this is what waking up feels like
There was a gentle breeze that tousled Dean’s hair where he sat, squatting low by what looked like the Black Lake, but Dean doesn’t think he’s ever seen the Black Lake be so small before. He palmed his hands out, skimming the surface of the ice-cold water. He doesn’t know how long he’s been sat there for, but it felt like a lifetime. He doesn’t know how he got there either. He thinks maybe he fell off his broom.
Across the water is a bright light. It could be a unicorn. It could just be a light. Something says he should wade into the Lake and chase that light to find out, but the heaviness in his bones stops him.
A hand on his shoulder. He looked over, recognizing the squareness of the palm that held him. He traced up from the hand to the elbow, the upper arm, the shoulder, until his eyes found blue. Square jaw. Dark hair. A serene expression.
You need to wake up now.
Dean frowned. Where am I? he wanted to ask. Where are you?
You’ve been asleep too long, Dean. You need to wake up now.
Fish danced on the surface of the lake, their tails splashing in the still water. Inviting. Splish. Splash.
I don’t know how to do that.
Splish. Splash.
You do, Castiel told him without words, silent and steady. His hand was a lifeline on Dean’s shoulder. You do. And when you do, you can find me.
Don’t go. I don’t know where you are.
Splish. Splash.
It’s okay. You’ll find me.
Tick. Splash.
Cas.
Splish. Tock.
Tick.
Tock.
A presence moved to the left. Shifting. Rustling.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
‘Can I get you anything to drink, sir?’
Tock.
‘No, no. I got a coffee.’
Tick.
Dean opened his eyes.
Tock.
Bobby?
Tick.
The world fell heavily around him, slowly but all at once, clumsily landing around Dean whose body ached in the center of it all. Whatever lightness he’d felt before was long gone. Now he was heavy and trapped, eyes blinking rapidly with burning retinas against pale lights, green curtains, and hospital air. A damn clock ticked in the background, itching at Dean’s skull. Scratchy quilts. His hands were weighed down at his side, his body completely slack where he lay. Unfeeling.
I’m dead, he thought. But no, that wasn’t right. I’m alive. Somehow that felt worse.
He blinked furiously, breathing in with a choked gasp. Cold air entered his mouth and it came like a shock to the system. And Bobby. Sat there, sipping on a cold takeaway cup of coffee as he flicked through a battered copy of The Daily Prophet, looked up in complete surprise.
‘Dean,’ he whispered with a gruff grunt, going through every stage of shock where he was sat before he stood up with he shock of it all. He dropped The Daily Prophet first. Then the takeaway coffee. It landed on the paper, blotching it with a dark stain.
‘Bobby,’ Dean croaked out, his voice scratching in his throat.
‘You’re awake,’ Bobby said breathlessly. ‘Merlin’s beard, Dean, you’re awake.’ And then, over his shoulder, ‘He’s awake! Dean is awake! Assistance - assistance!’
Assistance came too quickly for Dean to process it. One moment it was him and Bobby inside this shelter of lime green curtains and white walls, and the next there were three Healers and six hands on Dean’s body. He tensed up as wands poked him, checking his pulse, his temperature, the brightness of his eyes. The Healers worked quickly, with an urgency that Dean didn’t understand.
‘Whasss…’ He cut himself across with a cough, his throat sore. Water, he thought. I need water. ‘Whasssgoinon?’
The world went topsy-turvy as a cool glass pressed into his palm, kind hands guiding the drink down his throat. Bobby stood by the side of the bed, watching every movement closely, his hand tight on Dean’s shoulder. Like the hand that had been on Dean’s before… before what? Dean couldn’t remember. The memories were already fading away.
‘Is he goin’ to be alright?’ Bobby asked, tight with panic.
‘He’s awake,’ a gentle voice replied, ‘our biggest concern was that he wouldn’t wake. But he’s awake. So this is good news.’
The Healers helped Dean to drink and guided potions down his throat. They changed bandages around his torso. Rewrapped his knees. Cleaned his face.
‘What’s going on?’ he asked when they finally relented, telling Bobby that they’d give the two of them some privacy. ‘Where the fuck am I?’
‘St Mungos,’ Bobby said gravely.
‘Where’s Cas?’
Bobby doesn’t answer that. His mouth is tight, in a fine line. ‘Balls, Dean, think about yourself for once, would you? You’re in St Mungos. You were nearly dead.’
‘Yeah, an’ am awake now. So, where’s Cas?’
‘You’ve been out cold for over a week,’ Bobby snapped. He sounds angry, but Dean knows he isn’t. He’s not angry - he’s scared. And that’s so much worse.
Dean swallowed, blinking in surprise. A week?
‘What are you talkin’ about?’
Bobby sank back into his seat, face ashen. He doesn’t say anything for a while as he buries his face in his hands. The steadiness of his pain is awful to witness and Dean feels guilty, though he doesn’t know why he should.
‘Bobby,’ he mumbled, voice soft. Trying to cheer him up. ‘Hey. M’fine. Look at me.’ He juts his chin, and Bobby looks up, his eyes shining with sadness.
‘Boy, we thought you were gone for a minute there,’ Bobby growled. He leaned forward in his seat and wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders tightly, as best as he can whilst not putting too much pressure on Dean’s aching body. Dean blinks, surprised, but hugs him back. Leaning into the touch.
‘I’m okay, Bobby,’ he said. ‘I’m okay. A little sore maybe.’ He chuckled weakly, coughing as he did so. ‘But okay.’
Bobby nodded into the side of his head. They drew apart, the older man’s hand patting Dean’s cheek just briefly, an awkward show of affection, and he sniffs - as though disappointed in himself for being emotional. He pulled off his old trucker's cap and wrung it in his hands, nervous.
‘There was a minute where you didn’t look so good,’ he said simply.
‘What happened to me?’ Dean couldn’t remember anything. He remembered having some beers in Hogsmeade - and everything after that was a blur of complete and utter violence and pain.
‘I dunno.’ Bobby shook his head, lost. ‘We were hopin’ you could fill in the blanks. You were found in some wood on Skye with Castiel Novak, both of you looked like corpses.’
He picked up the newspaper from the floor and held it up, the coffee stain blurring the front image; a picture of Castiel holding Dean amidst an array of trees. They were both covered in blood, and Castiel looked like a wreck, his face ashen. Dean took the paper with a shaking hand and smoothed it out, his thumb brushing across the picture of himself and Castiel. He looked dead. He looked dead, and Castiel looked ruined. Who the hell took this picture? And why was it front page news?
Dean flicked his eyes up to the title and felt his stomach bottom out.
NICODEMUS NOVAK, DEAD: ‘I KILLED HIM’, SAYS YOUNGER BROTHER, CASTIEL, WITH THE BODY OF HOGWARTS’ HEAD BOY.
No, he thought desperately. He thumbed through the paper with frantic hands. No, no, no.
… awaiting information on Hogwarts Head Boy, Dean Winchester (18), who is currently under intensive care… can verify the actions that occurred… what transpired for certain is still unknown… Nicodemus Novak was found dead on arrival… cause of death is yet to be determined… Winchester has been rendered comatose by the events…
Dean screwed up the paper, a wave of nausea washing over him. Jesus, he thought. The Daily Prophet writers could go to hell. It was crazy to think Castiel’s dad had ran it before and he’d never completely noticed its biases.
‘Where’s Cas?’ he demanded to know, the paper crinkling in his fists. ‘Bobby, where is he?’
Bobby swallowed visibly. ‘He’s in a holding cell,’ he said eventually. ‘At the Minis-’
‘-Get him out of there,’ Dean snapped. He sat up and kicked his legs out of the bed, ignoring the way his entire body spasmed with pain. ‘Get him outta-’
‘-Sit back down,’ Bobby barked. His hand came to Dean’s shoulder. ‘Jesus, Dean, take a minute. You lost almost 35% of your bleeding blood, boy. You nearly died. Forget about Cas, dammit.’
Dean swallowed, a weakness taking over his bones. ‘Why am I not healed?’ he asked suddenly, looking down at his bruised legs and his scarred chest. ‘I don’t get it - I’m in St Mungos, why am I not healed?’
‘Don’t ask me,’ Bobby growled, twisting his hands on his knees. ‘Apparently you weren’t so bad when they found you in the forest - the travel here nearly destroyed you. The Healers said they hadn’t seen anything like it before, but something - some spell, or something - broke when they took you outta the wood. You started comin’ out in gashes and bruises, like your body was… I dunno, kid. Unhealing itself. And you weren’t waking up. You’ve been stable near enough this whole time, but no one could get into that head of yours and wake you up.’
‘It’s been over a week,’ Dean repeatedly numbly. His hands tightened weakly on his hospital bedsheets. ‘They’ve had Cas in a cell for over a week?’
‘Jesus,’ Bobby sighed, resigned to the fact that Dean was a lost cause. ‘Yes. He did nearly kill you, damnit. Let him bleedin’ stay there.’
‘What?’ Dean blinked, completely thrown off. ‘Bobby… Cas saved me,’ he said with inflection. ‘Cas saved me. He didn’t kill me - nowhere near. Get me an Auror, or someone, right now. I can straighten his story. Sort this out.’
‘Sleep,’ Bobby muttered. ‘You need to rest.’
‘No way, I’ve slept for a week already. Get me an Auror or I’ll get out of this bed and storm the Ministry myself.’ He glared at Bobby, the two of them staring at each other with equal rage and stubbornness.
It was Bobby, of course, who relented. Because Dean had no intention of backing down.
‘I’ll get someone,’ he sighed, bothered, but letting it slide. ‘An hour, though. I’ll let you talk for an hour - because, Dean, you need to take it easy. We’ll sort the Cas situation, but don’t overdo it.’
Dean waited until Bobby had slipped through the curtains before he rolled his eyes.
He pulled his shirt up when he was alone, fingers tracing the stitches that had been magically sewn into his skin. It didn’t make sense. A part of Dean was so certain he’d been healed somehow. His knees burned, wrapped up in thick bandages. Nicodemus had broken them, he remembered. They weren’t broken now, he could bend them with only a slight twinge of pain, but they certainly hadn’t finished getting fixed. God, he thought miserably. His body was ruined. He’d never lose the scars on his chest and stomach, the thin slices across his upper chest that Nicodemus had sliced through his skin, and the large gash in his abdomen that had been caused by… what had that been caused by? The splinching, right. Bile built at the back of Dean’s throat at the memory alone.
He’s ruined. Some Auror he’d be now, taken out at the ripe age of 18, completely useless in battle. His knees might be fucked forever.
He twisted his mouth miserably, overwhelmed by a sudden depression that he’d never be the same again. He didn’t want to cry, alone in a bed in St Mungo’s. That would be pathetic. So instead, he turned his attention to the side table by his bed. It was crammed with cards piled up alongside a couple of messily wrapped boxes.
Dean distracted himself by opening the cards one by one, variations of Get Well Soon! covering the front of each. There was a card from the entire Quidditch team, and then individual cards from Alicia and Tessa. A card from Max Banes. Hell, even one from Bela Talbot of all people.
Dean, it read. Awful news in the paper. You better wake up so I don’t have to present this final year report by myself.
He smiled a little at that before reading the cards from Jody, Alex, and Claire, and the one from Ellen and Jo. We’ll send Bobby with some pie the minute you wake, Ellen and Jo’s card read.
There was a note from McGonagall, too, attached to a tiny wrapped box. Dean tore the wrapped and felt an ache of fondness in his chest at the sight of the ginger snaps McGonagall had gifted him. ‘Winchester, I know you’re strong enough to get through this. Here’s some biscuits for when you wake.’
The letter from Charlie and Benny was long, written by Benny and dictated by Charlie, according to the first line.
Brother, it read at the start - clearly a Benny inflection.
We are so, so, so sorry for what happened. We should’ve realized you were in trouble, but we thought you’d gone back to the Castle early. This is so terrible and what you’ve been through is terrifying. We love you and even though we’re not allowed to visit (stupid St Mungo rules) we’ll be waiting by the fire for whenever you’re well enough to Floo. Or we’ll break into St Mungo’s ourselves if we have to.
I won’t be able to sleep until you wake up. Ironic, right? That you’re getting all that sleep whilst I’m wide awake, stressing about it? - Charlie.
Dorm’s quiet without you, mate. See you for a smoke, soon. - Benny.
Best,
Benny (scribe) and Charlie (speech)
Ps. the badly wrapped present is from us.
Dean eyed the other present on the bedside table. He clenched his jaw and reached for it, peeling the paper off and revealing a small photoframe with a picture of himself caught between Benny and Charlie’s arms, the three of them smiling widely and laughing at something the cameraperson has said. It’s an old photo. Dean remembers the day it was taken - it was Cas that took it. Back in sixth year. The last day of school. It was weird seeing a photo of his friends without Castiel in it, but Dean figures Charlie and Benny might not be completely confident on what had occurred enough to include a Castiel picture.
He smiled down at the photo, regardless, and brushed his thumb across his friends’ faces. He wishes more than anything that they were there.
Finally, the last letter. It’s from Sam. Written in a rushed scrawl which was half-smudged, ink blotting half the page.
Dean,
I can’t believe any of this. I hope you wake up soon. Bobby says I can visit as soon as you’re awake - but holy crap, Dean. I wish I could be there right now. Screw school. Screw everything. I bet I could yell at you loud enough to wake you up quicker.
I know you’ll tell me in person, but whatever the hell happened to you is insane. The papers are blaming it all on Cas, and - knowing what I know, I want to trust it’s not what the papers are making it look like. They’re keeping him in custody right now and he’s refusing to comment until you wake up. Damn it, Dean. Wake up soon so we can talk. I’m worried as hell about you, and I miss you. I know you’ll be okay. You better be, alright?
Sam.
Dean sniffed, gently rolling the parchment into a tube. He didn’t want to read anymore. The mixed emotions from all of his friends was almost too much to bear; the confusion, the fear, panic, shock. Everything. Dean lay his head back on the pillows and stared up at the lights which flickered above him.
The curtain pulled back. A thin man in a wide, dark gray suit beneath long, black, robes appeared at the entrance. His dark hair was parted and slicked to perfection and he eyed Dean with beady eyes and a twitching toothbrush mustache.
‘Dean Winchester,’ he greeted, voice a little nasally, a little raspy. He carried with him into Dean’s hospital bed section a tightly sealed briefcase and a clipboard which he clutched to his chest.
He set the briefcase down and offered Dean a stout handshake. Dean accepted it wearily.
‘We’ve been waiting for you to wake up,’ the man announced. His nose twitched at the sight of Bobby’s discarded chair, The Daily Prophet crumpled atop it. When he picked it up, it was between two fingers, as though the newspaper might stain his skin. He set the paper down on the beside table and sat on the end of Bobby’s chair, clipboard balanced on his lap.
Dean sat up a little in his bed, eyeing the man with caution.
‘Who are you?’ he asked.
The man blinked, caught off-guard that this teenage boy didn’t know his name and prestige.
‘Barty Crouch Sr,’ he said formally. ‘From Magical Law Enforcement. I have a few questions for you.’
Dean sucked in a breath through his teeth and nodded.
‘Can you talk me through your movements on March 28?’ he asked, though it wasn’t a question, it was an instruction.
Dean scrunched up his forehead, trying to recall the day that had led to Hogsmeade.
‘I don’t remember much,’ he admitted. Maybe my brain cells have all been knocked out. ‘I went to Hogsmeade for some drinks with my friends, Charlie and Benny.’
‘Mhm.’ Crouch nods and a quill begins scrawling on the clipboard by itself.
‘I went for some air and there was a noise behind the building, like a scream. So I checked it out - next thing I know, I’m beat on the head, and I wake up on the floor inside the Shrieking Shack.’
‘With Castiel Novak?’
Dean screwed up his face, angry at the suggestion. At everyone’s blatant prejudice. ‘No, Jesus. With Nicodemus Novak. The psychopath had got me kidnapped and was trying to bait Cas to comin’ and savin’ me.’
‘Did it appear as though the two might be working together?’
‘No,’ Dean snapped. ‘Are you crazy? This is Cas.’
Crouch lifted an eyebrow. ‘He has a history of violence within the school already, alongside born powers which make him a threat to society. And his brother is a Death Eater. Castiel Novak going rogue isn’t exactly out of the realm of possibility.’
History of violence within the school. Dean wants to be sick. That was me, he thought, enraged. Not Cas, me. I’m the violent one. Cas wouldn’t hurt a fly if he could help it.
‘This is such bullshit,’ Dean muttered. He sat up in his bed with a grunt, leaning on his elbow against the scratchy pillows. ‘I’m the victim, right?’ He jabbed at the paper on his bedside table pointedly. ‘You wanted me to wake up so you could hear the truth - well, this is the truth. Cas Novak didn’t kill anyone. He saved my fuckin’ life. So get him out that cell right now.’
‘Novak already admitted to killing his brother.’
‘He didn’t,’ Dean growled. He screwed up his face, frustrated. What the hell was Cas playing at? Was he trying to get himself locked up forever? ‘Nicodemus was the one initiating every attack. Cas was deflecting them all and making sure I didn’t get hurt more than I already was.’
He remembered, then, the sight of Castiel floating in the room, his hair swirling, his entire body lit up from the inside as something tore through Nicodemus’, ripping him apart from the inside. It had looked ungodly. For a moment, Dean faltered. But no, Cas hadn’t killed Nick. And if he did, he did it for good reasons. Nicodemus was a killer and he was going to kill again.
‘I don’t know how Nick died exactly,’ Dean admitted carefully. He didn’t want his words getting twisted so he watched the self-scribing quill scratch against the parchment, checking what was written. ‘What I saw, though, makes me almost certain that he died from one of his own spells rebounding on him.’ Dean clenched his jaw. He thought back to Castiel in the room, his hands fisted at his side - Cas hadn’t even used a wand. ‘Haven’t you checked Cas’ wand?’ he asked impatiently. ‘Scan what his last spell was and you’ll see it can’t have been him.’
Barty Crouch twisted his mouth. ‘Yes, we scanned his wand. Castiel Novak’s last noted spell was a tea-making charm.’
Dean could’ve laughed at that. Of course, it bloody was.
‘Unfortunately, this doesn’t help his case,’ Crouch continued. ‘He must’ve used someone else’s wand in battle.’
‘I’m tellin’ you,’ Dean grunted. ‘As the only witness, that Castiel is innocent. Get some of that damn veritaserum in here and you’ll see I’m telling the truth.’
They stared at each other for a long time, Dean’s heart pounding in his chest, and Crouch oggled him beadily, mouth a thin line. He looked unimpressed, but Dean wasn’t going to budge.
‘Cas is innocent,’ he repeated, firmly.
‘So why is he acting guilty?’
Dean licked his lips. Frustrated. ‘How would you feel, huh, if your brother - if your son, or wife, or whatever you have - turned dark and died during a duel against you? Whether it’s your fault or not, any guy with morals is going to feel guilty for some part of it. But Cas did nothing wrong. Every action he made was self defence and to protect me.’
There was a stretch of silence between them. Crouch looked unimpressed, especially at Dean’s accusations concerning his family. He tightened his mouth and stood up, clipboard and quill tucking underneath his elbow.
‘Thank you for your comments,’ he told Dean formally with a nod. ‘I wish you a speedy recovery.’
Speedy, my ass, Dean thought bitterly. The sooner he could get out of this hospital bed, he’d storm the Ministry himself if he had to.
As it happened, Dean couldn’t leave St Mungo’s until the end of the week. That was two weeks overall that he clocked inside those walls. By the end of the week he’d seen just about every person he’d ever met in his life. Benny, Charlie, Max, Alicia, Jody, Claire, Alex, Ellen, Jo… everyone. Sam, of course. Sam was permitted a visit every night, which truly kept Dean sane.
He was there on Saturday morning when Dean was told he was allowed to leave. At last.
‘On a Saturday, too,’ Sammy beamed as he helped Dean pack up a bag full of his things. ‘That’s awesome, Dean. Y’know it’s the final Quidditch match tomorrow - Gryffindor against Hufflepuff.’
‘No way am I making that,’ Dean muttered, glumly. He winced as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, accepting the crutches that Sam offered. His legs were still ruined. Not as sore as before, and he could stand on them - he’d walked up and down St Mungo’s a handful of times that week, but it still hurt a little. The painkiller potions only took the edge off so much.
‘Doubt I’ll ever be able to play Quidditch again,’ he sighed. Sam looked saddened by that and said nothing. There was nothing to say.
‘Max Banes is your sub,’ he said quietly as they head down the corridor together, Bobby up ahead with more of Dean’s things. He’d collected a lot of cards and presents during his bedsitting time. ‘He’s crap, though. Doesn’t know the signals.’
‘Am sure he’s doing his best,’ Dean mumbled. ‘Big shoes to fill.’
‘The biggest.’ Sam smiled, but Dean didn’t miss the sadness in the corners of his eyes.
The first person to meet them at the Hogwarts gates when they Apparated on the 13th April out of St Mungos was, surprisingly, Professor McGonagall.
He’d landed, abruptly, after the Apparation alongside Sam and Bobby. His knees had buckled into the mud, still weak, still frail. The Apparation caused him to feel nauseous, abdomen aching with psychosomatic pain. But McGonagall was there, a hand outstretched to help Dean stand up a moment later.
‘Professor,’ Dean had said, surprised. He hadn’t expected anyone to meet them.
McGonagall didn’t say anything though. She stepped forwards and pulled Dean into a tight, completely unexpected hug. He froze up, words catching in his mouth, before he very carefully wrapped his arms around McGonagall in return.
‘It’s good to see you, too, Professor,’ Dean mumbled, half a smile twitching at his mouth.
McGonagall shook her head, almost annoyed as she released Dean and took a step back. Her lips were pursed. It was spitting, just slightly. A light spring rain that was washing Dean clean, and he was grateful for the touch of cold raindrops on his skin which had been cooped up for so long.
He hugged Bobby goodbye outside the gates, Sam carrying his bags for him. Bobby was quieter than Dean expected, a weight on his shoulders as he hugged Dean tightly. ‘Take care, kid,’ he’d mumbled into Dean’s collar. A hearty pat on the back. A promise of owls. And Bobby hung back, watching as Dean turned his attention back to McGonagall, ready. Ready to return.
‘Good morning,’ McGonagall said curtly. ‘How are you feeling, Winchester?’ she asked the question sharply, like a sergeant to its soldier. With a flick of her wrist the lofty iron gates opened behind her, the locks unfurling slowly. McGonagall nodded to Bobby who tipped his cap, and she didn’t hesitate before he was stalking up to the front steps of the Castle, McGonagall a few paces ahead as Dean and Sam traipsed behind her, Dean trying to keep up on weak legs with his crutches, whilst Sam struggled under the weight of Dean’s bags.
‘I’m… I’m good, Professor,’ he answered at length, half panting. He frowned. ‘I’m not in trouble am I?’
They had reached the steps. McGonagall froze and looked round, her expression fierce. ‘Goodness, no. Winchester,’ she said sternly, ‘I am half inclined to give you a medal.’
‘For what?’
‘For not dying.’
Dean blinked. ‘Oh,’ he said. And then he smiled. ‘Well, I’ll take a medal, if you’re offering.’
McGonagall almost (almost) rolled her eyes. Dean could tell. He couldn’t help but smile harder. He half wanted to shake her hand. ‘You know,’ he said instead, ‘if I didn’t have my head screwed on, I’d think you might’ve gone soft on me, Professor.’
‘Get to your dormitory,’ she told him then sharply. ‘Classes start within the hour and you’re not dressed. There will be no slacking. Near death experience or not.’
Dean nodded. ‘On my way.’
‘And Winchester?’ McGonagall called as Dean started up the front steps into the Castle. Both he and Sam looked back at the same time, identical expressions of interest. McGonagall clasped her hands together at her front and looked between them both with a tight lipped smile. ‘There’s always tea and a biscuit in my office if ever you need some guidance.’
Dean sucked in a breath. He nodded again, grateful. And Sam did the same.
It was overwhelming to return to the Gryffindor Common Room. Sam kept offering to help Dean with the stairs, and Dean grumbled his little brother’s overbearing care away. When he finally made it to the Gryffindor Common Room, he was engulfed enthusiastically but gently by the arms of his best friends, and then everyone else who ever knew him. Everyone knew he was still rough as shit, and people tastefully slipped The Daily Prophet out of view whenever he walked past, leaning heavily on his crutches. The image of him, broken and ruined, in Castiel Novak’s arms still covered every front page. People had really taken with it and ran; the symbolism of a world at war with itself, reducing two teenage boys to the state they were in. Two different worlds. Cas, from a world of Purebloods and Death Eaters, born into power, cradling Dean has he cried. Dean, a Mudblood orphan, just caught in the middle of all this bullshit.
‘Wizengamot meets next week,’ Charlie explained on his first night back, him, Benny, and Charlie all curled up on his bed behind the curtains. Charlie twisted her mouth a little nervously. ‘They’ll decide what happens to Cas.’
‘Jesus, Charlie,’ Dean sighed. ‘I don’t get it. What’s there to decide, man? I told them everything.’
‘I’m sure it’ll be a quick process, brother,’ Benny said confidently, patting Dean’s shoulder. ‘More, uh… getting through paperwork than anything else. You know? He’ll be out in no time, once they’ve cut through the formality.’
‘It definitely wasn’t a good look for him to say he killed Nicodemus the second you were both found.’
‘He’s an idiot,’ Dean growled, frustrated. ‘He’s… he’s Cas…’
Charlie stayed to help Dean rewrap his knees and stomach bandages, covering the wounds with the numbing paste St Mungo’s had discharged him with. Apparently, they weren’t too worried about the longevity of his injuries. If they’d been healed completely, immediately, maybe he wouldn’t still be in so much pain - but his body had yoyo’d back and forth between healed and injured, healed and injured, so it had taken its toll. They estimated within a month he’d be right as rain, as though nothing had ever happened. The scars might remain, but they wouldn’t hurt the same.
Dean dreamed of Cas every night before Wizengamot met. It was a familiar dream, one he couldn’t remember having before, but it felt so known to him each time. He was sat by the Black Lake, his palms scathing the surface. And Castiel’s hand would find his shoulder, pulling his attention away from the tug of the water, of the light on the other side.
Is this real? Dean asked him one time. Two days before Wizengamot would meet. I never remember these dreams when I wake up - do they actually happen?
Yes, Castiel replied, voice echoing.
You’re in a holding cell.
Castiel shook his head, blue eyes sad. I’m here.
This is you, astral projecting into my head, right?
Castiel nodded. His lips quirked at Dean’s phrasing. Just making sure you’re alright.
Every time Dean woke, it was with a familiar tug in his gut. He’d feel safe, reassured, and then he wouldn’t be able to remember why. He’d look over at Castiel’s empty bed, and that reassurance would ebb away, like the tideline disappearing beneath the wave. There, and then gone.
Charlie, Benny, and Sam gathered on Dean’s bed on the Wednesday when Wizengamot met. They’d stolen one of the old radios from the Common Room and had tuned it onto the channel where Castiel’s hearing would be announced in real time. No waiting for the press. None of it.
‘… Castiel Novak’s hearing has just concluded,’ the spokesman announced, voice clipped and staticy. ‘We can confirm that he has been found innocent concerning the death of Nicodemus Novak, following witness accounts, and thorough inspection of Castiel Novak’s wand, which was not used for battle on the day…’
Dean let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Beside him, Charlie wound her arms tightly around his middle, face in his neck. She was smiling with relief, but there were tears, too. Benny’s hand was firm on his back, and Sam tackled him over the bed, the four of them piling up. Innocent. He’s innocent.
‘... Novak will, however, be required to wear an Admonitor bracelet for 36 months following investigations…’
Charlie squeezed him tightly. Sam let out a wet laugh of relief. He’s innocent. He’s free.
‘... is expected to return to Hogwarts in order to complete final examinations…’
Benny sniffed, reluctantly. He rubbed his hand almost violently over Dean’s head, in a brotherly, tough display of relief and affection and thank god. Cas is innocent.
‘... following the funeral on April 18th…the Novaks have requested privacy at this time…’
Dean switched the radio off. He’d heard enough. Cas was innocent, and that’s all that mattered. It didn’t matter if this stupid government was going to make him wear an Admonitor bracelet. He was free, and he’d be coming back to Hogwarts within a week. What else could Dean have asked for?
‘When are your exams?’ Sam asked as they all withdrew their arms from each other, Charlie wiping at her tears impatiently with the end of her sleeve.
‘20th April,’ Charlie answered immediately, ‘until the 13th May. That’s the full exam diet. I don’t know when Castiel’s are specifically, but that’s the time frame…’
‘So all of you are finished from school on May 13th?’ Sam mumbled, a little glum. He blinked up at his brother, and all of his brother’s friends. ‘Lucky. I don’t finish until June 5th.’
Dean smirked a little. ‘Shuddup, Sammy,’ he laughed, punching his brother in the arm. ‘We’ve been at school for seven whole years. I’ll take the break.’
‘Gryffindor will suck at Quidditch again without you guys,’ Sam said, sounding fed up. He looked between Benny and Dean. Sad.
‘We didn’t even win the cup this year with us here,’ Benny laughed.
‘I was out of action, don’t blame me,’ Dean snorted. The loss against Hufflepuff had been humiliating. Dean was glad he didn’t even bother attending the match in the crowd, he and Charlie had spent the day in the library where it was at its quietest, the rest of the school out on the pitch. Dean had a lot of studying to catch up on.
The four of them stayed on Dean’s bed for a while until Benny left to go meet Andrea in the library - and do whatever couples do… - and Sam eventually got up to go as well, claiming he had a Potions essay he was behind on.
Charlie shuffled up the bed to sit beside Dean, their legs pressed together. She leaned her head on his shoulder with a long sigh.
‘What do you think you’ll do when he gets here?’ she asked eventually, once the silence had dragged out a little too long.
Dean chewed the insides of his cheeks. He lifted a hand to play with Charlie’s hair absently, running his fingers through her messy, ginger strands. He shook his head minutely, a tightness beginning in his chest.
‘No idea,’ he admitted. He thought about the warmth in his gut that he woke with every day now - like there was some hope there. But he couldn’t remember his dreams, so he could never quite pinpoint why he felt the way he did. ‘Charlie, I don’t remember so much of what went down,’ he said quietly, hating that it was true. ‘The day Nicodemus took me. I really don’t remember much.’
‘You’re bound to not remember,’ she said gently. Understanding, as always. ‘Dean, it seems like you were getting beaten to a pulp. And even if you were fully conscious, it sounds traumatic as fuck. People forget things when they’re too hard to deal with. It’s the brain’s way of coping.’
Dean bit his lips, grinding his teeth over the sore skin there. He felt like he was forgetting something important, though. ‘They said they found me in a forest, but I don’t remember a forest. I remember seeing Nick die, and I remember grabbing onto Cas and telling him to get us outta there - and then, everything’s… completely lost to me. Like I lost half my mind in the Disapparation.’
You’re my best friend, he remembered that. Castiel’s bright blue eyes, which had been glowing at one point, but dimmed with relief in that moment. The way they stood out against his pale face, his dark hair. And I’d die for you.
Did that really happen? Dean thinks. If it did, it didn’t feel real.
‘I’m sure nothing much happened after that,’ Charlie reasoned beside him. She wound her arms around his middle, one hand pausing to rub his back. ‘Are you guys friends again?’
‘Yeah,’ Dean laughed shallowly. You’re my best friend. And I’d die for you. But that wasn’t it, was it? Dean wishes he could remember. ‘Yeah, I don’t think you can go through something like that and not be friends again, right? I mean, I want to be. And maybe now it’s over, now Nick’s gone, maybe we can be again. I don’t know. That’s what I’d want.’
It’s over. He remembered saying that. There was so much blood, and everything was bright and far away.
It’s not over. It’s not over.
What the hell was Dean forgetting?
Charlie distracted him by humming idly to herself. Her hand stilled on his back, and the memories of that damned day slipped away again.
‘You’ll see him, and you’ll know,’ Charlie told him, simply. ‘You’ll know what to do.’
Dean hummed in agreement. It didn’t sound correct. It sounded like some bullshit, throwaway thing people said to make others feel better, but the truth was: Charlie was completely right.
You’ll see him, and you’ll know. You’ll know what to do.
Dean was slathering warm butter on a toasted bagel when it happened. When the Great Hall fell into a hush on the 20th April, the first morning of Dean’s exams, and the day Castiel was due to arrive back at Hogwarts.
When the Hall fell silent, Dean knew with a sinking feeling in his gut, exactly what it meant.
He looked up slowly from his bagel, his eyes following every single eye in the Great Hall, as hundreds of students oggled at the boy stood in the Hall doorway, by himself. His hair dark and tousled, his eyes bright blue. Square jaw. Serene face. An ugly, purple sweater on that read The Pride of Portree.
Dean sucked in a breath that stuttered in his chest. It was Cas.
The tension that descended in the room was thick. Here stood a boy who’d been on the front covers of every paper for weeks, a boy who briefly was speculated as having killed his own brother and having gravely harmed Hogwarts’ beloved Head Boy. The same Head Boy who felt the world completely fall away around him the moment their eyes met across the room, Castiel’s blue finding his green. And suddenly, Dean remembered something unbelievably important about the day he’d nearly died. He remembered bright blue eyes, bearing into his. Trees. Beautiful, beautiful trees, that had silhouetted Castiel’s head like a halo.
I love you.
I know.
Dean’s whole body froze up. Castiel’s eyes were still on him, and the room was still silent enough to hear a pin drop, but all Dean could hear was the pounding of his own heart.
‘He said he loved me,’ Dean breathed suddenly before he could help himself. And Charlie’s head snapped round, but Dean didn’t even notice. ‘Jesus, Charlie, he told me he loved me.’
How the fuck could he forget something like that?
Charlie started to say something, but Dean didn’t register it in the slightest. You’ll see him and you’ll know, she’d said after all, you’ll know what to do.
Which is why Dean didn’t even question it when he swung his leg over the bench and stood up on weak knees. He grabbed his crutches, irritated to shit that he still needed them even now, before he started to walk up the thin strip between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. Castiel watched him with steady eyes, his gaze pinning him to the spot, before he started walking, too. People were whispering, but Dean didn’t care. They were probably speculating what the hell Head Boy Dean Winchester was doing, walking up to the boy who’d been pictured with his near-dead body only a few weeks prior. The boy with the dark hair and blue eyes, who had powers beyond everyone’s understanding, and beyond what people would trust. And they’d ostracized him for it, and god knows how long he’d spent in that holding cell waiting for forgiveness from people who’d never understand him. Not like Dean understood him.
You love me, he thought, so loud that he was certain Castiel heard it through his brainwaves alone. And from the way Castiel’s step faltered, he was sure Cas had heard. You love me.
They met in the middle, Dean’s body weak, his knees aching. And then he was stood, toe-to-toe with Castiel Novak. He wasn’t sure quite what he was planning on doing, half his soul wrestled with the idea of grabbing Castiel by the collar and shaking him, shaking him and saying you idiot, you asshole, why did you get yourself locked up for a week? Why did you do all of this year alone? Why didn’t you talk to me - why didn’t you tell me? The other half wanted to grab his collar and - and -
The other half won.
Dean didn’t think. He grabbed Castiel’s collar roughly, and a gasp rippled through the hall. You idiot, he thought, as loud as he could. You idiot - you told me you loved me right as I lay there dying. Castiel didn’t look away. He didn’t look away, and Dean’s chest rose and fell, and the whole world faded as he knotted his fist in Castiel’s shirt and pulled him forward.
One minute he was tugging Castiel, and the next they were crashing together, their lips meeting. You idiot, Dean’s brain screamed over and over as he dropped his stupid crutches, barely hearing the way they clattered to the floor. One hand held onto Castiel’s collar like a lifeline, the other clung to his front for stability as his knees buckled, and in half a breath that neither of them took, Castiel was kissing him right back with a guttural noise of surprise - harder than Dean had been kissed in his entire life.
There was so much anger there, inside that kiss, but a desperation too. As though this was what they were supposed to have been doing for all the time they’d ever known each other. Not arguing, not staring at each other and not understanding - this. Castiel’s lips, on his. His hands on Dean’s hips, pulling him closer, holding him upright. His strength, his warmth, his love. It cradled Dean like nothing on this earth ever had before. I love you. For as long as I’ve known you. I love you, I love you, I love you.
Dean’s heart ached, thumping in his chest as Castiel’s lips moved over his, their noses knocking. Why didn’t you say it before? Why did you wait until it was nearly too late?
A pulse of warmth spread through his body and when they finally broke apart, Dean realized Castiel’s eyes were glowing, his palms too, and Dean’s knees didn’t hurt as bad anymore as they often did. Castiel’s hands were on his waist, sending gentle vibrations of relief through his veins - healing Dean, without even being asked. Without question. The first thing he did was kiss Dean and take away some of that excess pain. What the hell had Dean done in another life to deserve this?
A staggered gasp rippled across the Great Hall, pulling Dean back into reality with a resounding crash, where students stared in complete shock at the sight of Head Boy Dean Winchester kissing a boy - Cas Novak, of all people. Dean’s heart hammered. He swallowed, catching his breath and pulling away from Castiel, his lips parted and his eyes searching Castiel’s face. So much for hello, he thought, letting out a shaky breath of surprised laughter as his eyes traveled from Castiel’s lips to his eyes, and then up - to his hair.
‘Cas,’ he whispered, voice broken, mostly in disbelief. He reached a hand up to brush the hair out of Castiel’s eyes. ‘Jesus, Cas. You’ve gone pink.’
Castiel squinted. He looked flushed and confused. It felt like a lifetime since Dean had seen his face so close. ‘So have you,’ he said quietly.
Unable to help himself, Dean grinned, wider than he was sure he’d grinned all year. ‘No, you’ve gone hot pink,’ he corrected, tugging at Castiel’s hair pointedly, and Castiel went cross-eyed to spot the curl of hot pink hair that had sprouted from his head.
Castiel barely had time to register it before someone stood up on the Gryffindor table, cupped their hands over their mouth, and let out the loudest WHOOP! Known to mankind. It was Charlie. Of course, it was fucking Charlie.
Dean’s eyes bulged out of his head as he looked away from Castiel and the rest of the room fell into focus, all the eyes on them both, and slowly the room descended into roars of laughter and cheers, and applauding - people actually applauding. Dean wanted the ground to swallow him up whole. Up at the teacher’s table sat McGonagall, her lips a thin line of what could’ve been approval, but easily could’ve been disapproval. Their eyes met across the room and Dean thought he might throw up.
‘Oh, Jesus,’ he said weakly.
Castiel bent to pick up Dean’s crutches, handing them over to him, and Dean took them with shaking hands, knowing he was beetroot red and that Castiel was absolutely telling the truth in saying Dean had turned pink, too. If his hair could magically flit between colors depending on mood, then what’s the best color for mortified? Dean would be that color.
‘Oh, Jesus,’ he said again, ‘act natural.’
Act natural? It wasn’t even possible. The whole room felt far away, and it tunneled, the distance looking farther and farther from where they stood to where they needed to get to, with every eye on them. Did they just kiss? someone whispered. I thought Winchester was going to punch him, another said. I thought Novak tried to kill him the other week? Dean ignored the hushed gossip and offered tight smiles and awkward nods at the few people whose eyes he caught, wishing he could completely disappear. He hadn’t meant to kiss Castiel in front of everyone, that wasn’t how this was meant to be - hell, half the time Dean wasn’t sure what foot he was standing on, let alone this. He could barely breathe, let alone walk back to the table where his friends were waiting for them, along with his buttered bagel.
And then, on cue, Castiel’s hand slipped into his. Held on tight. A gentle squeeze of reassurance.
Dean looked down in surprise at the way their fingers knotted together like they’d done this a thousand times - and his whole body started to tingle again. One moment his hand was tight in Castiel’s and the whole school was watching them, and the next, he was staring at the floor, into the space where his hand used to be. Still tight in Castiel’s, but Castiel was gone too. Invisible. Dean grinned, wider than he’d ever grinned before, and once more the Hall descended into gasps of surprise and uproar. The shock at Castiel’s disappearing trick rippled through the room.
‘Come with me,’ Castiel whispered, his breath soft on Dean’s ear.
Dean didn’t need telling twice. He clung onto Castiel’s invisible hand, and let himself be guided out of the Hall, leaving behind the smattering gasps and echoing whispers that bounced off the walls. Castiel tugged and Dean followed. Out the front steps of the castle. It reminded him of the Valentine’s Day dance when they’d ran out of the crowd and down the corridors together, invisible but together. It had been raining then and everything felt painful and raw - but now it felt different. It felt new, and warm, and like something had changed between them. For the better, for once.
The late spring air was gentle on Dean’s cheeks. The grass soft, soaked in morning dew, beneath his feet. He looked down, watching the impression of his shoes press down on the blades.
‘Where are we going?’ he asked as they walked down the front slope of the castle, nearer the forest edge.
Castiel just squeezed his hand once.
They neared the thin trees that scattered the perimeter of the Black Lake, and Dean lifted an eyebrow as they came to a halt. Warmth tingled through his bones, beginning at the tips of his fingers where his digits touched Castiel’s skin.
Before him, Castiel re-materialised. Blue eyes. Flushed cheeks. Hot pink hair. Dean held back a smile, his heart fast in his chest. The trees behind Castiel twitched in the morning air, the sun shining on the still surface of the lake, the stoney ground pebbling beneath Dean’s sneakers. Everything fell into place.
How many times had Castiel met him here, on this lake, in his dreams before now? Suddenly, all of those moments came flooding back to the surface of Dean’s mind. How could he have forgotten them? How many times had they stood here at this very lake, and Dean had forgotten it the next day?
‘I’m sorry I kissed you,’ he blurted as soon as they were still - his chest was tight and his vision was blurring all over again, in and out, in and out.
He remembered when he’d kissed Alicia, and she’d only done it to make him feel better. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want Castiel to kiss him just because he felt bad for Dean.
But Castiel looked back, eyes all squinty and confused, his head tilted. His ugly purple sweater clashing with his stupid hot pink hair. It was Cas.
‘On the contrary,’ Castiel said breathlessly - had he made Castiel Novak breathless?-, ‘I thought it was a wonderful greeting.’
Dean swallowed, the force of it rippling in his throat. His hand was still in Castiel’s, hanging there limply, probably sweaty by now, his pulse stuttering fast and steady all at once. He nodded, finally allowing some of that smile to twitch at his lips - because he’d kissed Cas Novak. In front of the whole school.
‘You meant it, right?’ Dean asked quietly, his voice hoarse. ‘What you said - right before I…’
Castiel nodded, not needing explanation. His eyes didn’t leave Dean’s. ‘Every word,’ he said quietly. ‘And I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner - I should’ve said it sooner. All of it. Dean, I’m so sorry for how I’ve treated you this year.’
‘No, Cas. C’mon.’ The words were a weak puff of air. His skin still felt electric from Castiel’s magic, that buzz of energy. Dean had missed it. He’d missed it so much.
‘Let me say it, Dean,’ Castiel sighed, free hand lifting to halt Dean, pleading. Like this was his second court case in a week. His other hand still held Dean’s, loose now. ‘I’ve been appalling, all year. I’ve run away from everything, I’ve lied to you, I’ve - I’ve kept you at arm’s length for so long, not telling you any of what was happening, and I told myself it was for the right reasons. That I was doing everything for the right reasons, even though it kept going wrong. And the truth is, okay, is that I’ve loved you longer than you’ve loved me, and that used to hurt, and then it scared me. And then it endangered you and I couldn’t bare it. I couldn’t. I’m sorry.’
Dean twisted his mouth, an ache in his chest. He tugged Castiel a little closer. They needed to have it out, didn’t they? There was so much shit to wade through before they could reach the gold. Why couldn’t it be easy for them? Why couldn’t they just - just waltz into each other’s arms and forget about the rest?
‘I forgive you,’ Dean said quietly, desperately. ‘Of course, I forgive you. For all of it. And I get it - everything. I get all of it. And I’m sorry - fuck, Cas, I’m so sorry about Nick. About everything that’s happened to you this year - you shouldn’t have had to go through that. None of this has been fair to you either.’
Castiel shook his head minutely, tearing his gaze away. He looked out at the lake, eyes reflecting the darkness of the water. He looked torn, mouth working to say something for a moment before he let out a steady sigh.
‘For so long,’ he said at length, words fragile, ‘my hands have been tied.’
He was quiet for a moment, and Dean chewed his lip, looking down at where their hands were knotted together, still holding onto each other like a raft in the sea. His thumb skirted the angular edge of Castiel’s thumb, watching the slow glide of his thumb against Castiel’s. He leaned on his crutches at his elbows, his free hand moving to take Castiel’s other empty one. Both hands in Dean’s. Both hands definitely in Dean’s. Warm and tight. He looked at their fingers entwined, like they belonged together, like his hands were made to find Castiel’s in every life, no matter how long it took to get there, this would always be the end result.
‘They’re not tied now,’ he mumbled finally, dragging his eyes back to Castiel’s, and Castiel smiled that tiny smile he always did, the one that creased his eyes and smoothed out his face.
‘No,’ Castiel agreed.
Free, Dean thought. You’re free.
‘It’s over,’ Dean said quietly. ‘It’s done. No more - no more secrets, okay? No more running away.’
Castiel’s hands held his. Tighter. Pulling him closer. ‘No more,’ he agreed, voice soft. ‘My hands are yours.’
He spoke it like an oath and Dean felt the weight of his words. He nodded, and Castiel did too, like everything was also catching up to him - the fact that they were stood there, both alive, both looking at each other, after a year of barely making eye contact, barely speaking like normal human beings. They were here, they were alive - and they were doing it together now. Finally.
Castiel’s eyes flickered to Dean’s lips.
It was terrifying, somehow, kissing him the second time, even though the first had been in front of the whole school. This time they were alone, and that was scarier. It wasn’t rushed like before, filled with pent-up feeling, with anguish and desperation, and frankly a lot anger. When Castiel’s lips kissed the corner of Dean’s mouth it was shy and hesitant, as though awaiting permission still. And Dean was terrified. He turned his head and closed his eyes, blindly meeting Castiel’s kiss with one of his own, halting the other boy from pulling away with the softest of presses. They kissed quietly, gently, like they weren’t sure still if they were allowed this. The most careful of touches. But they were free, Dean reminded himself. They were free, and Cas knew it too. He chased Castiel’s lips, basking in the goosebumps that tickled across his skin as Castiel kissed him back, reverent and easy, as though he’d been imagining this moment for a long time.
Cas was here. All of him, too. There was nothing dark hidden behind his eyes anymore, no heavy secrets weighing between them, and Castiel stood there, present in ways he hadn’t been in a year. Mind, body, soul. Dean could feel, in the back of his head, a lingering presence there, a comfort, as though Castiel’s own mind was knocking against his. As though Castiel had climbed into his very soul, dug deep, and buried himself there in a nook behind Dean’s heart. It was like waking up from the longest of bad dreams into a world that slowly became recognizable again and easy to love once more.
Dean was blushing, deep, when they broke apart eventually. He wasn’t sure he’d ever kissed someone like that before, all shy and tender. Most of his kisses were rushed and harried - something to get through, to get to the end goal. No one had kissed him like kissing him was the end goal, holding him was the end goal. Even with his busted legs and pounding heart, Castiel had kissed him like he mattered, like he was the end goal. It was Cas. He couldn’t get over the fact that it was Cas.
‘The pink hair suits you,’ he said suddenly, and it wasn’t what he’d meant to say - he’d meant to say I’ve missed you so much. I’ve missed you all year. I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you, I’ve missed you. ‘I can’t believe you can pull that off.’
Castiel’s cheeks went as pink as his hair. ‘I didn’t realize hair my could go that color,’ he admitted in agreement, and it made Dean’s stomach twist happily.
He leaned forward, letting go of one of Castiel’s hands to hold the front of his sweater, his forehead tipping forward until he was leaning fully against Castiel’s shoulder. He wrapped his arm around Castiel’s middle, a rough but tender imitation of a hug, and he relaxed entirely when Castiel’s arms wound around him in turn. He was safe. The bad things were gone, in the past. Left behind. This, he thought with everything in him, this is what waking up feels like. Returning to the safety of someone’s arms after a lifetime of bad dreams.
‘You’re wrong, by the way,’ Dean said softly into the wool of Castiel’s sweater. He closed his eyes, enjoying the way Castiel’s free hand came to the nape of his neck, fingers running through the short hairs there as he held Dean steady against his chest.
‘Mm?’
‘I don’t think you’ve loved me longer than I’ve loved you,’ he explained weakly. His blush was hidden. ‘I was just late to realizing what it was. But I think I’ve felt this way for longer than either of us can know.’
Castiel turned his head, pressing his smile to Dean’s hair. ‘Well, we know now.’
‘Yes,’ Dean agreed, relieved. ‘We know.’
They stood by the lake for an impossibly long time, the noise of the Castle lost in the distance, Dean’s body resting against Castiel’s, for warmth, stability, and so he could bask in Castiel’s healing touch, the way his knees hurt less, and his heart felt lighter. The lake rippled softly. He had Cas back. It’s all he’d wanted all year, and finally, he had him there, all six foot of him with his lean figure and strong arms, and that soft smell of mint and old pines and ancient magic and endless safety, protection, love, care, all of it.
And the only thing that pulled them apart, eventually, was the distant ringing of a bell, Hogwarts’ calling for their return.
Exams, Dean remembered, coming back to earth. They still had exams to do. Exams to finish, school to complete, careers to start, lives to live. He couldn't even believe that he'd spent a week missing everything in a coma, for Christ's sake, and now he had exams to do.
'Are they making you do exams?' he asked Castiel, a little nervous as they walked back up the slopes together. He shouldn't be nervous, it was only Cas, and he'd known Cas for years - but now Castiel was the boy he'd kissed in front of the whole school, and that turned his entire insides into jelly. In the best way.
Castiel nodded, Dean's hand still in his. He walked slowly, so Dean's bruised legs could keep up.
'They are,' he confirmed. 'I agreed to it.'
'That's ass, man,' Dean muttered. 'They should pass you, no matter what, after everything you've been through.'
'Then they should do the same to you,' Castiel challenged, raising an eyebrow. But Dean shook his head - he understood what Castiel meant though. Being allowed to pass was different than earning the pass, and Dean wanted to get the grades himself, not be gifted them. He knew Castiel must've felt the same.
'Besides,' Castiel added as they neared the front steps. He tugged Dean to a halt, squinting at him in the sun. 'I need the distraction. Exams are easy compared to everything else.'
'I'll bet,' Dean mumbled.
Castiel nodded. Expression serene. He squeezed Dean's hand a final time and, finally, let go. 'Good luck with your exams today,' he told Dean sincerely. 'Will you be in the dormitory tonight?'
Dean swallowed, glancing to make sure no one was watching them, standing there too close, faces serious. 'I will be, yeah,' Dean said quietly, cheeks warm.
At this, Castiel gave a single nod. 'Maybe I'll see you there,' he offered quietly. 'There's a lot left to discuss. If you're open to it.'
Dean ignored the bludger that was rolling around in his gut at Castiel's words, and he just nodded, feeling distanced from himself. Having things to discuss didn't usually feel like a good thing, but he tried to remind himself that he and Castiel were a team now - again. They had stuff to figure out. Real things to outline and fix, and heal, and work on together. If Castiel wanted to talk through every single fuck up over the past year, then Dean would do it. He'd do it all.
'Yeah,' he said, voice hoarse. 'Cas, I'll be there.' He swallowed. 'Good luck with your exams, too.'
They entered the Castle together but apart, hands limp at their sides, Castiel's hair fading into a dusty pink as they stepped into the shadows of the Entrance Hall. Dean would've panicked more, but when their eyes met, everything felt electric, and Castiel's smile was like a wave of reassurance, of trusting that they were on the same side now, that whatever it was life threw at them, they'd get through it together. Exams, exams, exams. Dean would do them all and then he could fix everything, properly. Not with rushed words and fumbles, but properly, now that they were both ready.