20. Harbor Me
The next few days are a much needed respite from the emotional roller-coaster of the last few.
Their routine evolves into something approaching normalcy. Dean begins organizing the books in earnest once more, spending hours meandering around the house to separate the tomes into piles. Castiel hasn’t seen him stop to read one, yet, but he hopes Dean will feel comfortable enough to do so soon. The books he piled up outside of Dean’s door – a desperate attempt to comfort him – have migrated to his bedside table, so he’s hopeful.
When Dean’s not nesting, he’s in Castiel’s office with him. He always knocks, always picks up the blanket he carefully folded the day before to wrap around his shoulders. Always carries the green pillow with him. Without fail, he naps for at least an hour, usually longer, curled up just a foot from Castiel’s chair. And while Castiel regrets that Dean has picked him of all people to scent bond with, he’s glad he can provide the omega with some sort of relief. His presence in the room is comfortable, if quiet.
The most they talk is when Dean joins him for breakfast down in the kitchen. He appears around the same time every morning next to Castiel’s chair, close enough for the alpha to feel his warmth through his pants – though not quite close enough to touch, not since that afternoon with Balthazar. And every day, Castiel gets up, makes them both breakfast, and slowly nicks away at Dean’s iron defenses.
The questions he asks as they dine together are intentionally innocuous. On Monday, it’s scrambled, or fried? followed by cheese, or no cheese? Dean hesitates more than he should before he answers, looking at Castiel with searching eyes as if there’s a right answer and a wrong one. That day, for his return questions, Dean just echos his own, his voice quiet and timid, and they spend the rest of the meal in silence.
On Tuesday, Castiel asks him whether he’d like water or orange juice. After far too long a pause, Dean says, water, and, following his gut, Castiel sets one glass of each in front of the omega. Dean looks up at him with naked surprise on his face, his forehead wrinkled.
His return question is decidedly less frivolous, his surprise edging into wariness. “How’d you know I was lying?”
Castiel just has to shrug. He doesn’t know if Dean is aware they’ve scent bonded or not, and he hasn’t explained it to him for a couple of different reasons – namely, that he’ll end up explaining it wrong. And he himself isn’t positive that he sniffed out Dean’s little fib, anyway. It had been something in his expression, he thinks – some sort of longing or internal conflict that gave him away. “I’m not really sure. You seemed to be debating something rather serious.”
Dean blinks a few times. “You’re not mad,” he says, and even though it isn’t exactly a question he’s going to err on the side of caution and treat it like one.
“No,” he says gently. “As I’ve told you, you’re entitled to your privacy.”
The omega snorts very quietly. He picks up the glass of orange juice and takes a sip – and the look of appreciation that blooms across his face is pure and heartbreaking. Castiel finds himself smiling as he watches.
Dean doesn’t seem to notice. He just takes another sip, and slowly says, “I was trying to figure out what would cost less.”
Castiel blinks. It takes him a second to understand the words, and in the meantime, Dean is staring down at the glass in his hand. His expression doesn’t match his tone – he’s nervous. It’s as though he’s waiting for Castiel to reprimand him, or perhaps to judge him. “I mean,” he adds, a little more hesitant, “obviously juice costs more than water. So there’s that. But you also want me to eat, and gain weight, I think, so the orange juice would have been better for that reason. So I wasn’t exactly sure.”
He can do nothing but stare. Dean looks up, catches his stunned expression, and drops his eyes back down. He turns the cup in his hands slowly, thumbing the rim of the glass with careful precision. “But then I figured, I wanted the juice. So… I said water,” he finishes, something like a laugh slipping out at the end. It sounds too self deprecating to be genuine. “Thought to myself, y’know. Better safe than sorry.”
The amount of thought Dean has put into such a small decision floors him. This unfiltered glimpse into what must go on in his head every time Castiel asks him a question makes his chest ache, and as he sits across from him in stunned silence, Dean seems to shrink into himself.
“Shouldn’t have lied–” he begins to mumble, already back to timid deference, and Castiel doesn’t want that at all.
“Thank you for telling me, Dean,” he says earnestly. Dean looks up at him, vulnerable and nervous and yet still so very strong, and Castiel cannot help but feel a tremendous sense of pride for the man. “That was very brave.”
And even though he scoffs, he would swear that Dean’s spine straightens. Just a little.
On Wednesday morning, Dean doesn’t kneel next to his chair to greet him. Instead, he plops down and crosses his legs, leaning his back against the table, and looks up at Castiel with tired eyes. He has the pillow already today. Castiel wonders if that means he had a hard night.
He looks down with a smile. “Hello, Dean.”
“Mornin’,” he says quietly. Though he’s more rested than he’s been so far, Castiel can still see shadows under his eyes. The omega watches silently as he gets up to start cooking them breakfast.
“Would you like toast, or a bagel this morning?” Castiel asks, his back intentionally turned. He wonders what kind of mental gymnastics Dean is doing to find his answer.
“Toast,” he finally says, and Castiel smiles over his shoulder at him and pops some down. He thinks that they’ll have eggs again, today – Dean seemed to like the sausage he’d mixed into them before. The pan is just hot enough to start when Dean speaks.
“How come you didn’t tell me you ran the joint?”
Castiel freezes. When he looks over, the omega is pinning Castiel in place with a firm look as he stands by the stove. It’s Dean’s determination to meet his gaze more than anything that tells him this is serious.
He falters, just a little, but Dean clearly catches it. His gaze doesn’t waver as Castiel slowly turns off the stove, as he considers his words. “I… I’m not sure, exactly. I suppose I originally didn’t think you would believe me, and frankly, it makes no difference. I’m no more important than the other people on my staff – in fact, I contribute significantly less than most of them.”
Dean’s jaw tightens. He looks away. There are any number of questions Dean could ask him now, each of which presents its own set of dangers. He resolves to be as honest as possible, but he’s terrified.
“Is every slave you’ve had as fucked up as me?”
The words are cold. Castiel studies Dean for a long time, until the omega looks back up at him – his expression is fierce, but Castiel can see the hurt there, too.
“You’re the first that I’ve personally fostered, Dean. I thought that would be obvious, judging by the poor way I’ve handled your situation so far.”
Rather than being reassured by that information, Dean seems even more distressed. He swallows, looking down and away.
“I apologize for not being more transparent,” Castiel says eventually. Because he is sorry. Over and over again, he seems to do the wrong thing, to make the wrong choice. And once again, his lack of competence has affected Dean negatively.
Dean shakes his head, dismissing his apology like he has a few times before, as though he thinks it’s ridiculous that Castiel is even offering it. His shoulders are tight. So are his hands, twisted into the pillow.
“Your case,” Castiel adds eventually, “was unprecedented. I’ve never… we’ve never done something like this,” he says helplessly. He abandons the stove and sits down in front of Dean, a good few feet away to give him the space he probably wants. “I know that this arrangement must feel unfair.”
It is, of course. All the other residents are housed in a place that gives them help 24/7, from people who are well trained. And each of them are owned by his company, not really by him personally – which means that he rarely interacts with them at all before they earn their freedom, and oftentimes not even after that. Even the overflow cases they’ve had recently at least get the benefit of being housed with beta and omega staff members.
Dean is the only one that has ended up stuck with an alpha. Stuck with him.
Dean’s eyes are closed when Castiel dares to look. “Yeah,” he says quietly, and it hurts to hear even if it’s true. He starts to tell Dean about the center, about how there will likely soon be an opening for him, but the omega doesn’t give him a chance.
“I’m just… I just don’t get why the hell you’d pick me,” he says, gesturing to himself with a desperate sort of confusion.
Castiel wants more than anything to reach forward and take Dean’s hand. He clenches his fists in his lap instead. “I told you, our scouter found your file–”
“But that doesn’t make sense!” Dean insists, his voice strained. “You run an organization that fixes slaves, and you pick a slave that can’t be fixed to be yours, to stay in your house and be your little – your pet project, or whatever, when you could have picked literally anyone else –”
He can’t help it – he leans forward and shakes his head and is only distantly gratified when Dean doesn’t flinch back. “Dean, you are not a project. You are not a hobby. You are a living, breathing man who deserved to be saved long before I bought you.”
Dean doesn’t look him in the eye. He tightens his hold around the pillow, self-soothing. “But of all the slaves around, all the ones that could actually be fixed, you bought… me.” His gaze is hollow. “Unfixable.”
That isn’t even remotely true. Dean has made leaps and bounds in just the short time that he’s been here, blooming like a flower under his own sun. But that isn’t really something he can make Dean believe, not yet. All he can do is help him understand his own motivations.
Castiel lays out a hand next to the pillow. Dean blinks up at him, his face raw with emotion.
“I didn’t buy you to fix you. I bought you so that you could have a better life, in whatever form that takes. The progress you have already made is your progress, not mine. All I want to do is provide you with a safe place to heal.”
Dean swallows. He doesn’t take Castiel’s hand right away – he starts to, and then draws back, his fingers curling into his palm. He closes his eyes, and Castiel can tell that tears try and press out; Dean swats them angrily away. “I ain’t salvageable, Cas. I can’t be what you want me to be. You have to see that.”
“I don’t need you to be anything, Dean.” He’ll say it as many times as the omega needs to hear it.
“But…” Dean bites his lip. “I want to be right for you.”
Guilt nearly drowns him. He’s tried so hard to make Dean feel safe, but this is damning evidence that he’s utterly failed. If Dean still feels like he needs to prove his worth to be here, Castiel is doing an awful job at providing the security that he so desperately needs.
Dean should not have to suffer here with him simply because Castiel has developed a… a possessive streak. It’s barbaric. And it’s cruel.
“I know I’ve made mistakes,” Castiel forces himself to say, before he can lose his nerve. He starts to back up, to give Dean more space like he wants. “And I promise that as soon as there’s room at the facility, you won’t have to be here with me anym–”
He can’t even finish the thought before Dean’s eyes snap open. “You’ve made – you think I’m upset over that?” he asks, incredulous, and Castiel is too flabbergasted to respond – especially when Dean grabs his wrist to keep him from moving any further. “God, no. No. This is… Jesus, I mean, this is better than I ever thought I’d get. This is fucking paradise,” he says emphatically, leaning forward and gesturing to the room around him, and then to Castiel himself. “You… Cas.” He’s shaking his head. He’s laughing. “You saved my life.”
He looks as stunned by his own words as Castiel feels, and he blinks, his cheeks flushing red with self consciousness. But he doesn’t backtrack. He simply looks down at his hand on Castiel’s arm, as if he’s surprised that it’s there. Softer, but with no less conviction, he adds, “I don’t wanna go anywhere else. Not ever.”
It’s hard to speak past whatever is squeezing his throat. When he does open his mouth, he realizes that he can’t find the words to express how much that means to him, and at the same time how scared he is that Dean feels so strongly. How scared he is that those feelings are not even real, and are the product of some hormonal drive that neither of them can really control.
“Dean…” And, God, Dean looks up at him with those big green eyes, wide and scared. He doesn’t want to ruin this – but he can’t stop now. Can’t let Dean make this decision uninformed. “Balthazar pointed out to me that it’s very likely we’ve...”
He falters, the words stuck in his throat. His voice sounds awful – robotic, almost. The same tone that he’s been sneered at for countless times – the emotionless, static sound of his inability to deal with himself or what he’s feeling. “It’s very likely that we’ve scent bonded.”
Dean doesn’t jerk his hand away as if burned, doesn’t back up or hide. Doesn’t flinch. He just stares at Castiel, waiting, as if what he’s said doesn’t spell the end of everything. In fact, he relaxes, relieved. “Well… yeah. I knew that.” He pauses. “I mean, I didn’t really know what to call it. But that sounds right.”
“Do you… do you know what that means?” Castiel asks tentatively, sure that he must not. Otherwise he would be more upset, would feel more violated.
A blush spreads slowly across his cheeks – Dean is nervous about something, clearly. And even though he’s kicking himself for this bond, Castiel is glad that he can sniff out that Dean is merely embarrassed – not ashamed.
Dean’s hand is still warm around his wrist – he hasn’t pulled away.
“Just means I trust you, Cas.”
Castiel finds himself blinking rapidly, finds that his eyes suddenly sting. He finally reaches out and holds Dean’s hand in turn, cupping his palm between his own. Dean says it so easily, an edge of self-conscious laughter in his voice – he clearly sees nothing wrong with what Castiel has done, other than that it seems to embarrass him. The intensity of the hope inside him is shocking, but he can’t assume Dean truly understands.
“It…” he clears his throat. “It strengthens our emotional… tether. Meaning that you can sense my mood swings much more clearly than you could otherwise.” He looks up. “I can also sense yours,” he says carefully, watching Dean’s face for any sort of reaction. “And our moods affect each other.”
Dean just gives him a puzzled look, as though he’s not sure why Castiel is so upset. “I mean… yeah? I’d be crawling the walls right now, otherwise,” he half jokes, but when Castiel stares at him blankly he grows a little more insistent. “You calm me down. Like, all the time. So I ain’t exactly complainin’.”
He gives Castiel a rueful smile, apparently unaware that he’s completely tilted the world on its axis. “I’m sure it’s no fun for you, though. I didn’t realize it was a two-way street, but that makes sense. Explains why it looks like you want to tear through bricks every time I get scared.”
Castiel is fairly certain he’d feel that way regardless, but he lets out a relieved huff of laughter anyway.
Dean suddenly hesitates. He swallows, then speaks slowly, his eyes still down on their hands. “But I mean if – if you don’t want that,” he offers timidly, “I get it. I must be a pain in the ass for you – makes sense if you want me to go there. I’m so–”
“Dean,” Castiel interrupts quickly, horrified that Dean would think anything of the sort. “Please don't misunderstand. I very much want you here.”
He doesn’t realize what he’s said until Dean’s eyes flick up to his, pupils large and round in the gentle morning light. And it hadn’t been what he meant to say – he’d meant to give Dean the choice, meant to keep himself in check so the man would tell him what he wanted without fear of displeasing him. But now he can’t help but wonder if he’d been misguided to keep his feelings to himself for so long, because Dean lets out a choked, relieved sound, and his shoulders loosen, and he looks for all the world as if he’s about to cry.
“You want me to stay?” he checks, his voice shaky.
“Of course I do,” Castiel says, knowing suddenly that this is exactly what Dean needs to hear, knowing that this is what will make him feel safe. “Of course.”
Dean closes his eyes, and a shuddering exhale escapes him. And, driven by instinct – or perhaps just because he wants to – Castiel gathers Dean into his arms and pulls him close.
He goes slack against him, buries his face into Castiel’s shirt, and breathes easy.