Chapter Text
“You’re still here,” Dean says, when he opens his eyes.
“I said I would watch over you,” Cas replies, sitting stiff and tall in the passenger seat.
“You’ve never been here when I’ve woken up before,” Dean says, pushing himself up in the back. “It’s weird.”
“I’m sorry.” Cas knits his brow.
Laughing, Dean says, “Don’t be sorry. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s—it’s good.”
Shifting his position, he asks, suddenly, “Did you clean me up, too?”
“Yes,” Cas says, “Was I not supposed to?”
“No, it’s—” Dean bites his lower lip before releasing it. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Looking out the window, Dean can see they’re still pulled over in that damn field. It’s lucky they’re in Nowhere, South Dakota, now that he thinks about it, because this could’ve been a bigger problem elsewhere.
“What now?” Dean asks.
Tilting his head, Cas doesn’t reply.
“Why don’t we get something to eat?”
Slipping out of the backseat, Dean steps out of the Impala and shifts to the front. It’s… this is hard to fathom. All of it. Dean’s still half-convinced he’s crazy, and he really does belong in that rubber room. From one day to the next—
Collapsing into the seat with a sigh, he stares out in the expanse again for only a second before straightening up.
“Damnit,” he whispers, “I forgot the windshield was cracked. It should hold, but fuck.”
“I can fix it,” Cas says.
Turning towards him, Dean says, a hint of incredulity in his tone, “How?”
Cas leans forward to brush his fingers against the crack, and seconds later, before Dean’s eyes, it mends together like it was never there in the first place.
“Holy shit.” Dean’s mouth hangs open a little. “Okay.”
Maybe it’s just the fact he’s seeing it happen in front of him, but this is somehow more unbelievable than the fact he burned Pam’s eyes to a crisp and then brought them back.
Rubbing his eyes, Dean says, “You’re just full of surprises. I swear I’ve lost my mind.”
“You’re perfectly sane.”
“Thanks,” Dean says. If you insist. “Um, well, I’m gonna start driving I think.”
Nodding, Cas looks to the window again.
“How about we get you, uh, educated on some music? Like I said…before. The cassettes should be in the footwell.”
As Dean reverses, Cas reaches down to fiddle with the box of tapes.
“Can you grab the one with my top Zeppelin tracks? That should be in there. We’ll start you off with the best.”
After some time spent clacking plastic, Cas hands over the cassette. And as Since I’ve Been Loving You starts to play, Dean begins to drive on that long, endless road.
The waitress can see Cas, too, so Dean must not be entirely insane. She looked directly at him when she asked what he wanted—which was nothing, by the way—so Cas really must be there.
Maybe, just maybe, Dean’s not completely broken, not yet.
“You’re not hungry?” Dean asks.
“I don’t need to eat,” Cas says, idly.
“Oh, okay.”
Sipping on his cup of coffee, Dean focuses on the intense feeling of the heat as he swallows. He’s always liked that feeling—when you drink something that’s a hair too hot and it burns a little on the way down.
The diner is fairly empty, even despite it being near peak breakfast hours. It’s good for them, because they probably won’t be overheard. Doesn’t really bode well for the food, though, so maybe Cas made the right choice. But all the sudden, Dean is so damn hungry he thinks he could eat a horse, so it could be complete slop and probably taste good. Add enough salt and hot sauce, anyway, and everything tastes good.
"Um,” Dean says, drumming his fingers against the formica of the table, “I need to ask. Are we in danger?”
Staring at him, Cas says, “I don’t know. You’re important, Dean. There are plans at work, ones I don’t completely understand yet. But they involve you.”
“And you’ve interfered.”
“Yes, and I’m going to keep interfering,” he says, and he averts his gaze. “I don’t want you to get hurt. I…”
He peers out the window, his eyes passing over peeling decals of happy, smiling sunny-side-up eggs and dancing bacon, and up to the sky. “I think God wants me to be with you. I don’t know why else He would have brought me back.”
“Just to clarify,” Dean says, “We’re talking about Capital ‘G’ God, right?”
Turning to him, Cas squints his eyes. “Yes. Who else?”
“Okay.” Dean taps his mug. “Sure.”
Somehow, the whole angel thing just felt like a fun gimmick until now. God. Seriously? And besides, is Cas telling him God—Sodom and Gomorrah God—is actually what… a fucking fruit fly or something? With a hard-on for Dean and Cas’s success? It’s… bizarre.
“You said, a long time ago now, that you weren’t supposed to interfere yet,” Dean says, carefully.
“I was supposed to save you eventually,” Cas says, and he actually starts fidgeting. It’s not even just his wings, which—at least in real life—seem to only appear to Dean when he’s agitated. Nobody else ever seems to react to them, so that's where Dean supposes his actual crazy lies.
“Save me from what?”
Before Cas can reply, the waitress returns with a plate of overcooked scrambled eggs, a very crispy side of bacon, and a pleasant smile. His fare doesn't look quite as joyous as the window decals, hey, but food is food.
“Thanks,” Dean says. He pauses and pierces the eggs with his fork. Once he’s sure the waitress is gone, he asks again, “Save me from what, Cas?”
“From Hell.”
Dean puts the fork down, and exhales. “Hell? Literal Hell?”
“It’s not going to happen,” Cas says, urgency in his voice, “I won’t let it.”
“Hell,” Dean repeats. “Is it because I’m gay or something?”
“No. Why would you think that?” Cas’s brow furrows deeper than it ever has before. “I don’t know why, but that’s hardly a reason.”
His whole life he’s had this weighing over him…and what? God actually loves the gays? Squeezing his eyes shut for a second, he exhales. Okay.
“Oh, I don't know,” Dean says, rubbing his eyebrow. “This is bizarre. First, you come back from the dead, like you’re freaking Gandalf or something. And then, apparently, me, a random guy who’s got nothing but a GED and a give 'em hell attitude, is at the center of some massive heavenly conspiracy. And I also end up in literal Hell, for some fucking reason, and the reason isn’t even because I’m gay.”
“I’m sorry,” Cas says, stiffening against the vinyl booth. “You’re not just a random guy, Dean.”
Dean picks up the fork again, twirling it a little.
“It’s alright, not like you can do much more about it,” Dean says, around a bite of eggs. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad I’m here, too.”
The eggs could use a little hot sauce, he thinks, as he reaches for the bottle. Drizzling some over top, he thinks he might as well dig in.
“Alright,” Dean says, starting the Impala’s engine, “I guess it’s time to face the music.”
“What do you mean?” Cas asks, and his head finds that familiar tilt.
“Might as well go back to Bobby’s. Heaven’s not calling yet, is it? Pick out another cassette for me.”
Cas shakes his head and reaches for the box of tapes.
Kind of the last thing he wants to do, but Bobby’ll probably think he’s gone off to kill himself if he doesn’t see him soon. A visit to Pam’s can only last so long, and a phone call wouldn't be enough. He’s already got a missed call or two, and Dean still remembers how mad Bobby was when Dean left without a word to visit Sam…and Dean was in a much better state then than he is now. Bobby’s not Dad when it comes to anger, but some part of Dean always expects it of him.
Regardless, Dean thinks, as he glances over at Cas out of the corner of his eye, if Cas is going to stick around, might as well get it over with quickly. Ripping off a bandaid. It’s one more reassurance he’s real, too.
Fuck, Dean’s nine kinds of crazy.
“He shot me,” Cas says absently, handing over a tape.
“He didn’t mean it.”
As he reverses out of the parking lot, Dean adds, “Um, when we get there, let me go in first.”
Bobby takes the whole thing about as well as Dean would expect, which means to say, not very well.
“Dean, you’re nine kinds of crazy,” Bobby nearly growls. “And you, I really oughta shoot you again.”
Well. Dean averts his gaze. Next to him, Cas is standing as stiff and straight as usual, completely unaffected by the threat.
For a moment, Bobby paces. Then, he repeats, “I can’t believe you.”
Maybe the fifth or sixth time he’s said it?
Leaning against the rickety front porch railing, Bobby crosses his arms. He wouldn’t let Cas in the house, so this conversation started with Bobby up on the stairs and them two standing down in the dirt.
Bobby looks to Cas, and says, wide-eyed, “Could you give us a moment? In private? Jesus.”
Gesturing towards the Impala, Dean tells him to go sit inside. It’s probably only a semblance of privacy at best, but whatever. Not like Dean cares.
After Cas is safely sequestered in Baby’s backseat, Bobby immediately resumes his tirade.
“I know you’re—attached—” Bobby cuts himself off, rubs his forehead, “But come on, son, seriously?”
“That thing,” Bobby says, glancing over at the Impala, “is dangerous.”
“He’s saved my life,” Dean says, as he’s said before, and he can feel himself start to redden. “He saved Sam’s life, maybe. Dad’s too. More than once.”
Bobby scoffs. “Oh, and what’s your daddy gonna think when he sees who you’re bumping uglies with?”
Dean hisses out a breath and stiffens. Honestly, he wasn't expecting it, but he should've. Bobby could always read him like a damn book. Blood’s rushing in his ears, and it's so loud it overtakes all the ambient noise from the yard; he knows it’s all still there, but it’s blurry somehow. Far away. Dean thinks maybe he should’ve just run, he and Cas. Probably would’ve been easier than this.
Smoothing his expression the best he can, Dean asks, “Are you gonna tell him?”
Looking to the sky, Bobby wipes his face and says, “Well, thanks for confirming it.”
Face softening, ever so slightly, he turns back to Dean. Bobby says, “You know I’d never do that. I just—I want you to think about this, Dean.”
“You think I haven’t thought about this?” Dean almost laughs. Instead, he kicks the gravel at his feet, sending a cloud of dust into the air. “I know I’m insane.”
“Dean,” Bobby glances at the Impala again, “Is this even…are you…Goddamnit, I don’t even know how to ask this. If you think you owe him—”
“Christ, Bobby, I’m not being forced, if anything—” Dean says, “I—”
Baby’s door opens with a creak, and Cas steps up behind him, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Dean and I share a profound bond. I only want to keep him safe.”
Profound bond? Okay, he’s not wrong exactly, but—
“This is fucking bizarre,” Bobby says, throwing his hands up in the air. “Not exactly how I pictured your coming out going.”
“Oh, so now you’ve pictured it?” Dean says, unable to interpret what emotion that sentiment gives him. A mix of nausea and hope both maybe. Either way, his gut is twisting itself into that damn figure eight again.
“I’ve known since you were yea tall,” Bobby says, pushing off the railing, “Come on, now. I wouldn’t care if he was fucking human!”
Unwittingly, Dean glances at Cas. Well, he is fucking human. In one sense of the term, at least. But Dean doesn’t get the impression Bobby would appreciate it, if he pointed it out.
They stick around for the rest of the day. Even despite the good few hours Dean spent asleep in the back of the Impala, he still feels he’s running on little more than empty. It makes sense; a few hours can hardly make up for weeks of little rest. It was just hard to sleep and dream of different things. Nightmares again, yeah, but even the normal things like falling and old exams—it was all wrong.
But he can push that aside, because somehow, miraculously, Cas is here, next to him in Bobby’s old scrapyard watching him change a faulty oil pan gasket. As he goes, he explains every step, and Cas watches so intently like he’s explaining how to find Atlantis instead of an oil leak. It’s weird as hell, but it’s sweet.
Bobby won’t stop carrying around that shotgun of his, even though it would hardly do anything to harm Cas. But despite that Dean thinks he’s starting to soften a little. It helps that Cas was able to prove his worth by fixing up the hole in the ‘78 Continental with a single touch. He can’t fix the more delicate problems—they tried—but simple stuff is as easy as tying shoes.
Needless to say, a lot of the restoration work goes smoother with him around. So that, and the fact that Dean is so damn happy it’s as obvious as it is embarrassing, endears him—just a hair—to Bobby.
Back some weeks ago, Dean remembers he was in his head about what it would be like if Cas were actually next to him. How things would change. It’s strange to have his answer. Different than he expected; not bad, just different. Good.
It’s not Payne’s Prairie, or even that green meadow, the one with the fur-soft grass, but it’s just as nice. It’s better even, because even with the bugs and croak of the toads and the scratchiness, it’s real.
They went for a drive, a long and aimless one, until eventually Dean felt the urge to pull over in some random field a bit off the highway.
As he lays in the grass next to Cas, he can’t help but think it’s fitting. It’s tall and overgrown, but not wild. The yellow weeds extend far into the sky and sway ever so slightly with the wind, but the wind isn’t very strong, just a gentle breeze; it makes for a cool night, but not too cool.
“Can I ask you something?” Dean says, intertwining his fingers with Cas’s.
“Anything,” Cas says, turning on his side and propping himself up with his free arm.
“What…” Dean clears his throat. “What made you become attached to me?”
“I’ve seen many righteous souls,” Cas says, his voice softer than usual, less like the grit of the road and more like sand. “But yours shines so brightly, it was hard for me to look away. When I was given my assignment, I was just supposed to wait. You needn’t be watched very closely. Things were carefully planned, so my superiors said; and when the time came for you to be saved, the alarm would sound, and I would know when to go. But I—”
Tightening his grip, Dean rubs circles into the back of Cas’s hand with his thumb. Cas pauses, and Dean can see those wings behind him again. They were so vividly black in his dreams, pure shadow, but now they’re only an impression, the faintest outline.
“I kept taking peeks at you, and as time passed, it became harder to resist. I started caring for you, far more than I should have. I wanted to help you,” Cas says, averting his eyes. “And I neglected my other duties. Started having doubts. I couldn’t fathom—”
He exhales harshly. Then, he adds, “That was how Uriel found out.”
If it were anyone else, Dean recognizes he would probably be creeped out to the moon and back, but it’s just so hard to care. Instead it warms him, deep in his core. Dean’s always been nine kinds of crazy, eighteen kinds of crazy, even if it’s only really apparent now, so it’s fitting that whomever he ended up with was too.
“I see,” Dean says, even though it didn’t really clear up much. Leaning back further into the grass, he releases Cas’s hand and looks up at the sky.
“Doubt… for an angel there is no worse thing.”
It’s hard for Dean to fathom that Cas could…care about him enough to have his whole life ruined. But Dean doesn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, because he’s already seen what it’s like to have lost him. Maybe one day Cas will realize Dean’s hardly worth it, that he’s hardly special, but that’s another problem for later.
“I think you’re safe for now. With my warding, I’ve…blurred their sight. And with Uriel having seemingly dispatched me, there’s no reason to watch closely. Especially now that time has passed,” Cas says. He sits up, criss-crossed, with his back as straight as an arrow.
“Well,” Dean says, “I guess we’ll just deal with it when the time comes. I mean, what else can we do?”
“I’m not sure. Perhaps—”
“Rhetorical,” Dean says with a smile.
Pushing himself up fully, Dean adds, “I do know one thing we could do right now, at least.”
He’ll have time to properly freak out about all of this later. He has more questions. Like about that whole Hell thing. But for now, he’ll keep riding the high. Maybe—maybe literally.
“What?” Cas tilts his head.
“Sexual intercouse,” Dean replies. “There's gotta be more things you want to try. If anyone is watching, we can give ‘em a show.”
“I wouldn’t want anyone to watch,” Cas says, and his voice is gritty like the road again, “You’re mine.”
Fuck, if that doesn’t go straight to his dick. There’s really something in the way he says it, too. It’s not particularly different from how he says anything else; it’s more like he’s stating a fact. Like the Earth is round, water is wet, Dean is mine. It's weird, not something he thought he'd ever be into. But something about it...It’s heady.
“You’re mine, too,” Dean says, a little breathless, “Goes both ways.”
“Yes,” Cas says, and he pulls Dean into a kiss.
It’s gentle, like the breeze. It’s sweet, warm but not too warm. Dean wants more; there’s so much he wants. At this point, so much he needs.
“What have you seen?” Dean says as he moves to lay his face against Cas’s neck, “What do you want to experience?”
Dean presses his lips to his pulse point, grips that inky hair tight. Slipping a leg over Cas’s, Dean grinds a little on his thigh. It’s so good, even this alone, that he groans aloud.
Gripping his hips, Cas says, “I want to—”
But he cuts himself off.
“What?” Dean asks, and he moves against his thigh again. Cas’s grip tightens. “Don’t be shy.”
“I want to be inside you,” Cas says, “I’ve seen that.”
“Christ, Cas.” Dean’s head drops against Cas’s shoulder. A bolt runs straight through him like an electric shock.
“Very well,” Dean says, “That can happen.”
Raising his head from Cas’s shoulder, Dean looks at him, and he’s actually…smiling? Dean’s never seen that before. But his chapped lips are tilting up at the corners, ever so slightly. Just like that, there’s another wave of heat.
“I’ve got lube,” Dean says, “It’s in the glove compartment. I’m gonna need it. That kinda sex is a lot more complicated than what we did before.”
What can he say? He came prepared.
“First,” Dean whispers, “Can you do something for me?”
“What?” Cas runs his fingers under Dean’s shirt, feeling along the place where his skin meets his jeans.
“Those wings,” Dean breathes. “I want to see them properly. I want to touch them.”
It’s quiet; even the bullfrogs and the crickets seem to have gone to rest. The sky is clear again tonight, and Dean can see her, Andromeda, still chained yet. That’s strange isn’t it? He’s free, but she isn’t. Dean’s angel-in-shining-armor—angel in shining trench coat?—did end up coming. Huh.
Something about that happiness is painfully humbling, even more than his embarrassing downward spiral of before, and he’s not sure where to start with all these feelings. But he doesn’t want to think about any “why” right now. He just kinda wants to be.
Turning onto his side, he faces Cas. Still a shock that he’s there, even now, almost a full day later. Curling a hand around Cas’s ear, Dean sighs. His skin is so soft, his hair too. Dean could really get used to touching him in real life, if he’s allowed the chance to.
“I would like to try the other way later,” Cas says. “At some point.”
Lips curling into a lazy grin, Dean laughs a little. “That can happen. Guessing you had fun?”
“Yes,” Cas says, staring at him intently with those bright blue eyes of his. Something in Dean quakes only looking at them. They’re so clear, even at night, they almost glow. Dean actually thinks they do, faintly; and if they did, it wouldn’t be the only thing about him that’s otherworldly.
Turning his gaze towards the sky, Cas adds, “Thank you. I understand why humans fornicate so voraciously now. It is very pleasant.”
Resisting the urge to laugh, Dean bites his lip. “Come on, I’m sure we can do better than ‘very pleasant.’”
“Did I say something wrong?” Cas tilts his head, narrows his eyes.
“How about mind-blowing? Or the best sex you’ve ever had?”
“My mind is intact,” Cas says, “And it is the only sex I’ve ever had.”
“Ergo, it’s the best. Either way, there’s more where that came from.” Pulling his hand back from his face, Dean reaches to interlace their fingers. After a pause, he whispers, “I think I love you.”
“I love you,” Cas says, easily.
He says it like a fact again, like the way he called Dean “mine.” It strikes Dean right in the chest, as if he just got hit with a defibrillator, his heartbeat shocked into a mile a minute pace. He squeezes Cas’s hand and wonders if Cas can hear it.
Squeezing back just as tight, Cas says, “I’ve heard of angels who’ve fallen before, even other than Anna. And it finally makes sense.”
“Yeah,” Dean says, closing his eyes for a second and taking his hand back. Fingering the flattened grass beneath him, Dean breathes, slow and even. His heart rate slows. An ant crawls across his palm, but Dean makes no move to stop it.
“Whatever happens with everything else, at least we got this,” Dean says. “It’ll be worth it.”
Cas touches his cheekbone. “It’s always been worth it.”
His eyes fall shut. It's all catching up quickly. “You’ve tired me out. I think I’m gonna fall asleep pretty soon.”
“I’ll be here when you wake up,” Cas says.
That's all he needs for right now. Everything else can come later. And tomorrow, when he wakes up, he thinks he’ll start teaching Cas how to drive.