With Understanding

by apokteino

Supposed serial killer Dean Winchester kidnaps his soulmate, FBI Agent Castiel Novak. What ensues is a battle of wills – one determined to be loved, and one determined to be free.

25. Chapter 25

A/N: This is the last we see of Dean and Castiel's POVs. There is one more chapter, from the perspective of the FBI. If there is anything you would like to see, now is the time to tell me!

A/N2: I am writing an extended author's notes chapter when the story is done - a 'how I did it/weird facts about the writing' if you will. If anyone has questions they'd like me to answer about the story, let me know! (Last chance!)

Warnings (spoilers!): Violence on par with show. Discussion of past dub-con and trauma. Flashback of kidnapping. Possible dub-con, depending on your point of view.

Feedback is loved!

---

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Castiel's in a graveyard. Not terribly surprising, all considering. The surprising thing is that he's watching someone else dig.

He met Dave while on a hunt in the same area – a nest of vampires. At first Castiel thought that when the witnesses kept talking about that other FBI agent that the real FBI had stepped in, but when he got all the people he talked to clarify that the FBI agent was alone, he realized that wasn't the case. No real FBI agent goes anywhere without a partner, for lots of reasons. Safety, liability, another pair of eyes, backup in case a suspect blurts a confession. They took care of the nest, Castiel got mildly injured, and then when Castiel was on his way out of town, he heard about a spirit starting to get violent in a family home.

Which led him here.

"I swear," Dave grunts, "you came up with that injury just to foist this off on me."

"I told you I didn't mind if a few stitches got pulled," Castiel says dryly, hands balanced on his own nearly-unused shovel. Aditi sits next to him, keeping watch. She's gotten so sensitive to ghosts from her time hunting with Castiel and Dean that she will bark before they even materialize.

Dave grunts again, and then his shovel hits pay dirt.

"Here, let me help," Castiel offers, and then slides down into the grave.

Together, they get the last of the dirt off of the coffin and use a crowbar to get it open. Then they both get out, salt the body, and burn it. The night remains silent.

"Welp," Dave says, "I'm off." He holds out his hand, and Castiel takes it. "You've got my number. Come across a multi-hunter problem, I'm your guy. Casti-el is it?"

"That's right," Castiel says. "Thank you, and thank you for the help."

With that, Dave gathers his things and heads off. The family knew that Castiel and Dave were going to take care of the body, so strictly speaking reburying it isn't necessary. But Castiel does it anyway, pulling a few stitches in his side. He'll have to re-do them when he gets back to his motel, but he thinks the effort is worth it.

When he's done, aching, he slides into his '65 Mustang, black as the night. He's not entirely sure what prompted Dean to get Castiel such a flashy car, but Dean swore up and down that classics were better than that 'modern crap.' In all, it took nearly two weeks for Dean to declare Castiel ready to be on his own. Two weeks of Dean working on the Mustang (putting a false bottom in the trunk and in the back footwell, as well as a holster under the seat) and teaching Castiel how to manage false identities, credit cards, and so on. Most of it Castiel was already familiar with, but he'd never done it from the perspective of attempting it while trying to avoid law enforcement, so it takes a bit of practice to get him comfortable.

He does find it interesting that Dean fully kits him out. It would be very easy for Castiel to permanently strike out on his own with what Dean has given him. Dean also doesn't make mention of Castiel's promise at all, and the fact he's breaking it. Dean just gives.

The engine starts with a rumble. Castiel drives.

---

It's weird to be alone.

Castiel spent a lot of time alone when he was in the bunker with Dean, because Dean hunted. This isn't like that. Castiel still wanders across a lot of people just in daily life. It's similar, actually, to the first months of freedom he had while living on his own, after his brother returned to Texas. He has social interaction on a daily basis, just not ever with the same people, with the exception of cases.

It's not bad. It's life.

Castiel is doing fine on his own.

---

Castiel still dreams about Dean, though, even three months later. He dreams about sleeping in Dean's arms, and less distinct ones about sex and daily life. He dreams about a hunt he was just on, except Dean was there. He's okay, but he misses Dean, and his unconscious mind will not let that fact rest. He can keep busy while he's awake, but lying alone in a motel room, trying to fall asleep when the day before he spent all night doing research for a hunt, is surprisingly difficult.

He feels … emotionally flatlined, too. Yes, he's fine. But is that all he wants? To be simply satisfied?

Sometimes his brother enters his dreams, frustrated and crying and worried. They are not nightmares, but they come close.

---

He can do this on his own. But he doesn't want to.

---

Castiel's always preferred the term 'mental hospital' over 'insane asylum.'

But this place, Windover Psychiatric Hospital, deserves the term insane asylum. It's honestly every cliché of a haunted place that Castiel has ever seen. It's been derelict for thirty years, but steel bars, concrete walls and even the occasional full on steel cage (large enough to encompass a room) litter the area. Castiel had really hoped that the crazy doctor who had experimented on his patients would be released by the burning of his body, but it seems he's quite attached to his little personal torture chamber, or something in it. Castiel hopes it's not the whole building. It's three stories. He's pretty sure he'd need explosive ordinance to actually set the whole thing ablaze.

Castiel does take a precaution that helps, he thinks. It's noon outside right now, with a blazing clear day. Not a single cloud in sight. Sunlight out there, even if inside it's dark and dusty.

He brought a heavy backpack slung over his shoulder, with a shotgun in one hand, and a flashlight in the other. He's also got a pistol in an ankle holster, and another shotgun – loaded with rock salt shells – in the backpack. Dean often went for gasoline as an accelerant, and Castiel's not been able to get his hands on something better. Military grade would be nice. Pity hunters are off the grid. His car is loaded with more gasoline, and he put gallons of it around the building. In containers, of course. He's not stupid.

Well, not that stupid.

Admittedly, he fell through a rotted floorboards and landed, by sheer luck, on a mattress whose springs hadn't completely degraded. That's where he is now, laying on a mattress quite possibly as old as he is, his ankle hurting, and staring at the hole he fell through.

Good thing he didn't bring Aditi. He didn't think she would be all that helpful in a space like this, so he left her behind. For once, he really is alone.

He gets up, head swimming just a little bit. He checks his pack, finds the gasoline jug he left in there still intact. The jugs he left around the building are out of his immediate ability to use, but this will work in a pinch, hopefully.

He can make this work.

Okay, so he's not been as careful as he should have been. But this is his tenth hunt in three months, and the first time he's had a problem.

The ceiling shakes like the broken floor is settling. Dust falls. Castiel coughs, and takes a second look at the room he fell into, using his flashlight this time. It looks like a private patient room, judging from the sole bed (with restraints, half rotted) and the closed door with a tiny, tiny window. There's no doorknob. Castiel puts the flashlight down, pushes, then grabs the frame of the window and pulls.

Nothing.

Then, distantly, "Help! Is anyone there? Fuck! Fuck!" Female. The good, crazy doctor was a man.

It could be someone else trapped in here, for … some reason. Castiel can't think of one except the one he's here for. "Hello? Can you help me? I appear to be locked in here."

A moment of silence, then, "Are you real?" Her voice sounds louder – closer – by the last word.

Castiel pauses. "Yes. I'm not a ghost, if that's what you're asking."

"Oh, thank God!"

Castiel can hear movement, then a clattering sound, and then the door squeals as it opens.

A girl of about twenty stands there, blond with a pixie cut. She's wearing jeans and a pink sweater, and has a cut on her forehead, bleeding slowly over streaks of red where she had wiped it away. She slumps with relief when she sees him, not even noticing the shotgun that Castiel is holding by his leg, pointed down. "Oh, another human being. I could kiss you."

"Cas. I'd say nice to meet you, but under these circumstances …" Castiel steps out of the room. "What are you doing here?"

"Jessica. Dare. Idiot." She holds out her hand.

Castiel raises an eyebrow and shakes it.

"Are you also an idiot?"

Castiel smiles, unable to help it. "Well, by some definitions, I suppose."

"Then what are you doing here?"

Castiel hesitates. "To take care of the ghost, actually." He hefts the gun a bit, because he doesn't want to surprise her.

She blinks at it and then leans in. "I didn't think ghosts were real," she whispers. "Idiot."

"Most people don't. Can you get out the way you came?"

"No, no. I'm lost. And the doors locked behind me. Creepy as hell."

Castiel looks down the hallway, trying to superimpose the plans from city hall onto what he's seeing. He has to remind himself he's on the second floor now.

"I didn't think bullets hit ghosts."

Castiel replies distractedly, "They don't, but salt does. These are filled with salt. It'd hurt like hell if you got shot with it, but you wouldn't be killed."

Jessica nods. "I'll go with that. Not the craziest thing to happen today."

"Did you see him?"

"Yeah. I mean, I was supposed to go the roof and wave back at my friends, and then come back, but I didn't even make it that far. It grabbed my leg, and I'd have thought it was just, you know, a crazy guy, but I threw something at him and it went right through. Made him drop me, and then he vanished."

That might have been when Castiel entered the building, considerably more threatening than Jessica. The doctor's office was on the third floor, and Castiel had managed to almost make it there when the floor gave. "All right. I think it's better if I get you out of here, and then come back for the ghost." Civilians come first. "Sound good?"

She nods. "Are you sure, though? I mean, it won't screw up … killing … the ghost." Her face scrunches up. "You know what I mean."

"Ghosts either attach to their body or to a much loved object. I think it's the latter with this one. I just have to destroy it." Castiel eyes her. "But once he realizes what I'm up to, he'll attack. I don't think you should be around for that."

She looks grateful. "You know the way out?"

"Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"I'm pretty sure I know where we are, it's just a question of whether the building has partially collapsed in any areas that would impede escape."

"Where are we?" Jessica asks.

"What used to be the secure ward –"

"So down the stairwell, cut across the minimum security, and out into the visitor's area?"

Castiel blinks. "Yes. I thought you said you were lost."

"I was. But city hall has building plans, you know."

"You looked up the building plans before you came here?" Castiel asks, not able to hide his surprise.

Jessica smiles wanly. "Well, not that much of an idiot."

Castiel laughs. "All right. Let's go."

The fact that the building has been abandoned for thirty years means that walls and floors have given way to water and time. They end up having to alter their path twice before they even leave the secure ward. Fortunately, it also means the secure doors are no longer secure, so there's that.

They're looking for a safe stairwell when Jessica asks, "So, um. You're a ghost hunter?"

"Basically. Yes." That's blocked, that's blocked …

"Like the guys on TV?"

"Not even close," Castiel says with a laugh. "The stuff I hunt is real, and I hunt it to eliminate it, not get a good recording."

"Oh."

There's ten minutes of silence. They find a stairwell.

"So how did you get into this?" Jessica asks, carefully picking her way after Castiel. He figures if it will take his weight, it will take hers.

Castiel hesitates. "It's a long story. But someone showed me that it was real, so I wouldn't think he was crazy."

"Well, you seem crazy to me. Ghost hunter."

"We prefer just 'hunter,' generally speaking."

"Noted. Hunter."

Five minutes.

"So, do you like, do this as a living?"

"An occupation. I don't get paid, but it's what I spend my time doing, yes."

"Oh, so you're an amateur," she teases.

"Trust me, I wish there was an X-Files, it'd make my life easier." And possible. Castiel feels a pang, thinking of the BAU and the life he'd lost. It's only a pang. The pain isn't as sudden, like the wound is slowly being covered by scars. In time, he's sure, it'll simply be another part of his past, accepted and moved on from.

"Is this wise to do alone?"

"Possible, but perhaps not wise," Castiel says.

"So you don't have a partner?"

Castiel almost misses his next step.

"Oh, so you do, and you don't want to talk about it."

"It's complicated."

"Is that your facebook status?"

Castiel glances at her.

"What? Your personal problems are a lot less frightening than being stuck in an insane asylum."

Fair enough. "I do have a partner. He and I are on a break. I needed some space."

Jessica claps her hands together. "Oooh. He. Is he your boyfriend, too? That kind of 'partner?'"

Castiel sighs. "Yes."

"So what were you looking to get out of having some space?" Jessica asks.

"Are you sure you want to hear this?"

"Psychology major. Yes."

Castiel laughs. Of course he'd rescue yet another person to psychoanalyze him. Is this the universe trying to talk to him? Or get him to talk? Okay, fine. "Our relationship used to be – very unhealthy, shall we say. Abusive. He put himself through a lot to change, and I feel safe around him, but I still – I still want to be sure that I'm doing the right thing."

Jessica stops. "Okay, okay, first of all? People don't stop being abusive!"

Castiel stops with her. "Statistically it's very, very rare, but it does happen. He turned himself in and went to prison, Jessica. I wasn't kidding when I said it was complicated. So do you want to hear my personal problems, or should we talk about ghost hunting?"

"Personal problems it is," Jessica says with cheer. She becomes somber, and then asks, "Okay, so he hasn't relapsed?"

"No."

"Okay then. So you want to be sure you're doing the right thing by being with him?"

Castiel nods and begins walking, Jessica following. "D – he has a way of making things that aren't reasonable sound reasonable. Distance takes care of that."

"And what conclusion have you come to?"

That is … less complicated. Castiel loves Dean, still. He expected that. He also understands why Dean insisted he hunt during their time of separation, after endless hours of telling Castiel not to hunt alone previously. It's given Castiel a perspective on what hunting is, but also on Castiel's ability to cope with hunting as a job – as his sole source of activity and social interaction. Much like law enforcement work had been enough to keep Castiel happy, the same is true of hunting. He doesn't need a personal relationship to feel fulfilled, only his work and his brother. His relationship with Balthazar is more distant by necessity, but he still has his brother. Where once there was the FBI and Balthazar, now there is hunting and Balthazar. It's enough. But … "He makes me happy."

"Yeah?" Jessica asks softly.

It should have felt momentous, saying those words out loud for the first time. But it feels more like finally. He's agonized over his relationship with Dean so much, and he's ready for that to be over. "I don't need him to survive, but I – I want to be with him." Castiel smiles, unbidden. "He's been through hell, personally," and literally, "but the way he finds joy in the small things of life … I really admire that. And he finds joy in me, too, I know. And I'm finding, I guess I'm realizing, that he does the same for me. He gives me joy."

Jessica doesn't say anything.

Castiel glances at her, finding her thoughtful. Now that words have burst out of him, he wants to keep saying them – to say them to Dean.

"So you going to go back to him?"

Two weeks left. "Yes. I think I'm going to have to have a talk about boundaries and personal space, but … yes."

Jessica seems to take a few more minutes to absorb that. Then she asks, "So how did you become a hunter?"

"Easier to say how D – how my partner became a hunter. His mother was murdered by something supernatural, and his father saw it happen. So my partner was raised to do this, from when he was a child."

"I bet he's a study in abnormal psychology," Jessica muses.

Castiel snorts. "He is, though not to the degree most people think."

"And you?"

It takes Castiel a moment to realize she's asking about his entry into hunting, not how crazy he is. He decides not to mention soulmates. He doesn't want her wondering when she's going to meet hers, if she ever does. "He, um, fell in love with me from a distance."

"He stalked you."

"Well. Yes. And I thought he was crazy, because he's got several murders on record –"

"Murders?" Jessica squeaks.

"Not really," Castiel assures her. "They just looked that way, because ghosts aren't a good explanation, and I thought the same. He showed me it wasn't true."

"If I hadn't just been dragged thirty feet by a ghost, I'd say he was double crazy. Stalking and ghosts." Jessica pauses. "But he is one crazy."

Castiel shoots her a smile and shoves at a stuck door. "A bit, yes."

"You know, I wasn't expecting this, but your personal problems might actually be more interesting than the sudden realization that the supernatural is real."

Castiel laughs. He's been through that struggle. He kicks the door down. "Glad to be of distraction."

Jessica flinches at the sound of the doorframe being knocked out. "So he stalked you, told you the truth, and then what?"

Castiel dodges a low beam that's crashed through a wall. "He kept me prisoner for a while." Understatement. "Anyway, despite the supernatural being real, he was, as you put it, one crazy. So when I had the chance, I left. After close to two years, we finally really reunited and have been trying to make a healthier go of the relationship."

"Okay, did he go through a boatload of therapy? Because –"

"Actually, yes. As did I."

Jessica almost trips, and Castiel catches her, then assists her over a collapsed wall. "Well, I'll say this then. Shoot him with rock salt when he decides to be crazy."

"Oh, I will if I have to."

She nods firmly at him. "Good."

Castiel's about to say something else, but he sees a flicker of darkness and shouts, "Cover your ears!" And he fires.

Jessica screams, her hands on her ears and ducking down to the floor. She stays there, shaking, until Castiel gently touches her shoulder. "Oh my God. What?"

"He was manifesting. The salt will hurt him, it'll be a while before he can try again."

Jessica slowly stands. "How long?"

"Depends on how determined he is. The strength of a spirit is often linked to their strength of will. That's why angry spirits are so powerful – they put all their anger into their force of will. Come on, we should hurry."

Fortunately they've reached the first floor. At that point Jessica is able to find her own way out, but Castiel watches her go just to be sure she gets out safely.

She turns on the dead lawn to face him. "Cas. Be careful, okay?"

"In a few hours you'll hear about a hell of a fire," Castiel says. "I'll be fine. I'm a professional, remember?"

Jessica withdraws a dozen feet and throws him a smirk. "Professionals get paid!"

"Are you still here?"

Jessica smiles at him, and pauses, just once. "You're either really stupid or really in love." And she's gone.

Castiel is successful torching the office, and the crazy doctor disappears into smoke. Ten out of ten, he imagines Dean saying.

It's only after Castiel gets in his '65 Mustang that he realizes Jessica was also the name of Sam's girlfriend.

---

It does make him think about Sam and Jessica. Dean seemed certain they were in heaven together.

One day, that will be true for him and Dean.

Castiel wants to be with Dean. Settled fact. But he wants an expansive life, with more people in it. Dean is a fantastic hunting partner, but Castiel is used to having a team of colleagues. Of friends. If he and Dean didn't have the history they did, and Castiel wasn't damaged in the way he is by it, it might not matter. But Castiel is afraid of being alone, of forced solitude, even if the agent of that force is circumstances and not Dean. Moreover, in order to maintain a healthy relationship with Dean, he needs perspective, and other people provide that.

It is distance that has made him so ready to return to Dean.

Dean may not understand. He will try, of course, and Castiel will eventually make himself understood, but Dean has lived a life with only two characters, his father and brother – three characters, if Castiel includes himself – and the rest are just background. He cannot fathom the need that Castiel has for more. Just as Dean himself cannot fathom a love separate from need.

Ten days.

The next morning, Castiel slips into a diner and sits in a corner, asking for coffee first, and then their everything omelet. He scans the local paper for hunts out of habit, and then takes his cell phone out and texts,I'm all right.

I'm fine would be code for Castiel being in danger. Castiel likes the ridiculousness of it, because it was his code for the FBI, too. He'll have to pick another when he and Dean hunt together, just in case.

Dean's reply is just, Got it. Over the past four months, he and Dean have exchanged probably less than a hundred words beyond that nearly automated checkup.

Castiel puts his cell back into his pocket and scans the newspaper again.

---

Ten days later exactly, Castiel drives into a park in Montana.

Despite it being winter, there are families running around – children chasing after dogs who have loosed their leash, parents watching in amusement, and joggers jogging around the chaos. The grass is half dead, from the cold more than anything, but green lingers here and there. Castiel got here early so he could lay out a blanket and wait for Dean. He even has a picnic basket with food from a little bistro. Aditi is wandering around on a very long leash, as per park requirements.

He reads while he waits, a recently published book on criminal forensics. Of course, law enforcement agencies keep secret the exact specifications of what they do and the limits of it, which is wise, but there's enough here to keep Castiel busy and careful. Two of the hunts he was on could potentially have had the FBI involved.

"Cas?"

Castiel looks up, smiles. "Hello, Dean."

Dean is standing maybe twenty feet away, holding a long cardboard tube in one hand. He shifts from foot to foot. "Hey. Can I –"

"Of course. Sit."

Dean walks over and sits, carefully placing the tube by his side. He looks nervous. Of course he looks nervous. Aditi licks his hand, but he barely looks at her.

"Dean –"

Dean asks, "Before we talk, can I show you something?"

Curious. "What is it?"

"Well, um, I decided to use my free time. Hardly hunted at all, actually." He pulls rolled up paper out of the tube, showing hand-drawn blueprints. Exact but done in pencil, so instruments were used. "I bought a property out in southeast Texas, rural, out of the way, with a private road. I designed a house and I hired some company to do the foundation – I did construction work, for a while, so I know you can't fudge the foundation of a house. So, that's there, and some metal stuff that I wanted to make the house really strong, but most of it isn't done. But I've got these plans, see," he points, "and I've figured everything out, how to make it really protected, supernaturally speaking and otherwise. And I thought, well, if you wanted to come back, that we could live there."

Dean looks up, hopeful.

Castiel smoothes out the blueprints. It's incredibly detailed, though Castiel knows from examining building plans that he has yet to plan electricity and plumbing, along with some other details. But most of the important stuff is there: three stories and a vast basement, with rooms laid out. He can recognize the devil's trap in the design, probably there for safety's sake, for the unexpected. Other spells are in the construction and arrangement of rooms.

It's beautiful. It's a future together, one in which Castiel is there from the beginning. Every step of it a path they walked together. Castiel shifts from the blueprints to Dean's face, so full of hope and nerves. This – this is Dean fighting for what he wants. Fighting with everything he has to earn it. And what he wants is Castiel. He wonders if Dean chose Texas because Balthazar is there. Castiel will be close, even if he can't be present.

Castiel leans in and kisses Dean. "I love it. Show me everything."

"So you – are you –"

"I came here to say yes, Dean. To stay." Castiel traces some of the lines in the blueprints. "This is beautiful. But I chose you before it."

Dean reaches out, fingers running gently through Castiel's hair, then grabbing it more roughly. He pulls Castiel in for another kiss, longer and slower. "I love you." He pauses, eyes Castiel. "Do you need to talk?"

"We should," Castiel agrees. "Do you want to do that now?"

"Um. Yeah. My nerves are killing me, Cas. If you don't spill whatever it is now, I'll explode before we get to the car."

Castiel smiles, unbidden. "It's not bad, Dean."

"You say that."

Castiel watches Dean closely for a few moments. "I realized I don't need you."

Dean flinches back like he'd been struck.

Castiel reaches out, finding Dean's flailing hand. "Dean, stop. I know that for you, you don't just love those close to you – you need them. But I spent so long needing you because you were all I had. But I don't – I don't work that way."

Dean won't meet his gaze. "That sounds bad to me, Cas."

"Dean, please. If I don't need you, then I can just – just want you."

Green eyes finally rise. "You want me?"

"I choose you. I choose you knowing I could go anywhere else, that I could choose anyone else, but I want you. Do you understand?"

The glimmerings of that understanding appear. Castiel sees it in the way Dean straightens, in the confident line of his shoulders and the softening of his eyes as he leans in. "I'm not your last option."

"Yes. Yes, you're my first. You give me joy." Castiel meets Dean's smile with one of his own. Though he wanted to keep his job at the FBI, he wanted Dean more, or he would not have risked everything for him. "You get it?"

"You know how I got caught by the FBI, a year into being a total piece of shit?" But Dean says it lightly, smiling.

Castiel nods.

"Agent Jareau said something to me. I've never been able to forget it."

Castiel remembers him mentioning this. "Yes?"

"I know she said it just – just to try to convince me to let you go, and then I'd go to prison and never see you again. I mean, I know it was a ploy. But she said that if I let you go, and then you came back to me, that that might be love." Dean gives a dry chuckle. "I didn't even want to think about that, back then. But I've thought about it a lot since you told me you wanted to have a relationship with me again."

"Unintentional truths are a funny thing, aren't they?"

Dean laughs, full of teeth. "Yeah."

"You hungry? I brought food."

Dean blinks. "You actually made a whole picnic?"

"Yes."

Dean squints at him.

"It's my thank you. For you being understanding about breaking my promise."

Dean softens. "I was never going to make you keep it, Cas. Never."

"I know." Castiel kisses Dean's hand. "So, show me these plans you've drawn up. You say the foundation is already done?"

Dean is excited as he goes through the plans he's made. And best of all, he's left room for improvisation, so Castiel can also have his say. The foundation is unchangeable, but the rooms and even how many stories their home will be is up for debate. Dean's thought through just about everything with regards to defense, but Castiel has preferences for – well, what he wants his home to be like. Windows, for one thing. A lot of them. Dean almost argues, presumably on the merits of safety, but then shuts his mouth.

The bunker didn't have windows.

Dean starts putting in more windows, sketching them into the blueprints, and talking about how to research bulletproof glass. It's not quite effortless, this compromise, but it's close.

The sandwiches are finished around the same time Dean's finished altering his blueprints. "So, um, you wanna go?"

"What about my car?"

"Shit." Dean frowns. "How about you follow me, we drive up to the property, and leave her there? There's a concrete driveway. Then you'll get to see the place, too, make any changes you want."

Castiel nods. "Sounds good."

Dean smiles.

It will take a day or two to reach Texas, so Dean and Castiel drive half the day – in separate cars – and then stop at a motel for the night.

Castiel's been watching Dean closely. Four months both is and isn't a long time, and Castiel wants to be sure that Dean is as fine as he appears to be. The fact that he kept busy – and kept his hope – by planning on building them a house would indicate that Dean spent his time relatively healthily. He doesn't find any alcohol in the Impala when they stop, and Dean has only one beer with dinner.

Mostly, Dean seems happy. Relieved, too, but mostly happy.

The motel is crappy but warm. Dean's whistling as he cleans his favorite gun, and Castiel startles when he stops. "Hey, Cas. You don't mind me buying the place and picking the state and –"

"No, I don't mind. Gifts are surprises."

"Okay, good." Dean clears his throat. "So, how'd it go? Hunting on your own?"

"Pretty well, I think. Got bruises and scratches. Fell through a floor. But otherwise, it went smoothly."

Dean shakes his head, rueful. "Rotting floorboards, man. Two broken ankles thanks to that shit."

"I'm surprised you can still run."

"That's because I'm awesome, dude." Dean grins at him. "So how many hunts did you actually do?"

"Eleven."

"Jeez. Kept busy."

"Well, that's what I do to overcome things. I work." Castiel starts undressing.

Dean opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. Instead he stares. Then, with surprising gentleness, he reaches out and touches the barely-there scar from the cut with the torn stitches, and the large bruise – almost faded – on his hip from the asylum. He doesn't press hard enough to hurt, just enough that Castiel distinctly feels the rough skin of Dean's calloused fingers and palm. "You got hurt."

"Scrapes and bruises, that's all." Castiel reaches down and kisses Dean lightly on the forehead. Then he pulls down his pants. "Are you going to stare, or come join me?"

Dean blinks a few times. "Well, I'm all for coming."

"It has been four months," Castiel says lightly, teasing.

Dean groans. "Fuck."

For once, sex between them isn't about pure enjoyment or Dean taking care of Castiel, as he's been doing almost nonstop for a year now, since Castiel's life first started falling apart. All that is done with, accepted, and moved past. Instead, Castiel takes care of Dean. Dean is hesitant at first when Castiel takes control, providing comfort but not letting Dean do the same. Castiel massages Dean's body, re-familiarizing himself with his lover while Dean lies there passively, just accepting.

Soaking it in. Dean needs this. Castiel needs it, too, to give instead of simply taking.

It's playful. It's comforting. It's great sex.

But it feels like more than that - this feels like coming home.

---

There are patches of snow on the drive up to their new home, which makes Castiel wonder how they were able to form the foundation in this kind of weather. They must have had a break in the wetness, he decides, squinting through his windshield at the lazy little snowflakes that hit his car and melt. Still, in a month it will be warming up for spring. The Impala is just ahead of Castiel, keeping a steady pace just over the speed limit.

The trees are mostly bare, but their branches and bushes that meet at their base mean visibility is low anyway, once they turn off into the private road. Dean bought the place using one of the investment identities Sam set up. It's totally unrelated to anything else the Winchesters have ever done, so Dean felt fairly comfortable doing it.

Castiel's Mustang doesn't like the private road, which will probably need repaved in a few years. When he slows down, Dean notices and slows down, too.

After winding almost two miles, the road simply ends and Dean pulls into a driveway.

Castiel can see that the foundation and basement have already been built. There are also a few supporting beams in place. Off to the side are two concrete slabs, one of which has a tool shed on it while the other one is empty.

Castiel gets out of the car, and Dean jogs over to him, grinning. "See? Cool, huh?" Dean looks back out. "I figure maybe in time we could also make, you know, an escape tunnel. Not the kind of thing you want on county records, though. Not that I'm not bribing a few county personnel, anyway."

"In time," Castiel agrees, pleased to see Dean so excited. "So where do we sleep? The tool shed?"

"Actually, no." Dean points to the empty concrete slab. "We sleep there. Tent. For the time being, anyway. I might get a storage container, like the ones you see on trains and trucks, and put it out here, though, while we're building up the place."

"A tent?" Castiel asks, skeptical.

"Well, we get wet and don't break, unlike a lot of tools."

"You intend to build all this yourself?"

"With you. And not all of it, but a lot of it. I worked construction for a year, so I know what I can do and when we'll need to call someone in on." Dean pauses. "Electricians are a must. Pipes and shit, not so much. Well, it won't burn the house down anyway."

"Will we have time to hunt?" Castiel asks, stepping forward to get a better look at the forest that surrounds them.

"Well," Dean says slowly, "I was thinking sometimes one of us could go on a hunt alone. Or we could find some other hunters, do some real networking."

Castiel turns. He never had that discussion with Dean, too involved in reacquainting himself with the person he loves. "Really?"

"Yeah. You want that?"

Castiel eyes him. "You've thought about this."

"I have you. I want to keep you. Even if that means letting you go." Dean smiles, painfully.

Castiel folds Dean up in his arms, Dean's breath warm against his neck when Dean hugs him back just as tightly. "Thank you," he whispers.

"Always, Cas."

---

"I thought you hated camping," Castiel says.

In the end, they spend a few days finalizing the plans for the house and then Dean has Castiel leave for a few weeks while the frame is put up by professionals. Then Castiel comes back, fresh off a rugaru hunt, to Dean's tent and his rather larger and nicer tool shed, stuffed to the brim with tools and stacks of bulletproof windows and doors with a solid metal core. Castiel's not looking forward to lugging those around, though he knows he'll probably one day greatly appreciate the fact that they have them.

Aditi, of course, is having the time of her life. Dean took to calling her wolfdog after she brought home a rabbit with a broken neck. They seriously debated skinning and eating it, but neither of them knew exactly how. They're not starving, either, so they decide not to.

And now they sit, darkness ending their day of work. Aditi's out at the edge of their little camp, barely visible, and standing watch. The campfire is large and casts plenty of light and warmth. Dean's eating out of a can. "Well," Dean says, "I might have underestimated how miserable this would be."

Castiel laughs. "My entire body hurts, and we're eating out of cans around a fire. When will get the roof done?"

"After we get all the windows and doors in."

Castiel groans. "I thought I was in shape."

"You are, you're just using different muscles." Dean looks at him wryly. "I thought the same thing. I can run down a supernaturally strong and fast creature, but construction gives me back pain?"

Castiel snorts.

"I'll give you a massage," Dean promises.

"And after roofing?"

"Siding, most of the bulk of electrical and plumbing work, HVAC, insulation, drywall … and then we can move in and finish it!"

"Oh, God."

---

They buy a truck. A big ass truck. Rentals are nice and all, but not practical long term.

Dean insists on a full week of research before buying it, and an inspection in a mechanic's garage, before he finally admits the old, blue Chevy will do. By the end Castiel's almost rolling his eyes. But to be fair, Dean takes it home and then does maintenance and cleans it up just as carefully as if it were his baby, until its blue color shines through the rust. After that when Dean orders something from the Lowe's an hour away, it's easier to just haul it away.

They work together to put in the windows and doors, which is probably normally a three to four person job. Fortunately these aren't likely to shatter; Dean did insist on bulletproof.

Castiel grunts as they put the window into its designated spot. "Gap is gone," Castiel says, since he's the one inside.

"Good," Dean says, and gets the power screwdriver from his belt. He screws in the window.

"Weather stripping?"

"Yep."

This is their fourth. Castiel imagines by the time they finish the last, they'll have this down to an art.

That night they curl together in front of the campfire. Their tent has acquired several outer layers that make the inside warmer, so they don't have to share a winter sleeping bag just to get through the night without shivering. Not that there's anything wrong with being pressed against Dean's nice, warm body, but Castiel would prefer that it was not always necessary to be skin to skin the whole night. It makes the tent look almost like a patchworked quilt. It has a unique, homey quality to it that Castiel enjoys.

He imagines he'll enjoy the house even more.

They've also extended their kitchen into hot plates and have a microwave running off a generator.

Tacos. "It's good not to have something canned," Castiel says, munching.

"One day," Dean says, pointing a taco at him, "we'll look back on this and laugh."

"One day soon?"

"Maybe not that soon," Dean admits.

Castiel looks over Dean's shoulder at their shell of a house, standing tall in the clearing. The roof is next, and spring is coming. The days are already getting warmer and warmer. Then siding, and plumbing and electrical, drywall …

"Can I ask you something, Cas?"

"Go ahead."

"Do you plan on talking to Balthazar again?"

Castiel blinks away his vision of their home. "Yes. But I'm not sure how to do it safely except to send him letters. No matter how careful we are, if I keep calling, someday they'd get lucky and we'd get unlucky." Castiel snorts. "Letters. You know that's how my parents keep in contact with Bal? And they never even knew I was missing, though Bal told me that based on his emotionally charged letters, they probably think I'm dead and he was grieving."

Dean's expression is soft, sad. "You don't want to have your interaction limited like that."

Castiel sighs. "No. But what option do I have?"

Dean looks away. "You gonna tell him the truth?"

"It would be a burden," Castiel says.

"For you, maybe. Not necessarily for him."

Castiel eyes Dean. "What do you mean?"

Dean spreads his hands. "Think about it. You learn about the supernatural, well, you have to do something about it. But most people aren't like that. They take care of what's theirs, their family and friends. They don't go gallivanting off into the sunset to kill ghosts. I mean, a lot of people I've helped over the years? They knew it was real, 'cause it happened to them. Only a fraction of those actually decided to hunt or do anything beyond just throw some protections on a wall."

Interesting perspective. "I hadn't thought about it that way."

"But what we do know," Dean says carefully, "is that your brother thinks you're living with a total psychopath. He might know you had a good reason for killing that vamp, but the rest of it? He's got to think … fuck, I don't know what he thinks, but it can't be good. If nothing else, he's worried out of his mind about things that aren't true, and there are enough true things that adding on false ones, well – that fucking sucks."

Castiel is with a man who abused him in the past, but who changed. Balthazar can't see it that way, not when he still believes Dean to be a serial killer. In the clearest understanding of Castiel's situation, he'd be worried about Castiel's safety, of course. But not that Castiel will become a murderer himself, or that he'll be grimly tortured to death, or any other scenario he can imagine in his nightmares. "You have a point. You think I should tell him the truth?"

"I'm not gonna tell you what to do. But think about it."

Castiel finishes his taco, thoughtful. "Okay."

Dean smiles at him. "So, what do you want to read tonight?"

There's a waterproof plastic container where they keep books necessary for hunting, with some fiction thrown in. And since they don't have much besides cell phones to keep them entertained – just each other, and countless hours of conversation – the non-battery required books have become a favorite pastime. He considers. The first time he and Dean read this together it was quite different, so it feels right to do read it again. "How about Harry Potter?"

"If I can make fun of the magic inaccuracies."

"Hell, I'll join you, plus inconsistencies," Castiel says, raising an eyebrow.

Dean laughs and leans over to kiss him.

---

The rhythms of Castiel's life have changed again. From losing the BAU, to losing the FBI and his life altogether, to hunting with Dean and then alone – and now here, building a new home. Castiel's surprised by how settled it makes him feel, even though they haven't technically moved in yet. How secure. The bunker was a prison if also a constant, but this feels like the latter without the former. To have somewhere you plan to stay for the rest of your life – into retirement, to die here – is to have something precious that Castiel didn't even know existed. He never minded the traveling his job made him do, and he didn't mind it while hunting, either.

But he needs this. And Dean needs it, too.

The green of spring has sprung to life all around them. Their home, too, seems like it's grown overnight, even though Castiel remembers building every piece of it. The outside is almost completely done. Really, at this point there's only decorative flourishes with some spellwork left to do. Everything is insulated, the siding is done and painted (gray and a deep blue that Dean swears is the same color as Castiel's eyes) and the windows are all clean and open. There's brickwork that needs done on the second floor, and the tiny third floor needs a bit of custom stonework with another layer of protection.

"Ready to move in?" Dean asks.

"Well, it has to be better than a tent," Castiel says dryly. "Even if we're sleeping on the floor."

"I was going to pick up a mattress!"

"Today?"

"Yep. King?"

Castiel considers. "California king. We're not exactly short."

Dean takes the truck. Castiel is left to wander their new home. Of course, it's all as familiar to him as his own hands – he and Dean have been building non-stop, and while Dean is the expert in this scenario, he can't work without an extra pair of hands. Too much of what they're doing requires a second person for support and safety. Castiel enters the house through double doors, leading into a large living space that still has concrete for a floor. The kitchen is completely tiled, though, and there are empty spaces for the cabinets that Dean will make. Beyond that is the backyard, facing away from the driveway. Another set of double doors and huge windows mark it, and there's a little nook with bay windows, too. Castiel designed this part of the house. He wanted a place to look out where there was nothing but greenery.

Up the stairs is the bedrooms. The master is what he and Dean will share, and there will be a very large tub in the bathroom. There's a stack of tiles sitting at the doorway, waiting to be used.

The other bedrooms are either guest bedrooms or, well, not bedrooms at all. There's a library, and what will be an armory. (There will be another in the basement. Dean insisted.) Up the second set of stairs leads to the very small third story, which is basically another living area. They don't know what they'll do it with it yet, but both wanted it. Maybe a den, maybe just a place to sit by the window and look over the trees.

Castiel returns to the master bedroom. The floors are just unfinished wood, but there's a large rug laid out in the middle. That's where their bed will go.

It's so sudden that Castiel doesn't have time to prepare for it: he has a flashback.

He's lying on what feels like a very fluffy blanket, his hands and feet unbound. That impression lasts until he moves, when he feels something very heavy on his ankle. The world swims for a second when he opens his eyes, but he finds himself staring at a concrete ceiling. Looking around gives him concrete, windowless walls and an open doorway, beyond which there's a similar hallway. It looks halfway industrial, halfway like a fallout shelter. Another doorway leads to a bathroom that looks like it came from the fifties.
And there on his ankle is a manacle, padded to be comfortable on the inside. A heavy chain is attached to it, disappearing off the bed.

Castiel jerks back, but nothing stops the movement of his feet. The chain that came to life before his eyes disappears. He stumbles back, trips over nothing, and falls flat on his ass.

He lies there for a good minute, breathing very slowly and purposefully.

Flashbacks are very uncommon these days. Castiel still has them, but it's usually because of something that he knows will trigger him, and it's more like a flash of a very vivid nightmare than a full on episode. Sex with Dean doesn't trigger it all anymore, though certain kinds of restraint will. Dean's very careful never to impede his movement, even when it's as simple as a hug.

Of course, Castiel never dealt with the bunker. Not really.

He refused to go back there, and still hasn't. Dean has stopped by it on his own to pick up supplies and books, but Castiel never goes with him. Just the thought of it is enough to make him shiver. He knows rationally it's just a place, that it was Dean who held him prisoner, and not the bunker. But he still feels like if he steps foot in it, he'll never leave again.

Those three failed escape attempts still haunt him, surrounded as they are by the results of his failure, the trauma he endured.

He doesn't want that for this place. Their home that they built together. He wants it to be clean and free.

He sits in the middle of the rug. He's not angry about the flashback, or even upset. He's contemplative.

"I'm not there," he whispers to himself, "I'm here."

And he wants to take Dean on this bed, and have Dean take him. Live in the present that he's so – so happy in. When he lost his job and had to flee, become a fugitive for the rest of his life, he didn't know if he'd be able to find a happiness with depth. But he has. His hands hurt and he's got three bandaids on different fingers, and he dropped the corner of a piece of wood on his toes – steel tipped boots have never looked so appealing – and his back is killing him on a daily basis despite Dean's massages, but he is content.

This isn't the bunker. This is home, the one he chose with all the freedom to leave it.

He rises to his feet and gets ready.

The porch has a nice swing on it. Castiel finally got Dean to just buy one that they could put together in a day, and he hasn't regretted it since. He curls up on it, shoving off with one foot so it gently begins to swing.

Then he waits.

He hears the rumble of the truck before he sees it, and it makes him smile.

Dean gets out of the truck and hops onto the back, chattering, "So I got a California king, as requested, and they had this special deal to get a memory foam topper, and dude, I gotta tell you those are awesome – Cas, what's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, precisely," Castiel says. Privately, he's pleased that Dean can tell. Dean spent eighteen months ignoring a lot of Castiel's nonverbal signals, but now he's very sensitive to them. "But you can do something for me."

Dean hops down and kneels by Castiel's side. "Of course, what is it?"

Castiel leans closer, almost touching Dean's mouth with his own, but not quite. "I want you," he says, Dean's breath warm on his skin, "to get that mattress up the stairs, into our bedroom, and to fuck me on it."

Dean's eyes widen. "I might, uh, need help getting it up the stairs."

"Then get moving."

Dean scrambles away from Castiel, getting the bungie cords undone so he can slide the mattress out. Castiel assists. Dean is clumsy, most likely because the entire time it takes for them to transfer the mattress, Castiel won't stop staring at him. It should be awkward, the wait, but Castiel doesn't let it be. He keeps touching Dean whenever he has the chance, glancing touches that make Dean shiver and stumble. When the mattress is in place, Dean kind of freezes, then finds a blanket and throws it over the bed. He eyes Castiel.

Castiel grabs Dean's hands.

"Cas," is all Dean says.

Castiel kisses him, soft and sweet at first, and then hot and heavy. Dean's lips are wet when Castiel pulls back to say, "I want you to hold me down. I want you to dominate me." Much quieter, "I want you to own me."

Dean swallows, but his face is flushed with arousal, not embarrassment. Still, he searches Castiel's face carefully. "And if you want to stop?"

"I'll stay stop."

Dean steps back, toes off his shoes, pulls off his t-shirt and steps out of his pants and boxers in less than thirty seconds. His cock is half hard already. Castiel strips just as quickly.

Then Dean moves forward, grabs Castiel by the wrists, and shoves him onto the bed. He follows Castiel down, knee between Castiel's legs, spreading them by force. Castiel bucks up into Dean, moaning. He's hard. He's been hard ever since he started planning this in his head, and now he's here, experiencing it. Dean wanting him so, so desperately had the capacity to make him incredibly aroused, and by the end of his captivity he wanted that feeling. He liked how Dean wanted him beyond all measure of morality, and he liked that Dean got off on that sense of ownership.

Maybe it's fucked up to want this in any form, no matter how consensual, but Castiel wants it anyway. He wants it because he wants everything; he wants nothing to be off the negotiating table.

He wants this here and now, in the home they are building together, because this is the first time they'll make love in this house. And he wants to mark it, somehow. And this feels like the way to do so, even though he doesn't know why.

Castiel's cock slides against Dean's thigh, leaving wet trails. Dean takes his wrists again and pins him to the bed, with enough pressure to make escape very hard, but not enough to be that painful. Dean withdraws just far enough away that Castiel can't get friction, and he moans, frustrated.

Dean's eyes are dark with want, and Castiel's helpless arousal seems to be enough of a yes. Dean leans in and whispers, "You're mine."

"Fuck. Yes." Castiel's voice is wrecked.

"I won't fuck you dry. Will you get me wet?" Dean demands.

"I'm – I'm ready. I got myself ready," Castiel admits, flushing.

Dean transfers Castiel's wrists to one hand, pinned above Castiel's head. With his free hand, he shoves Castiel's thighs farther apart, past his erection and down to his hole, gently swiping there and finding lube. "Well, aren't you desperate," Dean teases, confident.

"Aren't you?" Castiel asks, sliding an ankle down the back of Dean's leg, encouraging him forward.

Dean's gaze softens. "More than anything." Then he tilts Castiel's hips up and pushes in.

It burns. Castiel groans, half in pleasure and half in pain. But Dean is stretching him wide, Dean is holding him down, and for a moment Castiel is lost somewhere between the past and present. He remembers how much it turned him on to have Dean do this, to want this, and for him to simply accept it because he learned to want it, too, and now here he is. The present. Castiel could walk out that door, but he won't. Instead he raises his hips and Dean thrusts forward the rest of the way, balls slapping against Castiel's ass.

"I want you," Dean says, and begins to fuck him. "Are you mine, Cas?"

"Yes," Castiel whispers, hoarse, meeting Dean's gaze, reassuring the slight worry there. Castiel panicked the last time Dean did this, but Castiel is ready now, and he asked for it. That makes all the difference. "Yes. I want this." He grunts with a particularly hard thrust. "Yes."

"Say it."

"I'm yours."

"I'm yours, too." Dean fucks him harder, and begins hitting his prostate, leaving Castiel to make desperate noises and to struggle mindlessly against the one hand still holding his wrists down. Dean's eyes are wild, and sweat is dripping down his face. "You own me, Cas, always have. Say it."

Castiel barely gets the words out. "I own you."

Then Dean really lets loose. Castiel's ass stings where Dean's pelvis hits it, and the entrance to his hole hurts with the base of Dean's cock stretching it wide. Dean alternates between grinding into him and rapid, hard thrusting, making Castiel feel every inch. There's no give. Dean is taking his pleasure from Castiel's body, chasing his own orgasm while he stares into Castiel's eyes. He doesn't look away, not once, no matter how quickly he moves or how rough he gets. He's watching to make sure, Castiel realizes, that Castiel isn't panicking. That he wants this.

It's sweet, but it's also more than that. It's proof of years of Dean changing himself. Dean spent so long being everything for Sam, giving as selflessly as he could, and then Sam's death damaged that part of Dean. But now Dean's healed, just as much as Castiel has.

Castiel wraps his legs around Dean's waist, his erection slapping against his stomach, untouched but leaking.

"You gonna take it?" Dean asks, panting between words. "Take my cock, take my come?"

"Do I have a choice?" Castiel asks him, just to see what Dean says.

Dean leans in, though the angle makes it harder for him to move in Castiel. "Always."

"Then take me."

Dean lets go of Castiel's wrists, which are aching. He plants his hands on the mattress and uses his greater leverage to fuck Castiel harder. "Now come," Dean orders.

Orgasm overcomes Castiel, whiting him out.

When he comes back to himself, limp, Dean is finishing. A few more thrusts, and then those even strokes become erratic and Dean moans. Then he stills. He doesn't collapse on Castiel, arms locked straight, just stays there, with Castiel's legs around his waist and his softening cock still inside of Castiel. He stares down at Castiel, his short hair wet with sweat and his expression dazed by pleasure. Then he leans in and kisses Castiel gently.

Castiel cups Dean's face in his hands, bringing him in again.

Dean blinks, smiles. Then he frowns. "Your wrists," he says, voice rough.

Castiel looks. There are bruises. "Don't worry. I want them."

Dean kisses one of those bruises, offering a silent apology anyway. "Okay," he says softly.

After a moment, Castiel lets his body relax, and the altered angle makes Dean slip out, with Castiel wincing. Come follows, wet and warm and sticky. Dean eyes it, mouth quirking into a pleased smile.

"Like it?" Castiel asks, amused. He remembers this, and the memory is bittersweet.

"Of course. Can I?"

"Always," Castiel says, echoing Dean. Permission given, permission given.

Dean responds by fingering Castiel, pushing his own come back inside. It stings because Castiel is sore, but he lets Dean do it because Dean wants it. It's that sense of ownership that Castiel asked for, after all. He lets Dean mark his body with semen, and he lets Dean run his hands over Castiel's body, barely touching the bruises on his wrists, running his fingers more firmly along old scars, given by Dean and by others. Dean is thorough and careful in his examination of Castiel's body – and that's really the only word that fits. It's a gentle exploration, but too focused to be called anything else.

Dean presses his lips against Castiel's ribs, and murmurs into his skin, "I just like to remind myself you're here."

Castiel runs a hand through Dean's short hair, tugging at the ends until Dean raises his head. "I know," he says softly.

After a moment, Dean adjusts them both so they're curled up with Castiel as the little spoon. Dean asks, "You sure you're okay?"

"Hmm, yes."

"Can I ask why you wanted that?"

Castiel looks over his shoulder and gives Dean the truth. "Because I want everything." He wanted to christen this house with a full acceptance of past and present.

Dean looks confused, but he doesn't argue. He kisses Castiel's shoulder instead, and then travels onward, planting more little kisses all over Castiel's body, over all the places he's already touched. He slows near the end, Castiel drowsy.

Ten minutes later, Castiel rises from Dean's arms.

"Where are you going?" Dean asks sleepily.

"A walk."

"You want me to come?"

"No, you stay here," Castiel says, turning around and giving Dean a smile. He slips on his boxers and socks first, then the rest, even his shoes. "Rest."

"'Kay." Dean watches him go, eyes hooded.

Castiel makes a detour by the kitchen, grabbing the keys to the Mustang and putting them in his pocket.

The land surrounding their home is untamed, for the most part. There are a deer paths around in the area, and Castiel is following one of those. He and Dean go down this route about twice a week, and the path is slowly being widened by their footsteps. Light filters through the green canopy, scattering as the leaves shift in the low wind. He hears bird calls, smells the moist soil, and sees a squirrel run here and there. Castiel goes deeper into the woods than he usually does, the path getting uneven.

He's free. Free to go where he wants.

He turns around, heading back home. But he doesn't go in; he heads for his Mustang, unlocks it and sits in the driver's seat. He runs his hands over the steering wheel.

He has everything he would need to simply go.

Instead, he gets out of the car, locks it, and goes inside, back to Dean.

---

Their house is already a home, but now it is a home nearing completion.

The inside has drywall, is painted, and the kitchen is half done. Dean is making custom cabinets in the second tool shed, even larger than the first. They have a large generator, and a backup generator, and enough gas for both to last a year.

Castiel sits at the kitchen table with a laptop. They have satellite internet. Aditi sits at his feet, content to stay with him.

"Find what you're looking for?" Dean asks, wiping his forehead.

In the six months since they started this project Castiel's slowly taken over the responsibilities of the investment account Sam created. Dean hardly used it on his own, spending the most when he had Castiel prisoner, but the house has nearly bankrupted it. Castiel's been able to take what was left and use it as seed money, and the numbers are slowly starting to grow again.

Dean teased him relentlessly about the dozen books he bought about the stock market, but it's worked well enough to give them a bit of savings.

Castiel doesn't say it, but it reminds him strongly of Stephen. Does Stephen know what happened to him? Did the FBI contact him? Probably. Castiel stopped replying to emails after he fled, but anyone Castiel had contact with could be a possible link to his current location – a detail Castiel dropped, or even because of direct communication. What must he think to hear that Castiel fled to Dean, after having held Castiel and comforted him through the trauma caused by that same man?

Just thinking about the FBI interviewing Balthazar makes Castiel feel ill. He doubts Balthazar would ever handle that well. He's sent Balthazar five letters, never being specific about what he's up to, but assuring Balthazar he's all right and safe.

"Yes."

Dean waits. "Okay?"

"I found what I was looking for. Do you really want me to explain the intricacies of trading stock and legal technicalities to you?"

Dean shudders. "No thanks. Sandwiches?"

"Hm? If you're making one, I'll have one."

Dean washes his hands in the sink and begins pulling out plates. Castiel insisted the kitchen be finished first, so it's the first fully furnished room in the house. "The end approacheth," Dean says.

"You make it sound ominous."

"Woooo," Dean says, acting like a ghost.

Castiel laughs, surprised by Dean's silliness. "Are you high?"

"High off endorphins!" Dean pumps a fist. "Finished painting the second floor and the second bathroom's cabinetry. Just have to haul the thing up in pieces."

Dean is inordinately proud of the house. It amuses Castiel. He finds some satisfaction in having built it basically from the ground up, but not in the same way that Dean does. Most of his attachment to it is as a place of rest and togetherness. Though the memories of sweat, blood and tears help with that, he has to admit. "I'll make some cake tonight, then."

"Double chocolate?"

"Of course." Castiel's also taken up some elements of cooking. Or rather, mostly baking. He leaves the cooking to Dean. Ironically, he's the scientist and Dean is the artist. His pies have gotten really, really good, though. Dean doesn't even ask what weird ingredients he uses anymore, he just basks in a new version of an old favorite.

The quiet clatter of sandwich making fills the comfortable silence. Castiel finishes what he's doing, and then closes the laptop. News of another super storm possibly hitting Hawaii makes him think. "Have you heard anything about Anna? The angels?"

Dean shakes his head. "Been real quiet. Kind of unnerving, actually. Those dicks haven't been this quiet since before the apocalypse."

Castiel scrunches his nose. "That doesn't sound hopeful."

Dean shrugs. "Well, world ending chaos hasn't been happening for, jeez, going on eight years now, since Sam closed hell. Just skirmishes, really."

"You think it's over?"

Dean lets out his breath all at once. "Dunno."

Castiel eyes him. "If it wasn't, and something happened to me, what would you do?"

"I …" Dean eyes him back. "Well. I wouldn't make a crossroads deal or do something stupid to bring you back. Can't promise I won't do something stupid, though."

The back of Castiel's neck tingles. "Well, you don't have any more soulmates to kidnap, at least."

A short silence commences. Dean is a little pale, but all he says to break the quiet is, "Talk about it or move on?"

Castiel's gaze drops to the table. "Move on."

"Okay. I was thinking we could have some raised plant beds about fifty feet from the house, fence it in so the deer don't eat it –"

---

And so life goes, with happiness interspersed with their lives being in danger on hunts, with feelings being hurt, and then back to the beginning, just a little smoother next time.

---

"Interesting."

Castiel startles out of a deep sleep, eyes snapping open to find that Anna is standing at the foot of their bed, head cocked to the side, expression mirroring her one word. He sits there speechless. She looks the same, of course. Red hair, a tan jacket over t-shirt and jeans. Not exactly angel material, though she exudes a weird kind of power that's unspoken.

"Fucking fuck," is all Dean says, rubbing his eyes. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Busy." Anna pauses, eyeing them both. "As you have been, evidently."

"It's been almost two years, Anna," Dean says tiredly. "Is the world ending?"

Anna's mouth quirks. "No."

"Then vamoose off into the kitchen. We'll meet you there in ten minutes."

"Make it five." And Anna disappears.

Castiel turns to Dean, raising an eyebrow. "Well, well."

Dean makes a face. "At least the world isn't ending."

Ten minutes later, they're both dressed and heading for the kitchen. Anna is standing near the kitchen table. Ironically, the light that hangs over it is behind her head, giving her a halo. Castiel almost laughs.

Dean says, "Glad to see you're not dead, Anna. So where have you been?" And sits, giving Anna an intent stare.

"Negotiating."

"Negotiating what?" Castiel asks. "A cease fire?"

"More than that. It's an agreement that we will not interfere in humanity's affairs for at least three thousand years."

Dean's jaw drops. "Seriously?"

"Travel to earth will be banned, after a period of one year." Anna pauses for a moment. "It took far longer than two years to negotiate this, Dean, as time moves differently in heaven. But it will give humanity a chance to grow without angels at their heel, trying to manipulate them. Is that not what you wanted?"

Dean blinks at her. "Yeah, yeah that's exactly what we wanted." Somehow, Castiel knows he's referring to Sam. "Um, thank you."

Anna nods, taking that as her due. "I have come to offer you a last favor, before I go, as the finalization of our friendship in this life."

Dean looks like he doesn't know what to say. "Thanks, Anna. I don't know what I'd ask for, though." He smiles crookedly.

"Well, if I can take that favor from Dean," Castiel glances Dean's way, and Dean nods, "then I have something I'd like from you."

---

Balthazar is holding a photo album.

It wasn't until about five years after Balthazar left that his parents decided they only wanted letters from their second oldest child. Which meant that Balthazar had the opportunity to grab the old photo albums with Castiel in them. The fake leather is cracked and worn, and the pictures themselves a bit faded, but Balthazar can still make out Castiel's blue eyes, darker than his own. Balthazar's only a little over two years older than Castiel, but he remembers Castiel toddling after him on chubby little legs, repeatedly shouting, 'Bal! Bal!' Except he pronounced it as 'pal,' driving Balthazar to never ending distraction.

Castiel was a chubby child, actually, until he picked up running when he was twelve, thankfully for his high school years.

There's a photo of Castiel at his eleventh birthday party in here. Balthazar flips to the right page, finding Castiel staring at a lit birthday cake with intent eyes and rounded cheeks. His hair is straight and in a bowl cut, though it got wavy again later on.

Where is Castiel now?

The FBI came to Balthazar a week after Castiel made that phone call – ("Bal. I love you. I'll always be who you know me to be, your brother, no matter what they try to tell you. I'm – I'm so sorry. I love you.") – and wanted to know if Balthazar had heard from Castiel or Dean. When Balthazar lied, they silently just handed over the record of the phone call, and told him obstruction of justice was a crime.

Balthazar spat in their faces.

He's not quite sure why he wasn't arrested. They came back a day later with a warrant and searched his home, but they found nothing. Castiel gave Balthazar nothing for them to find. He imagines that was carefully planned on Castiel's part. Castiel was always so smart, and he always thought everything through.

After the second phone call, when the FBI came, he told them the truth. Castiel called to let his brother know he was okay. No, Balthazar doesn't know where he is. No, he doesn't know anything about that stupid murder.

The murder Castiel admitted to.

He knows that Castiel isn't crazy. Castiel came back from those eighteen months a different man, with haunted eyes and a jitter to his step, but the core of him remained the same. Steady, compassionate, strong Castiel. The fact that he's with a known serial killer who kidnapped him and held him prisoner as a - as a sex slave, well, it doesn't make sense. Balthazar knows there must be a reason that does make sense, but he can't imagine what it is. He knows, though, that it isn't that Castiel is broken, was always broken, and finally snapped to reveal it.

The man who slowly healed in Balthazar's protective bubble wasn't broken. He was hurt, but not broken. Maybe he's screwed up in the head and that's why he cares for Dean, but he's not evil the way Dean is.

Castiel has been gone, fled, a little longer than he was once held prisoner. Twenty months, and only two phone calls and five vague letters.

Balthazar wonders less where his little brother is, and more what his brother is doing. Is Dean hurting him? Is Castiel letting it happen? Was Castiel telling the truth when he said that he was safe with Dean?

Balthazar snorts at the thought. Castiel might be okay with that fucker because he's strong and independent, but he's not safe.

"What are you doing, Cassie?" Balthazar asks his silent house, fingers tracing the face of an eleven year old Castiel.

"He is with Dean at present," a female voice informs him.

Balthazar screams. The photo album he was holding goes flying, and Balthazar joins it by leaping over the back of the couch and ending with his back flat against the wall that separates the kitchen from the living room.

A redheaded woman is standing there, wearing a coat and jeans, looking very normal except for – "What the fuck are you doing breaking into my house?"

She frowns. "I broke nothing."

"You broke the sacred bounds of my house! Wait, why am I arguing with you? Fuck." Balthazar heads for his corded phone.

The woman appears in front of him, from nowhere, and states blandly, "Your sacred bounds need work, then." Then she taps him on the forehead, and the world goes black.

For just a second.

Then Balthazar blinks a few times and realizes he's outside.

He stumbles backward, the shift from standing on tile to standing on dirt unsettling as well as destabilizing. He's in a field of some kind. There's a few broken down buildings in the area, as well as what looks like some kept up ones used by surrounding farms. Balthazar can only tell because there's a moon, highlighting wandering cows. There's a dark figure about twenty feet away. It shouldn't matter compared to the sheer insanity of being one place and then suddenly another, but it does. Balthazar frowns, steps forward, and the figure turns.

It's Castiel.

"Cassie!" Balthazar lurches forward, quickly falling into a run.

Castiel is grinning at him, teeth flashing in the dark, and then Balthazar is on him and throwing his arms around him. Castiel is warm, so alive – thank God - and he squeezes Balthazar back just as much, painfully tight, but Balthazar is so glad to have it, more and more proof that Castiel is okay, that he's here.

"Oh, God, Cassie," and Balthazar realizes he's blubbering and tries to get a hold of himself. He pulls back just a little, and sees that Castiel's face is wet, which damn near breaks his heart all over again. "Cassie. You're okay." Balthazar runs his hands over his brother's face, then steps away so he can get a look at the rest of him. Castiel has bulked up, surprisingly. Healthy. That's good, a relief.

"Bal. I'm so happy to see you," Castiel says, smiling as if he knows that's the understatement of the century.

Balthazar just smiles back.

"Do you know where we are?" Castiel asks.

Balthazar blinks. Looks around. Buildings. Outside. Cold night. Castiel. "No. Where the fuck are we? What happened? One second I was in my house and the next I was here."

"Anna brought you here," Castiel says, pointing over Balthazar's shoulder.

Balthazar turns to find the red haired woman standing there, still.

"I'll explain how you got here later. But what you need to know is that we're in Utah."

"Utah?" Balthazar shouts. "Was I drugged?"

"No. She teleported you here."

Balthazar stares at him. "That's not possible."

"You'll feel differently tomorrow morning when you have to arrange a flight home." Castiel takes his hand and squeezes it. "But I actually have something else to show you. Come with me."

This is his little brother, whose hand he held while Castiel was learning to walk. His first toddle. Balthazar watched a lot of Castiel's firsts, firsts that had come a few years earlier for himself. His little brother was always littler, until he wasn't. Then he was an adult, and strong, and powerful. The first time he saw Castiel in a police uniform was shocking, so he made a joke about strippers, of course. He watched as Castiel was promoted to detective, as he left the police to join the FBI. His brother has always tried to do nothing but bring good to this world, and Balthazar trusts him with his life.

So despite the insanity, despite the questions he has, he follows.

Castiel leads him through the dark, and with each step Balthazar realizes even more how strange this all is. He teleported here? To someplace in Utah? How did Castiel arrange that? Who is that redheaded woman? How is that even possible? What science was used? When Balthazar said it couldn't be done, Castiel seemed certain that Balthazar would be convinced.

Though the cold air he's breathing and the soft soil beneath his feet are rather convincing, he has to admit. He looks up at the stars, wondering if there's enough difference between a Texan and Utah sky for him to see it.

Castiel asks the void, "Is it still there?"

"Yeah."

Dean Winchester's voice.

Balthazar's eyes lock on him. Dean … Winchester … evil fucker. Dean, for Castiel's sake. Dean is standing there next to a skeleton of a building, hands loose at his sides, and his face lit by the moon. Balthazar can see him glancing from Castiel and then back to Balthazar.

Balthazar lurches forward – and fails to go further. The hand that was in Castiel's becomes a vise as Castiel tries to hold him back, but Balthazar yanks extra hard and gets free.

He runs straight at Dean and punches him in the face.

Dean doesn't even try to block it. He just goes down, falling on his ass with a groan. Balthazar falls over him to his knees, swinging repeatedly as Dean brings up his forearms to protect his face, but he doesn't kick Balthazar off.

No, Castiel's the one to take care of that. He grabs Balthazar by locking his hands together at Balthazar's stomach and pulling him off by sheer force, voice loud in Balthazar's ear through pants: "Bal, stop. Please, stop. Listen first, listen to me. Bal, I need you to listen to me."

Balthazar stops struggling, breaths coming out of him in huge, heaving gasps. He stares at Dean still prone on the ground and snarls, "I hate you, I hate you!"

Dean just slowly nods.

Castiel doesn't give Balthazar any more time to launch another attack. He grabs Balthazar by the shoulders and forces him around to face him, cold palms on Balthazar's cheeks. "You're not here for him," Castiel says simply. "Now, follow me. Please."

"Cassie," is all Balthazar can say, one hand gripping Castiel's wrist. He wants to kill Dean Winchester. He catches flies in his house and dumps them outside, but if Castiel gave him a gun right now, he knows he'd use on Dean.

Castiel pulls Balthazar the rest of the way to his feet. Then, with a much more solid grip on his arm, he pulls Balthazar around the abandoned building.

There, over what seems to be the remains of a wildfire, is a creature.

It kind of looks like a giant, floating snake at first glance. A closer look reveals small legs, but it doesn't look ridiculous like it probably should. It curls into a sinuous forever symbol, clearly not obeying the laws of gravity, and its scales are a deep, dusky blue with hints of purple. In fact, it looks more like some weird interpretation of a dragon. It breathes out little puffs of light, and one of its giant eyes turns in Balthazar's direction, blinking.

Castiel is close by. He says, as if he knows what Balthazar is thinking, "It's real."

Balthazar swallows. "What is it?"

"We think it's a kami."

Balthazar can't break away from staring at it. "A kami?"

"Yes. A Japanese spirit, basically, from the Shinto religion. It's kind of a vague term, actually, but they're generally considered forces of nature, and can be either neutral, malevolent, or kind." Castiel pauses. "This one is a protective spirit. We think it came with the Japanese who were interned here during World War II, and after it was here for a few years with those interned it decided to stay to protect the locals, who apparently accepted its presence because of a flash flood that didn't do as much damage as it should have."

"It's a supernatural creature," Balthazar states, finally turning away to look at his brother.

Castiel smiles at him gently. "Yes. It is. At first we thought it was what we were here to hunt, but it turned out it was busy fighting some other creatures – I won't get into it – that came into the area to prey on the people here. Some of the locals call it Sally."

Balthazar is startled into a laugh. "Sally?"

"Well, most of them aren't Japanese. But they recognize a friend, I suppose, and they leave little gifts for her. It." Castiel shrugs. "Not sure gender applies to spirits."

There's a lot to process here. "'We came here to hunt'?"

"Well, Bal, look at it. After seeing this, can you tell me that the supernatural doesn't exist?"

Balthazar stares at him. "I don't understand."

"Dean was wanted by the FBI, by the BAU when I was with them, for killing people while claiming to hunt evil, supernatural creatures."

"No. No."

But Castiel continues on relentlessly, "Yes. Dean might be crazy, but not about that." Castiel takes a deep breath, glancing at the kami. "I wanted to show you this because it's not so scary, when you look at it this way. That there are beings out there that aren't out to hurt us, but to help us. Beautiful ones, I think," Castiel says, glancing at him. "There's a whole world that we didn't know was there, Bal. And I wanted to show you a better side of it."

"I could be hallucinating –"

"You're not. And when we drop you off at a hotel for the night, you'll see only a few hours have passed, not enough time to drive to Utah. You'll wake up the tomorrow morning, and realize tonight happened. And when you go home, you'll find everything there as you left it, like you simply walked away."

"This is real."

Castiel dips his head. "Yes."

Balthazar searches his face. "And you wanted me to know this. To see this."

Softer. "Yes. I think I'm a little selfish for putting this on you, but I wanted you to understand the life I live, even if no one else can. Vampires, ghosts, shapeshifters – they're all real. And Dean hunted them. And now I hunt with him, to kill them before they hurt innocent people."

It hits Balthazar all at once. "You're saying he wasn't wanted for anything he actually did?"

"Not for the most part. Not the murders." Castiel shrugs. "Hunting can get messy when you can't tell anyone the truth, but he never hurt anyone innocent."

"Except you."

Castiel winces. "Well, yes."

"He hurt you, Cassie. He kidnapped you, and he raped you, and he fucked you up. Even if Santa Claus is real, that doesn't matter, none of this –" Balthazar waves the kami, which is apparently losing interest and starting to fade away – "matters!" Balthazar pauses, but Castiel doesn't say anything. "I want you safe and happy, Cassie."

"I am," Castiel says simply. "As much as I can be safe in this strange world, I am." His lips lift in a curve for just a second. "And I am happy."

Balthazar takes a step away, and Castiel lets him. He glances to the side, but the kami is gone.

It has been more than seven years since that day in October when Balthazar got the call that his brother was missing, presumed kidnapped by force. His world fell apart that day. All the years he had feared getting a phone call from law enforcement starting the words 'I'm sorry,' and it finally came, not with notice of death but with a notice of possible death and total uncertainty. For six months Balthazar feared, then grieved. He thought his brother was dead.

The first phone call was shock and a joy, after six months of silence and uncertainty. To know his brother lived, no matter in how bad a circumstance, gave Balthazar hope he'd thought long lost.

The following year was hard. Balthazar spent most of it wondering how his brother was doing. Wondering if he was okay, if he'd ever come home, and what state he would be in if he did. His interview with Dean did nothing to reassure him.

Castiel came home, eventually, but he came home a damaged and different man, with PTSD and weird reactions on top of that. Balthazar knew that Castiel didn't hate Dean Winchester. Not on any deep, lasting level. It frightened him, that fact, but Castiel's relationship with Stephen and his job at the FBI reassured Balthazar by slow measure, each year making him relax a little more.

Then Castiel murdered a criminal, and ran. Back to Dean. The FBI was clear about that. And all Balthazar could imagine was that Dean had hurt Castiel so badly that Castiel could no longer see anything clearly, and was coming back to his abuser because he'd never recovered like they all thought he had. Balthazar always believed his brother wasn't broken, but he also belived there were pieces shattered and scattered, never brought back together.

But if Dean isn't a serial killer, what does that make Castiel's relationship with him?

Balthazar searches Castiel's blue eyes, darker than his own. "Tell me. I need to know – tell me everything. The truth."

Castiel nods. "You want to sit?"

"Is this going to take that long?"

Castiel laughs. "Yes."

Balthazar settles on the dead, cut off trunk of a tree. Castiel sits before him, and begins to speak.

Castiel starts with his kidnapping. He doesn't change the details he'd told Balthazar before, exactly. He just adds on.

Dean's promises, Dean's lies, and Dean's truth. Dean and Sam Winchester, fighting off the end of the world. Twice. The desperate tale of Sam Winchester and his death, his sacrifice driving his brother mad. And then Castiel enters the picture, confused, afraid, and then believing it. Magic. The cuff.

Castiel goes back to Dean's history before the kidnapping, again and again. It's deliberate.

But Balthazar doesn't care. He knows why Castiel is emphasizing that, but even if all that stuff is true, it doesn't change anything. So he stops Castiel's list of Dean's crappy reasons for sainthood. "I don't care, Cassie. I don't fucking care. What he did to you was monstrous."

"Yes," Castiel says softly, a little sadly. "Dean did monstrous things, but he's not a monster."

"I don't care," Balthazar repeats.

"I do," Castiel replies. "I always have." Castiel looks down. "I don't expect your opinion of Dean to change, Bal. But I want you to know that circumstances aren't quite what they seem. And if the FBI decides I've murdered people I haven't, like with what happened to Dean, then I want you to know the truth. That I haven't gone mad. That I haven't become evil. That I'm still your brother, your Cassie." Castiel pauses, not quite looking at Balthazar. "I didn't want you to think less of me."

Balthazar begins to cry. "You'll always be my brother, Cassie, and even if you were all those things, you still would be."

Castiel lets out a wet laugh and gets up, Balthazar following, and then they're hugging again. "Your faith in me kept me sane, I want you to know that. Knowing you were out there, waiting for me to come home. I came home for you."

Balthazar just holds on tighter, sobbing. He doesn't know what to feel, so it all just mixes up into one blob of fierce emotion. There's protectiveness, and grief, and a furious rejection of what he's been told. And love. With that love is a weird understanding that he doesn't want.

It takes time for Balthazar to calm down, but Castiel waits it out.

"So this – this is what you're doing now?" Balthazar finally asks.

"Hunting, yes. I did a few with Dean, then on my own." Castiel shrugs. "I wanted to be sure that I wanted to be with Dean, and … I do. I am."

"Is he – is he –"

"He'll never do that again. I wouldn't be here if I didn't believe that." Castiel puts his hand on his brother's shoulder. "Dean's worked hard to change himself to be safe for me, I want you to know that. And I know you're going to worry anyway, but I wanted to give you something, some kind of reassurance."

Balthazar looks out at the empty space where the kami once was. His throat hurts. "You have."

A silence falls.

He hates this. He hates that this is how his brother's life has turned out, when Castiel deserved nothing but the best, nothing but a happy ending. When Castiel came home, Balthazar had hoped for so much for him, and now that's all gone. It's not fair. It's not right for Castiel to end up with Dean Winchester, a criminal capable of so much evil.

But maybe Castiel doesn't see another option.

Balthazar takes the time to collect his composure, what little he has of it – or has ever had of it. "I could leave my job, stay with you," he finally offers. It's not the life he wants to live, but he doesn't want Castiel to be alone.

"No. No, absolutely not. Bal, I told you this because you have your own life, and I knew you wanted to keep it. For me this was a burden I couldn't escape, once I knew the truth, but you're different. You teach kids, Bal. That's your job."

He knows it's true. Balthazar can't imagine living like this without losing his mind, though he'd try for Castiel's sake. He swallows. "What about someone else? Haven't you met other, uh, hunters?"

Castiel eyes him, then looks out the stars. "Yes. And they were good hunters. One died, James," he admits, "I never met him in person, but he helped me while I was still in the BAU and trying to keep my job. So he took all the risks."

"And now? Is there anyone?"

"No one I want more than I want to be with Dean."

"Killing monsters while a fugitive?"

Castiel shrugs lightly. "Yes."

Balthazar sighs heavily. "This isn't the life I wanted for you."

"Have I ever lived the life other people have wanted for me?" Castiel asks, his smile wan.

Balthazar laughs, and he almost chokes on it. "No. Never."

And he knows that's not changing now. As much as he wants Castiel to change his mind, do away with all his plans and promises to that fucker, he knows that Castiel won't do that. Not even if Balthazar asks him to, pleads for it. Castiel was always like a tree in the wind, bending a little when he had to, but always staying upright, always being true to himself and no one else. Castiel is strong. Balthazar can only hope he's strong enough to go on the path he's chosen.

At least an hour has passed, but Balthazar still feels time running short. Castiel simply waits for Balthazar to speak.

"I don't know when I'll see you again," Balthazar says, a fact that hurts. "When I'll be able to talk to you. Tell me – tell me everything. What's your life like? Do you still have Aditi?"

Castiel smiles, and tells Balthazar about their house, and Aditi the wolf dog. It reassures Balthazar in a way that Castiel's insistence didn't – there are too many details for it to be a lie, and so Balthazar relaxes into the rhythm of Castiel's life. Building the house by hand, planning each and every room with Aditi at his heels, maybe with a fresh rabbit in her mouth. Castiel doesn't tell him where it is.

He goes on to tell Balthazar about a few hunts he's been on, first two that he'd been on by himself, and then another couple where he was with Dean. He paints a different portrait of Dean with his words, one of a gregarious guy with a fondness for weapons, beer, and Castiel. Here and there Castiel will tell Balthazar about a fight, and how they resolved it. Peacefully. Without cuffs. It's pointed, and it doesn't dim Balthazar's hatred – for the past can't be undone – but it is reassuring that Castiel isn't being hurt in the present, at least not directly.

Balthazar still tells him to find another hunting partner. Another lover.

Because Castiel admits to that, too. That he and Dean are lovers, and have been since before Castiel left the BAU.

A long time. That's how long Castiel was lying to everyone around him. Balthazar can only listen, throat tight as Castiel gets more and more desperate for Balthazar to understand.

"You were everything I needed," Castiel insists. "I don't need Dean, Bal. I just want to be with him."

"I can't accept that," Balthazar says. "I held you as you vomited because of a nightmare about him. I will never accept that part of your life."

Castiel swallows, hard. "All right. But I will need you to not act against him, because that would be acting against me."

Balthazar looks away. "I hate it, but I do get that, yeah." He looks back at Castiel. "I'll still be praying for him to die in a hunt. When you're safely in the motel, or something."

Castiel just nods.

The night is cold, considering Balthazar has no coat on. But Castiel's every word is too important for him to care. So they talk, brother to brother, for hours, and Castiel fills in the missing pieces of his life for the last five years.

"It'll be dawn soon," Castiel says, breaking the easy give and take of conversation. "We should be gone from here by then."

Balthazar searches Castiel's face for any sign of fear or uncertainty. There is none. "Then I'd like to talk to Dean before I go."

Castiel seems to steel himself before he nods, and takes Balthazar back.

Dean is leaning against the side of the building, shoulders slumped, but with his head tilted back to look at the stars. At the sound of the two of them approaching, Dean straightens his back and shoulders, leveling a calm look Balthazar's way. A mostly calm look. There's wariness there, and something else that Balthazar is almost afraid to call guilt. Dean faces Balthazar squarely, hands loose at his sides.

Balthazar stands there, his breathing speeding up and clenching his fists as he stares at the man who nearly destroyed his brother, only held in check by Castiel. He feels the hate emanate from every part of him – soul included.

It would be easy to just attack again, swing and swing, but it wouldn't get Balthazar anywhere. He stares at Dean, determined. His only weapons are his words. "If you are capable of feeling guilt, then know this: you can never take back what you did. For the rest of his life, Cassie will be damaged because of you. He only survived because he's stronger than you ever were."

Dean doesn't falter, though his eyes are averted.

"That first day I got my brother back, he asked us to take that cuff off. And the thing that hurt the most about that was that he was asking like he expected the answer to be no. Cassie asked for so many things expecting the answer to be no, the littlest, stupidest things, and the biggest things – the freedom to go where he wanted." Balthazar has to stop for a moment. "I was the one who held him when he cried from nightmares you created. I was the one who saw him flinch when people got too close. I was the one who tried to put together the pieces you broke."

Dean's breath hitches.

"I will never forgive you for what you've done. And I hope you go to hell."

This time, Dean's response is a slight nod.

"I don't know if I'll get what I want. I do know I'm not going to get what I want now, which is for you to die, disappear, never see Cassie again. So I want you to live with the guilt of what you've done. You beat my brother, you abused my brother, you raped my brother. I want you to remember that. I want you to think about that every day, and feel guilty about it every second of every day, so all that never happens again, if that's even possible."

A shaky exhale. Dean dips his head.

"You hurt him, I will kill you. I will find a way."

Dean meets Balthazar's eyes at last. "I hope you do."

"Cassie," and now Balthazar turns to his brother, and sees that Castiel's eyes are wet. But Castiel doesn't interrupt. "I need to hear from you at least once every six months, in a way I'll know it's you. If I don't, then I'll – I'll figure out a spell, I'll hex the bastard, I'll do whatever it fucking takes to kill him." Balthazar pauses. "I'd do it now if you'd let me."

"I don't want Dean dead, Bal." Castiel takes his brother's hand. "But I understand, and I'll do as you say." Castiel pauses. "There's something else I should add. If something happens to me, then someone you trust, Bal, will come to you and tell you. All right?"

"Someone else who knows the truth?" Another glance at Dean. "Who won't lie?"

Castiel nods. "Someone that both you and I trust."

"God, just thinking about you dying makes me feel sick."

"I'm not going to die, not anytime soon." Castiel smiles at Balthazar. "I have someone to watch my back while I go hunting ghosts and things kami kill, remember?"

Balthazar's throat is dry. "What if the FBI catches you?"

"Well, Dean's even better at avoiding that than dying," Castiel says, wry.

Dean laughs, but he chokes it off almost immediately and clears his throat awkwardly, not looking at Balthazar.

"Um, in-joke," Castiel says. "Listen. Dean has own car. I should take you to a hotel, so you can go home tomorrow."

That reminds Balthazar of the odd start to an odd evening. "Who was she?"

Castiel's gaze goes distant. "Not human. The details don't matter, not anymore."

"That's not an answer."

Castiel's lips quirk. "Maybe another time. It's a long story. You ready?"

Balthazar sighs. "I'll never be ready for any of this. Yeah."

After a moment of hesitation, Castiel glances at Dean. Balthazar watches, recognizing the silent communication for what it is. He and Castiel had something similar as children, as did Michael and Castiel before Michael left. It's something that only happens with a person you've shared your life with, a lot of it. A thing born out of experience and not skill. Balthazar doesn't know how to feel, seeing Castiel and Dean share that. Sick, yes. But a little relieved, too, in some secret, dark part of his mind that will grasp for any hope, no matter how faint.

Then the moment is over, and Dean walks away, and Castiel takes Balthazar with him.

The black Mustang reminds Balthazar of Dean. But what Castiel's done with it reminds Balthazar of his brother.

There's an ipod jack, for one. Castiel is normally pretty neat, but he also ate in his car a lot, and Balthazar can see the signs of sauces mostly wiped clean here and there. There's a book at Balthazar's feet.

"So, letters?" Castiel asks.

"If that's all you can do safely, then yeah."

Castiel nods. "I'm sorry I can't give you an address to reply. It just isn't safe for you, or me."

"I'll figure something out," Balthazar promises. "Can you call me? Sometime? Like you did before?"

"Not anytime soon, but yes," Castiel says.

"A few months? Give me something. Keep safe, but something."

Castiel smiles at him. "Okay."

They hug in the shadow of Castiel's car. And then Balthazar, every step feeling like he's moving through concrete, walks away from his little brother. He doesn't want to go.

But Castiel just waves goodbye, still himself, and Balthazar lets him go.

Just as Castiel promised, Balthazar stays in a hotel for the night. He checks the time, notes it's been a few hours since he was in his home several states away. He wakes up the next morning and gets a flight back out to Texas, and as he gets on the plane, it hits him all over again.

Last night was real.

When he gets home, Balthazar sits at his ancient computer, making a note on a pink sticky note to buy a newer version, and sets to making a youtube account.

If Castiel can't receive letters, then Balthazar will just have to broadcast his to the world.

---

Castiel's cell phone is perched precariously on his shoulder, held in place by cricking his neck to keep his chin to it. "Yes. We'll get the hunt in Arkansas."

Dave's voice is on the line. "Fine, fine, take the more interesting case."

"The potentially more deadly case," Castiel points out. "I do have backup this time, you don't."

Dave snorts. "Call me tomorrow."

Call ended. Castiel puts down his cell and wanders over to the desk sitting in the corner of the dining room that has become his office. He needs to move it to the library, but hasn't yet.

After settling, Castiel writes down a brief summary of what they're about to go after in his logbook. It's coded, of course, in case he and Dean ever are caught in their home. He wants to get a larger picture of hunting in America, but he doesn't want to put other hunters in danger by doing it. In order for a code to be indecipherable, it generally needs to be designed to be read by only one person – the individual writing it. Castiel uses shorthand based on his own experiences as a layer of cryptography under the code itself, which uses a unique alphabet. He spent probably six months working on it before he ever used it, mostly used to research the subject.

His little hidden message in that letter to his brother that Dean sent, all those years ago, might have fooled Dean, but it won't fool the FBI.

Dean called it overkill, but Castiel knows what he's up against. The BAU has the best and brightest. Castiel was once one of them, but he's one man up against a team, and he has to remember that. He doesn't like thinking of the BAU as an enemy – and to tell the truth, they are less of an enemy and more of an inconvenience to be taken very, very seriously – but at times, he must consider how to thwart them to keep Dean, himself, and other hunters safe.

He closes one logbook and opens another, writing another entry. A fake, with false information.

Then he slips them both into a little hiding spot in the floorboards, and heads out to their backyard.

Aditi is dancing at Dean's feet, who growls at her, "Would you stop that?"

"She likes you," Castiel says to him, stepping onto the porch.

"I'd like it if she liked me less," Dean says, but there's no heat in it. He finishes using the drill to put a fence around the bottom of the porch – raccoons decided it made a nice nesting spot – and then heads up the short steps. "Did your brother send another video message?"

"Yes. I'd like to look at it on our way to a hunt. Possibly send a letter, too."

"Oh, thank God, another hunt," Dean says, brushing close to Castiel and giving him a quick kiss. He grins, a little too fast to be completely natural. Then he runs a hand through his hair, a nervous tic. "Housework is so fucking boring."

Interesting set of nonverbal communication signals. But Castiel decides to let it go. It could be a thousand things, and Dean will talk when he's ready. "Think you could get our stuff?"

"Sure. The usual?"

"Yes."

Dean heads for the basement.

Castiel considers joining him for a moment, but doesn't. Instead, he heads up the stairs, all the way to the third floor.

The third story that is part attic ends up being a sitting room, one for just the two of them. They agree that it will be the one part of their house that will always be solely theirs, as long as they're both alive. The hunters that Castiel has formed into a loose organization – somewhat like Bobby Singer did back in the day – will probably be here sometimes, may even stay for a while in one of the guest rooms. Castiel will have rules about that, mostly ones meant to preserve their home as a sanctuary, and safely away from the eyes of the FBI and local police.

Castiel steps into that room, fingertips trailing along the beaten leather couch that has collapsed into softness. A red, fluffy rug lies on the floor, and an armchair is opposite the couch, perched right next to the round window that is part stained glass. There's no TV, no phone up here. Just a bookcase, a couch and an armchair, and occasionally the people who live here.

As isolated as they are, Castiel still likes to have peace and quiet. Dean even respects that here, instead of being obnoxiously loud as he usually is.

Their house was just completed. It's been a home for almost a year now.

Down one flight of stairs is the bedrooms, including the one Castiel and Dean share. That one they painted a soothing yellow. The others are all differing colors – not gray – and Castiel only peeks in each, remembering painting, remembering getting a heavy mattress or two up the stairs, remembering the broken big toe Castiel got in the process.

The bottom floor has the kitchen, probably the place they spend the most time, excepting their bedroom. Castiel's got two pies sitting on the kitchen table. The fridge is stuffed full of fresh items that Dean will use up when they get back.

The backyard is still mostly wild, a mess of trees and brush except for Dean's toolshed. Maybe one day they'll make a garage – Dean didn't put it into the plans, swearing up and down that he just forgot and that his baby has been outside all this time and how she didn't need a garage and garages are car prisons where cars go to die. Out of sight Dean's started a garden, fenced up to prevent deer from eating the goods.

Castiel lingers over the door to the basement, which is full of hunting supplies and a hundred day supply of food, to boot.

He goes out the front door, finding Dean already standing next to the Impala. Their duffels are gone, presumably in the backseat or the trunk.

Dean is shifting around nervously.

Bemused, Castiel walks up to the car, about to ask a question.

Dean clears his throat, fidgets, and then throws Castiel the keys to the Impala. "You drive."

Castiel catches the keys, raising an eyebrow. That explains the nervousness. Dean is very protective of his baby. He runs his fingers through the keys on the chain, stopping when he catches an unexpected gleam. Curious, he rolls it until he can see it. A golden ring, gleaming. A wedding ring.

Castiel looks up at Dean and smiles.

---

AN: There is one more chapter to go, but this is the last we see of Castiel and Dean's POV. The next chapter/epilogue is from the perspective of the FBI. :)