"And Jesus said unto his disciples, 'Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.' From these words, we can draw comfort…"

The pastor, whom Castiel is relatively certain never met John Winchester in his life, drones on. Castiel shifts a little, glancing up to make sure the umbrella he's holding is covering Dean, too.

Fitting, that it should rain on the day of John's funeral, he muses.

The only people here are himself, Dean, Sam, and Bobby. Bobby stands next to the younger Winchester, who's silent and withdrawn, holding an umbrella over him, too, as the pastor drones on. They're all dressed in the appropriate black attire, making a dreary, awful day seem even more dreary and awful.

Cas hasn't been to many funerals in his time, but working outside the law in any capacity is playing with fire, so he's been to a few. He knows what it sounds like when the person performing the service has no idea what the deceased was like. Luckily, he managed to arrange with the church so the man didn't mention John's children or parenting, which Castiel and Bobby agreed would probably be for the best.

John Winchester got drunk one night, almost a week ago now, and tried to drive himself home. On the way there, he managed to crash the Impala into a tree instead. Dean was told that the man died on impact. The day they called on Dean to identify the body was one of the worst moments of Castiel's life. Watching Dean's body tense infinitesimally, watching the disbelief and shock cloud those lovely green eyes almost killed him. He can't imagine how terrible it was for Dean himself.

Once the dust settled a bit, Castiel asked Charlie to take care of the legal paperwork. When he expressed that he was concerned the Winchesters would be asked to move out, the protective glint in Charlie's green eyes comforted him. Not two days later, she came back with paperwork proving that Dean was legally emancipated and granted guardianship of Sam. Castiel told Dean about it, but he's not sure it really sunk in.

Dean is currently standing next to Cas under the umbrella, eyes dull and unblinking as he watches John's casket be lowered into the grave. The only outward sign of his distress is the way he clings to Cas' hand, gripping it so hard it starts a dull ache in the older man's fingers.

Dean has been completely unresponsive since they got the news about John Winchester's death. It's starting to scare Castiel, but he doesn't know what else to do but quietly support Dean, to be there for him.

So he just holds his boy's hand and makes sure he's shielded from the rain.


The letter stating that Dean has inherited the Impala is met with impassive silence on the boy's part. It makes Cas' chest ache again.

It's been three weeks since John died, but his presence is still very much felt. Dean has taken to staying wherever Cas is, either in his rooms or in the shared apartment, unless Cas goes out on a job. Dean was adamant that he stayed home.

His eyes were clearer than they had been in days. "Cas, I just…" he swallowed hard. "I just can't," he finally whispered.

Cas let him stay home, and hasn't asked Dean to go out since. He likes to think he can feel how grateful Dean is when Cas just places a firm, brief kiss to his temple on his way out the door.

Now, they're sitting side-by-side in bed, drinking coffee in their morning ritual that hasn't changed at all, though Dean is distant and despondent. He's holding the letter in his hand, resting on his lap, and he's staring at the opposite wall dully.

"Dean? What are you thinking?"

"I think… What's the point?" Cas' blood freezes in his veins before Dean continues blandly.

"Dad wrapped the damn thing around a tree. What's the point of giving it to me? Probably just parts now."

Cas knows how much Dean loves the Impala. He's spent many a night with his chest pressed against Dean's back, watching as the boy talks with his hands about his father's car, calling it his "baby" and "the perfect car." He knows that, during the stretches of time when John was gone and Dean and Sam were alone, Dean often spent long afternoons underneath Baby's hood, tuning it up and lovingly taking care of it.

"You could repair it-her, you could repair her," he says quickly, inspiration making him sit up a little.

Dean turns to look at him, brow furrowed. Negative reaction though it is, it's more emotion than he's shown in days, so Cas take it as a good sign.

"We don't have a garage," Dean says slowly. "I mean, the parking garage, but that's not really the same thing."

"We can rent garage space, I'm sure. Bobby might even have some ideas of where to go."

Dean nods slowly, and a little bit of the tightness Cas has carried around his heart since they got that damned phone call lessens.

"Yeah. Uh, yeah. Okay."


So begins the days of Cas going asleep alone, only to wake up just enough to hear Dean coming to bed, then waking up alone again. Dean spends all of his time at the garage, comes home smelling like motor oil and sweat. It would get Cas a little riled up if the situation were different.

They haven't had sex since that phone call, however. Cas isn't upset about the lack of physicality, of course, but he's worried about Dean. Dean, who responds so beautifully, almost gratefully, to any sort of touch, has done nothing more than give Cas a peck on the lips in the last several weeks. He doesn't shy away, but he doesn't seek it out, either. Not anymore.

Cas knows that it's because Dean blames himself for his father's death, but he's at a loss as to how to fix it.

Sam, after the initial shock, has recovered rather quickly. He's saddened, of course, but Cas knows that he didn't have the relationship with their father that Dean did. Sam has no memories of John being a different person than the shadow he was after his wife died, but Dean has vague, hazy ones. Sam is more worried than Dean's reaction to their father's death than having any real reaction of his own. He and Cas discuss it frequently, but they come to no satisfying conclusion.

Cas doesn't know what else to do for Dean, so he does just this. He's there for him, he holds him in his sleep and lets him go easily when he wakes. He's just as open with his affection as he always was. He doesn't take it personally that Dean doesn't seem to have any interest in sex at all. It occurs to him that this might be an advantage of their age difference, for once. Cas has gone through enough to know that Dean will come back to him.

I hope.


Dean is exhausted when he drags himself back into Cas' apartment, but that's really nothing new.

He lets himself in and goes directly into the bathroom, strips off his clothes, and steps into the shower. Normally he prefers hot showers, but he turns the water to shockingly cold and leaves it there. He leans against the wall, lets the spray wash away the grime and the aches of the day, and thinks.

The last two weeks have been a blur of a sort of dull exhaustion, working on Baby, waiting on parts to get here so he could replace them, and coming home to collapse next to Cas, who's unfailingly there to hold him and press a kiss to his forehead. He hasn't really worked since his dad died, but Cas hasn't said anything about it. He just kisses him goodbye in the mornings and hello every night. It feels like Cas is the only constant Dean has in his new world of swirling emotions and long swathes of time lost to a grey fugue.

Dean gets out of the shower, dries off perfunctorily, brushes his teeth, then goes to the bedroom to crawl in next to Cas.

The older man turns, one corner of his mouth quirking up a little. He holds his arms out, one holding the comforter up to let Dean curl up next to him. As he does every night, Dean wraps around Cas as much and as tight as he can, burrowing into his sleepy warmth. And, as he does every night, Cas holds him just as tight, pressing gentle kisses to his forehead, cheekbones, then to the tip of his nose.

"Sleep, little one," Cas whispers.

Dean obeys.


The next day is the same.


As is the next.


And the next.


Over a month since Dean's father dies, when he steps into the shower, it suddenly sinks in for him why he's been walking around in such a deep funk.

Dean loved his father, he really did, and of course he's upset that he's gone, but that's not what this is about. He thought it was about feeling guilty about his father's death, about thinking that if he had just been there, if he had just been around, maybe John would still be alive. He thought he was drowning in guilt and self-loathing, and he is, but not for that reason.

Dean doesn't feel guilty about his father's death, he feels guilty about now not guilty he feels.

Sure, he missed his father while he was gone, and he felt bad about how little he thought about John since he moved here with Cas, but for fuck's sake, Dean couldn't have done anything. He can't count the number of times John took the keys, kicked the shit out of Dean, and left despite his son's desperate protests. Even if he'd been there, Dean couldn't have stopped his father from driving that night.

And that thought, the idea that he, himself, is guilty of nothing, is what's keeping Dean from being able to move on.

Shouldn't he feel guilty? Shouldn't he feel responsible for his father's death? Isn't there a chance, albeit quite remote, that he could have done something to prevent it?

When his thoughts turn this way, instead of agreeing with himself, a cool, controlled voice (that sounds remarkably like a thief he's crazy about) says, "No, there isn't."

After that, all of the accusations and self-recrimination goes quiet. Dean doesn't feel guilty about John Winchester dying in a drunk driving accident, and that's really tripping him up. It's kind of pulling the rug out from under his self-loathing complex.

On the heels of this realization comes another.

There's a reason the voice in his head that defends him from himself sounds like Cas. Because Cas, in the almost year that Dean's been with him, has taught Dean a lot about what he's responsible for and what he's not.

He's responsible for the theft, for the job, for the heist. He's responsible for being prepared, should he be caught. He's responsible for getting in and out as smoothly as possible.

He is not responsible for things that are completely out of his control. Like actually getting caught, security measures he couldn't have known about, or if whatever it is he's there to steal is gone.

Or his father's death.

Cas is the reason he feels this way. Cas, who's been steady as a rock while Dean has been drowning at sea, holding him up, keeping the bed warm, not pressuring him for anything. Cas hasn't asked for sex, or affection, or even really Dean's attention while he's been sorting himself out. Cas has just… Been there. Cas has been supportive as hell and Dean's been a ghost.

For the first time in a month, Dean turns the water to hot in his shower.

He still washes quickly, though, almost absently. He dries himself and brushes his teeth the same way, suddenly in a hurry to get to Cas.

He wants to tell Cas how much the last month means to him. How Cas' quiet support and affection (love) has kept Dean going. How Cas is the star in the sky that brings Dean home, the exact center point at which his universe rotates.

But Dean doesn't have the words for that, and he never has. What he can do is show Cas how much it means to him, with lips and tongue and hands.

When he gets to the bedroom, Cas is sprawled on his back, one arm thrown out as if searching for Dean. It makes his heart stutter in his chest, and the way he loves this man in front of him overwhelms him for a moment as he watches him sleep.

He walks over to the little bedside table and, as quietly as possible, pulls the drawer open to pull out the bottle of lube and a condom. He strips quickly, silently, then crawls onto the bed as slow as he can, doing his best not to wake his boyfriend (boyfriend!).

Watching Cas warily for signs of waking up, Dean pops open the lube and coats his fingers. Closing the bottle and setting it aside once he's satisfied, he balances himself on his knees, straddling Cas without actually touching him, and reaches behind himself to gently press the pad of his finger to his hole.

He shudders with the touch, rubbing in gentle, quick circles to get himself to relax. As soon as he can, he gently sinks in the tip of one finger, arching into the stretch. It's not long before he's up to his entire finger, then two, gasping softly and revelling in the sharp stretch he feels. Cas is always so gentle with him, so considerate, but after the last several weeks, that's not really what Dean needs.

Or deserves.

Dean gets so into the movement of his fingers within him as he scissors himself open, shuddering and biting his lip to contain his moans, that he doesn't realize Cas is stirring until he hears the man beneath him gasp, "Dean," and big hands slide up his thighs.

Dean smiles down at his boyfriend, sweaty and flushed as he moves back onto his fingers. "Heya, Cas," he says softly, almost a whisper.

Cas' eyes are dark and hungry, but his grip is gentle on Dean's legs. "Hello, little one. What…" He swallows. "What is all this about?"

"You've been taking such good care of me," Dean moans as he works a third finger into himself, kind of showing off now, "wanted to do the same thing for you."

"Dean," Cas' voice is strained, but the slightest tone of censure in it makes Dean's cock throb in response. "You know you don't need to reciprocate."

"Wanted to," Dean whimpers, swivelling his hips down enough so that his hand brushes Cas' hard cock through his briefs. Cas growls beneath him and Dean grins at him. "Want to make you feel good, Cas."

Cas surges up, making Dean yelp in surprise as the older man wraps his arms around him and pivots until Dean is on his back. Cas takes care to make sure that Dean pulls his fingers out of himself and moves his arm so that it's not crushed, and to make sure neither of his legs gets twisted in the move. The attention to detail, the dedication to Dean's comfort and welfare, crumbles what little bravado Dean managed to build up by his brazen act. He feels the tears well in his eyes and he buries his face in Cas' shoulder.

Cas, of course, realizes that something's different immediately. "Dean? Did I hurt you? What-"

"No," Dean gasps, shuddering from emotional overload combined with devastating arousal. "No, I'm fine, please don't stop."

Cas stills on top of him, then one hand comes up to cradle Dean's head. Cas presses a kiss to his temple and settles down further onto Dean, letting his comforting weight hold him down. "It's all right. We don't have to-"

"Please, Cas," Dean whimpers. "I need you. Fuck, need you so bad, missed you, I'm so sorry-"

"Shh, darling, I've got you. I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."

Dean isn't really clear on how his kind of kinky, sexy wake-up call for his boyfriend turned into Cas gently holding him with one arm as he uses the other hand to roll a condom on. Dean presses shaky, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses along Cas' shoulder and neck, desperate to show and receive the affection Cas so readily offers all the time.

Cas hushes him again as he readjusts, resting his weight on his forearms and settling again between Dean's legs. "Shh, I've got you," he murmurs in his rough voice, pressing gentle kisses along Dean's cheeks and over his closed eyes. "I'm right here."

"I'm sorry, Cas, I'm so sorry-"

"None of that," Cas says gently as he presses the tip of his cock to Dean's ass. His voice is firm, brooking no argument. He cups Dean's face in his hand, and Dean's not sure he's ready to have a moment right now, but since he started it, he just wraps his legs around Cas' waist, tilts his head into the man's hand, and keeps steady eye contact, even through his teary eyes.

"You are more important than your reaction to terrible news." Though Cas is calm, his words are fierce. "You are more important than the set of circumstances you find yourself in. You are…" Cas' voice gets a little wobbly here. "You are more important to me than anything."

Dean rears up and presses his mouth to Cas', overwhelmed. Luckily, the older man seems willing to pour the rest of his heartfelt emotions into kissing Dean senseless as he starts to slowly sink in. They both moan when Cas bottoms out and stays there, letting Dean adjust. They were having sex frequently enough before The Phone Call that Dean was usually pretty stretched out and needed very little prep. It's been so long, though, that even with prep, Dean can feel how tight he is, and the way Cas fills him up has him moaning against the older man's lips.

"Dean," Cas groans. "I need to-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, come on, come on-"

Dean's whine of pleasure cuts his words off as Cas pulls out. The feeling of him against Dean's inner muscles has Dean's eyes fluttering shut, even as his nails dig into Cas' back a little bit.

"Dean, look at me." Dean obeys without a second thought, and is immediately drowning in that deep blue he loves so much.

"Stay with me," Cas pleads, and Dean's already nodding, already ready to promise Cas anything. "Stay with me."

"Always," Dean whispers, and Cas presses back in.

Cas doesn't fuck Dean, he makes love to him. Every movement, every touch is soaked in adoration, in love. He kisses Dean breathless, strokes his cheekbones with his thumb, and moves gently, slowly within him.

In return, Dean tries very much to give as good as he gets. He kisses Cas back, he smooths his palms down the firmly muscled planes of Cas' shoulder blades and back, and he keeps his legs around his waist, keeping them close. He knows he's crying because he can feel his tears leaking down his temples, but Cas doesn't seem to care. He kisses Dean's tears away, even though his own blue eyes are a little misty.

Dean's orgasm hits him like a gentle, inexorable wave, and it catches him by surprise. He can give no more warning than the tightening of his fingers before he's shuddering and coming, sighing softly as he paints their chests white. Cas kisses him passionately, thrusts a few more times, then stiffens over Dean and fills the condom.

Their kisses turn languid and lazy, but it's long, long minutes before Cas separates them long enough to get a warm, wet cloth and come back to bed. He cleans Dean reverently, pressing a kiss to each inch of skin he leaves behind. Dean smiles and soaks in the attention, then shamelessly pulls Cas back into bed and curls into his arms.

Cas chuckles. "I should go throw that in the laundry hamper." But he's wrapping Dean tight and holding him there, so there's no real chance of that happening.

"I'll get it in the morning," Dean murmurs. Sleep is starting to pull him under, the exhaustion of the day, and past days, as well as the emotional turmoil he's undergone in the last forty-five minutes, have all left him completely drained.

He can feel Cas smile against his forehead. "Sleep, little one. We'll face everything else in the morning."

Dean smiles a little, too, even as he falls asleep.


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