The soft rustling of wings alerted Sam to Cas's presence in the library, a moment before the angel appeared in the seat next to Sam's. Sam had been waiting for him to get back from talking to Dean, trying not to worry about how their conversation might have gone, and to trust that if Cas felt he was up to it, he really was capable of having a private conversation with Dean that wouldn't end in tears and trauma. Now, Sam sat back in his chair a little, laying aside the book he'd been trying to read and focusing on Cas.

It wasn't difficult; Cas was sitting very near to him.

There were eight chairs around the table, and yet Cas had chosen the one placed less than a foot away from Sam's. Dean had often complained about Cas's utter lack of regard for personal space – but now, it seemed that Cas wasn't satisfied unless he was as close to Sam as he could possibly get.

Sam took in Cas's wide-eyed, vaguely stunned expression with concern, then reached out a hand to rest over Cas's where it rested on the table. "You okay?" he asked, hushed and careful. "Cas?"

"He – listened to me." Disbelief was clear in Cas's quiet words, as he looked up into Sam's eyes. "He – he agreed to trust me. To trust Crowley to me. I – didn't really think that he would."

Sam was quiet for a moment, taking in Cas's obvious shock at Dean's response. He wasn't at all surprised, himself. He thought back over the past few weeks, and every desperate attempt Dean had made to find some way to prove to Cas how sorry he was, how willing to do anything he could to make things right between them. He swallowed hard past the thickness in his throat, his thumb running slowly back and forth across Cas's wrist.

"Of course he did," he replied at last. Cas looked up at him with an uncertain little frown, so Sam continued. "He'd do just about anything for you at this point. You've gotta know that. He – he loves you, Cas."

Cas looked away abruptly, withdrawing his hand from Sam's and folding it with the other in his lap. Staring down at them, visibly uncomfortable, he countered softly, "He loves you."

Sam blinked, taken aback. He waited until Cas glanced back up at him again, uncertain, to ask, "Can't both be true?"

Cas's lips parted as if to speak, but then he looked away again, worrying at his lower lip for a moment. Finally he replied, "I – I'm – I don't wish to think about this. It's – too…" He shook his head, and Sam heard the taut edge in his voice as he concluded, "I can't right now."

"Cas… Cas…" Sam turned in his seat, reaching out to take Cas's hands again and tugging him around to face him. "Hey… look at me."

Cas reluctantly obeyed, and Sam counted it a small victory that he didn't snatch his hands away. But there was something close to dread in his eyes as he silently waited for Sam to go on.

"No one's expecting anything from you, okay? Not me, and not Dean. Whatever you're thinking, or – or feeling, or not feeling, about either of us right now is – is okay. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything." Sam sighed, shaking his head and looking away for a moment before meeting Cas's eyes again. "I just wanted you to know that… as hard as it is to believe… Dean does want you to have what you need. He does want to fix things. You just – shouldn't be surprised that he's trying."

Cas was studying Sam's face now, so intently that Sam fought the urge to look away. Cas's brow furrowed slightly, and he looked as if he wanted to ask a question – but when he spoke, his words were calm and certain.

"You should go to Dean now."

Sam frowned. "Cas – what…?"

"He was upset, when I left him," Cas explained. "I'm fine, Sam. I just – have much to think about. But Dean – he needs you. You should go to him."

Sam barely had time to even begin to formulate his protest before Cas was gone with a soft fluttering of wings. Sam was almost certain that if he went looking for Cas, he'd find him behind his closed bedroom door – but seeking him out now when he clearly wanted privacy seemed like an unwelcome intrusion, so Sam decided to leave Cas alone to his thoughts, and for the moment, follow the angel's advice – and focus his concerns on his brother.

Sam found Dean lying in his bed, his face toward the wall. Dean didn't move or otherwise acknowledge Sam's entrance, but Sam could tell by the tense set of his shoulders that he was awake. Sam quietly undressed, stripping down to a thin t-shirt and shorts before sliding into the bed behind his brother and cautiously slipping an arm around him. Dean didn't pull away – and after a moment, he raised a hand to rest on Sam's arm, shifting in closer.

"He came to me," Dean said quietly at last, wonder in his voice. "Like – close to me, you know? He – he touched me."

Sam's heart leapt at that news – details Cas hadn't given him. Despite Cas's confusion, the fact that he'd ventured to close just a little bit of the distance that remained between himself and Dean…

"That – has to be progress, right?" Sam smiled as he pressed a kiss to the soft skin at the base of Dean's neck. "That's great."

"It feels like it. Like progress," Dean admitted, but his words were hesitant. "I just – I know I'm being impatient. I can't ask him for a damn thing, you know? It's just – I wish I knew how to get back to where we were before."

Sam thought about it – thought back over the past few years of their lives, since Cas had been a part of them. He thought about half-truths and manipulations, well-intentioned lies that had ended in death and destruction, cruel accusations flung out and angry, biting words that wouldn't have hurt either of them half as much if they'd come from someone, anyone else.

"When?" he asked softly, before he even knew he was going to speak.

"What?" Sam could hear the frown in Dean's voice.

"You wanna get back to where you were – when?" Now that he'd said it, there wasn't any taking it back – so Sam pressed forward, hoping he could find a way to make his brother understand. "I mean – I can't really remember a time when things were really – good between you two, you know?"

Dean was quiet, and Sam worried that he might have offended his brother into shutting him out – but then Dean broke the silence, his voice distant and almost wistful.

"Purgatory."

Sam grimaced, surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah." Dean chuckled softly. "Go figure. Happiest me and Cas ever were with each other was in monster paradise. But – it kinda makes sense, in a weird way." Dean's voice was hushed and thoughtful, and he pulled Sam's arm closer around him, callused fingertips brushing back and forth against Sam's bare skin in a soothing, rhythmic motion. "I mean – it wasn't just pure because – because there was nothing but the fight. That was true, too, but – but it was also pure because – the Apocalypse, Cas screwing around with Crowley, the Leviathans and all that crap – it just didn't matter. I had his back, and he knew it. And I knew he had mine. And – we didn't have to talk about – you know – our feelings and shit. We just – we both just knew. You know?"

Sam thought of Cas, sitting at the library table with him minutes earlier, wringing his hands and choking out halting words.

Dean loves you…

"You're sure he knew?"

Dean's hand stilled on Sam's arm, and he sounded startled when he replied, "Yeah. Yeah, of course he did. I mean – I'm sure he did…" A note of uncertainty crept into Dean's voice, and it was just a little shaky as he breathed out, "Shit. Maybe he didn't."

"Anyway," Sam continued, "Purgatory… that wasn't exactly a set of circumstances you can recreate here, was it?"

Dean let out a low, dark laugh. "Or would want to."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, a sad smile touching his lips. "And – here, in this world – there've always been… issues between you two. Lying and going behind each other's backs and… you want to go back but…"

"But you're saying… maybe there's nothing good to go back to?"

Dean's tone was abruptly tight, defensive, and Sam felt Dean's body tense against his own. He swallowed hard, weighing his words carefully. The last thing he wanted was to make Dean shut down, to put him on the attack – because once that happened, he knew Dean wouldn't really hearanother word he had to say. He was quiet for a moment, before replying in a quiet, measured voice.

"I'm saying… maybe you don't need to be looking back at all. So… you can't see the way back to where you guys were before. Well, maybe that wasn't such a great place, anyway. Maybe – you need to focus on… you and me and Cas, just… moving forward. Building something new."

Dean was quiet for a long moment, before letting out a soft, thoughtful little, "Huh," that didn't sound quite like agreement – but it didn't sound like hostility, either. And Dean relaxed again in Sam's arms, which Sam could only take as a good sign. They lay there for a long time in silence, Sam holding his brother and stroking his arm until he heard Dean's breath even out and his body went fully lax and pliant against Sam.

It wasn't long after that before Sam drifted off as well, joining him in peaceful rest.

Six weeks passed from the night they left Rufus's cabin and began trying to put themselves back together, to the day when Cas ventured to reach out and touch Dean for the first time – to the day before Dean decided he was ready to take on a hunt again. Based on the online news articles he'd found from just a couple towns over, it appeared to be a simple salt and burn – not exactly a two-man job.

"I can go," Sam insisted, leaning in the doorway of Dean's room as he packed his overnight bag. "In case things get tricky…"

"Nah," Dean dismissed the offer with a wave of his hand before zipping up his bag and hoisting it onto his shoulder. "I've got my phone in case things go south, and it's like, an hour away. Besides…" He gave a warm, genuine smile in response to the anxious look his little brother was giving him. "… I could use a little time to think things through, you know? On my own."

Sam's frown deepened, and he stood up in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. "Dean…"

"Sammy." Dean's voice was soft, reassuring, as he closed the distance between them and put his hands on his brother's arms, soothing him. "This is a good thing. I wouldn't say this, but I know you're already thinking it, so I'll just spell it out – this isn't a suicide run, I'm not in that same place anymore, all right? I'm good. Really. I just – I need to think about what you said last night, need to – figure out how to do that, and – and I also need to get my head back in the game, you know? I'm sitting around here doing nothing, and there's people dying out there, and… it's just time. Okay?"

Sam bit his lower lip, his frown not easing, but he nodded, closing his eyes and letting out a sigh. "Okay," he conceded.

Dean smiled, rising up to give Sam a warm, slow kiss. Sam's mouth was taut, his kiss vaguely reluctant – but Dean persisted until Sam relaxed a little, raising his arms to wrap around Dean and pull him closer, returning the kiss with fervor.

"Be careful," Sam whispered, pulling back so that his lowered brow rested against Dean's. "You promised."

A dull ache formed in Dean's chest, as he remembered the promise Sam was referring to – the promise not to do anything stupid and leave Sam alone in this mess they'd created.

"I know," he replied. "I'm coming home, Sammy. Promise."

Sam nodded, and Dean kissed him one more time, softly, before pulling back and steadying his bag, and heading for the door. When he reached the library, Dean found Cas sitting quietly, hands folded in front of him on the table. He looked up at Dean with troubled eyes, and Dean's stomach dropped, but he only missed a single step before he forced a smile onto his face and continued on toward the stairs.

"Hey, Cas," he said as brightly as he could manage. "Off on a hunt, I'll be back in a few days, okay?"

Cas frowned. "Sam isn't going with you?"

"Nah, he's gonna stay here. It's an easy hunt, nothing to worry about…"

"He's gonna stay here… with me." Cas sighed, lowering his eyes.

Dean stopped. He hesitated a moment before setting his bag down and sitting down in the chair next to Cas's. "Cas… it's not like that," he insisted. "We know you're doing – great these days, and it's not like you need a babysitter or anything, it's just… I could use the time alone, and…"

"Sam was yours first, Dean."

Dean froze, startled by the unexpected turn in the conversation, as Cas looked up at him matter-of-factly.

"I – I am fine on my own. He doesn't have to stay for me… especially when he'd rather be with you, and…" Cas swallowed slowly, staring down at the table as he concluded, soft and hesitant. "The last thing I want to do is – is to come between the two of you."

"Cas… that's not what's happening here," Dean assured him quietly. "I promise. Even if you weren't staying here at all, I'd – I'd still need to take this time, all right? It's not because of you."

"It isn't?" Cas looked up, frowning. He seemed less than convinced.

"No," Dean stated firmly. "It isn't." He hesitated, mentally debating whether to say anything more, before finally pushing forward. "But… since you brought it up, Cas… you're not coming between me and Sam. Whatever – whatever it is that you and Sam have – I need you to know that – I'm okay with it. I mean, we're okay with it, me and Sam. We've – talked about it, and – and we get that this situation isn't exactly normal, you know? And – we both care about you, and – and want you to have whatever you need to get better, and – and be okay, and – well, I'm just saying… we're open to… to whatever happens. Between… you and him, or… well… you get me?"

Cas looked a little confused, but more thoughtful, and when he finally, slowly nodded, Dean felt an overwhelming rush of relief. "I… I think so…"

"Thank God." Dean let out his breath in a shaky rush as he got back to his feet. "I'm outta here. See you in a few days, Cas."

Even if Cas wasn't entirely clear on what Dean was saying, Dean had no desire to stick around and attempt to explain it any further. In fact, as he thought back over the past few weeks and how much closer Cas and Sam had been getting, a very small but insistent part of him wanted nothing more than to take back the words he'd just spoken.

But that wouldn't be fair… not to Cas, and not to Sam…

Dean knew that Cas needed to know the truth – sooner rather than later – but he'd come to a tentative sort of peace with the fact that it was Sam's issue to handle, in whatever way he thought best. Sam was the one spending every day with Cas, helping him work through what had happened, and what he was feeling – so Sam was the one who would certainly know when he was ready – and what he was ready for.

For his own part, Dean just couldn't let Cas feel like he had to hold back, like he couldn't open up to Sam however he wanted, for Dean's sake. He wanted Cas to feel safe and secure with Sam, not like a burden, but welcomed and loved. So he did what he could to encourage that, and pushed down the persistent worries as to the damage that might be done if Cas felt too loved, too soon.

Sure hope you know what you're doing, Sammy… He closed the bunker door behind him and headed for the Impala, keys in hand. You're the only one he trusts… so let's hope you can keep it that way.

Castiel sat alone at the library table for some time, just thinking about what Dean had said, mulling it over and processing it until he was fairly certain he understood – and what he understood was both terrifying, and thrilling.

Sam had told him weeks ago that Dean loved him, and Castiel wasn't quite ready to give that idea too much thought. He still couldn't allow himself to focus on Dean for more than a couple of minutes without his mind drifting back to that dark basement, and Dean's cruel hands and soft, taunting voice. Although it had once been something he'd only dreamed could be possible, now the idea of him and Dean in any sort of… romantic sense… was simply too much.

And… then there was Sam.

Sam, who had saved him from the darkness – carried him up into the light when he was too broken to move under his own power. Sam, who listened as he rambled about things he was somehow capable of feeling, but not of comprehending; who'd held him through nightmares and panic attacks and other human horrors that he'd only had a technical concept of before, but of which he now had an intensely personal, devastating understanding.

Sam had become the most important person in Castiel's life, and he was increasingly aware of his own steadily intensifying feelings – the way he felt safer, happier whenever Sam was close to him; the little fluttering thrill that went through him any time Sam reached out and touched him. He'd pushed those feelings down, forced himself to ignore them – because Sam belonged to Dean. They'd belonged to each other, all their lives; Castiel did not want to intrude.

But… Dean had just made it quite clear that he wasn't.

Castiel knew that Dean and Sam had some kind of understanding that left room for either of them to have relations, or even relationships, with others, outside of what they shared. But he didn't know what the rules were when it came to those outside dalliances, or what he was allowed to share with Sam without crossing the line and offending or usurping Dean.

But… "Can't both be true?"… Sam had said.

And… "We're okay with it… We're open to… whatever happens," Dean had said.

And for the first time since he'd begun to feel these strange, enticing new emotions – Castiel allowed himself to consider the possibility that he might be able to have what he wanted, without taking it from the two people in the world he cared for most.

The day after Dean left on his hunt, Sam was feeling a lot better about the whole situation, much more calm and relaxed and comfortable with Dean's decision.

It might have had something to do with the way Dean called every few hours or so to reassure him that he was all right, and that everything was going well. The vivid, troubling memories of a swerving Impala on a dark road… the disturbing mental image of Dean, drunk and distraught and handling a loaded weapon with shaky hands… Sam was able to push those aside, and reassure himself with confidence that this trip was nothing like the last one.

He and Cas had spent a little bit of time together the evening before, but for the most part Cas had kept to himself – though he didn't seem upset about anything, so Sam figured a little bit of personal time wasn't really a bad thing for any of them. He had just settled in on his own bed with a new book – or rather, a very old one he hadn't had the chance to read yet – when he heard a soft, tentative knock on his bedroom door.

"Come in, Cas," he said, sitting up a little against the pillows and smiling as the angel opened the door just enough to timidly look inside. "Everything okay?"

"Yes," Cas replied, closing the door behind him and slowly crossing the room. Sam immediately noticed that his steps were halting, and he was anxiously fidgeting with his hands, his eyes downcast. "I just – I need your help with something, if it's all right."

Sam laid his book aside, focusing fully on Cas. "Anything. What's up?" When Cas didn't speak for a moment, just stood there shifting back and forth on his feet, Sam softened his voice, sitting up a little and patting the bed beside him. "Come here, sit down. Talk to me."

Cas obeyed, but he wouldn't look at Sam, as he visibly struggled over his words. "I – I believe that my wings have finally – completely healed," he said at last.

Sam considered that for a moment, puzzled. "Okay. That's – good, right?"

"Yes." Cas was quiet for a moment before looking up to meet Sam's eyes – and the intensity of his expression, the low rumble of his voice, set Sam's stomach quivering, even before his careful fingers began unbuttoning Sam's shirt that he still wore – had worn every moment since Sam had first given it to him. "Could you – would you check them for me? To be sure?"

Sam went very still, but he could feel his heart racing at the request. There was a deep longing in Cas's eyes, as if his self-conscious behavior hadn't made it clear enough exactly what this request meant to Cas. Alarm bells were ringing in Sam's head, warning him against taking this any further; but another part of him, the part that ached with loss every time he ran a hand across Cas's shoulders, the part that could still feel the soft slide of downy feathers between his fingers, and the thrill of knowing how much Cas trusted him to allow it – that part of him was surging forward, desperate and eager to touch.

"Cas, I…" Sam's words were hoarse, and he swallowed hard to wet his aching throat. "I'll do – whatever you need. Just – are you sure?"

"Yes," Cas replied, quiet but firm, holding Sam's gaze as he slid the shirt back off his shoulders and let it fall onto the bedspread. "I – I want you to."

The hesitation that had been there in the past, the sense of fear and reluctance overwhelmed by necessity – none of that was present at the moment. Cas seemed more than willing, as eager to have Sam's hands on his wings as Sam was to touch them.

And… that was the problem.

"Cas…"

Sam's breath caught, his words dying as Cas turned his back to him – and a moment later, with a soft rustling sound, his wings appeared – breathtaking, iridescent, spreading out on either side of the bed and onto the floor beyond it, whole and healthy and gleaming in the light. Sam tried to find the strength, the will, to object – to tell Cas to hide them again, because he didn't have the right to see them – because if Cas only knew, he wouldn't want Sam to see them.

But… it simply wasn't there.

"It's all right, Sam," Cas said, his voice strangely hushed, trembling with anticipation. "I want you to."

Sam reached out a careful, hesitant hand, fingers ghosting lightly along the ridge of Cas's right wing – and Cas shivered a little under the touch, drawing in a soft, sharp breath. Sam's hand froze, fingers drawing away – and Cas glanced over his shoulder, eyes wide and dark with obvious desire, his hand reaching back to rest on Sam's thigh.

"No, don't… please don't stop," Cas whispered.

Sam bit his lip, struggling with his own conflicting emotions. He gently, reverently ran his hands along the length of Cas's wings, and then down, careful fingers threading through the surface feathers and deeper, to the downy warmth of the softer ones beneath them. He was relieved to find that they did in fact seem to be completely healed, not a trace of a scab or a scar left on them.

He knew this – and yet he couldn't quite bring himself to stop.

It didn't exactly help, the way that Cas leaned back, closer to him, pressing his wings insistently into Sam's touch, soft, stuttering sighs of pleasure escaping his lips. Unbidden, Sam's mind abruptly flashed back to the first glimpse he'd ever had of Cas's wings – ravaged and broken, blood red and burned black – and the way Cas had struggled, pitifully, uselessly, to hide his wings against his abused body.

Sam drew his hand away, sick. "Cas… I… I'm sorry, I…"

Cas turned slightly, looking over his shoulder at Sam with worried eyes. "What's wrong? Are they still… damaged?" He turned toward Sam further, anxiously reaching one hand back toward his wings – the other still conspicuously resting on Sam's thigh.

"No, no," Sam hurried to assure him, reaching a hand out instinctively – faltering for a moment before allowing it to settle on Cas's bare shoulder. "They're – perfect. They're beautiful, Cas, it's just…"

Before he could think of a way to explain, Cas looked back up at him – deep, searching eyes inches from Sam's own, softening with awe and gratitude at Sam's words, neither of which he deserved. Sam looked down, shaking his head a little, lips parted for an explanation that he couldn't bring himself to offer.

But he had to. He knew it, now. No matter the cost.

He had to tell Cas the truth. This had already gone too far.

"Cas…" Sam looked up, steeling himself to speak.

His words, his breath, were stolen away from him as Cas leaned forward to close the inches left between them, pressing his mouth to Sam's in a tender, hesitant kiss. Sam froze, heart racing, thrilling at the contact as Cas raised a careful hand to rest at the back of Sam's neck, fingers sliding through Sam's hair. But as much as he wanted to drink it in, as much as he wanted to put his arms around Cas and hold him and relish what Cas was offering to him – Sam knew that he couldn't.

He raised his hands, placed them on Cas's arms – and gently pushed him back. Cas looked up at him, anxious and troubled, as Sam bit his lip, hesitating, then shook his head slowly, holding Cas's gaze.

"Cas," he whispered, apologetic, as gentle as he could. "We can't…"

Cas frowned, confused. "Why? I thought… you wanted…"

"I do," Sam assured him, looking down between them, miserable. "God, Cas, I do, but… I can't do this. It's – it's not right."

"Because of Dean?" Cas guessed, withdrawing from Sam, increasingly self-conscious. A moment later the beautiful wings vanished, and Sam was filled with mingled feelings of loss and relief. "But… Dean said… he told me that it was all right, if…"

"It's not that," Sam interrupted softly, shaking his head. "It's not… not Dean."

Sam looked up again at Cas, forced himself to meet his eyes, his heart sinking at the look of hurt and confusion on Cas's face. He couldn't leave it there, couldn't let Cas believe that any part of this was his mistake to bear. And he couldn't allow Cas to continue to feel what he was feeling, to look at him with that kind of devotion, to believe that Sam was deserving of the kind of trust he'd just displayed – when he was the one who'd laid Cas bare in the first place – the one who'd been key to his destruction.

"Cas…" Sam reached out a gentle hand, his gaze focusing on his own trembling fingers as they touched Cas's face, rather than meeting Cas's eyes. "There's something – something very important… I have to tell you."