Castiel was walking towards the desk with an armful of scrolls and notes when he was startled by the clap of a book slammed shut. The noise shattered the library's comforting calm. He twitched and went pale having turned towards the source of the sound and seen Dean, who was sitting in a leather armchair next to a bookshelf by a wall. The man's expression was unfathomable, but his poise - legs wide, head tilted up, arms crossed - clearly meant that he was angry.
The angel took a deep breath to calm himself down and asked, hoping that his voice wouldn't give his anxiety away:
"What are you doing here?"
"Reading," Dean stated the obvious with a cold edge in his voice. "Couldn't sleep. And yes, I was kinda hoping I'd find you here," the man preempted Cas's next question, "you've been avoiding me."
"I have a lot of work. We still don't know how Gabriel managed to place the anchor in Sam," Castiel replied dryly, putting the notes on the desk.
"Oh, I think you know exactly how he did it, don't you?" Dean snapped. Cas couldn't conceal the panic in his eyes when he looked at his friend. Winchester continued, gradually straightening up and opening his arms:
"You've always been a terrible liar, Cas. It's beyond me why you even keep trying to lie. How long did you intend to go on with this bullshit?"
"What are you talking about?" the angel rasped; his lips barely moved, frozen in fear.
"The anchor," Dean barked. Castiel's heart skipped a beat. "Tell me you didn't do it. Tell me you didn't place a fucking anchor in me."
The angel reached out blindly to search for support. He found a chair and sat down heavily. His breath was slow and even, kept in check by the ironbound discipline he'd practiced for millenia, just like when he was preparing for a battle. Only his heart ached, fluttering in his chest.
"You did... You fucking did!" Dean breathed out and bit his lips, "So this whole row about consent is bullshit?" he asked with a faint undertone of hope seeping through his anger.
"I had your consent," the angel insisted, hardly able to force sounds through his knotted throat.
"So you tricked me into it?" Dean stood up and opened his arms menacingly, "Wow, I hadn't expected that. Not from you. I... I won't even try to understand," he heaved a deep breath, running his hands through his hair.
Castiel rested his hands on his knees and forced himself to look into his friend's eyes. He couldn't tell how he found the strength to speak, but despite the flurry of fear, pain and guilt in his mind he managed to keep his voice steady when he said:
"I had my reasons. I do not intend to apologize. There's no point. Just let me finish making the notes here and I'll be gone in the morning. I'll contact Sam if I find any lead on..."
Dean growled through clenched teeth.
"You're not going anywhere. You're staying and we're talking. We need to talk."
"Why? I know you won't forgive me, regardless of whether or not I listen to your reproof."
"Cut it out!" Dean walked a small circle, gesturing widely "Yes, I am mad at you. So mad I could smash your head with my bare hands, but it doesn't mean I'll let you wander alone and squat God knows where with Rowena and Metatron out there. You're staying."
"I thought..."
Dean cut in with a sharp yell:
"That's what I hate about you the most. Always making decisions on your own. Always assuming. Never actually talking to me. I'm sick of it, man. I never said I wanted you to shove off. I want answers."
Castiel stood up as well. His voice was cold and harsh when he hissed:
"Answers won't change anything. It's done. It cannot be undone."
"Still, I want to know. I deserve to know. Why?"
Winchester moved forward, towering over the angel. Castiel finally backed out.
"To protect you," he admitted dully "I did it when... right after the Lucifer was risen. My grace was faltering. I needed to keep watch over you. Otherwise, I wouldn't always be able to hear you. It made it easier."
"Great!" Dean barked, then pushed his friend onto a bookshelf "Good job. Here we go again. Deciding on your own. Didn't it occur to you that perhaps I didn't want this kind of protection? At this price?" he clutched Cas's shoulders to make the angel look him in the eyes.
"What price? Dean, it changes nothing for you."
"But it does for you. You honestly think I can't see what's going on with you? That I dont' care?" Dean frowned at Castiel's puzzlement, "You dense sonofabitch!"
Castiel freed himself easily, pushed Dean away and got past him. Using his real strength without adjusting to a human spoke volumes about the state of his mind. Dean realized he had gone overboard; he vented his anger in a few furious breaths, then looked at his friend, hoping that Cas would turn around to face him.
"Cas, just talk to me. Trust me for once, for fuck's sake. We'll work it out."
"Dean, there's nothing to work out! I can't..." Cas stuttered, then swung around and blurted angrily, "I can't take it anymore. I thought I'd be strong enough, but I was wrong. The sight of you, the sound of your voice... it makes me want to scream. Perhaps I am going insane. I don't know. All I know is that you... that I... I can't go on like this."
"Right. That's why you chose to keep things bottled up until they break your head instead of just talking to me. Cas, that's what I've been asking of you for years," Dean shouted, pointing at his own chest "You have a problem, you come to me, you tell me and we figure it out together. Why do you never let me decide?"
The angel shot him a withering glare.
"I let you decide once and look where it led..."
Dean was taken aback.
"What are you talking about?"
At first Dean thought that Castiel was going to slap him - the gesture of pressing the heel of Cas's hand to the hunter's forehead was rough and abrupt. He hadn't had time to wonder when the flurry of memories broke upon him, taking him to a warm, sweaty night from almost seven years before.
There was this feeling of being in the right place. Calm and bliss he'd seldom felt before. They were sitting in an abandoned house illuminated by a hard light of a single bare light bulb. Raw concrete felt wet and cold to Dean's legs when he was sitting cross-legged facing Cas. The angel was looking Dean in the eyes with the same earnest admiration he'd somehow lost during the years that followed. Their fingers were laced together and Dean felt a soothing power flowing through his skin, radiating from Cas's fingers down Dean's arms and shoulders, reaching out to light a spark in his chest that filled him with a pleasant titillation.
"What are you doing?" the man asked, trying to wipe this stupid simper from his face.
"It's the ritual I told you about. I need to check something before we proceed. It seems that your soul likes me," the angel explained with a smallest, faintest smile.
"Hell yes it does!" Dean exclaimed merrily; the spark flared up, sending beams of joy through his body.
Castiel cleared his throat.
"Ready?"
Dean caught his serious look and calmed down as well.
"All right. Lets do it."
"Are you willing to preserve a piece of me in you?"
Dean nodded in response. Cas tilted is head.
"You need to say it out loud."
"Yes, I am willing."
He stared in fascination at the blade sliding across Castiel's forearm, then his own; he didn't feel anything even close to pain and through the haze of amazement he wondered if it had anything to do with the fact that Cas's other hand was gingerly wrapped around his wrist. Then, the angel held out his arm, gripped Dean's elbow pressing the slashes together and started to murmur an incantation in this rough, throaty language of his.
Fire shot through his veins. A blaze of pure white light invaded him, shattered him into pieces. Agony lasted but a moment; then the same white light softened, warmed up, brought him back together - different, better, stronger. He opened his eyes (he couldn't tell when he'd closed them) to see Cas flushed and breathing heavily. Mesmerized by the angel's loving gaze he didn't flinch when Castiel reached out to card his fingers through the hair on the back of Dean's head. Before he could understand what he was doing, Dean mirrored the gesture, cupped Cas's jaw and pulled him into a kiss.
Cas let go of Dean's forehead. Winchester slumped onto the armchair. He finally understood the muddle with dates whenever he was trying to remember when his friend and him captured Raphael. Now that he knew where to start, he didn't need Cas's assistance. He followed the reel of memories that unfolded before his unseeing, lifeless eyes.
The kiss quickly turned into something more. Dean remembered tearing the clothes off Castiel, pushing him onto the floor. He remembered his own mad desire that made him bite and suck on Cas's skin, and clutch his wrists so tight that he'd have left bruises on a mortal man. He remembered the instant of panic he saw in these blue eyes; panic that soon softened, turned into joy and relief. The ritual only added to the befuddlement caused by the whiskey he'd drank, so Dean couldn't tell what exactly happened later, but still, after all these years he could almost taste the saltiness of Cas's sweat and feel the roughness of Cas's stubble on his thigh; he could almost hear the wild moans; he remembered the feeling of another body shaking and writhing underneath his own.
Then came the regret. As soon as he sobered up, he yielded to the same mad, bitter, choking rage he had felt so many times before. It had happened earlier - with random guys he'd met in bars, even with high school colleagues. Each time after this dark desire had taken the best of him, Dean suffered the same outburst of brute ire. He would take it out on the guy, on a mirror, a trash bin, on a random girl he would furiously fuck later just to prove to himself that he was still a man.
He felt trapped by this need to taste a man's thick saliva, to inhale the scent of iron and sea salt , to have a sinewy body next to his own, to feel rough skin grind against his own. To have someone stronger than himself sweep him off his feet and leave him breathless. He'd always tried to suppress it, push it deep, deep down so hard that his guts hurt, so that it would surface and take over him only when he could no longer take the pain and disgust. It flourished when he was a demon. The world in black and red finally absolved him from guilt, convinced him that he belonged to the gutter. It was oddly relieving to know that he had nothing to prove anymore; that he could welter in all the filthiness of the world and regret nothing. Yet, he still yelled at the men he slept with. Beat up some of them. Made sure they saw him for what he really was; that they hated him and fled in terror and revulsion, so that he would never have to lay eyes on them again. But this time... This time he did it to Cas. The awareness that he was capable of such wickedness was making him sick.
"Damnit..." he rasped. His eyes stung; his neck burned where the shame tinted his skin.
"When you sobered up, you threw up and..."
"...and yelled at you, told you to pretend that nothing ever happened," Dean finished with his hollow stare fixed on the floor "I remember now."
"I figured it would be easier if you really remembered nothing. I had to obliterate the whole night in your memory. Everything that happened after we left the brothel. Placing the anchor as well."
"Fuck... No wonder you don't trust me," Dean's voice was flat and empty. He leaned against a wall, then slowly slouched to sit down on the floor.
"Now, let me go," the angel asked with unconcealed sorrow, "You see why I can't stay."
"No wonder you hate me..." the man didn't even make out what Castiel was saying. Waves of nausea were getting harder to keep in check every second. His heart was hammering in his chest, his windpipe was contracting as if it was crushed by an iron, red-hot fist; he fought for breath, but even when his chest heaved violently as he was taking in lungfuls of air he was still suffocating. His vision was blurred and the pounding of his own pulse drowned out every sound.
Dean came to with a jolt. It took him a while to figure out that what brought him back was Sam snapping his fingers in front of Dean's face. He couldn't tell when the younger Winchester had appeared in the library or what had beckoned him there. All he knew was that this affection and compassion he saw in these big, wise, hazel eyes was undeserved. He bucked Sam's hands off, still struggling to ease his breath.
"Dude," Sam tried to appease him, "what's wrong?"
The older Winchester took a look around the library; he spotted both angels standing near the corridor that led to the kitchen. Cas seemed frightened. Gabriel, on the other hand, seemed earnest and ruthful - perhaps for the first time since Dean met him. The archangel put his arm around his brother's shoulders and gently, but firmly herded him out of the room, sending Dean a sad sidelong glance.
"Come on, man. What's going on?" Sam coaxed in a low, soft voice.
Dean couldn't bring himself to speak for a long while. Keeping his breath in check to prevent his body from giving in to this frenzy of hyperventilation was all that he could think of. Finally, he was able to utter a few words; they were bitter on his tongue and burned his throat like bile:
"You shouldn't come near me, Sammy..."
Sam was stunned. He sat down on the floor next to Dean, trying to find proper words. There were none. He knew his brother well enough to realize that whatever he said, it would only fuel Dean's self-loathing. Luckily, the older Winchester continued his flagellation, spitting every word out like it was poison:
"Do you know what I did? I never knew I could... Cas did something to my head, he made me forget. Did he tell you?"
Sam shook his head. He had seen and heard enough to guess, but he needed to hear it from his brother.
"How can he... I mean how can anyone... That fucking idiot! Can't he see? Can't you all see I'm not worth it? Father didn't go to Hell for this..." he last sentence melted into a strangled whimper. He put his arms around his knees and ducked his head between his shoulders. There was no sound coming from him, but Sam could see Dean's whole body quake and tremble as if he was crying.
The younger Winchester run his hands through his hair. He hated this kind of conversations, but he understood that nothing but the heaviest gauge could get through to Dean.
"Man..." he began softly, "remember how mad I was when you made that crossroads deal?"
Dean petrified for a second, then he nodded slightly, not rising his head to look at his brother.
"Remember what I told you? That I was mad 'cause you did it for yourself, not for me? You didn't wonder if I was worth it, you just needed to do it. Dad did the same. He couldn't watch you suffer. He loved you. Just because. It's as simple as that."
"He didn't know who I was..."
"You were his family. That's all it takes. And..." Sam wondered for a while if it was the right moment to broach the subject. Still uncertain, he closed his eyes and decided to take the leap, "as to your problem, he suspected. He knew you better than you would think. He'd normally brush it under the carpet, but he tried to talk to me about it once or twice when he at the breaking point."
"Fuck..." Dean yelped.
"Dean, he wasn't worried that you might be into guys. He was terrified by how it was eating away at you. He wanted to tell you that it's nothing to be ashamed of, that you shouldn't be so angry, but he couldn't bring himself to open up. He was too weak. If anyone should apologize, it's him."
Dean breathed a sharp, angry snort, then jumped up to his feet. He paced across the library, helplessly scanning the ceiling for something he could fix his eyes on.
"I did terrible things, man..." he whispered with his back turned at Sam.
"Yes, you did," the younger man stated firmly, "but not because you're bisexual," Dean jolted as if he was whipped when the word was spoken in his presence in regard to him, "but because you refused to come to terms with it. I know it's difficult. Some guys never find the guts to admit it, but you? You never run from a fight..."
The older Winchester swung around to look his brother in the eyes. Sam couldn't tell if he looked more frightened or hopeful.
"You think I should..." he trailed off.
Sam sighed, shaking his head.
"I won't tell you what to do. I'm just saying that I believe in you. You're better than this."
xXx
Castiel was perched on a kitchen chair, clinging to his mug of coffee and staring blankly into the bubbles that floated on the black, glistening surface of the liquid. He had no intention to drink it, but the warmth of the heavy mug was soothing. It provided something he could focus on, something that anchored him to reality.
Gabriel, on the other hand, seemed relaxed as usually. He stared at his brother, stirring his own coffee with a toffee-flavored lollipop, which he licked from time to time, noticeably pleased with the taste.
"C'mon , bro..." he finally broke the silence, "you'll pout yourself to death."
Castiel uttered an inarticulate growl. Gabriel moved away from the table and rose his hands in a gesture of surrender.
"Gee, kid, you're giving me the creeps, and I'm the archangel here," he rolled his eyes, "Dad surely overdid with Temperantia and Castitas when he was making you. Just take it easy."
Castiel bristled at this comment. He stood up, placed the coffee on the table and proceeded to walk away, trying to preserve shreds of dignity.
"Hey, wait!"
Instinct made him stop for a moment at an archangel's order. This moment was enough for Gabriel to reach out and grab Cas's arm. When the younger angel turned around, he was surprised to see authentic compassion in Gabriel's eyes. It lingered there only for a split second and was immediately replaced by his usual devil-may-care smirk, but it was enough to make Cas stay.
"I don't get how you can drink it like this," the archangel stated out of the blue, pointing at Castiel's coffee, "it tastes like the quintessence of all calamities. Bitter and acrid like Devil's ass. Here, lemme show you," he stood up to browse through the shelves, then uttered a sharp exclamation of triumph having found a jar of sugar. He dumped a spoonful of white crystals into Castiel's mug. Not a teaspoon. A tablespoon.
"Now we need a nice little splash of cream..." he mumbled, stirring the drink with the same lollipop he'd been sucking at, "and it will be bearable."
The archangel snapped his fingers. A small, pink, lavishly decorated cream pitcher appeared on the table. He poured some cream into the coffee, then shoved the mug towards Castiel. As the angel eyed the drink dubiously, Gabriel made an inviting gesture with his lollipop, sloshing the remnants of liquid all over she kitchen. The younger angel sighed in resignation, then angrily took a sip only to prove his point. Having put the mug back on the table he immediately assessed:
"Tastes like molecules."
"Dang, bro, you're killing me!" Gabriel moaned, "All right, I admit you maaaay have a reason to be all grumpy and sulky, you chose the worse brother after all, but come on!" he sent Castiel his widest, toothy grin in response to the angel's piqued glare, "If I could charm my way into a Winchester's alcove, so can you. Mind that I don't have your appeal or sexy voice."
Castiel budged like he intended to stand up again and storm out of the kitchen. Gabriel pointed at him with an open hand.
"See? That's what I'm talking about. Exhibit one in the museum of people who can't get the sticks out of their asses. Did you know that this ugly potato-trap of yours can curve the other way round too? It's called a smile."
The angel didn't deign to reply to this rant.
"What does he even see in you?" the archangel muttered; the candy he was biting at made a clicking sound against his teeth.
His brother darted at him insecurely.
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, you know, this doe-eyed pet of yours. I can't get why he fell for you. You're one big, bleak, dreary potoo."
Castiel kept staring at his brother in shock. The archangel leaned back in his chair.
"What? You didn't know? Dang, you're not only boring, but stupid."
"Then why..." Castiel couldn't find words, but Gabriel needed none.
"Because he's a pig-headed dumbass just like you, that's why!" he actually swatted Cas's forehead with his lollipop, "Now, go talk to him. My spidey sense is telling me that the princesses are done with their little heart-to-heart. It's time for you to swoop in."
xXx
Castiel found Dean in the same armchair in the library. He didn't seem to notice the angel, who cleared his throat to call the man's attention. Dean shot him a glance to acknowledge his presence, then he fixed his gaze on the floor between his feet.
"Dean, I..."
Winchester stopped him with a gesture.
"Just listen to me," he barked, "Listen, because I'll never be angry enough to say it again, or if I am, you might not be able to walk away alive. I..." the man looked around the room, careful not to let his gaze meet Castiel's, "I knew there was something going on between us. Right from the start. It's just that you made me forget that night, so I didn't know that..." he rested his chin on folded hands; his voice was slowly trailing off, melting into a breathed whisper, "I thought it was, you know, just a crush. Chemistry. Whatever. I thought you were over me years ago. Now... it just seems that you learned to hide it. "
Cas took a wary step towards his friend.
"So you knew anyway?"
Dean twitched. He spoke louder again:
"Yes. No. I didn't know that you still... The thing is that I though that I was the one who was screwed and that you... I'm no Aragorn, goddamnit, and you're no Arwen. I figured... how bad can an angel's crush be? On a mortal dude? I was sure that it was nothing more than... you know, a whimsy, on your part."
Through his confusion, Castiel was starting to see the irony in the situation. He breathed a soft huff.
"And I am the one who makes unfounded assumptions?"
A tentative smile was the only answer. The angel came another step closer.
"I can't believe it, Dean. I could have... I would have helped you. You know I would do anything for you. One uncomfortable conversation is not enough to scare me away. I would have done anything to make it easier for you. One way or another."
Surprisingly, Dean's smile widened.
"I guess we're worth each other..." he snickered under his breath, but after a while the smile was wiped from his face. He stood up to approach the angel, fighting his instinct that was urging him to run away. Instead, he looked Cas in the eyes. The angel budged when Dean's fingers guardedly grasped his wrists.
"Cas, what I'm really trying to say is that..." he nearly lost the battle with his nature and looked away; it took all his willpower to meet Castiel's gaze again, "You know I'm not exactly okay with having the hots for a dude, but I know it can be changed. Damn, I'm not the first guy on Earth with the same problem. It's just that I saw no reason to try. I thought that it was just another good thing I couldn't have. Kinda normal in my fucked up life, but now..." Dean's shoulders relaxed a bit and his hands stopped trembling when he took a deep breath, then briefly closed his eyes to pluck up the courage to make the final step, "If you say you can't go on like this, then you can't. We'll figure it out, I promise. Hell, I've fought fucking archangels. I've killed friggin Death. I can deal with a little monster in the closet. I just need some time. Can you... can we just take it slow?"
"Do you mean that you want to..." the words were caught Cas's his throat. Instead of finishing, he whispered something in Enochian. From the expression of puzzlement and disbelief on Cas's face Dean could guess that it was most probably a profanity.
"Yeah," the remaining tension left him in one deep, jerky breath, "I mean that I want to try. Can you give me another chance?"
Castiel warily freed one hand from Dean's clutch and placed it flat on Dean's chest. The man tensed up for an instant, but didn't move away.
"What if you get scared again?" the angel asked.
Having wrapped the free arm around Cas's waist Dean bowed slowly, pulling his friend closer until he was able to lean his forehead against Cas's.
"Then I'll tell you. We'll talk about it. Just no more secrets, OK? It runs both ways."
"See? Told ya!" Gabriel's merry exclamation made them jolt, but they didn't spring aside. If anything, Dean's grip on Castiel's waist strengthened.
"Gabe, please, just come already..." Sam hissed in exasperation, tugging at Gabriel's hand. The older Winchester snickered at the sight of his brother wrestling the immensity of divine might incarnated in a form of an impish munchkin. He knew the struggle. Angels usually adjusted the control their had over their bodies to resemble humans in everyday interaction, but if they didn't want to cooperate, they were not easier to move than stone statues.
"But I wanna..." Gabriel whined.
"Now! Or you sleep on the floor!"
The curious archangel finally let himself be hauled out of the library. Dean and Cas exchanged an amused glance.
"So..." Dean began with a faint, uneasy smile, "what do we do? I don't know what dudes do when... you know..."
Castiel found Dean's loss endearing. He freed his other hand to embrace Dean, welcoming the warmth of his body that he knew so well, that he never hoped he would feel again.
"I doubt that there is a binding scenario," he muttered against Dean's neck, "We're making it up as we go..."