A Hole in the World

by anneliese-michel

Dean Winchester never wanted to go home again. Going back to Lawrence meant people who knew what he was, who didn't buy into the lie. But with a tragic accident, he's back and dealing with the death of his father, the social stigma and objectification of being an out Omega, and the lingering aftermath of a long-ago crime.

35. Blood Brothers

Just for a second a glimpse of my father I see
And in a movement he beckons to me
And in a moment the memories are all that remain
And all the wounds are reopening again
We're blood brothers, we're blood brothers
We're blood brothers, we're blood brothers
And as you look all around at the world in dismay
What do you see, do you think we have learned

- "Blood Brothers," Iron Maiden

The music from the garage is distant enough not to be overpowering, but loud enough that Castiel knows it's there—the thrumming baseline of classic rock deliberately keeps Dean from being able to eavesdrop, but is a notch or two below the level Dean prefers when he's fixing up cars. He could hear Sam and Dean yelling up the stairs to each other, a comfortable camaraderie he could only envy. Throughout the phone call Dean's music and distant voice were there for him, like a hand on his shoulder, and with it the knowledge that Dean was still keeping an eye on him even if he was giving Cas a little bit of privacy.

It's comforting and noninvasive, and he needs both right now.

The wispy clouds above the river are the color of wood smoke, stained by the ash in the atmosphere. Castiel frowns at the thought of them being tainted by association, the ash a spreading poison that sits like silt over the wall beneath him, clogs the river before him, abrades their skin like tiny shards of broken glass, and in the wrong conditions fills their lungs with each breath. It's a melancholy thought for the doctor, but for once he wishes that he could so easily explain the weight on his chest and how hard it is to speak.

When he swipes his fingers across his phone screen to end the call, they leave behind a streak in the humidity of him, left behind by the damp palm that's been clamped to the back of the case and the heat of his breath as he struggled to find words. It never used to be hard. That supposedly was the benefit, the trade-off for a childhood where they were all the others had, the trade-off for being mistaken for each other later in life. They're twins, they were supposed to be able to understand each other.

It's a few minutes before he hears the crunch of Dean's boots on the gravel behind him, and Castiel straightens slightly at the signal, finally lowering the phone from where he's been resting it against his chin to cram it into his pocket. He glances over at Dean as he drops down onto the retaining wall beside Cas, long bowed legs making the motion fascinating, somehow inelegant and graceful at once, knocking the ash on the wall off in a cloud as he ends in a comfortable sort of sprawl, wordlessly offering Cas one of two bottles of beer.

Dean smells like sweat from the hard work of hauling boxes and dragging equipment-smells like Dean without the overwhelming 'Irish springs' or 'old spice' scents to drown him out, and Castiel's brain can't quite distinguish between Dean after hard labor and Dean after sex. It's disconcerting. Out of place as it washes over him, not quite chasing away the discomfort of the phone call, just adding a layer of inappropriately timed distraction to it—he wants to brood on this, to spend time digging into his own head. Dean derails him. He doesn't know if he should welcome it, but he can't help it anymore and he doesn't regret that.

The beer is cheap and cold, the bottle wet and slippery from floating in melting ice, and he sips it silently as Dean scoops up a rock from beside them and slings it into the river, where it sinks beneath the sluggish gray surface of the shallows. "Who'd you decide to call first? Your dad or your brother?"

"My father." The word 'dad' feels wrong, a title for someone that he has never had in his life, and he can't make himself say it yet. "He screens all of his phone calls, though. I left a message, but I don't know if I should expect a response. And then I called Emmanuel." Castiel sighs, rolling the bottle between his fingers. "It was very. . . stilted."

Inexplicably, the corner of Dean's mouth quirks up slightly, though he isn't looking to Castiel. "Cas, dude… don't you think you kinda shoulda been expecting that?"

Castiel frowns down at his feet, shrugging in a useless raise and drop of his shoulders, guilt pressing down on him. He's surprised Emmanuel answered at all, come to think of it. Surprised his brother would quietly excuse himself from his classroom in the middle of a lecture and step out into the hall. Castiel knows he did, though, leaving his teacher's aide to drone on behind him about narrative forms, her stray words and phrases through the open door seeping into the silences of their conversation. The low roar of students leaving the class, calling goodbyes out to 'Professor Allen,' was distraction enough to break the conversation into awkward farewells, Emmanuel's request for him to call again soon, to keep in touch, just shy of a plea eight years too late.

Castiel's words grate against the rawness of his throat. "You're right. I shouldn't have left. . ."

Dean jostles him with a bump to his shoulder, and Castiel lets himself be rocked in place on the wall by it without resisting. "No, not that. I mean, seriously, you're not exactly a great conversationalist when you're upset. . ."

Baleful eyes narrow, and Castiel's voice is flat. "Thank you for that, Dean. That's very comforting."

". . . And by what little you've said about your brothers, Emmanuel sounds like the one most like you, far as that goes, right? So I'm surprised either of you got past 'hello' to begin with." Dean jibes, ignoring Castiel's faintly wounded retort to finish his comment. After a moment, Cas inclines his head in a grudging agreement at the assessment.

"It was never my intention to hurt him.I knew I would, though. I knew it would hurt us both, and Gabriel and Inias and Balthazar as well, but I chose to leave regardless. I decided for all of us. . ."

"No. You decided for you." Dean's voice is firm, and Castiel's brows climb his forehead as he looks to his boyfriend. He expected Dean of all people would believe that as well, so protective of his right to make his own decisions. "Don't look so surprised, Cas. You're a grown up. You made a decision for yourself, went back to school, became a doctor. Does it suck that you didn't keep in touch? Yeah. It does. And if you did that to me I'd probably hunt you down and demand an explanation. . ."

"I wouldn't. Not to you." Castiel interjects, his voice firm and unwavering. Dean's lips twitch into a sad half smile, and he shakes his head slightly, lifting his own beer to his lips. The words come out somehow muffled and amplified by the glass bottle against his lips, distorted and softened.

"Don't make promises like that, Cas." They're a mess, the pair of them. Neither wants to be left alone, not really, but they're both the ones that do the leaving. How can Dean assure Castiel that he won't bolt, when it took this entire mess to keep him here? How can Cas tell Dean that he'd never leave, when Dean knows he uprooted his entire life without a word of goodbye to the most important people in it?

He knows how. Castiel opens his mouth, closes it again with a click of his teeth, and looks out over the river. He knows what to say, but this isn't something Dean wants that way.

He knows Dean well enough by now that he should have known that would only draw attention to it.

"…You really are stuck with me, aren't you?" Dean's lips have twisted, revealing the worry lines that have become so familiar, a sign of Dean's concern for him. This is what he was trying to avoid with his silence, but Dean is perceptive, he's figured Castiel out to an unnerving degree. "Were you gonna tell me what was going on at the hotel this morning?"

"Did you really need me to tell you, Dean? You're my mate." Dean's jaw twitches faintly at the word, an involuntary flex of muscle, but Castiel continues in the same low grumble. Irritation is finally bleeding through; Castiel's nerves are frayed and he doesn't know if he can handle this conversation taking a left turn. Not when he doesn't know if they're about to veer off of a conversational cliff. "I am in love with you, we are romantically involved, and you are my mate. I realize that you resent that term. I'm trying to respect that. But you also understand that it is more than just a term, and it effects both of us. I know that you do."

Oxytocin and dopamine. Mating bonds, ties of love and compatibility and emotion, but something more as well; Castiel had said as much, breathed the words into Dean's skin, their significance and meaning lost in the haze of Dean's heat. The addictive centers of the brain. It inherently implies a reaction if that is cut off entirely, rejection forcing a sudden withdrawal.

The silence that settles over them isn't comfortable, this time. Castiel is leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, beer bottle dangling from his loose grip between them.

"So this is it." Castiel shrugs slightly, nodding at the same time, until Dean continues. "You bolt, or get sick of me, I'm gonna be a social reject mated Omega. I leave, or something happens to me, you're going to turn into one of those sad-sack Alphas who falls apart without their Omega. Chemical addiction, withdrawal or whatever."

Castiel's breath hisses out of him in a sigh, and his shoulders pull in tighter at the perceived criticism. "No. Though I have no personal experience in the matter, I assume any breakup has emotional and physical consequences. Ours would just include one more complication. It would be more difficult for me, physiologically, as the receiving partner. . ." Dean snorts, adding contradicting innuendo, but Castiel ignores it. ". . . but that doesn't necessitate you staying with me if you want to leave. I won't be your. . . your 'leash,' Dean. I don't need you to stay out of obligation."

He can feel Dean's eyes on him, hear the wet swallow of his beer as he considers responding, the indrawn breath as he forces himself to switch tracks mentally. Finally, Dean bumps against his shoulder again, but this time doesn't pull away-he's warm against Cas's side, and his work-roughened hand slides and catches along the borrowed denim encasing Cas's legs before squeezing his thigh comfortingly. It's his voice that's soothing in its familiarity, though, a deliberate note of humor to dispel the sudden tension and to drag them away from this unexpected aside. "Pretty much everything you own is mixed in with my crap and on its way to my trunk. You stole all my books, and only reason I know whose clothes are whose any more is 'cause you've got more pleated slacks than anyone under the age of sixty's got a right to. And we've got enough on our plate without this. We picked a crappy time to have a conversation planning out a breakup we got no idea is ever happening."

Castiel snorts quietly in agreement, and doesn't point out that it wasn't exactly him spearheading that conversation. Dean knows. The graze of his lips to Cas's hairline, breath gusting through his hair, it feels like an apology as much as Dean's able to considering this is something he's clearly worried about. Cas can't leave it there, though. He twists in place and curls his hand to the back of Dean's neck, thumb catching beneath the bolt of his jaw to direct him into place, tilting his face down for a kiss.

Dean's lips are soft, worried between his teeth as he thought and moistened by the beer and the swipe of his tongue. Castiel has just enough time to taste them, to lap his lips around Dean's soft lower lip, before the blare of a car horn jerks him away, threatening their perch on the retaining wall as Dean thunks their foreheads together in surprise.

"Son of a bitch!"

"I am not packing all your stuff and hauling it by myself, Dean." Sam's return volley seems as loud as the Impala's horn, amplified within the cavern of the open garage, his hand still braced over the center of the steering wheel through the open window threatening to break them apart again. Considering he can see the slant of Sam's mouth and the challenge in his raised brow, Castiel is certain Sam can tell even from there that Castiel is attempting to murder him with a stare.

The angry Alpha look has no effect. Sam's amusement is obvious. Castiel groans quietly and lays his forehead against Dean's shoulder, his voice muffled there. "Your brother has terrible timing."

"Yeah he does." Dean agrees, and Castiel can feel the ripple of muscle beneath his cheek, knows that Dean is gesturing at Sam, continuing the silent conversation the two Winchesters seem to have between them. "He's not entirely wrong though. C'mon, Cas. Help me up."

It's not the request to get up that has Cas raising his head and lifting an eyebrow, but the request to help. He unfolds from the stone wall beneath them and extends a hand, clasping arms with Dean and hauling him to his feet and watching as his mate grimaces slightly.

Cas did that. He put that added stiffness to Dean's bowlegged gait, and is responsible for the nearly inaudible grunt as Dean stands off of the hard surface and stoops again to gather their beer bottles, and for the widening of his stance on the bench seat of at Harvelles earlier. "Stop thinking about sex." Dean grumbles as he expertly chucks the beer bottles into the dumpster with a clang and tinkling of breaking glass, and then dusts the ash off of the seat of his jeans, the worn denim stained attractively now, softened and lightened by the clinging dust only highlighting the curve of Dean's ass.

"I wasn't." Castiel lies, aware that his face is betraying him, color staining his cheeks and arousal roughening his voice. He shouldn't be thinking about it, so soon after the phone calls. He should still be dwelling, miserable and inconsolable, but somehow Dean's managed to slip past that again. He's fairly sure it's deliberate, too; Dean knows now the effect he has. It has its drawbacks, but this is the perk, and Dean seems comfortable using the distraction he poses to help keep Castiel from falling into a funk.

"You were." Dean contradicts him, infuriatingly knowing as he turns and crowds into Cas's space with the self-assurance of ownership. There is no personal space, it's community property between the two of them, the air between them too warm again. "Dude, there's no use lying about that. You're getting off on knowing I'm still feeling it from this morning. Pheromones, or whatever, I swear there's some kinda telepathic connection between our dicks."

Castiel pulls a face, disturbed by that image, but buoyed by Dean's laugh at his expense. "Whatever. You know what I mean."

"I think what you mean is you were just reminded of being sore from sex, became inexplicably aroused by it, and wanted to blame me for both." Castiel frames Dean's face with his hands, resting his thumb lightly over Dean's lips to silence a comeback, the faint lines of his eyes deepening as he squints assessingly at Dean. "Are you okay?"

Dean nips at the pad of his thumb, blowing off the question posed to him and freeing himself up to answer it. "Cas, I'm fine. Are you? It's a lot. It's okay if you're not. . . y'know. Okay." There's a deep worry laced in the question, revealed in the seriousness of Dean's gaze, the crease between his brows that Cas stretches his neck and presses his lips to after a moment, trying to erase the sign of Dean's concern with affection. The shock of finding out Lucifer's involvement, the fury that followed, the sharp snap of his temper and the shocking cold of being abandoned by his mate, the tension of watching his family, friends and boyfriend start a civil rights movement at a bar. Reconnecting with his brother, and failing to connect to a father who has existed only as myth to a lonely trio of boys who had fallen apart since.

"I will be." Castiel shrugs, and it's answer enough. Dean slips his arms around Cas's shoulder and hauls him in finally, settling the Alpha into the circle of his arms in a hug that Castiel returns after a moment's hesitation, letting himself settle against his mate. He knows Sam is impatiently shoving things around in the garage, but they both need this. "I want this to be normal, between us." Castiel eventually admits, hesitant in his confession. "I want to have entire weeks when we can forget about arrests and trials and sideways looks. I want. . ."

He ends on a feeble raise and drop of his shoulders beneath the encircling ring of Dean's arms, that squeeze him gently in warning. "We might." Dean doesn't sound entirely sure of that himself, either, though. "Might also be getting death threats and court case bullshit for the next decade or so, 'cause civil rights shit sucks for the people pushing it. You said you were cool with that, Cas, or I'd've. . ."

"You'd have done it anyway." Castiel finishes for him, but it's not chastising. He's proud of Dean for that, for taking this stand. "And you should." There's a thought, tickling at the back of Castiel's conscience, a battle of his own in this fight Dean has found himself leading. His mate, soon his father, his brother, and everyone Dean loves, are all in this together. He can do more. He will. "And so should I."

Dean shoots him a questioning look as they break apart, two quick blasts of the Impala's horn signals the end of whatever time Dean had negotiated for them, and he finds himself tugged along, tucking his arm around Dean's waist. "You tell me before you do anything stupid, Cas." Dean warns him as they fall into step, shoes crunching over the gravel. "You make me chase you down to your brother's place or something, I'm going to kick your ass."

"I still want him to suffer…" Castiel admits, the burr of repressed anger creeping back into his voice at speaking about it.

"Dramatic." Dean snorts. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

"…But that wasn't what I was thinking of." There's no sense keeping secrets, drawing this out between them. Their lives are intertwined, and this plan finding root in Castiel's thoughts may be his, but it's still part of Dean's war. "I need to go by the church, before we leave Lawrence."

Castiel's faith in God has been mending, the miracle that is Dean falling into his life when he was in many ways still floundering is something to give thanks for . . . and he once again believes these things happen as they do for a reason. Something brought this little band together, and put him among them.

"I need to find out the name of the parish in Sioux Falls. And I need to get a message to the Pope. I believe that having him free me from my vows is something that the Vatican may want to see to sooner rather than later."

Dean is taking on the government. From the sound of it, Sam will be taking it to the news. That leaves one other major entity that guides culture in this matter. Law. Media. Religion.

Castiel is still a priest—will always be a priest in some ways, by Catholic doctrine. He knows the workings of the church as an institution, knows their ways and their hierarchy, and he knows now that he has to write to the Vatican, as he put off for years because he had no reason to before Dean. The church would be better cutting what ties with him that they can, and releasing him from the vows of chastity that he now disregards, and he can use that last opportunity to speak directly to the Holy See.

Dean cocks an eyebrow at him as they break, somehow understanding what Cas leaves unsaid as he works out the details mentally. Sam looks between them, lost at only catching the tail end of their words, ignoring the customary punch to his shoulder from his brother for being a brat about their having any alone time. "What's going on?"

"Pretty sure 'Father Castiel' there is starting some kind of holy war." Dean throws out, casually as you please, and it makes Castiel smile how easily Dean rolls with the idea, trusts him with it. The church has meant so much to Castiel's life. . . he wants it to be a place that someday may consider accepting Dean for who he is, and Castiel for loving him.

"Okay. . .?" Sam may be a legal know-it-all, but no Winchester is going to ever claim to be a religious expert of any sort. It's clear he wants to know more, but that's a conversation for another time—another potential turn-off that will derail them just by virtue of how differently they look at faith.

Dean brushes it aside and jabs a finger at the boxes, popping the trunk. "Figure out what books we're taking, Cas, we gotta get them in first or they'll crush everything else. Sammy, make sure you leave out dishes enough for dinner tonight, I'm cooking the steaks. Hell, we're cooking everything. Last meal at the old homestead or whatever."

They're leaving this place in the dust tomorrow after their testimony; all three of them starting new chapters in their lives. Sam with the lawsuit that will likely come to define him and a child who he will dedicate his life to, Dean with the civil rights battle that will change the world around them, and Castiel making the decision to stay with Dean, to eke out a life for himself and stand up with the Winchesters.

They're teetering at the edge of the unknown, and poised now not to fall, but to dive.

xXx

Dinner becomes a lively affair: Dean hauls an old barrel grill down by the river, and eventually it seems half a cow and everything from the freezer is cooking merrily on it as Castiel, Gabriel, Charlie and Sam dutifully create an assembly line for grillable sides, trying to empty out every last bit of food from the place so nothing goes to waste. They eat sprawled on the bank, exhausted from packing and hauling, Dean in a canvas chair and Cas leaning against his knee, Gabriel's feet annoyingly planted on his outstretched shin just to bother him, Charlie opposite on another chair and Sam perched atop an overturned bucket, his too-long legs making it comical to behold.

Castiel's phone stays silent, with no return call from his father, but he tries not to focus on it. The family he has surrounding him is distraction enough, and by the time Gabriel goes to leave, hauling himself up the retaining wall to teasing jibes from Dean about his height, Cas is almost ready to admit how much he will miss his brother once he leaves, his flight and return to his life and his work and his plot against Lucifer with Charlie meaning this is the last they'll see of each other, until. . . Until. Castiel isn't sure a time frame, but there is one, now. Not a nebulous someday or maybe.

He follows Gabriel's shadow toward the gravel drive, hands tucked into the back pockets of the jeans he borrowed from Dean, finger worrying the hole in the pocket a little wider. "I'll call." He says out of nowhere, earning him one of Gabriel's rueful grins.

"Yeah, you'd better, asshole." His older brother jerks his pointed chin at the Winchesters still on the bank of the river behind them as he leans back against the obnoxiously yellow rental car. "I like him. He's not good enough for you, but he's got guts and he gets family. Think he might kick your ass for me if you turn tail again."

Castiel half nods, half shrugs in agreement, and then finds himself hauled into a brief hug, Gabriel's grip and strength always surprising, the thump between his shoulder blades punishing. "Don't be an idiot."

"You don't get caught being an idiot." Castiel counters easily, reveling in the guffaw it wins him from the brother his humor was always measured against and found lacking. "I want to know what happens with Lucifer."

"Yeah, yeah. A little faith in me, Cassie. If anyone can fuck with his head and fuck up his shit. . ." He jerks both thumbs at himself indicatively, taking the title of being the most conniving of the lot of them with pride. "I want to know what happens at the trial. Met the asshole at the courthouse; he was coming onto your boyfriend there pretty hard . . ." Castiel's sudden defensive posture must be more obvious than it feels, that knowledge surprising him; Dean never mentioned a confrontation at the courthouse. Gabriel whistles between his teeth, both eyebrows climbing his forehead. "Woah. Down boy. We had it."

He can hear the crunch of gravel right behind him, knows Dean's there before an arm hooks around him, Sam and Charlie following past him to join the conversation, the evening winding down. "What's got a bee in your bonnet." Dean's been laughing and it colors his words still, the comfort he takes in family seeming to spill over from him, to wrap around Castiel. The word choice is deliberate, teasing over the idle bee comment at the bar, and Gabriel seems momentarily triumphant in knowing he's passed along enough backstory to ensure someone will give his little brother hell on his behalf.

"I mentioned the thing at the courthouse with the asshole, because I didn't realize you were keeping shit from my brother." Of course, Gabriel's loyalties are simultaneously made clear, though Dean's lack of defense backs him down.

"Didn't think about it," Dean shrugs. "Been busy. Hardey cornered me in the bathroom," Dean explains to Cas, Sam and Charlie. "Didn't try to touch me, just being an asshole. Admitted being the one to tear up your place, Cas, then started jerking it in the urinal. I said a few things, he got pissed and was going to follow me out of the bathroom to take a swing, then Gabriel rammed him with the door.

"Did anyone else see?" There's an excitement on Sam's face that is a little disturbing and a lot out of place, and Dean makes a noise of disgust.

"Dude, I wasn't watching or inviting an audience for that . . ."

Sam makes a face, revolted by the misinterpretation of his meaning. He wasn't asking if Hardey got an audience for masturbating. "No, him going into or coming out of the bathroom. Did anyone see?"

Gabriel raises two fingers indicatively. "Me. Heard parts of it too. Probably a couple of cops at the end of the hall saw him come out. Saw them think about coming toward me when I knocked him on his ass, before I sat down and made it seem like an accident."

"The main corridor has cameras, boss." Charlie pipes in excitedly, and Dean's pretty sure he's missing something here, when the redhead grins at him. "We got him violating a restraining order, Dean. With witnesses and a camera. Going in, fine. Its public space, accidents happen. Staying when he knew you were in there by yourself, making a thing out of it. . . we can get him on that. Maybe throw in indecency, harassment. . . Gabe, you mind me riding to the hotel with you, get your statement before you head out in the morning?" She's already digging out her phone, ready to record, and Sam is fishing his out of his pocket to make a call.

"I'll get ahold of Victor, see if we can get that considered tomorrow, and if he wants to swing by the hotel himself. . ."

Dean is spluttering faintly, holding a hand up to still this sudden flurry. "So what, he's Victor now? And you two exchange numbers and are buddies? You remember him trying to send Cas to prison, right?" Dean's righteous indignation on his behalf makes Castiel duck his head to hide his expression from Dean, his mate's fingers pressing hard into his hip, tugging him the inch closer against his side, instinctively protective.

"He was just doing his job." Sam reminds Dean, already scrolling through his contacts. "And tomorrow he'll be on your side, trying to put the other guys in jail and keep Crowley off of you. We need to work with him, Dean." Sam claps a hand to Dean's shoulder, ignoring Dean's wince this time, and flashes him a smile. "It's gonna work, Dean. You and Cas should get some rest. Meet you at the courthouse. Give a little lead time, he's gonna want to talk to you both, I'm sure."

"I'll bring breakfast!" Charlie offers, already rounding Gabriel's rental car, ducking into the yellow monstrosity. Dean releases Cas to follow Sam towards the other car, still bitching, and for just a moment it's Cas and Gabriel again, his brother watching Dean in amusement as he digs a hand into his pocket.

"Okay. You can keep him. When you two start popping out overly-serious, cranky little babies, I expect a visit. This I gotta see." Gabriel practically cackles when he turns to find Castiel glaring at him, either because he's proving the point or because Cas has flushed again, only Gabriel could say. "C'mon. I wouldn't go near Luci or Mike's brats if you paid me, I'm never having kids of my own, and Claire went and grew up on us. You're up, man."

"I don't think..." He knows Dean isn't ready for that, watches him down his birth control pill every morning with an air of daring Cas to take issue with it, defiant against anything that could reduce him to being just 'an Omega' in anyone's eyes. And then there's Castiel's own issues. He's murdered with his bare hands, knows he could do it again if he had to. Then there's his upbringing, in a place dedicated to churning out babies like a factory, clinical and sterile, infants in incubators and beneath lamps to keep them warm, feeding kept to schedules and affection reserved for when the parents who purchased them came to visit, to ensure they wouldn't bond with the staff there in some way, wouldn't grow attached. Then the influence of his older brothers, once they were taken out of there, still stuck in the same mindset as a family patriarch Castiel would never meet.

Dean is terrified of being used just for his biology. Castiel is afraid he could never be what a child needs. But some part of him wants it, he's realizing now, wants to meet the people their children would become, hold their baby in his arms and know it came from both of them, could become the best of both of them. He won't speak of it, can't, with Dean or with Sam, but it's apparently part of the Fairytale ending he has concocted for them. Someday, he hopes they'll be there.

Castiel shrugs, cutting his gaze back to his brother and unsure of when he started staring at Dean rather than looking at Gabriel. Gabriel is watching him shrewdly, tucking his wallet back into his jeans. "Well, whenever you figure out the rest of that sentence, you call me. Hell, call Emmanuel. Or Inias. For you, Balthazar'd probably even actually answer the phone. You gotta mock his accent for me, ever since he moved back he's bad as he was when we got him outta that British crèche, before you three moved in; it's frikkin' hysterical. Just. . . it wasn't all bad, Cassie. Try to remember that."

Gabriel clasps hands with his brother in a shake that transfers something from his grip to Castiel's, slapping his other hand to Cas's shoulder companionably as Dean grumbles his way across the drive to rejoin them. Pulling away he addresses his brother's mate, pointing accusingly at Castiel. "Keep him out of trouble."

"No promises," Dean snorts falling in beside Cas again as Gabriel slips into the rental. "Don't get arrested."

Gabriel winks, but makes no promises either, and after a moment the sound of engines fade, leaving Castiel and Dean alone for the evening. Castiel finally opens his hand again to find the folded photograph Gabriel slipped him at the end with his handshake, acutely aware of Dean leaning into his shoulder, unabashedly stealing a look.

A crease mars the center of the image, running through Gabriel's shoulder and the open doorway behind him into the home they shared in Castiel's childhood. Directly to his right, Gabriel's arm slung around his shoulder, Lucifer smirks faintly at something he's said, unaware that Gabriel has thrown devil horns behind his head. Beside them, Michael is glaring at them both in exasperation, clearly trying to organize the cabal of his brothers for this shot and being ignored. Raphael is speaking to Uriel, a hand on his shoulder, pointing at a skinny preteen Balthazar, smoothing down his shirt, primping before the picture. At their feet on the steps, Inias, only three years older than them, is leaned in to speak to one of the triplets, Emmanuel-always to Jimmy's right, Cas to his left, the three of them bunched together as a single unit. They're so small, still. Barely school aged, Jimmy's scraped knee visible in his Catholic school shorts, Emmanuel's clip-on tie missing, and Castiel at the edge of the frame, anchored in place beside Jimmy, both of them turned to look up at Michael, listening to instruction, Castiel dutifully and Jimmy incredulously, the three of them so close together their shoulders touch.

"I remember this." Castiel mutters, squinting down at the image. "Gabriel tampered with the timer on the camera. It was the first picture with all of us."

They're impossibly young, all of them. Michael was barely old enough to drink as the oldest, Gabriel was maybe seventeen, and as the youngest the triplets are round-cheeked children. Gabriel's prank captured their family as it really was before the shot for Christmas cards; disorganized, chaotic, dissimilar as they could be as half-siblings, falling together in their groups and cliques.

"Huh." Dean leans in to peer closer, naturally curious, and his lips twitch into a full smile. "You were a cute kid." He taps his finger to Castiel unerringly in the picture, without needing to ask for him to tell them apart for him. He sees Cas, knows him, and Castiel could kiss him for that, wishes he'd had that years ago, had Dean in his life from the start.

After a moment, he tucks the photograph into his pocket and leads them back towards the garage. Boxes fill the bays, neatly stacked and labeled, ready to be sold. The Impala sits low on her tires, loaded up and ready for them to leave, and Dean trails his fingertips along her gleaming metal skin like a lover as he passes her, promising her they'll get back on the road soon.

They're going to leave together. Move in together. This is their future life waiting to unfold at the end of the road.

Castiel can't quite help crowding Dean up against the car as the garage door lowers behind them, capturing his face in cupped hands and kissing him, picking up where they left off to pack and move them. It's comfortable, slow, sinking into each other, lips and hands their only point of contact until Dean twists his fingers in Cas's belt loops and pulls him closer, letting himself be trapped against the warm familiarity of his beloved car.

"Sap." Dean chuffs without really meaning it as Castiel brushes his thumbs over his cheekbones, dropping his lips to kiss the jut of Dean's chin, along the curve of his jaw, nosing along the vulnerable skin of his neck as Dean tilts his head to bare it to him. He slides his hands down the column of his mate's throat, pleased when Dean doesn't tense at it, doesn't shy away like he expects Castiel to hurt him, and he lets his hands continue their journey along Dean's shoulders and smoothing back, a palm coming to rest over the bruise he knows he left on Dean's skin.

"I want to see."

Dean opens his eyes again, amusement clear in them, cocking one eyebrow. "Admiring your handiwork now, Cas, or playing doctor? Either way you got a lot more than my shoulder to look at, Doc."

Castiel tucks in closer, ignoring Dean's look to bite gently at the thrumming pulse beneath his skin, laving his tongue over it to ease the momentary sting, his hands moving over Dean's chest, now, palms then fingers sliding over responsive nipples he can feel beneath the thin fabric, before he gathers it all up at Dean's waist, waiting for permission to tug the shirt free. "Then I'll see that too."

Dean doesn't answer him in words, but he does lift his arms to let Castiel tug the shirt off of him, tossing it into the open window of the car, where it joins the folded blankets and the crammed in throw pillows from the couch, draping over the cooler tucked into the footwell, ready for them to leave.

The ring of bruise on Dean's shoulder is a nearly perfect imprint of Castiel's teeth, purple and tender, and Castiel presses his lips over the warm skin of it gently. When Dean's breath hitches, his body shifting encouragingly, Castiel drags his teeth over it without biting down, the angle wrong from the front. He's marked Dean, but he knows this will heal without a scar; he didn't break the skin. He came close, and even now some part of him wants something that will stay, that would tell any Alpha to look at Dean that he's taken. Off limits. Claimed.

That's such a small step away from a brand, from deliberate scarring, from a collar. It's all the same instinct, and he won't act on it. Won't let himself become that. Dean belongs to himself, and that's as it should be. But he belongs with Castiel, as he'd said on the dock.

For now his affection is painted into Dean's skin, impermanent and fading if Dean wants it to, and he knows that much is allowed; Dean spent so long in the back of this car doing the same to Castiel. Now it's there between them in the bite mark on Dean's shoulder, and the small bruises Castiel can see at Dean's waist. He drops to his knees on the dirty garage floor, catching Dean's hips in his hands so he can press a kiss to the bruises his fingers left behind as well, gentle to contrast the roughness of their last few rounds of sex, the desperation that had driven them there. He can see the edge of another bruise at Dean's hip, where the jeans hang low, and he peers up at Dean for permission as his hands travel to the button fly, Dean's erection trapped and straining beneath the material.

"Hot Alpha on his knees in front of me." Dean mutters, impatient at Cas pausing for direction again, rocking his hips forward impatient and needy. "You need a signed waiver or something, Cas?"

"Would you? What would you give permission for in that waiver? What am I allowed to take whenever I want?" Castiel asks lowly, his voice dark and rich, breath washing over Dean's skin. He leans forward to press a kiss over Dean's belly as he slowly unbuttons his pants, overtaken by the image of it rounded in pregnancy, the softness of him pulled taut over their children. Anyone who looked at Dean then would know he was mated, know he was loved.

The borrowed jeans are growing too confining, and he feels his own cock give an interested twitch at that fantasy. He wants to put Dean back on his knees, the way he was last night, and knot him until he catches, trap his seed there, knot him again and again until it takes, until Dean is full of him. He wants Dean to want that even more, though, wants him to share that dream, and he doesn't yet. Even in his Heat, his body begging for just that, it was the last thing on Dean's mind. Knowing that makes it easier for Castiel to tamp down on that instinct, cursing his brother for putting the idea in his because he's set on the permanence of them doesn't mean that Dean will be. But he wants it all. Instead, he turns his attention to where it should be, tugging jeans and boxers down Dean's legs to bunch at his boots, hobbling him in place for now as Cas turns his attention to the palm-sized bruise at Dean's hip, where he held Dean in place as he outright mounted him. He kisses it just as softly, and he can feel Dean hiss and knows it's in pleasure more than pain. Dean enjoys this; is only beginning to admit it to himself that he likes the roughness as much as Castiel's current tenderness.

Free hand palming his crotch, unzipping his fly to help ease the pressure and deny himself friction, Castiel ignores the proud jut of Dean's own erection to dip lower, fingers teasing the crease of his ass, knuckles brushing against his balls, before his hands slide between Dean's bowed thighs, parting them to his view as he ignores the impatient shift of Dean's hips, trying to bring Castiel's attention where he feels it should be. His hair tickles the underside of Dean's cock as he bends in to kiss the fading teeth marks left on the inside of his thigh by their round of sex on the couch before the trial, and he can feel Dean toeing off his boots and see the flex of muscles as he kicks one foot clear of his jeans.

Castiel helps hook Dean's leg back onto his shoulder when he raises it, hand bracing his mate's hip to balance him through the motion, as Cas takes advantage of having the right angle to bite gently down over the mark, sucking softly, drawing color back to the surface. He likes this mark, likes knowing when Dean closes his legs he'll feel it there, reminding him of Castiel buried between his thighs. He's coming to admit that he may be a slightly possessive bastard in his own right, but this mark isn't about anyone else but them, isn't a sign or a signal. It's a perpetual tease, and he wants it to stay that way, his hand sliding up Dean's leg as he sucks on this space well below where Dean wants his mouth.

Like this, Dean is spread open for him, and he takes advantage of it. Fingertips trail over his thigh, traveling higher, hand cupping his balls and rolling them teasingly, before his fingers sneak back to travel the skin of his perineum. Dean's slick enough already that the skin of his entrance feels satiny, overheated, and it takes no pressure at all for Castiel to slip just one fingertip into him, barely breaching the ring of muscle.

Above him, Dean bites back a sharp curse, shifting, trying to fuck himself down onto Castiel's finger but held in place by the leg hoisted onto Cas's shoulder. He feeds Dean another inch, sinking his finger in only to the second knuckle, only enough to tease as he lifts his head and watches the figure above him let out a shuddering breath, opening his eyes just enough to glare down at Cas through the dark fringe of his lashes.

"Don't make me tackle you to the goddamn concrete, Castiel."

There's something about how Dean rolls his name out in a growl that tightens the need deep in Cas's stomach. It's a command, but Castiel can hear the plea behind it, the need for more, and that sends him leaning in without further teasing to give Dean what he's desperate for, finger pressing in deeper, twisting as Castiel wraps his lips around his Omega's cock at last.

Dean was sore, pained as he sat, so Castiel is gentle in fingering him, thumb stroking his apologies over the abused flesh, as caring as he'd been to the bruises, though this time his mouth is otherwise too occupied for kisses. Dean's heel digs in between his shoulder blades, leg tightening, hips pumping forward, fucking into Castiel's mouth on instinct. Years Dean's lived as a Beta, been the one in control, the one doing the fucking, and Castiel can feel that in him now, see it as he looks up the broad planes of his lover, a hand braced to keep Dean from pushing too far, setting the limitations on how much he is allowed to tax Castiel's still novice abilities at this. Tears prick Castiel's eyes when Dean thrusts into his throat the first time, lost to the sensation, and he offers a slurred apology before tempering his motions.

Cas revels in the slackening of Dean's jaw, the punched out sound of pleasure he wins when he slides a second finger into his mate effortlessly, trying to match the rhythm created between Dean's movement and Castiel's, crooking his fingers forward when Cas's tongue moves, deft physician's hands put to use. He's not surprised when Dean's hand tightens in his hair warningly, a string of softened consonants he thinks might be Dean trying to talk to him all he can manage as he spills down Castiel's throat. He draws it out, stroking over the sweet spot within Dean as he comes, teasing him until he's limp and braced up by the car and by Castiel's hands on him as he slides his fingers out again, cleans Dean with soft suction and slow drags of his tongue before releasing him entirely.

"Your turn." Dean mumbles, trying to tug Castiel up by his shirt, and Cas resists, dropping Dean's leg and rolling his shoulders to make them relax, leaning in to rest his forehead against Dean's body as he settles back on his heels and works his jaw to ease it with slow teasing kisses over the skin he can reach.

"I'm fine." He presses a kiss to the curve of Dean's hip bone, sliding his hands up and down Dean's flanks soothingly, waiting for him to stop shaking. He can feel Dean's disbelief, and knows this isn't something he can explain.

He enjoys this, making Dean feel this way, making him fall apart and need, just as much as he enjoys the sex itself. He doesn't want to come, not right now; he wants Dean there with him for it, and he can wait for that, content with how he made Dean feel.

"My knees are killing me." He excuses himself instead, winning a sudden laugh from Dean at the uncharacteristic complaint. Hands hook under Cas's arms and haul him to his feet, Dean's show of strength effortless even as exhausted as he is. Cas catches his jeans before they fall, carefully adjusting again before refastening them, leaning in to kiss Dean, savoring the knowledge that Dean can taste himself on Cas now.

"Alright then, old man. Bed." Dean rumbles into his shoulder, letting Cas brace him now that he's upright, arm tight across Dean's back. It's early for them, but for now, Cas knows Dean wants to rest because he's pleasantly exhausted, not because he's anticipating a long day and grueling trial tomorrow.

Pressing a kiss to his lover's hair, Castiel hugs him a bit tighter, nodding his agreement. "Bed."

Later Castiel slides onto the mattress on the floor within the otherwise sparse and empty room, stripped down and showered, teeth brushed, and nestles himself against Dean's back. It's a conscious decision as he carefully positions his hand away from his usual hold, pressed to the heartbeat of Dean's chest instead of protectively draped over his stomach.

Deeply asleep, Dean huffs something incomprehensible and discontented, and sleepily raps his knuckles against Cas's as he reaches for his hand. Their fingers linked together, he drops their hands back to rest over Dean's stomach where they usually fall. Knees bending slightly, he shifts further back into Castiel's space, finally settling back into deep sleep once they're spooned together again, just as they are every night, Cas's knee trapped between Dean's, skin to skin and tangled together the way Cas prefers but Dean complains about when he's awake.

Unconscious as he is, he refuses to let Castiel change them, or second guess himself. Dean is probably the most stubborn man he's met, and he doesn't even have to try.

Castiel presses a thankful kiss into the nape of Dean's neck, closes his eyes, and settles in against Dean. Tomorrow they fight back, and he knows they will take an emotional blow doing it. Tomorrow they'll leave, fold Castiel into Dean's life, and create a new normal for themselves. They can worry about tomorrow when it comes.

The phone's buzzing is lost beneath Dean's gentle snores. Chuck Shurley stumbles through a message and then hangs up, flustered and awkward as his son would have been had he been awake to answer.