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Chapter Text

"Sexual addiction or hypersexuality is defined as a dysfunctional preoccupation with sexual fantasy, often in combination with the obsessive pursuit of casual or non-intimate sex; pornography; compulsive masturbation; romantic intensity and objectified partner sex for a period of at least six months."

It's an ill-timed itch, Dean would say. A sudden bite that you might get from a mosquito during the springtime that has your leg jerking in response. And it could happen anywhere really; at the store, a funeral, hanging around family, or a doctor's office. 

Dean's had his unfair share of all four.

He didn't really notice when it started to happen. He assumes his brain blocked it out, he's told that often happens when trauma is involved. It's weird though; he hates sexual intimacy but craves it like good a bottle of cheap whiskey yet he hates showering or looking at his body in the mirror, but give him a bottle of cherry astroglide and lock him in his room, he'll empty out the container. 

Dean can almost always tell when it starts. He gets irritated, impatient, and anxious; heat forms in his gut and his cock doesn't get hard sometimes but it throbs and pulses, getting at half mass and never going down. 

He usually hates himself afterward. There's this sense of nakedness and guilt that he ends up repeating the next day. But he loves it too; he loves when his stomach clenches and his toes curl as he spills into his hand while trying to gather up the courage to shower in the mornings.

It's not just Busty Asian Beauties that he'll jerk it too; if Cupcake Wars is playing and he gets the urge then it just happens. He'll stain his pants thinking about what it might feel like to sink into the filling of a chocolate cupcake. Or if he's having a bad day, some dickhead up his ass about why his cookies are so expensive, he'll lock himself in his office until his cock is weeping. 

Apparently, that's not normal. 

"Sexual addiction is not defined by what or who the individual finds arousing, but rather by self- and other-objectified, repetitive patterns of sexual behavior utilized to stabilize distress and to manage emotional triggers."

But Dean's fine. What happened back then was a mistake, he's moved on. And even though tears gather in his eyes every time he ghosts his hand underneath his balls; even though he can't look himself in the mirror after cradling his cock in his hand for two hours; even though he's afraid to take off his clothes when the sun goes down.

"Shit." Dean sucks his teeth, tossing the container of cranberries into his reusable bag. Between his legs, his cock throbs and twitches inside his sweats. Who would've thought he'd get it up in front of a pack of Hersheys.

He sets aside the empty basket atop of the others and digs inside his pockets for his debit card. 

"Friggin' tap." he grunts, annoyance climbing up his neck as he hovers his card over the scanner after it fails to take the chip. Dean shoves the piece of plastic back in his pocket and hooks his fingers around the handle of his bags before slouching his back as he walks out the store. 

It's dark outside, the nimbostratus clouds are clumped together and Dean can smell the start of heavy rain. He takes a second to put his hood over his head before walking to his car.

Dean sets the bag on the floor of the passenger seat of the Impala, using his hip to close the door before jogging to his side and collapsing in the seat. Dean glances down, up, to his sides, and then down again, creeping his hand to palm at his cock. 

He's parked away from the store, there's no cars around him aside from an Lincoln Continental parked across the way that looks dead on its wheels. No harm if anyone can't see him right? 

Dean pushes down the front of his sweats, hooking his thumb under the rim of his boxers and pants and push them underneath his balls. His cock, only at half mass, wobbles and leaks against the grey cotton. Dean slouches against his seat, spreads his legs, and wraps a loose fist around his cock. 

"Shit," he hisses, toes curling in his boots as he uses his nail to press into his wet urethra. "Oh fuck." he gasps, using his other hand to roll his balls between cold fingers. He's only two limp strokes in but his skin is flushed and his hips are chasing the warmth of his hand. Dean smooths his thumb over the tip, sucking in a harsh breath and shuddering forward as he spills into his hand.

It's not the most mind-blowing orgasm Dean's had but it settles his nerves and makes him feel like a functioning person again so he'll take it. He watches as his cock softens and lays limp against his sweatpants and he sighs, rolling his eyes a little, before reaching into the glove compartment with his clean hand and pulling out a box of tissues. 

Dean's balling up the used napkin and slowly dragging his eyes up to the windshield when cock gives a faint twitch of interest and his eyebrows quirk upwards. Looks like someone was watching. 

The man doesn't seem particularly worried about what Dean is doing but his arms are crossed as he leans against the dingy Lincoln Continental and his head is tilted as if he's studying Dean. 

Dean raises his hand lazily and the man's lips quirk as he tips his head forward. Dean puts his hand down awkwardly as a tingle crawls up his spine and he starts Baby with shaky hands, not bothering to put his dick back in his pants, feeling that same tingle even as he exits the store. 

"Took you long enough." Sam bitches once Dean walks through the front door with bags on each of his arms. Sam's hair is pulled into what Dean likes to call, "the study bun.", and he's wearing the same pants he had on a week ago.

"When's the last time you showered?" Dean purses his lips and scrunches his nose when Sam walks over to grab some of the bags. Sam scoffs as he sets down the paper on marble countertops. 

"When's the last time you had one partner?" Sam bites and Dean cocks his eyebrow, shocked but not hurt by the jab and Sam sighs as he unpack the bags. Dean toes off his wet boots and follows. 

"I'm sorry. I'm just–" 

"Stressed. Yeah, no, I got it." Dean shrugs and turns his back to stock the pantry. "Today's the last day, huh?" 

Sam exhales and gives a small smile, knocking to glass pasta sauce containers together. "Yup. All my stuff is packed up in Garth's truck so I can move the rest to Eileen's." 

"Want me to follow with the small stuff?" Dean asks into the fridge. Sam glances at him from the side of his eyes and frowns his eyebrows. 

"You can't. You have your appointment tomorrow." Dean waves his hand dismissively and Sam rolls his eyes. "I'm serious, Dean. You'll be awake, right?"

Dean hums, closing the fridge. "Isn't that what the day traumas are for?" he jokes but it falls flat and Sam face shifts into one of guilt. "I'll be fine, Samuel." Sam casts Dean a concerned glance.

"Follow the rules." is all Sam says and Dean's armpits prickle and he grunts in response.

"I know." Dean frowns, putting away the bags. "Go shower so Eileen doesn't smell your B.O and regret dating your ass." Dean snaps, trying hard to weave humor into his voice but now he's agitated and a sudden wave of sadness creeps up to his throat.

It wouldn't be so bad go tug one out while Sam's in the shower, would it? He already did it six times today, anymore and he won't be able to drink coffee tomorrow morning. 

Signing, Dean walks to his room and kicks the door shut before falling face first into bed. He dreads looking up and to the side and seeing the neat, bolded lettering on the chalkboard painted wall. 

"I made a list–rules that you have to follow so that this doesn't happen again!" Sam had said, hair shaggy and covering his eyes, shoulders slouched as he tried not to let Dean see the tears gathering in his eyes. 

"Rules, huh?" Dean grinned, all teeth with a duffle bag tossed over his shoulder. 

"So you don't have to go back there." Sam muttered, voice sad and small and Dean's grin dropped. 

Dean closes his eyes and sighs. How old had Sam been then? Sixteen? Seventeen? And Dean was around twenty one, fresh out of rehab with mental scars that'll last him a lifetime and then some.

A itch on the curve of Dean's thigh makes him twitch and he buries deeper into the sheets. Sometimes the mosquito bites are for a drink; a scotch that's been stolen from a small, crappy Walmart with no cameras. Or something stronger; something that makes blood rise in the back of his throat and his head dizzy. Something that he can heat up over a spoon and a lighter with the homeless people in the alleyway. 

Like father, like son. 

But you would never hurt Sam like John hurt you. A voice reminds. You would never dress him up in skirts and call him a good girl. 

"Fuckin' shut up." Dean mutters, a deep tug at the bottom of his gut making him nauseous. His cock is half hard in his jeans but there's tears dampening his pillow and his heart is trying to jump out of his chest.

Six times. Dean can only do it six times, that's the rule. If Dean doesn't follow it then something bad will happen, that's how it works. 

Dean turns onto his side and slowly brings his palm down to his bulge, curling his toes and exhaling lowly. He won't get off, he just needs to—

"Fuck," Dean hisses, jerking his hips forward. It hurts and his thighs are itchy and he hiccups around a gasp of air.  It's just a small touch, just to stop the mosquitos from biting. Dean uses one hand to hook his thumb over the material and push it down so the glistening tip of his cock hangs open in the air. 

He uses the tip of his finger to smear the precum around the sensitive gland and sucks in a sharp breath when lazy dribble comes out of his cock, staining the sheets below him. 

A curious knock sounds on Dean's door and his cock gives a violent jerk before spilling messily onto the forest green sheets. Tears gather in Dean's eyes and he sucks in his bottom lip as he stares at the mess.

"Dean?" 

"Yeah?" he responds, voice cracking just the tiniest bit. 

"Call me after therapy, okay?" 

"You leavin' now?" 

"Yeah, yeah I am. Eileen's busy tomorrow and the key hasn't been duplicated, we figured it was just better for me to hall my stuff in there tonight." 

Don't leave me. I'm so tired of being alone, please don't—

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Dean says instead, forced cheerfulness spilling through his teeth. 

"I'll check on your shop before school. Give Charlie the heads up that you're coming back." 

"Thanks, 'preciate it. Go be with your girl." 

Sam sighs. "Love you, Dean." 

"Love you too, Samsquatch." 

Sam lets out a short puff of air before racking his knuckles against the door three times. Dean lies in his mess quietly, listening as Sam switches off the hallway lights before taking his leave. 

Dean swallows and closes his eyes. "S-Sam," he rasps, inhaling shakily. "Sammy!" he hollers, ignoring how hot his cheeks have gotten because of the tears sliding down his face; ignoring how his cock is throbbing from where it's cupped in Dean's hands, stained with his earlier release. 

Dean hiccups and coughs wetly. 

He did this. He didn't follow the rules. It's six times. Six times a day that he can touch himself but just now, when Sam—that was seven. 

Dean curls in on himself, smearing his cum into the sheets, and weeps. Just a bit because Dean doesn't cry. Not really. In rehab everyone cries, they sob until the inside of their throats are caked with blood or until they pass out. Dean didn't cry; he let out teary breaths of regret and longing but he hasn't cried since back then.

Since John—

Dean bolts upright, slapping a hand over his mouth and tripping over his slouching pants until his knees make contact with the hard tile of the bathroom floor and he's hunched over the toilet. 

"Stop, stop, stop." Dean mummers into the toilet bowl, his knuckles are white from the grip he has on the rim. He can't think about it, fuck, he gets like this every damn time. Tear droplets fall into the liquid abyss below him and Dean forces himself to make a noise.

One that's painfully ripped from deep in his stomach and has his lips stained the faintest of reds. 

And it isn't until his tears are dry and his throat is caked with blood that he feels the mosquitos start to bite again.

Chapter Text

Dean regrets waking up; his cheek is pressed against the cold of the toilet seat and his eyes are crusted together, last night's puke is wafting up his nose causing another wave of sick to wash over him. 

"Shit," he rasps, sitting back against the cold porcelain of his tub. Dean's shirt is clinging to his sweaty body, his pants hang loose at his ankles, and his head is throbbing in sync with his heart.

"God damn appointment." he remembers, blinking open his eyes and gauging what time it might be by gloomy brightness shining through his windows. Daylight Savings can kiss his ass. 

"S—" the call dies in Dean's throat and he stifles the weak cry that wants to escape from him. 

"Up, up." Dean whispers to the cold washroom air, reaching behind to grip the rim on the tub to lift himself up. He steps out of his sweats and pulls his shirt over his head before reaching blindly for the shower faucet and turning it towards the left. 

Dean avoids looking up at the large mirror hanging on the wall and idly brings his fingers up to graze the cuts marking his stomach. Underneath the small pudge of his stomach, Dean feels the need to scratch at it. 

Once the room fills with suffocating steam, Dean steps into the shower with shaky legs with his back to the water, hissing as the hot pressure of water burn and turn his skin a rude red colour. Dean closes his eyes and tilts his head back, curling his toes at the tingling sensation that racks his body. Dean feels around blindly, fingers grazing against the sharp metal that resides on the otherwise empty soap holder. Dean brings the old blade up to the dry part under his stomach and slides the edge to open the pliant skin. 

Even further below, his cock twitches in interest.

"It's only ten?" Dean squints at the clock on the stove as he puts on his leather jacket over his flannel. He rubs tiredly at his eyes while he shoves his feet inside of his boots, stomping a few times to make sure they're secure. He takes one last fleeting look around him before knocking against the wood three times and picking up his keys from the glass dish and leaving.

"Novak." Dean mutters under his breath as he uses his hips to shut the car door. He thumbs at his phone, raising an eyebrow at the peculiar spelling.

"Cas–" Dean sucks his teeth. He's not gonna waste his time trying to figure it out. Dean knocks his boots against the side of the building to get the snow off and rolls his shoulders back as he steps inside the building; a small little comfort home covered in snow with Christmas lights decorating the outside.

Almost immediately, he feels out of place. The waiting room isn't too small, it's the foyer and living room connected but it's, heavy, Dean guesses; the floor is a dark coffee color with contrasting furniture and antique paintings or vases filled with flowers. All of it different from Dean's light cherry floors and blank walls and thrifted furniture. 

Dean takes note of how quiet it is.

There's a desk against the wall, angled towards the door with a bee bell that has a sign behind it that says 'Buzz Me!'. Dean presses the little dinger atop the bees head and waits. It's only a few seconds later that a soft thudding noise resonates throughout the house and Dean sees a wild tuff of raven hair and serious blue eyes come into frame. 

"Uh–" 

"Dean Winchester? Castiel Novak, pleased to meet you." the sides of Novak's eyes crinkle as a tight lipped yet friendly smile appears on his face. Dean squints his eyes. Has he seen Novak before? 

"Uh, yeah, hi." Dean raises his hand to wave awkwardly. "Pretty empty 'round here." 

"Not a lot of clients around the holidays." Novak points out and Dean nods. 

"Not a lot of therapists open around the holidays." Dean rebuttals. Novak's eyes widen a fraction and his eyebrows frown. 

"Follow me, please." Novak beckons his head to the side, voice a lot firmer then it was before. 

Great job making your therapist hate you on the first day, Dean. 

"Do I take off my shoes?" 

"What ever makes you comfortable." 

Dean toes off his boots and nudges them against the door's frame and before he has the chance to step forwards, Novak glances over him. 

"You aren't hot?" 

Dean shrugs and eyes his layers. "'M alright." 

Novak hums and and gives Dean another tight lipped smile before turning on his heels and walking down the hall with Dean in tow. 

"Do you have any plans for the holidays?" Novak asks politely, turning his head to look at Dean.

"Probably order some pizza, find a shitty Netflix Original to judge. What about you, doc?" 

They walk into what Dean assumes is the room where he's supposed to strip himself of his trauma; the walls are a comforting blue and the furniture is grey instead of a blinding white and something about it irks Dean.

"Chinese is what I had on the menu. Maybe a documentary on Bees." Dean doesn't miss the beeswax socks Novak has on.

"No family?" Dean wonders outloud. Novak closes the door. "None that I would enjoy spending time with." 

"Guess we're two loners, huh?" Dean chuckles and Novak settles down in a plush armchair before gesturing Dean to do the same in the couch across from him. 

"No family either?" 

Dean swallows, looks down at his socked feet, and shrugs. "Brother just moved in with his girlfriend so we're givin' him some time to settle before we head up there."

"Oh, your parents live far?" 

"Etobicoke." Dean waves his hand. "Just about thirty minutes." 

"Québec." Novak counters.

Dean whistles. "Must be a drive." 

"I don't visit. Maybe to see my sister if she's home but other than that." Novak's lips pull into a frown before he straightens his position. Dean feels the need to do it as well and the skin on his stomach stretches. 

"Nice to meet you, Dean Winchester. I'm Castiel Novak and I will be your therapist, you can call me Castiel if that's comfortable with you." Castiel, a odd name when Dean thinks about it, is big. Dean doesn't mean body wise, if anything he seems like it would hurt to lift up a crate, he means aura wise. Castiel seems very, Dean's eyes flicker down then back up and his cock twitches in his pants, big. 

"You're gonna help me stop wantin' to hump everything?" Dean imagines that there was a nicer way to say that and cringes a bit inside. 

Castiel tilts his head. "I can't promise that I'll make it stop but I can help you figure out where this need to, as you put it, "hump everything" came from, and how to better control it. For that we would need to back track, talk about your childhood, adolescence, and even adulthood." 

Dean bites back a coo at the quotations Castiel does. He really is Dean's type. He wonders if Castiel's a top or bottom. 

"Is that necessary?" 

Castiel frowns. "The backtracking?" at Dean's confirming nod Castiel purses his lips. "Yes. Like your attire, therapy has layers, we have to get through each layer to find the core. Some clients skip the layering and head straight for the core and talk about why the layers were there, some clients do a layer every month, some clients lie but eventually we get to where we need to be. Does that answer your question?" 

Dean clenches his jaw and worries his bottom lip between his teeth. "There a time frame for this?" 

"Usually for teenagers or kids I make a plan since I hear the basis of what they're struggling with from their parents. However, with adults, I do an assememt. With the assement I get the symptoms or companion struggles like depression or bi-polar disorder or even imposter syndrome. That way, I am able to work on the struggles while also getting to know the trauma and then knowing how to help with the core of the problem."

Dean presses his heels together and tries not to squirm on the couch. It feels like his intestines are tied in knots and his heart is caught right in the middle of it all. Today it seems, as Dean gets that biting feeling again, that things won't be going his way.

"It's a lot to take in, I know, but we go at your own pace." 

"What are we doin' today then?" 

"I was hoping to get to know you, or we can jump right in, whatever you're comfortable with." Castiel settles back in his chair, soft eyes on Dean while Dean focuses on the rhythmic inhale and exhale expanding the suit vest Castiel has on. 

Castiel doesn't seem the type to be a bottom.

Dean's thighs clench and he presses his legs together. Maybe he is a top. 

"Would you like to use the washroom?" 

Dean's eyes flicker upwards. "Sorry?" 

Castiel looks down at Dean's lap then up again. "The washroom. It's common for clients to get hard, there's no shame if you would like to relieve yourself." 

"I can't," Dean clears his throat. "I can't do it just once. I have to do it six times within fifteen minutes of each other." 

Castiel tilts his head curiously at that. "And what if you're not satisfied?" 

"I used to ah, drink?" Dean's cheeks heat with embarrassment. "But now I sleep or bake or whatever." 

"If you don't mind me asking, are you sexually active or is this strictly masturbation?" 

The flush on Dean's cheeks go further up to the tips of his ears. "Both? Mainly masturbation." 

"Why is the number six so important?" 

Dean rubs his socked feet together. "Somethin' could happen if I go over it. Like, if I go over seven then I can't drink coffee the next day or something bad happens." 

Castiel shifts. "Pardon me for asking but your soulmate," Dean looks up sharply. "Are you in any form of communication with them?" 

"People like me ain't got soulmates, n' I don't believe in that shit anyway." Dean looks down at the grey carpet. "How are people supposed to just know? Love at first sight in my fuckin' dreams." 

Castiel blinks and presses his lips together to suppress a frown. "Right. May I ask about your habits when you pleasure yourself?" 

"Habits?" Dean asks. 

"Is there a certain time? Do you do it on specific days? That sort of thing." 

"I do it everyday, usually to calm down or," Dean frowns. "Stop thinking, I guess. If I feel the need to do it then if I'm able to, I do." 

"In a parking lot, perhaps?" 

Dean glances up through his eyelashes before his eyebrows jump and he sits up fully. "Trenchcoat!" 

Castiel nods. "I wasn't going to mention it since it seems you forgot but I believe I should be open with you if I want you to be open with me." 

"Seems like you already got a full sight of me, doc." 

Castiel's eyes wander along Dean's body before his eyes lift back up and he smiles before crossing right leg over his left. "Are you into exhibitionism?" 

"Uh, not particularly? I was just in the mood to do it and I was tired and a little stressed." 

"Stressed?" 

"Haven't been working since I've been recovering from the drinking and stuff, I go back tomorrow." 

"Have you been out of rehab long?" 

"Shy of two years." 

"Congratulations." Castiel's voice is full of sincerity and kindness it makes Dean keen a little inside his throat and his cock jump in his pants. 

"Nothin' special. Only clean from drinking and drugs." 

"That's still a huge improvement. I'm sure your brother is proud. Did you have sex with the people in your rehab?" 

Dean thinks back. "Yeah. Almost everyone." 

"Did you get checked?" 

"What like for diseases?" 

"Or infections." Castiel adds. 

"I had, um, chlamydia for a short while." 

"Treated?" 

"Yeah." 

"That's good. I'm proud of you."

Dean shrinks and blushes. "Thanks." 

"Have you always pleasured yourself whenever you've felt a strong emotion?" 

"Yeah. It's the only way I can get calm, if not I'll get irritated or like I'm missing something." 

"How does it feel when you do it?" 

Dean licks his lips. "Painful? But the pain is sweet, like a ripe raspberry. I'm doing it six times a day, practically milking myself, so it's bound to hurt sometimes." 

Castiel shifts in his chair again. "Have you gone over six times?" 

"Y-yeah." 

"And what happened?" 

"My brother moved in with his girlfriend." Dean chuckles bitterly. 

"And left you alone?" 

"That's not–" 

"But it was implied." Castiel interrupts. "You do know that because you went over, it's not your fault right? That he moved?" 

Dean looks at the glass vase next to him and shrugs. "Can we talk about something else?" Dean clenches his thighs and presses his legs together again. He's harder than normal. 

"When did you start experiencing this frequent need to masturbate?" 

Dean rolls his eyes up to the ceiling. "Thirteen, I think? Right around when I moved in with my uncle." 

"Did something happen before you moved in? With your biological parents?" 

Dean looks down and locks eyes with Castiel. 

"Shh, Dean, mommy's sleeping and daddy needs something to relax him. You'll be good won't you?" John unbuckled his belt while Dean looked up at him, a lump lodged in his throat and tears clumping his eyelashes together. 

"I-I thought you only said on-once." Dean hiccuped. "My bottom h-hurts." 

"I'll make sure it doesn't hurt this time, okay? Lift up the skirt." 

Dean blinks and looks away. "Not that I can remember." 

"Right." Castiel's eyes flicker to the clock on his desk. "Do you like dogs?" 

"Sorry?" 

"Dogs. Do you like them?" 

"Yeah, I've had a couple before."

"Dogs are very distracting. They need constant play time and attention. Maybe you want to try looking into finding a dog?" Castiel smiles softly and a little precum stains Dean's boxers. 

"Yeah. Yeah, I might." 

"We should have a constant date booked. Assuming that you're comfortable with me being your therapist." 

Dean exhales. "What days you got open?" 

"Monday mornings and evenings. Tuesday mornings; Thursday and Friday nights which is two days a week." 

"You aren't very busy are you?" 

"I like to establish myself." 

"Friday and Thursdays. Spending nights with you might be fun." 

A heated flush crawls up Dean's face once he realizes what he said. "I didn't mean—" Dean stops as he notices the matching blush on Castiel's face. 

"If-if you could show yourself out? It was nice meeting you Dean." Castiel's voice wavers a little and Dean's dick pulses lazily. 

"Nice meeting you too, Cas." Dean whispers before getting up and backing out the room, stumbling a little in the process. When he makes it to the front door, Dean all but shoves his feet inside his boots and spirts to his car. He collapses back against the cold seats and quickly shoves his hand down his pants to tug awkwardly at his cock until he comes inside his boxers with a pained groan. 

"Fuck me," he pants into the car, reaching for the glove compartment and taking out tissues to wipe his hands. 

On the way home, he spots one of the local pounds and with a firm fuck it, pulls into the parking lot. 

Chapter Text

"Don't stare at me like that." Dean mutters at the curious Doodle whos tail is thumping excitedly on the hardwood floor. Miracle blinks with wide, innocent eyes and barks twice, leaning on her hind paws and yipping. 

"Do you need to take a leak?" Dean asks awkwardly and Miracle barks once. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?" Dean scratches the back of his head and sighs. 

He's read the 'How to Raise a Dog For Dummies.' over six times but its harder than he imagined. Sure, him and Sammy have had dogs before but he guessed wolves that didn't want to eat them is the more appropriate term. His house is more or less dog proof which basically means all his precious vinyls are tucked between his sheets in his linen closet and his baking tools are stored up high. 

There's also a disturbing about of pee pads on the floor of his living room but hey, at least its something.

Dean rises from his crouched position, his knees creaking in the process, and gazes down at Miracle. "Walk?" Miracle barks twice, jumping up and down, her nails clacking nosily against his polished floor and small, almost miniscule, bits of hair drift to the ground and Dean huffs a laugh. 

"'Least I got that one, eh?" Dean grins to himself, grabbing the newly bought leash off the hook next to the door and gently hooking it onto Miracle's collar. Dean's fingers linger on the thick collar and he frowns deeply before straightening up and clipping the other metal bit to his belt loop. 

He doesn't bother putting on a jacket atop his layered flannels since it's one of the hotter days in the winter but does shove a pair of leather gloves into his back pocket as he Miracle yanks on the leash in her excitement, jolting Dean from his stiff position.

"I got it, I got it." Dean hushes, making quick work of grabbing his phone and keys before rapping his knuckles against the door frame three times, an old muscle memory habit that he'll never forget. As Dean is in the process of locking his door, he looks up and to the left and sees a tuff of raven hair over ugly brown moving boxes and frowns his eyebrows in confusion. 

Crowley would've told him a new tenant was moving in. Dean purses his lips and takes his key out of the hole, rethinking his false assumption. Crowley, the slimy bastard, wouldn't have told him anything.

"Hey," Dean greets as he tucks his keys in his back pocket. The person behind the box jerks and peeks from behind the destructible cardboard. Dean's heart pounds once, painfully, in his chest. Are those eyes of his always so bright?

"Cas," a lazy grin takes over Dean's features and his cheeks go warm. "Hey." a weird softness wraps around the word and the mosquitos around Dean suck his blood a little harder.  

"Mr. Winchester, hello." Castiel huffs out a similar pleasantry before walking into the apartment left of Dean's and setting down the box down with a pained groan. Dean angles his body so he can look inside the apartment, it's layout not all that different from his aside from the kitchen being on the right side instead of the left and a little lift from the entrance into the living room.

"You alright?" Dean's eyes wander over Castiel's lithe body, a peek of smooth white skin showing from where Castiel's shirt has risen because of his crouched position. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and Dean can see honeycomb tattoos mark the pale limb. Castiel looks over his shoulder and the sides of his eyes crinkle as he gives Dean a small grin. 

"I don't lift heavy things often. I'm afraid I'm more of a runner." Castiel laughs a little, a light flush on his cheeks and damp hair stuck to his forehead, Dean's hand comes up to rub at his chest, a frown between his eyebrows. His heart hurts.

Miracle barks loudly and Castiel's sharp eyes flicker down to the Doodle. "Oh, well aren't you beautiful." Castiel exhales, extending his hand and Miracle barks happily, licking messily at Castiel's open turned hand. 

"Hey!" Dean snaps, tugging carefully at her leash and Castiel's grin widens. Dean shifts to his side, a warmth blooming in his gut and his cock fattening in his pants. 

"I didn't mean for you to get a dog right away." Castiel teases lightly and Dean looks away, scratching the back of his neck nervously. 

"It was impulse. I saw the pound on the way back from our session and said fuck it. Lucky I did because she was on the kill list." 

"That's terrible. Why?" 

Dean glances down at Miracle. "She doesn't have a uterus, some assholes took it out before leaving her there." underneath her fluff of fur a nasty scar along her underside is only a year fresh and sensitive. 

"People are so terrible." Castiel shakes his head as he rises to his feet. "I have a cat, a beautiful black one who's blind. I found him on the street."

And as if on que, a sad mewl is heard from behind one of the locked doors. 

"Since we moved I like to keep him in one room so he can get a feel for it." Castiel explains and Dean blinks slowly, dragging his eyes from Castiel's exposed collarbones and to chapped lips and then to sparkling eyes.

"Do you want to go out?" Dean blurts right as Castiel is about to leave for the front door to carry in what looks like the final box. Dean covers his face with his hand, red covering the tips of his ears.

"I don't think that'd be appropriate–" 

"No, yeah, that's," Dean clears his throat, lifting his head up. "I mean for like, a walk. With the pets?" 

Dean's heart thuds hard against his ribs at the sight of Castiel's flushed cheeks. They weren't that pink earlier were they? 

"Ophelia is fond of the outdoors, I'll just put this box in and, um, we can go." Castiel's voice trails off into a whisper. 

"I'll wait for you in the lobby?" Dean ducks his head trying to catch Castiel's eyes but Castiel turns around quickly and nods. 

"Cool! Great! I'll see you!" by now Dean's cock has been leaking a steady stream of pre into his boxers and his hands are shaking by his sides. Dean steps out of Castiel's apartment and makes his way to the polished elevator, the only new thing they put in this apartment building. Dean walks inside, Miracle being happily dragged along, and presses the lobby button before resting against the metal railing. He presses his hand against his chest, willing his beating heart to calm down.

"Sorry, it took me a while to find Ophelia's harness." Castiel's voice sends a tingle down Dean's thigh and Dean waves his hand dismissively, shoving his phone in his back pocket, the unfinished text he was ready to send Sam prolonged for a little longer, and looking up.

Castiel has a thick blue scarf around his neck that almost touches his nose and the beige trenchcoat Dean saw hanging up in his office yesterday. 

Ophelia meows loudly, pale eyes wide and dark fur covered buy a small winter coat and booties, sniffing in the direction of Miracle who's tail wags excitedly as she waits patiently for Ophelia to sniff her. Miracle gets a little two excited and paws at Ophelia aggressively and Ophelia hisses, swatting at empty air in retaliation.

Castiel extends his hand, showing Dean the small orange in his hand, a smile in his eyes. "Clementine?" 

Dean tries to still his shaking hands as he gently takes the fruit from Castiel's soft hands. "Thank you." 

Deep down, Dean knows that if he eats it he'll feel nauseous the entire day so he opts to puts it in one of the doggy bags and tie it to his belt loop. If Castiel is bothered by it, he doesn't bother saying anything.

"Ready?" Castiel leans his back against the lobby's door and Dean ducks his head in a small nod before walking past, inhaling softly. 

Castiel smells like coffee. 

"How's your brother?" Castiel asks as they begin to walk, the cold gently caressing the parts of them not covered by warm, thick clothing. 

Dean licks his bottom lip. "Uh–"

"I'm sorry. I don't go out very much, especially with clients. I don't think I know how to turn therapist mode off." Castiel sniffles, the tip of his nose going pink. Dean gets tugged to a close tree and Miracle sniffs the tree before lifting her leg up.

"No, don't worry about it. It's fine." 

"Are you going to work?" Castiel hesitantly wonders. Ophelia curls around his leg and purrs.

"Start Monday. Little nervous though, I'll have to put on that bakery weight again." Dean pats his stomach and jiggles the small bit of fat. Miracle puts her leg down and kicks the dirt before continuing down the sidewalk.

Castiel's gaze lingers on where Dean's hand lies before he draws his eyes back up. "That's exciting! What's your bakery called?" 

"Deal With The Devil. It's lame, I know." Dean chuckles self-deprecatingly. Castiel hums low in his throat and the erection that Dean forgot about pulses lazily in his pants. 

"I've been there before. Your coffee and impala cookies taste delicious." Castiel praises and Dean's heart warms, a weird wash over his ribcage.

"It ain't much, honest. Me and my sister, Jo, run it." Dean gushes, a gummy smile on his face. 

"You have a sister?" 

"Ah, well, we're close like family. I've known her since we were in diapers. Her girlfriend helps run shop too, the nerd." Dean says fondly. 

"Have you always wanted to run a bakery?" Castiel rubs his red hands together before exhaling on them. Dean pats the back of his pants pocket and takes out the gloves stuffed there, handing them over to Castiel. 

"I don't know." Dean answers honestly, ignoring Castiel's look of surprise. "I baked with my mom when I was younger, I was her little helper but eventually," Dean purses his lips in thought. 

"Deanie, how about you lick it, eh? It's clean, Daddy washed it." John coos low in his throat and Dean blinks at the angry thing in front of him. 

"What's the stuff on it?" Dean points at the smear of something covering the shiny head he's usually supposed to mouth at. John spreads his legs a little wider and angles his cock closer to Dean's face in the dark. 

"It's just the frosting you and mommy made, you liked it didn't you? I saw you lick the bowl clean, trying to catch my attention." 

Dean fists at his boxers, chin wobbling. He wasn't trying to. Was he? 

Dean blinks and drops his hand to his side. Castiel is standing in front of Dean, a deep frown formed on his lips. Dean huffs out a nervous laugh, clenching his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. 

"Sorry. Zoned out for a little. I guess I kinda stopped baking with her for a while but I loved doing it. We would always enter pie contests and won every damn year." Dean licks his lips and forces his legs to move, his erection no longer fully hard but a lazy chub between his legs. "A little while after I moved out, Jo and her girlfriend called me and said they wanted to run a bakery. I said fuck it and joined up, built their place from scratch, took us two years. Haven't really seen how it's been holding up lately."

Castiel watches after him before following the slow pace. "It's holding up wonderfully. It's packed every day." 

Dean's lips twitch upwards. "What made you move here?" 

Castiel sighs. "I don't really like Québec. I've lived there my entire life yet it always felt empty and then when my mother decided to out me to our very devoted Christian family, I decided to leave right after." 

"No shit?" Dean laughs and Castiel joins with his own small chuckles. "At least you got out of that crappy situation." 

Castiel's smile dims and he looks up into Dean's eyes. "And you? Have you gotten out of your "crappy" situation?" 

Dean can only hold the gaze for a few seconds before he looks away. "You're not my therapist right now. It's cold, let's head back." Dean tugs gently on Miracle's leash to get her to stop barking aggressively at a squirrel.

Castiel bends down and picks up Ophelia. "My apologies." 

"Don't sweat it. Like you said, it's hard to turn off." a bit of shame crawls up Dean's spine. 

The walk back home is uncomfortably quiet. 

"Thanks for taking up my offer." Dean tries to make amends and Castiel shakes his head. 

"You don't need to be sorry, Dean. I overstepped a boundary, you should be more upset." Castiel pets Ophelia's head softly as he talks, probably a nervous habit. 

"You were just worried, no? Like a friend would be." Dean unclips the leash from his belt buckle and unlocks his door and Miracle trots in happily. 

"Yes, a friend." Castiel mumbles. "I–" 

Dean raises his eyebrows when Castiel shakes his head. 

And Dean can't say why he feels the need to wrap Castiel in his arms. He can't say why he almost steps forward to press a soft kiss to Castiel's cheeks. 

"Is it alright if I call you the day before I have to have to work?" 

Castiel's looks up quickly. "Of course! Any anxiety you might have I want you to tell me so you don't face any surpise attacks or shut downs." 

Dean grins. "'Course I will." 

The insides of Dean's stomach feels floaty. 

"I should finish unpacking." Castiel tips his head to his door. 

"I can always help, call me too, yeah? If you ever need anything." 

"I will, Dean. Goodbye." 

"See you later!" Dean hates that word. Goodbye. It's such shit. 

Castiel buries his face further in his scarf. "Yes, see you later, Dean." 

Dean watches Castiel walk into his apartment and close the door before he steps into his own. 

Miracle is lapping water out of her bowl, paying no attention to the world around her and Dean pulls his phone out of his pocket. 

5 Notifications 

Sam: I think im gonna be settled in about a week, should we go to mom and dad's then? 

Charlie: answer your phone dipshit! 

Jo: Sam says you're coming back on Monday?! 

Three Idiots That Know How To Whisk: Charlie: DEAN YOU'RE BACK IN TWOBDAYS?

Jo: That's what Sam said!!!

Dean sighs and thumbs at Sam's message first. 

You bringin Eileen? have therapy on Fridays so we can't stay the entire week. 

And instead of replying to Jo and Charlie's texts, he presses the call button on their group chat. 

"Dean!" they both shout into the phone. 

"Calm down thing one and thing two." Dean smiles. "Yeah, I'm back on Monday." 

"Why didn't you tell us?!" 

"The team is back again! All the regulars miss you!" 

"I wanted it to be a surprise, bird brain." Dean laughs at Charlie's offended noise. 

"Don't insult my lady!" Jo bites with no malice. 

Dean's heart stings at that. Don't get him wrong, he's glad Jo found her soulmate when they were teens but he's jealous. He doesn't think that he'll over stop being jealous. 

"How was rehab?" Charlie doesn't sugarcoat her question and Dean doesn't know if he should be grateful for that or not. 

"It was fine. Sam cleaned out all the alcohol before I got back and he's been monitoring me so I'm almost a year clean now."

"That's amazing, Dean. Shit, can you still go to the Roadhouse? Ma wants to see you." 

Dean flops down on the couch and toes off his boots. "Yeah, I can. I'll be drinking fizzy water and Pepsi all night." 

Dean presses his phone between his ear and his shoulder and tugs his pants and boxers down, allowing his cock to flap against his stomach. 

"We gotta get back to work but we're so excited to have you back. Love you!" 

"Love you too." Dean wraps a hand around his cock before dropping his phone onto the couch and thumping at the end call button. He leans his head back against the couch and thumbs at his leaking urethra, digging his nail into hit and bucking his hips into his fist. 

"Oh," Dean curls his toes and uses his other hand to cup at his balls. He hates the feel of his hands, it makes heat rise in his throat and tears well in his eyes but he feels good. His dick is hard and leaking steadily and his balls are already drawing up. 

Dean sinks further into the couch, tightening his fist and peeling back the foreskin. "Fuck me," his thighs tense and relax.

No matter how disgusting it might feel, he'll do it again and again and again because he doesn't know what might happen if he stops or if he doesn't follow the pattern anymore. 

Dean thinks about soft hands, hands larger than his and capable of making him fall apart. He thinks about the clementine still in the doggy bag and the person who gave it to him who smells of rich coffee.

"C-Cas!" Dean's voice cracks, from pleasure or from shame he isn't sure. "I'm–oh, oh!" he spills onto his fist, disgust taking form of the cum staining his hand. 

Dean closes his eyes and sucks in his bottom lip to keep from sobbing. 

He needs a drink. 

Chapter Text

Dean doesn't wake up from nightmares in a panic; a heavy lump sets in his throat blocking him from screaming, his body lays stiff against the impressionable mattress, and occasionally he can feel the sheets below him go wet with his fear. He doesn't wake up panting with wide eyes and a racing heart; he wakes up disgusted and the blanket protecting him from the cold now makes his body run hot.

Luckily Miracle isn't on the bed with him tonight so Dean slips from under his sour sheets and peels off his boxers, throwing them on top of his blanket before yanking the corners of the fitted sheet off the mattress with trembling fingers and creating a ball filled with his messy sheets. 

The laundry room should be opened since Crowley never locks the damn thing. Dean shoves the sheets into his overflowing laundry basket and shivers at the cool breeze between his sticky legs. Dean sighs and pads to the bathroom, half hard cock bobbing between his legs. He reaches up and grabs his rag that hangs on the shower railing to run under warm water from his sink. 

"Pain in the fuckin' ass." Dean mutters as he gently washes under his balls and between his cheeks while using his other hand to cup lazily at his leaking erection. Three pumps later and a firm press against his hole has Dean sighing quietly into open air, cum splattering between his fingers. 

Dean uses his rag to clean up the mess, deciding he might as well wash it along with everything else, before finding his last pair of clean boxers and tugging them over his legs. He bothers to find one of Sam's old shirts and put it on, the fabric brushing over the tops of his thighs. 

Miracle's ears perk up at Dean's shuffling but she remains asleep and Dean pats the top of her head lightly before dumping his laundry detergent and card in his basket and picking it up to rest on his hip. 

Dean yawns, the corners of his lips tearing, and lazily taps his knuckles against the front door before letting it close behind him. 

"Should've worn pants." Dean mutters, curling his toes and shivering as he waits for the elevator. 

It's rare for someone to be down here so late, the possibility of it close to nothing as the lights automatically turn off after 10PM so Dean's a little shocked to see someone sitting atop one of the dryers and blowing smoke outside the screened window. 

"Smokings not allowed." Dean rasps, setting his basket a few washers away and the person startles, almost dropping their joint and coughs, puffs of smoke coming from their mouths. 

"Shit, sorry. I didn't think anybody would come down here." a shiver runs down Dean's spine at the gravelly voice. 

"Cas?" 

Castiel turns his head, dark eyes locking onto Dean's own and Dean's breath hitches.

"Dean," pink juts from Castiel's mouth to wet his lips and he looks down, blowing lightly at the dying joint. It burns bright in the dark, luminating Castiel's lips. "Why are you up so late?" 

"Same reason as you, I imagine." Dean separates his wet sheets by thickness, using three machines so they all wash correctly. 

"Nightmares?" Castiel guesses and Dean uncapps his detergent, tipping it into the soap holders. 

"Fortune telling should'a been your carrier." Dean jokes. Castiel hums and leans his head back, exhaling heavily while letting his shoulders sag. Dean tries not to watch the silhouette of his adams apple bob. He fails miserably. 

"Wanna talk about it?" Dean sets the settings on the washers and presses his card against the reader before pressing start on all of them. 

Castiel hesitates as he lifts the blunt to his lips. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?" 

"Only on Fridays." Dean counters and walks over, leaning against the wall in front of Castiel's legs, crossing his arms over his chest. 

Castiel stares down at him, eyes hodded and a little red around the edges. Dean presses his legs together.

"I don't want to tell you anything you aren't ready for." Castiel shakes his head with a small smile. 

"C'mon. You tell me something, I'll tell you something." 

Castiel huffs out a laugh. "Bargaining?" 

"It'll work, won't it?" Dean's lips curls upward. 

Castiel shifts on the dryer, staring down at the rough rolling paper between his fingers. "Sometimes I think about what my clients have to go through and I always think my trauma is lacking in comparison but then my nightmares are filled with my mother hitting me and I think its something to be dismissed and it's not a big deal but I wake up and," Castiel rubs at his face with his free hand. "I wake up and I'm terrified." 

Dean bites the inside of his cheek, a weight tumbling down on his heart and effectively crushing it. "Everyone's trauma matters, no matter the intensity." 

"I know, I just–" Castiel groans in frustration and Dean's cock perks up at the noise. "I feel guilty for feeling traumatized." 

"I do too." Dean admits lowly. "I feel like I don't have the time to be sad about what happened, other people have been through worse, what space do I have to complain?" 

"Exactly." Castiel breathes. 

"Sometimes I think I deserved it." Dean whispers.

The sounds of heavy laundry tumbling is too loud in Dean's ears; his heart beats loudly in his chest and he shifts nervously.

"Can I hug you?"

Dean sucks in a shaky breath and nods. "If you're okay with it."

Castiel slides off the dryer, joint abandoned on top, and wraps his thick arms around Dean's middle, squeezing the small fat there. Dean raises his own arms and wraps them around Castiel's neck.

"You're gonna be okay." Castiel mumbles into his ear, rubbing his back soothingly. 

Dean's dick twitches and grows between them, leaking steadily. 

Dean's feels Castiel's cheeks go warm. 

"'M sorry." Dean wants the ground to swallow him whole. 

"Don't be." Castiel holds Dean closer, hands sliding down until they reach the hem of his shirt just to push underneath the fabric and trail his cold hands up Dean's sides.

"Cas," Dean breathes, boxers tightening. There's a rule about this isn't there? What they're doing is unprofessional, wrong. Dean's heart slams against his chest at the thought of it. "Tighter?" 

Castiel presses Dean flush against his body, running his nose up the side of Dean's neck. Castiel smells heavy with the dirt of the earth and burning sticks; Dean's mind goes dizzy with it. 

Moonlight shines weakly on them, streams of it lighting naked thighs and muscled arms. Castiel's body is hot against his, against where their skin touches and Dean can feel Castiel's heart beat just as fast as his. 

Dean's cock rests against Castiel's thigh, dripping clear fluid on his pajama pants. 

They stay like that for a while. Castiel stroking Dean and Dean breathing in the heavily smell of Castiel, trying not to cum on his thigh. Castiel trails his finger tips up Dean's spine. 

"Dean I–" 

The dryer buzzer sounds loudly, jolting Dean away from Castiel causing his back to smack against the wall. A tingle worms it's way up Dean's neck and he presses a hand against his frantic heart. 

Castiel turns to open the dryer and empty it into his basket. Still crouched, Castiel bounces on his toes in thought.

"I'm sorry, Dean." 

"Don't be. It's just, um," Dean sucks in his bottom lip. It's just what, exactly? 

Castiel stands up. arms flexing as he heaves the basket up with him, shifting it to his hip so he can grab the blunt. "My apologies. I'll see you on Friday. I hope work goes good." 

Without waiting for a response, Castiel leaves the laundry room leaving Dean in the dark. 

Dean palms lazily at his cock and shudders. 

He can still feel the heat from where Castiel was pressed against him. 

Dean unlocks the back door of the bakery, letting Miracle through the door first and stepping in after. He sets his duffle bag on the floor haphazardly, tugging out an extra food and water bowl to set against the open space next to the door. He doesn't have to fill them until later. Dean straightens his back and inhales deeply; their office still smells of pastries and printer paper.

Dean curses when Miracle jumps on the couch, nuzzling into one of the many pillows they have stacked on it. 

Jo will probably kill him later.

Dean looks around the office, nostalgia blanketing over him. Charlie's action figures are still lined up high on their bookshelf. Jo's bartender books are stacked carelessly in a corner and Dean's old guitar is resting on top of the stack. 

Dean rolls his shoulders, shrugging his jacket off and throwing it over the desk chair before walking out of the office and towards the front of the shop but stops short when he hears a loud clang and an all too familiar voice curse loudly. 

Dean stifles a snort and walks towards their kitchens, noting that their display case is more than halfway full, and leans against their open frame and watch Jo sweep up the flour spilled on the floor. "Now what if there were children around Jo?" 

Jo whips her head around, her ponytail whipping to the side in his rush and her eyes brighten. 

"Dean! Shit, man!" She brushes her flour covered hands on her apron before rushing and pulling Dean into a fierce hug. "I've missed you." she mumbles into his chest, voice a little choked up. 

"Don't go soft on me now. It was only two years." Dean ruffles her head and Jo tightens her thin arms around his waist. Her weight, her warmth, it's different from Castiel's. 

"Two years of me worrying my ass off and keepin' this place afloat without you." Jo laughs wetly and Dean strokes her head before kissing the top of it. 

"Yeah, I'm here now so cut it with the chick flicks." 

Jo scoffs and releases her embrace. "How are you? I mean? How is it being sober?" 

Dean cringes. He remembers in the meetings the center had they always asked him and he never knew how to respond. He was almost always too busy screwing the nurses or picking at his healing cuts to make them bleed again. 

But if he were to really think about it, to answer honestly, he would say being sober is horrible. He wants to drink. He wants to meet his favorite waiter at a local diner who always hands him his menu with unmarked pills tucked between laminated pages. He wants to crawl out of his skin or be able to magically replace his liver anytime he goes on a bender for a few days or months. 

"It's good," he says instead, watching Jo's shoulders drop in relief. "I'm good." and really, is he convincing himself or her? 

"Bobby and Ellen say they better not catch your ass back there again." Jo grins before it fades and she leans against one of their metal baking tables. "You're headin' up to Mary and John's for the holidays?" 

Dean busies himself by fixing his old apron that's hung up on a silver hook and Jo clears her throat pointedly. 

"It won't be a full week." he mumbles with a shrug. 

"What if it does end up being a full week? What if it ends up being two?" she challenges.

"Jo–" 

"You can't go back there!" 

Dean closes his eyes tightly and sighs. "That night," he stops himself, chewing the inside of his cheek. "I wish you never saw it."

John exhales hot in Dean's ear, big body shuddering over the underaged one beneath him. Dean doesn't like this position, his knees always bruise and John doesn't let him put on any boxers afterward. John likes to call him a cum bucket and watch his cum drip out of him. But John is drunk tonight, drunk and tired so maybe Dean will get it easy tonight.

Dean jolts on the floor, moved by John's sloppy thrusts, and sucks in his bottom lip to hold in a sob. 

It's almost over. It's almost over. It's almost over. Dean repeats the mantra in his head until the feeling of sticky lube on his thighs and heat in his stomach becomes to much for him and tears stain the carpet below him and he lets out a throaty groan. 

"Atta boy," John pinches Dean's nipple. "Knew you'd like it eventually." 

Maybe it's because John is loud, groaning low and deep in Dean's ear because Mary is working late tonight, that Dean doesn't hear it. Maybe it's because John is grinding his zipper into Dean's ass, leaving angry marks that he'll have to but polysporin on tomorrow. Maybe it's because Dean is too focused on the searing pain in his lower back and knows that he'll have to clean the blood out of the carpet before going back to sleep, that he doesn't hear the creak on top of the stairs. 

That he doesn't see wide, innocent eyes staring at the scene in front of her, her stomach churning and making her sick. He doesn't see it until John's whiskey breath burns his ear and semen shoots inside of him because only then does he look up and see Jo. Jo who has a hand covering her mouth and tears in her eyes. Jo who doesn't know what to do because they don't teach this to fourteen year olds in school. 

That night, when Dean is scrubbing the blood out the carpet and John is sitting, watching, Dean explains in a quiet voice what he saw. 

"You and Sam stay at Bobby's for a bit. Get her to keep quiet and then come back." 

"Yes, sir." 

Dean moves in with Bobby and Ellen at fifteen with only one goal: keep Jo quiet.

Sam and Dean move back in two months later and John stops having sex with him in the living room. 

"Did you," Jo sighs. "Does Sam know?" 

"It's none of his business." 

"He's studying for the bar right? I'm sure he has some lawyer friends who can–" 

"Jo–" 

"John deserves to go to jail!" Jo shouts, cheeks an angry red and Dean rubs his eyes tiredly. 

The bell hanging above the front door rings throughout the bakery and Dean uses it as his escape. 

"This conversation isn't over." Jo promises and Dean turns on his heels, making his way to the cash register while blinking back the tears threating to spill over.

"Welcome to Deal With The Devil, what are ya havin' today?" Dean looks up with his signature grin before his brain catches up to the person in front of him. 

"Hello, Dean." Castiel greets, a light pink dusting his cheeks. 

"Cas," Dean looks over Castiel's outfit, his previous half chub now thickening in his jeans. "What can I get you?" 

"A large coffee, black, please. And a honey cookie." 

"Comin' right up." Dean tugs a pair of gloves out their box and slips them on. He starts by making the starting the coffee first and turning his head to call into the kitchen. "When is Charlie coming in?" 

"An hour. She's stuck coding for her class." Jo responds and Dean waits for the coffee to start dipping before getting a compostable paper bag and putting their honey drizzled sugar cookie inside of it. Dean thinks about putting another one in there but the rational part of his brain scolds him. 

"You have clients this early in the morning?" Dean slides the cookie over the counter as Castiel taps his card gently against the reader. It's only seven in the morning, the sun has just barely woken up themselves.

"Not until nine, I was up for a while. I was hoping you would call but it looks like you had no anxieties about work?" Castiel's peers at Dean curiously. 

Dean licks his lips and he feels pre stain his boxers when Castiel follows the movement with his eyes. "Yeah, no, I'm good." Dean clears his throat when it comes up in pitch. 

Castiel lowers his voice a little. "About last night–" 

"What about it? Did something happen?" Dean cuts in harsher than he meant to and he turns around, grabbing a recyclable cup to pour Castiel's coffee in. 

Castiel stays quiet and Dean looks at him from the side of his eye, eyebrows frowning when Castiel's fingers tighten on the paper bag. 

"Of course." Dean's heart clenches when Castiel looks up with a forced smile when Dean slides the coffee over to him. "I'll see you on Friday, Mr. Winchester."

Dean watches Castiel's back as he leaves before telling Jo he's headed to the bathroom. Once there he locks himself in the closest stalls and unzip his pants before pulling out his dick and rubbing the underside of it with his finger. 

Why is Jo so concerned about him going back home? It's fine. Dean can handle himself. John won't touch him anymore. 

Dean sucks in a shaky breath and slips his hand underneath is shirt so he can flick the hardening pink nub. 

His hands don't feel like his own, the thought of who's it actually is makes his bottom lip wobble and bile rise in his throat. Dean squeezes his cock and tightens his fingers around the nub. Cum dribbles over his fingers and his balls pulse lazily. 

Dean closes his eyes as he leans his head back and sighs. "How gross." 

Chapter Text

Dean wonders what it must be like to be in love. Actually, no, he wonders what it might be like to fall in love. He isn't sure if there's much of a difference aside from being with your desired partner or the progress getting there.

He wants to know how it must feel; how one fleeting glance or a brush of hands can make two people so disgustingly happy. He wants it. No matter how he may bitch about how sappy it must be, how co-dependent those people perceive themselves to be. He wants to be greedy and selfish and co-dependent too. 

Apparently, he has to love himself first. A line said by toxic positive influencers and a lady that made him bend over and cough twice when he was admitted. 

"Love yourself. Love your worth and then it'll get better." she had said while snapping her gloves off and handing him an ugly blue uniform that reminded him of diapers.

Dean is worthless. What is there to love that hasn't been tainted? That hasn't been touched? 

Dean stares at the shower head, its shiny metal looking brand new even though he's lived here for over a year; the soap bars that hang on his shower rack are barely used as well.

Dean's heart staggers and tears well in his eyes, he wonders, briefly, if he has the right to be this tired. He's only been back to work for five days and it feels like he's out of touch. Like working is distracting him from being distracted, from laying in bed and scrolling aimlessly though Instagram.

Dean runs a shaky hand through his hair and squeezing his eyes shut. "Such bullshit." 

Naked and uncomfortable, he drops his head back with a huff and turns around to crawl back into bed under his two comforters and weighted blanket with the curtains drawn shut. He barely has time to get settled under the warmth before his phone buzzes violently from under his pillows. Dean paws for it blindly and puts the phone on speaker.

"Hello?" Dean sighs as his eyes slide shut. At the sound of his voice, Miracle trots in from the living room and hops onto the bed, jolting it and making Dean's head dip uncomfortably until she settle right above his head.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Winchester."

An odd gushy feeling mashes inside of Dean. "Hiya, Cas. How's it going?" 

"I'm good, Mr. Winchester. And you?" 

Dean shrugs even though Castiel can't see him and plays with the pads on the bottom of Miracle's paw. "You can call me Dean, Mr. Winchester is a little too formal."

On the other line, Castiel inhales and exhales lowly. "I believe I may of caused tension between us after, um, the laundry room incident. It was shown to me that I made you uncomfortable so I would prefer to say Mr. Winchester to reestablish the therapist and client relationship." 

Dean blinks up at the ceiling, an uncomfortable wet lodge forming in his throat. "You didn't–I wasn't uncomfortable. I just didn't want Jo to overhear or know about us–not that there is an us–I just," Dean closes his eyes tightly. He's not making the situation better. 

"Yes. Yes, there is no us, as you put it." Castiel clears his throat. "I was calling to tell you that today's session won't be held at the office but at my apartment. It looks like the building wasn't properly insulated and caused a few problems. Are you okay with the change of location or we could push this Thursday and Friday's appointment to next week and do another session the next Monday evening." 

Dean's mind briefly flickers through variations of what Cas' apartment might look like. "Yeah I'm okay with the location change." 

"I usually wouldn't do this with a client but I should be there in half an hour, I have a spare key in the flower pot on the balcony and I see that ours are quite close. You could let yourself in and wait in the office?" Dean's eyebrows twitch downwards at the nervousness in Castiel's words.

"That's where you put your spare?" Dean jokes, trying to lighten the situation.

Castiel lets out an airy chuckle. "I believed I would have reliable neighbors to get it for me. As you can see, I wasn't wrong. The office is the extra room down the hall from the kitchen. I'll see you soon, Mr. Winchester." 

"Bye, Cas." Dean thumbs at his phone until it greys out before turning off. 

Dean taps the screen twice before glancing at the time. Shit, it's almost seven. Castiel is expecting him to already be there. 

Dean rubs at his eyes tiredly before rolling out of bed and tugging on a pair of boxers he suspects are clean and loose fitting clothing rather than his common jeans and flannel. He also doesn't bother with his heavy boots and instead opts for a pair of fluffy house slippers. Miracle watched him curiously, her ears lifting and dropping and head tilting side to side. 

Dean pats her head again before making his way to the living room Dean shudders violently and curses as he opens the balcony door, small, innocent snowflakes drift into the living room as he steps outside. 

"Huh." Dean purses his lips as he stares at the yellow flower pot filled with soil and a key poking out of it like a blooming flower. He carefully stands on the bottom metal railings and braces his hand on the icy top rail as he reaches over and takes the key in between his fingers. 

"Sonovabitch, it's cold." Dean sniffles and uses his red, shaking hands to close the balcony door. Miracle, who seems to have come back from Dean's room, is chewing viciously on a rubber duck so Dean decided it's best to leave her here. He'll take her for a walk when he gets back. 

"Be good." Dean calls half-heartedly knowing that Miracle won't be pulling out from the fantasy land she's in right now. His knuckles graze the door frame and bruise at the three repeated knocks as he leaves.

Dean taps the mulch covered key on the door knob, biting at his lip anxiously. He can go in, he got permission, it's okay. Dean grinds his teeth together and pushes the key into the lock; his heart jumps in his chest when the door makes a unlocking click. 

Castiel's apartment smells like coffee grounds and dirt. 

Dean pushes the door open just enough so that he can enter before closing it softly. A loud, familiar meow can be heard from a closed room door. Dean takes a look around.

Off white curtains that are open just halfway to allow a steady stream of light to hit plants and their overlapping leaves atop sturdy Ikea shelves; Dean takes note of lack of television along with a dining table and chairs; the only reason the house looks full is because of the many plants decorating the house and a plush dark blue couch that goes well with the dark wood interior. The minimalism looks so lonely; a stark contrast to Dean's thrifted leather couch; pilled up vinyls that hold his dying, or dead, succulents; and subtle holes in the walls.

Dean rubs the underside of the key, eyes flickering towards curious paintings hung up on cream colored walls. He comes to a stop and tilts his head, trying to figure out the painting; its a set of scribbled sketches where the pencil hasn't been lifted up from the paper, Dean can make out a thigh and arms but they seem bound. Dean shakes his head. He's probably wrong. 

Dean looks away, a small tingle of curiosity in the back of his head, and rests his hand on the door knob next and slowly pushes it open, a line of light widening as he steps inside. Dean makes a low noise in the back of his throat, looking around the room curiously. 

"Should've expected it to look the same." Dean mutters, walking forward until he makes it towards the heavy wood desk so he can set the key down. Dean squints his eyes as the sunlight glares at them and lifts his hand to shield them as he walks to the curtains and tugs on one until the sun is partially covered. Dean drops his arm, glancing down for a second and back up before frowning his eyebrows and looking down again and crouching down. 

"Maybe it's a cat collar?" Dean uses his index finger to lift up a black collar, maybe around an inch thick that looks like it can fit around his wrist. There's three buttons where it can be fastened to adjust the size. Dean frowns critically at it; it looks brand new, no noticeable wears or tearing. Maybe Ophelia hasn't worn this one yet? 

"Is my floor more interesting than the couch, Mr. Winchester?" 

Dean's ears tense and pull back at the sudden noise and his heart jerks in his chest. He takes a deep breath before pressing the palms of his hands down on his knees and pushing himself up before turning around.

Castiel shoulders off his coat with a gentle smile in Dean's direction before he turns to drape it over the desk chair. Dean's gaze lingers on the side of Castiel's face and the corners of his lips tilt downward. Are those tear tracks? 

"I found this on the floor. Maybe Ophelia dragged it in?" Dean sets the lightweight leather on the desk, earning a side glance from Castiel before a low, almost menacing hum shakes Dean's core.

"It was meant to be a gift for my last partner, they didn't take kindly to it." Castiel explains shortly with a small shrug. 

"Oh, so it's a bracelet?" Dean wonders aloud and Castiel straightens up and looks at Dean with a raised eyebrow before his face relaxes and he gathers a notebook and pen. 

"I guess, yes, it could be a bracelet of sorts. How was your week?" Castiel gestures for Dean to sit down on the couch before sitting down in the chair across. 

Dean sits down with a small huff and rises then drops his shoulders. "For now it's been normal. How was yours?" 

"A little overwhelming but I was able to work through it and feel a bit better. Do you mind going into a little bit more detail about what normal might look like to you?" 

Dean tilts his head to the side as he stares at Castiel's eyelashes and a heavy weight of something settles in his stomach and a small tingle sends a shiver down his spine. 

Castiel stops writing and peers up through his eyelashes. "Dean?" 

Dean blinks in a slowly and licks his lips in thought. "I worked all week, no long shifts since I'm just getting back into it, I walked Miracle and made plans to go visit my family for the holidays." 

"Is the visit with your sister Jo?"

"Uh, no actually, my brother and I are going to head back home to see our mom and, yeah." Dean's throat closes a little at the thought of saying "dad" and he clenches his jaw. 

Castiel nods slowly, hand moving elegantly on yellow pages. "Are you excited?" 

"Yeah. It's been a while since we've been up there." 

"I know that our first session left off on an awkward note but I wanted to know how you're feeling now that your brother has been gone for a little more than a week. I assume he didn't leave on a negative note." 

"It's a little quiet and there's no hair everywhere except for Miracle's now, so," Dean shrugs, glancing away for a second before looking at Castiel again. 

"Okay. That's not what I'm asking, how do you feel about it? Do you still feel responsible because you didn't—" 

Dean shrinks into the couch and pins his ears back to try to block out what Castiel is saying.

"Why were you crying?" he snaps, interrupting Castiel who doesn't look upset but a little shocked and understanding. Dean looks down at his lap and blinks back the tears getting ready to fall from his eyes. This is so shit.

"My doctor gave me some unfortunate news; I haven't been feeling the best this week and it seems that I have a small case of Soulmate Rejection. They believe that it will most likely worsen over time but gave me some medication to lessen the pain." 

"Isn't the worst case scenario for SR–" a long needle pierces Dean's heart and he looks down to rub at his chest with a short wince. Castiel's eyes go soft and sad around the edges. 

"When I first met them, I had a feeling that this would be the case." Castiel says. "I've come to terms with it." 

Dean scoffs and rolls his eyes. "It's just another reason why soulmates are bullshit. I mean, why allow the universe to pick your partner? What if their abusive? What if they're a murderer? And if they don't even feel for you, death is just waitin' around the corner."

"If I recall, you said you didn't have one. Are those reasons why you choose not to accept your soulmate?" 

Dean looks up at the ceiling. "People like me, we ain't got soulmates. We can't even love ourselves, how are we supposed to love someone who we, inherently, already do?" Dean argues, irritated and his thighs clench and unclench. 

"Who said you had to love yourself?" Castiel asks, genuine curiosity in his voice which makes Dean raise his head to look at those baby blues head on. "From a young age, children are taught to love themselves just as they would others but what if you don't love others, that child is then seeking validation in something they possibly can't feel and they'll mistake abuse or manipulation as love. I believe that instead of being taught to love themselves, they should learn to tolerate themselves; to live with themselves. Love is easy to fake but learning to be so aware of yourself and what you can handle is harder." 

Dean purses his lips, the gears turning in his head. 

Castiel takes a deep breath, shifts in his chair, and stares at Dean. "I don't love my soulmate because I don't know them on a personal level. I know them on a work level, a professional level, but my affections don't go that far. I need connection and deep intimacy that I definitely won't get or feel from others which is why I tolerate things that don't overstep my boundaries. So now, I can learn to start tolerating my soulmate while having boundaries instead of loving them off the bat because then it would be fake." 

"It's kinda like how you can love a person but not like them." Dean tries to connect and Castiel nods. 

"And when you say people like you do you mean people who are hypersexual?" 

Dean goes to open his mouth but blinks, frowns, and closes it. Now that he thinks about it, he knows that a couple people from his last group actually did find their soulmates.

"I think maybe I mean people who go through the type of shit I have or whatever or people who don't really care to live." the words feel clumsy and odd coming from his mouth. 

"Is there a reason you would like to tell me why you don't care to live?" Castiel asks carefully. 

Dean shrugs again. "I mean, I'm not really useful anymore. I'm not being used anymore." 

"Like a toy?" 

"Yeah, I guess." 

"Do you see yourself as a toy?" 

Something warm and damp falls on Dean's thumb and he rubs at his eyes aggressively. "I don't fuckin' know." 

Castiel sets his pen and notebook down and slides a box of tissues over closer to Dean. "We don't have a lot of time left so I'm going to wrap it up here. Do you think you could complete a small homework assignment for me?" 

Dean nods with a small sniffle. 

"You can journal this or keep it in your mind for next session tomorrow. I would like you to find five things you tolerate about yourself and five things you tolerate about others. That's all. Five things for you and five things for other people." 

"I think I can do that." Dean mumbles. 

"Good–perfect, that's perfect." Castiel smiles softly. "Do you want me to walk you out?" 

"'S fine." Dean looks down at the floor as he stands, clenching his fists together as he tries not to let anymore tears spill. "I'll see you tomorrow, doc." 

"See you tomorrow, Mr. Winchester." 

Dean is only two steps into his apartment before Miracle is circling around him and hot tears start sliding down his cheeks. 

"What's Daddy supposed to do without you, Deanie?" John husks low and deep as he runs his hand through Dean's sweat-matted hair. "So useful, huh." 

Dean's stomach is tight with nausea and saliva pools from the sides of his mouth as John lets out a heavy sigh and tightens his hand on Dean's hair. 

"You ain't gonna be any good if you leave Daddy, okay? My little solider." 

Dean takes gasping breaths and uses the back of his hand to muffle any noise coming from his mouth. 

He wants to be useful again. 

Chapter Text

"I think I want to propose to Charlie." Jo confesses, putting down a freshly dried glass just to pick up a wet one and dry it down.

Dean peers up at Jo from underneath his eyelashes with his pen resting on his bottom lip, and makes a curious noise in the back of his throat. 

"This Christmas at Ma's house. Whole family's gonna be there." 

"Even Doctor Bad Ass?" Dean questions, eyes drifting back down to blank collage ruled paper. 

"Yup, apparently we got some new folk that's visiting. House is gonna be packed like a can of sardines, you're comin' right?" 

"Dunno yet. Sam wants Eileen to come up and meet Mary and John." Dean explains, teething around the tip of the pen. Jo huffs and puts the glass down, a startling clink sounds their empty shop causing Dean's ears to pull back and a flinch to startle his eyes back up to Jo.

"What does Sam's business got to do with you? Plus you ain't seen Ma in years. Dad's worried too." 

"Dad is always worried, Jo." Dean reasons with a light roll of his eyes. 

"Oh jeez I wonder why. C'mon, you don't wanna miss your sister gettin' engaged do you?" Jo knocks the bottom of the glass gently on Dean's forehead.

"Who said Charlie is even going to say yes to your ass?" Dean teases.

The bell signaling that someone has entered chimes and Jo, who's mouth snaps shut despite having a comeback, sticks her tongue out at Dean while taking both wet and dry glasses with her to the back.

Dean shakes his head fondly as he slowly makes his move to rise from the booth to get back to the front of the register. 

"You look like you're thinking hard. Something the matter?" Castiel's breath ghosts along the shell of Dean's ear causing Dean to slap his hand over it, reel back in surpise, and mutter a string of curses as his heart beats loudly in his chest. 

"My apologies. My brother did tell me I struggle with personal space." Castiel smiles apologetically and Dean's insides warm. 

"No worries. It's all good in the hood." Dean shuts his eyes tightly. Oh heaven above, strike him down now. He shouldn't even be saying that. 

"Did that notebook do something towards you?" Castiel jerks his chin lightly and Dean casts a brief glance at it. 

"No, uh, it's just the homework you assigned. I can't find anything." Dean scratches the back of his head nervously.

Castiel gestures next to Dean and Dean makes quick work to scoot closer towards the window. 

"Are you searching to please me or yourself?" Castiel asks gently as he takes a seat next to Dean. 

Dean's eyebrows raise towards his hair line and he squints at Castiel suspiciously. "That a trick question?" 

"I don't think it is. Are you trying to get this done in order to please me or are you actually trying to find things to better yourself and how people treat you?" 

The corners of Dean's lips crease downward. "People treat me fine." 

"Just fine?" Castiel asks. 

"I mean, if someone wants to spit on me it's not like I'm gonna say no, ya know?" Dean jokes, a heavy pool of uncomfortableness resting in his gut. 

Castiel tilts his head to the side slowly and lets a pregnant pause settle between them before speaking up. "Is that something someone has done to you in a sexual manner?"

A brief imagine of the past flickers in Dean's brain causing his thighs to tighten and press together. "Has someone done it to you?" he dodges.

The small uptick of Castiel's mouth makes Dean's curiosity itch. 

"Wouldn't you like to know?" 

"That's why I asked." Dean leans into Castiel's space with eager ears. 

"I've had my fair share of partners do it, though I prefer if I'm the one doing it." 

"Look at you doc, gettin' down and dirty." Dean jokes, and maybe it's because he's having a but of a day but something about Castiel getting intimate with others doesn't feel right in his gut. 

"Would you like to answer my question now?" 

Dean purses his lips. "You asked me to find what I tolerate so I guess I'm doing it for you." 

"Why are you trying to please me when it's something for you that will help you set boundaries?" 

The cogs in Dean's brain stop turning and Castiel raises his eyebrows. 

"Boundaries are important for every relationship, platonic and romantic. I'm sure that someone has done something that has made you uncomfortable which crossed a boundary you didn't know you had." Castiel explains gently. "I don't want you to please me. I want you to become more comfortable with setting a line that I and others can't cross." 

Dean chews the inside of his cheek as his brain starts to come back online. "I can like, write shit that people do that I like or that I want them to do?" 

"Of course, it's encouraged. You're so good." 

And that's a slip, right? The praise that rolls out of Castiel's mouth and has Dean wet in his jeans and a wave of goosebumps up his back. Castiel seems to notice Dean's stunned silence and his lips press together. 

"I'm sorry–" 

"It's cool. It's...I liked it." 

Castiel's eyes widen a fraction before he schools his features and gives Dean a small, kind smile "That's something you could write then. I should get going now, Mr. Winchester" 

"You didn't come to order anything? Dean gestures at the display case with his pen, wanting Castiel to stay around for just a bit longer. 

"Oh no, I just wanted to check in on you. I didn't remember if you worked Fridays or not so I came in just to check." 

Dean shakes his head. "When we were open all day I would take super late shifts but Charlie is out because of exams so I'm covering." 

"I see. It's not too stressful is it?" 

"Not until the afternoon or a Karen comes in the morning. But usually I just," Dean makes a lewd gesture with his hand. "To calm down." 

Castiel squints his eyes, tilts his head, and looks Dean up and down slowly.

"I see. I should get going but I'll see you tonight for our session." Castiel ducks his head and gives a short wave before turning around and leaving the bakery; the bell's chime mocking Dean in a way that he can't explain. 

Dean leans back into the cushion of the booth and exhales loudly. 

Why is his heart so quiet now? 

"You can't fuck him." Jo chastises playfully as she emerges from the back. 

At Dean's silence Jo gapes openly at him. "No." 

"Jo–" 

"You want to–" 

"Jo!" 

"Your therapist! You want to fuck your therapist!" Jo exclaims loudly, slamming herself down in the booth across from him. 

"Say it louder why don't you." Dean groans smacking his head on the table. 

"I've read that some people got the hots for the person listening to their darkest secrets but I didn't think it was—" 

"How did you feel when you figured out Charlie was your soulmate?" Dean interrupts, hoping to do anything to get out of this horrible conversation. 

Jo blinks then a warm smile, one that makes the little voice in Dean's head groan with jealously, spreads across her face. "It felt like my heart was going to explode. I got a massive headache and felt the sudden urge to pee and cry. I felt this tug in my bellybutton that hurt so fuckin' bad until I went up and talked to her." 

Dean bites the inside of his cheek. 

"Why? You think you and Blue Eyes are soulmates?" Jo taps her hands on the table excitedly. 

"Don't be ridiculous. You know my chances are slim to none." Dean rolls his eyes as he lifts his head up. 

Jo's cheeks jut out and she falls back against the booths cushions with a huff. "That's a shame. You and him would look real cute together." 

"I definitely want to be the reason he gets his licence taken away." Dean mutters under his breath as the bell chimes and a steady trickle of customers start coming in. 

"You got the front?" Jo gestures to the register and Dean waves his hand in a lazy affirmation as he closes the journal and pushes it to the side. 

Dean pushes himself out of the booth and onto his feet, fake smiling at the customers waiting patiently at the till. His mind wanders back to the journal and its empty pages. 

Finding five things shouldn't be as hard as it is. 

Dean shifts on his feet, biting the insides of his cheeks as he waits for Castiel's door to open. There's an odd crick in his neck and a horrible pool of empitness deep in his gut. 

"Dean?" 

Dean digs his nails in the palm of his hand and pins his ears back as he looks up. "Hi, hey, sorry, zoned out for a bit." 

"Are you feeling alright?" Castiel steps to the side as he opens the door wider. Behind him moonlight has spilled into accessible parts of the living room through open curtains, highlighting dust particles and making the area look surreal enough that Dean has a hard time wondering if it's reality or not. 

Dean does a quick bob of his head, walking into the apartment. "I couldn't," a nervous ball gathers in Dean's thought and he subconsciously jerks his head to the side anxiously. 

The short click of the door closing and Castiel's socked feet moving to wall in front of him make Dean have to pee. 

"You couldn't what, Dean?" Castiel asks calmly, eyebrows frowned and corners of his lips turned downward. 

"I couldn't find five things. I'm sorry." Dean isn't sure what he expects Castiel to due with a small confession like this; a grown man can't write down a couple things that make his hair stand on end, how pathetic. 

He wants to be hit, as weird as it may sound. He wants to hurt for being so disappointing and how odd that is. John would always hit Dean for lacking, for being disappointing, for not enjoying the things that is mostly heard in the confession booths of abusive churches. 

A passing heat across Dean's backside reminds him of the pain and his pants go tight. Both his face and his chest are hot and he can feel a rough hand gently pat his hair. 

"I'm not disappointed. It's okay, it's alright. You tried and you did good and I'm so proud of you, Dean." Castiel encourages softly. "Thank you for trying, you're so good." 

Dean sucks in a sharp breath that leads to a small coughing fit then sniffles noisily. "'M sorry. I dunno why 'm crying." 

"Crying isn't something to apologize for. When you're around me please don't ever apologize for expressing emotion." 

Dean shuffles closer to Castiel and rests his head on Castiel's shoulder, sniffling occasionally as his tears die down.

"He liked when I cried sometimes." Dean mumbles around wet lips; tears and snot soaking into the soft material of Castiel's sweater "I'm prettier when I cry." 

"Is that what he would say?" Castiel asks carefully and Dean nods.

Castiel lets out a hum. "I don't know about him but I think you're pretty all the time." 

More tears well up and slide down Dean's face and his knees buckle a bit. "I'm tired." 

"I'll take you home." 

Dean closes his eyes and sniffles once more. "'M sorry." 

Castiel smiles sadly and wipes away a stray tear from Dean's face. "I would do it a thousand times over." 

Chapter Text

There's sweat covering his body; it makes the sheets on his body feel unusually heavy and unbearable; awkward crevices of his body are stuck to the thick comforter he never takes off his bed. And maybe, hopefully, the warm dampness underneath him is just more sweat. 

A swooping wave of nausea makes Dean groan weakly and turn to his side as he rubs his belly. As he shifts an uncomfortable wetness between his legs become more noticeable and he sucks in a shaky breath. 

Dean isn't sure if he zoned out too much or if he fell back asleep but when he's conscious of his surroundings one more, a short scuffle on the floor and a quiet clink next to the coffee table is more than enough to have him locked in place. Dean isn't the one to pray; his past confessions to the Christian God has brought him nothing, has helped him with nothing, but the sudden urge to whisper a short line has crawled its way up his throat. 

Dean sucks in his bottom lip as tears slide across his nose and his eyes flicker back and forth, clenching his legs together with a bated breath. 

"Are you awake?" Castiel asks quietly. There's a short moment of silence. "Is it okay if you nod for me? I need you to answer a few questions for me." 

Dean clenches his jaw to keep it from wobbling and nods stiffly. He hates questions.

"I noticed that you peed the bed, that's nothing bad, it happens. I did notice you sweating earlier so I ran you a bath for when you wake up, would you like me to carry you there?" 

Dean's cheeks burn with shame and tears well up in his eyes. 

"Would you like some water first?" Castiel asks again, patiently, so gentle and patient it makes Dean want to cry. Dean shakes his head, he probably can't hold it down. 

"Okay, we'll try again after. Do you think you are ready to get up?" 

Dean shakes his head again. 

"Okay, no problem. Last question: do you want some music? I saw your vinyl collection." 

Dean takes into account the slight throbbing in his head and the subtle ache in his ear and nods. It's maybe a minute or two before a soft lull of classical music plays. 

"I thought your genre of music might be to stimulating." Castiel explains. "It's a little over five in the morning and Miracle has done a bit of whining so I'm going to take her out. I'll only be twenty minutes." 

Dean makes a weak noise in the back of his throat in acknowledgement. 

"Maybe see if you can make it to the tub. Don't worry about the sheets. I'll clean them when I get back." 

There's a moment of silence before a soft click of his bedroom door closing and Miracle's muffled bark through the thick wood. 

Dean opens his eyes to stare at the darkness of his green sheets and exhales shakily. The smell of himself causes an acidic wave of bile to rise in his throat; he knows it smells, he knows he has to shower and get up but he's so tired; his limbs are declining any signal his brain sends to them. 

Is he doing it for attention? Dean's eyebrows twitch in frustration. Who would do this? Who would sit in their own piss and sadness for attention? 

Dean's bottom lip trembles as his mind begins it's loop of unnecessary questions. 

What if he really is doing it for attention? What if he feels better an hour or two from now? What if he is faking? What if, what if, what if, an endless loop of anxious belittlement. 

Dean releases a shaky breath and with a messy sniffle, a wave of nausea, and drying underwear, he uses one hand to slowly push himself up from the bed, grimacing at the coldness around his thighs. 

"Up, up, up." he whispers into the dimly lit room. Dean's skin feels like a sagging weight dragging his body down and even though he ate plenty yesterday, his hunger yearns as if his stomach is touching his spine. 

The pads of Dean's toes touch the cold hardwood floor and a violent shudder racks his body. 

"C'mon." Dean fists the sheets below him as he slightly starts to rock back and forth. "Make it to the washroom." Dean mutters, scooting forward on the bed in order for both bottoms of his feet to meet the floor. He lets out a small exhale of relief before slowly rising and standing on Bambi like legs. 

Getting to the washroom is more difficult then Dean would like to admit; he knocks his hip into the frame of the bed and each step agitates the blooming chafe between his thighs. 

Eventually, he makes it to the washroom and sure enough the tub is filled with water. A swell of appreciation grows in Dean's heart at the sight of it. 

Hooking his thumbs into his sleeping pants, Dean tugs it below his hips and lets them fall to the floor before he takes a few steps towards the tub and slowly immerses himself into the lukewarm water. It's nothing amazing but it makes goosebumps run up Dean's arms.

Dean uses his hands to idly touch the insides of his thighs, wincing at the pimples that appeared. His hands roam higher, the back of them brushing innocently against his balls. A brief fleeting feeling of someone else's hand cupping his dick makes him flinch, pull his hands away, and press his thighs together. 

"How gross." Dean sighs, leaning his head back until it taps against the tiled wall. Did Castiel stay with him the entire night? Dean sinks lower into the tub. He must've looked disgusting. 

Dean isn't sure if he dozed off or he wasn't paying close enough attention but suddenly there's the sound of Miracle's collar clinking against metal, probably her water bowl.

Light shuffling in his room can also be heard; the unraveling of sheets and the soft noise they make as they hit the floor. Dean sits up and stretches his neck to see inside his room. 

Castiel is gentle in his movements; his face isn't contorted in disgust but a subtle layer of understanding and concern; he doesn't seem bothered with taking care of the sheets, of Dean. 

It makes Dean's heart warm. 

"Thanks." Dean rasps before cleaning his throat in an attempt to repeat himself but Castiel turns towards him with a kind smile. 

"It's no problem. How are you feeling?" Castiel questions as he walks to the door frame of the washroom and leans against it.

Dean shrugs, droplets of water cascade down his freckled shoulders. "A bit tired and cold." Dean curls his toes in the water as he talks. 

"I'll go put the sheets in the washer and leave you to change. When I get back, we'll have some saltines and soup, okay?" 

Dean blinks and before he gets the chance to answer, Castiel has already turned around and picked up the lump of sheets from the floor. 

Was that even a question he was supposed to answer? 

When Castiel leaves the room, Dean reaches forward and pulls the stopper from the drain then leaves it on the corner of the tub. He rises slowly and reaches for the shower knob to turn it on and properly clean himself. 

Dean is pulling a long sleeved sweater over his head when Castiel comes back and makes his presence known with a knock on Dean's slightly ajar door. 

"I bought some soup that I had leftovers from when you're ready." Castiel mentions already moving away from the door. 

"And here I was hopin' for a home cooked meal." Dean jokes lightly. 

Castiel hesitates in his steps, thoughtful. "Another time." 

Dean rubs at his chest with a slight heat on his cheeks as he walks out his room. Castiel is shuffling through the kitchen drawers while Miracle is in her doggy bed pleasantly knocked out. 

"Come, sit." Castiel urges softly, gesturing his head to the steaming bowl of soup sitting on the island. Dean ducks his head as he walks closer to the food.

"It's just vegetable broth and mushrooms."  

"Sounds like a meal fit for a queen." Dean grumbles, sitting on the stool and picking up the spoon. 

Castiel reaches forward and carefully puts the back of his hand against Dean's forehead. "Only drink as much as you can. Don't worry about finishing it." 

Dean merely nods and uses his spoon to idly move the liquid back and forth. 

"Can I ask you about what happened?" 

Dean stares at the cloudy liquid. "I was tired." 

"Was there something in particular making you tired?" 

"I dunno." Dean rises and drops his shoulders. 

"Okay. Thank you for answering, you did good." 

Dean preens a little and blows lightly on his soup.

"I was thinking about what you said about going back to your parents. Do you believe that's a good idea?" 

"Sammy and I always go. Don't wanna leave the old folks alone too long." Dean bites into a mushroom. 

"Would you like to do check-ins with me through text?" 

Dean peers up through his eyelashes at Castiel then shrugs once more through another swallow of soup. 

A silence washes over them, aside from the  soft classical music playing. When did Castiel flip the vinyl? 

Dean only finishes half of the soup, which Castiel still praises him for, and Dean watches, with his cheek on his hand, as Castiel packs the rest away. 

"Your soulmate would be lucky." Dean says aloud. Castiel pauses then turns to Dean with a curious raise of his eyebrows. 

"How so?" 

"You're thoughtful and kind–" 

"The bare minimum–" 

"And," Dean emphasizes, "you aren't judgmental. I mean you stayed with me the entire night even when I–" Dean cuts himself off and his face goes red with embarrassment. "You took care of me. I'm sure your soulmate will appreciate that." 

"I wouldn't be able to love them right away. A lot of soulmates expect that." 

"They're your soulmate, they should understand that about you. They shouldn't even care." 

"I thought you didn't believe in them." 

"I don't. I'm believing in your happiness or some shit." Dean says with a lazy grin. 

Castiel's eyes go soft around the edges. "I'm into other things that they might not be into." 

"Doc's got secrets?" Dean's eyebrows raise as his eyes slip closed. 

Castiel hums. "Some for another day. Let's get you back to bed." 

Dean gets up sluggishly and Castiel joins his side, wrapping an arm around his waist. Together, they walk to Dean's bedroom and Dean crawls onto new, fresh sheets. 

"Hey, Cas?" 

"Yes, Dean?" 

Dean opens his eyes and blinks up at the ceiling. "'S stupid." 

"Say it anyway." 

"My heart hurts when I'm with you." Dean's eyes close he yawns. 

"Yeah? How come?" Castiel brushes his hand against Dean's. 

"Dunno. Maybe it's because you make me feel things, like when we talk during our sessions. My heart feels all funny." 

Castiel smiles sadly. "My other clients have said the same thing." 

"So I ain't special, huh?" Dean slurs as his breathing evens out and his muscles relax. 

Castiel takes a deep breath and exhales shakily. "You will always be special, Dean." 

Chapter Text

Intimacy is curious, to say the least. 

A rough hand exploring every crevice of one's body; sharp teeth biting and marking the fat on one's thighs and stomach; a heated body and aching heart; laughter, there's one that always throws Dean in for a loop, laughter. An out of breath chuckle that'll lighten the mood and further the frenzied lust between two lovers. 

Dean blinks up at the ceiling, a frown on his face. 

Sensitive bodies, sensitive nerves, touching and the warmth of it all; it makes the jealously in Dean's stomach light on fire. 

Kissing. The press of chapped lips marking and loving on Dean's body until they reach Dean's lips and hot tongues press against each other and the slow, uncalculated movements of their mouths moving against each other.

He can't remember the last time he's been that close with someone. He doesn't remember the feeling of every part of his body being lit up like fireworks, that slow build up that makes his toes curl and his back arch and his throat go hoarse from moaning. 

Dean slides his hand inside his pajama pants to the base of his cock and slowly, lazily, he uses his index finger to smear the pre steadily leaking from his tip with a low sigh. 

Would Castiel laugh in bed with him? 

Dean turns his head to the side, neck flushed a deep shade of red and hand stiffening in its place as it brushes over old, healing scars on the inside of his thighs. 

"How gross." Dean whispers, pulling his hand out and turning onto his side. Still, Dean's mind can't help but wander. 

How would Castiel touch him? Would he be rough? Gentle? Would he enjoy it? Touching Dean there? If it hurt would Castiel keep going? 

A slight twinge of pain in Dean's heart makes him grimace and rub thoughtlessly at his chest. He should know things like that would never happen for him. 

"Dean?" Castiel calls from the other side of the door and Dean jerks up abruptly, hitting his head against the headboard. 

"Ow, shit." Dean hisses as he rubs the back of his head. "Yeah?" 

"Are you okay? Can I come in?" Castiel asks.

"Knock yourself out." Dean grumbles. 

The door eases open and Castiel pokes his head in but Miracle has other plans as she pushes through the door and jumps on the bed excitedly, nudging her nose against Dean's cheek. Dean ruffles her fur with a small smile and kisses the top of her head. 

"How do you feel?" Castiel sets a glass of water on the nightstand along with a container of multivitamin gummies. Dean tracks the movement with his eyes and something heavy curls in his gut; he hadn't noticed it before, but Castiel hands are wide, they look strong, capable of doing things that would make Dean scream.

"Little dizzy but I'll live." Dean reassures and the sides of Castiel's eyes crinkle as he smiles. Dean can hear his heartbeat in his ears. That smile might be the death of him.

"Thankfully it's only Sunday so another day of lazing around won't stop the world." Castiel sits at the edge of the bed while Dean reaches for the glass of water. 

"Are you ready to talk about it?" 

Dean stares at the rhythmic ripple of the water until it stops. "About?" 

Castiel stays quiet before he checks the watch on his wrist. "Can you count thirty seconds for me?" 

"Sorry?" Dean looks up in confusion. 

"Count thirty seconds please."

Dean licks his lips and sighs. "One Mississippi..." 

It takes longer than Dean expects, counting. It makes him annoyed and all to aware of his surroundings. 

"It's said that the sense of time is the first thing to go when having a mental disorder. When I asked you to count it took about fifty seconds until you reached thirty." Castiel explains. Dean grits his teeth and takes a large gulp of water from the glass. 

"I'm not saying this to be harmful. I'm saying that maybe you were so tired because the day felt like it was going on forever even though the day was going by normally. Maybe you were thinking so much of past trauma that the day felt even longer." 

Dean sneers. "Fuck off." 

"Dean–" 

"Why are you still here? You ain't on the clock and I don't need you watchin' over me like a fuckin' toddler." 

Castiel lets out a small hum, it sounds a little cracked around the edges. "I didn't want you to kill yourself while I was just next door. I didn't mean to overstep any boundarie and you're right. You aren't a toddler." 

Castiel gets up from the bed and squeezes his hand into a fist then relaxes it in a repeated motion. "I will s-see you when you get back from your family's place." 

Dean heart twinges at the sadness wrapped around Castiel's words and he looks up, eyes widening. "Holy shit, your nose is bleeding!" Dean quickly sets the glass down, jolting Miracle, who whines, and Castiel stumbles back and uses his sleeve to wipe at his nose. 

"I think it's best I go home. I left some soup in the fridge for you and–" 

"Don't be stupid, I can help you out here." Dean goes to reach for Castiel's free arm. 

"Please don't touch me!" Castiel begs as he backs further away with downcast eyes. Dean blinks in shock. "Call me when you want to set an appointment." 

Dean's feet are rooted to the ground and all he can do is watch helplessly as Castiel hastily makes his way out of Dean's apartment. By the time the door shut, Dean's finally can move and he puts his head in his hands.

"Great move, Winchester." 

Miracle makes a noise of agreement. 

"How do you manage to make your therapist mad at you?" Jo asks into the tense silence as Dean tosses whatever smells clean enough into his duffle bag. 

"I don't know! I just, I snapped and he was nice about it and then his nose started bleeding and he wouldn't let me touch him!" Dean clutches his shirt in hand as he waves it around comically. He sighs dejectedly and shoves the shirt into an empty corner of his bag. "He said I could call when I'm back to set up an appointment." 

"Are you sure you won't need it while you're there?" Jo crosses her arms with a sharp arch in her brow. 

"Jo," Dean groans. 

"Dean." Jo mimics. "You're going back to the same house that has your–" 

Dean flinches before Jo can finish her sentence and she sighs. 

"You don't have to go." 

"Sam is–" 

"Proposing to Eileen, I know but, if you told him then maybe–" 

"Then what? Then he'll know his brother was having sex with their father, he'll know that the reasons why I stayed in his room at night was because I was too afraid to go to mine, what then? Huh?" Dean states angrily at Jo who simply squints. 

"Why do you always make it sound consensual? Sam won't see you as less of a brother, as less of a person because you were violated. Hell, he'd probably send the fucker to jail." Jo mutters the last bit and Dean yanks on the zipper of his bag until it closes. 

"I don't make it sound consensual." he grumbles bitterly.

"What did your father do to you that night?" 

Dean rubs at his face in frustration. "We–" 

"Did you want it?" Jo asks with a straight face. Dean sighs and turns to look at her. 

"Of course not, why–" 

"Then stop saying 'we'. He was having sex with his fourteen year old child. He was the reason why you lied to your mom about you bussin' your head open on the carpet because you couldn't get the blood stain out." 

"Stop it." every thing inside Dean shrivels and tears gather in his eyes. 

"What if he did that to Sam? Would you want Sam to tell you?" 

"Of course." Dean croaks.

"Why is it different for you?"

The insides of Dean's thighs, his balls, his dick, his nipples, everywhere feels tainted and he presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. 

"You'll be good, yeah? You won't tell anyone. Good boys don't tell anyone. Daddy loves you. Daddy loves his good boy. If you're good and don't tell anyone, daddy will stop, okay?" 

"I'm good, 'm good, 'm good, daddy'll love me if I'm good. Daddy'll stop if I don't tell anyone." Dean whispers to himself, shaking at the phantom hands that graze over his body. "Daddy loves me, he loves me that's why–I have to keep quiet, that way daddy'll keep loving me." 

He's shaking? Why? Why can't he breathe? His chest feels so tight, like someone crumpled up his lungs and his heart then threw them away. He can't feel his legs. It's fine. It's fine, he has to keep quiet, daddy'll stop. Daddy loves him. 

Dean's nose flares. It smells like oranges. Daddy doesn't smell like oranges. Daddy smells like cigarettes, off brand one's that he'd make Dean go buy after Dean picked up the wrong pack the first time but forgave him after a blowjob. Daddy smells like the cheap whiskey mom always buys that rubs off of Dean's body when daddy kisses him. Daddy doesn't smell like oranges. 

Dean bites his tongue and lets out a stifled whimper of pain as he draws blood. 

"–een eyes and freckles. They smell like a bakery and coffee grounds and they have a smile that just makes me want to cry." 

Dean sniffles and exhales shakily, listening to the calm voice that settles his nerves. 

"I think they would be scared of what I'm into but with time would be into it." 

Dean lets out a teary chuckle. "You into killin' puppies, Doc?" 

"No, not really. I'm no Dexter." Castiel responds fondly. "How are you feeling?" 

Dean shrugs. "Like I could vomit at any given moment." he shifts, feeling the bed dip at his weight. "'M sitting?" 

"Jo put you on the bed before she came on got me. Looks like she's done this before but this one was a worse than one's she's experienced." 

"Yeah," Dean drops his hand onto his lap but keeps his eyes closed as he always gets headaches after seeing bright lights after his attacks. "Yeah, I got some memories I would much rather forget." 

"I think someone should go with you to see your family." Castiel suggests. 

"'M fine. Sammy'll be there." 

"Your sister and I saw that you very clearly aren't. Your brother is going with his partner while you will undoubtedly be alone. I believe you going there could be a threat to your own life so please choose somebody to accompany you." Castiel pleads. 

Dean frowns deeply, seemingly in thought. "Would you?" 

"Pardon?" 

"Would you come with me?" 

Castiel blinks. "You want me to?" 

"If you don't want to you can say that." 

"No, I do! I'm–I can, I'm available." Castiel stutters. "I'll have to go pack." 

"You know where to find me when you're done." Dean gives a lazy, lopsided smile and hears Castiel stand up, a sudden heat develops between his legs. 

Was Castiel kneeling on the floor? 

"So I'm being made the pet sitter?" Dean heats Jo snark from behind him. 

"If that's not too much to ask." Castiel laughs nervously. 

There's a tense atmosphere for a minute before it fades and Dean straightens up, confused. 

"What was that?" 

"Nothing, mind your business." Jo snaps, tossing Dean's sunglasses onto his lap. 

Dean puts them on then blinks down at the floor a couple times. His head still feels a little woozy and his stomach feels like his organs are fighting each other for the nonexistent nutrients in his body but he's fine. He's had worse. 

"Hey." Dean looks up at Jo, who's playing in Dean's hair with familiarity. Dean bites back a smile, she never apologizes with words, does she? 

"What?" 

"What was Castiel talking about earlier? Something about coffee grounds and a smile?" 

Jo's hand pauses mid stroke and she looks down at Dean, her eyes sad. "His soulmate." 

Chapter Text

Parents are supposed to be, well, parents. They're supposed to provide, support, raise, and love their children. In some instances, a scary amount of instances actually, some parents fall short. They neglect, abuse, and abandon. There's a certain group though, ones who also suffer from the abusive tendencies of the breadwinner, the dominant, which is most stereotypically the male. That group of people, Dean thinks, are the most pitiful. Maybe he's a little biased. A little hurt. 

Mary, to the outside world, was kind hearted, loving, and caring. Everything a housewife should be, from the misogynist view point, of course; docile, quiet, spoke when spoken to. Obedient, Dean believes that's the best word. At home she was angry and tired. She cooked dinner which was always the same, a meatloaf with greenbeans and an unhealthy amount of mashed potatoes that would sit in the fridge as leftovers for a few days. 

Dean would cook breakfast and lunch for him and Sam to go to school. Mary probably doesn't remember that part. Dean remembers her sleeping a lot or yelling and crying at John. 

From what Dean remembers, John never hit Mary, sure cops were called to their house but it was mostly because of the noise. Dean does remember Mary saying how John kept asking for sex too much, how persistent he was, how close to rape it has almost been. She was always too tired "from watching the kids." 

What kids was she talking about? As far as Dean is concerned, he was always watching Sam. He was the parent that they both should've been. 

Maybe that's why she never believed Dean. Maybe he caught her at a bad time. 

"Mommy?" Dean had said, shifting from side to side on anxious feet as his heart pounded in his chest. And Mary had shifted in that large bed, the bed that Dean was laid on the pervious night and had his body violated. She grunted under her heavy comforter that smells of John's whiskey and sweat. Of garlic and sadness. 

"What is it, Sam?" Mary had asked. Dean stared, tears welled up in his eyes, but he continued to stare at the lump of covers that was his mother and his heart had sunk to the very depths of his body. 

"It's Dean." he corrected and Mary sighed, shifted once, and sighed once more. Dean hesitated, Daddy said that if Dean didn't tell anyone that he'd stop. That Dean won't be touched anymore. But Dean didn't like it. His body felt weird and he wanted to throw up every time Daddy touched him. 

"Daddy keeps touching me on my parts." Dean said. The words were so innocent, so harmless and full of so much pain and disgust. How old must he have been back then? He thinks maybe ten or so. 

Mary had let out a low, uninterested noise. "Maybe it was a bad dream." 

And Dean blinked, confused. Why would he dream about that? That's gross. Gross. Disgusting. 

"How gross." Dean remembers whispering into the dark room before turning and leaving to go give Sam a bath. 

Why didn't she believe him? 

"–ean? Dean?" 

Dean raises his eyebrows and turns his head to look at Castiel. He feels the hot wind from AC against his arm hairs and the smooth roll of Baby's tires on the highway. Dean feels heavy, 

Oh yeah. They're driving to Mary and John's. Well Castiel is, Dean felt nauseous halfway through. 

"We're almost there. I was wondering if we should bring a drink or something for the visit." Castiel glances at Dean from the side of his eye before looking back at the road. 

A dusty cog in Dean's brain turns for a split second, his neck tenses, and his head jerks to the side sharply. Dean rubs at his neck with a grimace and sinks further into the leather seat. If Castiel notices it, he doesn't say anything. 

"They'll be fine." Dean mutters, still rubbing at his neck as he stares down at his boots. 

"Dean!"  Mary called from upstairs, her voice impatient. Dean looked up at the stairs with a sigh then looks back at Sam who was happily eating the hot bowl of spaghetti-o's Dean made him for dinner. 

"I'll be back, Sammy. Make sure you eat all of it then get ready to bathe." Sam looked up at Dean with his cheeks full and sauce around his mouth and nodded quickly. Dean ruffled his hair before he got up from the dinner table and made his way upstairs.

"Yes?" Dean had asked the lump of covers. Mary lifted her hand and waved in a vague direction. 

"I forgot your father wanted to restock his drink cabinet. Head over to The Roadhouse and buy some. Take my wallet and go." 

"Daddy doesn't like the beer from The Roadhouse." Dean mumbled. Daddy likes whiskey, the cheap one from the drug store that's open 24/7.

Mary groaned. "Don't give me attitude right now, Dean."

Dean flinched but walked over to the dresser where his mother's wallet sat and grabbed it. "Can you wash Sam?" 

Sam had school in the morning. The little genius loved it and he would always get upset for oversleeping and missing a mere hour of it. Dean liked to make sure he was washed and in bed early. 

"You can do it when you come back, can't you?" Mary shifted in the bed and Dean clenched the wallet in his small hands. 

He didn't know when John would be back. Dean didn't want John to go into their room thinking Sam was Dean. Dean is the older brother. He has to protect Sam. 

Dean walked out and closed the door softly, frowning at the tears that welled in his eyes. Huh. He feels a little tired. 

"Hey, Sammy." Dean smiled at his little brother, whos bowl was empty. Sam looked at him, his eyes tired. 

"Wanna go for a walk?" Dean felt a sharp pain in his heart when Sam let out a long yawn. "I know you're tired but we'll get to see Auntie Ellen."

Sam wiped at his eyes but brightened up at the mention of his aunt. "Okay, Dee." 

Dean feels Baby come to a rolling stop and an violent shiver rakes down his spine. 

"Dean? We're here." 

Dean looks up at the too familiar house he grew up in and he tries to swallow down the lump around his through; it feels like a ball of blood is sitting there. He could cry. 

"So how should we—" Castiel is cut off when the front door opens and Mary's head peaks out, she waves enthusiastically and with a bright smile. 

Dean reaches over and grips Castiel's steady hand with his shaky one. Castiel looks down at their hands then turns it so their fingers are intertwined. 

"I'm here for you, Dean." 

Dean tries to speak, tries to express his gratefulness but if he opens his mouth, a sob might end up escaping instead. 

Mary comes down the short little steps on the porch and knocks at the drivers window. Castiel rolls the window down with a kind smile. 

"Oh! Hello! Dean, I didn't know you were inviting someone over!" Mary laughs. Dean hates it. Hates her. He hates her so much. 

Castiel, the saint he is, speaks. "It's my fault. Dean offered me to go but I was held up with work and then suddenly, I had an opening." 

"So no family to spend Christmas with, huh?" Mary acknowledges sadly. "Well, any friend of Dean's is a friend of ours. Come in! Sam, Eileen, and your father are waiting." Mary ushers before walking back inside.

Dean exhales loudly and his head jerks sharply again and a few tears leave his eyes. 

A nice warmth engulfs his side and a hot hand rubs his back soothingly. "I'm by your side. Rely on me, Dean." 

"I'm scared." Dean whispers into Castiel's shoulder. "I'm s-scared." 

Castiel pulls back an inch and looks into Dean's eyes. "Allow yourself to be scared with me. Any fear, any thoughts, let them out with me any time we're alone. I will be your strength, Dean." 

Dean sucks in his bottom lip and bounces his head once. "Don't leave me, please." 

"You're stuck with me." Castiel promises and Dean lets out a wet chuckle. 

"Let's go in before they come out." Dean lowers his head to wipe at his eyes.

"Dean?" Castiel asks lowly. 

Dean looks up again and between one breath and the next, soft lips gently press against the corner of his. 

Castiel leaves the car to get their bags from the trunk before Dean can really register what happened.

That was a romantic kiss, right? 

Dean opens his door and steps out, a little confused but not upset or disgusted. Castiel avoids looking at Dean as he closes the trunk and adjusts the straps of their duffle on his shoulders. 

"Cas–?" 

"Boys! Don't just stand out there!" Mary calls before closing the door again. 

Castiel nudges Dean's shoulder. "Ready?" 

"Y-yeah." Dean nods. 

The two walk up the porch in sync. Castiel intertwines their fingers together and Dean feels his nerves settle enough to the point where he can open the door. 

"Look who's decided to join us!" Mary cheers once they step through the door. Sam looks back from his place on the couch with a big smile.

"So mom wasn't lying when she said you brought someone." Sam teases and Dean scoffs jokingly despite his hand tightening around Castiel's. 

"Shut up, Bitch." 

"Jerk." 

"Where's Eileen? She decided to leave your ass?" Dean pretends to look around and Sam flips him off. 

"She's in the washroom for your information." 

"Boys," Mary says warningly, a playful tone in her voice. "Let's not send Dean's guest running for the hills." 

Castiel smiles lightly and chuckles. "Don't mind me. Playful family banter is something new for me." 

"An only child?" Mary inquires. 

Dean toes off his toes and nudges them into the pile with the others and nudges Castiel to do the same before taking the duffle bags from him.

"Too many siblings actually." Mary laughs and Dean fights the urge to roll his eyes. 

"We'll stay in my room." Dean whispers to Castiel to avoid anyone saying anything but Mary picks up on it anyway.

"Castiel can stay in the guest room, it's no problem." Mary looks between the two of them and Dean grinds his teeth together. 

"Then it must be no problem for me to stay in Dean's room either the." Castiel tilts his head with a tight smile. 

"Mom just let them—" 

"What are you two? Boyfriends?" 

Dean's heart sinks, his knees nearly buckle, a scream, one that's been inside him for years, threatens to rip itself from his throat, and he blinks back the hot tears that well up embarrassingly fast in his eyes. 

John emerges from the kitchen, glass of whiskey in hand, with a frown etched onto his features. 

Dean can't look up. He can't say anything. He can't breathe. 

Castiel wraps his arm around Dean's shoulders and gently pulls him against his chest, protecting him. Saving him. 

"Yes, actually. Dean and I are boyfriends." 

Chapter Text

A pregnant silence blankets over the large space. 

"Oh." Mary gasps out softly. Dean can't tell if it's out of shock or disgust. He's not sure that he wants to find out. "That's...well," She stammers for a moment glancing behind her at John and Sam.

"I'm going to uh, look for Eileen." Sam waves his arms up the stairs as he leaps up from the couch and goes up the stairs three at a time.

"That's new.." Mary hesitates as she walks over to John and pats his shoulder. "We support you. Don't we honey?"  

Castiel raises his head and narrows his eyes down at John as he tightens his arm around Dean's trembling body. John's eyes follow the movement with distaste and tosses his head back as he downs the rest of the dark liquid in his glass. 

"You can support the fag all you want." John hisses, glowering at Castiel before turning on his heels and stomping back into the kitchen.

"I'm so sorry. John doesn't act like this usually. It must be the alcohol." Mary apologies. with a short, forced laugh. "It's late, I think we're going to turn in. Christmas Eve is tomorrow after all." she lets out a forced laugh. 

"Have a good night, Ms. Winchester." Castiel bows his head slightly before guiding Dean up the stairs. 

"Just Mary is fine. Have a good night." 

Castiel helps Dean up the stairs, gently stroking his thumb on Dean's shoulder. "Where's your room?" 

Dean lifts a shaky finger to the door furthest down the hall. 

"Alright, let's go. Just a couple more steps." Castiel soothes as they pace themselves slowly to the end of the hall. Castiel briefly looks around and notices the open guest bedroom door, he doesn't pay much attention to it.

The room is just as Dean remembers; clean. There's nothing tainted; his posters are still hung neatly on his wall, his old guitar is shoved in the corner of the room next to crumped sheet music, his car figurines are stacked neatly on his old, wood dresser. His bed is new though, probably a cheap queen bead frame from Ikea that barely fits inside his room with a new mattress.

Castiel awarded maneuvers so he can set their bags on the ground then guides Dean to the bed. 

"I'm going to set you down on the bed, okay?" 

Dean makes a low noise of agreement. 

"There we go, nice and easy." Castiel keeps his hands grounded on Dean's hips as he sits him on the bed. Dean leans forward and rests his head on Castiel's stomach. 

"You're so good to me." Dean mumbles in the soft fabric of Castiel's sweater. It smells of coffee, of the warmth from Baby's leather seat, of safety. 

Castiel feels a dry knot form and lodge in his throat as he gently pats Dean's hair. "I'd do anything for you, Dean." 

"Yeah?" Dean looks up at Castiel with a small, lazy smile. "Will you cuddle me tonight?" 

Castiel cups Dean's freckled cheeks. "Will you tell me how you're feeling?" Dean hums, his cheeks warm, and his eyes brighten at the gentle contact. 

Castiel's heart stammers. 

"Maybe after I get comfortable." Dean guesses. 

"You are something else when you're sleepy." Castiel huffs fondly. "Let's get changed." 

Dean stands up with a exaggerated groan. "You're always making me do things I don't wanna do." 

Castiel pouts mockingly and points to Dean's duffle next to the door. "Pajamas." 

"Yessir." Dean concedes, walking over to his duffle and crouching down to look for a plain white tank top. Dean rubs the material between his fingers and bites his lip. 

"You know, you don't have to sleep with me. It's already enough that you're here with me and—" 

"Do you prefer to be the big spoon or little spoon?" Castiel interrupts curiously as he shimmies out of his pants. "I'm fine with either." 

Dean bites back a small smile as he stands up. "Uh, little spoon."

"Really? Who would have guessed." Castiel teases. 

Dean walks over to the door and rests his hand on the handle. A warmth, almost a nauseous warmth, worms around in his gut and his heart pounds in his chest. Maybe he's still feeling anxious. 

"I appreciate it, really, Cas." Dean gets out quickly before exiting the room. 

Castiel stares down at the carpeted floor, a sick sense of dread building up in his gut at the fresh blood droplet that stains it. A wave of lightheadedness takes over him and he loses his balance, stumbling awkwardly until he smacks his hand against the wall to steady himself. 

Castiel brings up his sleeve to his nose and wipes at it. 

Did he bring the medication? 

Dean closes the bathroom door, gripping the door handle to the left and closing it slowly so it doesn't click then carefully letting go of it. Dean frowns and blinks at the handle, he hasn't done that since he moved out. 

Dean briefly thinks about brushing his teeth before he starts to strip his pants and shirt and decides to do it into the morning. He doesn't want to stay in the washroom for too long. Dean's hand brushes against old, raised scars and a heavy feeling of guilt and disappointment fills him.  

He hasn't done it in days. He's good. He's fine. 

Dean pulls his sleep shirt over his head and drags his hand over his face. 

Castiel's here with him. He's older now. John won't hurt him, John can't hurt him. 

Dean turns on the tap and gathers cold water in his palms before splashing his face. "I'm fine. I'm fine." he whispers before taking a deep breath and turning off the tap. Dean wipes his face then picks up his clothes and dumps them in the hamper next to the shower. 

"When you were going to tell me about your boyfriend?" Sam asks when Dean walks out, effectively causing him to startle and let out a short string of curses.

"Thanks for the heart attack." Dean bites when he catches his breath. Sam rolls his eyes and pushes himself off the wall, uncrossing his arms. 

"Cas isn't my," Dean waves his hand, feeling an oddly hurt at his own denial. "You know. He's my therapist, he just came for support." 

Sam gives Dean his infamous, unimpressed bitchface. "You two seem real close for a patient/therapist relationship." 

"I'm sure he would do this for anyone." Dean dismisses, turning his back to Sam. 

"You didn't have to come here just for me. Jo told me—" 

Ice cold fear freezes Dean's veins and his heart drops. 

"–that you wanted to go Ellen and Bobby's since they haven't seen you since you got out." 

Dean closes his eyes and nearly slouches in relief.  "I wouldn't miss your proposal. I'll see 'em after." 

"Thanks, Dee." 

Dean turns around slowly, eyebrows pinched together and stares up at Sam. 

Sam averts his eyes and shifts awkwardly on his feet. 

"What else did Jo tell you?" Dean's throat is dry, his palms are sweaty, and he feels sick to his stomach. "Sam." 

"Nothing! She just described you and Castiel's relationship differently, that's all." Sam raises his hands defensively. 

"What'd she say?" 

"That you two seemed...marked by each other. I get what she means now. It's nice to see you happy." Sam smiles. Dean shakes his head, taken back. 

"What–" 

"Eileen is waiting for me since you took your sweet time in there. See you in the morning, jerk." Sam walks into the washroom and shuts the door leaving Dean standing in the hall confused. 

He looks happy? With Castiel? 

"Bitch." Dean mutters, shaking his head as he walks back inside his room. 

Castiel rubs his thumb anxiously over the pill bottle cap and concentrates on taking deep, grounding breaths. 

"Is that blood?!" Dean reaches for Castiel's sleeve then cups his face and examines his nose.

Castiel nods shortly. "Just got a small nose bleed. Nothing to worry about." 

"This is the second time this has happened. Did you go to the doctor?" 

Castiel shakes his pill bottle. "It's a symptom of a small thing. I got prescription for it." 

Dean worries his bottom lip between his teeth and Castiel reaches up to clasp Dean's hand, rubbing his thumb against Dean's knuckles. "I'll be fine. Come, let's sleep." 

Dean walks to over to the light switch while Castiel sets the bottle on the dresser then removes his shirt. Dean's hands shake by his sides, is it nerves? He's slept with people before. Multiple at the same time but he guesses he's never really slept with them. Not like this. 

He climbs into bed awkwardly, the mattress is too soft, it makes him feel like he's sinking. Castiel ends up pulling the blanket over them and fixing Dean into proper spooning position. 

"Are you comfortable?" Castiel's breath ghosts over Dean's ear causing him to tense slightly as his dick swells. 

"Yeah, 'm fine." Dean curls up a bit more and Castiel's wraps his arm tighter around him, pulling him closer. 

"Cas?" Dean asks into the darkness. 

"Yes, Dean?" 

"Why'd you really come?" 

Castiel stays quiet for a few seconds before shifting and clearing his throat. 

"I want to make sure you're safe." Castiel whispers, drawing empty patterns on Dean's arm. 

"Why wouldn't I be safe? I'm with family." 

Why do you care about me so much? Is what Dean really wants to asks. 

"Family isn't always safe." Castiel says, no hesitation in his voice. 

Dean's presses his legs together and sighs at the temporary relief that he feels. "You know this ain't normal. Our relationship is weird."

"Yeah I know, I'm being selfish." 

Dean turns to face Castiel. "How?" 

Castiel gazes down at Dean. "I want to take care of you, I want to be there for you." 

Dean takes a deep breath then exhales. "Why?" 

"I don't think it would be a good idea for me to answer that as your therapist." 

"Hey, you aren't my therapist on this trip." Dean leans up and grazes his nose gently against Castiel's.

"You don't want this." As much as it pains Castiel to say.

"How do you know what I want?" Dean leans in to press his lips against Castiel's but Castiel grabs some of the blonde locks on Dean's head and tugs gently.

"You want me because I'm here, because it'll distract you from what you're anxious or scared about. Not because you...feel something for me." Castiel's tone goes sad and soft and Dean clenches his jaw. 

"You don't know shit about me." he spits vehemently before turning around, a deep frown on his features and a crease between his eyebrows. 

"The idea of commitment is scary for you. You don't believe in soulmates and relationships aren't for you, if you knew I had harbored feelings for you or if I was your soulmate, you'd ignore me. You'd leave. That's why you attempted to kiss me."

"You can fuck off and sleep in the guest bedroom now, Mr. Know It All. You can come in before everyone wakes up so nobody suspects anything." Dean mutters bitterly into his pillow. Castiel stares at Dean's back with a heavy heart and tears in his eyes. He wants to take it back. He wants to tell Dean everything but if he does, if he tells Dean that they're soulmates, Dean will become afraid.  

"I'm sorry." Castiel's voice cracks and shakes around the edges. God, he feels like throwing up. It hurts. It pains him knowing Dean won't consider him as his soulmate. He quietly leaves and closes the door behind him.

Dean means to say something, he means to ask why Castiel sounds so choked up, he means to beg Castiel to say; staying in his old room alone is scary. It's too dark and even though John never entered his room, even though John never opened his door in the middle of the night, that fear will always stay with him. Dean's throat ends up being too clogged up to say anything. 

Castiel crawls into the cold bed, into the neatly made bed that has no personality, no warmth, no Dean. Castiel covers his eyes with the inside of his elbow and presses his lips in a thin line to stop the sobs attempting to leave his mouth.  

That ugly feeling of desperation and selfishness clings to Castiel. He can't lose Dean. 

Bits of gravel travel up Castiel's throat and Castiel turns his head to cough into the inside of his elbow. 

Red. Red, bright, and fresh blood stains the skin. 

Hot tears slide down Castiel's face. 

Castiel needs to tell Dean. He probably won't though. Not if that risks losing him.

Chapter Text

The inside of Dean feels clammy; like the awkward dampness you feel when clasping hands with your first middle school romance while their friends are making loud, obnoxious hollers in the background. His nerves are unsettled, restless, and saliva coats so much of his mouth that he goes a bit bilious. Dean rolls over with a pained groan, he can feel his heart thump achingly inside his chest and he rubs across his chest with a short wince. 

Something inside of him aches and wails something terrible. It's not enough to drag him out of bed though, no, it's the mouth watering smell of fresh coffee being made by The Mary Winchester in their old coffee maker that hasn't been replaced since Dean was ten. 

Dean drags his body up, plants his feet on the cold wood floors and wiggles his toes as he tries, and ultimately fails, to come back online. 

"'as? Y'up?" Dean rasps, twitching his ears back as he waits for a response, frowning when he doesn't get one.  He cranes his neck back to see the empty, messy space that indicates Dean sprawled out on the entire bed last night and Castiel never came back. 

Dean scoffs, well, tries to but his throat is terribly dry so it comes out as a wheezing cough accompanied by watery eyes. He needs a cup of coffee. 

"Look who decided to join us?" Mary chastises playfully at Dean's ruffled appearance; messy bed hair, a washed out AC/DC shirt, and baggy sweatpants that give him a annoying wedgie. Dean shuffles quietly into the kitchen, presses a soft kiss to his mothers cheek, and pours himself a cup of coffee. Sam peers up from his smoothie bowl with a snort while John's heavy gaze lingers on Dean.

After two cups and listening in on Mary and Sam's idle conversation about Sam's up and coming law firm, Mary's book club, and other white noise that Dean doesn't register until he second cup of coffee. 

"The beings awake." Sam cackles at Dean's scowl. 

"Bitch." 

"Jerk!" 

"Merry Christmas Eve, boys." Mary says kindly, humor dancing in her tone.

Dean and Sam eye each other with obvious challenge before begrudgingly mumbling their equal holiday cheer. John sits quietly in his chair. Dean tries to not let it get to him. 

"Where's Eileen? She's leaving you already?" Dean asks when he notices the lack of sign language being used in the house. 

Sam rolls his eyes while Dean searches through the fridge, mumbling a few crude words about the emptiness of it.

"She went to the store with Castiel. And before you ask yes I gave her your Christmas grocery list." Sam says when Dean opens his mouth with the prompted question. 

"You didn't wanna go with her?" Dean asks, busying himself with beginning to make Mary and himself breakfast out of habit. Mary sits at the table like she knows he'll do it anyway. 

"Eileen forced Castiel since he was throwing up earlier, took him to get some meds." Sam mentions like a second thought, like it's not that big of a deal that Dean's heart drops to his feet and the egg he's getting ready to crack breaks in his hand.

"Throwing up?" Dean's voice cracks around the question and Sam hesitates before he speaks again. 

"Yeah, this morning." Sam doesn't add more to his words and Dean isn't sure that he'd want him to. 

"Oh." Dean mummers, throwing away the ruined egg before restarting. He feels a little weak at the knees all of sudden.

There's a few minutes of tense silence and the occasional sizzle from eggs cooking in the pan.

"So, Dean, what are you cooking for us this time around?" Mary asks, trying to lighten the mood. 

Dean's shoulders lower and he feels a bit of tension lift off his chest as he describes the menu for tonight. 

"Merry Christmas Eve, Sammy." Dean had said in a hushed voice, pushing over a neatly wrapped book over to his younger brother who was sprawled out on the couch, bored with a rumbling stomach.

"You're supposed to give the presents on Christmas, Dee!" Sam had exclaimed, slapping his hand over his eyes and pretending that the gift wasn't there. 

Dean smiled, small and sad. "Yeah, I know but you're going to that sleepover at Ellen's tomorrow, yeah?" 

Sam peeked through the gap in his fingers and nodded quickly. "Yeah, Auntie Ellen is gonna take me n' Jo to go ski! Up in the mountains!" Sam lifted his arms and spread them wide, eyes sparkling.

Dean raised his eyebrows and nodded towards the gift for emphasis. "See? That's why you gotta take the gift now."

Sam pouts. "But why can't you come, Dee?"

"I–" Dean frowns and tries to stop his chin from wobbling. "I gotta help dad with the car and you know," Dean sighs, hating lying to Sam. "You know how mom's sick? I gotta take care of her too." 

"Oh." Sam says, then petulantly, "Why can't dad take care of her?" 

"Dad.." Dean swallows thickly. "I think dad's sick too. So, take the gift, you can read it on the way to Ellen's."

Sam puffs his cheeks out but takes the book in gentle hands. "Thanks, Dee." 

Dean presses a soft kiss to the mop of hair on Sam's forehead. "Love you, kiddo." 

Sam turns the present in his hands and as he opens it gingerly, he mummers, soft and quiet "Hey, Dee?" 

"Yeah, Sam?" 

"I'm hungry." 

Dean looks up the stairs. Mary should be asleep and if Dean puts a towel underneath the door she shouldn't be able to smell anything. Mary hates when the smell wakes her up.

"I'll whip something up for you." Dean promises. "Just gotta pee first. You up for some Mac and Cheese?" 

"With broccoli please. And Dee?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I love you more than mom and dad. Thank you for the book." Sam smiles gummily, missing teeth and all and Dean's heart cries. 

"I love you too, Sammy." 

Dean's always made Sam dinner on Christmas Eve since he was a kid; Mary would never get the energy too and John would be too drunk off of spiked eggnog to even come home until the next day. He was always touchy the next day. 

Dean sets the plate of eggs down in front of Mary, giving her a kind smile at her soft mummer of appreciation. 

Wait. Didn't he mean to make it for himself? .

"You didn't think about makin' anythin' for me, boy?" John finally speaks, the judgement and disappointment evident in his tone makes Dean's gut twist. 

Sam peers up from under his eyelashes at Dean, a frown on his lips and Dean blinks, hand jerking by his side in a attempt to flight in stead of fight. 

"I'm," Dean licks his lips and tries to breathe around the ball stuck in his airways. Where's Cas? If Cas was here he could breathe, if Cas was here he could help him. But Cas isn't here, Dean pushed him away. "I'm sorry, sir." 

Apologizing is instinct for Dean; he's not even sure what he's sorry for.

The front door opens and between the sounds of people stepping out their shoes and the rustling of bags, Dean is dodging the hard gaze from his father and rushing towards the front door in a heartbeat.

Dean waves to Eileen when they catch eyes before gesturing to the armful of bags and making move to grab them but before his fingers fingers graze the fragile plastic Sam is next to him and using his large Bigfoot like limbs to shoulder Dean out the way and grab Eileen's bags. 

"Dude–!" Dean bites, confused. 

Sam angles his head towards the front door. "I think Castiel has more bags." he says before scampering off with Eileen on his tail. 

Dean's eyebrows relax at the realization and his lips fall downward. He and Castiel hadn't talked since last night; since Castiel hit a little too close to home and Dean got defensive. Did Castiel even come back back bed last night? 

Dean worries his bottom lip between his teeth while he walks slowly to Sam's small, preppy little Prius. Castiel is at the trunk, working on the last few bags and trying to gather them all on his arms. 

Dean can see it now; the way Castiel's movements are distorted and groggy, the deep bags under his eyes, and the paleness of his skin. 

Dean rubs his hands together awkwardly. "You need any help with the last bunch?" he must have started out too loud because Castiel flinches back, eyes widening. 

"No, I'm alright. Thank you for the offer." Castiel mumbles, short and cold, making Dean's heart crack around the edges. 

"C'mon, man. You're sick and I ain't got nothin' else to do." Dean hedges on before forced sir passes through Castiel's lips and his feet shuffle. 

"I appreciate it, Dean." and it may still be a tad cold, but Castiel's voice is filled with sincerity. 

Dean steps a hair closer, muses a hand through his hair, and sighs nervously. "I'm sorry about last night. It was uncalled for and I shouldn'tna kicked you out like that." 

"You felt attacked, hurt even, it's understandable why you would want space." The plastic rustling allows Dean to get his head together. It's like scrambled eggs up there. 

"You threw up." It's not a question but Dean still tries to leave some space around the statement. 

"For a minute and then it was just me dry heaving. I'm," Castiel pauses, frowns, and squints his eyes. "feeling better." 

Dean backs up when Castiel raises his arms to close the trunk, jostling the bags and accidently hitting himself in the thigh. 

"If coming on this trip was too much for you..." you can go back home. Dean lets the rest of the sentence hang in the air. 

Castiel catches Dean's eyes. "I want to be here for you. Plus I would rather not miss out on your cooking." 

Heat drops and warms Dean's solar plexus. "Thanks, Cas." 

Castiel lets out a small noise of acknowledgement before the two start walking back inside. 

Everybody has migrated from the kitchen to the living room, Dean notices, Eileen, Mary, Sam, and John are sitting in their respective chairs; Eileen and Sam take comfort on the love seat with Sam's arm resting along the length of the seat, Mary on their couch that squeaks when someone sits on the far left cushion, and John in the chair. The chair being a leather lazyboy that Dean would much rather not remember. 

Castiel offers to help Dean put the groceries away but Dean cocks one eyebrow then lifts his eyes towards the living room. "Sit and mingle. I'll be fine." Dean brings a hand to the base of Castiel's neck and scratches the short hairs there. He isn't sure why he does it but Castiel relaxes considerably and his eyes soften. He turns his head and captures Dean's palm with a gentle press of his lips.

Dean's heart is loud in his ears. 

"I'll wait for you." Castiel turns his back and walks through the kitchen arch. 

Dean isn't sure if he should add more definition to that. 

Five minutes later, Dean's elbow deep in the fridge, organizing the food by expiry out of habit. Even though everything should be cooked and eaten by tomorrow, Dean still finds it easier to know what to prioritize. And maybe Dean's distracted by thoughts of how soft Castiel's lips felt against the palm of his hands, how even though Castiel looked weak, the sun basking on his being made him look painfully beautiful, maybe that's why he doesn't hear John gruffly mention he's going to get another bear, why he doesn't hear the floorboards creek underneath the heavy footed man. 

"Get me a beer, boy." John knocks his empty beer glass against Dean's temple roughly, making the younger jump and rub at his temple. Dean counts how many droplets of condensation are on the bottle as he hands John the bottle without looking up. 

"It's been a while since I've seen you on your knees." John says through the quiet hiss of the beer cap being popped off. Dean's ears ache and his stomach makes an angry noise as he jerks upward, going dizzy at how fast he got up. 

"It's a joke, boy." John tries to placate, lip curling into a distasteful snarl at Dean's inability to take the 'joke'.

The butterflies are back in Dean's stomach. Maybe their moths. Either way they make Dean sick. His cock twitches, remembering the touches, the sensation that a kid shouldn't have felt. 

"Wasn't funny, sir." Dean bites out. 

"C'mon, Dean, wassit that you used to call me?" John moves closer, forcing Dean to back up against the counters. John leans in, his breath stinks of cheap Coors and Dean's hands are trembling and his cock is, it's leaking and why does he have to be so gross. "Daddy?" 

"Stop." Dean's voice quivers like he's a kid again who doesn't know how to say no, not to his father. Not to Daddy who wanted to play. 

"You doin' to that boy what you did to me? You tell 'em who taught you?" John's voice is mean, makes Dean cower and tears well in his eyes. He wants to cum. 

"S-stop, please." Maybe Dean isn't talking because John doesn't stop, he shifts his beer from one hand to the other and allows the one damp with water slide under Dean's shirt. 

Cold. Damp. Skin. Don't scream. Breathe. Don't wake Sam. 

Dean's close to hyperventilating, close to passing out because he can't get any oxygen in his body until John pulls away, steps away until a distance is between them and Castiel's head is poking through the arch. 

"Are you okay, Dean?" 

John tsks and takes an aggressive gulp of his drink. "Boy's fine, ain't ya, Dean?" 

If Dean opens his mouth he'll scream, he'll gasp for air, he'll probably cry so he nods. Tries to communicate to Cas with his eyes that he needs help. He can't breathe. 

"We were just havin' a conversation. Family business. You wouldn' understand." John talks down to Castiel as if he's a child. 

"I'm sure I wouldn't. I'll be borrowing him now." Castiel's voice is hard and Dean almost laughs. Why is Castiel fighting so hard for him? Why does he care so much? Fuck, his head hurts. 

"Mhm." John grunts then looks at Dean. "Love you, boy." 

"Deanie," John sighs, sweat coating his body as he rocks his hips slowly. "You know Daddy loves you, hm?" 

Dean blinks, tears coating the pillow under his face and he smiles. Daddy loves him. This is Daddy showing him his love. Dean wonders, as John makes a low, nasty noise and Dean can feel warmth bloom inside of him, if other kids' parents show their love like this to. 

As soon as John passes past Castiel, Dean slides to the floor and bites into the collar of his shirt as a wheezing sob leaves his body. 

Castiel is down on his knees, mumbling short words of encouragement that Dean tries to digest, tries to listen but his boxers are sticky with pre and the place where John touched feels cold and hot at the same time. Maybe Dean's sick too. 

He's in a tub. The cold porcelain on his skin makes his shiver and curl his toes. He's naked and flaccid. Dean closes his eyes and leans back, he feels something solid and hairy.

"I told Mary that we had to conserve water so we're showering together." and it's only when Castiel speaks that Dean is aware of the body he's leaning on. "She told us to meet at Sherway, there will be fireworks, food trucks, although I doubt that the food trucks will sell festive food." 

Dean snorts, a weak and small thing and wiggles his toes in the water. 

"Forgive me for, um, our situation but you often seek affection after you come down." Castiel explains apologetically. 

Dean opens his heavy eyes slowly then sluggishly turns his body, making water slosh around them, Castiel looks at him, eyes open and understanding. 

"Do you think 'm gross?" Dean's bottom lip wobbles. 

Castiel brings his hands to cup Dean's face. "I think you are the most brave, most resilient, and the most strongest person. I believe that you are not gross, Dean Winchester. You are not damaged, you are not tainted, you are so beautiful." 

Dean nods in Castiel's hands and exhales with a wet sniffle. "I was hard. I wanted to cum so bad, Cas, I–" 

"It's a response. A very human response that was unfortunately abused through trauma. It doesn't mean anything." 

Castiel leans his forehead on Dean's. 

"He doesn't love me." Dean admits, voice thick with hatred and shame. "How," Dean wipes his eyes aggressively. 

"He took everything and he doesn't," Dean gestures to himself, the words stuck in his throat. "He doesn't." 

Castiel stays silent and Dean holds onto Castiel's wrists. 

"Can we stay?" Dean asks after a second, eyebrows frowned. "I'll still cook tonight, I just, I can't."

"Of course." Castiel agrees easily. 

Dean carefully turns back around and sinks back against Castiel. "Do you?" 

"In what way?" 

Dean shrugs. 

"What are you going to do with the answer?" Castiel rests his chin on Dean's head.

"Nothin', just wanna know. Just wanna know that people love me, that you..." Dean trails off. "Jus' wanna know." 

Castiel hums lowly. A lie would hurt Dean much more than the truth. Castiel closes his eyes. They have a lot to talk about. 

"Yes." 

"Me too. Think I could love you more though." Dean says through a yawn. 

Castiel looks up to the ceiling of the washroom and sighs his truth. "Me too." 

Chapter Text

"Can I ask you something?" Dean gently smooths the soapy wash cloth along Castiel's arms as the warm water cascades down upon them and washes away their worries. 

"Anything." Castiel grazes his nose against Dean's neck and presses a soft kiss to the damp skin there.

"How did you know you were demisexual?" Dean shrugs as he tries to word his curiosity without coming across offensive. Castiel looks up at the shower head with raised eyebrows before inhaling heavily then exhaling with a small chuckle.

"Love is fickle. I knew that with whatever partner I came into contact with I wanted an intimate connection that would never waver or...something" Castiel finishes with a sigh. " I can be in a relationship but I won't feel it as romantic. It'd be fake and useless. Sorry, it's hard to put into words." 

Dean toys with the digits on Castiel's hand, idly admiring their structure. "No, I think I get it. Thank you for telling me."

"I feel as if my emotions are my sensitive because of it. Every little thing hurts just a bit more and it's not..." Castiel mummers before huffing out a low sigh as he brings his hand to the base of Dean's spine and strokes the curve his back.

"Mr. Novak," the doctor shifts, opens his mouth, then shuts it again and gives Castiel a sad look. "When a soulmate's love is not reciprocated or one is unaware of their love, which is very common, it's often we see the heart start to break. A lot of the time it takes time to heal, we prescribe a type of medication that relives the pain of the heart and balances out the depressing signals your body outputs to your heart which would lead to nose bleeds, vomiting, long days of sleeping, and then bam," the doctor's hands spread wide and he gives a sympathetic grin. 

"But a break this large, I've only seen in person once, a client named Kelly Kline, bless her soul. Her soulmate, a bastard, wanted her to get a son and then threw her out and she was so in love and so in pain. Shortly after she gave birth, she died. The bastard who abused her, who killed her, is still in jail and her son, lovely little boy, lives with a sweet family who adopted him. The break in her heart was clean in half. Now yours," the doctor sets an radiograph on the table between them, turns it, then pushes it towards Castiel. 

A stomach curling tear stems from Castiel's aorta down to his right ventricle.

"I'm afraid that even if this love was reciprocated at some point, you won't live long enough to see it to the end." 

Castiel stares down at his heart and closes his eyes so the tears don't stain the paper, then asks in a low, shaky voice. "When can I pick up the prescription?" 

"I want that connection with you, Dean," Castiel's voice thick with constipated emotions. Before it's too late. 

"Even if you regret it in the end?" Dean voices, insecurity lacing his words. Castiel hooks his chin over Dean's shoulder.

"You can't predict how I will feel in this relationship but I can tell you, Dean, I will never regret this." Castiel promises.

Dean huffs out a small chuckle and turns his head to press his lips against Castiel's cheek. "I have to start cooking."

Castiel hums in acknowledgement before reaching and grasping Dean's chin in his fingers and pulling Dean into a slow, languid kiss. Castiel's hands trail down to Dean's hips and pulls him closer, feeling him shudder when his dick slides against the curve of Dean's back. Curious fingers ghost their way to the front of Dean's stomach, knuckles grazing against the skin of Dean's dick. 

"W-wait, hold on." Dean reaches and grabs Castiel's wrist in a death like vice. Castiel can feel his body shake against him. 

"Okay, okay. I won't touch you. Here, look, my love." Castiel rises from the bath, water splashing on the porcelain and the bath mat. He tries to maneuver easily out the tub without forcing his arm out of Dean's grip. The position is awkward and strains his knees but he doesn't complain.

"I'm," Dean frowns his eyebrows and swallows thickly. "a little nauseous, sorry." 

"Don't apologize, it's okay. Thank you for telling me. Is there anything I can do?" 

Dean shakes his head, hand loosening on Castiel's arm. "Uh, no? I don't–I don't know. Fuckin' Christ." 

"Do you want to get out of the tub?" Castiel asks cautiously. 

Dean delays in his answer but eventually shakes his head and tries to swallow the ball of bile forming in his throat as he looks down at his cock twitching between his legs.

"That's fine, no worries, my love. Take some deep breaths and maybe you can tell me how you're feeling?" Castiel asks worriedly, adjusting himself so he can sit on his heels in front of the tub. 

Dean draws in a shaky, watery breath and sniffs noisily. His grip loosens on Castiel's arm but he doesn't completely let go but instead draws mindless shapes on the slippery skin.

"It's nothing, really." Dean croaks with a wiry chuckle. "I'm just fuckin-" Dean raises one hand then drops it back into the water. "broken."

"Dean-"

"It wasn't even you! I-" Dean sighs heavily and sags into the water until the back of his head touches the porcelain of the tub. "I just imagined his hands, it was him, and I just felt sick to my fucking stomach but my-I'm still hard and every part of my body is...it's not fair." Dean's voice cracks on the last syllable and Castiel's heart squeezes painfully in his chest.

"Do you feel as if it's your fault for feeling the way that you do?"

Dean hesitates between a soft inhale and a shaky exhale, he lets go of Castiel's arm before lifting his hand out of the water and reaching forward, leaving large droplets of water cascading onto the rim of the tub and the bath mat in his movement, thumbing innocently at the skin below Castiel's collarbone.

"Don't therapize me." 

"So answer me as your friend, if you feel comfortable, of course."

"Just fuck off, Cas." Dean pulls his hand back with an angry hiss. Castiel frowns and nods his head. 

"Okay. I'll get changed and maybe, I'll go for a walk? I need a breather and I don't want to upset you more than I have." Castiel stands up, wincing at the stiffness of his knees. 

"You don't know what the fuck I'm feeling." Dean bites out, glaring daggers into Castiel's retreating back.

"You're right. I shouldn't have assumed." Castiel agrees easily, getting a towel off a rack and wrapping it around his waist before leaving the bathroom and closing the door with a final click.

Dean leans over the rim of the tub with a groan and thumps his fist weakly against the damp washroom mat, watching droplets of water soak into the material. Tears well in his eyes and slide down his cheeks and that tell tale feeling, a swarm of mosquitos, reek havoc in his stomach.

Dean eventually makes it out of the tub, he had dragged his body from the cold water and barely dried himself before pulling on a matching Christmas set constiting of a cheesy sweater of Homer Simpson with a Santa hat on and pants with doughnuts and peppermint decorating them. Then he, very graciously, trudged downstairs with an ounce of fleeting hope in the pit of stomach that Castiel was downstairs waiting for him, only to have the rest of his hope disappear. 

He makes quick work of quickly diminishing any lingering, taunting is more like it, thoughts of Castiel before heading to the lone kitchen to get started on making Christmas dinner, as he has many years before. 

It's quiet in the house, aside from the occasional settling or lingering ghosts. It makes uneasiness take shelter in Dean's body; cozies between his lungs and expands just enough to make him dizzy with anger and sadness. Maybe a little guilt as well. 

He shouldn't have exploded at Castiel like he did, he knows that, but...

Dean uses one hand to pat at his pajama pants as he whisks together the key components to making a cheese sauce. He pulls his phone out of his pocket with minimal effort and quickly thumbs at it to play his classic rock playlist. 

Dean is probably two and a half hours, maybe three, into his final stages of cooking before the front door opens the zoo decides to walk back in. His heart aches when he doesn't hear Castiel walk through the door.

"We're home!" Mary calls excitedly, the noisy shuffling of bags catches Dean's attention but only briefly before the timer on the oven goes off. 

"And it's snowing outside!" Sam adds. Dean briefly wonders if Castiel is wearing layers, maybe he gets a tad bit too distracted because he presses his arm too close to the hot loaf pan and burns himself. With a hiss he slams the tin down onto the counter along with the oven mitts before rubbing his knuckles over the burn. 

"Son of a bitch." Dean sighs, exhaustion running deep in his bones as he turns the oven off. The meal is more or less finished; he got the baked, macaroni and cheese, steamed broccoli, some other devil concoction in the form of healthy greens mixed together, mashed sweet potatoes, grilled chicken, and the dessert which just consists of a peppermint loaf and an apple pie. 

Looking at the food makes him nauseous. 

"Wow, this is beautiful, Dean!" Mary gasps in awe as she spots the neatly placed table and the array of food before her. Her hair and shoulders are lightly dusted with snow and her eyes sparkle with life. 

Dean can't help but be bitter; where was that when he was younger? 

Everybody else eventually make their way to the dining room, sharing their own set of appreciations, shrugging their dusted coats off and hanging them at the back of their chairs. 

"Where did you guys go?" Dean asks as he makes his way to the table to sit. 

Eileen catches Dean's attention first; she waves her hands before describing the festive lights decorating Toronto and the snow that blanketed the ground. 

"Where's Castiel?" John grunts from the end of the table, handing his plate down the line to Dean. "Don't tell me the little coward ran away already." 

A strained hush falls over the table and Dean struggles to get any words out of his rapidly closing throat as he shakily serves his father's food. 

"I left to supply eggnog, actually." Castiel corrects, effectively making Dean's heart jump in his chest and his shoulders sag in relief. Castiel sets to cartons of eggnog on the table before shrugging off his jacket and leaning down to press a cold kiss to Dean's cheek. 

"Sorry I was gone for so long." Castiel whispers then takes his seat next to Dean. 

Mary laughs awkwardly and begins serving herself as do Sam and Eileen. "We're just glad you're here." 

Castiel gives his own tight lipped smile in return. "Glad to be here." 

Dean passes John back his plate then turns to Castiel. "Want me to serve you too?" 

"That boy can serve his damn self." John mutters angrily, jabbing his food. 

"Yes, please. Thank you, sweetheart." Castiel leans forward and presses a firm kiss on Dean's lips before pulling away with a fond smile and handing Dean his plate. 

"So, Castiel what do you do?" Sam tries to cut the tension. 

"I'm a therapist. I just started my own business, I guess you could say. It's picking up nicely." Castiel accepts his plate back with a smile in Dean's direction before turning back to Sam. 

"You're not eating, honey?" Mary gestures to Dean's naked plate and Dean shakes his head. 

"I've been sampling all the food, guess I'm too full now." Dean jokes half heartedly and Mary nods her head once before going back to her meal. 

"So why therapy?" Sam wonders, eyes alight with curiosity and Dean's ears perk up too. 

"My parents put a lot of strain on us as children, so much so that one of my brothers started to struggle with addiction at a young age and unfortunately lost his life." Castiel explains sadly. "I thought that if I had seen anyone else in this position, I'd want to help them through it." 

Dean bites the inside of his cheek guilty. It's not like he ever bothered to ask about Castiel's personal life.

"It's not something I often enjoy speaking about." Castiel shrugs and Sam curses softly before a spill of apologies tumble out of his mouth. 

"No, it's fine. It's fair I give you an honest answer." Castiel says with a kind smile but Dean can see, can hear, the grief in his voice. "It happened a long time ago. I've come to terms with what happened." 

"It's always sad when a child losses their life. My condolences, Castiel." Mary reaches over and squeezes Castiel's hand affectionately. 

"One's dead and the other's queer." John huffs out, amused. 

"Dad!" Dean and Sam snap in unison. 

"John!" Mary admonishes. 

Castiel lets out a laugh of disbelief, shaking his head  before rising up from his seat. "I don't take kindly to being insulted. Dean, thank you for this lovely dinner but I'm overwhelmed and I'm going to retire tonight." 

"Cas–" Dean gets up quickly, his knees hitting the back of his chair in his haste. 

"You stay put, boy!" John stares hard at the side of Dean's face. 

"John, please be reasonable." Mary begs. 

Dean isn't sure what's the last straw; it could be Mary's pleading, Sam and Eileen watching, John's glare burning the side of his face, or Castiel leaving but something inside him snaps. Crumbles into tiny pieces and has hot tears spilling down his cheeks. 

"Fuckin' Christ." Dean wipes his face angrily before pushing past Castiel and snatching his coat from the rack, Baby's keys jangle noisily in the pockets. Distantly, he can hear his name being called, feels a slight tug in his chest and a unraveling of unspoken emotions. 

He shoves his feet into his boots and slams the door on his way out, flinching at his own actions but too angry to care about the damage. He doesn't feel the cold hit his face, the snow land on his eyelashes or crunch under his feet. He opens Baby's care with less care then he usually does and slams it closed, letting out a harsh sob when he can't get the seatbelt to fully extend due to his tugging. 

"I–it's oka–I'm here." 

Dean hiccups and bangs his fists on Baby's wheel, spitting out harsh and empty words to the leather. His lungs burn and his eyes feel swollen and everything is wrong. 

"H-urts." Dean tries to gesture a shaky hand to his chest. Something cold brushes against his leg before it gets held against his heated skin. Dean tries to focus in it, between the ugly crying and the clenching and unclenching of his jaw, shivers at the condensation running down his leg. 

He wants to stop being, he wishes to run away and out of his body. He doesn't want to be here. He can't be here. 

He feels himself being moved, positioned like a puppet but it's dark and he can't see, maybe it's better like that. Baby rumbles and moves smoothly along paved roads and Dean still can't see, but he can hear the wind whipping past him and he can feel the cold on his leg. 

"Do you want the AC on?" Castiel asks quietly. 

Dean doesn't respond, can't, not when words aren't fit enough for what he wants to say. 

"Squeeze my hand, Dean. Squeeze for yes and twice for no." 

Dean huffs, weakly moves his fingers and feels for Castiel's open palm, feels a little jump to his pulse pulse he intertwines his fingers with Castiel's.

"AC?" 

Dean squeezes once. 

Castiel rolls up the windows and turns on the heat clumsily with his hand locked with Dean's, pointing the fans directly at Dean. 

Baby eventually stops, a smooth break Dean notes with pride, and Castiel shuffles around, reaches over the console and unbuckles Dean's seatbelt before squeezing his hand. 

"Backseat." Castiel orders gently, patiently. Dean doesn't have the strength in him to argue so he climbs to the back with practiced ease before Castiel joins him with a little less finesse. 

"Do you want to, if you want to of course, kneel down on the ground for me?" 

Dean frowns his eyebrows, wants to kick and curse Castiel out but his body is out of fight. He slides to the floor easily, nestled between Castiel's legs. Castiel reaches for his hand again and presses warm kisses to his knuckles. 

Dean shuffles, leans forward and rests his head on Castiel's thigh. Inhaling the scent of sawed wood and sage. 

"I think you're a strong individual, Dean. I know you can handle yourself in any situation but I don't want you to, I want you to rely on me. I'm sorry for leaving earlier, I hope you don't hold it against me." Castiel mummers, using his free hand to comb through Dean's hair. 

Dean isn't sure when he starts dozing off, maybe by his fourth or fifth breath and Castiel is still massaging his scalp. 

"Do you want to go home?" 

Dean squeezes his hand twice. 

Castiel hums. 

Dean shakes his hand then pokes Castiel's stomach and points go himself. 

"Us?" Castiel guesses. 

Dean squeezes once. 

"Are you uncomfortable in this position?" 

Dean squeezes twice then makes a pointed noise at their held hands. 

"You want to stop holding hands?" 

Dean squeezes twice, harder then before and Castiel chuckles. 

"Okay. You want us to stay like this?" 

Dean squeezes once. 

Castiel hesitates. "In the romantic sense?" 

Dean squeezes once then taps his head before holding up one digit. 

Castiel leans down and presses a kiss on Dean's head. 

"Whenever you're ready, Dean." 

Chapter Text

"Do you want to leave a note?" Castiel asks, hushed and curious, glancing at Dean from the side of his eye as he distractedly shoves his clothes in his bag. 

Dean shrugs with a tight frown and pinched eyebrows, stuffing flannels deep in the sides of his already bursting duffle. "Just wanna leave. Just need to fucking leave." 

Castiel worries the meat inside of his cheek between his teeth and reaches over to squeeze Dean's forearm in, what he hopes to be, a grounding gesture. "We're leaving. We're going home. I just need you to take a couple deep breaths for me, okay?" 

Dean pulls in two, fast and shaky breaths before shooting a pointed look at Castiel, who thanks him regardless of the blatant disobedience. Dean tugs furiously at the zipper on his duffle before slinging it over his shoulder and taking a short look around the room. 

"Are you ready?" Dean bites out, eyebrows pinched together. He needs to go; what if everybody wakes up, what if they ask him questions? He can't do this, he can't be here. Dean clenches his hand into a fist, digging his nails into the flesh of his palms. Castiel carries his bag by the short handles and holds Dean's closed fist in his open palm. 

"Hold my hand, Dean." Castiel wiggles Dean's fist lightly, lets out a little praise when Dean heaves a heavy sigh and unfurls his fist to intertwine his fingers with Castiel's. "Don't let go. I'm going to be driving us home. As soon as we get in the car, I want your stuff in the front and I want you in the backseat asleep. Yes?"

Dean huffs and rolls his shoulders back. "M'kay. Thanks, Cas."

Castiel lifts up their hands and presses a soft kiss to the back of Dean's hand. "You're so good, Dean."

The blonde lets out a small hum in the back of his throat and walks closer to Castiel, tightening his grip on Castiel's hand. They walk out into the hallway slowly, careful of the creaky floorboards and stairs. 

Some people feel horrible when leaving their family for the holidays; they part with teary eyes and tight hugs but Dean feels numb; a dark murky pile of nothingness and fatigue built in his chest. He's so tired. He hasn't got a break since he's got here and his body feels like it's about to collapse on itself. 

They step out into the cold air, the drizzle of rain and snow hitting them gently against their exposed skin. Castiel opens the back door, carelessly tossing his bag on the floor. Castiel turns and eases Dean's bag off his shoulder before gently setting it down on the floor. 

Dean blinks languidly. "Wanna sit with you."

Castiel cups Dean's face in his hands and brushes his hair back, "Of course, my love. You're going to lay down with me, rest your pretty head on my lap and sleep."

Dean closes his eyes, melting into the warm touch of Castiel's hand. "Thank you." 

Castiel nudges Dean gently in the car, all heavy limbs and limp body with fondness, his heart bursting in his chest when Dean lays down and curls close to his body, making space for Castiel. 

It has to be the crunch of the snow that makes Castiel's heart sour and his teeth clench, it must be. Or maybe it's the snow causing his face to go red with the temperature that his body aches and he feels dizzy for a few seconds. 

That must be it. That has to be it. 

Castiel slides into the drivers seat, lifts Dean's head up just a bit to rest on his thigh. 

"Are you cold?" Castiel runs his finger tips along Dean's cheek. 

"Baby'll warm us up, 'm just–bone tired, Cas." Dean's voice wavers, cracks around the last syllable. 

"I know, Dean. Don't worry, I'll take care of you." 

Maybe it's the promise that makes Castiel forget his heart is broken, the intention to protect and love and be relied on and in return rely on someone. 

Castiel gazes at Dean one more before turning on the car and saying goodbye to the Winchester household. 

Unfortunately, the car ride isn't very far. Castiel has to wake up Dean, who huffs and growls, similar to a bear, when he parks into Baby's designated spot at their apartment building. 

"We can leave our bags in the car, I'll get them tomorrow morning." Castiel whispers, stroking up and down Dean's arms fondly. Dean makes a low sleepy noise and sluggishly makes his way out Baby, Castiel falling in suite. 

"My apartment?"

Dean lets out a short noise which Castiel takes as agreement. 

Castiel doesn't realize how tired he is until he steps inside his apartment, the familiar smell of home makes his body sag and Dean wastes no time grabbing his hand and pulling him towards where he assumes the bedroom is. 

Dean crawls into bed with a groan, stretching out against the soft mattress and Castiel hums lowly as he takes off his own pants. 

"No sleeping in your jeans, my love." 

Dean unbuttons his jeans with a short roll of his eyes  and kicks his way out of them before looking at Castiel expectantly. Castiel kneels carefully on the mattress, making sure not to startle Dean  with hid movements. 

Dean wiggles under the blankets, eyes hooded tiredly and he reaches and grasps Castiel's hand. "Do you really want to be with me?"  

Castiel cups Dean's warmed cheeks in his hands. "Of course I do." 

Dean pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. "What if I can't right now? Would you wait? I just–I'm so broken, Cas and I can't do that to you." 

"Then I would wait. Until the end of time, I would wait for you, Dean." Castiel promises. 

Dean's eyes flutter close and a small smile graces his lips. "Sap." 

Castiel presses a soft kiss to Dean's forehead as his breaths even out. "You have no idea."