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Castiel goes about his task quietly. He walks from fire to fire, collecting bowls and spoons to clean them and bring them back to their owners later. Some look up at him and smile, or even reach up and hold out their bowls so that he doesn’t have to stoop down.
He accepts the help gracefully enough though he tries harder to blend into the shadows at the next fire. He’s glad that they’ve stopped trying to involve him into their conversations. Dean has played the mediator there, explaining to him that they don’t mean to taunt him, explaining to them that it comes over like that for Castiel.
He lets his gaze stray to the main fire with the thought to find Dean. He’s too far away for Castiel to make out more than the golden shine of his unruly hair in the firelight, but he hears Dean’s raucous laughter and for a moment, he allows himself to smile.
Then the rustle of wind sends a shiver through him, and with it comes the realization that fall is near and his smile disappears. He suppresses the sorrowful moan that wants to escape his lips and bends down to gather the last few bowls before going to wash them in the river. The world is as it is, and Castiel has few means of changing it.
The water is cold but not freezing, not yet. Just like the wind. Food is still plentiful, Dean’s pack well-fed and Castiel with them. He brushes a hand over his hipbones, clearly defined but not sharp anymore like they had been only months ago. He’ll lose that again, the weight and the muscle that running with Dean’s pack has given him. But for this winter, they’ll help, wherever he ends up. The thought should make him grateful, not bitter.
He sets the bowls back into the basket, staying crouched down next to the river for a moment. It’s not late, it’ll be a while before the laughter around Dean’s fire dies down. Before the Betas go back to their own fires, one by one, wrapping themselves into their blankets. Before Castiel can slink in next to Dean to find his own spot next to the leader for the night.
He’s impatient for that moment to come. For the laughter and the music to die down, so that he can be close. He feels vaguely that he shouldn’t be. That he should resent Dean like he’s resented any other Alpha that he’s ever belonged to.
But resentment will take away from the time that he has with Dean. And he knows his time is limited. Why else won’t Dean do what any other Alpha would? Why would he work himself to satisfaction next to Castiel, opting to have no more than a hand on Castiel’s hip or back, nothing else, nowhere else, when he clearly finds Castiel attractive? When Castiel’s body is willing next to him and all he’d have to do is take?
But breeding means commitment. It means nine months of having to put Castiel’s wellbeing over that of anyone else in the pack. Another six or even nine months again before it is safe to separate him from the child. That’s two winters. Two winters of keeping Castiel warm and fed. Of Castiel taking up resources that are needed to keep the strength of the pack.
He understands why Dean can’t do it. Being a hunter pack is dangerous business. They don’t have much apart from their camaraderie and laughter, and their will to tackle every winter like an opponent in a war.
Sighing, he gets up. No use to spoil what he has by thoughts of losing it.
The noise has calmed down when he comes back. The watch for the night has already taken up their places. Benny, on guard on this side of the camp, looks up at his approach, nods gruffly and then lets his eyes focus on the forest again. Castiel slinks by, careful to be quiet and not disturb him any more than he has to.
Giving back the bowls doesn’t take long. They make a competition out of adorning their possessions by carving images into everything. He knows the shapes and patterns by heart and by feel now, no need to even look before he places the right bowls next to the right fires.
Then, there’s only two bowls left. Dean’s, adorned with forest scenes, with squirrels and moose, less violent than he expected for the leader of a pack of hunters. And Castiel’s, the only plain bowl among them. Dean has offered to teach him how to carve. So that he could make the bowl his own the same way the pack does.
It had been a tempting offer. Almost a sign that he belongs. Not just to Dean, but belongs with this pack. Which had made it all the more important to shake his head and decline. He needs the reminder. It is too easy to fall into the illusion as is.
He doesn’t take the bowls out when he gets to Dean’s fire, just sets his basket to the ground and lets himself sink to his knees next to Dean who greets him with a wide smile like he is genuinely happy to see him.
It warms him more than the fire and he answers with a small smile of his own that he knows won’t get him into trouble.
It’s not enough, though, to completely hide the heaviness of his thoughts, because Dean frowns and asks, “You good, Cas?”
He nods quickly, aware that he’s allowed to speak and also to say when he isn’t good. But these are thoughts he can’t share with Dean. It wouldn’t help, either. He’s never really understood why Dean bought him in the first place. Why he spent what Castiel knows was the best part of the pack’s gold on him before literally dragging him away from Master Crowley’s house.
But Castiel can make sure that Dean at least doesn’t regret that choice. Not now and not at the inevitable moment when he’ll need the money to buy food for his pack. It’s better for the both of them if Castiel doesn’t let Dean’s leniency get to him. If he doesn’t forget that speaking is a privilege that he’ll hardly ever have again. It’s bad enough that he can’t stop himself from looking Dean straight in the eyes. He has such gorgeous eyes.
But Dean doesn’t punish transgressions like that. Dean doesn’t punish at all, unless someone willfully endangers the safety of his pack. Then he rages and yells and makes sure it doesn’t happen again. He does even that without hitting or crippling, though.
That’s another thing, Castiel thinks, and draws his tunic over his head so that Dean can have access to his skin. The marks on his skin are fading. Most of them he can’t see but the ones that creep up his shoulders or curl around the side of his hips or up his chest have changed from an angry red to small white lines. He doesn’t think they’ll fade more than that, but again, that’s probably good. Another reminder that Dean’s ownership of him is temporary and that if he loses his training he’ll pay double for it later.
“You’re unhappy today,” Dean says, frown on his forehead even steeper now. “Did something happen?”
Castiel shakes his head again and sits back on his haunches. He tries to look inviting without overstepping his bounds, tries to prompt Dean into touching him instead of continuing his line of investigation. But a gust of wind makes goosebumps crop up on his skin, and he can’t suppress the shiver that comes with it.
Dean’s sitting up now, alert and attentive, his whole focus on deciphering Castiel. Castiel wants to shrink back against the scrutiny or maybe lean in, distract Dean in any way that he knows how, but he’s not supposed to do, either. And it hasn’t always stopped him, the fact that he wasn’t supposed to do something - the deep scars on his back are testament to that - but this is Dean.
“Talk to me, Cas. What happened?”
There’s worry in Dean’s voice, thick and natural. Castiel doesn’t get it, why Dean worries about him. Why he cares what Castiel’s mood is when obviously his property is undamaged. But when Dean gets like this, he doesn’t let go. He won’t stop before he has an answer.
It takes a moment, though, finding his voice and finding the right words. He’s so unaccustomed to giving voice to his thoughts. He looks beyond the flames into the dark of the night. Feels the wind against his naked skin again. “It’ll be fall soon,” is what he finally settles on and hopes that Dean understands and doesn’t make him spell it out.
It’s not his place, forming an attachment like he’s done. But it’s not like he doesn’t know that, so he doesn’t need the lecture. Even if he thinks Dean would at least not mock him for it. But Dean trying to break to him gently what he already knows, that it is unfeasible for them to keep him around, to have another mouth to feed during the bitter months of winter, that thought makes it worse almost.
He bites down on his lip hard when he notices that he has started to tremble and that his eyes sting. He won’t cry about this like a child. He knows his place and he has carved out his own piece of contentment in it. He’s long since given up hoping for more. But giving up wishing is less easy. He wishes Dean’s pack had an easier time in winter. He wishes they’d find a big chest of gold so that their need would be less. He thinks Dean would keep him around then.
“Please,” he says softly and stretches out a hand to rub over Dean’s arm. It’s not a ‘please keep me’ or even a ‘please let me be close while I’m here’. It’s just a ‘please let me be what I am and don’t ask’.
But Dean doesn’t get it, or maybe he does and just isn’t willing to comply, not even to a tentative request, as far away from an order as a request can get. Because Dean catches Castiel’s wrist in his hand, removing himself from under Castiel’s touch. His eyes have turned harsh and his hold is just shy of painful.
Castiel freezes. He hadn’t tried to be disobedient. The ‘I’m sorry’ is on his lips but in his experience, it doesn’t help. It’s better to stay silent and still. To wait and take what is dealt out without making it worse by pleading.
“Stay,” Dean growls and lets go of Castiel’s hand. He gets up, every line in his body tense and stomps off towards one of the wagons.
Castiel sits frozen. He plays back their conversation. He doesn’t know where he went wrong to make Dean this angry. Where he made him leave. He wants to follow him. He’d rather face Dean’s wrath than be left alone. But he got ordered to stay. And while he’s disobeyed most of his masters, Dean rarely gives an order this direct and he doesn’t find the will in his heart to cross him even more than he already has.
It takes only a few moments without Dean to shelter him from the wind before Castiel starts shivering. Dean hasn’t told him he can’t move, but when he looks at the bear skin that is their blanket, it feels wrong to climb under without Dean next to him. He looks at his tunic, lying close enough that Castiel wouldn’t even have to get up from his knees to pick it up and pull it over his head. But that feels wrong, too, because he should be lying next to Dean right now, Dean’s chest pressing against Castiel’s back, his body heat keeping him warm and safe.
So he settles on hunching his shoulders, curling up into himself to keep his body heat in, and just hopes that Dean will come back. But then, Castiel is well-fed and he’s strong. Even if he ends up spending the night like this, it won’t be too detrimental to his health.
He can’t tell whether it’s a few minutes or a few hours when finally footsteps come closer. He doesn’t look up, keeps his submissive posture, but he knows Dean’s gait. He came back. That’s good. That’s a start.
Dean stops in front of him. He doesn’t sit down like he usually would, chooses to tower over him instead. Castiel can’t see it but he can feel it. And everything in Dean’s stance says that he is still furious.
Castiel’s hands are digging into their resting place on his thighs now. But he doesn’t move them, just hunches a little more, the only measure of protection for his front that he’ll allow himself. If Dean strikes from the front. If he strikes from the back, the hands on his legs will help Castiel brace himself. He tries to calm his breathing, long shallow inhales and exhales to stop exuding fear. He’s sure he’s gotten through worse than what Dean will do to him. Dean doesn’t damage. Not permanently.
“Look at me, Cas.”
It’s an order, growled so vehemently that Castiel’s head snaps up before the words consciously register. He wants to shy away the next second, because looking up means blow to the face and he’ll take strike on the back over punch to the face any day, when he notices that none of Dean’s hands is free to strike him. He’s carrying a whole lot of – clothes?
“Boots,” Dean growls and holds up the objects in question before setting them down in front of Castiel. “Woolen cloak.” The next item gets dropped in front of him. “Heavy breaches and socks.” The heap gets larger. “And a winter tunic.”
Dean tosses the last piece directly at Castiel, and he catches it before he can think about it. It’s thick and soft and even in the firelight he can see the rich color. It’s blue. Almost the same color he sees mirrored in still water when he looks at his eyes.
“I care for my pack, Cas. And I’m goddamn pissed that you still don’t seem to get this,” Dean growls and sits himself down heavily.
Castiel is too stunned to do anything other than clutch at the fabric of the tunic. It’s the color of his eyes. And Dean tossed it at him. That means it’s his, right? But it’s winter clothes. Expensive winter clothes by the feel of them. Clothes that are too good for him. That Dean doesn’t have to provide him with if he sells him on to someone else. Clothes that will just be taken away by a new owner. He grips the fabric a little harder at the thought and looks up at Dean because he doesn’t understand.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” but it’s a grumble more than a growl now. “The clothes aren’t new. But they’re sturdy enough and they should fit you just fine.”
“You plan on keeping me.” The revelation is so shocking that the words make it out of his mouth before he can stop them.
Dean grits his teeth, a half-snarl that isn’t frightening only because he directs it to the fire and not at Castiel. His voice is tight when he answers. “I’m not planning on ‘keeping’ anyone. And I’d tell you you’re free to go right now if I didn’t fear that you’d immediately get captured again.”
And that makes so little sense that Castiel doesn’t even have an answer for it.
Dean rubs his forehead when he notices Castiel’s confusion, like this whole conversation is giving him a headache. “Shoulda have listened to Sam, I’m just no good at this,” Dean mutters before speaking up again. “Look, Cas, I know that I bought you and everything. My pack gave me enough shit about that. They’d have ‘rescued’ you instead. But we both know that rescuing you would have meant stealing you. It would have meant someone after us, and mainly, after you. Someone who still held your papers. Someone who could have dragged you back.” He reaches out a hand and traces a few of the deeper scars that traverse Castiel’s skin. “I didn’t want that, alright? Didn’t want anyone else to have that kind of power over you.”
Castiel nods, because okay, Dean wants sole power over Castiel. He gets that. Dean’s not the only Alpha who’s territorial about their property.
But something in Castiel’s face seems to be the wrong reaction, because Dean sighs heavily and draws back his hand, brings a few inches of distance between them. “I’ve waited too long with this and I’m sorry about that, Cas. I wanted to give you time. To heal. To get used to us. To see whether you like our ways. To see whether you – like me,” he trails off embarrassedly.
And Castiel thinks maybe now something will follow that makes more sense. Maybe Dean wants to breed him but wanted to wait until Castiel’s body was stronger. Until the chances of coming to term successfully were better. And if that’s so, he’s okay with it. It’s the purpose he serves in this world beyond menial tasks like the dishes. And he doesn’t think Dean will make it hurt on purpose.
“Cas? You still with me?” Dean asks and Castiel pulls himself back together. He can’t be drifting while Dean is talking to him.
He nods.
“Okay. Because the next part is important, Cas, and I want you to listen and to understand.” Dean is intense now, his eyes focused. They aren’t harsh anymore, just concentrated. And there’s a pinch of worry in them that he tries to suppress.
Cas nods again, giving Dean the same attention he’s giving him.
“I don’t believe in owning people, Cas. None of my pack do. None of them see you as my property. I don’t, either. I ain’t going to lie to you, I want you in my pack. I want you next to me every night and wake up next to you every morning. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t free to go.”
And if possible that makes even less sense than anything else in this conversation. Castiel tilts his head, staring at Dean, trying to puzzle this out. Is this a trap? A mind-game? But Dean isn’t cruel like that. Is he testing Castiel’s response? How is he supposed to respond to this? And Dean seems to expect a verbal answer from him because he’s nodding to urge him to talk.
“I’ll die. If you send me out in these woods alone without food, I’ll die,” is the only thing that Castiel can think of saying.
Dean closes his eyes for a few seconds, a deep breath to calm himself down. His eyes and voice are softer when he speaks again. “Not what I was saying, Cas. I know you can’t make it in these mountains on your own. But there’s places. Places that are kinder to Omegas than what you’re used to. There’s sanctuaries. High in the mountains, well defended. No one but Omegas allowed inside. We know about them and they trade with us because they know our beliefs align with theirs. We could bring you there. Or, if a life in the stillness of the mountains is not what you want, there’s other lands, further away, where the world is different. Where everyone is just people. Even Omegas. We don’t travel there, it’s too far. But we meet the caravans. We could bring you as far as we can safely go and you could travel on with them. Find a new life beyond the mountains or even beyond the sea. A life where you can be free. I want you to be free, Cas. To choose for yourself without being forced. To choose where you are and what you do and who you’re with. To choose how you want your life to look like.”
Castiel bunches the winter tunic against his stomach. He’s not sure whether it’s for comfort or whether it’s a defensive gesture.
Dean is serious, he can tell. This is not a game. This is not a test. This is the truth.
And suddenly a thousand small incidents make sense to him. So many incidents where Dean could just have taken and didn’t.
The way Dean had asked him on the first day what he was good at doing instead of just telling him what to do. The way Dean had looked at him when he’d added on that list that as far as he knew he was fertile. The way Dean had assigned him his tasks without mentioning that bit of information again. The shock on Dean’s face when Castiel had stripped down at the end of that first day and laid next to Dean, sure that even though it wasn’t mentioned it was going to be one of his chores to keep the Alpha satisfied. The way Dean had started to but then hadn’t quite managed to tell him to get lost, obviously affected by him, and had instead just softly drawn the bearskin over the both of them and pressed him close. An arrangement that they have kept to the day.
Even the argument with Sam when he found them like this on the first morning makes sense in this light. The way Sam had fumed and the way Dean kept repeating that he hadn’t done anything, hadn’t forced himself on Castiel. In the moment, Castiel had just been confused and tried to keep his head down so that the violence wouldn’t spill over to him. But now…
“Is that why you won’t breed me?” he asks. “Why even in my heat you hold back?”
“Yes,” Dean confirms simply.
“I thought it was because you didn’t want to commit to feeding me for so long a time…”
“What?” The word explodes out of Dean and Castiel shrinks back against it. “Fucking hell, Cas, where do you get these ideas?” Then Dean catches himself and sighs, calming down quickly. “Okay, I know where you get these ideas. So, no, let me assure you, that’s not it. Until you say otherwise, you’re a part of my pack. You’ll be as warm and as well fed as the rest of us are. I can’t promise that that means you’ll never freeze or go hungry. We have bad stretches. But we’re as committed to feeding you as we are to feeding ourselves. Jesus, Cas,” Dean shakes his head, still not over this.
But Castiel’s thoughts have moved on already. He combs through his memory, through their daily interactions, and looks for the orders, for the commands that have always made up most of his life, and for the scuffle to fulfill them fast enough before getting punished.
He doesn’t find much.
Beyond the original assigning of tasks to him, Dean has let him be. He never checks whether a task has been finished. He never checks whether Castiel is doing something he isn’t supposed to do. He interferes when something upsets Cas, like the insistence of the others in the beginning to eat with the pack and talk around the fire. He told the pack to can it and to let Cas eat wherever he wants to eat. The only order in there for Castiel was to eat full rations like everyone else.
The only other times that stand out are when they’re doing business. And Dean uses the same voice with Castiel that he uses with the rest of his pack then. Everyone needs to know their place so that they can protect each other when they’re near settlements. Dean orders Castiel to stay near him then. And Castiel’s always flanked by at least two members of the pack when they’re near other humans.
It’s not because Dean thinks Castiel might try to escape, Castiel realizes with a start. It’s because he is protecting Castiel from being stolen away from their pack. He’s making clear his claim on Castiel so that no other will come near and harm him.
“I’m attracted to you, Castiel,” Dean interrupts his thoughts, using Castiel’ full name for once, “to your scent, to your body. I won’t deny it because you’d have to be blind not to notice. But I also hold affection for you, and I hope that if you choose to stay, in time, you might hold affection for me, too. If I took you now, even when you’re offering, even when it feels natural to you that I would just take, I would destroy my own hope. You’re ready to let me –“ Dean closes his eyes as if the word physically hurts, “– breed you but you’re doing it because you think I have bought the right to your body. You’re not doing it because you want to have a family with me. And that’s the only circumstance under which I’d want that, Cas.”
There’s a resolve in his voice and face that dares Castiel to argue with this. But it’s not this that has caught Castiel’s attention.
“A family?” he asks because that is a concept so foreign to him that he hasn’t ever considered it. He’s heard of it, of course, in the kitchen gossip about romantic love stories and the fairytales of old. But neither of these are how life works. Children are born by the Omegas, but they get raised by the Alphas and Betas. They get taken away from their Omega parents as soon as it is feasible to do so, so that they don’t get weak through their influence and present as Omegas themselves.
“Sam and I grew up with both our parents, Cas. At least for a while there. Whatever you’ve heard about Omega parents, it’s not true.” Dean’s voice has gone soft, longing clear in it. “We loved our mother and she loved us. I wish you could have met her.” He sighs. “She would be so much better at explaining this than me. She was good with words.”
Suddenly, Castiel feels like reaching out to Dean, like comforting him in what is clearly a loss. After a second’s hesitation, he acts on the impulse, resting his hand over Dean’s lightly. He shouldn’t, of course. If he touches Dean, his hand should always be under, never over. But Dean doesn’t shake him off. He turns his own hand, instead, so that it lies palm up, circling Cas’ fingers loosely without fighting him for the dominant position.
He’s accepting Cas’ comfort with the gesture, and then with his words, “Thanks, Cas.”
“You’re welcome, Dean,” it’s no more than a whisper. It’s too strange, doing something for an Alpha because he wants to, and being thanked for it in return.
For a while, they both just stare at their hands, connected, but without holding the other in place.
Finally, Dean clears his throat. “You don’t have to decide today. Whether you want to stay or not. You don’t have to sleep next to me, either. I know I should have made that clear. I -,” he breaks off for a moment, “I was selfish. I liked you near and I defended it in my mind by telling myself that this way I could protect you better. That maybe I could give you a modicum of comfort through my presence. I should have given you a choice instead. Forgive me, please.”
“I came to you,” Castiel’s voice breaks on the words and he doesn’t know how Dean has forgotten that. But Castiel never got ordered to sleep next to Dean. He came to him that first night and then again on the next and the next after that.
Suddenly, Castiel’s eyes are stinging because all these months he has taken his own reaction for granted. A trained response, go to the Alpha, offer yourself to him because that’s what he’s bought you for. And yet, at Crowley’s, they always had to come get him. Not once did he step foot into that bedroom out of his own accord. Yet with Dean, he offered himself up before he even knew much more of him than that he had bought him.
But then, that wasn’t quite true, either. In those few hours, Dean had also fed him, had cleaned and stitched every wound that needed attention, had given him new clothes and thrown out the ones that smelled like Crowley with a disgusted face. He had asked him about the tasks he was good at and had allowed him to use his voice. He hadn’t punished Castiel when his instructions weren’t immediately clear to him and he had given him space after they were.
He had been kind.
And even at that moment, even while not thinking about it because this is not the way you think about your master, Castiel had liked him. Had decided that he wouldn’t begrudge this master his body because Dean was good to him and Castiel wanted to stay.
It had taken a while, a week or two, in which his confusion at Dean’s behavior mounted, his confusion of why Dean wasn’t taking what he obviously wanted, why he tried to talk to him and treated him like he mattered, before he finally looked up in an attempt to figure out from Dean’s face what he couldn’t from his words. Before he was captured by the sparkling green eyes in the firelight. He’s seen them go through every emotion by now. Content. Sadness. Anger. Affection. He doesn’t think they’ve ever quite let him go.
He tries to find them now, too, but Dean is still looking down at their hands instead of up at him. Maybe he hasn’t heard Castiel’s words. Maybe they were too low to understand. Maybe he feels guilty anyway.
And that’s a strange concept. An Alpha as good and considerate as Dean feeling guilty about how he is treating Castiel.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Castiel murmurs. “It was my choice.” Because he realizes now that it was. That he knew in his heart that Dean wouldn’t punish him for staying further away but that he wanted to be close anyway. That the nightmares that plagued him during the few nights that Dean stayed out hunting had less to do with Castiel fearing for his own safety and more with him fearing for Dean’s wellbeing and disliking his absence.
There is something like hope in Dean’s eyes when he looks up. “Does that mean you will consider staying with us? With me?”
Castiel’ eyes glide over the sleeping forms of the pack. He’s never given them the same scrutiny that he’s given Dean. Necessity, he’d thought, Dean was the Alpha who owned him after all. As long as he didn’t start sharing him with the pack, they were of lesser import to Castiel. He isn’t so sure anymore that ‘necessity’ really was his motive for focusing on Dean.
Now that he’s thinking about it, he’s not sure anymore that this went unnoticed by the pack, either. Missouri has smiled at him knowingly more than once when he was holding out his bowl for her to fill with stew while his gaze already strayed to where Dean was sitting, half-empty bowl forgotten in his hands as he was laughing with his brother or Benny.
Castiel’s eyes focus on the basket with their bowls then, stacked on top of each other as they are every night. One intricately adorned, beautiful detail in every scene, the other plain and unassuming, even though the wood is the same, suitable to be carved into the same rich patterns. He stretches to take them in hand without having to let go of Dean’s hand. Dean, with his soft clothes in a rich deep green, adorned with colorful bands along the hem of his tunic. Who’s wrapped around Castiel every night, Castiel, who wears his plain tunic when the night is cool, but mostly just presses his bare skin against Dean.
It’s about then that he feels Dean’s questioning look, confusion now clouding Dean’s scent.
Castiel swallows heavily before the picks up his courage and asks, “If I changed my mind, would you still teach me? Would you teach me how to carve something beautiful out of something plain?” He’s reasonably sure that they both know that he’s talking about more than the bowls.
A small smile lights up Dean’s face though his voice stays serious. “I’ve promised you this before, Cas. Of course I will.”
Castiel nods, accepting the offer without further words. He puts the bowls back in their basket. He can hear Dean’s intake of breath when he lets go of his hand for this task. But Dean makes no move to catch him.
The bowls neatly stacked, Castiel scoots down on the lamb skin that is Dean’s bed until he’s sitting side by side with him, far enough down that Castiel’s head when he comes to rest will be coming up to about Dean’s shoulder as it always does. He looks at Dean, suddenly insecure. But Dean has promised. And he trusts Dean. So he lays down.
Dean smiles for real when he notices the change, understands that this is his answer. He lays down, too, and draws the bear skin over them, before softly putting his arm over Cas’ hip. Tugging them close until they’re almost flush against each other. Cas’ arm is in the way then, stuck between them. It takes another moment of deliberation but then Cas hesitantly reaches up, wraps his arm around Dean’s back, too.
Dean smiles at him again, his smile so much closer now than it ever was before, his eyes only inches from Cas’.
“May I?” Dean asks and Cas isn’t sure what Dean is asking but he nods anyway.
The smile warms into something deep and radiant and then it is too close to see, because Dean leans in to press a kiss against Cas’ forehead before tugging Cas’ head securely against his chest.