The Seventh Son of a Seventh Son

The days after the ministry holding cell had actually been worse for Castiel than the cell itself. Sure, the cell had Dementors sucking at his already drained soul, and his fate was up in the air - but returning home made everything literally hit home. It felt too real. It couldn’t get much worse than this.

He would never forget the way his mother cried when he was declared innocent, the way she’d met him at the gates, her hug tight and close. 

‘It’s okay,’ she’d whispered into his ear, and he was aware he was crying too, maybe even harder than she had been. ‘It’s going to be okay.’

But when did it start becoming okay?

It certainly wasn’t when Castiel returned to the family home for a few days, which was so familiar to him but he felt so changed. His room was the highest room up in the attic, which meant Castiel had to walk past all of his brothers’ rooms to get to his own - and when he walked past Nick’s, he almost couldn’t bear it. He still felt Nick’s blood on his hands, the way his body had slumped in Castiel’s arms, how his eyes had faded. 

I killed him, he thought, even though it wasn’t as simple as that, and even though they’d let him go with the declaration that he was innocent. He didn’t feel innocent. 

It was on his bed that his dad found him, Chuck’s head poking out of the door on the floor. He looked morose and hesitated in the door, but didn’t ask for permission before he climbed up into Castiel’s room. 

Castiel lay on his bed, staring up at the rain that trickled down the slanted window panes above his head. He felt the Admonitor heavy on his wrist as he lifted his hand and wordlessly closed the blinds, not wanting to see outside any longer because the tips of Teardenn’s trees were almost too much to bear. At night, he was comforted. At night, Dean’s mind was the most open, and even from this distance, Castiel could find him, could watch him place his palms atop the Black Lake. It had been a comfort each night, one he’d permitted himself even though he’d sworn years ago that he wouldn’t dreamwalk without explicit permission. Dean always looked happy to see him, always surprised, as though he forgot every time. 

‘Cas,’ Chuck said quietly, sitting down at the end of Castiel’s bed. The mattress sank a little and Castiel moved his legs to make room for his father. 

He said nothing, and Chuck was silent for some time. 

Eventually, Chuck cleared his throat. ‘I owe you an apology,’ Chuck said at last, his jaw tight as he looked down at his hands, gaze firm. His hands were clean. Neatly trimmed nails on delicate fingers. Clean. 

Castiel’s heart stuttered in his chest. He looked up where he lay, watching the shadows across his father’s face. An apology. No one ever got an apology from their father - it was… it was unheard of. Castiel was too afraid to reply, certain his words would break whatever bizarre spell his dad was under. Chuck just sat there, staring at his hands, still wearing his suit from the Hearing. His breath came in slow, ragged pulls. Pulls that sounded like the stuttered breaths of Nicodemus against Castiel’s chest. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Chuck said, clearer now. ‘For what you witnessed with Nicodemus. This is my fault more than anyone else’s, it’s my family, and I didn’t protect it properly. I should’ve known it would have been too much for you to bear.’ Chuck looked at him finally, watery grey-blue eyes meeting his before he looked away, glancing at the slanted wooden beams around them. How could an apology still sound like blame? And he smiled, unfeeling. ‘You know, this used to be my old bedroom.’

Castiel scanned his bedroom walls, his old Pride of Portree posters that he didn’t even remember putting up there, the crystal ball that had sat on his desk since before he was born. He’d never even questioned it. He sat up and tilted his head, watching his father carefully. They were side by side on the bed now, shoulders pressed together. Faces gaunt. 

‘I never told you before,’ Chuck pushed on weakly. ‘Same way I didn’t tell you a lot of things. But I should’ve.’

‘What are you saying, Dad?’ Cut to the chase, Castiel wanted to say. Speak clearly. 

‘I’m trying to apologize,’ Chuck just said again, like he barely knew how to do that. ‘I put this burden on you your whole life surrounding your powers and it was never fair of me. I knew what the risks were in having a seventh son. I chose that, Castiel. I’m a seventh son, and I knew the possibilities that came with a seventh son of my own and I knew we were at the brink of war - but I did it anyway, I had you regardless, because… because I hoped for your greatness, I thought it was what this family might need.’ He shook his head, breaking his gaze from the beams to look at Castiel. ‘We all knew the risks involved, Castiel, and I chose to have you in the hopes you’d become something great, but I fear I ruined you along the way.’

‘I killed Nick,’ Castiel mumbled, miserable. The weight of a Quaffle rolling in his stomach, heavy and nauseating. ‘Is that the greatness you wanted?’

Chuck shook his head. ‘You didn’t kill Nicodemus, not really. I killed Nick. This family killed Nick - this world. Maybe we all did - maybe we all played a part in this, but you were just there for the curtain call. And I’m sorry I put you in that position all year.’

He reached forward, his hand finding Castiel’s head, fingers against Castiel’s neck, palm against Castiel’s ear. This was what Castiel was owed. Maybe he’d waited his whole life for this, he wasn’t sure. He wished it had happened when he’d killed those damn chickens, not when he’d killed his own brother. 

‘This was not your crux to bear, Cas, not yours. Not alone,’ Chuck said, voice scratching. ‘You’re my son. My son.’ 

When Chuck pulled him closer, Castiel went. He leaned his head against his father’s shoulder, feeling a deep tug of strangeness in the pit of his stomach. He’d been so afraid of disobeying his father all his life, of revealing his powers, of being more than he should be. He’s always assumed he’d been a mistake, that they’d accidentally found themselves with a child prodigy. To hear that it had been a choice made it worse somehow, because there were so many times he’d wished for normality, wished he wasn’t something his parents feared - to know that they’d chosen this for him and feared him anyway…? It didn’t feel fair. 

‘You’re eighteen now,’ Chuck said quietly as Castiel stared, numb, at his desk chair across the room. The crystal ball swirled. ‘Your powers are yours. I won’t tell you how to handle them any longer. They’re a gift, Castiel. A gift. Not a curse. I still believe in your greatness somewhere, I really do.’

‘Okay,’ Castiel said, voice distant. When he looked at his hands, he thought he might still see blood. Might still see Dean’s body going limp in his. A gift. ‘Okay,’ he said again. 

The days were a blur of mixed emotions after that. Nicodemus’ funeral was a private, quiet affair, and it hurt Castiel to sit three seats down from his brothers. There were only five brothers now. Michael was silent in his grief. Ezekiel cried. Samandriel held onto Gadreel for support, and Gabriel was the only one who looked at Castiel, his eyes knowing. No one had anticipated losing a brother at this age. It was meant to be the seven of them, the way it had been Castiel’s whole life. He’d grown up bouncing between the arms of his brothers, and to see them so closed off, so distant - so clearly hurting because they’d lost Nicodemus twice now, once to the Dark Lord, and now to their own brother. How could he be a seventh son, without only five brothers? How could it be that way?

The wake was at home, quiet. 

Nobody talked to each other. Michael flicked through old pictures of himself and Nicodemus by the fire, and it was Gabriel who finally caught Castiel’s arm. Tugged him outside. 

‘You’re going back to school, aren’t you?’ Gabriel said once they were outside, and the rain was gentle on Castiel’s skin, wetting his hair. He nodded, not saying anything. ‘Good. Being around here is gonna suck your soul out.’

‘They hate me,’ Castiel said. ‘Everyone’s gonna hate me forever.’

‘No way,’ Gabriel said firmly. ‘You should read what that Winchester boy said about you in the paper. Waxed lyrical about you, he did. You’ll win everyone else back easy.’

Castiel held back the emotion on his face. Dean was alive and well. Across the way, he could see the gate to Teardenn on the hill in the distance, how he’d held Dean’s fading form. He didn’t deserve to be free, talking about Dean with his older brother. Maybe the papers were wrong. Maybe Dean would still hate him forever, and he’d have every right to. 

‘You have a chance here, Cassie,’ Gabriel said softly now. His hand on Castiel’s shoulder, tight. ‘To make things right. To unfuck all the ways it’s been fucked.’

‘By you, you mean,’ Castiel pointed out, voice a challenge. ‘You told me to stay away from him all year.’

‘Hey.’ Gabriel lifted his hands, placating. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger, bro. We were doing what we were told, what dad thought was best - what we all thought was best.’

‘And we were all wrong,’ Castiel said, vehemently, pointing at the house behind him. ‘We were wrong - but it’s my hands with the blood on them. Not yours, not Dad’s. Mine. So you can take your sorry, and you can…’ His voice trailed off, breaking. How could these people ask his forgiveness when they could barely meet his eyes. How could they do that? Castiel had been a pawn in this game for too long. Way too long. He wanted out - he so desperately wanted out. 

Gabriel looked saddened by his rage, but he said nothing further. There was nothing more to be said. 

So when Castiel returned to Hogwarts later that following Monday, it was alone, with a heavy heart and a sinking feeling in his stomach. He was met at the gates by Professor Sprout, her eyes worried and sad, and he hated that she looked afraid of him, too. He was a killer, innocent or not. Forgiven, or not. He had killed someone, he’d killed his own brother. 

When he entered the Hall for breakfast there was a shift in the air. Like electricity as every eye landed on him, but Dean’s heart beat like a lighthouse in a storm, loud enough for Castiel to find him instantly across the room. He could see the remembrance in Dean’s eyes. I love you. I love you, filled with so many you idiots, loud and clear at the front of his mind. 

Castiel hadn’t expected to be kissed in front of the whole school. He was certain sometimes that he could read minds and see into the future, but with Dean he could never be sure what to anticipate, and he hadn’t anticipated holding onto Dean’s body as the boy crashed into him like a wave against the shore, his lips finding Castiel’s - and Castiel had kissed him back. He’d kissed him back and he hadn’t even realized that his hair had changed color, that the tightness in his chest was easing up, that the weight he’d carried on his shoulders all year and that past week in particular could’ve been getting knocked off by Dean fucking Winchester, his best friend. His absolute best friend. 

You have a chance… to make things right. 

So he’d taken Dean to the lake, the lake where they’d met a dozen times in Dean’s dreams that year, but Dean never remembered. And he looked beautiful by the water, his eyes wide open, his hands in Castiel’s - what did I do to you? his mind begged, searching Dean’s face, the way he looked so vulnerable, with his crutches and open gaze. What have I done to deserve you? What have I done to make you want to stay so bad, despite the way I behaved? 

And he’d tried to be honest with Dean, for the first time in a long time, completely. But his sorry sounded the same as his father’s to him. It wasn’t enough. It wouldn’t ever be enough, and Castiel didn’t deserve the way Dean forgave him, without even a moment’s hesitation. He wanted to deserve it, he’d wanted it so bad, and his chest had been light as they’d kissed, and his hands in Dean’s didn’t look like the hands of a killer anymore, they weren’t soaked in blood, they were clean, and they were warm, and Dean held onto him and made him feel like maybe he didn’t deserve everything he’d been through either that year. Maybe it wasn’t his fault, they were just caught in a web of everyone else’s nastiness. 

The exams that day had been unbearable. Castiel had a Herbology exam before lunch, and both he and Dean had a Potions exam afterward. He had felt Dean’s eyes on him the whole time in the Great Hall whilst they filled out their theory papers in separate chairs, long theoretical essay after long, theoretical essay. Dean’s eyes on the back of his head, as though he couldn’t quite believe it was Castiel, back at school, as though nothing had happened. 

There was something comforting about exams amidst crisis after crisis. Castiel wasn’t sure he’d ever feel normal again until he was reading questions that made his heart sink with the wish that he’d studied more, that he’d had less on his plate. He was just an eighteen-year-old kid, trying to finish up school. That’s all he needed to be, he didn’t need to be the child prodigy of Chuck Novak, or the boy who’d killed his own brother, or even the boy who’d kissed Dean Winchester in front of the whole school and couldn’t seem to shake his stupid pink hair as a result. He was just like everyone else, an 18-year-old with an exam to complete. 

It was hard though, with Dean’s eyes burning into his back, like Dean couldn’t quite believe Castiel was real. 

You’re staring, Castiel thought, pushing out the words like a boat on the waves. He knew it had landed on Dean’s shore when Dean flushed, his eyes blinking away. 

Dean wasn’t the best at projecting his thoughts. It was usually all or nothing, no halfway hints. It was either radio silence in Dean’s brain or an onslaught of Cas, help me. And you idiot, you idiot, you idiot, I love you. Castiel smiled, however, when Dean’s thoughts replied to him, tickling the back of his mind. 

You’re pink, was Dean’s return. 

Castiel’s hair went pinker. 

If Dean got a grasp of silent replies, it might be the death of Castiel. He treasured the feeling of Dean at the back of his mind, a warm pulse there. Was that what how it felt whenever Castiel pressed into his? He hoped he hadn’t been as much of a distraction. 

Dean was right, though. Castiel was still pink. It had been a good few hours and he’d managed to convince himself he’d never not be pink again. He’d spent a whole year accidentally undoing a lifetime of controlling his emotions and his hair, and he imagined it was similar to skipping gym practice - one month of not working out made it ever so slightly harder to work the muscle you’d spent years building. He’d stopped tensing all the muscles in his body now, stopped hiding the way his hair shifted, to the point where now he hardly believed he could control himself at all. 

The Potions exam wasn’t Castiel’s best performance. His heart was thumping as he head out of the Exam Hall once the clock chimed 5pm, and his skin prickled as students around him turned to stare, their eyes a heavyweight on his soul. 

‘Surprised they let you back here,’ a voice said to his left. ‘Everyone knows your dad paid off the Ministry to green light you.’

He turned around and swallowed down the lump in his throat. It was April. He hadn’t seen her in so long - he’d spent most of the term avoiding her and trying to forget about all the Dragon Claw they’d snorted the previous term, when he’d been trying to take the edge off his own anxiety. Now, though, that anxiety resurfaced tenfold at the sight of her with her cutting, twisted smile and dark red hair. How the hell had he allowed her to get so deep in his mind? He felt a wave of nausea wash over him, even as Charlie appeared at his arm, her hand coming to hold his elbow. 

‘Oh, sod off, April,’ Charlie snapped, stepping between Castiel and April. ‘You wanna commit libel? Take it up with my lawyers.’ 

April rolled her eyes and Castiel felt some of that nausea tip away, especially when Dean took to his other side. What had Gabriel said? Oh yeah, he had a chance to unfuck all the things that had been fucked. 

So when Charlie started to pull Castiel away, Castiel broke his arm free, gentle but firm. He looked back at April, his chest tight and his heart thumping. 

‘I was always nice to you,’ he said simply, voice a little scratchy. ‘I was always nice. Even when you pulled me into your shit, I was always nice.’ He swallowed around the lump in his throat. ‘And I’m sorry if I did something to offend you, to make you do what you did. I’m sorry. That’s all. I’m sorry.’

He wanted to say, you wouldn’t even have made it to this exam if it hadn’t been for all those essays I wrote for you. He wanted to say, how can you even look at me after the way you treated me? He wanted to say so much, but he didn’t want to rise to it. He was done with it all. 

‘You don’t need to apologize to her,’ Dean growled beside him, tense and fierce. And then louder, ‘He doesn’t need to apologize to you. You need to stay the hell away from us.’

When Charlie tugged on his sleeve again, Castiel went willingly, grabbing Dean’s shoulder and tugging him along too. He left the hall and followed Dean and Charlie back up the stairs, wondering when was the last time the three of them had walked in step like this? It felt like eons ago. 

‘I’m gonna kill her,’ Dean snarled, taking the steps two at a time and glancing back over his shoulder to scowl at April. ‘That shit about your dad? I’m gonna kill her.’

Castiel just shook his head, pulling Dean to a halt when they reached the top of the stairs. Students jostled around them, the crowds parting like the Red Sea. ‘No, Dean,’ he said firmly, waiting until Dean looked back at him, fire in his eyes. ‘Forget it. Forget her. She’s not relevant anymore.’

He watched a swallow ripple Dean’s throat, saw the muscle in his jaw jump, and they stared at each other for long enough that Charlie cleared her throat, caught between the two of them. 

‘Right,’ Charlie said with a smirk. ‘You two are gonna be insufferable, aren’t you?’

Castiel frowned, squinting as he looked down at Charlie who studied Dean and Castiel beneath her ginger bangs, looking smug and amused. 

‘What you on about?’ Dean huffed, starting back up the stairs and tugging Charlie along with him. 

‘Listen, I’m happy for you both,’ Charlie elaborated with a snigger, ‘fuck - I’m over the moon that maybe we’re entering a less angsty era for you both, because frankly, I was done with the bitching.’ She glanced over her shoulder at Castiel who flushed, remembering every time he’d ever used Charlie as a soundboard to vent his frustrations that year. ‘But less of the eye-fucking already, alright?’

‘We weren’t…’ Castiel’s cheeks were hot, the words trailing away. He couldn’t finish his sentence because Dean’s eyes met his again and the world fell away like it always did. 

That was the problem, wasn’t it? With Dean Winchester. Sometimes they looked at each other and the world was white noise, always had been, even when they were small. Dean would smile and Castiel would breathe easy. He’d hug Castiel, and Castiel would feel his warmth clinging to him for days. He’d laugh about sleeping with Lisa Braeden from the year above, and it would hurt like knives in his chest, deeper and deeper and deeper. 

It wasn’t until the evening that Dean and Castiel were alone again. Finally. Castiel was sat on the end of his bed, hair wet from his shower after dinner, and Dean stepped into the dormitory, leaning his crutches against the doorway. He stood by the entrance, his hands pushed nervously into his pockets, and his neck already flushed despite the fact that they’d barely even made eye contact. 

‘Hello, Dean,’ Castiel said quietly, a voice filled with warmth. 

Dean pulled his hands out of his pockets and swung his arms at his side, looking flustered. Castiel wasn’t used to him looking so nervous, but it was endlessly endearing. 

He watched as Dean sat on the bed opposite him, picking at a loose thread on his ripped jeans. 

‘Hey,’ he replied eventually, quiet. He swallowed and frowned a little. ‘You said you wanted to talk. Is now the time?’

Castiel chewed the inside of his cheeks. He could tell Dean’s nervousness was more than shyness now, there was something else. It felt like a bold move for him to reach out across the gap between their beds and take Dean’s hand. They’d kissed already - in front of the whole school, too - so why was this still scary? Would it ever stop being scary?

He held Dean’s hand in both of his, thumb brushing over the ridge of Dean’s knuckles. 

‘How were your exams?’ he asked Dean at length, squinting up at him. The low light of the dormitory carved out the sharpness of Dean’s cheekbones. 

Dean nodded with a deep chuckle. ‘Piece of cake compared to everything else. You?’

‘Distracting.’ 

Dean looked up, smirking a little and Castiel smirked back, a glint in his eyes. Anything to dispel the tension. 

‘You know, Sammy was pretty surprised about -’ Dean gestured between them both, clearing his throat a little. ‘I mean, he was stoked - sure. But, uh. Yeah.’ Dean let out a soft breath of laughter, just faint. 

‘He didn’t expect it,’ Castiel supplied. And Dean nodded.

‘Maybe. Or maybe didn’t expect that I’d actually - act on it. You know. Uh…’

There was more silence. A touch of awkwardness, but mostly shyness. When their eyes met, it was electric - too much to bear - until one of them quickly looked away. Dean’s thumb brushed the inside of his wrist.

‘I figure,’ Dean started up eventually, voice rough and slow, ‘things are gonna feel really weird for a while, right? I mean - we’ve done the whole thing backward. You know, you nearly dying for me, me nearly dying for you - you saying you... you know…’

‘I love you,’ Castiel completed, easier now. Like a simple truth. 

Dean flushed again. ‘Yeah, that.’ He swallowed, looking torn. 

More silence. Castiel admired the freckle on Dean’s lip.

‘What happened?’ Dean asked at last, like it was a question that had sat under the surface of his mind for so long, finally bubbling up out of his chest. ‘I don’t remember much after we Apparated.’ 

‘You’d lost a lot of blood,’ Castiel reasoned. ‘That’s no surprise.’

When Dean just looked at him, waiting for more, Castiel nodded. He’d supply the information, fill in the gaps. 

‘We were at Teardenn,’ he murmured. 

‘That old wood outside your house?’ 

Castiel smiled, impressed Dean remembered things that were said years ago. Barely relevant then, but so relevant now. ‘It’s an ancient wood - there’s a lot of theoretical debate around it that I won’t bore you with, but… the gist is, people would go to Teardenn in the hopes of being healed. The forest is a powerful place. Sometimes the trees would save you, sometimes they’d slaughter you. It’s a world of magic beyond our understanding and control.’

Dean pursed his lips together, nodding slowly with a tiny frown-turned-pout, unbeknownst to him. ‘You… you took me to a forest, where a bunch of trees would decide whether I lived or died.’

It was a crass summary. Castiel couldn’t help but laugh, his thumb halting on its path across Dean’s palm. 

‘You’re alive, aren’t you?’ he whispered, beyond grateful that it was true, that Dean was there in the flesh, a steady pulse beneath Castiel’s thumb. 

‘Thanks to you.’ Dean was quick with the reply, no room for disagreement. He cleared his throat and sniffed, shuffling forward on the edge of his own bed. ‘You doing okay?’ he asked Castiel seriously, reaching with his free hand to rub his knuckles to Castiel’s brow, a lingering touch. Teasing but concerned. ‘You haven’t exactly had an easy ride.’

‘No,’ Castiel agreed. He suppressed a shudder at the memory of the Dementors around him, how cold everything had been in his holding cell, how utterly void of hope and love. A totally different atmosphere to now. He swallowed with effort. ‘A lot happened in a short space of time. The holding cell wasn’t fun.’ He smiled a little and bumped his forehead against Dean’s knuckles. ‘But I managed to meet you at the Lake, so that was a perk.’

Dean let out a low whistle, the slowest of smiles spreading across his cheeks. ‘I knew that was you,’ he said, whole face brightening up. ‘I knew it.’

‘It was me. You were a great comfort - I’m sorry for not asking permission first.’

‘No, no.’ Dean shook the apology away fiercely. ‘I’m pretty sure you woke me up. I was in a coma. No one on the outside managed to get into my head like you did.’

Castiel bit back his smile. He shouldn’t be happy about what Dean had said, because Dean had been in a coma and it had been his fault - but if it really had been him that woke Dean up, then the warmth in his gut was almost worth it. 

‘This whole year has been a mindfuck,’ Dean continued quietly, lifting himself off his bed to stand at Castiel’s knees. His eyes were slow as they trailed across Castiel’s face, a blatant look of affection warring with his features. 

Castiel acted on instinct. He pulled his legs up onto his bed and shifted back, making room for Dean to sit on the bed beside him. ‘I agree,’ Castiel mumbled. ‘A mindfuck.’

‘We were on totally different pages,’ Dean added. 

‘I could,’ Castiel caught himself, the words cutting off. He could, what? He swallowed, moving further up his bed until he was sat on his pillows. He pat the mattress and watched as Dean seated himself fully on the bed, until the two of them were sat cross-legged opposite each other. ‘Um. Catch you up, properly.’

Dean nodded, expression open. ‘Yeah,’ he said seriously, clearing his throat. ‘Talk to me, man. Tell me everything. We’ve been strangers all year and it’s been ass.’

Castiel shook his head, the words hard to formulate. ‘I meant - I could show you. Everything.’

Something flickered across Dean’s face. ‘Show me?’ he repeated softly. ‘Like, uh. Your diary or something.’

Castiel shook his head. ‘No,’ he murmured. ‘With my mind.’

Dean swallowed. He looked apprehensive as he shifted on the bed, his hand finding Castiel’s again. ‘Like a Vulcan mind meld?’ he asked, huffing out a nervous laugh. 

‘I don’t know what that is.’

‘Forget it.’ Dean smiled. ‘Sure. Yes. Okay. I trust you.’

No questions asked. His hands in Castiel’s again, grip steady and firm. Castiel leaned forward and bumped their foreheads together, Dean’s eyes closing, and the air in the room became very still. 

‘How are you gonna do this?’ Dean mumbled, cautious. 

Castiel closed his eyes as well, shaking his head a little. ‘Same way I found you in those dreams. Or how I heard your calls. Or - the way I hear you sometimes, just in general.’

‘You hear me?’ Dean said, weakly. 

‘Mhm. Sometimes.’ He smiled, despite himself, because even when Dean’s words had been painful to hear, they’d been personal, between them. Something Castiel couldn’t help but hear. ‘Just relax your mind.’

Dean couldn’t exactly do that. His heart was fast and his mind was racing, but Castiel waited, he waited until he could feel the warm tickle at the back of his skull, Dean’s tiny consciousness bumping against his. 

It’s okay, Castiel pushed into the ether, knowing that his own mind was strong and adept at this. It wasn’t quite Occlumens, it was something else entirely. Castiel wasn’t sure this kind of magic could be taught, it was instinctive within him. He opened Dean’s palms and pressed the digits of their fingertips together. A steady pulse. You’re okay. 

Dean’s mixture of emotions piled into the back of his head, not quite strong enough to form words. 

They bounced feelings back and forth for a moment, Castiel pushing out a tiny glimpse of the joy in his soul that nestled deep in his stomach, and Dean returned a warmth of affection that felt like a snitch was trapped in Castiel’s gut, fluttering away in delight. Nervous but happy.

The dormitory faded away and Castiel sucked in a slow breath, returning to the task at hand. There was so much to explain. 

He started at the beginning. He started with the day Nicodemus left, the fear and panic as his mum rallied the family in the kitchen. The memory built around them, Castiel’s kitchen in Skye, the wooden walls, floorboards and beams, the family pictures and long, oak dining table. The shadows of his family members blurred but present. 

We have to tell the Ministry, Hannah had said, surrounded by her sons, and Castiel was there in the corner, holding hands with Dean as they watched the scene unfold. He knew there was a form of magic where memories could be traded like letters by owl, but this was Castiel’s version. This was what he had available. The world swirled around them, his mother’s tear-stained face. His brothers with all their silent strength. 

Absolutely not, Chuck snapped, a sharp jerk of his arms as he spoke. The world swirled with the force of it. Absolutely not. What happens then, huh? I’ll lose my job, we’ll lose everything. If Nicodemus is gone, if he’s done something stupid, then we’ll find him ourselves - you get the Ministry involved and we’re ruined, I’ll never work again. Ruined. 

Everything shifted, dematerializing and rematerializing around them. Castiel held onto Dean’s hand tightly as he watched his father find him in the corridor outside the kitchen an hour later, Chuck’s hand on his neck, steering him to privacy. They watched the scene from inside the world, but outside it at the same time. As though standing in a goldfish bowl, part of the decoration as the fish swam circles around them, animated but blurred.

If it’s the Dark Lord, then he’ll be after you, too, Castiel, Chuck whispered, the words harsh and riddled with fear. They echoed in the goldfish bowl. Because of what you are. So you tell no one. Okay? No one.

‘Cas,’ Dean’s voice broke through the memories, but Castiel shook his head silently, pledging for Dean’s patience. 

The world morphed again. 

It was the Shrieking Shack, and Nick was there, eyes ablaze. Dark snakes coiled around his arms, wrapping tight around his neck. Poisonous, black snakes made of smoke. They squeezed themselves around Nicodemus’ neck, puffs of smoke pouring from his mouth as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. His arms were slack at his sides, head tipping back, like Christ on his cross.

He’s got Nick, someone screamed, over and over. He’s got Nick, he’s got Nick. 

The memory jerked and changed, until Castiel was waking up into Dean’s arms, drenched in sweat, his hair white and his eyes glowing. Castiel watched himself shaking on the bed, Dean’s hands steadying him. 

I need some air, the memory of himself told Dean, voice weak and mumbling as Dean battled to help him, Please, before I’m sick. 

‘That’s what you were dreaming?’ Dean mumbled as they chased the memory of Castiel into the staircase, still shivering. Castiel’s body disappeared, vanishing before them, and Dean stood in the stairwell, his wand flickering with faint light, illuminating his face from below. His worry was palpable, lines of concern marring his beautiful features. 

Cas? Dean had said. But Castiel was gone. 

Invisible now, Castiel and Dean followed the memory as Castiel charged through the Castle and sought shelter in the Owlery. Dean and Castiel watched over Castiel’s shoulder from the past as he wrote out a letter, scratchy and fast. 

It’s as we feared, Castiel wrote. He’s one of them. I know it. I saw it. 

His eyes flashed with a bright light as he wrote it out. 

‘Your visions, right?’ Dean mumbled at Castiel’s side, and Castiel nodded. 

The Owlery fell away. The dormitory where their bodies sat on Castiel’s bed were a faded memory now as the world materialized into a white corridor around them. 

‘This is my mind,’ Castiel explained at Dean’s blank look. He squeezed Dean’s hand. His physical body ached a little, a distant feeling. Like a dull throb that this merging of their minds was coming at a cost, it required a lot of energy and attention. ‘If it’s too much for you, we can leave.’ 

Dean shook his head. ‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘Lead the way.’

Taking the cue, Castiel led Dean to a door that materialized against the white walls. He pushed it open and they stepped into the Shrieking Shack. 

Dean was dead on the floor, surrounded by blood. Not just one Dean, however, there were dozens. Dozens of Dean Winchesters, dead on the floor, and Castiel knelt in the center, his arms wrapped around one of Dean’s bloodied bodies, his tears shaking his frame. 

A blink, and the room reset. Nicodemus stood there, with an alive Dean Winchester held to his chest. 

Kill him, Castiel, Nicodemus instructed. Kill him. 

Castiel begged not to. They watched for five - maybe ten - minutes as Castiel pleaded. Pleaded no. Please, let him live. Don’t make me do this. Please. He begged as Nicodemus tortured him, until he relented, until he picked up his wand and killed Dean. 

A dead Dean. And then the scenario began again, the exact same as before.

In every single instance, Castiel did as he was told - eventually. He killed Dean, a knife to the heart, wand to neck, or even just his hand to Dean’s head, a white light bursting from within Dean’s soul. In each instance, Castiel cried. He cried and he cried and he cried. 

Stop it, he pleaded with Nicodemus. Every night. Stop making me do this. Stop it.

I’m preparing you, Castiel. For when the moment comes. You will kill Dean.

Castiel looked away from the image of himself on his knees, begging his brother. Begging him, please. I won’t hurt Dean. Please. It was too much to bear, too much to listen to, and it was Dean who eventually pulled them both back into the white corridor, his eyes filled with fear. 

‘Dude,’ he breathed, the word breaking. ‘Dude, what the hell?’

Castiel swallowed. ‘My visions - every night,’ he explained softly, meeting Dean’s eyes. ‘Except sometimes I couldn’t tell if they were visions or planted by Nicodemus himself. He’s very skilled at Occlumens.’

Dean sucked in a slow breath. In and out. They stepped into the next doorway, and it was the Shrieking Shack again, except it was April and Castiel, sitting on the floor. Castiel’s body unfolded backwards, the ground slanting, until he was lying on the floorboards, studying each little splinter of wood beneath his head. There was a soft powder at the corner of his nose and his heartbeat echoed in the room, slow and even. Everything was white noise, a ringing in the distance. The Shrieking Shack was hazy and peaceful, and his mind was clear, like a gulp of fresh air after being underwater for too long. 

I dream about this place all the time, Castiel told April, his words slow and slurred. Bad things happen in those dreams… But not here… Not now. 

You’re with me, April said softly. She edged closer, her pupils blown out, and her hand played with Castiel’s hair. It’s because you’re with me. 

Castiel nodded, his eyes falling shut. Dean Winchester is safe, he whispered into the silence, and April’s face fell. Her disappointment was palpable. 

Forget him, she insisted. He’s not here. I am. 

Castiel just nodded again, a tiny, oblivious, smile. Dean is safe, he repeated. You aren’t in those dreams. You’re not a part of that story. As long as we’re here, together, he’s not. He’s safe. That’s all that matters. That he’s safe.

‘Dude,’ Dean mumbled at Castiel’s side. ‘Word for the wise, that is not how you get laid.’

Castiel flushed, watching himself high out of his mind on the floor beside April. ‘Yes,’ he smiled. ‘Thank you, Dean. Maybe it’s safe to say I hurt April with my openness.’

Dean rolled his eyes. 

Dean doesn’t appreciate you, April pushed on, angry now. You get all tense when you talk about him, but you don’t need him. He doesn’t know who you are. What you can do. He views you as nothing more than an extension of himself. He thinks you’re still a kid that’ll follow him around. That you’ll come when he calls, no matter what - but you’re not a kid, Cas. You’re powerful. And you could bring this whole thing down with a snap of your fingers if you wanted, I know it. 

I can save him, Castiel mumbled. I can save him. 

Dean beside Castiel watched the scene, and he pulled on Castiel’s hand. 

‘I don’t wanna see this anymore,’ Dean said quietly, looking hurt, and Castiel nodded. He led them out into the corridor, the light bright and painful on his eyes. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Castiel murmured, but Dean shook it off. ‘Last term was terrible. I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t know how and…’

‘No,’ Dean said clearly, interrupting. ‘I let you down too, okay? Your memories are biased. I was a jealous asshole. I pushed you around and got mad because you were finally hanging out with someone that wasn’t me. But you just wanted peace - just wanted a break from whatever else your fucked up dreams were putting you through. I get it, Cas.’

Castiel just shook his head, he wanted to explain everything. He wanted to explain that he liked April, but not because she was April - but because she wasn’t Dean, and liking Dean felt so dangerous and terrifying, and completely unproductive in a world where he liked Dean but dreamed of killing him every single night. Even when he’d talked to Dean, he’d be thinking of how he looked, cold and dead, in Castiel’s arms. His fault, his fault, his fault. 

But Castiel said none of this. He pulled Dean through another door and they walked out onto the lake. Dean was standing in the water with Benny and Charlie, throwing stones angrily at the surface, and Castiel was stood at the water's edge watching. In the memory, Dean was crying. It was the day after Hallowe’en. 

He said something about me not caring about him until he’d gone and got new friends… and that he wasn’t gonna be my sidekick forever…

‘You weren’t there for this,’ Dean said, recognizing the moment. ‘You weren’t there - this was…’

Dean cried, knee-deep in the water, and Benny and Charlie’s arms engulfed him, holding him tight. The Castiel on the shore watched silently, a flickering mirage. 

‘I had to look out for you,’ Castiel told Dean, hearing the rawness in his own voice, the apology. ‘I had to watch over you… To keep you safe. But I couldn’t tell you, because… because I thought it might endanger you. I couldn’t do that. But it feels wrong for you to go on, not knowing that I - that I was watching you. I’m sorry that I never told you before.’

It hurt, to watch himself watch Dean, silent. How many memories were there like that? They ran through them all. Dean at the station, the first day back in January - looking for Castiel amidst the crowd. Gabriel pulling Castiel roughly to one side. If you hang out with the Mudblood, you put him at risk. Plain as. Gabriel’s stern words, his urgency. Castiel’s own fear. Everyone knows he’s your weak spot. 

And then, Dean. In his bed, arms curled around himself as he cried silently, his words reverberating across the room like a siren. Talk to me. Talk to me, man. I’m right here. Silent screams that rang in Castiel’s ear, loud and clear. 

‘You could hear me then?’ Dean mumbled, a thickness in his voice. 

Castiel looked over at him, knowing there was a sadness to his own eyes because he could see his gaze reflected in the brightness of Dean’s eyes. 

‘You heard me,’ Dean said again. ‘Every night?’

Castiel swallowed, and he nodded. ‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I didn’t mean to hear you, but I couldn’t block it out.’

A dozen more memories. Memory after memory, of Castiel watching over Dean at the Valentine’s Day dance, until he could bear the sight of him dancing with a girl no longer, and he hid behind the curtains where Dean found him. 

‘You were an idiot for that,’ Dean commented against the wall of Slughorn’s office, the tiniest of smiles. ‘Who runs away by cornering themselves?’

‘You did the same, did you not?’

The room changed again. Dean kissing Alicia after Quidditch, Castiel watching - their eyes meeting at the worst moment. Castiel was there, every time. And then, a memory. Or was it a dream? Dean and Castiel sat on his bed. I’m sorry. I forgive you. I love you. Soft presses of kisses, the room glowing around them, Dean’s dormitory bed, their bodies melting into kisses filled with sorrow. 

‘This is a dream I had,’ Dean mumbled, his cheeks red. ‘That’s… that’s my dream.’ 

Castiel looked at him, a lurch in his chest. ‘I thought it was mine,’ he admitted, watching on as the shared dream disintegrated around them. ‘It was a good dream.’

Everything faded until they were in the Common Room, the world rebuilding around them. Gone was the bright corridor with its organized structure. In its place was Castiel, sitting in the Common Room, watching as Charlie and Benny stepped through the portrait hole, chatting animatedly. 

‘What’s this?’ Dean mumbled, standing behind one of the chairs, his hand still tight in Castiel’s - like a lifeline back to their physical bodies. 

‘The night you went missing,’ Castiel replied. 

The Castiel in the memory stood up. He pulled Charlie to one side, jaw tight. 

Is Dean with you? 

Charlie shrugged his hand away, taken aback by Castiel’s intensity. What…? No. He came back before us. 

Castiel shook his head. His eyes glowed faintly and Charlie took a step back. He’s not in the Castle. Where did you go? 

Cas, Charlie laughed, nervous. At ease, buddy. It’s Dean. He’s probably about somewhere. 

Castiel didn’t look convinced. He went to the dormitory and he lay on his bed and Dean and Castiel watched as the Castiel in the memory lay there, still, on his bed. His eyes glowed beneath his lids which flickered as his eyeballs moved beneath the skin, his hands bright with a light deep within. Searching. Pulses of energy washed over him. 

‘I had to wait until you were conscious again properly before I could reach you,’ Castiel explained to Dean, who watched on, silent. ‘But I’d been keeping an eye on you well enough to know that you weren’t safe. You weren’t in the Castle, and something was wrong.’

Everything blurred. One memory overlapping another. Everything that was rooted deep in Castiel’s psyche rose to the surface. Memories of the chicken coop bursting aflame, a crying Gabriel begging him to stop. His father’s fear mingled with disappointment. You mustn’t use your powers. With Nicodemus’ sneers, you’re the best of all of us, that’s why everyone hates you. 

That kid was rude to you? You could smite her two shakes from Sunday, Cas. 

Don’t let her make you small. 

Don’t let her make you small. 

Memories, memories of Castiel’s hands covered in Dean’s blood, surrounded by carbon copy bodies of Dean in the Shrieking Shack. Dean’s blood on his hands. Castiel, eleven years old and reading about what it means to be the seventh son of a seventh son, begging himself over and over, I’ll never use this for evil. I’ll never use this for evil. His hands already stained from the blood of those damned chickens.Then Nicodemus was breaking Dean’s legs and there was white hot rage that came from within, a bright light of heat and power, the same kind that had burst the chicken coop hot with fire, you won’t hurt Dean. You will not hurt Dean. The room was ringing, shaking with Castiel’s anguish, pulses of his rage like fire against skin. Nicodemus’ body, tearing itself apart from the inside, bleeding through his own clothes. And then, finally, Nicodemus’ body in Castiel’s arms, his face covered in blood, sweat, snot and tears, rocking back and forth. Blood on his hands. So much blood. So many screams, tearing himself apart from the inside out, the way he’d torn Nicodemus apart.

What have I done? 

The words echoed until they were in Teardenn. Castiel’s arms filled, still. But with another body now.

Dean’s body on the forest floor. Castiel’s arms clinging onto Dean, desperately, trying to shake him back to consciousness as he begged and begged and begged. Look what I did to you? I loved you, and look where it got you. Look where it got us. 

I was never worth all this. 

They watched as Castiel cried into Dean’s neck - the way he’d cried in all of his dreams. The way he’d pleaded and begged and sobbed. The blood on his hands. The blood on Dean’s clothes. Slick red and shining darkly. 

‘Cas.’

Dean’s voice pulled Castiel away from the sight of himself, begging with the earth to fix this, to make it right. Castiel swallowed and looked over, blue eyes meeting green. 

‘Cas, it wasn’t your fault,’ Dean said quietly. ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

In the memory, the vines began to push out from the soil, to wind around Dean’s broken limbs, his bleeding body wrapped slowly into the earth, pulling him into the forest’s cocoon. 

‘You’re not evil, Cas. You’re not evil.’

And then, Dean realized what was happening to his body in the memory. He finally saw, finally learned what really had happened to him at Teardenn whilst he was unconscious. Slowly, they watched as Dean’s limp body become tangled in the vines, a nest of safety.

‘What is this?’ Dean breathed. 

‘The forest saved you,’ Castiel replied. ‘It healed you.’ 

‘That’s not…’ Dean’s voice fell away. He looked lost. 

‘I nearly killed you,’ Castiel said, his own voice getting distant. ‘Knowing me nearly cost you your life.’

The dreams fumbled. Faded away. Everything was hot and static and itchy, until Castiel could scrape through the layers of his mind, searching for his body, for Dean’s body. Dean’s hands in his. The fucking fishbowl of his memories felt endless until, finally, they broke the surface with a gasp.

He opened his eyes, a ringing in his ears. His breath quick and sudden.

Dean was sat opposite him, and there was a rush of energy in the dormitory. A gas lamp exploded across the room and Castiel sniffed. A thin river of blood ran from Castiel’s nose, which he wiped away, and Dean just stared at him, breathless with a thousand emotions across his face. 

‘Cas,’ Dean said hoarsely. 

‘I wanted you to know,’ Castiel explained, the words rough and catching. ‘No more secrets, right?’ His eyes were burning, not from tears. He knew they were glowing still, his hair having shifted from dusty pink to electric blue. ‘That’s what you said. And so I needed you to know everything from this year - all of it, from my side, so that you know the truth. The whole truth. I’ve been with you for more of it than you know. And I am…’ His voice broke off. The emotion bubbled in the back of his throat. ‘And I am a killer, no matter what you remember. No matter what you told Barty Crouch or what the reports say. I killed him. You saw what I did, what I became.’

‘No,’ Dean mumbled weakly. He shook his head. His hands pulled from Castiel’s roughly and moved to his face, thumbs brushing over the ridge of Castiel’s cheekbones. ‘You’re not evil, Cas,’ he insisted again, over and over. ‘They want you to feel like that so they can control you, make you feel alone, but you’re not. You’re my best friend. And everything you did, you did to protect me - that’s not evil, Cas. That’s… that’s love. That’s good. You’re a good person. Not a bad one - not ever.’

Castiel swallowed. ‘My powers, they…’

‘They saved me,’ Dean said, voice firm. ‘In the forest, you saved me, Cas.’

‘No,’ Castiel mumbled, abrupt in his surprise at Dean’s interpretation. ‘That was the forest.’

‘The forest?’ Dean scoffed. ‘No. It was you. What I saw in that memory was all you - you got the forest to do that. I know it.’

Castiel shook his head, not sure he followed. He didn’t have powers like that - it was Teardenn. Everyone knew the stories about Teardenn. ‘Dean,’ he said, with certainty, ‘Teardenn is beyond our understanding. It’s - it’s not within my control.’ 

‘Bobby said that when they took me to St Mungo’s, I started healing backward,’ Dean explained, and Castiel struggled to keep up, to understand the implications. ‘Like - a spell got broken or something.’ 

‘You were taken away from the forest, the source of your healing.’

‘I was taken away from you.’ Dean jabbed him in the chest for emphasis. ‘Dumbass. You. Not the forest, fuck the forest.’

‘You can’t say that,; Castiel breathed, appalled. It was sacreligious. ‘That forest saved your life.’ 

‘I don’t care,’ Dean said it, loud and clear. ‘I don’t care - in my mind, it was you. I’d have died, but you saved me. Alright? With all your freaky powers, you lit up a whole room like a triple-A battery on crack, alright, and then you took me to a forest and you saved me, whether you meant it or not, or whether you controlled the forest or just spurred it on, you did it, Cas.’ 

‘What’s your point, Dean?’

It was sharp, cutting through the sea of words that they were wading through, none of which Castiel was willing to accept. Because he didn’t believe it was him. Nothing good ever came from his powers - only pain. 

‘That’s your problem,’ Dean said, as though he was reading Castiel’s mind in that moment. His finger was still pointing at Castiel’s chest where he’d jabbed him, but now he let his whole hand press there, palm against Castiel’s heart, fingers spreading out wide. ‘You blow up a room and a chicken coop and think you’re evil - but you bring me back from the dead, and you pin it on some fucking trees?’ He laughed callously, like he couldn’t believe it himself. ‘You act like everything bad you’ve ever done defines you, every mistake - but not every good thing you do, too? Those mean nothing - those are just, just brushed away. Explained away. You do the bad stuff and you say that’s what you are, but the good stuff is just an accident, the good stuff is because of something else, not you. That’s how you view it, but it ain’t true - hell, I don’t know how you can even look at those memories and twist it into you being the bad guy. I know what I saw, and it wasn’t evil.’ His eyes were wide open, pupils blown out but not because he was high, just because he was desperate, desperate for Castiel to understand. Dean’s eyes were shining and they were fixed on Cas, his voice hoarse and hitching in his throat. ‘You’re not evil, Cas. You’re the best person I know, and I-’ his breath caught, stuttered. ‘And I love you,’ he said softly. ‘I love you - not in an angry way, or a stupid way, or some dumb high school way, but in a big way. The biggest way. And I’d die for you, too. Okay? I’d die for you.’ 

There was no what if about it. No what if I love you? Said desperately, with intention that Castiel couldn’t decipher. There was no skirting around it, I don’t think you’ve loved me longer than I’ve loved you. There was no hinting, no playing it safe, no silent I love yous that Castiel heard beneath the surface of Dean’s mind. Not anymore. This was simple and it was plain and it was out loud. There was nothing at stake here now. Just total, unassailable truth. I love you. 

‘Despite…’ Castiel started, but Dean cut him off, hand moving fast from Castiel’s chest to his mouth, muting him.

‘No. Not despite anything,’ Dean said firmly, eyes not blinking. ‘Not despite your powers. Not because of ‘em, either. I love you. And you are more than your powers. Your powers are amazing - they’re hot as fuck, for one thing, if I’m being totally honest - which, isn’t exactly the point right now, but…’ He trailed off, flushing, and cleared his throat. He twisted his mouth and let out a strong sigh. Collecting himself. ‘Your powers are great,’ he said with finality. ‘I love your powers. But they’re not you. They are not who you are. And I love you.’ 

You.

Castiel swallowed. He tried not to let his face betray his feelings for a moment, giving himself a second to process everything, to sit with that elation in his gut - but of course, his stupid hair betrayed him. It tingled and shone, shifting into that stupid bright pink, mingled with black strands and electric blue. He was sure he looked ridiculous but when he looked at Dean, he saw only love. 

Castiel reached up and pulled Dean’s hand from his mouth. He leaned forward and kissed Dean, closing his eyes as Dean’s fingers knotted in his hair. Wasn’t this all he’d ever wanted? 

Dean thought he was something better than he felt he was. He didn’t think Castiel was a killer, a boy who’d killed his own brother - he somehow managed to look at Castiel and see someone he could love. Always. It made his head tingle and his heart soar, and he kissed Dean with all that feeling, all that eagerness, still adjusting to how it felt to have Dean’s lips against his, Dean’s tongue skirting his own. He tasted of cinnamon and mint. The curve of his smile was beautiful against Castiel’s. 

‘Me,’ he whispered against Dean’s lips. Me. 

‘You,’ Dean confirmed. Like an oath. 

They kissed until they ran out of breath, until the weight in Castiel’s gut had firmly displaced itself, and his fingertips were tingling against Dean’s skin.

‘I love you, too,’ he mumbled against the corner Dean’s mouth a while later, his heart beating in his chest. 

Dean had crawled forwards on the bed, their legs tangled together now as they climbed into the sanctuary of each other’s arms. Dean’s fingers played with Castiel’s hair whilst Castiel ran his hands up and down Dean’s back, feeling out every ache and pain and gently willing them away. 

What disturbed them, eventually, was the dormitory door opening and closing. The two of them sprang apart, flushed and awkward, and Benny appeared, his eyebrows lifting slowly with suspicion. 

‘Right,’ Benny said, dragging the word out. He had a smirk, too, and Castiel just blushed harder - aware again that his stupid hair had betrayed him. ‘You two havin’ fun up here?’ 

Dean scowled, his arms crossed around himself. ‘Shut up. We were just talkin’.’

‘Never seen anyone talk with their mouths locked before,’ Benny snickered. He held up his hand placatingly when Dean moved to throw a pillow at him. ‘Hey, hey,’ Benny said seriously, voice deep now. ‘House rules, alright? I’ve been dating Andrea months now and I can’t get in her bed - how come you two can skirt the problem? It’s sexist.’

‘Homophobic, actually,’ Castiel corrected with a quirk of his lips. 

‘Yeah,’ Dean agreed, clearing his throat. ‘No one ever predicted any boy-on-boy action.’

Benny clicked his tongue, pulling a face. ‘Ah, well. We all predicted it from you, Dean.’ 

This comment did, in fact, earn Benny a pillow to the face. It landed on him with a hard thwack which vibrated across the room and Castiel laughed when Benny tackled Dean in return, dragging him off the bed. Dean clung to the sheets, pulling them halfway onto the floor until he relinquished his grip - receiving no help from Castiel. 

‘Cas, help me,’ Dean grunted as Benny dragged him to his own bed, picking him up like a rag doll and throwing him onto the mattress. Castiel just smirked, his legs crossed and his elbows resting on his knees. ‘Cas - you ass,’ Dean muttered as Benny set him down on the bed with a condescending pat on the head. 

‘No funny business, yeah?’ Benny grinned, holding Dean back by the shoulder as he tried to wriggle off the bed. ‘There’s three other boys in here - and I won’t be able to sleep knowing you’re getting some and I ain’t, okay?’

‘Asshole,’ Dean huffed, relenting. He lay back on his own bed and kicked Benny in the hip as Benny stepped away from the bed, certain that Dean wouldn’t make a break for it. 

‘Just preserving your dignity, brother,’ was Benny’s snarky reply as he started to change into his own pyjamas, pulling his shirt over his head and tugging on some pyjama pants. 

Castiel hid his smile, pulling his sheets off the floor and climbing under the covers. He lay back, his hair still a little damp from his shower, and still stupidly pink, and he turned his head to meet Dean’s eyes in the bed a foot away. Dean winked at him from his own pillow, his own smirk pressed into the soft cotton, all straight white teeth and the poke of his tongue. He was beautiful. So beautiful. 

You’ll come back? Castiel offered in his mind, a warm pulse of questioning straight to Dean’s mind and he saw Dean’s ears twitch at the gentle intrusion. 

He was better now, at replying. More practiced. Castiel figured it was like digging out routes for a river - the more the water ran through the route, the more pronounced and easy it became. Once Dean let him in a few times, it’d be like carving out those same paths. The water would know where to go. So Dean was quick with his reply. 

When have I ever not? 

It made Castiel smile, too. 

Around them, Benny, Max, and Raphael (who had the good graces to make zero eye contact with both of them) all appeared one by one as they came to the dormitory and prepared for bed. There was idle chatter, a few goodnights thrown around, Max also showered at night, so he took the longest to climb into bed and finally - finally - blow out his light. No one commented on the broken gas lamp. And if anyone noticed the way Dean and Castiel were still glancing at each other from their beds, then nobody said anything. 

The lights went out. Castiel listened to the soft snores of Benny across the room. It was a totally different experience to the ringing silence of the holding cell, or the quiet, thick, dread of his room on Skye. Here there was a warmth, an anticipation. 

He’d almost fallen asleep, and he thought Dean might’ve definitely fallen asleep too, when he saw the dark shadow of Dean’s body shifting on the bed beside his. Dean’s curtains twitched as he closed them around his bed, and his feet were quiet as they padded the few steps between his and Castiel’s bed. Castiel’s heart was pounding as Dean appeared at his bed beside him, bent over a little in the darkness - tense in his attempts to be quiet. 

Castiel shifted over in the small bed and pulled the corner of his blankets back. 

Without a word, Dean slipped under the covers. He pulled the curtains around the bed, cocooning them both before warm arms wrapped around Castiel’s middle, and Castiel went willingly. His hands traced Dean’s shoulders and neck in the darkness as Dean pressed the quietest of kisses to his jaw, soft and endless. A warmth stirred in the base of Castiel’s gut. 

‘Your curtains are still charmed quiet, ain’t they?’ Dean whispered into the corner of his mouth, and Castiel chuckled, deep. 

‘Yes,’ he replied. Not for nightmares this time, though. He ran his hands through Dean’s short hair, carding his fingers through the soft strands. ‘Fortunately for you.’ 

‘Mhmm, you betcha, it’s fortunate,’ Dean said, and Castiel could imagine the smirk. Only imagine it, though, because his eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness enough to see Dean properly. 

They kissed slowly, like they had all the time in the world, and Dean’s body curved around his in the darkness, his heart a steady thrum against Castiel’s chest. 

‘What part of your body is this?’ Dean whispered suddenly against his lips, his hand on Castiel’s upper arm, clearly disoriented. 

‘My arm,’ Castiel laughed. He felt Dean’s frown against his lips. 

‘How’d I not know that?’ he mumbled back. And Castiel laughed even more. 

His laughs were swallowed by more kisses and he was breathless with them as he felt a warmth spread through his body, tingling and tingling, until the edges of his skin glowed with a soft light through his clothes. It illuminated the nest they’d entangled themselves in, legs caught in sheets, arms wrapped around each other awkwardly. Dean grinned toothily as Castiel’s skin illuminated his face with a soft glow. 

‘That is… not natural,’ Dean laughed and Castiel kissed him harder. Eventually, Dean’s fingers fumbled with his sweater, tugging and pulling until it came over Castiel’s head with a breathless laugh and loose strings. 

‘Did you… burn that… Magpie sweater?’ Dean asked against his lips, the words lost between kisses. 

It made Castiel smile wider. He pulled Dean’s shirt over his head too until they were skin to skin illuminated by the warm glow of his own body. His hands ran down Dean’s back, around his side, and then up across his chest, feeling out the scars that clawed up Dean’s torso. Like a steady flow from a tap, Castiel felt his own healing bounce into Dean’s system, taking away some of that pain. He couldn’t remove the scars, not yet, but he could dull some of the ache beneath Dean’s skin. 

‘I’ll burn it,’ he promised, thinking about how that stupid Montrose Magpie sweater had been itchy anyway. 

They traded kisses back and forth, like they had a lifetime of lost kisses to make up for, and it felt like hours passed before they finally fell asleep, Dean’s arm loose around Castiel’s waist, his chest pressed against Castiel’s, his head nestled on Castiel’s collarbone. 

‘I love you,’ he whispered into Dean’s hair as he slept. He closed his eyes, Dean’s consciousness bumping against his, in and out of sleep like the ripples of water on the Lake. I love you.

Castiel wasn’t sure when it would all start feeling okay, but he thought, maybe, that when he looked at his hands in Dean’s, they didn’t look covered in blood anymore. And that had to mean something. 

What was it he’d said to Dean about April? Forget her. She’s not relevant anymore. It was true. Forget about the rest, all that mattered was Dean’s warmth against him, the soft puffs of breath, the way he nuzzled into Castiel’s throat as he slept. 

This was healing - this was what being okay was going to look like for the rest of time, of his life if he could help it. And when Castiel fell asleep that night, it was to a dreamless sleep for the first time in almost a year. No nightmares. No pain. No dream walking. Just blissful darkness and Dean’s soft breaths against his collarbone. In. Out. Like the tide. In. Out.