Domestic life fit Dean and Castiel well.
Hunting had become boring and dull. There was barely any evil out in the world, oddly enough. So instead of travelling to different motels every week, they stayed at the bunker, unknowing what to do.
At first, things were rough. Real rough, especially for Cas. His essence had been torn from him, taken from him by his own brother. He had watched his family fall to their dismay. He had lost his purpose. For two months, all Cas did was bury himself underneath the worn covers of his newly found bedroom in the bunker. He would only come out when Dean pestered him about eating and when his stomach ached too much to ignore. In the early morning hours, Dean would wake to sounds of shattering glass, muffled yells. He sneaked glances inside the room to see an obvious angry Cas standing in the middle of shattered glass, tears stained on his cheeks and angry blue eyes. Painfully angry blue eyes. After a few nights of sneaking concerned glances into the barely open door, Dean finally made himself known. At first, Cas was angry towards him. Yelling phrases of anger to the hunter, fists clenched by his side. Then, his anger faded and hurt came. One thing after another, Cas was burying his face in Dean's cotton shirt sobbing as his fingers clenched the fabric as if it was the only thing keeping him alive.
Every night for the next few weeks, Dean would hear the heart shattering angry sobs from Cas' room, only to be followed by the creak of his door. Dean would feel Cas stand beside his bed, looking down at him as if he was weighing the opportunity. Then, after a long moment, Cas' hand would rest on Dean's shoulder to which Dean would react calmly, turning to face him. Without any questions or comment from either part, Dean would take Cas' wrist and pull him down gently, shifting his body back to give Cas room to lay. Dean would wake up in the morning, soft breath against his neck and Castiel's head resting on his shoulder. It didn't take long for Dean to realize that waking up to such a beautiful sight, such a peaceful sight, would be something he wanted for the rest of his life.
Dean would be an idiot if he didn't admit that he had feelings for Cas. Everyone knew it. Just the way they acted around each other, the glances, the soft smiles, the comforting gestures. And he was sure that Cas felt the same because he could have gone to Sam for comfort. Sam was so much better at comfort and Cas knew that. So Dean came to the conclusion that they were both too clueless for their own good.
Dean kissed Cas on a Saturday.
Sam had gone on a supply run, leaving Dean at the table cleaning the guns as Cas sat beside the hunter, watching. Dean didn't mind. It felt nice, for Cas to do something he had always done. Watched Dean. It was almost like he was back. He had started a conversation, small talk as he focused on cleaning the handgun. One thing led to another and the gun was laid down on the table as Dean focused on Cas. He opened up, telling Dean that he felt worthless, like he had no purpose. No reason to keep living. Dean kissed him then, not wanting to hear what came after. I think I might kill myself. The soft confession rang in his mind from years ago. It hurt Dean. He couldn't live without Cas, he tried. He just…couldn't.
Things started to get better after the kiss.
Dean and Castiel had a long and honest talk about everything. Everything they had ever did, ever felt. Cas finally told Dean about Naomi forcing him to kill Dean a thousand times and how he sobbed as he plunged the blade through him nine hundred and ninety nine times. He admitted that the last time he killed Dean, he already felt dead inside.
Demons seemed to fly off the radar, either giving up on the world or perhaps other hunters took care of their dirty work, they didn't know. But it came down to not having a case every week. There were times where a month went by without any sort of whisper of trouble. Which troubled them. But as much as they dug, they couldn't find anything that would point to any explanation.
Two years passed without any huge development on the Metatron situation. The three men worked small cases every now and then; a rogue vampire, a poltergeist in a family home. The simple stuff. And they wondered why nothing was happening, why the world wasn't turning to brimstone or even looking like something was off. If Dean was honest with himself, it seemed liked the world didn't need fixing. It wasn't apocalyptic, it wasn't even bad. It was merely the world; the good, the bad and the occasional miracle.
Life was beginning to become more bearable by the day.