10. Chinese House Flowers

It’s quite difficult to focus on his work when he is close enough to scent the minute differences in Dean’s mood every time it shifts. 

Castiel had hoped to show the omega he meant him no harm by sitting with him like this, had hoped that the downtime would serve to ease Dean’s mind regarding his expectations. And at first, he thought it had worked. Dean’s nerves had dissipated as they’d settled in, his customary wariness giving way enough that Castiel could just begin to make out Dean’s actual scent, green and soft like springtime. He’d even begun to doze, Castiel thinks; a pleasant, apple-sweet scent of contentment had soaked into the air around them both as he’d nodded off. 

But it hadn’t lasted. Castiel is not sure if he did something to set the omega off, but a moment ago Dean had sucked in a sharp breath, his scent abruptly shattering into fear once again. He finds himself typing a little too aggressively, clicking a little too harshly, adrenaline rushing through him with nowhere to go. Castiel just wants Dean to be at peace, but he has no idea how to even begin to reassure him when he has no idea what’s scaring him in the first place.

He bites his lip. Considers whether it’s smarter to stay silent and act like he hasn’t noticed the sudden shift in Dean’s mood, or acknowledge it. At first, he thinks he’ll keep quiet – Balthazar has told him that, many times, it is better to leave things be than to try and pry them open – no matter how impatient and curious he may be. But when Dean shifts forward enough that Castiel can see his hands, balled into bloodless fists in his lap, the decision feels like it’s been made for him. 

“It’s alright if you’d like to nap,” he says eventually, keeping his eyes locked firmly on the email he’s been staring at for twenty minutes, unable to concentrate enough to read it. “I’m likely to be at this for a while.”

Dean is silent for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is small. “You don’t…  want me to do anything else?”

Castiel frowns. He scoots back a little so he can see Dean clearly. The omega looks up at him, caught off guard with his eyebrows drawn together. His scent has morphed into confusion, bordering on apprehension. 

“All I want is for you to catch up on your rest,” he says, and Dean’s scent is even more confused after that. “If you’re still tired even after a full night of sleep, it’s because your body is asking for more so that it can begin to heal.”

Dean digests that for a moment, his brow furrowing. “So… you want me to sleep,” he tries tentatively. He’s trying to make sense of Castiel’s words, which clearly don’t at all fit into how he’s learned the world works. It’s like he’s waiting for Castiel to rip the rug out from under him, to laugh in his face. 

“I would like you to make your own choice, Dean,” he pushes, but the omega just looks at him with an even more bewildered expression. He tries again. “Are you tired?”

Dean opens his mouth, then closes it. Several expressions flash across his face in quick succession – puzzlement, concern, fear. “I’m fine, alpha,” he says finally, voice sort of weak. “Don’t need any more sleep, I mean. Slept for a long time last night.”

“But would you like to sleep?”

There’s no other way to describe it – Dean’s expression closes like a medieval portcullis has slammed down in front of it. His face goes carefully, intentionally blank, more empty than Castiel has ever seen it. And he doesn’t answer. 

 It’s obvious that he doesn’t trust Castiel enough to tell him what he wants. Clear that he expects to be treated like a slave even though Castiel has no intention of doing so, that he expects Castiel to twist his desires around to hurt or punish him in some way. 

And it’s also clear that he’s not going to take care of himself unless Castiel asks – orders? – him to do so.

He suppresses a sigh. He wants to sit Dean down and explain everything to him. Wants to make it clear that the sole reason Castiel’s name is on his contract is because it was the only way to remove him from the system, wants to tell him that, before long, he will be able to fight for and earn his own freedom. But right now, Dean cannot even fathom the idea that he can sleep without permission. 

What happens when he tells Dean that he wants him to make all his own decisions? What happens when he’s asked to care for himself, to make his own choices, to stop trying to please Castiel? He’s not sure that it will do anything but spook the omega if he asks Dean to change everything he’s learned overnight – and he thinks he’s beginning to grasp the importance of Balthazar’s warning about providing Dean with boundaries he can understand. 

So rather than push him harder, rather than force an honest answer out of him, Castiel breaks down. He changes tactics. 

“If you are tired, I want you to sleep.”

The omega’s eyes flicker up to his face, just shy of making eye-contact. He’s wary, understandably, waiting for the rest of whatever he thinks is coming. But when Castiel adds nothing else, he tentatively nods. 

“The couch is very comfortable. You could nap there.”

Dean’s eyes flick over to the sofa, barely concealed panic sparking in them. “I wouldn’t,” he blurts, a little too desperate. Castiel could curse his stupidity – Dean’s clearly afraid to be on furniture in his presence, and equally terrified of disobeying. So Castiel has just set him up with an impossible choice. 

“Then you could just rest here, if you prefer,” he amends. 

Dean watches him warily as he gets up and steps over to the couch in question, confusion all over his face when he turns around with a heavy quilt and an overstuffed pillow from the sofa. He hopes they don’t smell too much like him – he’s taken more than one nap here in his office after a restless night of tossing and turning in his bed.

He moves slowly so that Dean isn’t surprised when he drapes the blanket over his shoulders – though he does jump a little when he sets the pillow in front of him. After a moment, the omega lets out a long breath and picks it up with a little hitching motion. 

“Thank you, alpha,” he says quietly. He sounds a little dazed. 

“You’re welcome. Do you need anything else?”

Dean shakes his head, because of course he does. 

He returns to his work and really makes an effort to focus and respond to the flood of emails he’s collected over the last few days. He’s never taken a day off (other than the one day a week Pamela had essentially threatened him into keeping a habit of) before now, and the extended leave of absence he’d arranged in preparation for Dean’s arrival has thrown a wrench into the works. He trusts his people to take care of the place while he’s gone – he’s always trusted him to do that – but there’s a natural adjustment period even with his hands-off style of leadership. 

In particular, his assistant is clearly a little adrift. Alfie is nervous at the best of times, but he’s received a dozen emails from him asking for clarification and for permission to do things for other employees, none of which really needed to be sent. He suspects that the young man is struggling to handle himself because he's used to not having much to do at all with Castiel there – while he would not call himself controlling, he is not a good delegator when it comes to tasks he feels responsible for. Alfie, most of the time, ended up doing the not inconsiderable work of translating Castiel’s directives into more friendly and human-like language, or was at least a sounding board for him to bounce responses off of. He hopes he isn’t coming off as too robotic without his input. 

Perhaps the young beta would be a helpful translator here. Maybe then he could stop scaring Dean every time he speaks. 

He’s so absorbed in typing out patient responses to each message that he misses the exact moment Dean falls asleep. Gradually, though, the man’s suspicion fades into simple weariness. When he looks up again, the omega is huddled against the side of the desk, his expression slack as he dozes. The soft green pillow is clutched to his chest rather than under his head as Castiel intended; he’s resting his chin on it, his nose buried in the velvety fabric. It’s not exactly ideal – he’d much rather Dean sleep in the bed upstairs – but rest is rest. 

Honestly, he’s just glad that Dean trusts him enough to let his guard down intentionally. It surprises him – yesterday, Dean had been sure that Castiel intended to rape him. And yet, now, he’s willingly going to sleep right in front of him. It doesn’t really make sense to Castiel, but he supposes there’s something to be said for what simple exhaustion will do to a person. It probably isn’t that Dean trusts him, just that he’s too tired to be picky. Or, just as likely, that he’s taken Castiel’s offer of a nap as an order.  

An hour passes uneventfully, then another. Eventually, Dean’s doze evolves into actual slumber. He slumps until he’s curled on the rug, the blanket covering everything but the top of his head, the throw pillow still snug in his arms. He sleeps right through lunch, and Castiel lets him; in fact, he doesn’t get up at all until he needs to use the restroom. Carefully, he pads around Dean and shuts the door quietly behind him. 

He lingers, washing his face and staring at himself in the mirror. He looks like a mess – he hasn’t shaved once since Dean arrived, and his customary 5 o’clock shadow has become something closer to a sad little beard. He sighs, scrubbing at his eyes. 

What does Dean see when he looks at him? A man, like him? A monster, lying in wait? A master? Castiel doesn’t exactly think he fits the nurturing image he’s been asked to keep up – he looks more like a homeless person, honestly, than anyone who could be trusted with the safety and the health of another human being. 

He pulls out his phone, hovers his fingers over the keys for a moment before he can figure out what to say. 

He won’t even sleep without an order, he finally types out, sending it off before he can think better of it. 

Balthazar’s reply pops up like he’d been waiting with his phone in his hands. Maybe he has been. hope u gave it 2 him. 

I did. I had to. I tried to get him to do it on his own, but he wouldn’t. 

color me surprised, he responds, and Castiel can practically hear the sarcasm in the words. dont expect him 2 take initiative any time soon cassie. poor kids got enough on his plate. go ez on him. 

Castiel closes his eyes for a moment. I don’t want to control him. 

The little typing bubble pops up and then disappears a couple of times before the reply finally comes through. 

right now, ur protecting him. 

From the outside world or from himself, Castiel doesn’t know. Perhaps it is both. He finds it a little rich that Balthazar, who has so often teased him for his lack of stereotypical alpha behaviors, thinks he is capable of protecting anyone. 

He locks his phone and slips it into his pocket. 

No matter what anyone says, he feels reprehensible when he tells Dean what to do. He’s determined to let the omega make his own choices, determined to convince him that he is not at Castiel’s beck and call. He’s just not sure how to do that when Dean can’t take him at his word or trust his intentions. 

When he returns to the office, mind overfull of swirling thoughts and future plans, he accidently lets the door close behind him with a loud click. 

Dean wakes up. 

It isn’t pretty. 

The scent of terror floods the room like a dam has broken. Dean jerks into consciousness when the door shuts behind Castiel, scrambles to his knees and snaps his arms behind himself. He's gripping his elbows and shaking, his head down so low it’s pressed to the floor, and his eyes are squeezed closed, mouth slightly open as he pants.

Though it is his first instinct, and a strong one at that, Castiel doesn’t run forward to reassure him, doesn’t scoop Dean to his chest and snarl at the invisible threats to him that exist only in his mind. Instead, he gives it a breath, frozen in the doorway as the harsh sound of Dean’s panic shakes the room. Still, it’s only about thirty seconds before he concludes that Dean probably won’t be calming down on his own. 

“Dean,” he says, when the feral thing inside of him can’t stay silent any longer. 

Dean sucks in a sharp gasp and looks up at Castiel frantically, confused for another beat before his eyes clear. His arms drop down from his back and he slumps, relief flooding the room. “God. I – s-sorry. I forgot –” 

Castiel swallows back his anger at the young man’s fear, at the fact that this behavior has clearly been ingrained through pain and suffering. He gives Dean another few seconds to calm himself down, for his breath to even out before he moves forward a few steps, hesitant.

“Was that position something your old master expected from you?”

Dean’s eyes flick up to his face, then back down to the floor. His hands twitch at his sides like he wants to hold something; the pillow he’d been clutching earlier is several feet away from him, abandoned and forlorn, and his eyes dart to it before returning to his lap. “Um. Yeah.”

“When?”

The omega shakes his head slightly. “Always. If he caught me sleeping, he…” He swallows. “Wasn’t allowed.”

“You weren’t allowed… to sleep?”

“Not if he wanted something,” Dean says bitterly, the first hint of protest Castiel has seen since that moment out in the yard. His hands tighten in his lap momentarily. But, after a beat, they loosen, and he takes a breath, eyeing the old clock in the corner of the room nervously. When he speaks again, his voice is measurably meeker. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to sleep that long – didn’t think I was that tired.”

Castiel shakes his head. He sits down on the little table in front of the couch, disliking the feeling that he is looming over the omega when he is already nervous. “Rest assured that I do not expect a schedule like that from you. You may sleep and wake up whenever you wish.”

Dean huffs out a dismissive noise, something like a laugh, rubbing his eyes with his hand. But when Castiel just continues to look steadily at him, he blinks, and the bitter amusement bleeds out of his expression. “You… you actually mean that?”

“I do.”

Perhaps it is because he’s still out of sorts from his abrupt return to consciousness, but Dean studies him a little more openly than he might have before. “So I can… even when you’re awake?”

“Yes. Even when I’m awake.”

“I can just... nap? Any time?”

Castiel is abruptly reminded of childhood games of Simon Says. Dean still thinks he’s being tricked, clearly. “The more rest you get, the happier I’ll be,” he says quietly, and the omega just stares and stares. 

“But what if you need something?”

He shakes his head, mouth twisting to the side in a sad little smile. “I have lived on my own for a very long time. I think I am capable of caring for myself, should the need arise.”

Dean flushes, a nervous swallow moving his throat up and down. “I – I know. I just...” 

Castiel softens. “I will never hurt you for doing something as natural and necessary as sleeping. Please know that.”

“I… ” 

He trails off, shifting nervously on his knees, his eyes darting to Castiel and then back to his hands, a flush blooming across his cheeks. He smells… ashamed, which is not an emotion that Castiel understands. Not in this context. But Dean doesn’t try to explain himself. He just hunches in his shoulders and gets even smaller. “Okay. Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Castiel says, smoothing his hands down his pants to push away imaginary wrinkles. Dean adjusts so that he’s facing him more directly, his hands still twitching in his lap. He takes in the omega’s nervous scent, and adds, “I just thought it was important that you knew.”

Dean glances up at him out of the corner of his eye, his cheeks still bright red. “I didn’t… I mean, just so you know,” he offers quietly. “Didn’t really think you would hurt me. Not when I woke up just now. Just forgot I wasn’t… that you weren’t...”

Dean grimaces. Cuts off the thought. But it makes something warm glow inside of Castiel, makes his heart grow a little bigger in his chest. “I understand.”

And the grateful look Dean gives him is almost painful, so he changes the subject. 

“I’m afraid dinner is just casserole leftovers. I don’t want to waste them.”

Dean’s got a twisted expression on his face that tells Castiel he would never complain about having any sort of food, leftovers or no. “If you’ll wait in the living room, I’ll warm up a few plates for us both. Is that alright?”

After a beat – probably realizing that Castiel is actually waiting on a response – Dean nods, already back to silence. 

By the time he returns with their food, Dean has made himself comfortable – or, as comfortable as he’s willing to be – next to the sofa, leaning against it as he’d done on the desk. He straightens when Castiel enters the room, confusion palpable when he passes right by the couch to go into his office. 

The omega’s face is nothing short of bewildered when he gives him the pillow he’d abandoned in the study, and he has to look away when something cracks in Dean’s expression. He holds the pillow to his stomach slowly, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed. “I… thank you,” he says quietly, the words loaded with emotion that neither of them want to dig into any further.

The pillow stays clutched to his chest while they eat in silence, ten feet apart, the evening news murmuring in the background as Dean shoots him curious, confused looks out of the corner of his eye. And when the omega tentatively asks if he should go to bed, it goes up the stairs with him.

It may be insignificant, but Castiel can’t help but feel a little victorious that he was able to find something Dean finds comfort in.