"Are you sure, sister? This is what you want?"
Castiel smiled as Ambriel stood with her head held high in front of Hadarniel. The rest of the angels had already left, and he was meaning to follow them, with Ambriel in tow. However, the younger angel had different plans, declaring that she wished to stay with Castiel and the Winchesters. Castiel couldn't keep the glow from his face, ecstatic that he had fixed one familial relationship.
"I'm sure. I can provide a home base for you and the other angels. You need to have a place you can depend on." She glanced at Castiel, who nodded his encouragement, secretly humming with glee.
Dean laughed softly next to him, muttering something about "What's one more mouth to feed?"
"Ambriel doesn't require food."
"Figure of speech man."
"I see," Hadarniel responded, shooting them an annoyed glare. He looked uncomfortable, as if plagued by a strange, new emotion, "I thank you for your service then, Ambriel. I wish you good fortune. And to you as well, Castiel," He nodded in Castiel's direction.
"Thank you brother, but this isn't goodbye," Castiel assured the older angel, "We're going to fix our home, or at least get the angels back on track. You have my word."
Hadarniel inclined his head, eyes shining slightly. With a smirk and swish he was gone.
"Always with the dramatics," Ambriel muttered under her breath.
"He's about as good at goodbyes as you are, Cas," Dean joked, his mood jovial.
Castiel didn't want to think about goodbyes anymore. He looked at Dean, his green eyes soft, and thinking that it would just take a couple of words. Can we talk alone? But would that scare him? Maybe he should just sweep him up into his arms in front of his brother, the prophet, and the angel.
As if that wouldn't scare him at all.
"So… I know this is a moment and everything, but did you guys hear me when I said I was really hungry? And also still too weak to cook anything?" Sam said, his sarcasm dulled by his genuine smile and the color in his cheeks.
So Castiel did none of those things, allowing Dean to turn towards his brother and clap him on the shoulder as they strode towards the kitchen. "I'm sure we can figure something out. Kevin! Come and eat!"
Castiel was aware of Ambriel's presence beside him. "Hmm. It would seem that you are both ensnared in a mating dance too complicated for even me to decipher. What's your next plan of attack?" Her face was serious, but her hazel eyes were playful. Castiel chose to ignore the comment in favor of following the two brothers into the kitchen.
Kevin and Sam had already settled at the small kitchen table while Dean bustled around, grabbing a large pasta pot and filling it with water from the tap. Cas also felt the beginnings of hunger, his last meal having been a plastic-wrapped snack cake purchased from a generic gas station somewhere in West Kansas. His mouth watered as Dean pulled out not one, but six blue boxes of macaroni and cheese from the cupboard.
"What?" he asked, seeing Castiel's wide eyed stare, "This is all we got, haven't made a grocery run in a while.
Cas shrugged, more than thrilled with the possibility of macaroni and cheese. He made a mental note to take Dean grocery shopping sometime soon. Not to Walmart or anywhere too big, being on the road had made him hate super-stores; he wanted to find a market with fresh fruit and flowers that still had bees on them. Or maybe a small, family run grocery store that specialized in red meat so that he could make Dean a quality hamburger. Maybe they could browse up and down the aisles together, hands touching slightly and shoulders brushing up against each other—
"You with us, Cas?"
Dean's voice yanked him out of his daydream, landing him back in the kitchen. "I apologize. What did you say?"
"Just asking about your car. You total it?" Dean laughed, but it was nervous, as if he held genuine concern for Castiel's beat up Cavalier.
"The car's outside, and still intact. You did a good job fixing it, it never gave me a problem."
"That's good." Dean's voice was casual as he poured the pasta into the boiling water, ripping open six artificial cheese packets at once to be set aside for later.
"So… Where did you go, Cas?" Kevin asked.
"South, at first. The coordinates indicated that a large group of angels fell in Louisiana, specifically. That's where I found Ambriel," he nodded at his friend across the table, "but the rest of the angels were nowhere to be found."
"That was Abaddon, right? Dean said that she had all the angel grace held up in crazy mojo-ed jars."
Cas recounted the tale as best as he could remember, the details still fuzzy from the poison. He described the prison constructed by Abaddon, the memory of it making his hairs stand on end. As if on cue, Crowley stumbled in at this part, wholly unsurprised to see the former angel and Ambriel seated at the table.
"Well I have to make sure you don't slander me," said the former king of hell, leaning up against the doorframe. He eyed Ambriel timidly, as if she might attack him at any moment.
Ambriel rolled her eyes, chiming in to tell the rest of the story from there. Dean remained silent, arranging and rearranging assorted spice containers sitting on the counter as she spoke of Castiel's impairment from the demon blood and how they escaped.
Sam's face fell at the mention of demon blood. "Why did it have such a strong effect on you? I mean… I lived with it my whole life."
"Demon blood can be tolerated in the human body if dosed with it in small amounts as an infant," Ambriel explained gently, "An adult has no way to fight its effects, resulting in paralysis, pain, hysteria…"
She let the last word hang in the air. Crowley's voice cut through the tension. "Well I can't say much for the pain and paralysis, though it is nasty stuff, but the hysteria certainly is something, wouldn't you say Dean?"
Dean didn't turn around, preferring to hum Smoke on the Water while he drained the gigantic pasta pot. Steam rose in the air, swirling with opalescence before disappearing. Anger pooled in Castiel's chest at his old business partner. Crowley may be something close to human, but his humor was still fully demonic.
Crowley continued to sneer. "Something wrong, Castiel? You look a might bit… constipated."
Dean gripped the counter tightly, his right hand inching its way over to the handle of a butcher knife. Luckily, Kevin jumped in.
"Whoa whoa this is a happy occasion. Happy. Not sure you guys still know how that works… but whatever. You," he pointed at Crowley, "Get out. Before Dean knifes you. Hell, before I knife you. Why we let you out of the dungeon I'll never know."
Crowley huffed but sauntered out of the room without another word. Dean sighed, finally pouring the powdered cheese into the pasta along with butter and milk and locating a huge wooden spoon to stir it. Castiel mourned the relaxed, happy Dean that had been present before Crowley jumped in, before painful memories had resurfaced.
Sam made small talk, asking about the journal and how the mechanics of it all worked so well. Castiel explained every detail of the sigil, happy to ward away any awkward silences that might creep up again. Dean doled out the macaroni and cheese after some time, taking Crowley's place leaning against the door frame to eat his own. Despite its simplicity, the food tasted delicious to Castiel, who had forgotten what freshly cookedhot food tasted like. He let out an involuntary groan at the first bite, making Dean chuckle softly and Ambriel roll her eyes characteristically as she stared down at her own pile of orange pasta.
"I don't eat," she said simply.
"Not even for special occasions?" asked Kevin, his mouth full and fork already poised for more.
"Well I suppose I could… try it." She scooped one lone noodle onto her fork and gingerly placed it in her mouth, all eyes on her to gauge her reaction. Her face scrunched up and her swallow look pained. Setting her fork down, she pushed the bowl away and said, "Is that sufficient?"
Castiel didn't know who laughed first, but it was a wonderful sound.
Sam was the first to drop his bowl in the sink and announce that he was heading to bed on the grounds that he may not be dying anymore but he was still freakin' wiped. Kevin agreed a little too quickly, in Dean's opinion, for there not to be some ulterior motive to their exits.
"Come on guys," Dean whined, "It's not even dark out!"
"Hey," Kevin chided, "Sam needs sleep, I need to work on the tablet, and you two," the prophet indicated Dean and Castiel, "Need to get your acts together. Ambriel, you want to give me a hand with some rune translations?"
"Anything to help these two stumble their way into intimacy," Ambriel muttered, slipping gracefully from her seat at the table to follow Kevin into the hallway. Dean's eyes flicked to Castiel, who fortunately looked just as slack-jawed as Dean perceived himself to be. Sam snickered, still leaning against the counter.
"I think Kevin might have found a kindred spirit," he commented, placing the last of the bowls near the sink before clapping Dean on the shoulder, "At least when it comes to handling your romantic tension."
"Jesus Sammy-" Dean was pretty much ready to die, now looking anywhere but Cas as a blush crept up his neck. Sam raised his hands in surrender, heading for the hallway himself.
"No pressure," he said lightly, "Glad you're back, Cas. You have my blessing, btw."
"You need any help?" Dean offered, ignoring his brother's teasing. Sam smiled, tired but flushed.
"Nah," Sam said, "For once I think I'm gonna be fine, demon blood free for once. Thanks, Dean."
Dean watched Sam go with bittersweet relief. He was glad, he was fucking thrilled, that Sam was better, but there was always that little twinge of melancholy when Sam found a new level of independence. Dean's fear of obsolescence was going to have to wait for another day, however. There was a much more immediate, nerve-wracking, former angel/best friend shaped issue currently rising awkwardly from his place at the table. Dean rubbed the back of his neck, a bit of an anxious habit, before meeting Castiel's equally nervous gaze.
"They were just teasing, really man," Dean said, trying for a friendly grin that probably read more as a grimace, "We've got plenty of time to talk later if you're, you know, tired or anything…" Castiel considered him carefully. Dean knew full well what he was doing: giving Castiel an out, in case he'd had time to reconsider their hastily written agreement from a week ago. Dean held his breath as Castiel shifted from foot to foot, actually taking a few steps toward the door before seeming to steel himself and turn back around.
"I'm not too tired," Cas decided at last, and Dean exhaled in relief even though that now left him and Cas alone with absolutely no idea what to say to each other. Dean was still leaning against the counter under the pretense of starting the dishes, though that had been forgotten watching Castiel stand nervously by his seat, still uncertain where to go.
"I'm glad Ambriel seems to be fitting in here, anyway," Castiel noted, filling the gaping silence.
"Yeah," Dean chuckled, "We had a bit of a rough start but she's got spark to her. She'll put Kevin through his paces for sure."
"…It's alright for me to stay, right?" Dean felt confusion as Castiel sank back into the hard backed kitchen chair.
"What," Dean asked, "You mean like in the kitchen?" Castiel laughed, barely more than a huff of air next to the quiet hum of the fridge.
"I mean here in your bunker," Castiel elaborated, "I'm asking if it's alright that I'm staying here permanently."
The promise of that word, permanently, grounded Dean's feet on the floor and made him more determined than ever not to let Castiel slip away again. It was tempered by the ring of uncertainty in Castiel's words, as if Cas really thought Dean was gonna turn around and show him the door.
"All I ever wanted was you here," Dean said, "It's all I've been begging you for all summer, man. How can you even ask that?
"I was worried," Castiel confessed, eyes on the floor, "That perhaps once Sam was healed…you wouldn't have need of me." Dean swallowed, chest contracting at the former angel's nervous admission.
"None of that," he said sharply, Castiel's gaze snapping up to Dean's own in surprise, "It's okay to be nervous. Hell, I'm about ten seconds from a big gay panic attack myself. But don't…" Dean stumbled over the right words. "Don't let the doubt creep in. I need you, Castiel, and not for your angel connections."
"Dean," Castiel's voice was filled with old pain, "We have hurt each other in every way possible. The things I've done-"
"Life's too short to always be looking back," Dean declared, crossing the clean tile, stopping just short of Castiel's anxious form.
"But how can I ever-" Dean shook his head, cutting Castiel off, impatience and excitement thrumming in his veins.
"Man, you have literally got my feelings in writing," Dean laughed, "And you're still worried you're gonna screw this up."
Castiel frowned. "Of course I am." Dean's hand reached out to tousle Castiel's dark hair practically of its own volition.
"You worry too much," Dean informed him, "And I should know." Quick as you please Dean darted away to find a crucial piece of evidence.
Dean's journal was on the counter, tucked between the telephone directory and a cookbook Dean had picked up on a whim while waiting in a checkout line at the local mini-mart, put away during Dean's impromptu cleaning binge a few days earlier. Dean plucked it from its place, returning to Castiel's feet before the former angel had a chance to realize he had gone.
Dean sank to his knees in front of the former angel, laying the thick journal out on Castiel's lap.
"Look at this," Dean urged, flipping through the text filled pages, "Look at what we've already done. It's practically a freakin' novel on you and me and this thing we're both afraid of starting and it's not finished yet."
"No?" Castiel asked, tracing over a section of Dean's cramped script. Dean felt the stirrings of an idea, spurred on by the words under Castiel's fingers, admissions Dean never could have voiced aloud but had written down, freed up by alcohol and the veil of the written word.
"Nope," Dean continued, "I'm gonna keep writing to you, Cas. All the things I can't say, all the things I'm nervous about doing, I'm gonna write it down in here for you."
"Everything," Castiel murmured, turning over a new blank page in the book, "And maybe I can do the same? Ask you questions about human things?"
"Question, comments, complaints," Dean joked, "Anything."
"Can you start?" Castiel entreated, "Can we do it right now?" Dean was stroking over the back of Castiel's hand, reminiscent of his time spent watching over Cas after his rescue from Abaddon and yet completely new.
"Yeah," Dean agreed, "Absolutely."
"My journal is still in the car," Castiel whispered, swallowing hard.
"It's okay," Dean breathed back, "We'll just use mine for now." A pen was found in a mug full of knick knacks, already accumulated from less than a year of living in the underground lair. It was blue, long cap-less and only a little spotty as Dean tested it on the edge of the page before grinning up at Castiel.
"Ready?" Dean asked, the journal still balanced on Castiel's knees and Dean still perched unsteadily in between.
"I don't know," Castiel admitted, but his mouth was curving into a smile, almost as if against its will, and Dean felt another flutter of excitement low in his gut.
"That's okay," Dean assured him, "One step at a time." Castiel nodded, and Dean mirrored his shy smile before turning his attention to the blank page before him and deciding on what to say.
It was strangely intimate, the soft scratch of the cheap ballpoint across the white paper, made gold by the humming kitchen lights. More intimate still was the soft exhale of breath as Castiel watched Dean write out each word, and the slight fidgeting of his knees, denim wrapped and warm under Dean's elbows.
I was lost without you.
Castiel's next exhale was sharp as Dean completed his sentence and looked up; forgetting just how close Castiel was, practically curled over him in the wooden chair. After so long going without, the sight of Castiel's blue orbs up close and personal was like catching a harvest moon and coming to a dead stop in the middle of the interstate just to stare up at the sky in awe and disbelief. Castiel was looking down on him like the benevolent guardian angel Dean's mom always used to tell him he had, and damn it if this wasn't the safest Dean had felt in months. Maybe the same thing was occurring to Castiel because the former angel quirked a half smile and slipped the pen out of Dean's grip, making sure to brush their fingers together before adding his own two cents to the journal page.
I missed watching over you.
Dean's smile grew as the words appeared one by one, and he couldn't help himself as this time he did more than just look at Castiel, bobbing up the negligible distance between them to plant a kiss at the corner of the former angel's mouth. It was shy and quick, like the uncertain exchanges between middle-schoolers just figuring out how a mouth could work, but with the pleasant scratch of day old stubble and the assurance of firm muscle where Dean's hands still rested on Castiel's thighs.
"Dean." Castiel's cheeks were flushed and his breath was short as he wrapped his mouth around the short syllable and the sharp vowels of Dean's name, taking that commanding edge that gave Dean shivers and grinding it down until all that was left was the smoke haze. Dean let the sound wash over him as he reclaimed the pen and scribbled another sentence in their growing and lopsided column.
I missed the sound of your voice.
Cas almost laughed as he tilted Dean's chin back up for a real kiss, one with damp mouths and hot breath and damn, Dean had treated "kiss" like a four-letter word for too long. Castiel had one hand still balancing the leather book in his lap and one at the nape of Dean's neck, fingers toying with what was the barest hint of a curl where Dean had let his military cut get a little overgrown. Dean didn't even have time for a noise of protest before Castiel pulled away to scrawl out another sentiment.
You need a haircut.
"Takes one to know one," Dean teased as he tugged Cas back down by the collar so he could fit their mouths together again, the fabric soft and familiar under his hands. His shirt. Dean's hands smoothed over Castiel's shoulders and down his arms, every inch releasing a new twist of heat into his blood. He kissed the line of Castiel's jaw right up to the pulse behind his ear, fingers bunched in the worn flannel that was keeping Castiel warm. Keeping him safe. He freed one hand to write blind across the page as he reclaimed Castiel's mouth.
I love that you're wearing my shirt.
A tongue teased over the seam of Dean's lips and then Castiel was in control and it was like back in the library sorting records only this was so much better. There were no blurred senses or intentions as Castiel licked into Dean's mouth and Dean managed to get his hands under the hem of Castiel's shirt. Castiel was trying to write without pulling away, gasping at the heat of Dean's hands against his bare skin.
I love y-Dean didn't see the last part of that sentence, and honestly it didn't really bother him that much because his lips found the hollow of Castiel's throat and the pen was clattering to the floor. Castiel was wrapped around him, pulling Dean up for another kiss, deeper and more heated still, so Dean figured the exercise had done its work.