Dean takes Jack to the park. It might be three months too late, but the kid is finally in a child-friendly space that isn't completely underground. Why he didn't do this before, Dean can't say.

The kid is going to grow up weird enough already as it is, he doesn't need more reasons like social isolation on top of all his other issues to impede his development.

(God, he sounds like someone's unbearable mom who thinks she can tell other parents shit about how to raise their kids just because she took a psychology class back in freshman year of college.)

But the park is nice and the day is sunny, so he's determined to enjoy this day even if it kills him; which hopefully won't happen, because it's be a most traumatizing even to all the young children scattered across the park. Severe childhood trauma is not the way he wants to start his day.

Jack seems to like it, at least. Whether it is the sun or being outdoors or a combination of both, he's chirping contentedly from the baby sling hanging on Dean's chest and gripping (surprisingly tightly) Dean's finger.

Sam is on sandwich duty, which means he completely forgot their lunches back at the bunker and is not making a quick trip back to retrieve them.

For all his intelligence, Sam is a dumbass sometimes.

(Though Dean suspects this is only a plot so Sam can go home to sneakily bring the tropical salad he was planning on eating today but Dean refused to even take it here. Might be that.)

It's the first time he has felt the sunrays on his face in a long, long time. After the whole fiasco of the convenience store in Nebraska, he hasn't gone out much, to be honest. It's part shame and part panic about leaving the kid alone, even though Sam is more than capable of feeding him.

The day didn't start right, to be honest. It's rare nowadays when Jack starts screaming and nothing can make him stop, but it still happens sometimes. Like at five a.m. this morning, which was a great way to put Dean in an awful mood.

Sam tried greeting him over breakfast and Dean literally snarled at him, teeth and all. After that, Sam holed up in his bedroom and refused to make any type of contact with him. Jack continued screaming well past Dean's breaking point, which wasn't good for anyone's sanity. For his sake, Dean had hoped Sam got noise cancelling headphones. Dean didn't, so he was stuck here suffering and trying to calm an inconsolable Jack down.

"C'mon, man, you gotta work with me. What's wrong? You hungry? Mad? Tired, cold? I don't know what to do, Jack, help me out here."

Jack does not deign doing so. He howls, his tiny lungs somehow powerful enough to compete with a grown man's cries. It almost reminds Dean of hearing Castiel's voice for the first time, something too powerful and colossal for such a small body. It speaks of Jack's celestial nature, makes Dean wish he could hear Cas once more, even if it made his ears bleed.

(Sometimes, Dean thinks, love is worth the pain it causes you.)

Dean sings to him, then. He has nothing else to offer: he's all soothing pain and bleeding love and songs listened to in the backseat of a car that feels too much like the home he never had. If he won't offer him pain, and Jack already has his love; then the only thing left to give him is a song.

He starts humming the first notes to Going to California quietly, the same soft song John used to sing to baby Sam on the rare occasion when Sam cried and John was with them.

It's a fond memory, for him. Sometimes he wishes to take that memory and trap it forever in a glass jar, so it will never slip out of his hands.

(The fact that Cas once commented that it was a nice song while they were alone in the car crossing through Oklahoma on a warm August night might have something to do with that too.)

Jack's cries don't abate, they only increase, as if he can sense Dean longing for someone who's not there. Dean can only cradle him closer to his chest, pointlessly trying to absorb Jack's pain through the skin on his chest.

"I know, Jack, I'm sorry for not being him. I miss him too."

At this, Jack's cries quiet somewhat, almost like he feels how this weights on Dean, how much it hurts him. Dean hopes the kid doesn't grow up resenting him for not being Cas, but he knows he would if he were in Jack's situation. Of course he would.

He wants to repeat to Jack once again that he's so sorry for not being the person they both want, but he has a feeling that Jack somehow understands him, at least in part. They are joined by their loss.

"I'm way too used to people leaving me. It's all that ever happens to me. Mom left when she died, Dad left me behind more times than I can count, Sammy left me for a chance at a normal life, Cas barely even stayed in the first place. And you, a helpless baby, you're the only one that'll stay. The person that I hated more than anything is the only one that's gonna stay. Ain't you thankful you and me are buddies now?"

Although Jack is slightly calmer now, this doesn't seem to console him in any way. Dean's abandonment issues seem to be of no importance to him: right now he looks like he would rather be anywhere but at Dean's side.

(Dean understands this so deeply.)

Out of ideas on how to console the kid, he swaddles him closer to his chest and deposits a tiny, delicate kiss on the crown of his head. His fine hair tickles Dean's nose and still smells of the shampoo he used last night to wash him. Until this point, Dean had never understood what people meant about a baby's scent having a calming effect on them.

"Do y'wanna go outside for a bit?" he murmurs against the boy's soft hair. "Maybe it'd do us both good. Babies aren't supposed to go for weeks without seeing the sun. I think."

It'd be nice, he thinks. When was the last time he went outside? At least a couple of weeks ago for sure. Yeah, he decides. They're going on a day trip today.

Sam comes into the kitchen at some point, when Dean is halfway through preparing their lunches. He doesn't even question it, just starts spreading mayonnaise on some toast. Jack gurgles and Dean (not so stealthily) dips his index finger in the apple puree jar and lets Jack suck on it for a bit. Sam pretends not to notice.

From then on, it goes without a hitch. Jack seemed enchanted with the nature on the other side of the window, or at least as interested as a baby who is not quite yet four months old can be.

Dean lets his head rest on the tree behind him. The sunrays are warm on his skin and he struggles to recall a time when he felt as peaceful. He can almost feel new freckles appearing on his skin, but oh well. It'll be a price well paid.

Jack chirps softly from where he's strapped to Dean's chest. The baby sling has grown into both of them, apparently. Now Jack will get fussy if Dean dares use a baby stroller instead.

He closes his eyes once again. Yes, there is pain still, but he's starting to find some resemblance of peace now. Nothing will ever be the way it was before, but maybe he can let himself enjoy this new existence too.

His phone vibrates suddenly in his pocket.

Dean can barely believe he's doing this. Some part of his brain is pounding on the walls of his mind, screaming how this can't be real, how it's either a hallucination or some monster who doesn't understand respecting the dead; but either way, this is too good to be true.

(Cas once told him that good things do happen, and who is he to contradict his friend?)

Still, hope sometimes carries the same pain as taking a knife to the chest and leaving it there: it hurts you deeply and makes you bleed, but taking it out would likely kill you. It's the only thing that's keeping you alive.

So Dean does the only thing he can: he drives, like he always does.

When the call came, earlier this afternoon, Dean at first thought he was finally going crazy. Still isn't sure about that. Castiel's voice, as warm and low as ever, greeted him and calmly asked to be picked up, like he wasn't dead until a few minutes ago (like his death hadn't fucked Dean up in more ways he will ever be able to express).

So of course, the first thing he did was drop the kid at home with Sam and start driving as fast as he could to where Cas was supposedly waiting for him.

It's already been two hours and he's not any closer to calming down. If anything, he's even tenser than before. What if this is all fake, and he's left with the bitter aftertaste of disappointment lingering in the back of his mouth once more? Can he come back from such hope?

It doesn't matter. He will go to the ends of the word if it means there is a possibility to see Cas once more.

His hands sweat on the steering wheel, and he tries to wipe them on his dusty jeans. Has he been this nervous before, the other times Cas came back? Maybe not. But, he thinks suddenly, did he ever know beforehand Cas was going to come back? No, never. He was just there again, and Dean had to adjust to go back to life as it was before, like nothing had ever changed, like Cas never died, like he doesn't carry this grief so deep within himself it will never leave him.

But now he has time to think, consider how Cas is going to inhabit once again those gaps that surround Dean, spaces so empty they seem to suck everything else to them. Consider how he's going to move in this new reality where he can once again move freely, where he doesn't have to look around himself before doing anything, so as not to invade the space at his side Cas used to occupy.

What the hell is he doing here? His heart beats hard against his ribs just at the thought of seeing Cas again. What is he going to do once he sees him? Can he contain himself enough not to kiss him right then and there? Should he contain himself, though? How many times is Cas going to come back from the dead? How many opportunities is Dean willing to lose?

He can't think about it right now, or he will literally swerve off the road. That's a problem for another day, he decides. Getting to Cas comes first.

(Distantly, he wonders if Cas is going to look exactly as he did before he died, or if he's going to come back in a different vessel. It doesn't matter: he will be beautiful anyway.)

The town is non-descript, a little bit gloomy and yet there's an air of hopefulness hanging around somehow. Or maybe that's just Dean.

He finds Castiel under a bright blue neon cross that showers him gently in its light, making him look as celestial as he did back in that barn in Illinois. Dean has to remind himself to breathe.

(Cas looks as beautiful as he did in Dean's memories.)

"Cas." Desperate, ragged, bordering on irrational.

"Dean." Peaceful, content, loving.

They're hugging suddenly, and Dean doesn't know how they started but the finds he doesn't much care. Cas smells like he did before, like freshly washed clothes and something deep, similar to ozone but much smaller.

He grabs on a little tighter when he feels Cas starting to let go. He's not sure if it was a voluntary gesture or not. Cas presses closer after that.

They stay like that for God knows how long. Dean stops counting after the second minute, stops to file these moments away in case Cas is taken away from him again. That way, at least now he knows he will never forget Cas' scent as long as he lives. It's a comforting thought.

Suddenly, Cas' stomach growls. It doesn't seem to care much about this pivotal moment in Dean's life.

"Hungry, man?" Dean is not going to think about the implications of a hungry Cas right now, because that's just giving himself hope for something that might never happen. Angel or human, Dean will take him in any way he comes.

Cas blushes a bit, just a delicate stain of color on the bridge of his nose and near his ears. It's adorable. Dean has to stop himself from kissing the reddened skin.

"I—I suppose so, yes."

"Well, c'mon then." He puts his arm around Cas' shoulder without thinking, but never thoughtlessly; always aware of every and any point of contact between their bodies no matter what. His whole arm tingles like it's been shocked.

Good, he thinks. Let there be physical proof of our closeness.

There's a small diner nearby (there is always a small diner nearby), and they both order bacon cheeseburgers with extra onions even though it's almost two a.m. and they are both too old to not get heartburn from it. They quietly ignore that fact and simply enjoy being in each other's presence once again.

Dean hasn't asked yet, doesn't know if he ever will. He's not ready to hear what awaited for Cas after Death nor what other cosmic entity they'll have to face as a price to pay for Cas' return. He's focused on just enjoying these singular moments, letting them wash over him and reshape every part of him.

There'll be time for that later (he hopes, he so desperately hopes). There is always time for pain and hurt later, but to have time now for love and company is so rare, so precious, that he is unwilling to waste it in any way.

They return to the bunker almost an entire hour after sunrise. They exchange easy smiles on their way inside, careful of not making any noise that could awaken Sam.

(Dean hasn't told him yet about Jack. Cas hasn't asked anyway.)

There's something tentative and a little bit hopeful in the air. Dean refuses to let himself hope for good things, but it seems a lost cause now. His heart beats a quick, constant rhythm in his chest that only seems to increase its pace when he finds Cas looking at him.

Dean walks them both to the door of what he had once hoped would become Cas' room. It's pristine, perhaps a little bit dusty, as Cas never really lived there. He doesn't like remembering how it felt once he realized Cas never would.

But Cas is here now, and he's staying, at least for tonight. It's more than Dean thought he would get to have for many years.

"Dean." Cas' voice is as gentle as a lover's caress; as warm and smooth as lavender honey. Dean knows that anything that voice requested of him, he would make sure to see it done. It would take a stronger man than Dean to not immediately turn his head towards it as soon as he hears it.

"Yeah?"

Cas smiles at him, and his insides light up in ecstasy, as if this is the only thing he'll ever need to be happy.

(He's sure of that.)

"I missed you. Thank you for coming to pick me up."

After, whenever Dean thinks of this particular moment, he always remembers how lightheaded with happiness he got, how quickly he rushed to his friend's arms. But never, he reflects, could describe the way those words made him feel.

"I missed you too, man. Like you wouldn't believe."

Cas' smile is a little bit secretive and seems to glow faintly in the darkened hallway when they part for the night. Dean is left staring at the closed door that hides his friend behind it. He rests his head against it. If he concentrates, he thinks he can hear Cas softly rustling on the other side.

Tomorrow there will be time for more. For now, he knows that tonight he will finally sleep soundly for the first time in almost four months, and the cause of that is here, just a few rooms away from his own.

Surprisingly, Dean barely sleeps that night. How could he, when sleeping means missing time with Cas? He can barely contain his excitement as he runs to Jack's bedroom.

Jack wakes up as soon as Dean sets foot on his room, like he always does. Dean doesn't know if the angelic nature of the kid means he has a built-in detector for Dean's presence or if he just pretends to sleep until Dean comes for him. At any rate, it's pretty adorable (and flattering, to know himself appreciated by the baby he loves so much).

"Hey, hello," he coos in a soft voice. Jack responds by making grabby hands at him, which comes very close to melting Dean's heart. "Aw, man? You missed me? Sorry I had to cut short our bonding time yesterday, but it's for a good cause, I swear."

Their walk to the kitchen is brief and quick: Dean doubts Cas is already awake, but just in case he is, he doesn't want to waste a single second of his company.

As suspected, the kitchen is devoid of Cas when he arrives; but Sam is there, making a breakfast smoothie, and lights up as soon as he sees Dean.

"So? Cas is back? For good?"

"I sure hope so, man. We got enough deaths in this little family of ours to last us several lifetimes. 'm tired of losing you guys."

Sam's eyes are soft and glassy when Dean looks. Well, damn. If Sam gets teary eyed at Dean saying he doesn't want them to die again, there might be something truly fucked in their family dynamic.

Blessedly switching topics before Dean can spiral thinking about how very much not-adjusted they are, Sam speaks up .

"I'm glad he's back. It's not the same without him, obviously. And I'm dying to see his face when he meets Jack," Sam chuckles, looking over at the baby.

"Yeah, this ought to be good." But suddenly a thought comes to him, and he bites his lip, uncertain. "So, Sam, he hasn't really… asked about anything around here. Not Kelly, not Jack, not nothing. I'm—worried, y'know, about how he's gonna take this."

"Wait, for real? What did you guys talk about, then?"

And ain't that the question.

"Uh. Nothing, really. We were mostly quiet."

He doesn't say that although they barely spoke out loud, their gazes when they turned to each other were louder than any scream. They missed each other, they were glad to be together again. What else was there to say?

Sam's eyebrows rise alarmingly fast, so much so that Dean momentarily worries his forehead is going to disappear completely.

"Dean, you were gone for hours."

Dean throws his free hand up in the air, resigned, and grabs Jack's bottle of formula from the counter when he feels the baby squirming against his chest, probably protesting not being fed.

"I don't know what to tell you, man. We just were there, you know? Appreciating each other's company, or something. We didn't need to say anything because I wasn't ready to ask why he's back or if there are any conditions to his resurrection." He gesticulates wildly, something like anger in his gestures, and completely misses Sam's eyes widening when they turn to the door. "If some god or angel or whatever brought him back only to take him from me again, I'd rather not find it out minutes after we're reunited! I'm just enjoying this and trying not to question it too much—what the hell is wrong with your face?"

Sam makes a strangled sound and points with his eyes to an indeterminate place over Dean's left shoulder. Stifling a sigh at his brother's dumbass antics this early in the morning, he turns around fully expecting a big spider that could have somehow scared his gigantic brother so much he went quiet, but he freezes as soon as he sees what has really caused it.

Cas.

Cas, still sleep rumpled and no longer wearing his trench coat or his suit jacket. Cas, who squints at them like he can't fully understand the scene he's seeing and has crow's eyes from all these years having to put up with them.

His heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest at the sight.

"Hey," he croaks, because he's smooth like that, and also a dumbass. "Good morning."

Cas doesn't answer, not verbally at least. But his eyes drop to Dean's arms, where (Dean suddenly and very abruptly remembers) he's holding the child Cas gave everything up for, even his life, just because of how much he loved this tiny baby even before he was born.

And Dean hasn't even told Cas about him.

The angel visibly hesitates upon the sight he's faced with, but seems to steel himself.

"Do you—Is this—Why do you have a baby?"

And it's such a Cas thing to say, not quite yet awake but completely floored by this recent development. He could have asked for his name (Dean knows he will, later, because he always cares about small, innocent things like babies and bees and dandelions), could have asked if this is the kid he died to protect, could have asked how they're handling life with a new kid.

But for all Cas is an absolute sweetheart, he's also a little bit of an asshole, so it's no surprise to Dean he's immediately suspicious and wary of this new addition to their little family. Maybe he thinks they stole Jack. It could be an honest possibility.

"Because babies can't raise themselves so someone's gotta take care of him or he's gonna die."

Let it be said that Dean never claimed not to be an asshole too.

Cas throws at him a deathly glare, and because Dean is fucked up like that, it makes his insides squirm.

Thankfully, Sam speaks up before Dean can do something embarrassing like pop a boner in front of his friend who just came back to life.

"Cas! Hey, man, I'm so glad you're back!" Sam looks like an overeager puppy, all big eyes and fluffy hair combined with his best smile. He walks closer to Cas, but doesn't initiate physical contact with him until he knows for sure Cas wants him to.

Cas' eyes soften immediately upon this, and Dean tries to pretend it doesn't do things to him to see his brother and his—and Cas care so clearly about each other. Makes him dream about things he shouldn't be allowed to have, will never get to have.

"Sam." Cas' voice is warm and soft, clearly affectionate. He spreads his arms in invitation, which Sam immediately accepts, almost barreling into Cas.

"God, am I glad you're back here again."

"As am I, Sam. I missed you both."

Jack whines, apparently displeased with being left out of the heartfelt family reunion. Cas' gaze immediately shoots to him, clearly not having forgotten about the baby yet.

"I don't much like repeating myself, but I am a bit concerned about how you came to raise a child these days."

So, time to introduce Jack to his adoptive father, it would appear.

"Cas, meet Jack. He's a little, uh. Fussy in the mornings, so you'll have to forgive him. Jack, buddy, this is Castiel. He's kinda died for you, so you know. Be nice to him. Don't get snot on his shirt."

The reverent look in Cas' eyes as Dean walks towards him with the baby in his arms is astounding. It doesn't matter that Dean made the shittiest introduction in the entire history of humanity, Cas just shines with quiet happiness.

"This is Jack? Kelly's son?"

"Sure is, and I bet he's dying for one of your hugs. Here, put your arms like this."

Jack is nestled in a soft yellow blanket with small flowers stitched into it. And right here, in Cas' arms, he looks like he's finally home.

The look of happiness on Cas' face cannot be described.

"Oh. Hello, Jack. I'm very happy we could finally meet."

Jack looks up to Cas' face, his eyes wider than Dean has ever seen them. Ancient eyes see themselves reflected on a pair of identical, younger eyes. Something passes between them, something Sam and Dean aren't privy to, something that doesn't concern them. Whether it's understanding, mutual appreciation or love, they both seem calmed by it.

They recognize each other, is Dean's best guess. Beings not quite human and not quite angel, both having to navigate in an unfamiliar world that wasn't always welcoming to them.

This is what Dean wanted for Cas as a father. A spirit of kinship achieved only by shared experiences and mutual love.

Cas' index finger slowly rises to Jack's cheek until he can draw a soft caress across the pink skin of the baby's face. There's reverence in the gesture, a holiness reserved only for the divine. But what is worship if not love, and what is a child to their parent if not the worthiest recipient of devotion?

If there is one thing Castiel knows about, it's miracles. In his very, very long existence, he has been witness to thousands of them, has been the maker of hundreds, has impeded a handful of them.

Never has been on the receiver end of a miracle. Not until now.

The depth behind Jack's eyes is too profound for a baby barely a few months old, but Castiel knows him, knows this child in his arms to his last atom: his very existence should be a crime against both nature and the laws of Heaven, but still he exists, content, in Castiel's arms.

Castiel has never felt closer to God than in this moment.

"He's so— Dean, he's perfect."

He only realizes he's crying when a tear falls on Jack's button nose. He wipes it gently, so gently, more a love caress than anything else, and taps the tip gently. The baby in his arms giggles at this.

"Yeah, man, he's pretty cute, ain't he? Look at this, Sammy, I can see him falling in love right in front of our eyes."

Cas doesn't know if Dean is talking about Jack or about him. It doesn't matter anyway.

He has never felt like this.

As much as he tried to, he never claimed to understand God, his father, even though he did everything in his power to get as close to him as possible, both emotionally and spiritually. Not so much in the later years, no. But before that, his entire existence was spent looking up to God, wondering why he wouldn't come back.

Now more than ever, he questions how he could have abandoned them. Weren't they his children? What kind of parent would abandon their kids and not return when they beg for help, for guidance, for love?

God could never be part of a regular parenthood, he knows this. He never had to care for them like humans have to care for their children, but still. Didn't they deserve a little more recognition, a little more attention?

He has only known Jack for minutes and he already can't imagine leaving him behind, no matter the circumstance. Not even death could separate him from Jack.

There's a weight inside him, approximately half an inch behind his sternum and three centimeters to the left, something that radiates both outward and inward, a heaviness that settles every time he looks at the child in his arms.

What a miracle to be able to look fondly at his son.

He kisses his forehead tenderly and hides his smile behind Jack's soft hair. Dying for his him was worth every second of pain.

Don't ask Dean how he's doing, because he might just turn around and bite you.

(This is, very obviously, an exaggeration, but it's also not.)

Having Cas back, seeing him as healthy and beautiful as he was before, is like having an electric current under his skin at all times during the day, sending sparks to his very molecules. But seeing him cradling Jack oh so tenderly, smiling at him like he just found his meaning in life and there is no place he'd rather be… Well, that is a little too similar to his wildest, deepest dreams for comfort.

He mostly feels like a live wire these days.

Fatherhood suits Cas, just like he knew it would. His face lights up every time he sets eyes on Jack, his eyes crinkling at the corners and a gummy smile appearing, unbidden, on his lips.

It only serves to make him more attractive.

Dean has been physically attracted to Cas from the first moment he saw him, all celestial intent and electric sparks. Back when Cas was only an unknown entity whose purpose was unclear and his very existence a danger to them, he was drawn to his raw power and his air of mysteriousness. A few weeks later, when he became Castiel, the stone-faced angel with no sense of humor; Dean liked the strength of his convictions and saw himself reflected in Castiel's doubts about his father's purpose and unconditional love.

And when Castiel became Cas, when he became the closest friend he's ever had, he started loving everything else about him until he fell in love all the way.

He doesn't remember a time when looking at Cas didn't make his chest flutter with nervousness and hope. Doesn't remember a time when loving Cas wasn't part of him, the most intimate part of his identity.

Dean Winchester has been said to be many things: some are true, but the majority are just rumors around the legend of him. Of all the true things, most of them are bad things. Yes, he is a killer, a torturer, a selfish asshole, an obsessed bastard when the situation calls for it.

Few good things are true about him, or at least that's how he sees it. He's a great hunter, a good friend and even a decent brother at times.

And out of all the things that make him what he is, loving Castiel is the best one of them.

And he has never loved him as much as he does now.

It's only been two days since Cas came back to them (came back to him), and still Dean can barely believe his eyes every time they gaze upon the stray angel. He wants that sight tattooed, burned on his skin, so he might never forget it. Wants to carry Cas wherever he goes, so he can make sure to keep at least this piece of Cas safe from all harm.

Dean raises his gaze from where he was glaring at his mug when he feels a familiar prickle at the back of his neck. He doesn't need to turn around to know Cas is staring at him.

He turns anyway.

Dean would know him anywhere, anytime; he had his exact shape memorized and then burned it to the inside of his eyelids in case he ever forgot. He knows Castiel like he knows very few things in his life, like he knows every crevice and crack of his car by touch alone, like he instinctively always knows where North is no matter where he's at.

He knows Castiel neither by touch nor by instinct: he knows him from sight, from hours upon hours spent studying his figure, his gestures, his stance. He knows Castiel because he has paid attention to him; and attention is, in itself, a form of devotion. He knows Cas because he loves him.

Cas smiles at him, something small and content but also a bit bashful. Dean will never tire of looking at him.

"Would you like cup of tea, Dean? I just put the kettle on the fire."

And Dean loves him, this weirdo who drinks green tea in the mornings instead of coffee, who will spend hours upon hours lecturing Dean on the necessity of bees to the environment, who will look at Dean with such love and devotion that almost makes Dean believe he's worthy of it.

Dean loves him, with quirks and faults and all. Unconditionally.

"Yeah, man," he finds himself saying, just to see Cas light up at his words. "Why not?"

Dean knows he's in trouble as soon as Cas bids them goodnight before retiring to his bedroom and Sam turns around to face him, a huge grin on his face.

Goddammit.

"No, Sam."

"You didn't even know what I was going to say!"

He levels a glare at his brother, who has the decency to blush lightly, chagrined.

"I don't need to know the exact words to know it was gonna be something stupid."

Sam sighs exasperatedly at this. Dean pretends to ignore him by wiping down the counter.

His brother decides to ignore this.

"Man, it's just—Cas is back, you know? And I'm happy he's here but this was, still is, your biggest win. Dean, I saw how you were after he died, okay? And now he's back and you got a chance to say something to him!"

Already knowing where this is going, but unwilling to work with his brother, Dean crosses his arms and leans back against the counter, purposely being obtuse.

"Something like what, exactly?"

Sam waves his hands in the air, frustrated.

"You know, like letting him know he's not just a brother to you, even though you've only called him that. Might be a good time to rectify that."

Dean turns around and putters with the unwashed pots in the sink. How can he make Sam understand? It's not so simple. If only it were as easy as that.

"Okay, I'm only going to say this once and then we're gonna go back to not talking about my feelings, ever," he says, rather aggressively while taking a seat in front of Sam. "Cas is an angel, right? He's said before that he didn't feel things the way we humans do, ain't he? Then that must obviously mean that he can't feel love, not in the way that matters."

Sam visibly falters at this, clearly not expecting that line of reasoning or not knowing how to argue it.

Dean lets him process it, it's only fair. He has had nine years of mulling it over and Sam only got a couple seconds. He can wait.

Finally, Sam starts with, "I do know he cares about you."

"Yeah, man, I know that too, and I'm fucking grateful for it, y'know? Being his friend, being only his friend is already one of the best things that ever happened to me, it's not like I'm biding my time until I can date him and just using his friendship as a substitute for now. What we have isn't just 'good enough for now', it's literally everything to me." He turns to Sam, and his brother nods, indicating he understands Dean's thought process.

"So yeah, I know he cares about me, would be offended if he didn't, at this point; but can you confidently say he can love me in a romantic way? Not just him, but angels in general. They were built to follow God's purpose, so I wouldn't blame them if romance fell out of their comfort zone, okay, I get it. It's not in their DNA, or whatever."

Sam is pensive for a few moments, fidgeting with the button on his left sleeve, visibly deep in thought.

"Was there—" he interrupts himself, unsure of how this will be received. Dean gestures him to continue. "You never thought about… telling him? From the get go, you decided to keep your feelings to yourself?"

Dean wipes carefully the pan in his hands, still sticky with the oil they used to fry the vegetables for dinner.

"There was this time, when I thought—If he was ever capable of returning my feelings, that was it. I did think about coming clean for a moment, yeah."

"Why didn't you say anything, then?"

Dean shrugs, even though there's nothing casual about the gesture. "Tried to do it a couple times, but the timing was all wrong. By the time I gathered enough courage, we were already neck-deep in water. You know how it is, with our lives."

Sam nods, briefly acknowledging it.

"Right moments are hard to come by these days, yeah." Dean raises the half-washed mug between his hands, as if cheering his brother's statement. "So just because that moment's gone, you just… decided to never tell him?"

"Yeah, pretty much. I mean, him loving me back even back then was a long shot. Now it's almost next to impossible."

It doesn't take a genius to figure out that Sam is dying to know when Dean almost confessed to Castiel. It's not like it's hard, either; watching over Sammy has been Dean's life mission since he was four. You learn some things about a person after spending so long knowing them.

(That doesn't mean, however, that he won't be dramatic about it.)

Sighing, he crosses his arms and faces his brother head on. "It was like four years ago, or so. Back when you were all," he makes a broad gesture around his temple, "y' know, with Gadreel. Um, yeah. In case you wanted to know."

Sam winces from across the table. "Yeah, that was a rough time for everyone."

Dean hums, distractedly. "It was back when—well. Back when Cas was human, actually. I thought that if there was ever a chance of him returning my feelings or whatever, it was then, when he could feel things like a human. Besides, he'd slept with April already, so I figured that only helped my chances. If he was capable of feeling physical attraction, there was a good chance he could experience romantic attraction too, right?"

A heavy silence follows his words. That's the million dollar question, isn't it. The only one with the answers is probably the only one who will never know about Dean's situation and therefore will never be able to respond to it.

"And then you—"

"Kicked him out, yeah. I don't exactly regret doing it because if I didn't you'd die, but I do regret the way I went about it. Not helping him out with money or finding him a place to stay so he wouldn't have to go through what he went through. And by the time he could finally come home, he was an angel again, so you know. My window of opportunity closed long ago, and it doesn't look like it's gonna open again anytime soon."

No one says anything for a while. Dean finishes drying the dishes, Sam wipes down the table to get rid of the bread crumbles. What else is there to be said, after that?

It's close to two in the morning by the time they are done, having spent a lot of time discussing Dean's love life, he muses. He turns back to wish goodnight to Sam before going to bed, but he halts when he sees Sam's look.

"I know this is none of my business, and whether you decide to actually tell him or not, is something between you two only, but I—" Sam frets with his hair a little, insecure of the words that are to follow. "I just wanted you to think how Cas is human now, or at least the closest thing to human possible, Dean. Might be something to consider there."

Stunned into a silence that steals all the breath from his lungs, Dean can only nod in acknowledgement and flee to his room. He can't let himself think about that, not right now, because that is a dangerous path.

It makes him think about what he is to Cas, about what Cas is to him: a lover who was never a lover, a best friend that was always more than that in any conceivable way.

It makes him think about possibilities.

It's only been a few days since his return, since his humanity started creeping up on him; but Castiel thinks he'll never get used to waking up.

He had taken to sleeping with more ease that he had originally thought; letting himself relax on the soft mattress under him until sleep claimed him had been easier than he had expected. The first time he was human, sleep was especially challenging, a nuisance at best and a genuine discomfort at worst.

Not so much because he found it difficult to relax, but that it never seemed a good idea to. The first time he ever fell asleep, it was after being awake for more than two consecutive days. Falling asleep then hadn't been a decision he made, it was an obligation imposed by his exhausted body. He barely had time to fall on a bench nearby before his eyes were already closing.

By the time he woke up only a few only hours later, he was freezing and missing the few crumpled bills he had in the right pocket of his trench coat. He tried sleeping the bare minimum after that.

Being hired in the Gas-n-Sip was, in itself, a blessing. Not only did it give him a purpose to wake up in the morning, but it also provided him a secluded place to sleep, where he could rest easy knowing he wouldn't be mugged, sexually assaulted or be left at the mercy of the freezing temperatures of the night, wondering if he would even wake up.

So yes, Castiel was not looking forward to having to sleep again this time around.

Fortunately, his bed here is warm and both of the Winchesters' doors are only a couple meters away from his own. There is safety here, all around him, filling the air he breathes in a way that makes him relax his shoulders every time he exhales.

That does not mean, however, that he likes waking up.

The first few moments of consciousness are always hazy, blurry in a way his brain can't process. It makes him angry. He used to be able to see everything, from the celestial dance of biggest galaxy to the vibration of the smallest atoms. Now it's a good five minutes before his eyes can focus clearly.

He looks at the alarm clock on his bedside table that Sam gifted him: it's just after three a.m.

Sighing, he stands up. It's a daunting thing to say, but he now knows the body he inhabits (never quite sure if it's his to claim or not): he won't fall back asleep again for a long time, so he might as well move around a little. Maybe Dean has left a PB & J sandwich for him in the fridge, like he did two days ago.

His steps don't echo across the hallway, like they usually do when he's dressed and wearing shoes. He loves the stealth that being barefoot brings, but his toes always get cold.

He slows down when he hears voices coming from the kitchen. Dean's voice, specifically. His hearing now has worsened so much he can't pick up what he's saying, just the lulling murmur of his voice.

Castiel finds it comforting. He'll never tell Dean.

The sight that greets him when he finally walks to the door renders him breathless.

Dean, barely awake and still hair mussed from sleep, holding baby Jack tightly to his chest to feed him formula, all while babbling away softly. It doesn't look like he's saying coherent sentences, but Jack seems much too fascinated with Dean to care about that.

It feels like someone has sliced his chest open.

Open want pours from him in waves. He longs to extend his arm and caress the scene with his fingertips, like one would do with an especially beloved photo.

It's everything he never knew he wanted: a child he cared for (his own son, no less), Dean cooking to feed all of them, Sam sleeping peacefully in the vicinity. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, Cas has a family.

He has longed for years for a place to belong to, and he has finally found it.

Fighting the urge to drop to his knees and weep, he steps into the kitchen slowly. The halogen lamp hanging from the ceiling bathes everything in a soft golden light. It looks like the most beautiful scene from Castiel's forbidden dreams.

The moment seems to be frozen in time, eternal and ethereal in its simplistic perfection; right until Dean yawns, nose crinkling and eyes closing and Jack immediately imitates him.

It's the greatest thing he has ever seen.

Dean sways in his spot, clearly exhausted; until he hangs his head down, chin to his chest, almost asleep on his feet. Jack doesn't seem to notice, still sucking quite contentedly on the rubber nub of the bottle.

Cas knows he should gently coax Dean into going back to bed and finish feeding Jack himself, but it's such a precious sight that he's sorry to interrupt it like that.

Before he can even step in their direction, Dean inhales sharply and bobs his head up abruptly, clearly waking up from his dozing. With his eyes only half-way open, he stares in the vague direction of Castiel without actually registering what he's seeing. That much becomes evident when after a couple of tired-looking blinks, his eyes focus sharply on him and widen to twice their original size.

"Cas!" he screams much too loudly for the setting they're in. Immediately checking to see if his yell has disturbed the baby in his arms, he adjusts his tone. "Hey. I didn't know you were up."

"Sleep still does not come easily to me, it appears." Pointing with his chin at Jack, he asks, "How is he? Has he been keeping you awake for long?"

Huffing, Dean tries to run his fingers to his hair (it's a nervous habit of his, Cas has observed) before realizing both of his hands are still very much occupied. Taking pity on him, Cas steps closer until he can take the bottle from Dean's hand without making Jack stop drinking for it. Dean fixes his hair quick as lighting and then he's back to holding the bottle again.

It's a shame, Cas thinks. Holding the bottle for Dean provided the perfect excuse for being physically close to him.

Regrettably, he takes a step back. He knows how Dean is with personal space and he doesn't want to make him uncomfortable.

Jack gurgles and Dean instantly has the baby propped up against his left shoulder, his soft baby cheek over a blue kitchen towel. Dean pats Jack's back, rhythmically, trying to get him to burp, probably.

It shouldn't be as adorable to Cas as it is.

When Jack finally does and proceeds to burrow into Dean's shoulder, the man only laughs fondly.

"That's some big burp from someone as tiny as you, kid, the hell have I been feeding you?" He comically widens his eyes in an exaggerated gesture that's entirely lost on Jack, but it delights Cas like nothing else. "Aw, tell me you didn't inherit Sammy's gassiness or we're all gonna die of asphyxiation when you hit puberty."

"Dean, there is nothing wrong with being more prone to having gas than normal. We're going to love you no matter how bad you might smell, Jack," he says adoringly to the baby.

He knows he's being silly, following along Dean's antics, but it makes something inside him squirm in juvenile joy.

The raucous laugh Dean lets out is, in itself, enough of a reward.

"Damn right we will, man, even if this little bee ends up being a terrifying weapon in the biological war like his uncle Sammy," he jokes, tickling Jack's stomach gently.

Cas' own stomach somersaults at this.

"What… Dean, what did you call him?"

It's a gentle question, one born of fond curiosity and not judgment. He makes sure he's voice is soft and kind, so Dean won't think himself criticized.

Regardless of this, the man in front of him reddens violently.

"What, uh… You've—You've heard me say it before, dude. I call him that, like, a thousand times a day."

It's clear that Dean is embarrassed over this. But why? It's such a sweet name for an even sweeter boy, so Cas doesn't see what's wrong with it. Maybe it's Dean's issues with what is acceptable for a man to do, the expectations masculinity imposes on young boys and makes them crueler and harsher than they should be.

"Perhaps I haven't noticed." It's a lie, it's a complete lie: something like this couldn't have escaped Cas' notice. But seeing as Dean won't stop blushing (in fact, it looks like it's getting worse), Cas decides to go easy on him, avoiding his eyes and looking instead at his son. "At any rate, I think it's the best nickname you could have given him. I adore it."

This new strategy clearly backfires: Cas was hoping it would calm Dean down, making sure Cas wasn't reproaching him. Instead, Dean sputters, apparently more nervous than before and almost slams his left hip on the counter in his effort to squirm away.

"Yeah, um, yeah. That. I, uh… I actually kinda—I actually gave him that name because of, um. Because of you. Kind of."

Something melts inside Castiel, something warm and sweet like honey and it fills him up inside. He's warm with affection for this man.

He's not sure what facial expressions he's making, but it's apparently enough for Dean to calm down, subdued now, but still blushing a lovely pink across the bridge of his nose.

"That is very sweet, Dean. Thank you."

His own face is streaked with pink across his cheekbones, he knows. He can feel the heat from vessel dilatation. It's strange, he muses distantly, to feel the effects of embarrassment; to feel embarrassment, even. Not so long ago, these things were as foreign to him as poetry was to fish.

Now, though, he feels so much and so often it's almost tiring at times.

(But with the warmth he feels right now when he thinks how Dean nicknamed his son after Cas' favorite animal he can only be grateful for human emotions.)

Dean tries to shrug, but it disturbs the child laid on his shoulder, who starts whining softly. The panicked look on Dean's face as he tries to comfort Jack with cuddles only worsens the heat on Cas' face.

"Hey, hey, shhh, I'm sorry, kid," Dean whispers gently. Something constricts inside Cas' chest at the sight of his son being cradled so lovingly by his—by Dean.

(How would one go to describe his relationship with Dean Winchester? It feels greater than entire galaxies, it feels like a little piece of his heart. It hides behind the title of friendship, yet it always has its hands stretched to reach past it.)

"Let me hold him," he asks, already straightening his arms towards Jack. The baby doesn't fuss at the sudden change, only cuddles closer into Castiel's chest.

It warms something inside him, something so human and alien to him, something he couldn't even begin to describe. Wars have been waged for less than this, he thinks. The feeling in his chest is too strong to be contained. He feels like he could go into heavenly combat and win it singlehandedly.

He kisses softly the top of Jack's head. The baby makes a soft noise in contentment.

There is something in Dean's eyes, when he looks. It's gentle, but it has a ferocity to it that makes Cas pause. Dean has always been a very resolute person, never doubting his decisions after they were made. It makes Cas wonder what Dean is thinking so determinedly about.

Whatever it is, it passes in a blink. As soon as it came, it goes, and Dean is now slouching slightly and looking down and away. Exhaustion radiates of his every pore and Castiel remembers suddenly that it's close to four in the morning, and Dean probably hasn't gotten a full night's sleep in the four months since Jack came into his care.

"Go to bed, Dean," he says gently. "You're tired and you should sleep."

A soft noise of protest comes from Dean's mouth, probably trying to argue that he's fine, but the way he rubs his eyes tiredly tells a different thing.

(Cas shouldn't find it as lovely as he does. Cas shouldn't find a lot of Dean's quirks and traits as lovely as he does.)

"But what about the kid?" he manages to protest through a jaw-dislocating yawn.

Said kid sleeps soundly against Castiel's own chest, uncaring of the world outside of his dreams. Cas hopes he dreams of sweet things.

"He'll still be here in the morning, when you are rested and ready once again to watch over him." He looks at this man in front of him, so full of love and self-sacrifice that he won't go to bed so as not to leave a baby unattended, no matter how exhausted he is. "Sleep, Dean. I will take care of him until morning."

Dean looks at him for a moment with sharp focus. Whatever he sees must convince him, because he sighs in resignation and lets himself yawn again.

"Okay, then. Make sure to put him to sleep at some point in his crib or he'll spend the whole night dozing off in your arms and he'll be cranky as hell tomorrow."

Such a simple remark, so insignificant in itself, and yet it makes Castiel smile.

"I will."

Apparently running out of excuses to stall and linger a little bit more around Jack, Dean walks closer to drop a kiss to the crown of Jack's head. Coincidentally, this also brings him very close to Castiel's own body. When he breathes in, he can smell Dean's body wash and aftershave. It should be an unremarkable scent, he reasons. He's sure the best part of the male population of this country smells exactly like this.

It somehow affects him to a level he never thought possible.

It also makes him aware of Dean's body heat. It raises the hair on his forearms and he has to physically refrain himself from shivering.

Thankfully (and also regrettably), Dean takes a step back, filling the growing space between them with cold air.

Cas can't complain. He has all the warmth he needs in Dean's eyes.

"Yeah, okay." Shaking his head, he walks toward the door, only stopping at the last moment before leaving to look back at them. "Sleep well, you two. I'll see you in the morning."

"Goodnight to you too, Dean."

When Dean's retreating back disappears from view, Cas turns to the child in his arms, who is now awake and alert and already looking at him.

"Hello, baby Jack," he coos lovingly. "I hope you ate enough. Are you tired? We'll lay you down to sleep as soon as you want."

Jack does nothing more than blink at him. It's as good confirmation as any.

Humming, he walks quietly across the kitchen, bouncing Jack in an attempt to get him to sleep.

In the meanwhile, he reflects about his conversation with Dean. He can't get over the sweetness of his gesture towards Jack. Even mourning his best friend and taking care of the literal son of Satan, Dean was gentle and loving to his baby. He decides to try Dean's nickname for himself.

"My little bee," he whispers softly. He likes the weight of it in his mouth, likes even more that it was Dean who gave it to him. "It's such a good name for you, my love."

The child in his arms isn't impressed by it, it seems. He's too busy sucking on his left fist. No worries. The wide smile he makes whenever he sees Dean in the vicinity is answer enough.

He looks towards the door, to the last place he saw Dean. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine him there, with his shoulder resting against the door frame and his radiant smile in place.

It makes something in him flutter, as it usually does whenever Dean is involved.

"Can I tell you a secret?" he asks, almost distractedly to his son, still staring at the door. "You have to promise not to tell anyone."

When he looks down at him, Jack holds his gaze unwavering.

"I'm in love with Dean."

It doesn't echo in the room like something of this weight should do, doesn't feel it rip itself from his chest like he always imagined it would.

Those words don't feel like they've been weighting him down for millennia, nor do they feel like the pillar he has used before to hoist himself up. They just feel like words.

(Amazing how something can both be so ordinary and so monumental at the same time.)

The child in his arms continues to stare at him. The lights above them hum lowly, silence fills the corridor and the bedrooms outside of that door.

He turns the lights off when he walks out. He knows his confession is safe here, kept secret in all the corners of an otherwise unremarkable kitchen.

Dean knows this is a bad idea. As soon as Castiel opened his mouth this morning, he knew it was going to be a shit show one way or another.

It's worse than he imagined.

Still reeling from the moment he shared with Cas last night, he barely paid attention to his breakfast and, consequently, almost burned the whole kitchen trying to fry some bacon. So that's how it's going.

It had been such a soft thing, what he had with Cas. If his life was a movie, or if he was even minimally artistically inclined, he'd picture the whole scene in shades of warm yellow, but muted, somehow. Darker. More like the jar of honey Cas keeps on the kitchen counter and less like the bright yellow of lemons and bananas. Something like that.

He tries not to think too much about it all, but he can't deny he spent hours tossing and turning after he returned to his room from the kitchen.

(Mainly, he couldn't stop seeing Cas' face when he heard Dean call Jack by his nickname. Every damn time he closed his eyes, there it was, Cas' gentle smile and hopeful eyes.)

What was that. Literally, what was that. Jesus Christ.

He's a freak. He's an absolute freak who's completely in love with his best friend and turns into a sputtering mess every and any time Cas is in close proximity. It's getting a little embarrassing, to be honest.

Staring into his coffee cup like it holds the answer on how to stop being so pathetic about a fucking crush, Cas waltzes into the kitchen with the gracility only a celestial being can posses.

And then he opens his mouth.

"Dean, I was wondering if you'll be amenable to visiting the place where you spread my ashes."

Yeah. It's even worse that he thought.

While Dean is busy spitting his morning coffee and trying not to die choking on it, Sam stares baffled at his friend, so surprised he hasn't even blinked.

"Uh. Good morning to you too, Cas."

Placid smile always on his lips, Cas answers. "Good morning, Sam. I trust that you slept well."

"Yeah, I guess. Um, man, you—"

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" he explodes suddenly. Great, it's not even eight in the morning and he can already feel a headache coming in. The day is off to a great start.

This can't be happening. His life is already a mess and somehow it can't stop getting worse. He takes a deep breath.

"You wanna run that by me again?" He tries to be gentle, this time. He gets angry too much, he knows. Everyone has told him so at some point with varying degrees of frustration and resentment. It's not good, it was never good. It drove people away time and time again. He tries to be better, now.

"I wanted to know if you'd accompany me to where you spread my ashes," Cas repeats slowly, like it's Dean who's not getting it.

He loves Cas with his entire self but holy shit does he have to contain himself to not call him an idiot to his face.

"Yeah, okay, I got that. Question is, why?"

An uncomfortable silence follows his question. Well, uncomfortable for him, at least. He's never been good at discerning the meanings in silences and lulls in the conversation. So maybe the others are chill about visiting the literal place where Dean put Cas' body to rest for eternity and he's none the wiser.

Jesus Christ. He went to Hell with a capital H, and this shit will be the thing that finally sends him to a mental hospital.

He feels more than sees Cas pull up a chair right in front of him, like he's not scared of looking at his face like Dean is. Maybe he isn't. Maybe Cas sees something worthwhile in his eyes.

"I don't remember much from my—my coming back, I guess I could call it," Cas starts softly. He isn't even looking at him, Dean notices. Instead, he's staring at his own fidgeting hands. Is Cas nervous about this?

Why would Cas be nervous about anything, much less something as serious as his literal grave?

"I just—" Cas' voice interrupts his grim thoughts, as it often does. "I can't remember how I came to, or where I was, I only… I only have the vaguest sensation, I think. The sun on my face, the wind on my clothes. Peace, finally."

There's something in Cas' face, something Dean can't quite describe. It looks peaceful, it feels grandiose and it leaves Dean feeling wrong-footed. Like there is a new entire side of Cas he's just seeing now.

It's not peace, it's not happiness exactly. If Dean had to compare it to anything, he'd say it looks like wonder.

(He's mesmerized. It's a really look good on Cas.)

Cas sighs and reaches his right hand toward Dean, wrapping it around Dean's wrist.

Dean's brain immediately flat lines.

By the time the ringing in his ears stops, he realizes Cas has been looking expectantly at him for quite some time while he was too busy having a mental meltdown. How long has he been unknowingly ignoring Cas for?

Still, he can't bring himself to regret it. He would give anything for this warmth around his wrist. How could he not space out a little upon feeling it?

"I want to visit the location that was supposed to be my forever resting place." He finally manages to focus his eyes, and it's to a radiant Cas with a soft smile on his lips. "Sam told me you chose it. I'd like to know the place you picked for me. I'm sure it will be as beautiful as I imagined. You are, after all, the person that knows me best in the world."

Cas is gonna have to stop saying these things to him, or he's gonna have a heart attack one day.

(He'll cherish them in the meanwhile all the same.)

Cas keeps looking at him with those eyes, like he deserves it, like he deserves everything.

One day, he'll be brave enough to twist his hand until there's fingers interlaced with his own, and his thumb will rub back and forth on the tan skin of the man he loves. But for now, a hand around his wrist feels like a gift from Heaven.

"Sure, man." These words don't feel his, nothing right now feels his own except for the skin on his arm being encircled by Cas' hand. "I'll take you anywhere you want to go."

It's not a long drive. Dean made sure Cas would forever be close to home, close to him. He and Cas were always at arm length in life, so the least he could do was make sure that, at least in death, he would be closer to home, closer to him.

It's not something he likes thinking about.

Cas doesn't say a word in the whole (admittedly short) trip there. He just stares out of the window in silence, with his elbow resting on the window frame and his cheek pillowed by his knuckles.

In the bright midday light, he's a goddamn vision.

They're alone in the car. Sam had taken one look at Dean's stricken face and immediately said he'd stay home with Jack, supposedly to let them roam around the countryside all they wanted without a baby in the way. Dean, however, suspects Sam's only reason for doing this is so he doesn't have to witness Dean having a full-blown meltdown about showing the love of his life the place where he buried him.

At any rate, Sammy's not coming with them, so Dean is going to spend the day alone with Cas anyway and not think too much about what it says about himself.

It's hot outside, strangely enough. There's not a single cloud in the sky and a soft breeze blows around them. For late October, Dean's sweating buckets. His flannel is forgotten in the back seat and yet, his t-shirt clings to his back with sweat still.

Cas, much to Dean's chagrin, doesn't seem affected by the warm temperatures at all. Not that Dean's a pervert, but he was kinda hoping Cas would show some forearm at least.

But unsuspecting of Dean salivating over the thought of seeing his arms uncovered in the seat next to him, Cas remains completely clothed, only shedding his beloved trench coat half way through their trip.

When they finally arrive, the breeze has stopped. The meadow is calm all around them, a bright green unusual for this late in the year. It looks exactly the same as it did five months back, in late May, when the air was sweet with the promise of the long-awaited summer and Dean's heart was heavy with the weight of Cas' death.

The flowers are now gone, but the rest is exactly as it was, almost as if time stopped here, waiting for Cas to come back to it.

Dean knows Cas, has known him for a decade. Knows him in a way that can't just be described: yes, he has paid attention and has learned things simply by observing, but this is different. Deeper. Dean knows Castiel better than he knows himself sometimes because a piece of Cas is inside his soul and will always be there. Dean knows Cas because Cas is a part of him. He knows undoubtedly Cas would love this place like Paradise on Earth. Maybe the trees were waiting for his return only so he could love them like they loved him, embracing between their roots his ashes.

They want their love returned, and Dean is sure Cas would like nothing more.

When he turns his head to the left to finally look at Cas, he finds him with his face tilted up to the sky and a beatific smile in his lips.

Dean allows himself a moment to drink the sight in. He will never claim to be a man knowledgeable in art in any form. He never cared for it.

But this moment right now, this moment that's already slipping through his fingers, this he thinks it's a masterpiece worth of the Prado, at least. It should be in the best museums of the world.

(Even though, he selfishly wants to keep this all for himself. To have Cas here, always next to him.)

"You know, Dean," says the voice next to him, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Cas still hasn't opened his eyes, still has his face tilted upwards, still smiles like there is no pain or evil in the world.

"Yeah?" he answers. His throat is dry, so dry. Has he ever spoken before? It feels like he has been silent his whole life until now.

At this, Cas does open his eyes. He fixes them on Dean, with the unwavering intensity he has been doing it for the last decade.

"I don't think I've thanked you sufficiently."

It takes Dean a minute to answer, too stunned by Cas' words to answer.

"The hell you have to thank me for, man?"

Cas' smile is mysterious and a bit secretive on his lips. He turns his head back to the sky, drinking in the sight of endless blue skies. "More things than you will ever realize. However, this time I mean this." He doesn't point to anything special, but it doesn't take a genius to figure out what he means. "It's a beautiful place. I like that this was to be my final rest. So thank you. For picking such a lovely place for me."

There's something stuck in Dean's throat. It makes his eyes water and his tongue sting. Maybe they're just tears, maybe it's something bigger.

"Yeah, well." He looks down at the ground, kicks a nearby stone just to have something to do. "It's what you deserve."

"Still." Cas' tone is gentle, full of unadorned sincerity. Cas is the most frank being on this planet, Dean knows. He isn't one for subtlety or double meanings, and he is so genuine it almost seems ironic sometimes. Cas has never once said a word he didn't mean. "The care you took of me, even when I was already gone, speaks volumes. Not everyone would have thought to let me rest in a place like this."

Dean's cheeks burn and itch, perhaps in embarrassment, perhaps with righteous fury at the thought of Cas going uncared for after his death.

"I wasn't about to abandon your b— abandon you in some forest just so a cougar could eat it," he mumbles, half-angry at Cas, half-angry at himself.

He couldn't make Cas happy in life. Didn't try much, either, even though Cas deserved that and more. He couldn't make him happy in life, but he could try giving him this. Bury him in a place that he likes, a garden filled with flowers. He was buried right between the roots of the spring. It wouldn't make Cas happy, but he hoped it would bring peace.

By the time he looks up, he finds Cas looking back at him again. There's something in his eyes, like always. There has always been something in his eyes when he looks at Dean.

"It's not just that, although it is greatly appreciated." He doesn't quite smile, but it's a close thing. "You also took care of my son when I was away, even thought I was dead and I couldn't—wasn't supposed to come back and thank you for your dedication to him."

"Recognition and gratitude ain't why I did it," he mumbles.

"Then why do it?"

Dean abruptly lifts his eyes from his shoes to stare incredulously at his friend. Is it a rhetorical question? It has to be. Or like, some new-age introspection thing so Dean can find his 'true inner motives' or whatever it is people are doing these days.

Cas is as serious as ever, when Dean peeks at him from the corner of his eye. Is he for real? Is he really asking Dean for an explanation, for Dean to clearly state that he cares for him?

"If you have to ask that it means I've been a shitty friend," he says, eyes anywhere but on Cas. He knew that already, of course. He knows that he's been less than a stellar friend in the last years. Some moments can be justified, some were caused only by his anger and rancor. How long is he going to keep making excuses for himself? How long is he willing to let this wound fester between them before Cas is finally taken from his side for good?

It's been too long already. The years have not been kind to them.

Maybe it's time to finally start healing.

"Cause you're my best friend," he says finally, when the moment for this conversation has already passed. If he doesn't say it right now, he never will. "And I love you."

He doesn't look at Cas, doesn't dare to. What if his face is filled with disgust? What if it's filled with love? He can't bear to turn around and see.

A hand wraps around his wrist. Dean almost jumps a foot into the air, but makes sure his hand remains still. It's not every day that their skin touches.

(When was the last time he and Cas shared any physical touch before Cas died? Why does he always keep Cas at arm's length?)

Eyes still to his right, safely away from Cas' image, he lets himself have this. Cas died. Cas was dead, and there was nothing he could do about it. But now Cas is right next to him, standing alone in this beautiful meadow, almost holding his hand. They're alive, and they get to have this.

"I know you do." Cas voice is soft and the grip on his arm tightens ever so slightly for a second. "And I love you too, I hope you know. You changed me in the most profound way possible. And I like who I have become. More or less, at least. I like myself better than who I used to be."

Cas doesn't fidget, not exactly. Back when he was full-on angel, he was as stoic and unmovable as a marble statue. Nowadays he is more mobile, full of life, but awkward and stilted in a way that speaks of an eternity spent being intangible, like he still can't get used to inhabiting a physical body.

He's nervous, Dean realizes suddenly and with violent surprise.

"I regret many of the things I've done over these recent years, but I would do it all over again. It was worth it, I think. It was worth being who I am now."

Who he is now is the greatest man to ever exist, Dean thinks. Granted, he might be biased, but Cas always had this pureness to him, this unwavering intention of always doing the right think that Dean knew he would never be able to achieve himself.

It's not an angel thing, either, he muses. It's more inherent to who Cas is, no matter the species. If Dean had to define Cas with just one word, he would undoubtedly use kind. That's who Cas is to him.

"I really like current you," he confesses. It shouldn't feel like a confession because he should have said this to Cas years ago. "I was hoping— Well. Back when you were, uh. I was looking down at this whole lifetime of raising a child that I wanted nothing to do with and I—I just kept wishing he would be more like you than like Lucifer. Obviously because Lucifer is, y'know, like that; but mostly it was just because. Because I think you're one of the kindest people I know, Cas. And God knows the world needs a little more kindness. Yeah."

A soft breeze blows by them, making the grass under their feet undulate. Cas says nothing. Just rubs his thumb back and forth over Dean's wrist bone.

"I told Jack about you." He can't keep quiet. The silence is too much. "Well, talked about you in his general vicinity, more like. I don't think he understands much yet, supernatural baby or not."

He feels Cas hum next to him, not quite disagreeing but clearly not agreeing with Dean. It's not surprising. Cas thinks Jack is the best thing to ever exist in the whole history of creation.

"He deserved to grow up knowing you, but since he couldn't, I thought knowing of you was the least I could do. Both for him and you."

At this, Cas does react. They have spent all this time pseudo-holding hands, shoulder to shoulder, looking over to the landscape in front of them. But now, Cas turns.

"Dean, that's the loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me."

The shock is evident on Dean's face. "Dude, this is literally the least I could do. You, what, you thought that just because you were dead I would let Jack grow up not knowing how much you loved him? That I wouldn't give your own son some emotional connection to you for when he grows up and needs to feel close to his father? You're insane."

The worst happens: Dean sees Cas' eyes slowly fill with tears.

He panics.

"Aw, hell, Cas, don't tell me you're crying. Was it because I called you crazy? I know you got some issues with sanity and all that a while back, but I thought you were over it. I'm sorry, I didn't meant that you were crazy-crazy, just that you were being ridiculous." A brief silence. "That doesn't really help my case, does it."

Could he be worse at this? He doesn't think it's physically possible.

But Cas doesn't get angry at him, like he should; doesn't tell Dean he sucks at this. He just wipes his tears away and smiles at him.

"No, Dean, I—Taking offense was the furthest thing from my mind, I assure you."

Dean knows he doesn't look very convinced. "Then why—"

Cas shrugs, almost shyly.

He stays silent. Dean's sure it's a difficult thing for him to explain. Humanity comes with a variety of novelties, some physical, some emotional. And even though Cas has adapted remarkably well, he is not without his struggles.

"I didn't mean to cry. Ever since I… came back, I've been feeling more and more human. Now I can't control my emotions sometimes." He shakes his head. "Well, no. I have no trouble controlling my emotions, but the physical response they create." A brief pause. "The other day Jack refused to let me pick him up and I had to go to the bathroom to cry."

Dean bites his lower lip, visibly trying not to laugh in the face of Castiel's desolation at Jack's moodiness.

(He doesn't much succeed.)

"Yeah, uh, same. Emotions are—they're... Hard to articulate, the least." Wincing, he points to himself. "Case in point."

Laughing a bit, Cas sniffs, stopping his tears. Dean knows it wouldn't be a good look on anyone else. Well, no. It's not a great look on Cas either, to be honest. But he's so gone on him that Dean's sure he would think him the most attractive man on the planet even covered head to toes in filth.

There's a lull in the conversation. The meadow is silent, peaceful even, and small bird flies by. Dean has to blink several times rapidly before he starts crying.

"I want to thank you, Dean," he begins softly. It's like h doesn't dare raise his voice over a simple murmur lest he disturbs the tranquility that surrounds them. "It was a very sweet thing you did for him. And for me, obviously, even though I wasn't here to appreciate it."

He doesn't see they way Dean closes his eyes abruptly, in pain at the memory.

"I—I find that I like knowing that you thought of me, even after I was gone. It's nice to be cared for, so thank you."

"W—w—w—The hell you mean by that? What, you thought that we—that we didn't give a shit about you, or what? 'It's nice to be cared for', of fucking course it is!"

Visibly trying to steel himself, Dean inhales deeply with his eyes closed. When he opens them, Cas is looking at him curiously, like Dean caring for him was news to him up until this moment.

"You were my best friend and you died," his voice breaks on the last syllable, and with it comes down everything else. "Of course I thought of you, how could I not? You were literally the only thing I could think about for months. You lying dead on the ground and you burning on that pyre. I have that image seared into my brain, y'know that? I see it every time I close my eyes and let me tell you—it does not make falling sleep an easy task."

By the time he's brave enough to look at Cas in the face, he only sees desolation.

"Oh, Dean, I—Dean, I had no idea I would cause you this much suffering. I hope you understand it wasn't my intention. Forgive me, please. I'm sorry I hurt you so much."

Dean is speechless. How, how could Cas get this out of Dean's teary speech?

Is Cas dumb? Is he really that stupid?

Fed up and angry at everything, he grabs Cas by his upper arms abruptly, almost shaking him.

"Listen to me, you son of a bitch. Enough with this martiric bullshit, you hear me? This is not about me being hurt, this is about you dying. Yes, of course it hurt me, but this ain't something to apologize for!"

Cas' wide-eyed look of surprise seems almost foreign on his handsome face.

Dean swallows. His face is much closer to Cas' than he though. This close, he can see the first white hairs Cas started sporting a few weeks ago. It makes him look even more attractive.

"I'm tired of your apologies and your gratitude, because we're friends, okay? And I've put you through so much shit that the bare minimum you deserve is to never thank me or say sorry to me ever again. Everything you want to thank me for, I do it gladly for you and I don't need your thanks. And everything you want to apologize for, I've already forgiven you for it, Cas."

Cas just continues to stare at him like he's just seen a ghost. Sweating bullets and three seconds away from going into cardiac arrest, Dean lets his hands drag down the length of Cas' arms until they reach his hands. He grips them tightly.

Unfortunately, his sweaty palms are going to ruin this moment a little, but the look full of wonder that Cas gives him makes him think that maybe it doesn't matter so much.

"Don't you understand? I'd do anything for you."

Cas' look is warmer now, even if the surprise doesn't entirely leave him. "I—Me too, Dean. You have to know that. You're my best friend and the most important person in my life. Of course I would do anything for you."

Okay, so this isn't going exactly how he planned. Not that he ever planned this because he simply thought it'd never happen. Okay, okay. He can work with this. It just needs some… readjusting.

Slowly, he lets go of Cas' left hand and raises his own until it can finally caress Cas' face, like he has wanted to do for so long. His jaw is prickly under his finger pad, beard not entirely shaven. It takes every ounce of courage in him to speak.

"I love you, Cas." He can feel his heartbeat slamming against his ribs. "And I don't just mean that in a best friend way, which I also do, but in a. Um. More romantic way?" Rolling his shoulders back, he straightens his spine, like he used to do as a kid whenever he felt insecure. "I'm in love with you, Cas. Have been for years."

It's eerily silent around them for a few seconds. Not even the wind blows.

Cas just gapes at him.

Okay, so this might be worse than he thought.

Honestly, what was he thinking? Why would he do this, what in the goddamned hell made him think this was okay? Cas never showed any feelings beside friendship for him in a literal decade, so why the fuck—

A warm, rough hand covers his. Dean's thoughts immediately screech to a halt.

Cas is right in front of him, left hand covering Dean's right which is, coincidentally, resting on Cas' cheek. It looks so much like the final shot of a romantic movie that Dean finds himself speechless.

But the most surprising thing is not his hand on Cas' face, or the way Cas almost rubs his cheek against his palm, but the look on his eyes.

They are filled with tears again, but this time there's immeasurable happiness in them.

"Dean Winchester." He hasn't been called by his full name by Cas in nearly a decade, and it's as strange as one would think. Cas inhales deeply, clearly trying to keep his composure. "I have been in love with you long before I knew what love was."

For a moment, the world stills. Nothing moves, as if the whole scene was suspended in time. No one even dares to breathe.

And then—

"Are you kidding me?!" The yell echoes across the meadow. "So you—you've, what, had feelings for me all this time, and, and I've been in love with you just as long and we're just finding out?" Cas looks startled, but he's smiling brighly at Dean so it can't be that bad, right? "Do you know how long we could have been doing this for?"

"I'm aware, yes." Cas' voice is watery with tears and warm with love. He turns his head to kiss the inside of Dean's hand, and Dean just about melts right then and there. "Luckily, we will now have all the time in the world."

God, is he in love with this man in front of him. Somehow, Cas always knows the right thing to say to him.

Cupping Cas' face with both hands, he stops for a moment to commit this sight to memory. He knows they will now get many more of these moments, but this is the first time they have been this close, both physically and emotionally. He wants to remember it.

"Can I kiss you?" It's barely more than a murmur, almost whispered against the other's lips. Dean feels Cas nod more than he sees it.

Dean has had a lot of first kisses in his life. His first kiss ever, his first with a man, his first kiss with someone he was in love with. He has had first kisses with people he dated for years and kisses with people who left his bed at dawn after just one night spent together.

This is different to all of that.

To say that Dean feels like fireworks are exploding under his skin might be a little too much. This kiss is just that: a kiss. Not a great one, at that. There's a little bit too much teeth for his liking.

It's perfect.

It could have been the worst kiss in the world and to Dean it would still be the best thing to ever happen in the history of Earth. Because this is Cas he's kissing, his best friend and the man he has been in love with for years.

The world could end right now and he wouldn't notice.

Cas' lips taste a little like the honeyed tea he always drinks for breakfast and his hands around Dean's waist feel firm and confident. He can't wait to spend the rest of his life kissing him.

He almost can't believe they are finally here. After the grudging alliances, the tentative friendships, the betrayals and the rekindling of their bond, they are together at last. Here, in the same place that was supposed to guard Cas after his death, surrounded by the trees whose roots where meant to cradle Cas' ashes, here they kiss for the first time.

Maybe it's inappropriate, but Dean can't think of a more fitting place for this. This was always a place of love, after all. It was because of love that he buried Cas in a place he would have cherished beyond measure, and it is because of love that they have finally kissed.

They have always loved each other, and now they get to enjoy it.

Jack won't stop crying, as he usually does these days. Just a little over six months old, Jack started teething a few weeks ago, and none of them have known peace ever since.

"Swear to God, if he doesn't grow a full set of teeth in the next two minutes and stop crying I will personally drag Chuck from wherever he is and make him fix this," Dean screams.

So he might be a little irritable. He hasn't gotten a wink of sleep these past two nights, and who knows how long it was since he was able to sleep properly. Not the best situation for someone driving a car with a baby on board.

(The humiliation of having to put that sticker on the Impala a few weeks back was immediately forgotten over the sight of Jack sleeping soundly in the backseat, cradled by Cas' arms.)

"Dean, be nice to our child," Cas chides, gentle but firm, as always. Turning to the desolate baby, his voice is much softer. "I know it hurts, baby Jack, I know. Where's your teething ring?"

Even cranky with the lack of sleep, Dean can't help but look warmly at them. Jack is still wailing, squirming in Cas' arms until the other man manages to produce a pink ring seemingly out of thin air and holds it out to Jack, near his mouth.

Jack calms down the instant he starts chewing on it.

"It'll never cease to amaze me just how fast he can shut up when he wants."

Dean feels Cas' burning glare on the back of his head, so he turns to wink at Cas, lest he thinks Dean is being serious and ends up shunning Dean out of their bedroom tonight.

"C'mon, Cas, I'm kidding. You know Jack and I are super tight, right, bud?" He asks the baby, looking at him through the rearview mirror.

Jack holds his gaze, but seems unwilling to let go of his toy to answer him. Fair enough. Dean has learned the hard way that it's best to let Jack do his thing when it comes to teething stuff.

"I'd prefer it if you didn't make fun of our baby. This is a very stressful time for him, Dean," Cas protests from the backseat.

When he glances over, Cas looks as tired as grumpy as their child. Dean decides to extend an olive branch and holds his hand out for Cas to hold, like they will sometimes do when Cas isn't shotgun. Having a fight with Cas is the last thing he wants today. Or ever.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I know it's hard for him and for you. For all of us, actually. I don't think any of us are sleeping even half of what we need." At Cas' nod of acknowledgement, Dean grips his hand tighter. "What do you say when we get home we put the little one to sleep and have a little bit of alone time?"

Cas frowns. "You can't apologize with sex, Dean."

"Shit, Cas, no, I meant like—watching a movie or something. Eating ice cream, if you want. Can try giving you a massage, see if it gets you relaxed. I know how much this stresses you."

He hears Cas sigh and let himself fall back against the seat. "It hasn't been the easiest of times, no. I had no idea babies could cry so much."

Dean chuckles and puts his hand back on the wheel. Even though the road is deserted, they do have a baby inside the car and he has already been driving with one hand long enough that it doesn't feel safe.

"Welcome to humanity, baby. Everything is messier than you ever think. 's part of its beauty."

"Charming," Cas deadpans, and Dean cracks up, like he always does when Cas is accidentally funny. He has spent these few weeks laughing almost constanly.

"I'm sure it is."

A slow silence descends upon them, only interrupted by the wet sounds of Jack chewing.

Sometimes, Dean still can't believe this is now his life. Cas is back and they are in love (which is the greatest thing ever), he's raising with him the child he used to hate but now loves more than life itself, and nothing fishy seems to be going on. After thirty nine years, he finally has the apple pie life he always longed for, or at least, something similar enough.

Huh. Who would've thought he'd love being a father so much?

Problems will come with time, he's sure. After all, they don't know how Jack's powers might manifest, or if they ever will. They don't know if some entity or another will try to use him for their own agenda, or if another apocalypse might come knocking.

But for now, things are calm and that's all it matters. He gets to have this, he still has to remind himself sometimes. He's now a family man and by God will he enjoy the role.

"Dean." Cas' voice takes him out of his thoughts. "I might have rushed a little taking sex off the table so early."

Dean almost crashes the car with how hard he's laughing.

"Goddammit, Cas," he guffaws when he's finally to breathe at least some air into his lungs. "I love you so much."

He knows Cas is smiling at him warmly like he always does, even though he can't see it. He doesn't need it. He's seen that loving look enough times to know what it looks like.

"I love you too, Dean. More than you could ever imagine."

Dean had never imagined how good hearing that would feel. Yes, he did fantasize about it, but his wildest dreams couldn't even come close to reality.

The road in front of him is empty and never ending. Not so long ago, he had thought this sensation, the openness of the road, was his favorite feeling in the world. Now he knows better. He would trade it in a second for one of Cas' kisses, one of Jack's laughs, one of Sam's hugs.

They are less than an hour away from the bunker, from their home. He can't wait to walk back into the room he shares with Cas, sleep again on the bed where they always wake up together.

Family life really has done a number on him.

A gurgle from the backseat indicates that Jack is probably hungry and asking Cas for food again. Man, can that kid eat.

He looks up and sees Cas' smile through the rearview mirror. In the physical act of looking forward, he is also metaphorically looking back, and all he can see is Cas. Like he has been doing for the last decade every day of his life.

He steps on the gas. He can't wait to get home.


it's finally done! this was supposed to be a short 5k inspired by some tumblr posts back in february and then it took me six literal months to write 32k words. anyway.

hope you liked it! it's the first time i finish a fic this long so this like my baby. anyway if you wanna say hi to me my tumblr is fantadelimonlesbian tho i dont post anything, i just rb the most insane takes on spn i can find

see you!