cas's chest again.
"My legs feel like jelly," he said, voice half-asleep already. "Like, blessed jelly."
Cas chuckled, fingers combing gently through Dean's damp hair.
Dean shivered slightly, and Cas pulled the blanket up over both of them without being asked, tucking it around Dean's shoulders.
Dean exhaled slowly. "You really staying the whole night?"
"Of course," Cas whispered. "You're safe. I won't leave you."
There was a beat of silence.
Then: "You're really not gonna sleep, are you?"
Cas shook his head. "I don't need to. I'll be here when you wake up. Just rest."
Dean hesitated. "I don't know how to not keep looking over my shoulder."
"Then don't look," Cas said, brushing his fingers down Dean's spine. "Just let me hold you."
Dean didn't answer with words. He just nodded, face pressing into Cas's neck, arms curling around his waist like a lifeline.
Castiel adjusted their position until Dean was fully resting against his chest, one leg tangled between his, blanket wrapped tight around them both. His grace pulsed softly, steady and calming, humming beneath Dean's skin.
He could feel the moment Dean's breathing slowed. When the tension slipped out of his shoulders. When his hands finally went still, no longer clutching or guarding.
He murmured one last thing before he drifted off:
"Don't let go, Cas."
And Castiel didn't.
Not for a moment.
Not that night.
Not ever.
He lay awake as the hours passed, watching Dean sleep, peaceful, safe, whole. The first dreamless sleep Dean Winchester had known in months.
And Castiel stayed.
He held him through the night.