Chapter Six

Not gonna lie, I think I like this one, and I really hope yall will, too.

I think this was one of the first scenes I wrote the dialogue for (yeah I have a ton of that waiting in a folder lol) and even though we might be going a little too fast, this is still fanfic, right?

Anyway, last chapter one of my dear readers and friends asked if we'd get to see a bit more of Dean's trauma, and even though this is only scraping the surface I guess, I hope she's gonna be happy with what I cooked up at the beginning of this chapter to give all of you a bit more of an idea what's going on inside of Dean's mind (and later on also Cas'.)

Okay, okay. Without further ado, I hope you enjoy! *screeches internally*

~oOo~oOo~oOo~

Dean had nightmares of his own.

He pulled himself together at day, because that's what Cas needed him to do. He didn't want to burden Cas further, so he stayed strong, played strong, but that didn't mean he wasn't secretly falling apart by the seams.

He could see it too, hear it, feel it, echoes of memories that seemed like a bad dream he couldn't shake. Every time he saw Cas waking up in a sweat he wondered, what was it he saw, what had he recalled this time? Had it been Dean's voice? Dean's words? The feeling of Dean's hands on his skin? Pain? Pleasure? Shame?

All through Dean.

Dean, Dean, Dean.

It was killing him. He didn't remember how it had felt. He just remembered what it had looked like, how it had sounded. The sounds were the worst. He never wanted to hear Cas like that again, the voice that usually filled him with warmth and home, distorted to pleas and cries and sobs.

Dean almost wished he could have felt it too. Maybe that would have dulled that need in him, the desire to touch him now, still. Because it hadn't vanished. Dean had always needed touch. He'd always been a touchy person, even if he would have denied that to the day he died. Small touches, platonic touches, sexual touches. A handshake, a warm hug, a pat on the shoulder, a kiss, the comfort of skin against skin. He loved all of it, craved it, savoured every small moment. He didn't let that side of him show a lot, but yes, Dean loved to be touched, and he had found out years ago that Cas' touches were the best ones. It had been a huge part of the process that made him realise and accept he was in love with the angel.

Yeah, you heard correctly.

Dean was in love. And he knew it.

It had been a long bumpy road, getting to terms with that realisation, and it would have been too much to say he'd managed to banish the guilt and shame that had overpowered him at first. There were years of working through this shit behind him, years of fighting his father's voice in his head, years of denial and anger and punishment. Now, all that was finally worked down to a constant dull ache beneath the thick blanket of hopelessness he felt whenever he thought about Cas. About his love for Cas.

So he was in love with him. Guess what. It didn't even matter. Cas would never be able to return his feelings anyway. There had never been a chance. There certainly wasn't now.

It made it both harder and easier. This. The caring. The remembering.

He'd wanted Cas. God, he'd wanted Cas so much. Fuck him, he still wanted Cas. And wasn't that both wonderful and horrible?

You raped the man you love, his head kept reminding him, not even having the decency to stop there. You didn't want him, not like this. He never wanted you. He'll never want you back. He doesn't love you. He can't love you. (Nobody loves you. You don't even love yourself.)

He still wanted Cas. He still loved Cas. Of course he did.

And he'd never just wanted Cas physically. That was the really scary bit. Sexual attraction, even to men, even if he'd suppressed it most of his life, he knew, was used to. Looking for someone to share his bed for a night, just to have a warm body there, providing the touch he wanted, needed. That was something Dean had done so many times he lost count.

But wanting someone...for them? Because they were who they were? Wanting to go to bed with the same person he'd wake up to, day after day, making them laugh and smile and cook for them and read to them and fight with them over curtain patterns and all the disgusting domestic apple-pie-shit?

That was new.

Wanting someone wholly, fully, body and soul (grace), every day, forever?

That was just Cas.

And now he was here, caught between flashes of his own hands turning the touch he craved and savoured into a violation, this act that he had dreamed about as one of love, twisted and turned into one of hate and pain. And all the while he could still feel the want for this touch (the real thing, the thing he'd dreamed about), making him drown in shame.

He wanted nothing more than to care for Cas, to help him, to comfort him - but how could he, when all Dean knew as his own comfort was touch, and touch was the one thing Cas couldn't take from him?

Love was both greedy and selfless.

~oOo~

It happened again a week later.

But this time was different. This time was worse.

Cas wasn't just shaking when Dean sat up next to him in bed, he was practically curled up in a ball, legs drawn up to his chest, arms tightly wrapped around his knees while he shivered. Little whimpers escaped his throat and his eyes kept fluttering shut when they weren't staring at a point on the mattress in front of him.

"Cas?"

Cas didn't look at him, just shook his head.

"Should-" Dean didn't really know what to ask. He tried slowly reaching for Cas' hand, seeing as that was a touch they'd gotten used to by now, but Cas just gripped tighter onto his own thigh, burying his face in his knees.

"Should I go?", Dean heard himself say.

His tongue felt too heavy in his mouth. How could he even ask that?

I don't want to go. I don't want you to want me to go. Please don't want me to go.

There was no reaction.

"Should I- can I touch you?" He knew he probably asked in vain, but he couldn't just sit there for fuck's sake, he had to- he needed- he-.

"How can I help?" His voice was tripping over itself in desperation. "I don't know what to do, Cas, tell me."

"I don't know."

Cas' voice was hushed into a whimper, his body slowly rocking itself back and forth. Dean couldn't stand it, couldn't stand to look at it. And yet the thought of leaving, fleeing from the sight made him sick to his stomach. Still, he asked again.

"Do you want me to leave?"

Cas violently shook his head this time, knuckles turning white where they were digging into the fabric of his sweatpants.

"Okay. Can I..." In a mindless attempt to try anything at all, Dean slightly touched his shoulder, only serving to make Cas flinch as if he'd burned him.

"Sorry, sorry." His hand shot back, holding it up in a soothing gesture of resignation. "It's okay. I'm sorry. I'm not gonna touch you."

"No, no I-" Cas had lifted his head enough to look at Dean, and shit, there were tear stains beneath his red-rimmed eyes. "I just wasn't prepared. Do it again."

Dean hesitated.

"You sure?"

"Please, Dean."

Cas looked at him, so small, so pleading, and it broke Dean's heart.

"Okay." He nodded. "Slowly, okay? Look." He started another try at taking one of Cas' hands, and this time he loosened his grip on his legs to allow Dean to pull his hand away and carefully link their fingers. "This is good. You're doing so well, Cas", Dean praised, stroking a thumb over the back of his hand. "You think it'd be okay to-"

He broke off, bit his tongue with a spark of guilt in his eyes, wishing he could take the words back.

Stupid. This isn't about what you need, idiot!

But Cas still looked at him with those helpless eyes.

"What?", the angel whispered, and Dean sighed.

"-to hug you?" Dean lowered his eyes. "I know. I know it's too much, too fast, but I really just..."

Green eyes found blue again, and the genuine worry, care and longing gave Cas a surge of bravery he didn't know he had anymore.

"Please."

Dean opened his mouth, closed it again. He breathed.

"Y-Yeah?"

"Please", Cas repeated, because he couldn't ask for it any other way, but he didn't need to.

Dean didn't know if he could have stopped himself from doing something if he tried.

He squeezed Cas' fingers shortly, eyes wide and fixed on the angel with an expression that had to border on awe. He moved slowly, deliberately when he inched closer, coming to kneel beside him and loosely draping an arm around Cas' shoulders, waiting for a reaction, a flinch, a nod, rejection or permission to proceed.

To Dean's great surprise, it was Cas who crawled further into his lap, practically flinging himself against Dean's chest and fisting the fabric of his shirt with that same white-knuckled grip he'd displayed clinging to himself earlier.

Dean was pretty sure he forgot to breathe for a solid minute, and surely that was the reason why he suddenly felt so dizzy. (Not the way he could feel Cas' warmth under his hands, the softness of his hair when he dared to rest his cheek on top of the angel's head. Of course not.)

"Okay like this?" His breath ghosted through Cas' hair, barely moving the strands. "Anything else?"

"Tighter", Cas mumbled, muffled against his chest, and Dean swallowed hard.

"O-Okay."

He tightened his embrace, felt Cas bury his nose in the fabric of Dean's tee. He cried, Dean realised after a while, silent sobs shaking his body, dampening his shirt while Dean just let him, started rocking him gently, just holding tight, a hand around his waist, the other buried in his hair. He didn't stroke his back the way he wanted to, didn't let his fingers glide through the black strands. He just held onto him, calm and steady, whispering soothingly to him while he trembled.

It's okay. You're fine. You're with me. I got you. (He just hoped that was any consolation, hoped it was what Cas wanted to hear.)

Dean closed his eyes, soaked in the scent of Cas' hair, the warmth of finally, finally holding him, even if his chest grew wet with tears. Cas had chosen him to take those tears. He could carry them, every tear he took was one that Cas wouldn't have to cry anymore.

He wished he could build a cocoon of warmth and comfort with his own body, wished he could shield Cas from all the evils of the world, from any sort of pain, without and within, wished he could create a place for him, be that place for him where he felt safe and sheltered and loved...

(Because he was. He was so loved. He had no fucking clue-)

And then, without planning it, without thinking about it, he started to sing.

And then, without planning it, without thinking about it, he started to sing

~oOo~

Cas wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up here.

It hadn't really been a decision, practically throwing himself at Dean. At least he couldn't remember he'd made it. His body had just moved. Like an instinct.

He knew it had to be the dream.

It had been different, this time. Worse. He'd never dreamed that before, hadn't known how to handle it. Memories he was used to by now, flashes of what his brain desperately fought to keep locked away, crawling out of the dark to attack him when he had to let his guard down in his sleep.

But never before had he dreamed of this.

And it had been infinitely worse, had shaken him to his core.

He's here, he reminded himself, closing his eyes, his hand curling harder into the fabric of Dean's shirt. He's here, he's here, he's here.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he registered that there was a lot of touching going on right now, that maybe he should panic, but the thought was somehow dulled and far away.

And it felt nice, the touch. Very nice. There were no wandering hands, just steady points of pressure, grounding, holding him together. He couldn't be entirely sure he wouldn't just fall apart if Dean ever let go.

It was a relief, being able to trick his mind, finally experiencing the sort of comfort Dean's touch had always given him. Before. He'd wanted it back. He'd wanted it back so damn much that he could feel the tears prickling in his eyes at how good it felt, and he simply let them fall. It was freeing, crying. Like letting the tension flow out of his body through his tears. He shortly thought about how it would probably cause Dean to worry, but he could feel guilty about that later, for the moment he simply buried his nose deeper in Dean's shirt, soaking up his warmth and presence.

A Dean who worried was a Dean who cared, a Dean who was here, a Dean who stayed.

He felt the moment when Dean started to sway them slightly back and forth, whispering soothingly into his hair. Things like You're with me and I got you, things that made his still furiously beating heart calm as he revelled in the moment.

And then there was Dean's voice. Low and smooth. Singing.

"Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around", the lyrics said, making Cas' breathing hitch.

"Nothing's gonna harm you, no sir

Not while I'm around

Demons are prowling everywhere, nowadays

I'll send 'em howling, I don't care, I got ways."

Cas didn't know the song. But he didn't care. It was perfect.

As if Dean knew.

"No one's gonna hurt you

No one's gonna dare

Others can desert you, not to worry

Whistle, I'll be there."

Cas closed his eyes and breathed.

I'll be there.

He was. He was. He'd been there all the time. And he wouldn't leave. Cas knew he wouldn't.

Others can desert you, not to worry, whistle, I'll be there.

As if Dean knew what he needed to hear.

He could still see it, the door closing in his dream.

It had started like it always did. But when it was usually over, it hadn't ended there. He'd watched how Lucifer left, turned back into Dean, a Dean who looked at him in horror as he understood what had happened. A Dean whose eyes filled with guilt and shame and disgust when he looked at him. A Dean who couldn't stand to be around him after that day. A Dean who had left, and never returned.

And that thought was so much worse than any of the physical and emotional pain Cas had actually endured that day, and still suffered since.

Nothing came even close to a life without Dean.

"Demons'll charm you with a smile, for a while, but in time

Nothing can harm you, not while I'm around", Dean ended, and nearly drowned in the wave of gratefulness that overwhelmed him.

He let out a deep sigh, felt how Dean turned his head to look down at him.

"That's good, Cas", he heard his soothing voice. "That's it. Relax. You're good."

Cas couldn't speak, didn't trust his voice not to break, but he nodded slightly to show he'd heard him.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Cas didn't have to ask what he meant.

He shook his head against the damp fabric covering Dean's chest.

Maybe he'd tell him about the dream, this dream, someday. But not today. Not now. Not yet.

"Okay."

He felt Dean's cheek settle on his head once more, heard the understanding in his soft voice.

Always so kind. Always so patient. Always everything he needed.

"I'm sorry for being such a burden", Cas heard himself mumble, biting his lip when Dean slightly stiffened against him. There was a long pause, and when Dean finally moved, it was to carefully extract himself from their embrace, and Cas could have cursed himself.

"Hey." Dean left his hand around his waist, dropping the other from his hair to the juncture of his neck, just leaning back far enough to look at Cas.

"Hey, listen to me." His green eyes were fixed on the angel's, soft but intense. "You're not a burden, Cas. You're not."

Cas lowered his head, but Dean didn't let him, carefully lifting his chin to resume their eye contact.

"You have gone through something that no one should have to go through", he told him, leaving no room for objection. "And we...I want you to get past this, Cas. The best thing you can do for us is giving yourself the time you need, okay? And I will do anything I can to help you."

He shook his head to himself, drove a hand over his face in disbelief before his eyes immediately returned to Cas', the almost pleading quality in them catching the angel off guard.

"Fuck, I'm grateful for even being allowed to be here with you", Dean said, as if Cas surely had to know all these impossible things. "Cas, you're not a burden to me. Being here by your side, it's a gift."

Eyebrows rose expectantly over green eyes, open and honest.

"Understood?"

Cas swallowed. Hard. Unable to avert his eyes.

"Yes, Dean."

His voice sounded hoarse.

"Good." Dean looked at him for a moment, as if contemplating if Cas had really sufficiently understood. But then his eyes turned impossibly soft and he opened his arms a little wider in invitation.

"C'mere."

To his relief, Cas found his body still just too willing and ready to follow, and Dean welcomed him back into that safe place where he could close his eyes and breathe properly for the first time since...since.

Was this the way Dean behaved when he cared for people?, he asked himself, resting his head against Dean's shoulder. Or could he be foolish enough to hope it was just the way he behaved when he cared for Cas? Staying night and day, tending to every need with thoughtful consideration, kind words, careful touches.

Dean was a caretaker, Cas knew - ready, willing and selfless to put everyone else before himself. So maybe it was just that, Dean being Dean, doing what Dean did, nothing to it. But then he was more touchy than Cas was used to, more than he would have expected him to be even with Sam, but never without making sure that Cas was okay with it first.

Cuddles. At least Cas supposed Dean would consider this cuddling.

And then there had been the singing.

Maybe this was just for him. (Maybe it was just for him because Dean felt guilty.)

Dean held him so tenderly, as if he were a piece of glass rather than a former commander of heaven's armies. And maybe he was, here, now. lt felt like Dean was scared, but not scared of breaking him, scared of losing this hold, scared of tightening his grip only to find it slipping away. It felt like he was something precious, something holy and valuable. It felt like he was loved.

And of course his mind would make these things up now, a world where Dean was kind to him because he loved him, not simply because he pitied him, not just because he felt guilty. A world where he could overcome what had been done to him, could overcome it because Dean would be there to help him, because Dean wanted to help him, wanted him to be fine, to be happy. A world where Dean held him and touched him and kissed him. A world where he could overcome it because it was Dean.

But of course that was just in his dreams. A world like that could not exist in the same universe as the one where Cas woke up in a cold sweat, with bruises tainting his skin, with dried blood on the sheets and memories he could never erase.

Dean still held him and touched him as much as Cas could allow, as much as Cas could stand.

Dean still tried to help him. And he was gentle and patient and so kind.

He was Dean.

But it wasn't like in Cas' dreams, where he could just press their lips together and entwine their bodies without flinching because Dean was there to whisper words of love to him.

Dean was doing so much.

Dean was doing everything he could.

Dean was doing more than he should.

And Cas was selfish and greedy, but he couldn't deny the fear clenching around his heart. The fear that it wouldn't be enough. Right now though, he did his best to suffocate that fear, concentrated on what he had, right here, in Dean's arms, arms that brought him back from the shadows, back into a world of light and green.

Cas had gradually fallen in love with Dean ever since he pulled him out of Hell.

And now here Dean was, pulling Cas from his own hell, and he loved him even more for it.

~oOo~

He couldn't be sure how long they had been sitting there or when they'd come to find themselves lying down instead. Time had never mattered to him as an angel. Wrapped up in Dean, he found that time didn't even exist.

"Sleep", he heard him mumble at some point in that non-existent time.

He hummed in return, didn't even give it a second thought when he snuggled deeper into Dean's side.

"What about you?", he slurred, voice already heavy with exhaustion.

The smile in Dean's voice was the last thing he heard.

"I'll watch over you."