When Dean wakes up, it's to the feeling of a button jabbing him in the cheekbone. It takes him a few moments to recognize the rough fabric that he's got his face pressed into. Cas' coat. He knows the feel of it, the way the material catches against his stubble when he tilts his chin. He groans slightly, but he doesn't open his eyes. He can feel grit gluing them shut, and he presses his face more firmly into the warm fabric, away from light and consciousness and all the things he doesn't want to confront.

There's a damp patch on the coat somewhere near his forehead and he's almost certain that it's from his tears…that's not that unusual really, Dean can admit that to himself in this hazy space between sleep and awake. He's spent the better part of a year getting shit faced and somehow falling asleep, using Cas' beaten, battered, and bloody trench as a sort of demented pillow. He'd wake up from nightmares of drowning and of a Cas who suddenly turned into that not Cas with the deranged smile, who would shove Dean into the Pit while he laughed. Dean would sit up gasping for air, shaking, and immediately grab the nearest bottle of jack to chase the dream away while he rubbed at his eyes.

Dean's having trouble placing himself in time. That had been a while ago. Cas had come back and then Dean had broken him…again. He'd given Cas the coat, and the angel wore it over his hospital scrubs like a security blanket. He'd huddled in the material, all stooped shoulders, and downcast eyes. He looked defeated. It hurt Dean to see the way that Cas' bright, piercing gaze, skirted away from his eyes, like he was frightened of facing the hunter. And why shouldn't he be? Dean was furious. He was mad at Cas for being so stupid, he was mad at himself for letting this happen in the first place. Cas used the coat like an extra cover, a shield from the world. Dean wasn't ever going to admit that he had done the same damn thing, dragging the coat across the country, keeping it in motels, and the trunks of stolen cars, and avoiding Sam's knowing looks whenever he saw Dean move it. The face Sam made looked a lot like pity and impending touchy-feely conversations that would start with "we need to talk about this." Dean could never face the understanding puppy eyes, so he'd stow the coat in with the weapons and slam the trunk shut before moving on to the next town.

Dean closes his eyes more firmly now. He doesn't want to remember that. He wants to go back to sleep. He feels like he'd been having a good dream for once, though he can't quite remember the details. He doesn't want to think about Cas because Cas had—Purgatory. That had been the last place Dean had seen the coat. He'd carried that image of Cas on their last day on earth, cursed or not, but ready to fight, wearing the coat like armor, like a warrior of god, pushing Dean out of the way when it had really counted. After Cas had vanished, Dean had prayed every night that he wouldn't find it bloody again. He'd prayed for a lot of things…When he had found Cas, the coat had been filthier than ever before, with great tears in it, and the angel who wore it was even more beaten and battle scared and worn down. Dean didn't give a fuck about any of that when he pulled Cas into a hug because he had never seen something look so fucking fantastic in his life.

They were almost to the portal, camping out in some cave. The Leviathan attacks had increased since Cas had joined up with them. The angel kept trying to convince Dean that he should leave him behind, but Dean shut the suggestions down every time, no matter how simultaneously pleading and resigned Cas had looked. It was just Dean and Cas that night; Benny was standing watch. They sat shoulder to shoulder, backs against the wall. A rock was biting into Dean's spine, his legs were splayed out, weapon resting on his lap. Cas had his knees pulled to his chest, his arms wrapped loosely around them, staring at the cave entrance. Dean watched his angel closely. Since he had found Cas, it had been imperative to have him in his sight at all times, afraid that he would vanished if he strayed too far. He was a terrifying flight risk. Dean kept touching Cas, just to make sure he was really there…a brush of fingers to his wrist, a firm hand on his shoulder, a gentle nudge against his elbow.

"Penny for your thoughts, Cas," he offered.

"American currency would be of little value to us here, Dean," Cas responded flatly, and Dean rolled his eyes, about ninety percent positive that the angel was making a joke.

"It's an expression, buddy," he said, gently shoving against Cas' side. The angel still refused to look away from the cave entrance. "Cas? Hey, what're you thinkin' about, man?"

Cas' eyes flicked towards Dean and away again, and he clasped his hands more tightly around his knees, "We're almost to the portal," he stated, monotone.

Dean's brow furrowed, "Yeah, and?"

Cas glanced at Dean and then down at his hands, "I can't help thinking that it would be much safer for you to go ahead without me. I could perhaps offer a diversion for the Leviathan that would allow you a better chance of—"

"Shut up, Cas," Dean barked, his voice gruff, his face hard as stone, "You're not gonna go be fuckin' bait for those slimy bastards," Cas lowered his face farther away, hunching his shoulders, and Dean reached out sharply, covering Cas' intertwined fingers with his hand and squeezing. Cas looked up to meet Dean's eyes, finally, "I'm not leaving you here; you got that? You're comin' with me. We're going home together or not at all. You got me?"

Dean searched Cas' face. The angel tried to look away, but Dean brought his free hand to Cas' chin, startling slightly at the scruff that had grown there, and forcing Cas to meet his gaze. "You got me?" he repeated.

Cas looked briefly at Dean's mouth and then back up to his eyes, "I understand," he said.

"Good," Dean replied. It took him a few moments to realize that he was still gripping Cas' chin, his thumb resting near the corner of his mouth, fingers brushing the underside of his jaw, it took him a few moments more to let go. "I don't want to hear about this again, all right?"

Cas made a noncommittal sound deep in his throat. "You should rest, Dean," he said, which was not a fucking answer. Dean glared, but Cas ignored him, his gaze softening slightly in the face of Dean's anger, like the stubbornness reminded him of times past.

"You look like you could use it more than me," Dean retorted. Cas did look like hell, but it wasn't like Dean had seen himself in a mirror recently.

"I don't need sleep," Cas said, and Dean had a momentary vision of the angel snoring in the back seat of the Impala, when the world had been falling apart around their ears, but he had had both of his boys and his baby. Cas rested his hand briefly on Dean's knee, "You do. You'll need your strength." Dean had wanted to protest some more, but Cas was right. It felt like he hadn't slept in…well, in a fucking long time. He reached for Cas' hand but the angel had already pulled away and folded them around his knees again, "I'll watch over you," he said. Dean stared at Cas, who resolutely looked away, before shaking his head and leaning back against the rocky wall, closing his eyes, "Thanks, Cas."

"Good night, Dean."

He woke the next morning with his face pressed into that familiar fabric. He wasn't sure at the moment whether he was leaving dirty streaks on the material or vice versa, but he was warm, and comfortable, and there was an arm wrapped firmly around his back. He had opened his eyes and Cas had been looking back at him. Neither of them said anything about it, but the next three nights—the last three nights—Dean had gone to sleep with his face against Cas' shoulder and the angel's arm draped around him. Dean remembered that. It had been the best nights' sleep he could remember. He had felt safe—in the middle of fucking monster heaven—because of Cas. He hadn't said thank you.

Dean groans slightly and shifts, pressing his face more firmly into the coat, and hiding from the weight of responsibility that's sure to settle into place once he wakes up. The gnawing guilt roils in his gut; it's like having his entrails ripped up while he watches (and Dean fucking knows what that feels like after forty years in hell). He wants to avoid it just a little bit longer because Cas is gone. Dean had failed him, left him behind. He hadn't fucking made it, and Dean had promised that he would. The thought of never seeing Cas again, with his filthy scrubs and peach fuzz or his crooked tie and accountant get up, always with that gaze like he could see Dean's soul, straight to the heart of him, and didn't care about how broken he was—it made him wish he couldn't feel anything. He pictured Cas, tilting his head confusedly to the side because of his complete ignorance of pop culture; earnestly staring at Dean, choosing Dean, always with that damn coat—the damn coat that Cas had been wearing the last time Dean had seen him…in Purgatory—the same coat that Dean is currently using as a pillow.

His eyes snap open and he pulls back suddenly. He had been sleeping on Cas' coat, clean and new-like it had never been ripped to pieces-and Dean fists his hands into the material just to prove that is really there. Then he remembers suddenly: Cas had come back from Purgatory yesterday. Dean had seen his ghost before the real deal had shown up in the bathroom, filthy and tired, but miraculously alive. He had spent the whole day waiting for Cas to just up and disappear again, and then the damn idiot had gone and almost gotten himself killed. Dean closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Fucking Cas, who was on some goddamn self-loathing trip to rival Dean's greatest hits. After the confrontation with Crowley, they had dropped off the Trans, and Cas, Dean, and Sam had driven back to the motel in tense silence. Dean gripping the wheel till his knuckles were white, glancing at Cas in the rearview mirror. Cas stared out the window. Sam kept looking between them, with a concerned expression, and beat a hasty retreat once they reached their room. Dean had spun on Cas as soon as the door shut.

"You're a fucking idiot," he snarled.

Cas sighed, and opened his palms, as if he didn't want to argue the point, "I did what needed to be done."

Dean glared, "Just now when you almost got yourself killed? Or when you thought a permanent vacation in Purgatory was a good idea?"

"Both."

Cas was standing firm, giving Dean a look somewhere between resignation, defiance, and understanding.

"You stupid son of a bitch," Dean couldn't believe this shit, "I would have gotten you out of there."

Cas sighed, "I didn't deserve to be gotten out, Dean. After everything I-" he averted his gaze briefly, before looking back, "It was not your responsibility to save me."

"The hell it's not, Cas," he spat, furious, "I would have died to get you out of there-."

Cas was glaring now too, channeling some angelic righteous anger, "Which is why you were better off without me, Dean. I'm not worth that."

Dean was actually floored for a second. A mental slideshow of every time Cas had actually died to save his ass played behind his eyes. Did he really have no idea-? Just one more way that Dean had failed the damn angel, making him feel fucking worthless. As Dean was coming to this unpleasant realization, Cas continued talking, "You've suffered enough because of me. All the things that I've done, I—"

"Cas, Jesus, man, you-Son of a bitch," Dean said, and he didn't make any sort of conscious decision except that he couldn't stand that resigned and wounded look on Cas' face, like a dog that was trying to shield itself from a blow. He reached out and pulled Cas to his chest, enveloping him in a hug. Cas froze for a moment, and Dean pressed his face into Cas' shoulder, and breathed deeply because Cas was here, he was alive, he was fucking stupid, but he was with him and Dean couldn't let him keep thinking that his life was worthless.

"Shut up, okay?" It was kind of pointless since Cas was apparently stunned into silence. "You fucking matter. Jesus Christ, if I deserve fucking saving, so do you…I thought that I left you back there, Cas…it fucking killed me."

"You didn't leave me, Dean, it's not—"

Dean pulled back, gripping Cas' shoulders, his hands mirroring the mark that was still branded on his own arm. He forced Cas to meet his stare, "If you say it's not my responsibility one more time, so help me, Cas I will fucking punch you in the face."

"You'd only damage your hand."

"Yeah, well, maybe I'd get the point across."

Cas just frowned at him, "Dean—"

"No, you're gonna listen to me, damn it," Dean's voice was rough and firm, "It is my goddamn responsibility to save you," Cas frowned and made to interrupt, "Shut up, it is. You save me, I save you, we both save Sammy, we save each other. That's what we do, Cas—fuck that's what family does."

Cas' eyes darted up to meet Dean's, the piercing blue was over bright, "—And you're family, Cas. Hell, I've broken you—" Dean took a deep breath and let it go, "I've broken you, do you think I deserved to stay in Purgatory for it? I deserve worse for the things I've done," Cas moved to interrupt, but Dean cut him off because he didn't even know where all these words were coming from, but he knew that if he stopped he might not be able to start again, "and you've always tried to save me, even when I didn't think I deserved it—and I didn't, Cas, I still don't—but I'm gonna do the same for you."

Cas looked slightly astonished, his expression softening.

Dean cleared his throat, his eyes boring into Cas', "Do you understand what I'm sayin'?"

Cas considered for a moment and inclined his head almost imperceptibly, "I think so."

Dean nodded and felt something burning behind his eyes, "Good," he pulled Cas back into a hug to hide his face because he was pretty sure he might be crying, shoving his nose into the crook of Cas' shoulder, "Cause I'm not losing you again."

Cas didn't say anything for a moment, didn't move, but Dean didn't let go, and a second later he felt Cas shift, his hands coming to rest, almost hesitant on Dean's shoulder blades. After realizing that the hunter wasn't going to let go, the angel held onto Dean just as fiercely.

Dean pulled back eventually and swiped at his eyes, "You look beat, Cas."

"I may have overextended today," the angel admitted ruefully, taking Dean's change of topic in stride.

Dean grabbed Cas' sleeve and tugged him over towards the bed (he was under no illusions that Cas would let himself be led if he didn't want to be). Dean gave the angel a slight push until he was seated on the mattress, looking pointedly at Dean. The hunter sighed, "You should get some sleep."

Cas just stared at him, until Dean rolled his eyes, "C'mon, move over." Cas made room, and Dean flopped down next to him. He let out a long exhale; it felt right to be here, sprawled out next to Cas. Dean was dead tired, like he hadn't slept in years. He didn't really think about it as he let his head come to rest on Cas' shoulder, reassuring himself that Cas was still there. God knows that Dean's had enough nightmares where Cas simply vanished to make him wary. Cas stiffened for a moment, and then relaxed, going from angel to something more human in response to Dean's touch. He moved his hand, hesitantly, incrementally, until his fingers brushed against Dean's where they rested on top of the covers. He was asking permission and Dean opened his palm, exposing the scars and callouses for Cas to take, and twined their fingers together.

"Thank you," Cas whispered gruffly. Then Dean drifted off.

Now, Dean's sitting on the bed alone, staring at a tear stained trench coat, bringing back all sorts of terrible memories that he doesn't want to fucking deal with because in addition to a situation that is far too familiar for comfort, he now has an AWOL angel with potentially suicidal tendencies.

"Fuck," Dean hisses, bile rising in the back of this throat as his calculates about twenty potentially terrible ways that Cas could have gotten into trouble and tried to martyr himself, at least six of which come straight out of the Winchester Family Playbook.

"God fucking damn it, Cas," his fingers are so tightly wound into the fabric of the angel's coat that it might tear. Then he's reaching for his keys and his cell, mentally considering how far Cas could have gotten on semi-charged mojo, how quickly he and Sam can gather ingredients for a summoning ritual, and whether or not Cas has just skipped ahead to manifesting his angel blade and stabbing himself in his grace…This is what fucking happens when you talk about your fucking feelings you stupid fucking son of a bitch, he mentally kicks himself. He can't help but think of all the times that he had snuck off to do something that was less than ideal for his own self-preservation…. he's relatively certain that Cas had learned from the best.

"Son of a bitch," he repeats, and he would really like to punch something, preferably Cas' stupid face…preferably Cas' alive face. He's got the essentials, he's ready to launch himself out and drag that goddamn idiot back from the brink of death for the millionth damn time, when—

"Hello, Dean," intones a gravelly voice behind him, and he spins so fast it's a miracle that he doesn't get whip lash. Cas is standing by the door, gazing at Dean in a way that Dean would have found really creepy in the old days, but now just makes him feel sheer relief.

"Cas," he says. He launches himself out of bed fully prepared to beat the living shit out of the bastard, but that melts away somehow in the two strides it takes to reach him. He gets a glimpse of Cas' startled face, before he's got an armful of angel: his hands firm on Cas' shoulder blades, his face pressed into his neck. He smells good, clean. Cas is warm, and pliant, and it takes him a moment of Dean just hanging on, enveloping him fully, before he responds, shifting, slowly, but more quickly than the night before. Dean feels the angel's hands come to rest on his back, cling there, hard enough to leave bruises. Cas tilts his chin slightly, so that his nose is pressed just beneath Dean's ear, and he takes a deep breath, like the hunter is the one in danger of vanishing completely, which seems ridiculous until Dean remembers that he literally vanished completely right in front of Cas when he made it out of Purgatory, and he grips his angel all the tighter.

"Jesus fuck, Cas" Dean hisses, his voice slightly muffled by the collar of Cas' shirt, "You can't just fucking disappear like that."

Cas' voice is level, "It was not my intention to worry you, Dean."

Dean pulls back and considers that he might—maybe just a little bit—be over reacting. He's pretty sure that he's channeling "mommy lost her baby in the supermarket" kind of strongly right now and he feels badly about it and maybe a little bit embarrassed before realizing, Screw it. I lost my fucking angel in Purgatory and I'm goddamn allowed to freak out. Because, seriously, people that Dean loves have a tendency to end up dead or worse and fuck it if he's going to let that happen to Cas again. If that means he's going to be an overprotective son of a bitch to the point of embarrassing himself then so fucking be it.

Cas tilts his head to the side, narrowing his eyes slightly, and Dean wonders briefly how much Cas can see into his head. Dean just lifts his chin and continues to glare.

"Sam suggested that I bring you some coffee," Cas says, gesturing towards the table, where two steaming styrofoam cups rest. Of course Sam fucking would.

Dean rolls his eyes, "Sam was here?"

Cas nods, "He stopped by to see if we had 'kissed and made up,'" Dean can hear the air quotes as Cas continues to gaze intently at Dean's face, and Dean tries to keep his expression fixed, "He seemed rather pleased with our sleeping arrangements," Dean can imagine the smug, overjoyed smirk on Sammy's face and the goddamn knowing looks he is going to suffer in the Impala, "he didn't want to wake you, but suggested that we leave soon."

Dean's still got his hands on Cas' shoulders, and he's only now becoming aware of the fact that Cas' hand is resting lightly on his hip, maintaining contact. "How'd you leave without waking me?" Dean asks, and if his voice is a bit rougher than usual, he's pretty sure Cas isn't going to mention it.

Cas shrugs a little bit, a gesture that he's picked up over time spent with the Winchesters, "I 'mojo-ed' myself."

Again with the imaginary air quotes. It's almost endearing. Dean smirks and then narrows his eyes a bit, taking in the fact that he can feel the warmth of Cas' skin beneath his palms because he's wearing a flimsy white button down. He remembers waking up with his face pressed into Cas' coat.

"Why'd you—?"

Cas looks at him with that "humans can be so stupid" expression on his face; Dean likes it for some inexplicable reason. Maybe because it reminds him more of old feisty Cas and less of penitent self-loathing Cas. "I understand that it's brought you comfort in the past," he says simply.

Dean blinks and his fingers tighten on Cas' shoulders because they've never really talked about that, but of course Cas would know. It's not like Dean's exactly kept it a secret how fucked up he'd been since Cas died in that reservoir.

He clears his throat, "It would have brought me more 'comfort' if you'd been there." God, he's turning into a fucking girl, "Wake me next time, or at least leave a note or something."

Is that a smile twitching at the corners of Cas' mouth? Yeah, it fucking is. "If you'd like," he says simply.

"Good," Dean replies, trying to play off his concern, "Don't want to have to worry about you going off and doing something stupid every time I close my eyes."

Cas looks mildly chastened but somehow still amused, "Of course not."

"No more disappearing acts?"

"No," Cas agrees solemnly. He hesitates for a moment then raises his hand and rests it on Dean's shoulder, covering the mark he'd made there years ago. The touch makes Dean hiss and shiver. He meets Cas' intense stare, knowing that this is a promise. The angel is making Dean a vow here, one that touches on the bond between them. Cas' blue eyes are fixed on Dean and the hunter can read all their shared history in his gaze, the hurt, the guilt, the pain, but also, maybe, the promise of something better than before.

"Okay," Dean says after a moment. He feels like he's suspended in time, like they just invoked some kind of angelic magic without even trying. He moves his hand from Cas' shoulder to cup his face, his thumb grazing over Cas' jaw, clean, smooth, and sharp. He can feel Cas' fingers drawing circles on his lower back.

"Hey, Cas," Dean says, pulling Cas closer to him, till their foreheads are pressed together and they're breathing the same air. He can see the way that black is overtaking blue in the angel's eyes.

"Dean," Cas utters, his voice more gravelly than usual, the word is tender in his mouth, like it is precious, and so is its owner. Dean thinks I love you. Don't leave me. And he prays that Cas can hear what he's not quite ready to say aloud. If the look of wonder on Cas' face is any indication, he does, and before he can reply in any way, Dean presses his lips to Cas'. He means for it to be gentle, he really does, but Cas pushes back, turning the kiss into something fierce and possessive, and Dean's got Cas pressed up against the wall before he can really think about it. He pulls back for a moment, and Cas trails his fingers up Dean's sides and he's fucking smiling, like a real smile, a smile that Dean put there, and the hunter feels something catch in his throat before he slots their mouths together again. Dean's got his hand full of Cas' hair and he tugs because he wants Cas to stay, wants to make sure that he's here. Cas loops a leg around Dean pulling him closer and Dean sucks at his neck, marking him. My angel, he thinks, mine.

"Yours," Cas whispers, roughly, "yours, Dean."

Cas pulls him up to meet his mouth again. Dean's hands are under Cas' shirt, and the angel hisses at the contact of skin on skin. Dean swallows the sound. His hands are reaching for Cas' belt when there's a knock at the door.

"You guys okay in there?" Sam shouts from the corridor, "We've gotta get moving here."

"Oh for fuck's—" Dean curses, glaring at the door. Cas looks like a being full of wrath and fury before he sighs, leans forward, and kisses Dean, gently this time, before he can continue shouting. Dean narrows his eyes because he's relatively certain that Cas wants to smite Sam but is suppressing the urge because of having previously broken the kid. Dean rolls his eyes.

"Fine," he mutters, "You get to tell gigantor that we kissed and made up."

"I'm sure this will facilitate a 'bonding moment' between Sam and myself," Cas agrees.

Dean narrows his eyes, "We're limiting your daytime TV intake," he vows. Cas just smirks.

"Guys?" Sam calls again, "I'm legitimately concerned that someone might be dead in there."

"Jesus, Sam!" Dean calls, "Give us a sec, would ya?"

Sam mutters something that Dean doesn't quite catch, but he can see the bitch face through the wall. Sam opens the door. He takes in Cas' rumpled clothes, Dean's bruised lips, and the untouched coffee. He starts to smirk. Dean can basically see the "I-told-you-so" and the "it's about time" and the ever delightful "this was my plan right from the start" queuing in the air around his brother. He turns to Cas and squeezes his hand. "Enjoy your bonding moment," he says, "I'm gonna go take a shower before we leave." It's going to be a cold one. "My duffle's in the closet. Don't forget this." He tosses Cas the trench coat and the angel smiles at him, shrugging into it, before moving to offer Sam the second cup of coffee.

Dean strolls to the bathroom and he can hear Cas begin with a simple, "Dean and I have resolved our differences…"

He rolls his eyes and shouts "And we're getting a separate room at the next motel!"

"It's about time," Sam calls back.

"You're telling me," Dean mutters. He can admit it freely just now. He glances at his reflection in the mirror; he looks lighter than he has in a while. There are still miles to go between him and Cas. There's still fear and Cas' self-hatred, and Dean's too, come to that… but Dean makes himself a promise that he'll do what he can to get rid of that, if it means he gets to keep his angel in the trench coat a bit longer.

AN:

Thanks for taking the time to read this story. I really needed to work through my feelings after 8.08. I wanted to write a fluffy little drabble, but instead wrote this angsty monstrosity. I hope that you enjoyed it! I would really appreciate any comments or feedback you have. Thanks again for reading! It means a lot to me.

PS If you'd like, I can write an epilogue in which Sam does not play the role of cock-blocking moose. Let me know if that's something you'd be interested in. Love.