Story time: Supernatural took over my life almost four years ago and since then I've covered my walls in their posters, wasted hours of my life watching panels on Youtube, rewatched the show multiple times, and spent hundreds of dollars going to one of their conventions. So, yeah. I was REALLY late to this party but better late than never right?

For me, the idea of destiel came from tumblr, and from there on I kept seeing it in the show BECAUSE IT'S SO OBVIOUS and now here we are. Years later and I have no doubt in my mind these two idiots are stupid in love with each other. I can't believe this is my first time posting a story about them. But after that finale I needed to get out a lot of emotions. Basically this was written for purely therapeutic reasons :P Give Dean his angel back and all will be right in the world once more.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or any of it's characters. If I did, destiel would have been canon many moons ago.

Warnings: 12x23 Spoilers

Castiel's body glowing white hot, blade protruding through the angel's chest, mouth open in a silent scream, "NO!" an actual scream from a different mouth, Lucifer's mocking smirk, charred wings spread through the dirt, dead dead dead dea-

"Cas!"

Dean woke up in a cold sweat, his pulse racing and eyes stinging as the horrible nightmare replayed over and over again in his mind. He swallowed a few shallow breaths before blindly reaching out a hand to the space beside him. Warmth flooded through his fingers tips when they made contact with another body – a shoulder it felt like – and Dean was finally able to calm down, gently tracing the curve of solid muscle down to a strong, slender wrist.

A pulse. Dean sighed in relief.

He traced the outline of what he knew to be tanned skin and calloused fingers before repeating the process over again. Even while blindly maneuvering in the darkness, the familiar touch alone was enough to steady him, to keep him grounded to the moment. It was just a bad dream, after all. Dean had plenty of those over the years.

Only it wasn't just a bad dream. It was real. And a part of Dean knew he would never be the same because of it.

"Dean...?"

A quiet voice laced with the grogginess of sleep pulled Dean back to his senses and he quickly yanked his hand away, already aware that it was far too late to play innocent. The hunter retreated into himself, hunching his body and deliberately turning his head away when he felt the weight of the mattress dip beside him.

Castiel dipped his head and brushed his lips against the hunter's shoulder. It was barely a kiss, a ghost of a chill, yet Dean found comfort in the touch. Physical contact was good. Dean could work with that, keep himself distracted.

A small part of him (he suspected stemmed from a neglectful childhood) wanted to crawl into the other's embrace and just let himself be lulled back to sleep by fingers in his hair and whispers of sweet nothings in his ear. But things were still fresh between them. What they had now – what they always had – was finally out in the open, no longer lingering in the background like the beginnings of a storm rolling across the horizon.

He didn't want to push this uncharted territory by being needy, of all things. Cas would probably let him, but that wasn't the point. Dean could begrudgingly admit as the seconds ticked by and he tried to regain his composure that the lines were starting to blur, and maybe he wasn't so sure what the actual point was anymore.

"Dean?" Cas' voice was a little louder now and far more concerned than it had been a few moments ago. Frustrated with his lack of control, Dean mumbled apologetically against his own shoulder. "Sorry Cas... Didn't mean to wake ya."

There was more movement beside him, Dean felt Cas leaning in again just to be closer, his gentle breath fanning over his arm, tickling his skin. It still got to him, Cas actually having to breathe now like everyone else.

It had only been a couple weeks since Cas had been resurrected as a human by Jack, aka the spawn of Satan. It wasn't an easy road, but Dean did everything he could to make sure Cas was comfortable in his own human skin. The angel's first time as a human had been a bust, but this time they were in it together. This time, Dean asked Cas to stay.

Of course it would take having his best friend murdered right in front of him for Dean Winchester to finally admit what everyone else already seemed to know. He knew it too, deep down, and he fought tooth and nail to ignore it because Winchesters don't get nice things.

Cas was probably the nicest thing to be in his life since Lisa and Ben. Better even, 'cuz Cas knew. Knew the life, knew how it would all end. Cas understood because he's lived it, a hell of a lot longer than Dean. He wasn't deluded by happily ever afters. He wasn't asking Dean for more than he could offer. All he asked for was a chance, and fuck all if Dean wasn't going to give it to him after watching him die.

"What's wrong?" Dean could picture Cas' head tilting to the side, squinted eyes staring at him worriedly through the darkness, even if he couldn't actually see him. It made Dean want to hide even more.

There was a brief moment of silence, then, a little hesitant Cas whispered, "Was it another nightmare?"

Dean swallowed around a dry lump in his throat. The hunter knew he didn't have to answer, because angelic being or not, Dean believed Cas could still see into his soul and immediately know what was causing all his distress. The guy had proven it enough times since he'd come back a fully fledged mortal.

Christ, when had he become such an open book?

"Yeah," Dean quietly admitted before clearing his throat, suddenly hoarse with emotion. He didn't see the point in trying to deny it. "Been havin' those a lot more recently."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Cas asked him, unbearably kind and patient, like he'd gladly spend the whole night discussing Dean's issues without complaint. Son of a bitch would, too, if Dean had asked.

Dean scrunched up his nose, the idea of getting all emotionally naked for such a long period of time making him feel uncomfortable, worrying how Cas might react to the awful imagery of the ex-angel's most recent demise swirling around in his subconscious. "Not really," Dean mumbled defiantly, trying and failing to ignore that little voice in his head telling him to be honest, dammit, you're a grown man! Sack up, Winchester!

"It was about me, wasn't it? When I–"

"Don't–" Dean cut him off sharply, voice cracking on that one word, his harsh tone breaking through the quiet tranquility of the moment, a complete contrast to the peaceful silence of their room bathed in blackness.

Dean let out a shaky breath, fighting to keep his emotions in check. "Just don't." The silence that followed was deafening, if that makes any sense at all, and Dean found it equal parts comforting as it was nerve wracking.

A few moments passed before Castiel asked, "Is there anything I can do?" voice low, unwavering because of course Cas was going to be strong enough for both of them. Strong enough for Dean.

Dean let out a weak laugh, rubbing a hand down his face, feeling stupid for getting so worked up. "Yeah, stop dying on me," he said as a joke, but there was absolutely no sign of humor in his voice.

Dean heard Castiel exhale quietly through his nose beside him, and Cas may have taken pity on him because when he spoke again, his voice sounded lighter. "I feel it necessary to vocalize that it has never been my intention to do so. Death just seems to follow me no matter where I go."

The tone may have changed, but there was still a level of seriousness in each of Castiel's words – an unspoken truth that Dean was smart enough to allow himself to hear.

I never wanted to leave you.

The corner of Dean's mouth ticked into a barely-there smile. "You're preaching to the choir, buddy."

Losing Cas had been a shock.

It shouldn't have, really. Dean had witnessed the death of his best friend over and over again and it never got easier. Only got worse, in fact. Because each time he came back the time they spent in between meant more. Dean fell deeper and deeper for this strange being he was fortunate enough to call a friend and it wouldn't stop.

Every damn time Cas had left him, intentional or not, it ripped through his chest and tore him apart inside like that Hellhound had clawed through his flesh all those years ago. Except losing Cas – it was worse. Physical pain doesn't last forever. But the pain of losing this stubborn bastard beside him?

Dean had been tortured in Hell, but nothing compared to the punishment of having to live in a world without Castiel.

The angel had ruined him. Dean couldn't even bring himself to care all that much.

That's why he didn't fight it when Cas inevitably pulled him down onto the mattress and wrapped his arms around him. He cradled Dean against his chest like he was something precious he wanted to protect and fuck it Dean couldn't resist that – didn't even want to.

Dean didn't know if he would ever be able to forget what happened. But right now, lying in bed with the person he loved – jesus – maybe, just maybe he wouldn't have to.

Thank you so much for reading SPN family. I'm kind of reaching out to a new fandom by posting my first dean/cas fic (I've written Supernatural RPF before but that's totally different from the show lol) so please if you enjoyed let me know in a comment! Feedback is so important!

-Lots of love, Laura