Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time Dean Winchester laid eyes on Castiel Novak, he thought he might be dreaming.

It was the second week of junior year, and Lawrence High was already chewing him up and spitting him out in the usual miserable way. Dean liked cars, working with his hands, shooting the shit with Jo when she wasn’t being a pain, and keeping Sammy out of trouble. He didn’t need more complications. Especially not the kind that came walking into homeroom late, clutching a crumpled schedule, with a battered canvas bag slung over his shoulder like he didn’t belong anywhere at all.

Mr. Kline barely glanced up from his newspaper. “You the transfer?”

The boy nodded. His eyes, the deepest, clearest blue Dean had ever seen, darted around the room nervously. “Yes, sir. Castiel Novak.”

Dean watched him like a man possessed. There was something about him—quiet, sharp, but soft around the edges too. His jeans were a little too loose, his sweater too big. Like maybe he’d never learned how to take up space properly.

Mr. Kline pointed lazily. “Empty seat next to Winchester. You’ll survive.”

Dean slouched deeper in his chair, trying to look uninterested as Castiel moved toward him, dropping into the seat with the care of someone used to breakable things. He smelled faintly of rain and something older, like pages of a forgotten book.

They didn’t speak at first. Dean wasn’t great at words unless they were attached to engines or his little brother. But Castiel didn’t seem to mind. He sat perfectly still, hands folded on the desk, gaze locked forward as if he were memorizing the world so he wouldn’t get lost in it.

It was Jo who broke the ice at lunch.

“You’re Castiel, right?” she asked, plopping her tray down across from him, grinning like a shark. “I’m Jo. That’s Dean, and that’s Sam.”

Castiel blinked at her, solemn. “Hello.”

Dean shoved a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth so he wouldn’t blurt out something stupid like you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

They found out quickly that Castiel had moved here because his parents—Naomi and Chuck—had landed some “important jobs” that kept them out of town more than not. Castiel lived in one of those big houses in the nicer part of town, but you could tell he’d give it up in a second for someone to just notice he was there.

Dean did notice.

He noticed everything.

The way Castiel tilted his head when he was confused, like a curious bird. The way he offered smiles sparingly, like they were sacred things not meant to be wasted. The way he was kind even when the world wasn’t.

By Halloween, Dean had found a nickname for him. It slipped out one afternoon when they were sitting on the hood of the Impala, eating burgers, watching the sunset set the Kansas sky on fire.

“You’re like a freakin’ angel or something, Cas,” Dean said, grinning, tossing a fry at him.

Castiel caught it, surprised, and smiled that rare, dazzling smile. “An angel?”

Dean shrugged, heart thudding in a way he didn’t dare think about. “Yeah. You’re, like—too good for this place.”

Castiel looked down, hiding his face behind the fall of his dark hair. But Dean caught the flush creeping up his cheeks anyway.

He didn’t know the half of it.
Not yet.

Because Castiel was an angel—wings once gleaming white, now hidden deep beneath human skin, clipped and banished for a crime he never committed. A fall he took to protect his brother, Gabriel, who had screwed around with heavenly protocols one too many times.

Gabriel followed him down, of course. No way he was letting Cas get stuck alone in this mess. Not when it was his fault.

Dean didn’t know any of that. Not then.

All he knew was that, somehow, Castiel Novak made breathing easier. And harder. At the same time.

And that he was falling faster than he ever thought possible.

Chapter Text

It started with a look.

Dean wasn’t even sure when exactly — maybe the afternoon Cas showed up behind the bleachers, shoulders hunched in a hoodie, hands shoved in his pockets, asking if Dean needed help fixing up the Impala.
Maybe it was before that.
Maybe it was the first time Castiel said Dean’s name, like it was something precious he didn’t quite deserve to hold.

Dean had never wanted anything the way he wanted this.

He just didn’t know what this even was. Not yet.

They spent most afternoons together now. Cas trailing after Dean like a silent, stubborn ghost. Fixing up old cars at Bobby’s garage. Tossing footballs around with Jo and Sam. Sneaking out late to climb up the rusted water tower and stare at the endless Kansas sky.

Cas was always there. Solid. Quiet. Steady.

Dean couldn’t get enough of him.

⸻

The first time they kissed, it was clumsy. Almost stupid.

They were in Dean’s room above Bobby’s garage, the Impala parked safe down below, the night thick and humming with summer heat.

Cas was lying across the bed on his stomach, flipping through one of Sam’s textbooks and frowning at the complicated language like it had personally offended him. Dean sprawled at the foot of the bed, lazily bouncing a tennis ball against the far wall.

“You ever kissed anyone before?” Dean asked, casual as anything, though his heart hammered in his throat.

Cas blinked up at him, slow and deliberate. “No.”

Dean laughed — too loud, too fast — and tried to play it off. “Yeah, me neither. I mean, y’know. Not really.”

The silence between them stretched. Thickened.

Castiel set the book down carefully. Sat up.

“Would you… like to?” he asked, voice so unbearably sincere it made Dean’s chest ache.

Dean swallowed. His palms went sweaty. His heart skittered against his ribs like it wanted out.

And then — without really thinking — he nodded.

Cas leaned in first.

Their noses bumped. Dean’s lips missed, landed half off-center. They both pulled back, awkward laughter bubbling up, red-faced and breathless.

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face. “God, I suck at this.”

“You don’t,” Castiel said, fiercely. “You’re perfect.”

Before Dean could make another dumb joke, Cas kissed him again. Slower this time.
Surer.

Dean felt like he was melting. Like every atom of him was waking up for the first time.
Cas tasted like spearmint gum and sunlight. Warm and clean and good.

Dean’s hands found Castiel’s hips without thinking. His thumbs brushed over the thin sliver of skin exposed where Cas’s shirt had ridden up, and the little shiver he felt under his palms went straight to his head. And lower.

When they finally broke apart, both of them panting, Castiel just looked at him — pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed, lips kissed raw — and smiled like Dean had hung the damn stars himself.

Dean thought maybe he had.

⸻

It escalated from there. Quietly. Naturally.

A brush of hands when passing tools. A shared milkshake at the diner, two straws and too much staring.
Dean caught himself leaning in, craving Cas like air.

The first time Cas really touched him — in the cramped storage closet near the gym, pressed up against cleaning supplies and old trophies — Dean nearly collapsed.

Cas’s mouth was hot against his throat. His hands, so careful, so reverent, slid under Dean’s shirt and mapped the muscles of his back like a prayer. Dean clutched at him blindly, moaning against his shoulder, desperate and overwhelmed.

When Cas sank to his knees — unprompted, like it was instinct — Dean almost stopped him, almost said you don’t have to.

But Cas looked up at him with such devotion — like Dean was something holy — that Dean forgot how to breathe.

It was clumsy and eager and utterly perfect.

Dean saw heaven that afternoon, and it didn’t look anything like the white clouds and golden gates Pastor Jim used to preach about.

It looked like Castiel Novak, eyes shining, mouth wet, devotion carved into every line of his face.

Dean never wanted to touch anyone else again.

Ever.

⸻

He still thought about it sometimes — even years later — how his first taste of paradise wasn’t some fantasy.

It was Cas.
It was always Cas.

Even when Cas was gone.

Even when the world changed.

Dean never stopped looking at the stars and thinking,
I found heaven once. And I lost it.

Chapter Text

They made it.

Graduation day was hot, sticky, and unbearable — and Dean couldn’t stop sweating under his stupid cap and gown. Sam looked smug in his honor cords. Jo kept elbowing Dean in the ribs, threatening to trip him when they crossed the stage.

But Dean didn’t care about any of it.
Not really.
All he cared about was Castiel, standing a few rows over, straight-backed and solemn in his navy gown, like he didn’t quite know how to feel about all this human ceremony.

Dean caught his eye across the sea of bodies. Grinned.

Castiel smiled back — small, secret. Just for him.

Dean thought: This is it. This is where everything good starts.

He was wrong.

⸻

The trouble came two days later.

Dean was sitting in the Impala, fiddling with the radio, when Cas showed up at Bobby’s — out of breath, pale, fists clenching the hem of his jacket like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will.

“They’re taking me,” he said, voice cracking.

Dean jumped out of the car so fast he nearly slammed his head on the roof. “What? What do you mean, who?”

“My uncle,” Cas said. “Zachariah Novak. Legal custody. He filed for it months ago — said my parents were negligent — and the court agreed. It’s official now.”

Dean’s mind reeled. “But—you’re eighteen, Cas. You can stay if you want.”

Castiel shook his head. “Not in the eyes of Heaven.”

Dean blinked. “The what now?”

Cas faltered. His eyes filled with something like terror. “Dean, I—I can’t explain it all. But they’re making me leave. Tonight.”

Dean grabbed his shoulders. “Then don’t go, Cas! Screw that! Stay with us. Bobby’ll hide you. Hell, I’ll hide you.”

Castiel closed his eyes. His hands came up, trembling, to touch Dean’s wrists. Holding on like he wanted to fuse their skin together.

“I want to stay,” he whispered. “With you.”

Dean leaned in, forehead to forehead, trying not to shake apart. “Then do it. Stay.”

For a second — just one aching second — Dean thought maybe he had won.
Castiel’s fingers tightened around his sleeves. His lips brushed Dean’s in a kiss so desperate, so full of everything they never got to say, that Dean’s heart shattered and rebuilt itself in the same beat.

But then—

A voice rang out across the driveway. Sharp. Cold.

“Castiel.”

Dean turned to see him.
Zachariah.
In a black car, suit sharp enough to cut, eyes like frozen steel.

Castiel flinched like he’d been struck.

“No,” Dean growled. “No, Cas—”

But Castiel was already pulling away.

“I’m sorry,” Cas choked out. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean ran after him. Grabbed his hand. “Cas, don’t—please—”

Their fingers slipped apart.

Castiel climbed into the car without looking back.

And Dean stood there, under the boiling Kansas sun, feeling the world crack open beneath his feet.

⸻

He tried to call. Tried to find him.
But Castiel was gone.

Disappeared into thin air like he had never existed at all.

Dean didn’t know what they did to him.
Not yet.
Didn’t know that Zachariah’s re-education meant erasing Dean from Castiel’s mind.
That somewhere, locked deep inside, Cas was screaming for him but couldn’t remember why.

Dean only knew that he had lost something he would never, ever get back.

⸻

At night, Dean lay awake in his room above Bobby’s garage.
Stared at the ceiling.
Listened to the cicadas screaming into the dark.

And whispered a promise to the empty room:

I’ll find you again, Cas.
No matter what it takes.

Chapter Text

It started the summer after Cas disappeared.

Dean thought he’d rot away in Lawrence, fixing busted trucks and pretending he wasn’t dying inside.

Then the world cracked open again — this time, bloody and raw.

⸻

The first hunt wasn’t supposed to be a hunt at all.

Dean and Sam were helping Bobby clear out an old salvage yard when they heard the screaming.
Not human screaming.

The thing that charged them — seven feet tall, with yellowed teeth and the stink of rotting meat — wasn’t human either.

It took all three of them, plus a shotgun loaded with rock salt, to drive it back long enough for Bobby to finish it off with a silver knife to the heart.

A wendigo, Bobby said afterward, grim and grimy with monster blood.

“Ain’t just fairy tales, boys,” he told them, tossing the smoking remains into a pit. “World’s a hell of a lot darker than you think.”

Dean wiped blood from his cheek. His hands were still shaking. Sam looked pale but steady, his mouth pressed in a thin, determined line.

Dean felt something cold settle in his gut.

The world was bigger — and uglier — than he’d ever imagined.

And somewhere out there, Cas was alone in it.

⸻

After that, there was no going back.

Bobby taught them how to track, how to fight, how to read the old lore books and spot the signs.
Ellen and Jo joined in too — rough and ready, merciless with the training.

They learned fast, because the world didn’t wait.

Poltergeists. Vampires. Skinwalkers. Demons.

Dean carved calluses into his palms and fire into his blood.

It made him feel closer to Cas, somehow.
Like if he fought hard enough, killed enough monsters, maybe someday he’d find his angel again.
Maybe he’d be strong enough to save him this time.

⸻

They learned about angels by accident.

A hunt gone sideways.
A kid possessed by something with wings and too many teeth.
Not a demon. Not human.

An angel, Bobby said grimly, his shotgun still smoking.

“Ain’t like the Bible says, boys. They ain’t pretty, and they sure as hell ain’t merciful.”

Dean stared down at the thing’s twisted corpse. Its wings — vast, broken things of light and bone — still twitched spasmodically in the dirt.

He thought of Cas.

Of blue eyes and soft hands and the way Cas had once said,
“You’re not a sinner, Dean. You’re good.”

Sam knelt beside him, looking troubled. “If angels are real,” he said slowly, “what else is?”

Dean didn’t answer.

He just tightened his grip on the silver knife at his belt.

Anything. Everything.

And he was going to find it.

⸻

Late at night, when the others were asleep, Dean sat on the roof of Bobby’s garage, staring up at the stars.

He wondered if Cas could see them too.

If somewhere out there, Cas was looking up at the same sky and missing him, even if he didn’t know why.

Dean made himself another promise.

No matter what monsters were waiting,
no matter how long it took,
he was going to find Castiel again.

And he was going to bring him home.

Chapter Text

The club was loud — too loud — but Dean wasn’t there for the music.

He was there on a hunt.

Rumors about missing people. Drained bodies found in dumpsters. Signs of supernatural activity Bobby’s contacts had flagged.

Dean was checking the back alleys when he saw them.

Saw him.

⸻

It was like a punch to the gut.

Dean froze in his tracks, breath seizing in his chest.

Castiel.

Older now. Taller. Broader in the shoulders. His dark hair tousled by the night breeze. His face sharper, more angular — but the same deep blue eyes.

Eyes Dean had dreamed about for years.

Cas wasn’t alone.

He was clinging to the arm of a man Dean instinctively hated — tall, polished, cruel-faced.
Bartholomew.
Dean didn’t know his name yet, but he knew.

He felt it in his bones. This man was wrong.

Dean stepped forward, heart hammering.

“Cas?” he called, voice hoarse.

Castiel jerked to a halt.

For one terrible, beautiful moment, their eyes met.

And something sparked.
Something deep and old and real.

Dean saw it — the flicker of recognition — the instinctive way Castiel’s hand started to reach for him.

But before he could move—

Smack.

Bartholomew slapped Castiel’s reaching hand away with a sharp crack. The sound echoed off the alley walls.

“You dumb, broken thing,” Bartholomew sneered, gripping Castiel’s wrist hard enough to bruise. “He’s a hunter, you idiot. He’s here to kill you.”

Castiel flinched. His whole body flinched.

Dean’s blood turned to ice.

He reached for the blade tucked into his belt, instincts roaring. “Let him go,” he growled.

Bartholomew laughed — a low, mocking sound.
He spread his wings — black as pitch, crackling with unnatural energy — daring Dean to try something.

Dean saw Castiel shrink back, trembling.

Run, Dean wanted to scream.
Run to me.

But Castiel stayed frozen.

Dean’s eyes flicked downward — and that’s when he saw it.

The collar.

A band of gleaming silver and cruel, glowing runes wrapped around Cas’s neck.
Not just decorative.
A leash.
A prison.

Dean’s stomach twisted in horror.

It was glowing faintly, pulsing, and he could see how it hurt Cas — every movement, every breath laced with pain.

Cas didn’t run because he couldn’t.

⸻

Rage like nothing Dean had ever felt before tore through him.

He charged forward.

Bartholomew swung at him, but Dean ducked, rolling low, coming up under Cas’s side.
He didn’t hesitate.

One clean slash of his blade —
A shower of sparks —
And the collar snapped open, hissing like a wounded thing.

Cas gasped and staggered, collapsing into Dean’s arms.

“Run!” Dean barked, hauling him upright.

This time, Castiel moved.

⸻

They ran through the alley, stumbling and crashing into trash cans, Cas clinging to Dean like he was the only real thing left in the world.

Dean didn’t look back.
Didn’t care.

He just knew —
He wasn’t losing Cas again.

⸻

At the Impala, Dean all but shoved Castiel into the passenger seat, slammed the door, and peeled out of there like the devil himself was on their tail.

Only once they were miles away did Dean risk a glance at him.

Castiel was curled up small, pressing himself into the corner of the seat, one hand cradling his bruised neck where the collar had been.

Tears slid down his face, silent and unending.

Dean’s heart broke all over again.

“I’m sorry,” Cas whispered, voice wrecked. “I didn’t mean to intrude. Please—don’t send me back. I’ll be good. I’ll do whatever you want.”

Dean almost drove off the damn road.

“Cas,” he said, voice rough, reaching out without thinking, covering Castiel’s trembling hand with his own. “You’re safe. I’m not sending you anywhere. You’re home, you hear me?”

Castiel looked at him then — really looked — and for a heartbeat, Dean thought he saw a flash of the boy he used to know.

The boy who had kissed him under the summer stars.

The boy who had promised, I want to stay.

Dean squeezed his hand, fierce.

“I’m gonna fix this,” he swore.

Even if it killed him.

Chapter Text

Bobby didn’t ask questions when Dean showed up at the salvage yard half past midnight with Cas cradled in the front seat.

He just grunted, held the door open, and pointed Dean toward the upstairs guest room.

Dean barely managed to get Cas inside before the adrenaline wore off and the exhaustion hit like a brick.

Cas was trembling — silent, shell-shocked — every muscle tight as a bowstring. He flinched when Dean brushed his arm, when the floorboards creaked, when Bobby spoke too loudly downstairs.

Dean hated it.
Hated that someone had taken Cas’s kindness and crushed it under their boot.

“Hey,” Dean said softly, crouching down in front of him. “You’re okay now, Cas. No one’s gonna hurt you here. I swear it.”

Castiel’s eyes were wide, wild with confusion and fear. He pressed back into the corner of the bed like he expected Dean to lash out.

Dean didn’t move closer. He just sat on the floor, hands loose on his knees, voice steady and low.

“You remember me, right?” he asked, heart in his throat. “Dean Winchester.”

Castiel stared at him. His mouth opened. Closed.

“I…” he whispered, voice cracking. “I don’t know. I feel—like I should.”

Dean smiled — small, aching. “That’s okay. We’ll figure it out. You’re safe now.”

He stood slowly, grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed, and draped it carefully over Cas’s shoulders, careful not to touch his skin.

“You sleep, man,” he said, squeezing his own hands into fists to stop himself from reaching out again. “I’m right outside if you need anything.”

Dean backed out of the room, closing the door with a soft click.

Then he slumped against the wall in the hallway, closed his eyes, and breathed.

It wasn’t much.
But it was something.

Cas was here.

Alive.

And Dean wasn’t going to let him go again.

⸻

The next few days were slow.
Hard.

Cas barely spoke. He barely ate. He flinched whenever anyone moved too fast or raised their voice.

Dean stayed close but not too close. He learned quickly — Cas needed space. Needed quiet. Needed gentleness.

So Dean gave him all of it, without asking for anything in return.

He cooked meals and left them outside Cas’s door. He fixed up the old radio in the guest room so Cas could listen to soft music. He sat on the porch at night, humming under his breath, just loud enough for Cas to hear through the window if he wanted.

No pressure.

Just there.

Always there.

⸻

One evening, three days after they brought him home, Dean was sitting in the living room, pretending to watch a baseball game he didn’t care about, when he heard soft footsteps.

He looked up — heart leaping — to see Castiel standing in the doorway, clutching the blanket around his shoulders like armor.

Dean muted the TV immediately. “Hey, Cas.”

Castiel hesitated. His eyes darted around the room, searching, uncertain.

Finally, in a small, broken voice, he asked:

“Can I sit with you?”

Dean almost couldn’t speak around the lump in his throat.
He just nodded, patting the couch beside him.

Cas crossed the room like a man approaching a trap. He perched on the edge of the sofa, stiff and tense.

Dean sat still.
Didn’t move.
Didn’t breathe too loud.

After a long moment, Castiel shifted closer.
Then closer still.

Until he was tucked against Dean’s side, his head resting carefully against Dean’s shoulder.

Dean exhaled slowly.
Lifted his arm — so carefully — and wrapped it around Cas’s trembling frame.

“You’re safe,” he whispered again, into the crown of Castiel’s hair. “I got you.”

Castiel let out a shaky breath.

For the first time since Dean found him in that alley, he relaxed. Just a little.

Dean tightened his hold, fierce and protective.

He didn’t know how long it would take.
Didn’t know how deep the scars ran.

But he knew this much:

He would wait.

As long as it took.

Because he wasn’t just fighting monsters anymore.
He was fighting for Cas.

And Dean Winchester never walked away from a fight.

Not when it mattered.

Not when it was him.

Chapter Text

The days passed like dreams.

Soft. Slow. Full of little, broken things Dean didn’t know how to fix, but tried to anyway.

⸻

Dean was careful with Castiel.

He made him tea when he woke up with night terrors. He left a nightlight on in the guest room because Cas flinched at the dark. He tuned the radio to the oldies station, because Cas seemed to like the scratchy, low hum of it filling the house.

Sometimes, when Dean sat beside him on the couch and Cas leaned against him — just leaned, trusting — Dean thought his heart might split wide open with how much he wanted to protect him.

Wanted to love him.

He didn’t say that out loud, of course.

He just pulled Cas a little closer and watched over him like a goddamn knight.

⸻

One evening, after Bobby and Sam had gone on a supply run, Dean found Castiel sitting on the porch swing, staring up at the sky.

Dean hesitated in the doorway, just watching him.

The sunset bled red and gold across Cas’s skin, making him look —
Not human.

Not earthly.

Something too beautiful for the dusty old world Dean lived in.

Dean swallowed hard, crossed the porch, and sat down beside him.

Cas didn’t flinch.
Didn’t move away.

Instead, he turned those deep, endless eyes toward Dean and asked, in the softest voice:

“Did we know each other before?”

Dean’s breath caught.

“Yeah, Cas,” he said quietly. “We did.”

Castiel looked away, shame flickering across his face. “I’m sorry. I should remember. You’re… important. I know you are.”

Dean smiled — aching and real — and reached out, slow enough for Cas to pull away if he needed to.

He didn’t.

Dean brushed a lock of dark hair back from Cas’s forehead, fingertips lingering just a second longer than they should have.

“You don’t gotta apologize,” he said. “Your memories… they’ll come back when they’re ready. No rush. I’m just glad you’re here.”

Cas blinked at him — and for a moment, his expression softened into something almost familiar.

Like the boy Dean used to know was still in there, fighting to find his way back.

⸻

Later that night, after Cas had fallen asleep curled up on the couch under Dean’s old leather jacket, Dean tucked a blanket around him and sat there just… watching him breathe.

That’s when he noticed it.

Tiny white feathers — delicate and ghostly — tangled in Cas’s hair.

Dean reached out, heart thudding, and plucked one free.

It shimmered faintly between his fingers before disintegrating into dust.

Dean stared at his empty hand.

Feathers.
From wings.

Something deep inside him whispered the truth.

He’s not human.

He never was.

Dean sat back, feeling the world tilt under him.

But when Cas shifted in his sleep — murmuring Dean’s name like a prayer — Dean shoved the fear down.

Whatever Cas was — angel, human, something in between — it didn’t matter.

Dean wasn’t leaving him.

Not now.

Not ever.

⸻

Just before dawn, Castiel stirred.

Bleary-eyed and half-asleep, he reached for Dean blindly — grabbed a fistful of his shirt and tugged him close.

Dean froze.

Cas pressed his forehead against Dean’s collarbone, breathing him in like he was something sacred.

And then — still half-dreaming — Cas whispered:

“I missed you.”

Dean’s chest cracked wide open.

He curled his arms around Cas without thinking, holding him tight.

“I missed you too, baby,” Dean whispered into his hair.

God, he thought, shutting his eyes against the burn of tears.

I’m gonna love you forever, aren’t I?

Chapter Text

Dean didn’t sleep much after that night.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw those feathers disintegrating between his fingers.
Heard Castiel’s soft voice, “I missed you,” echoing in the hollow spaces of his heart.

⸻

He didn’t push Cas for answers.

Didn’t demand explanations.

He just stayed close — a steady warmth at Cas’s side — and waited.

Like he had all the time in the world.

Even if his chest ached like it was splitting open, slow and quiet, every time Cas looked at him with those lost, aching eyes and didn’t remember.

⸻

The next clue came from Sam.

He dropped an old tome on the kitchen table with a heavy thud. The title was in Latin, the leather binding cracked and worn.

“Angel Lore,” Sam said, pushing it toward Dean. “Bobby found it buried in his archives. Thought you might wanna take a look.”

Dean stared at the book like it might bite him.

He didn’t want it.

He didn’t want proof.

He already knew.

Still, late that night — after Cas had fallen asleep curled against the couch pillows like a kid — Dean cracked the book open with trembling hands.

The stories spilled out in careful, cramped handwriting.

Stories of angels who disobeyed.
Of punishments handed down by Heaven.
Of those who fell — not because they were evil, but because they refused to betray love, loyalty, mercy.

Dean’s throat closed up.

One passage hit like a hammer:

“Some were cast out not for sin, but for the refusal to condemn their brothers.
Some fell for love.
Some fell… for kindness.”

Dean sat back, breathless.

Gabriel.
Cas had a brother named Gabriel.

Dean remembered, dimly, that Cas had once mentioned him — laughing softly about pranks, about loyalty.

Had Cas fallen because he protected someone he loved?

Because he refused to betray him?

Dean ran a hand over his face.

God.

Cas hadn’t just fallen.

He had sacrificed himself.

And Heaven — the place that was supposed to be full of love and mercy — had thrown him away like garbage.

⸻

Dean looked over at the couch.

At Castiel, curled in sleep, one hand still tucked under his cheek.

His Cas.

His first kiss.
His first everything.

Dean remembered it all —
The first time Cas had held his hand.
The first time they had tangled up in the dark, fumbling and laughing, hearts pounding against each other’s ribs.
The first time Cas had whispered, “I love you,” like it was the greatest truth in the universe.

Dean had been too young, too stupid, to say it back properly.
But he had felt it.

God, he had felt it.

And he never stopped.

Not once.

⸻

Dean stood slowly, walked over to the couch, and knelt down beside Cas’s sleeping form.

He brushed a hand lightly over Cas’s hair — soft, warm, alive.

“You were my whole damn world, Cas,” he whispered, voice thick. “You still are.”

Cas stirred faintly under his touch, but didn’t wake.

Dean smiled — small and broken — and pressed a kiss to the back of Cas’s hand.

“I’m gonna fix this,” he promised the sleeping boy — the fallen angel. “I don’t care what it takes.”

He leaned his forehead against Cas’s knuckles.

“I’m gonna bring you home.”

⸻

Chapter Text

The memories came in pieces.

Small, blinking moments, like stars winking through a heavy mist.

⸻

It started with the leather jacket.

Dean found Cas sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, the old thing draped around his shoulders, sleeves too long, collar tucked up around his cheeks.

Dean smiled a little. “You look ridiculous, man.”

Cas looked up at him — startled — then down at the jacket like he was seeing it for the first time.

“I remember…” he said slowly, fingers curling into the worn leather. “This was yours.”

Dean’s breath caught.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “It’s mine.”

Castiel frowned, struggling to reach for something slippery and fragile in his mind.

“You gave it to me,” he whispered. “When I got cold… once. Long ago.”

Dean crossed the room and sank down onto the floor beside him.

“Yeah,” he said again. “You always ran cold. I used to tease you about it.”

Cas blinked at him, lost and wide-eyed.

“But you never laughed,” Dean added, softer now. “You just… smiled. That little smile. Like you knew something better than any of us did.”

For a long moment, they just sat there.

Cas wrapped in Dean’s jacket.
Dean sitting close enough to touch but not quite daring to.
The air thick with memories neither of them could fully reach yet.

⸻

Later that night, Dean was fixing a squeaky hinge on the back porch when Cas wandered out barefoot, trailing a blanket like a ghost.

Dean looked up. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Cas shook his head. “I feel… strange.”

Dean set the wrench down. “Good strange or bad strange?”

“I don’t know,” Cas said honestly. “I just… I feel you.”

Dean froze.

Slowly, carefully, he stood and crossed the porch to him.

“You feel me?” he echoed, voice low.

Cas nodded, chewing his bottom lip in confusion. “In here.” He pressed a hand against his chest. Right over his heart.

Dean’s own heart twisted so hard he almost staggered.

Without thinking — without daring to breathe — Dean reached out and curled his fingers lightly around Castiel’s hand, pressing it more firmly against his chest.

Their hands overlapped, warm and real and together.

Cas stared up at him, confused and luminous.

“You’re important,” he said again, voice trembling. “You always were.”

Dean smiled — broken and beautiful.
He brought Cas’s hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss into his knuckles.

“So were you, Cas,” he whispered. “Always.”

⸻

They stood like that for a long time.
Hands tangled together.
Breathing each other in.
Safe.

Dean didn’t ask for more.

He didn’t need to.

Just standing there with Cas in the cool night air, the stars wheeling overhead, was enough.

It was everything.

And maybe — just maybe — they were finding their way back to each other after all.

Chapter Text

It was a quiet night.

The kind where the crickets hummed low in the grass, and the sky was painted deep indigo, stars bleeding silver at the edges.

Dean sat on the back porch steps, fiddling with an old lighter, when Castiel slipped outside, barefoot, silent.

Dean looked up and smiled.

“Hey, sunshine,” he said softly.

Cas tilted his head — that same old familiar tilt that had once made Dean fall headfirst without even knowing it.

“Dean,” Cas said, voice rough with something he didn’t have words for. “Can I ask you something?”

Dean flicked the lighter closed and gave him his full attention. “Anything.”

Cas shifted closer, the blanket still slung around his shoulders like a makeshift cloak.

“I remembered something,” he said quietly. “I remembered… us.”

Dean’s heart skipped, stuttered, picked up pace.

Cas knelt down in front of him, blue eyes searching Dean’s face like he was looking for permission.

“You kissed me,” Castiel said, voice soft, wonderstruck. “Before. You kissed me under the stars.”

Dean swallowed hard. His fingers tightened around the lighter.

“Yeah,” he said roughly. “Yeah, I did.”

Cas’s hands trembled slightly as he reached out, resting them lightly against Dean’s knees, grounding himself.

“May I?” he whispered. “May I kiss you again?”

Dean’s chest ached.

He set the lighter aside. Reached out with slow, steady hands to cup Castiel’s face.

“You don’t have to ask,” he murmured. “You never have to ask, Cas.”

Cas leaned in — and Dean met him halfway.

The kiss was slow.
Sweet.
The barest brush of lips at first, like they were afraid they might break each other.

But as soon as their mouths touched —
As soon as the connection sparked between them —

It broke open.

⸻

A flood of memories poured into Castiel’s mind —
His first kiss in the dark, fumbling and laughing with Dean.
Dean handing him a milkshake with two straws and a stupid grin.
Falling asleep in Dean’s arms in the backseat of the Impala, the radio humming low.
Whispers in the dark.
“I’ll love you forever, Cas.”
“I’m yours.”

All of it.

All of it crashing back.

A lifetime of love buried under pain and cruelty and forgetting —
breaking free like a dam splitting open under the force of its own truth.

⸻

Dean pulled back when he felt Cas shudder, alarm flaring in his chest.

“Cas?” he breathed, palms framing his face. “Hey—breathe, babe—”

But Cas wasn’t panicking.

He was smiling.

Soft and broken and whole.

Without warning, Castiel dropped to his knees fully — head bowed, laughter bubbling up from deep inside his chest like a spring uncorked.

Dean stared, stunned.

“Cas—what—?”

Cas looked up at him — eyes wet with tears, cheeks flushed with wonder.

“I remember,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “I remember it all.”

Dean’s breath hitched.

Cas laughed again — small, giddy — and closed his eyes, tilting his head back like he could still see the stars from that long-ago night.

He reached out blindly — found Dean’s hand — and kissed the knuckles reverently.

“I remember the first time you told me you loved me,” Cas whispered, voice cracking.

Dean couldn’t speak.
Could barely breathe.

He just knelt down too — pulled Castiel into his arms — and held him as tightly as he dared.

Held him like he was afraid if he let go, the universe would snap shut around them again.

But it didn’t.

Cas was here.

Alive.

Awake.

And finally, finally his again.

Chapter Text

They sat together on the porch steps, wrapped in Dean’s old flannel blanket, the night air cool against their flushed cheeks.

Castiel leaned against Dean’s side — warm, solid, real — like he belonged there. Like he had always belonged there.

Dean couldn’t stop looking at him.

Couldn’t stop touching — small, reverent brushes of his hand over Cas’s hair, his knuckles, his jaw — like making sure he was real.

Cas didn’t pull away.

He tilted into every touch like a flower turning toward the sun.

⸻

After a long, golden silence, Castiel spoke — voice low and wondering:

“I remember you laughing.”

Dean blinked down at him, smiling crookedly. “Yeah?”

Cas nodded, a faint flush warming his cheeks.

“You were happy,” he said softly. “You were always happy when you looked at me. Like I was… enough.”

Dean’s throat tightened.

“You were,” he said hoarsely. “You still are.”

Castiel ducked his head, shy in a way Dean hadn’t seen since they were kids fumbling their way through first kisses and whispered promises under the stars.

“I remember thinking…” Cas trailed off, fingers twisting lightly in the blanket. “That if I could only stay by your side, I would be happy forever.”

Dean swallowed hard.
His heart ached with so much love he didn’t know how he was still breathing.

“You did stay,” he said, voice thick. “You’re here, Cas. You made it back to me.”

Cas looked up at him then — eyes wide, luminous with trust and hope and something that looked very much like love.

“Dean…” he whispered. “Do you still—?”

He didn’t finish the question.

He didn’t have to.

Dean leaned in, slow and sure, pressing their foreheads together.

He cupped Cas’s cheek in his calloused palm and whispered:

“I never stopped, Cas.
Not for a single damn second.”

⸻

Castiel made a soft, broken sound — half-sob, half-laugh — and threw his arms around Dean’s neck, clutching him close.

Dean held him tight, rocking them slightly back and forth, like they could rewind time just by holding on hard enough.

“You’re my everything,” Dean murmured into Cas’s hair. “Always were.”

Cas pulled back just enough to meet Dean’s eyes, smiling so brightly Dean thought it could set the whole damn sky on fire.

“And you are mine,” Cas whispered.

Dean grinned through the burn of tears.

“Damn right I am.”

⸻

They stayed like that for a long time —
A tangle of arms and whispered words.
Dean rubbing small, slow circles into Cas’s back.
Cas nuzzling into Dean’s neck, humming under his breath like he had forgotten how to be anything but happy.

It wasn’t perfect.

The world was still dangerous, still broken.

But right here, right now, wrapped up in each other’s arms on an old porch in Kansas?

It was enough.

It was everything.

And for the first time in a long time, Dean Winchester believed in miracles again.

Chapter Text

The house was quiet.

Bobby and Sam had long since gone to bed, the creaky old floors still for once.

Dean sat on the edge of his bed, toweling off his hair after a late-night shower, when he heard a soft knock.

“Yeah?” he called, voice low.

The door creaked open.

Cas stood there — small and barefoot in one of Dean’s oversized t-shirts, the hem brushing his thighs, the sleeves hanging over his hands.

Dean felt something in his chest go soft and reverent at the sight.

Cas hesitated in the doorway.

“Can I…” he began, voice uncertain. “Can I stay with you?”

Dean smiled — warm and open. “Of course, baby. C’mere.”

Cas crossed the room quickly — almost tripping on the t-shirt — and climbed onto the bed without ceremony, curling up close to Dean like he belonged there.

Dean pulled the covers up around them both, letting Cas settle against his side.

For a while, they just lay there, breathing each other in.

The world outside could fall apart for all Dean cared.

This —
This was everything.

⸻

After a few minutes, Cas stirred.

He shifted onto his side, facing Dean, blue eyes luminous in the dim light.

“Dean…” he whispered.

“Yeah, Cas?”

“I need to tell you something.”

Dean ran a soothing hand through Castiel’s hair, feeling the slight tremble in him.

“You can tell me anything,” he said, and meant it.

Cas took a shaky breath.

“I’m not…” He faltered. Looked down. “I’m not human.”

Dean didn’t flinch.

Didn’t pull away.

He just stroked his thumb gently over Castiel’s cheekbone, coaxing him to continue.

Cas’s voice dropped to a thread of sound.

“I’m an angel,” he said. “I was born of Heaven. I was meant to serve. To obey. But I — I fell. I disobeyed. And they cast me out.”

Dean’s chest ached.

He cupped Cas’s face more firmly, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“Not because you were bad,” Dean said quietly. “Because you were good.”

Cas blinked at him, startled.

Dean smiled — soft and fierce all at once.

“You protected your brother. You protected what you loved. That’s not weakness, Cas. That’s strength.”

Tears welled up in Castiel’s eyes — unfallen this time — and he leaned into Dean’s touch, desperate for the kindness he found there.

“You’re not afraid of me?” Cas whispered.

Dean shook his head slowly.

“Never,” he said. “You’re still you.
You’re still mine.”

⸻

Cas made a soft, broken sound — a noise like wonder — and surged forward, pressing his mouth against Dean’s in a kiss that was all heart and trembling hands and unshed tears.

Dean kissed him back with infinite patience, infinite tenderness.

He cradled Castiel’s face like it was something precious, irreplaceable.
He kissed him like there was no time, no Heaven, no world that could tear them apart again.

Just them.

Just this.

When they finally broke apart, Cas laid his head against Dean’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

Dean wrapped his arms around him, tucking them together under the blankets.

“You’re safe here,” Dean murmured into his hair. “Your wings, your heart — everything. It’s safe with me, Cas.”

Cas let out a shaky sigh.

And for the first time in what felt like centuries, he truly believed it.

⸻

They fell asleep like that —
Tangled together, wrapped in warmth and whispered promises.
No more secrets.
No more fear.

Just Dean and Cas,
finding their way back to forever.

Chapter Text

The night was heavy with silence.

Dean woke before dawn, the first silver glimmers of morning just beginning to creep over the horizon.

Castiel was still curled against him, breathing slow and even, his hand fisted lightly in Dean’s shirt like he was afraid to let go even in sleep.

Dean smiled — slow and aching — and brushed his thumb over Cas’s knuckles.

He still couldn’t believe it.
Couldn’t believe Cas was here, in his arms, alive and warm and his.

⸻

After a few minutes, Cas stirred.

He blinked up at Dean, sleep-blurred and soft.

“Hey, angel,” Dean said, voice rough with sleep and affection.

Cas smiled — small, secret — and shifted up onto his elbows, looking down at Dean.

“I want to show you something,” he said, voice low and trembling.

Dean sat up slowly, instantly serious. “Only if you’re ready, Cas.”

Cas nodded.

He sat back on his knees, the blankets pooling around his waist, and closed his eyes.

Dean watched, heart hammering, as the air around Cas seemed to thicken — shimmer — with something unseen.

And then —
slowly, shyly —
they appeared.

⸻

Wings.

Huge and battered and breathtaking.

They stretched out behind Cas in the dim light — vast, pale things, their edges frayed and torn in places, scars mapped across them like battlefields.

They weren’t the perfect, golden wings of the old stories.

They were real.
They were Cas.

Dean’s throat closed up.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, voice breaking.

Cas flinched — almost instinctively folding the wings back — but Dean reached out, gentle and sure.

“Don’t hide from me,” he whispered.

Slowly, carefully, Dean brushed his fingers along the nearest wing.

It was warm to the touch — soft in some places, rough and scarred in others.

Cas trembled under the contact, but didn’t pull away.

Dean leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to one of the scars etched across the base of the wing.

Cas gasped — a small, helpless sound — and shuddered, tears gathering in his eyes.

“You’re perfect,” Dean murmured against his skin. “You’re perfect, Cas. Every piece of you.”

Castiel made a soft, broken sound and buried his face in Dean’s shoulder, wings curling around them both like a shield.

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas tightly, protectively.

“I love you,” Dean whispered into his hair. “I loved you before I even knew what you were. And I love you even more now.”

Cas let out a shaky breath against Dean’s neck — part laugh, part sob.

“I love you too,” he whispered.

Dean closed his eyes and held him tighter.

Nothing else mattered.

Not Heaven.
Not the past.
Not the scars.

Only this.

Only them.

And in that quiet, sacred moment, wrapped in wings and warmth and love, Dean knew:

He would spend the rest of his life proving to Castiel that he was safe.

That he was loved.

That he was home.

Chapter Text

Dean woke to the weight of another body pressed full-length against him — all soft skin, tangled limbs, and the faint scent of warm air and rain.

For a moment, he thought he was dreaming.

Then Castiel shifted against him — a small, sleepy noise escaping his lips — and Dean almost stopped breathing altogether.

Cas was sprawled half on top of him, his head tucked into the crook of Dean’s neck, one hand resting over Dean’s heart like it belonged there.

The edges of his wings — still faintly visible in the pale dawn light — curled protectively around them both, forming a private little world.

Dean smiled against Cas’s hair.

“Morning, angel,” he whispered.

Cas stirred, blinking blearily up at him.

When he realized how tangled up they were, his cheeks flushed a deep, beautiful pink, and he started to pull away, muttering, “Sorry—I didn’t mean—”

Dean caught his wrist gently.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and fond. “Not goin’ anywhere.”

Cas stilled, blinking at him — vulnerable and unsure.

Dean grinned, lazy and crooked. “Kinda like you where you are, honestly.”

Cas ducked his head, flustered.

Dean couldn’t help it — he reached up, tucked a messy strand of hair behind Cas’s ear, and let his fingers linger, tracing the sharp line of Cas’s jaw, the soft curve of his cheek.

“You’re dangerous, y’know that?” Dean murmured, eyes half-lidded.

Castiel looked puzzled. “Dangerous?”

Dean laughed under his breath, thumb brushing over Cas’s bottom lip, slow and reverent.

“Yeah,” he said. “‘Cause if you keep lookin’ at me like that, I’m gonna do something we won’t come back from.”

Cas’s breath hitched.

For a long, aching moment, neither of them moved.

Then Cas leaned in — hesitantly at first, like he was afraid he was reading it wrong — and pressed his mouth to Dean’s.

⸻

It wasn’t a chaste kiss.

It wasn’t the soft, shy kisses they’d shared before.

This was deeper — hungrier — full of all the lost years and lonely nights and dreams they hadn’t dared speak aloud.

Dean let Cas set the pace, let him explore — but he couldn’t help the low, needy noise that slipped from his throat when Cas’s mouth opened under his, when Cas’s hands slid up into his hair, clutching him closer.

Dean rolled them carefully, pushing Cas back into the mattress, bracketing his body with his own.

Cas gasped into his mouth — a beautiful, wrecked sound — and arched up against him instinctively.

Dean pulled back just enough to look at him — cheeks flushed, lips kiss-swollen, blue eyes wide and blown with want.

“Cas,” he whispered, voice shaking. “You sure?”

Cas reached up, cupped Dean’s face between his palms, and nodded.

“I’m yours,” he whispered. “I’ve always been yours.”

Dean kissed him again — deeper, slower, pouring everything he couldn’t say into the press of his lips, the slide of his hands along Cas’s trembling body.

He mapped every inch of him with careful fingers — the curve of his ribs, the flutter of his stomach, the tremble in his thighs — savoring every gasp, every whimper, every desperate clutch of Cas’s hands in his shirt.

They didn’t rush.

They didn’t need to.

This was theirs — sacred and endless and real.

Dean kissed a trail down Castiel’s throat, lingering at the place where his pulse raced wildly under the skin.

He smiled against it.

“Still with me, angel?” he murmured.

Cas nodded, breathless. “Always.”

Dean kissed him again — long, slow, deep — and knew, without a doubt, that he would spend the rest of his life making Cas feel loved.

Cherished.

Home.

Chapter Text

The kiss deepened — hot and unsteady, pulling small, helpless noises from Castiel’s throat.

Dean’s hands roamed slowly, reverently — mapping Cas’s body like he was memorizing every inch.
The swell of his hip under the soft cotton of Dean’s shirt.
The dip of his waist.
The trembling line of his thighs.

Cas arched up against him, gasping into Dean’s mouth.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Dean murmured against his lips. “Gonna take care of you. Gonna make you feel so good.”

Cas whimpered — a soft, desperate sound — and tugged at Dean’s shirt, clumsy with urgency.

Dean pulled back just enough to strip it off — baring golden skin and a lean, strong body that Cas looked at like it was something sacred.

“Beautiful,” Cas whispered, running trembling fingers over Dean’s chest, the faded scars and freckles.

Dean leaned down and kissed him again, deeper this time, dragging his tongue slow and deliberate along the seam of Cas’s lips until he opened up with a soft gasp.

Dean tasted him — sweet and faintly bitter, like heaven fallen to earth — and groaned low in his throat.

“You’re the beautiful one,” Dean muttered, tugging the oversized shirt over Castiel’s head, baring him to the cool air and the soft, low light.

Cas flushed, ducking his head shyly — but Dean caught his chin and tilted it up.

“Look at you,” Dean breathed. “Look at what’s mine.”

Cas shivered — not from cold, but from want.

Dean kissed his way down — mouth dragging over the line of Cas’s throat, the curve of his collarbone, the hollow of his chest — leaving slow, wet kisses that made Cas pant and twist under him.

Dean took his time — mapping every gasp, every shudder.

He kissed across Castiel’s ribs, licked the hollow of his belly, and smiled against the trembling skin there when Cas moaned helplessly.

When he finally reached the waistband of Cas’s boxers, Dean glanced up — pupils blown wide, chest heaving.

“Still good, angel?” he rasped.

Cas nodded frantically, hand fisting in the sheets.

“Please,” he whispered.

Dean pressed a kiss just above the elastic. “Always.”

He slid the boxers down slowly — baring Castiel fully — and for a moment, just stared.

Cas was perfect.

Flushed and trembling and his.

Dean leaned down, wrapped a hand gently around Cas’s cock, and stroked him slow, savoring every sharp gasp and arch of Cas’s hips.

“You’re so good,” Dean murmured, kissing the head of his cock, tasting the salt-sweet leak of precome. “Gonna make you feel even better.”

Cas whimpered, thighs falling open, baring himself completely to Dean’s touch.

Dean took him into his mouth — slow, deep — and Cas nearly sobbed, hands flying to Dean’s hair, not to push him away but to anchor himself, as if he might fly apart otherwise.

Dean hollowed his cheeks, working Cas with his mouth and hand, taking him apart bit by trembling bit — until Cas was panting his name, breaking apart under him, spilling hot and sweet across Dean’s tongue.

Dean swallowed it all down, kissing Cas’s trembling hips, his soft, beautiful belly, worshiping him with touch and breath and devotion.

⸻

When Castiel finally opened his eyes again — dazed and wrecked and glowing with love — Dean crawled back up his body, kissing him slow and sweet.

“Taste so good,” Dean whispered against his lips.

Cas moaned, kissing him back — greedy and desperate now.

Dean rolled them gently, letting Cas straddle him, letting him feel the heavy weight of Dean’s cock pressing against his thigh through his sweats.

Cas whimpered, grinding down instinctively, making Dean groan.

“Need you, Dean,” he gasped, voice breaking. “Want you inside me.”

Dean’s heart stuttered — love and lust crashing together, overwhelming.

“You sure?” he rasped, cupping Cas’s hips, holding him steady.

Cas nodded, fierce and sure.

“I’m yours,” he whispered. “Always.”

Dean kissed him hard — pouring everything he couldn’t say into it — and reached for the lube tucked in the nightstand.

He took his time prepping Cas — slow, careful strokes of his fingers, soft kisses to distract him when Cas gasped and shivered.

When he was ready — open and slick and needy — Dean lined up and pressed in slow, slow, so slow — until he was buried to the hilt, trembling with the effort to hold still.

Cas clutched at him, gasping, legs wrapped tight around Dean’s waist.

“You’re perfect,” Dean whispered against his mouth. “You feel like heaven.”

Cas laughed — a small, breathless sound — and kissed him back, messy and desperate.

Dean set a slow rhythm — rocking into him with deep, steady strokes — holding Cas’s face between his palms like he was something precious.

Their foreheads pressed together.

Their breath mingled.

Soft gasps.
Broken moans.
“I love you,” whispered between kisses, over and over, until it became a prayer.

Dean reached between them, stroking Cas in time with his thrusts, watching as Cas came undone again — body clenching tight around him, mouth falling open in a perfect, gasping cry.

Dean followed a heartbeat later — buried deep, clutching Cas tight, whispering his name like a vow.

⸻

Afterward, they lay tangled together, sweat-slick and trembling, still wrapped in the fading echo of each other’s pleasure.

Dean kissed Castiel’s forehead, his temple, his eyelids — small, soft touches — like he could anchor him here, tether him to this moment.

Cas smiled up at him — radiant and real — and Dean smiled back, wonderstruck.

“You’re mine,” Dean whispered, pressing their foreheads together again.

“And I’m yours,” he breathed.

Always.

Forever.

Chapter Text

Dean held Cas close after — their bodies still slick and trembling, their hearts still thudding hard against each other’s ribs.

He stroked his fingers through Cas’s messy hair, kissed the flushed skin of his temple, murmured soft nothings into the shell of his ear.

“You okay, baby?” Dean asked, voice thick with emotion.

Cas nodded, nuzzling into Dean’s chest. “Better than okay.”

Dean smiled, so full of love he thought he might come apart at the seams.

“You were perfect,” he whispered, kissing the crown of Cas’s head. “You are perfect.”

Castiel flushed and ducked his head, but Dean caught his chin and kissed him slow and deep, tasting himself on Cas’s lips and groaning softly.

They stayed like that for a long while — tangled together under the blankets, the night air cool against their overheated skin, Dean’s hands roaming lazy and possessive over Cas’s back, tracing the faint, hidden lines of where wings once lived.

⸻

Somewhere in the early morning hours, they finally drifted into sleep — wrapped around each other so tightly that not even Heaven itself could have pulled them apart.

⸻

Dean woke to warmth — a soft, slow glide of something hot and wet against his cock.

He groaned, half-asleep, hips arching instinctively into the sensation.

When he blinked his eyes open, he nearly came right then and there.

Cas was between his thighs — messy-haired and devastating, eyes dark and heavy-lidded, mouth stretched wide around Dean’s cock.

Dean gasped, fisting the sheets, utterly wrecked by the sight.

“Fuck, Cas,” he breathed, voice hoarse. “Baby—”

Cas just hummed low in his throat — a sinful, divine vibration that made Dean’s hips buck helplessly.

Dean tried to pull away, tried to warn him, but Cas pressed his hands firmly to Dean’s hips, holding him down with surprising strength, and took him deeper.

Dean’s vision whited out.

Cas was unhurried — slow, steady sucks, tongue tracing the sensitive underside of Dean’s cock, hands stroking his thighs soothingly whenever Dean started to shake too much.

It wasn’t rushed.
It wasn’t desperate.

It was worship.

Pure, reverent devotion.

Dean let out a wrecked sound, threading his fingers into Cas’s hair, stroking softly, not guiding, just needing to touch.

“You’re so good, Cas,” Dean gasped. “So perfect—fuck, you’re gonna kill me, baby—”

Cas pulled back just slightly, lips slick and red, and looked up at Dean through his lashes — the picture of ruined, beautiful sin.

“I want you to come in my mouth,” Cas said simply, voice rough and low.

Dean nearly lost it at the words alone.

He groaned, head falling back, muscles straining.

“Fuck, Cas — fuck — I’m close—”

Cas sucked him down again, deeper, humming encouragement, and that was it.

Dean shattered with a hoarse cry, spilling into Cas’s mouth, hips jerking helplessly under the overwhelming pleasure.

Cas took it all — swallowing without hesitation, licking him clean with slow, worshipful strokes — until Dean was trembling and boneless and utterly undone.

⸻

When Dean could think again, he pulled Cas up into his arms, kissing him breathless, tasting himself on Cas’s lips.

“You’re dangerous, you know that?” Dean whispered against his mouth, smiling.

Cas smiled back — soft and smug and so proud of himself.

“I love you,” Cas said simply.

Dean kissed him again — slow and deep.

“I love you too, angel,” he whispered. “More than anything. Always.”

They curled back into each other, Dean stroking Cas’s hair, Cas tracing idle patterns across Dean’s chest with his fingertips.

Safe.

Whole.

Home.

Chapter Text

The days after they found each other again were the sweetest Dean had ever known.

Lazy mornings tangled together.
Soft kisses between sips of coffee.
Hands brushing while cooking breakfast, slow smiles and laughter filling Bobby’s old kitchen.

Dean couldn’t stop touching Cas — brushing hair out of his eyes, pressing kisses to his temple, squeezing his hand under the table.

Cas couldn’t stop beaming at Dean like he hung the damn stars.

They were stupid in love.

And Dean didn’t give a single damn who knew it.

⸻

It started on an ordinary morning.

Dean was flipping pancakes. Cas was sitting at the kitchen table, humming under his breath, wings stretched out lazily behind him like a cat basking in the sun.

Suddenly, Cas stiffened.

Dean turned instantly, spatula in hand.

“Cas?”

Cas clutched the table, head bowed, breath hitching — not in pain, but in something bigger, something deeper.

The air around him shimmered, crackling like a thunderstorm about to break.

And then —
with a sound like rushing wind —
it happened.

⸻

Cas changed.

Not in any way Dean could explain — but Dean felt it.

The power rolling off him.

The glow beneath his skin.

The way his wings flared open — vast and perfect, no longer ragged or scarred, every feather gleaming like molten silver.

Dean stared, awe-struck.

Cas looked up at him — and there was no fear in his eyes.
No confusion.
Only love.

“Dean,” he whispered, voice layered with a depth that shook the air itself. “I’m free.”

Dean dropped the spatula with a clatter.

“You’re — Cas, what the hell —”

Before he could finish, a loud pop echoed through the kitchen.

A familiar voice drawled, “Miss me, baby bro?”

⸻

Gabriel stood in the doorway, grinning like he owned the place, golden wings flared wide and bright behind him.

Sam, carrying a crate of books past the hall, nearly dropped it.

Dean reached instinctively for the salt.

Cas just smiled, serene and a little mischievous. “Gabriel.”

Gabriel crossed the room in two long strides and hugged Cas — tight, genuine.

Dean lowered his arm slowly.

“Uh. What’s happening?” he asked.

Gabriel pulled back, grinning, and gestured broadly.

“What’s happening, Dean-o, is that your love life just saved the freakin’ universe.”

Dean blinked. “What?”

Gabriel sobered slightly, wings folding neatly behind him.

“Short version? Amara — God’s sister — tried to take over Heaven and Earth. Built herself an army of rogue angels. Zachariah. Bartholomew. All those dicks.”

Dean’s jaw tightened.

Gabriel continued, voice gentler now. “They imprisoned me, Naomi, a bunch of others. Tried to spin the world into chaos and despair.”

Dean glanced at Cas — saw the pain flash in his eyes.

“But then…” Gabriel’s grin returned, bright and full of wonder. “You two happened.”

Dean frowned. “We what?”

Gabriel spread his hands dramatically.

“Every kiss. Every confession. Every ounce of love you poured into each other? It weakened her. Love, Dean. Chuck always said it — only love can beat darkness.”

Dean sat down heavily in a kitchen chair, stunned.

Gabriel clapped him on the back.

“So congratulations. Your epic, messy, absolutely adorable love story saved the world.”

Cas looked at Dean then — and Dean saw it.

Saw the truth.

He and Cas — together — were stronger than any army.

Stronger than Heaven.

Stronger than Darkness.

⸻

Gabriel smiled softly, almost reverently.

“Heaven offers its blessing,” he said. “Full protection. Full support. No more hiding, no more running.”

Dean felt Cas’s hand slip into his under the table, squeezing tight.

Gabriel winked. “Oh, and — small favor from upstairs. Chuck’s idea. A ‘miracle,’ he called it. But he didn’t tell me what it is. I’m just the messenger.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”

Gabriel laughed. “Knowing Chuck? Probably.”

Out in the hall, Sam cleared his throat awkwardly.

Gabriel turned — caught Sam’s eye — and something clicked.

A spark.

An unspoken hello.

Sam flushed.

Gabriel smirked.

Dean groaned inwardly. Great. Another Winchester falling for a damn angel.

⸻

But when he looked back at Cas — at the way Cas’s eyes crinkled when he smiled, at the way he looked at Dean like he was everything —
Dean didn’t mind.

Not one bit.

⸻

A year later,
they found out what the miracle was.

Chapter Text

A year passed like the blink of an eye.

Dean never thought he’d want a quiet life —
But with Cas by his side,
nothing had ever felt more right.

⸻

He quit hunting without a second thought.

Not because he was tired.
Not because he was scared.

Because he finally had something worth living for.
Something worth protecting with both hands and his whole damn heart.

He took over Bobby’s old auto shop — rechristened it Winchester Automotive — and became the best damn mechanic in town.

Sam set up a little office in the back, where he handled bookkeeping and the occasional rare law case for someone in town who needed help.

Bobby and Ellen moved out to a quiet piece of land on the far edge of town —
but they still came by twice a week, bringing home-cooked meals and pretending they weren’t checking in on their “boys.”

Charlie ran the front desk, all bright smiles and sharp wit.
Garth handled odd jobs, grinning like a golden retriever in coveralls.

And Gabriel, somehow, convinced the town to let him open a coffee shop across the street.

“Holy Grounds,” he called it, winking at anyone who asked.

It didn’t take a genius to see the sparks flying between him and Sam either —
long, lingering looks over lattes, playful arguments about muffin recipes, secret smiles when they thought no one was watching.

Dean saw it.

Cas saw it.

Everyone saw it.

It was only a matter of time.

⸻

But the biggest miracle of all came quietly.

One warm spring morning, Cas sat Dean down at the kitchen table — looking nervous and luminous all at once.

Dean immediately panicked.

“You okay? You sick? Somebody hurt you—?”

Cas smiled softly.
Took Dean’s hands in his.

“I’m pregnant,” he said simply.

Dean just… stared at him.

Mouth open.

Brain blank.

Pregnant.

Pregnant.

Pregnant.

The word echoed in his skull like a church bell.

And then —
he was on his knees in front of Cas, hands splayed over his still-flat belly, tears burning in his eyes.

“You’re—oh my God, Cas—you’re carrying our baby?”

Cas nodded, a little teary himself.

Dean kissed him — kissed his stomach — kissed his hands — kissed his lips — like he couldn’t decide what he loved more.

“You’re amazing,” Dean whispered hoarsely. “You’re incredible. I love you so damn much, angel.”

Cas smiled — the brightest Dean had ever seen — and cupped Dean’s face between his palms.

“And I love you,” he said.

⸻

Dean turned into a menace after that.

Wouldn’t let Cas lift a damn thing heavier than a book.

Insisted on cooking every meal.

Drove twenty miles out of town to find “the right” prenatal vitamins.
Installed new locks on every door and window.

Threatened to salt and bless the whole damn town if he thought it would keep Cas safe.

“Dean,” Cas said one morning, laughing as Dean fussed over tying his shoes. “I’m pregnant, not dying.”

Dean just scowled fiercely and kissed his knuckles.

“Don’t care,” he muttered. “You’re carrying our kid. You’re not even lookin’ at a mop bucket without me supervising.”

Cas just rolled his eyes fondly and kissed him.

Dean melted every single time.

⸻

When the ultrasound showed a tiny heartbeat fluttering on the screen, Dean cried outright.

Held Cas’s hand so tightly he thought he might never let go.

“This is our miracle,” Cas whispered in his ear as they left the clinic.

Dean pressed his forehead to Cas’s and nodded.

“Our family.”

Chapter Text

The months passed in a golden blur.

⸻

Dean practically wrapped Cas in bubble wrap once he started showing.

At four months, he banned Cas from lifting anything heavier than a sandwich.

At six months, he drove fifteen miles out of town because Cas had a craving for a specific kind of pie.
At midnight.

At eight months, he started carrying Cas to bed — every night — even though Cas still insisted he could walk perfectly fine.

“I don’t care,” Dean said stubbornly, tucking Cas under the covers and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You’re precious cargo now, angel.”

Cas just smiled, warm and fond and so in love he thought he might combust.

⸻

They built the nursery together.

Dean spent three days agonizing over the color.

“Blue’s too obvious,” he grumbled, standing in the paint aisle with his arms crossed. “But yellow’s too… weird.”

Cas smiled, rubbing a hand over his swollen belly.

“How about green?” he said. “Like your eyes.”

Dean melted on the spot.

“Green it is,” he said, voice rough.

They painted the walls together — well, Dean painted, and Cas supervised from a comfy chair with a glass of lemonade and strict instructions.

Charlie and Garth assembled the crib (after a lot of swearing and arguing).
Bobby and Ellen donated an old rocking chair from Bobby’s house.
Sam showed up with a pile of law books about parenting rights and safety regulations, because of course he did.

Gabriel brought a handmade mobile — tiny stars and moons that actually glowed softly in the dark — and winked at Cas like they shared some secret.

(“Handcrafted by an archangel, thank you very much,” Gabriel said, preening.)

⸻

When Cas hit nine months, Dean could barely sleep.

He stayed up late every night, just sitting by Cas’s side, hand spread protectively over his belly, feeling the tiny kicks against his palm.

“You’re gonna be so loved, little guy,” Dean whispered. “So damn loved.”

Cas stroked his hair softly when Dean finally drifted off at dawn, curled around him like a living shield.

⸻

Jack was born on a warm May evening.

Cas woke Dean with a soft gasp — not of pain, but of surprise.

“It’s time,” he said simply, smiling through the first ripple of contraction.

Dean panicked for about twenty seconds — tried to grab his keys, his jacket, his phone, the diaper bag — and ended up dropping everything in the hallway.

Cas just laughed and kissed his forehead.

“You’re gonna be a wonderful father,” he said.

Dean’s heart damn near burst.

When Jack finally arrived — small, pink, crying lustily — Dean thought he might die from how much he loved them both.

He cut the cord with shaking hands.
Held his son against Cas’s chest, tears pouring down his cheeks.

Cas looked exhausted, radiant, perfect.

Dean kissed his forehead.

“You did it, baby,” he whispered. “You did so good.”

Cas smiled at him — weary and wonderstruck.

“And so did you.”

⸻

They named him Jack.

Jack Winchester.

Tiny fingers.
Soft dark hair.
Bright blue eyes, impossibly deep and old.

The midwife said it was normal for newborns to look a little… intense.

Dean wasn’t so sure.

When Jack opened his eyes for the first time — really opened them — the whole room seemed to glow for just a moment.

A warm, golden pulse of light.

Cas squeezed Dean’s hand and smiled faintly.

Dean smiled back, heart overflowing.

⸻

Later, when the house was quiet, Dean sat in the rocking chair with Jack cradled against his chest.

Cas slept peacefully in the bed, his hand still resting on the empty swell of his belly, a soft, content smile on his lips.

Dean rocked gently, humming under his breath.

Jack’s tiny hand curled into Dean’s shirt, strong and sure.

“You’re our miracle,” Dean whispered to him. “You’re the best thing we ever did, kiddo.”

Jack gurgled softly — and for just a moment, Dean swore he saw a shimmer of light around him.

Not blinding.
Not frightening.

Just warm.
Safe.
Pure.

Dean smiled.

Whatever Jack was — whatever the future held — they would face it together.

As a family.

Chapter Text

Jack grew up in a house built on love.

⸻

He learned to walk clinging to Dean’s jeans, little legs wobbling, tiny invisible wings fluttering at his back.

He learned to talk sitting on Cas’s lap, repeating the names of stars that only ancient angels still remembered.

He learned to fight — play-wrestling with Uncle Sam, and later training with Gabriel, who taught him to prank and punch with equal enthusiasm.

He learned patience from Cas.
He learned loyalty — fierce, unbreakable loyalty — from Dean.

Jack had Cas’s face —
those same ocean-deep blue eyes, that same soft dark hair, that same quiet, breathtaking beauty that made people pause in their tracks.

And he had Dean’s heart —
stubborn, wild, reckless in love, and stubborn as hell when it came to protecting the people he cared about.

He was everything they were, blended into something more.

⸻

He had tantrums, sure.
He hated green beans with a fiery passion.
He once set a microwave on fire trying to reheat pie.

Dean said it was genetic.

⸻

But there were moments.

Little moments when something more shimmered underneath:

When Jack healed a bird’s broken wing at six years old without realizing.
When he laughed and the summer clouds broke apart, warm sunshine following him like a blessing.
When he cried at thirteen, terrified after accidentally sparking a lightstorm, and Cas simply held him until the air stilled again.

Dean never stopped reminding him:

“You’re not dangerous, kiddo. You’re a miracle.”

Jack believed it — because they did.

⸻

The day Jack turned sixteen, the whole town turned out.

Cake.
Homemade banners.
A hundred hugs and well-wishes.

Dean hovered shamelessly, barely letting Jack five feet out of his sight.

Cas watched them both with a smile soft enough to melt steel.

Gabriel flirted shamelessly with Sam by the snack table.
Charlie and Garth organized a ridiculous scavenger hunt.

It was perfect.

⸻

That night, after the party had faded into memories and the world slept, Jack stood barefoot on the back porch.

The stars spilled overhead in glittering rivers.

Dean came up behind him, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

“Sixteen,” Dean said roughly. “You’re still my kid, y’know.”

Jack smiled — Dean’s stubborn tilt of a grin, but Cas’s deep, ageless warmth in his eyes.

“I know,” Jack said.

Cas joined them a moment later, pressing close at Dean’s side.

Together, they stood — father, father, and son — under the infinite sky.

And something in the world shifted.

⸻

A soft, golden light pulsed out from Jack’s chest.

The earth vibrated — gentle, steady, like a heartbeat.

The stars brightened.

The whole world seemed to hold its breath.

Dean instinctively reached for Cas’s hand, holding tight.

Cas’s wings shimmered into view behind him, vast and glowing, his mouth parted in wonder.

Jack turned to them — his eyes glowing softly gold, a faint, halo-like shimmer framing his head — and smiled.

“I think,” he said quietly, “this was Heaven’s gift.”

Dean’s heart hammered.

He stared at Jack — their Jack, their boy — and whispered, “Jack?”

Jack’s smile didn’t falter.
It only grew stronger, brighter.

“I will always be your son,” Jack said, voice sure and full of love. “No matter what.”

Dean crushed him into a hug without thinking, holding tight, feeling the thrum of something vast and sacred under Jack’s skin — but also feeling the same stubborn, loving, reckless heart he’d raised.

Their son.

Their miracle.

Cas wrapped his arms around them both, whispering something ancient and tender against Jack’s hair.

The world hummed around them, not with fear —
but with love.

The earth, the sky, the stars themselves bending in reverence not to power — but to the pure, unbreakable bond between them.

⸻

Jack would become God.
Not a tyrant.
Not a judge.

A protector.
A guardian.
A son who loved first, always.

Born from the strongest force in the universe:
Love.

⸻

Dean didn’t know what the future held.

Didn’t care.

As long as Cas was by his side, and Jack was smiling that stubborn, beautiful smile,
Dean knew they could face anything.

Together.

Family.

Always.