Castiel's legs hung limply over the end of his bed, his feet absently scuffing the carpet as he surveyed the cluster of hangers in the open closet opposite him. He couldn't tell you how long is eyes had been glued to the unzipped garment bag of now-creased dress blues, his mind a hazed blank as if his subconscious were trying to black out the day's events.
His eyes traced over the flawless seams of his uniform, the sharp cut of the material, the insignia that had once made him feel so proud, so worthwhile, suddenly nothing but an empty, un-ironed souvenir of his greatest failure.
Their worst case scenario had become reality. Alistair had zeroed in on the one thing that could potentially destroy Dean's case, and Castiel's working life, and he had done it all without even having to say the words.
Castiel had known from the start that all it would take to bring this whole case crashing down would be the mere insinuation of extracurricular involvement between he and Dean, romantic or otherwise.
Every single thing that had happened between them, from the incident in Castiel's office months ago (that should have been reported, but never was), to the walks they took every morning out on the field op, was completely outside the realms of what their working relationship should be, was allowed to be.
If he had really thought about it all that time ago, if he had stopped to consider the implications of the way he had chosen to deal with things, he would not be sitting here right now, staring into his closet, wondering if he just might have ruined the life of the one person he cared about more than anything or anyone else in the entire world.
He shuffled forward to kick the closet door closed.
He loved Dean. More than he had ever loved another human being in his entire life, more than he even knew he could love someone, and deep down he knew that it could not have happened any other way. The way he had handled things was the reason they were together, and he did not regret for a moment the fact that his actions had led them to each other. But in that moment, he honestly didn't know if that outweighed the guilt that came from the fact that his actions had also potentially put Dean in jail.
God, seeing him in court today, knowing what he must have gone through, it hurt so damn much. Castiel was probably the only person who could see right through Dean's front of indifference to how much the young man actually cared about what was going on around him.
Because he did care.
All along, he had cared. Right from the beginning, back when he would wind up in Castiel's office every other week for some misdemeanour or other, looking like he couldn't give a flying fuck, he had cared. Because Dean was the kind of person, the kind of soldier, that was harder on himself than any outside party ever could be.
He cared too much, and pretending to shut it off completely was the only way he could hide that. It was what made him simultaneously perfect for his job, and not suited to it at all. But then, was anyone ever really suited to this life? Did anyone walk out of it regret-free?
Castiel had once thought so. But then, everyone probably started out thinking they would be the exception.
He fell back against his pillow and reached out to turn his alarm clock to face him, the late hour flashing on the display not coming as any surprise.
The recruits would have been issued back to the barracks by now and final check-ins completed for the night. Most of the personnel on base would have returned to their housing units to fall asleep next to their partners, having left all work-related issues in their offices to be dealt with tomorrow.
Any other day, in any other circumstance, Castiel would have done the same. He had, over the years, become exceptionally good at separating his working life from his, albeit limited, personal life.
Maybe this was why they had rules about relationships with recruits, because it erased that invisible line that kept your work separate from the rest of your life.
The only thing Castiel could say for sure in that moment was that tonight, he would not be getting much sleep.
Castiel's front door looked just like any other Dean had seen in his life. Dark, weather-worn panelling, a brass handle that could do with being polished...from Dean's position in the shadows nearby, it could have been anyone's door.
But it wasn't just anyone's door. It was Castiel's.
Even if Dean hadn't managed to break into the employee records to find out which housing unit Cas lived in, he still would have known exactly which one to head for...the only one with the lights still on.
He rubbed his palms against his thighs, trying with no real hope of success to slow his breathing down as he played out what was about to happen in his head.
He had been so single-mindedly focussed on avoiding the security cameras as he had crept along the fringes of the base, darting between shadows and half expecting to hear the hum of a patrol vehicle on his tail, that he had not actually stopped to consider what Cas might say, what he should say.
Tonight had been a long time coming. This moment, this confession that had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for months on end...it was now or never.
He was here, at Castiel's door, and it was now or never.
He stepped forward into the pool of light illuminating the small porch, and silently ascended the two steps up onto the sturdy wooden platform. He reached towards the door, curling his hand into a loose fist, and rapped his knuckles against the solid panelling in one singular, sharp knock.
The night was dead still around him as shoved his hands deep into his pockets, his ears straining to pick up any indication of movement inside the house.
Come on Cas...
He exhaled long and slow, his heart rate clearly ignoring the memo to slow the fuck down.
This was stupid. What the hell was he doing here? It was the middle of the damn night, and he was standing here in the freezing cold, waiting on a door that would probably never open.
He rubbed at his mouth nervously, rocking back on his heels.
Clearly this had been a mistake. Had he really thought Cas would be awake and receptive to house guests at this time of night? After how things had panned out in court today?
He cursed softly under his breath, forcing his feet to move from where they were planted in front of the door. He turned his back to the light, kicking at the small shrub at the bottom of the steps as he made his way back towards the shadows.
"...Dean?"
...It had been barely a whisper, his name in the deafening silence of the night. But it reverberated throughout his entire being, that one word, that voice. His feet froze, his head screaming at him to turn around, to make sure it had not all been a cruel trick of his desperate subconscious.
"Dean..."
That voice again, that one word that was worth a thousand others.
"...Cas." His name escaped as a hoarse whisper as Dean turned to face him. "I'm sorry if I woke you...I just..."
Castiel shook his head, stepping further out onto the porch. Dean could see the raised bumps in the bare flesh of Castiel's arms and legs, his thin t-shirt and boxers providing no sanctuary from the cold night air.
"I wasn't asleep..." Castiel looked down at his state of dress, as though it had only just dawned on him that he was in fact in his pyjamas. His eyes darted up to the cluster of neighbouring houses, any one of which may have at that moment been hiding a pair of watchful eyes. "...Do you want to come in?"
Dean swallowed hard.
Yes. I want to come in and then never ever leave.
He nodded slowly, deciding it was probably better for everyone if he did not try to speak right now. Castiel opened the door wider, stepping aside to allow him room to get by.
This is it, Dean steeled himself as he took a small step towards the porch, towards Castiel.
Now, or never.
