Dean shot out of bed and tore the gun out of Castiel's hand. He flipped the safety on and threw it down on the bed. He stared at the other man, wordless. Cas seemed a little lost. He gingerly reached a hand up to scratch at his upper lip. He wouldn't meet Dean's eyes.

"Okay. What was that?"

Cas shrugged; cleared his throat.

"I guess I got a little too excited."

Dean continued to stare. Eventually Castiel began to blubber under the scrutiny. Clipped explanations were lost among apologies and he watched, just watched as Cas found his way back to himself.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. Um… I'm not really sure… do you think-"

You want to know what I think? I think that sometimes I look at you and I just want to wrap you up and keep you safe."

Castiel stopped dead in his tracks.

"Dean…"

"You're the kind of person I could just hold. But I can't do that. You know I can't do that. I can't do that because if I did, I'm afraid it would push us further apart right now than bring us closer together and that scares the hell out of me. Because how can I, how can I do this when you're…"

Still no eyes.

"Say it."

"No."

They came to a familiar stalemate and the current rested between them for a few beats before Castiel cleared his throat and raised his voice a little.

"Ah, come on. Everyone's falling apart. It's the end of the world, remember?"

This was just how they talked now. It wasn't "Hello," or "Good Morning, love." They were never going to be those types of people. They never had a chance.

"You know Sam always told me if Lucifer didn't bring the apocalypse the angels would."

Castiel cringed at the usage of the term 'angel,' and the reminder that he was ever anything but a troubled, malnourished, maladjusted human male, and stiffened. Dean let in a desperate little gasp and crossed the room.


After the fall, after they'd all been brokenly reunited, Castiel had reverted to one of his previous means of self-preservation. He wasn't making much sense. It was like talking to a child sometimes. It wasn't that he didn't understand or that he wasn't listening: he wasn't insane, he was hurt. And he was feeling it, for real, for the first time in his life. In the beginning, people would torment Cas. It was senseless, ceaseless, and it ripped into him like nothing the brothers had ever seen. It was like he was being punished for all his kindness, all the times he had vouched for humanity. The day Dean found him locked in a dark storage unit was the last straw. They moved Cas out of his crappy one bedroom apartment and into the bunker.

"I'm just not sure how much farther he can be pushed," Dean whispered to Sam in front of the fire one night. "He's lost his family, his identity... I mean, practically everything he thought he knew about himself and what he could depend on is gone."


They didn't embrace. In fact, Dean made no movements to touch him at all. But he stood as close as he dared and forced Castiel to look at him, forced him to make some kind of human contact that didn't revolve around violence. What he found was more vulnerable than he was prepared or equipped to deal with.

"What happened?" he whispered.

Cas broke their eyes and looked away. Dean was about to step away, give him his space, when Castiel darted a hand forward, behind Dean's neck, and pulled him in until Dean's shoulder met his forehead.

This was as close as Cas was willing to get. It was closer than they'd gotten since Purgatory, since Cas became human. Touch was different for him somehow. It was more intense; he was more in tune with his flesh. That knowledge in Dean's brain made this moment infinitely important. This meant they were getting somewhere, this meant it was possible to get through to him.