Hey guys :) this is a one-shot, I guess it's a coda for post 12x02. I enjoyed 12x02 well enough considering it's a Buckleming ep, although it doesn't hold a candle to 12x01. This is destiel-edged but not any more than the show itself is, which nowadays is decidedly non-platonic mutual pining but the actual interactions are basically platonic. Can't believe we're at the point where writing show-accurate Dean and Cas is the same thing as writing destiel pre-slash now. And I love Mary but we all rolled our eyes at her blissful ignorance regarding #JohnWinchester'sA+Parenting :P

Dean finished his third beer with a long sigh, fingers loose on the photographs in his lap. He needed to snap out of it. Things were good again, he had Sammy back. He had Cas back. He still had his mother back, despite her near miss.

But therein lay the issue. His mother was alive and walking and talking and it really was insane. Wonderful, incredible, but insane. He didn't know how he felt about it, still, even after sitting on the kitchen floor for an hour trying to work it out. He was happy, surely. Or he was something like it. Whatever that something was, it was also a hell of a lot like sad. Happy and sad and everything else at once.

Dean considered grabbing another beer. But no, he didn't want to get drunk tonight. He didn't want to act like this was some problem. Things were the best they'd been in a very long time. Possibly ever. He just needed to adjust.

Maybe Dean just didn't know how to be happy anymore.

Swallowing the sting from his sinuses and tearing his gaze away from the photos, Dean hauled himself to his feet. He gathered up the bottles and tossed them into the trash before stretching, hearing his spine pop. Sniffing the last of the inexplicable emotion away, Dean started heading towards his room before recalling that Mary was using it. He didn't begrudge her that at all, but he kind of wanted to lie down and listen to music for a bit, or maybe read. Something to lose himself in. He dithered in the hallway, trying to remember which of the many spare rooms actually had a bed and which ones were just full of boxes and shelves.

He swallowed as his overly helpful brain informed him that Cas was using one of the spares, probably the one opposite Sam that he'd used a few times now. He actually found himself considering it for a second. Knocking on Cas's door, asking if he could sleep there tonight. Cas would say yes, Dean didn't doubt it. Dean could kick off his shoes, lie back next to the angel, talk about random stuff, listen to Cas's low voice until he fell asleep to the sound. Cas would let him. Cas would stay beside him. Cas would watch over him.

Dean had never wanted anything more than he wanted to fall asleep next to Castiel in that moment.

He groaned quietly and rubbed his eyes hard, stifling a yawn even as he mentally berated himself. He was tired and emotional and it was making him weak and stupid. He'd forgotten who he was over the years, slipping into some weird chick flick world where it seemed more and more reasonable to want all the things that normal people might get to enjoy. Well, he wasn't a normal person. He had to be strong and he had to stop himself from wanting to be anything else. He didn't deserve it, anyway, and it could never work out.

Mary's return and her fond words about John had reminded him of all of that. She was right, John had been a good father. John taught him how things were, made it so that Dean could cope with the hunting life, so that he could protect Sam from the worst of it all. Or at least try. John had done his best for Dean and Dean would be either dead or a drooling mess by now if he hadn't. How disappointed would his Dad be in him if he could see him now, crying over photos for no damn reason and running to his best friend for comfort? Comfort based in feelings that continued to run not quite close enough to friendship?

Dean's fists clenched before he remembered that he was still holding his precious photos and he swore softly, smoothing them out. There was a new crease right over John's face in one of them and it looked like he was scowling up at Dean, angry, ready to clock him one and tell him to pull himself together.

"Fuck off," Dean hissed down at the photo, shocking himself. He froze, illogically waiting for some sort of backlash, some sort of karmic punishment for disrespecting his dead old man. Nothing.

He blinked at the creased image and suddenly felt a bit ridiculous, but a little lighter. There would be no backlash. John was gone. John was only a memory now, one that hadn't held any power over Dean in years until Mary's return stirred it up. And Dean missed John, loved him still, was truly grateful to him. But he didn't owe him a damn thing.

Shaking his head, Dean ran a hand through his hair and wondered how many layers of messed up he still had to work through to fix himself. Sometimes it felt like he'd changed so much, left so much behind, but other times it felt like he hadn't resolved a single thing about himself in his entire life. He huffed a dull laugh, wondering if the beers had gone to his head a bit. He was so tired.

Making his mind up before he could change it, Dean trudged to Cas's door, took a deep breath, and knocked lightly.

No reply.

Frowning, the hunter slowly opened the door. "Cas? You in, buddy?"

The room was empty. Nothing was there to indicate that Cas had set foot inside. Worry prickling under his skin, Dean lay the photos on the dresser and pulled out his phone, sending off a quick text.

Hey, where r u?

He stared down at his phone after pressing send, much more awake than he had been several seconds earlier. Why would Cas have left? Dean had been sure that the angel was staying this time. What did Dean have to do to make him just stay?

He jumped as a reply pinged up on the screen: Outside with my new vehicle. I'm star gazing. Am I required indoors?

Sagging with disproportionate levels of relief, Dean hastened to respond.

No stay there, I'll come out.

Suddenly feeling much more cheerful, Dean grabbed the blanket and pillows from the bed, bundling them up. Cas might not feel the cold, but Dean sure as hell would. Making his way upstairs, the hunter struggled with the front door, just managing to lever it open without dropping his load. He emerged up the front steps to see Cas sitting upright on the back tray of his truck, peering expectantly at Dean.

"Hello, Dean," he said pleasantly, barely illuminated by the moonlight. Dean smiled, walked to the vehicle and threw the bedding onto it, seeing that Cas had shifted the hay bales and piled them against the back of the truck cab. The result was enough open space to stretch a fully grown man's legs out if leaning back against the hay, which Cas was taking full advantage of. He looked incongruously relaxed as he stared curiously at Dean's supplies.

"Are you joining me?"

"If it's alright," said Dean, pausing, slightly unsure. Cas smiled faintly, eyes dark and gleaming but still identifiably blue in the low light.

"Of course, Dean."

Clambering up onto the tray, Dean passed one pillow to Cas before arranging his own against the hay bales and settling down against it. He dragged the blanket up over himself and sighed contentedly once he was covered up. Nothing like getting warm and comfy on a chilly night. He glanced sideways to see Cas hugging the pillow to his chest, head tilted back against the hay, apparently oblivious to the sharp straws poking into his scalp and neck. Dean rolled his eyes.

He lolled his own head back, folding his arms and crossing his ankles under the blanket. There was silence for several minutes as the hunter and the angel watched the stars, finding patterns and breathing to the same rhythm. Eventually, Cas spoke.

"Are you feeling any more comfortable with your mother's presence?"

Dean sighed, unsurprised by the question. "Sorta. Sometimes, sometimes not. I keep thinking it's starting to feel normal and then bam, she'll say something that throws me off. Like, tonight, at dinner…"

He trailed off, feeling petty and ungrateful. Beside him, Cas shuffled a little closer.

"What?"

Dean frowned hard at the Milky Way, which wouldn't be visible for much longer as winter drew near. "She doesn't cook. Like, she hates cooking. But all this time, I thought she was this amazing cook. That's what I remembered. And… I was wrong."

Cas hummed in consideration. Dean snuck a sideways glance at him to see that he was staring up at the sky, profile softened by the moonlight. Dean didn't look away like he was intending to.

"That could be distressing, yes," Cas eventually concluded gravely. Dean blinked, forgetting for a moment what exactly Cas was talking about. He remembered just as the angel continued. "I'm afraid that your childhood vision of your mother could never have matched the real thing, Dean. There are doubtless many things that you thought or assumed about her that are incorrect. But she must be facing the same issue with you, and now Sam. This is difficult for everyone involved."

Cas turned his head to look at Dean and the light caught on the edges of his irises, making the blue glow in an alien and beautiful way. "You're not doing this wrong, Dean. You're handling this extremely well, I think. Please be kind to yourself."

Their eyes held for a long moment before Dean swallowed and looked away abruptly, gazing unseeing up at the stars. "Yeah. Thanks, Cas. I- I'll try."

He heard Cas chuckle. "Well, that's all any of us can do."

Dean smiled and smothered another yawn. "Mmm-hmm. Hey, how're you doing?"

Cas shifted a little. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you've been through a lot lately. I mean, jeez, I'm not the only one who's had a shock reunion with a parent. Seeing Chuck must've been… weird."

Cas didn't answer right away and Dean dropped his gaze to see the angel frowning down at the pillow in his arms. He looked stupidly young for a moment, the shadows obscuring the lines of his face. Dean sometimes thought that Cas had aged somehow, with all the stress and grief that the past several years had thrown at him. It was unlikely, as his vessel was maintained by his grace, but then Cas had sustained pretty massive damage to his grace more than once. Maybe the extra lines and tired planes of his face reflected that.

"It was very weird," Cas replied eventually, voice distant. Dean inched closer, concerned.

"You OK?"

Cas looked up as though startled, sadness lingering in the press of his lips. "Of course I'm OK. You and Sam are safe, as is your mother, and-"

"No," Dean cut across him firmly. "Cas, are you OK? Just you."

They watched each other for several long seconds before Cas let out a slow breath and shook his head gently. "Possibly not. It's hard to tell."

Dean nodded, mouth twisting. "Yeah, I know the feeling. You'll stay a while this time, yeah? Have a break, figure it all out."

Cas blinked at him and Dean smirked before putting on a serious face, his best Cas impression. "Please be kind to yourself."

It worked; a wry smile crept onto the angel's face and he huffed a laugh.

"Sound advice," he murmured. Dean winked at him before settling back to stare up at the stars again, sleepy and content.

It never occurred to him that Cas hadn't agreed to stay.