It was a long drive back to Montana, and the cabin seemed dreary and cramped after the light and space of Alex’s house. Dean hung Castiel’s trench coat on a peg near the door and pinned Maggie’s drawings to one of the cork boards, and scowled at the compassionate, patient way Sam was looking at him. Again.
“Find us a job,” he said and gave Sam his laptop. “I’m going to go earn us some cash.”
“Be careful out there,” Sam said as he opened the computer, and Dean grunted in his direction before he took off.
Hustling pool usually gave him some satisfaction, if it came only from outsmarting someone, but even with a roll of cash in his pocket Dean drove back to the cabin a few days later feeling like he was crawling back in defeat. He supposed the new crop of angels in Heaven would be okay, without Raphael and Michael and the stick up their collective asses, but where did that leave Earth? Kali couldn’t fight the rest of the Leviathan on her own.
He wished he had a way to get in touch with Kali. Maybe her idea of raising Gabriel wasn’t completely whackadoodle, even if it would only solve one problem. Well, maybe two — maybe Gabriel would protect Maggie like archangels were supposed to, though Dean didn’t envy Chelsea with having to put up with him popping up, even if it was to protect of her daughter. Gabriel’s idea of protection was probably less “I smite you with the righteous wrath of God” and more “Let’s turn the bad guys into Gummi bears and make gingerbread houses with them.”
The cabin was quiet and dark when he arrived. Figured Sam went to bed early even when he was alone instead of staying up all hours like a real boy. Dean dumped his bag by the door and turned on a light, and then yelped in a way he would deny for the rest of his life at the sight of Castiel perched on the little bentwood couch.
“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said calmly.
“Hi,” Dean breathed. “Hi.” He took a step towards him but stopped himself. Castiel was a full-blown angel now, not one teetering on the edge of falling. The rules had to be different. “Can I —”
“Of course,” Castiel said. “You are mine and I am yours.” He held out his hands and Dean came to him, crawled onto the couch and held him tight, straddling his thighs and burying his face in Castiel’s neck.
“Oh, God, I missed you,” Dean breathed and kissed his throat.
“I missed you.” Castiel kissed him and stroked his back. “Oh, how I missed you.”
Dean raised his head. “Where have you been? You just disappeared after the fight.”
“I went home. I saw that Alex is at rest, and I spoke with Joshua. He was happy to see that I am well.”
“And are you?” Dean searched his eyes. They weren’t haunted anymore — only calm, only peaceful. You might even call them happy.
Castiel hesitated. “I am better,” he said finally. “I have stopped wanting to fall. That is a step.”
“Yeah,” Dean whispered, still looking into his eyes to treasure that look. “Hey. You remember when Death brought back all those people in Sioux Falls? Including Bobby’s wife?”
“I remember.”
“Karen said something I’ve thought about a lot — that as his wife it was her job to give him peace.” He stopped and cleared his throat. “I’ve been thinkin’, and I’ve figured out that’s what I want to do. That’s my job in your life. You know. To give you peace.”
“You are not my wife, Dean,” Castiel said, sounding amused again.
“Damn right I’m not the wife,” Dean muttered.
Castiel pressed his lips to Dean’s mouth in the softest of kisses. “You do give me peace. When I am with you my heart is not so heavy, and the darkness behind me is not so ravenous.”
“Wow,” Dean said. “that’s better than I hoped for. So we don’t even have to have sex —” He laughed at the way Castiel fiercely kissed him. “Okay,” Dean whispered, “you like the sex, too. That’s good. That’s good.”
Castiel kissed him a few times. “I have been thinking about what you said, about why people live together, and it is true. I do enjoy your company most. I do like you best. Even when I thought I had lost you forever I still wanted your approval — your disapproval, even, because then we would still be speaking.” He combed his fingers through Dean’s hair. “We should promise not to close our mouths to each other that way again.”
Dean smiled at his choice of words. “Okay. I promise. You’re worse than Sam, you know, insisting on all this emotional crap.”
“If we are to stay together, I suspect the emotional crap is necessary.” Castiel wove their fingers together and kissed Dean’s hand, and pressed them to his face. “I want to stay with you. I want to fight battles with you. I want to feed you when you’re hungry and give you peace when you need rest, and be the last thing you see when you close your eyes forever.”
Dean shivered and held him closer. “And then what, Cas?”
He felt Castiel smile against his hand. “And then I will see you in Heaven, Dean.”
Dean nodded and sniffed hard. He wasn’t crying. Not one bit. He cleared his throat. “So, when I said it felt like we were getting married, did we — are we married?”
“Do you want to be?”
Dean searched his face again. “I don’t know. It’s not something I ever thought I’d be. I didn’t know being married was an act of will.”
“For you and I it is.”
“Do you want to be?”
Castiel smiled and moved his hands from Dean’s waist to his ass. “Yes.”
“You can still fuck me without being married to me,” Dean said and kissed him. “I’m really okay with that.”
“Yes, I know. Where is your bed?”
Dean smiled too. “Up that ladder. It’s not so much a room as it is a loft but there’s a bed and — oh, okay,” he said when Castiel disappeared from under him and peered at him, mischievous, from over the railing in the little loft.
“You’re slow.”
“I don’t move at the speed of thought, remember?” He climbed up the ladder. Castiel sat on the edge of the lumpy little bed to untie his shoes, and he looked up as Dean joined him. “You didn’t answer my question.” Dean caught hold of the tail of Castiel’s shirt — the black one, still, that brought out his edges and deepened the blue in his eyes. “Are we married or aren’t we?”
Castiel lay back and pulled Dean to him. “If we are, what does it change? If we are not, what does it matter?”
“That’s a terrible answer.”
Castiel smiled. “I’m not going to make up your mind for you. I want you to think whatever you want to think. Kiss me now.”
Dean looked at him askance, and Castiel kept smiling. “You are messing with my head.”
“Kiss me,” Castiel repeated, and Dean did, and as they kissed he thought, Yeah, okay. Yeah.
***
Sam woke up to the smell of coffee and the sound of voices. He got out of bed and pulled on a T-shirt, and went into the cabin’s little kitchen to see what was going on. Dean, at most, would make toast. His idea of making a hearty breakfast was to pour two bowls of cereal.
The sight that greeted him in the kitchen was not remotely what he expected. Dean — shirtless, too, which was enough to make Sam raise an eyebrow — was making toast, sure, but also eggs, and coffee was percolating in the ancient kettle, and there was a can of peaches at the table, and at the table and watching his every move was Castiel.
Cas took his eyes off Dean enough to see Sam. “Good morning, Sam.”
“Good morning,” Sam said, and Dean grinned and said, “Mornin’! Breakfast is almost on.”
“Cool,” Sam said. “Thanks. Can I help or something?”
“Nope,” Dean said, “it is taken care of.” He and Castiel exchanged a look. Neither of them stopped smiling.
It was weird. Nice, but weird.
Sam sat at the table and unscrewed the lid of the peaches can. “So is this a special occasion? I mean, you usually don’t eat, Cas.”
“It is a special occasion,” Castiel confirmed and smiled at Dean again.
“Very special,” said Dean. “Congratulate us, Sam.”
“Congratulations,” Sam said. “What am I congratulating you for?” They smiled at each other again, in a very sappy, contented, couple-y way, and Sam said, “Oh. Yeah. Wow. Congratulations. That’s good, you guys, that’s really good.”
“Yeah, we kinda think so,” said Dean. “Cas gets most of the eggs. He’s never had my scrambled eggs before.”
“He’s the lucky one,” Sam said and Dean laughed, too happy to even tease back. Castiel smiled like he wasn’t quite sure what the joke was but was too happy to care.
When their plates were full Sam took his outside to sit on the rough-hewn porch steps and watch the woods wake up. It wasn’t weird inside — quite the opposite — but he felt like he was intruding on something private and special instead of his brother and his whatever-Cas-was having breakfast together.
Of course, it couldn’t have been more obviously post-coital if they both had been wearing commemorative T-shirts.
Sam was snickering to himself as he imagined the slogans — Dean, of course, would insist on how only he was strong enough to pop angelic cherry — when the door creaked open and out came Castiel with a cup of coffee. “Dean said you like it with cream,” he said, sitting at Sam’s side, “but I seem to recall you mostly drink it black.”
“If it’s the good stuff I like it black,” Sam said and sniffed the cup. It was not the good stuff. No surprise there — they kept supplies simple and cheap at the cabin. At least the creamer was fresh.
“Are you uncomfortable with this, Sam?” Castiel turned his steady gaze to Sam, and Sam laughed nervously.
“Ah, no?” he said. “I mean, in the last week I’ve not only learned that my brother has had sex with other guys before but is in love with one now, but it just takes some getting used to. Bisexuality is a perfectly — normal — good — orientation —” He stopped again, because Castiel was smiling at his shoes and Sam suspected this meant Castiel was laughing at him. He finished lamely, “It explains a lot about Dean.”
“The overcompensating,” Castiel murmured and Sam barked a laugh.
“Yeah, like that. And you?” He looked at Castiel. “Are you okay with this? I mean, it’s Dean. He’s not exactly Mr. Long-term.”
“I am okay with it.” Castiel leaned his arms on his knees. Sam smiled and looked out at the woods too, and sipped his coffee — and flinched when he saw Lucifer swing down from one of the trees as if he’d been collecting pine cones.
“Shit,” Sam muttered and dabbed his damp shirt.
“You saw him.”
“It’s nothing,” Sam muttered and picked up his fork, meaning to jab it in his hand.
“Sam.” Castiel laid his hand over Sam’s.
“It’s the only thing that makes him go away,” Sam said. “It’s okay.”
“Sam,” Castiel repeated. “I owe you this.”
“If it’ll drain you —”
“We’re family,” Castiel said gently. “Let me help you.”
Sam nodded mutely, and closed his eyes as Castiel laid light, cool fingers on his forehead. There was a jolt — not outdoors, like at the Halfords’ house, but in him and through him, down his spine and up every nerve, until it felt like lightning bolts could shoot out of his fingertips. But mostly it was mental, as if someone had opened a window in his mind and let a cool breeze blow through, clearing out the ashes and smoke.
He gasped and opened his eyes, and looked at Castiel with wonder. “Cas,” he whispered.
“He should leave you alone more now. If he does not, tell me.”
“I will. I will. Thanks.”
Castiel nodded simply and looked out at the woods again.
The door creaked open and Dean said, “Cas, wanna go for a walk? There’s a really nice trail about half a mile up the road.”
A walk? Sam raised his eyebrows at Dean, and Dean grinned back. He had a little knapsack on his back, and Sam would bet his next pool hall winnings that there was nothing but a blanket and lube inside. Water, if Dean were thinking clearly enough. Which was doubtful.
“If we need to go somewhere,” said Castiel, “wouldn’t you prefer to drive?”
“No,” said Dean, smiling sweetly, “in this situation? We walk.” Castiel started to speak again, and Dean said, “Signal, Cas, okay? Signal.”
“Oh,” said Castiel, eyes widening, and he got up hastily. “Signal. Yes. Of course.” He reached out for Dean’s hand. Dean hauled him up and they ran down the steps.
“Don’t wait up!” Dean shouted over his shoulder and then they disappeared into the woods. Sam shook his head, laughing at them, and slowly finished his coffee, wiggling his toes on the warm wood.
When he was finished eating he took his dishes inside, and as he expected Dean had left the majority of the cleanup for him. Well, a guy was allowed some indulgences on his honeymoon. Sam started the water running in the sink to wash up, and as it filled he looked around the cabin.
The coat was still on its peg. He expected that was where it would stay.
“What are you drawing, honey?” Chelsea Halford said to Maggie when she checked on her daughter after breakfast.
“Dean ‘n’ Cas,” Maggie said and gave the paper to her mother. “They’re happy.”
“Well, that’s good,” Chelsea said, smiling at the picture. “This is very pretty.”
Maggie nodded. “Good things happen,” she said. “Can I go out and play?”
“If you put your rain boots and slicker on,” Chelsea said. “And stay in front of the house or in the back yard.”
“Okay, Mommy,” said Maggie and hopped up from her art table to get her boots.
Chelsea took the drawing to the kitchen and stuck it to the refrigerator door with a daisy-shaped magnet. She usually didn’t hang up Maggie’s drawings — they were so frightening and sad, she’d even burned a few — but this one was more like the drawings other children made. Chelsea watched Maggie, in her bright pink rain slicker and flower-covered boots, jump into puddles for a few minutes, and then went back to figuring out their budget for the next month.
Maggie had drawn Dean — spiky brown hair, blue jeans and a green shirt — and the angel Castiel — black hair and yellow coat — sitting on the porch of a log cabin under a starry black sky and a big yellow moon. Both men were smiling, and behind him Castiel’s wings were magnificent and full.