That was it. It was over. Naomi had fallen to her knees, helpless against Dean's fury and Sam's ingenuity. Cas stood beside her broken body, still, silent and wide-eyed. Sam, looking pale and sickly, looked quietly triumphant behind Dean. Dean, on the other hand, was nothing but raw nerves; with heaving breath, he dropped the blade to the ground with a muted, metallic clatter and took a step towards Cas. It was difficult for the angel to process any of the commotion; Naomi's demise had resulted in an instant release of control, and he felt free, scared, exposed, and most of all, guilty. His breath hitched in his throat as he felt Dean's arms around his shoulders, tight and unyielding like a vice. He remained still, with his arms at his sides, under the pressure and affection of Dean's embrace.
"Cas. You're good, right?" he asked, pulling back with his tight grip on Cas' shoulders. Cas let his gaze wander to Dean's hand on his shoulder, and looked back up at Dean. He did not muster a single word.
"Cas?" Dean's voice rose in tension, and he looked helplessly at Sam, who was taking Naomi away. Sam didn't notice, though, as he pulled Naomi's wasted form from the spread-eagle scorch marks on the cold concrete.
"Dean," Cas breathed, clenching his jaw to retain his stoic stare. Dean's eyes snapped back to his angel, relief almost tangible in his face. "I am… no longer being manipulated," he finished, looking down at his feet. He could not keep looking Dean in the face. Not after what he had done. Memories of each time he had "killed" Dean Winchester made him feel ill, made him hate himself more than he thought he was capable. A part of him wished he had been killed, too, along with Naomi; better it happen sooner, so that Dean could stop worrying. The thought alone elicited a desperate, sorry sob from the back of Cas' throat. Dean studied Cas, desperate to know and to fix and to put his Castiel back together.
"Hey," Dean murmured, squeezing Cas to his body, just like how he would comfort Sammy when he was younger. This time, though, Cas pushed against Dean, unwilling to be coddled like a child. Like he was innocent. Dean stared at him like he had been shocked by electricity, startled and pained.
"Dean, why?" Cas asked, his impassioned voice rising.
"What the hell is your problem?" Dean asked, frowning and trembling with adrenaline.
"I am your problem, Dean. You will not grant me absolution. Dean, I…" Castiel faltered, reaching out and grasping Dean's jacket sleeve. Dean could do nothing but watch; attempting to come to terms with the fact that Cas felt guilty, he put his opposite hand on Cas'.
"Cas, you didn't-," Dean started, cut off instantly.
"I killed you, Dean, I… hundreds of times," Cas managed, imploring Dean with a desperate gaze.
"Do I look dead to you?" Dean snapped, squeezing Cas' hand. Cas stared back silently, his expression turning from frustration to abandon to pure, unadulterated love. He averted his eyes again, staring at his shoes determinedly. Dean watched Cas in despair as Cas' hand fell from Dean's jacket. Dean sighed and pulled Cas once again into his arms, tight as he could, and relished the feeling of having his Cas. They stood still for a moment before Dean heard the Impala's trunk slamming shut outside. Castiel hesitantly wrapped his arms around Dean in return and held on. Dean felt Cas bury his face in the crook of Dean's neck and Dean smiled at the feeling. He secretly wished they could stay like that forever, minus the silent tears Dean felt on his collar.
"So sorry," Cas mumbled, face thoroughly obscured by Dean's chest. "So sorry."
Dean looked down at the mess of dark hair. Suddenly, as though it had been the clearest, most obvious conclusion Dean's ever drawn, he rested his chin on the top of Cas' head.
"Love you, Cas."
Sam sat in the passenger seat of the Impala. He glanced at his watch. It was only five minutes before Castiel and Dean emerged, Dean's arm draped possessively over Cas' shoulders. Sam raised his eyebrows as Dean opened the back seat of the Impala.
"Hey, you need me to sit in the back?" Sam asked innocuously, noticing how absolutely fragile Cas looked. Cas glanced up at Sam, surprised and appreciative.
"No, Sammy," Dean said definitively.
"Thank you, Sam," Cas said with a small smile as he climbed into the backseat. "I actually prefer the backseat."
Sam smiled. "Good to have you back, Cas."
Dean smiled at Cas in the rearview mirror and minutes later, Cas felt himself dozing off to the familiar purr of the Impala motor. Sam turned back to check on Cas and instantly turned to Dean.
"So?" Sam asked eagerly. Dean glanced at him.
"So what?"
"I mean… is everything… good?"
"None of your damn business, Sammy," Dean replied, but Cas could hear the smile in his voice.
"So are you guys, like, a thing now?" Sam asked again after a few seconds.
"Aaaaah, shut it," Dean replied, although it was clear he was suddenly in an improved mood. Sam laughed incredulously and trailed off into a brazen, "Ooooh my god."
Those words were the last Castiel heard before he fell asleep in earnest, hands folded in his lap. He would never forget the feeling Dean's arms around him, forgiving and fervent against all odds. He would never forget the feeling in his chest when Dean told him he loved him. And he would never, ever forget the feeling of Dean's lips against his for the first time. There were many problems they had yet to face-the third trial, heaven in shambles, and Crowley, to name a few-but despite his worries, the pain he had faced, and the grief he had yet to endure, for the moment, Castiel did nothing but savor the feeling of salvationin the backseat of a 1967 Impala.