36. When I'm Able To

Dean doesn’t really remember how they got here. He doesn’t remember getting in, doesn’t remember buckling his seat belt. He has no memory of Cas starting the car, or of them leaving the lot, or even of passing Meg and the guard shack. 

He feels like he blinks, and they’re halfway home. The road is flying past at a pace that is both far too fast and absurdly slow, and he feels sick watching the trees and the other cars slip past them. He wants to be home right now. Right now. But he also knows that this fragile silence between them will only last as long as this drive. 

Cas is tense. He can smell it – the alpha is all kinds of riled up, guilty and nervous and maybe even scared. He’s afraid to look over, because he doesn’t want Cas to be looking at him. Doesn’t want to face whatever judgement is in his eyes. 

None of his thoughts are connecting. He knows he’s freaking out – he’s familiar with this feeling of detached panic, familiar with the idea that he’s not going to be able to control what happens to him. He wants to process his emotions. He really does. But it feels like every time he reaches for a thought, it darts away just before he can close his fist around it. 

It’s really fucking frustrating, because Dean would love to be able to calm down. One shaking hand comes up to wipe at his face, and he resists the urge to leave it there so he can hide from the world like a child. 

Free. 

Even the word makes his heart rate skyrocket, and he can feel Cas growing ever more agitated beside him. He closes his eyes, swallows convulsively around the panic in his chest. 

Cas wants to free him. 

The choice Dean made when he was just a dumb, scared kid, a choice he thought would never, ever be reversed – a choice that he thought he had come to terms with a long time ago – that’s something Cas has the power to make null and void. That’s something he wants to make null and void. Because of course he does, of course he does; Cas is too good of a person to want to do anything less. 

He’s known Cas well enough to understand that for a while, now, and Dean hates himself for never being brave enough to acknowledge it. Hates himself for being, somehow, disappointed. 

Because, really, Dean should be happy. 

That thought lands like a boulder in a lake. God, he should be happy. Of course he should – hadn’t he wished for freedom? Hadn’t he curled up in his stupid little cage after a few measly days of separation from his brother and his dad and everthing he’d ever known, sobbing and begging like a fucking baby because he wanted to go back so badly? Hadn’t he dreamed of a day when he could return to the way things used to be, to the way his life was, once upon a time, all while master after master had used and abused him? Hadn’t he spent what little time he had away from Alastair and his customers in a fantasy world, where there was no collar around his neck, no pain, nothing but sunshine and open roads and his family by his side?

He had. Of course he had – he was too weak not to. 

The thing is, though, that he never actually believed it would happen. Not for real.

It had always been one of those thoughts he kept at bay, one of those hopes he ripped up like a weed any time it dared to sprout. He couldn’t afford to let that thought grow roots, couldn’t afford to let it take up any space in his mind – he knew it would have killed him, wanting that. Knew he wouldn’t have made it through a week of nights, if he’d spent his days thinking he was going to be rescued. 

He’d had the odd delusion. Fantasized, once or twice, with a desperation that bordered on hysteria. His dad hunting him down, stealing him away. Bobby picking him up from the cold, hard floor, hugging him tightly, taking him home. But those thoughts had always come when he’d been at the lowest of the low, when he had nothing else to cling to except the delusion that it might, one day, be over. And once he’d managed to sweep and tape together the shattered pieces of himself – once he’d clawed his way back into sanity – he’d always pushed that kind of thought back into the ugly little box it’d come out of, and locked it tight. 

Dean has always known that there was only one way he’d escape. And it wasn’t by running, or by rescue. 

And then, of course, Cas had come along. 

There’s a reason it had taken Dean so long to believe that the man was genuine. A hope like that, like what Cas was giving him… If he’d allowed himself to believe it, only to watch it get snatched away, it would have destroyed him. So of course he’d denied it, of course he’d invented and clung to every possible explanation aside from the simplest: That Cas had rescued him because he genuinely thought it was the right thing to do. 

A few months ago, Dean would never have believed that. But, really, he should have. After all, the alpha has been protecting him from the moment he laid eyes on him. Not thirty seconds after they’d met, Cas had stood between him and the people who made his life a living hell, his teeth bared and his hands curled into fists. It had been bewildering, so opposite of his expectations that he’d been sick with fear and confusion. 

But back then, of course, Dean had hardly been able to wrap his mind around even the smallest of kindnesses. When the strange new alpha had unlocked his handcuffs and helped him to his feet instead of kicking him till he managed to crawl, he’d thought he was dreaming.

And, since then, Cas has fed him, housed him, sheltered him. He has advocated for him, fought for him, stood up for him. Cas has drawn blood for him. He’s protected Dean from anyone and anything who sought to do him harm; he’s even protected Dean from Dean himself. It shouldn’t have been a huge leap of logic for Dean to consider that the alpha couldn’t actually want to keep him, after all that. He should have expected that from the fucking start. 

But he hadn’t. He hadn’t. Because, deep, deep down, Dean knows something ugly about himself. 

He wants to belong to Cas. 

If he had a shred of pride or shame left inside himself, he would have opened the car door and jumped out as soon as he let himself acknowledge it. But Dean’s too much of a coward for even that; so, instead, he’s going to sit here and hate himself. Because his first, knee jerk reaction to Cas offering him the ultimate gift – his own freedom – was not relief, or gratitude, or joy. 

It was despair. 

His first thought should have been of what came next. It should have been wild plans to find Sam, plans to hunt down Bobby, plans to hug his gruff uncle and kid brother until neither of them could breathe. It should have been wild daydreams about owning his own car, getting a license, getting a job, making his own decisions; should have been ecstatic joy at the thought of never having to listen to another order and never having to wear another collar or chain. 

Instead, he feels hurt. He almost feels betrayed. Because Dean really had believed, for a while there, that he would be spending the rest of his life with Cas. And he’d been okay with that. 

Shit, he’d been more than okay with that. He’d been fucking excited. 

And what the fuck does that say about him? What does it say about him, that he’d rather be the man’s pet forever than live a free life without him? Dean doesn’t understand why he feels this way, only that he does – and that it makes him exactly the bitch that everyone told him he was. 

He can’t help himself, now; Dean curls up right there in the passenger seat. He draws his knees to his chest, presses his forehead to his legs, and tries to keep himself calm so that Cas won’t crash the damn car. 

“I’m sorry I kept it from you,” Cas offers, his voice wrecked and quiet. “I shouldn’t have. I know I shouldn’t have.”

Dean wants to laugh. He really does. Because everything alive inside of him wishes that Cas had kept this to himself for the rest of their natural lives. “Any other secrets like that you wanna lay on me?” he demands, nearly hysterical, miserable and overwhelmed and wishing, more than anything, that he could reverse this day and never let it happen. “Might as well knock everything out at once, right Cas? One and done?”

He means for it to be irreverent. Means to try and take the edge off of his hysteria by making light of the situation. Except…

Cas’s scent goes five times darker. The smell of his guilt is so overwhelming that Dean, on instinct, wants to roll down the window – he snaps his head over to stare at him instead. 

The alpha, stricken, is chewing on his lip, staring out at the road ahead of them. And right there and then, Dean knows he’s about to drop another bomb, is about to rock Dean’s world again. And he doesn’t know if he can take it. 

“Don’t,” he chokes, holding up his hand. He feels sick. “Please, God. Please don’t tell me there actually is something else. I can’t take another fucking thing right now, okay? So tell me that the goddamn guilty look on your face doesn’t mean anything.”

Castiel takes in a long, shaking breath. His hands are tight around the steering wheel. White knuckled. Dean has no idea what could make the alpha look like that – like he’s certain whatever he’s going to say is going to make Dean hate him. 

At this point, Dean doesn’t think there’s a damn thing Cas could do to make him do that. And isn’t that fucked up. 

“What?!” he bursts out, feeling whatever hold he had on himself fray and then snap, the weight of everything finally landing on top of him. “What, Cas?”

The alpha takes a deep breath. He carefully does not look at Dean. 

“What do you know about the Morningstar family?”

When they finally pull into the garage, Dean does not wait for him to stop the car fully before he is out. He leaves the door open, in his hurry to get away from him – leaves the garage door open too. 

Castiel sits in the driver seat, gripping the wheel, and tries desperately not to cry. 

He hadn’t been able to tell Dean any details. The omega hadn’t let him. As soon as he’d heard that name, he’d shaken his head, curled his hands over his head. He’d literally whined, so overwhelmed and anxious that it had been all Cas could do to not stop the car and come around to the passenger side and scent him. 

His stomach churns. It had been too much to tell Dean about his family on top of everything else. He shouldn’t have, but Dean had asked, and Castiel has never had a poker face that’s worth a damn. And he owes Dean the truth, now more than ever. He doesn’t want there to be any lies between them. 

It’s not exactly a secret that they hold the patent for the GPS chips in slave collars in the States and beyond – isn’t a secret that they’ve worked to make those all but mandatory. It isn’t a secret that they maintain private access to the database those chips are connected to, either, though it’s supposed to be government controlled these days.  

His father had done all he could to popularize the chips in the trade, and he’d been so good at it that they’d become standard government issue. Every collar that goes around a new slave’s neck is another drop in his family’s immense wealth – so, of course, many of their resources are poured into making sure the trade never ends. Into making sure that every slave that runs gets caught. 

Castiel had known, growing up. Of course he had – how could he not, as the son of one of the wealthiest people in America? He’d known his distant father was in the business of slavery, known exactly how he made his money. And of course, as a child, he hadn’t really cared. There’d been no slaves where he was raised – only paid employees to clean and cook and raise him. So it had been a distant problem, something that he knew, in the back of his mind, was wrong, but didn’t care much about because it hadn’t affected him.

It wasn’t until Castiel had grown into a young man that he’d seen what life was like, for people with that chip in their collar. Wasn’t until he’d stopped receiving his education from tutors and started going to college that he saw what his family had a hand in creating and perpetuating. 

He’d been, to put it lightly, horrified. 

And when Michael had come to him – had tried to pull him into the family business, tried to make him a partner in place of Gabriel, who had, after their father’s funeral and all that had followed, disappeared off the face of the planet… Castiel had disappeared too. He’d taken his share of the inheritance, and cut ties. Changed his last name, hidden his identity, and made sure his brothers would not come for him again. 

He ran like a coward, rather than stay and try and change what he could from the inside.

He hasn’t spoken to Michael or Lucifer since then, and he likes it that way. Gabriel had come out of the woodwork, once he’d been sure Michael wasn't going to hunt him down, and they’ve talked infrequently through the years. And as Castiel and Balthazar had grown closer, he’d realized he could actually do something with the blood money he’d been sitting on, and together, they’d opened the center. 

But Castiel isn’t foolish enough to believe what he’s done for the last few years is enough to make up for a lifetime of ignorance, and choosing to do nothing at all when he could have made all the difference in the world.  

How many times had Dean run, only to be caught and returned again because of the very technology his family had created?

He takes in a breath, laying his head on the wheel. The car is rapidly getting colder, and his breath puffs out of him in a little cloud of mist. He doesn’t know what he thought would happen, after telling Dean. Doesn’t know how he thought Dean might forgive him for this. 

Eventually, he has to go inside. The omega is nowhere to be found, but Castiel isn’t about to chase him down. The man is entitled to his privacy, to his space, and Castiel doesn’t want to violate it. 

It occurs to him that Dean might not even want to stay here at all, even for the short time it will take for him to gain his freedom. He feels awful for not considering that earlier – for assuming he would want to spend any time here that he doesn’t have to. After seeing the center, after learning what he has learned, he surely wouldn’t want to be here. 

Hands shaking, he closes the door to his office and dials Balthazar’s number. 

His friends answers the phone quickly, already harried. “Goddamn – that kid Kevin already told me what happened. Came running in here, crying his confessions out like I was his bloody priest. Where the hell did you run off to? I was going to corner Winchester and start trying to convince him to see Benjamin–”

“Are there any open spots on campus?”

Balthazar is quiet for a good ten seconds. Then, he swears, his hand slamming down loudly on his desk.

“He – he asked if there was anything else I was keeping from him. I couldn’t lie to him, not again–”

Balthazar groans. “Christ in heaven, Cassie, you couldn’t give the kid thirty seconds to breathe?”

“He deserved to know,” he insists, heart in his throat. “I can’t keep things from him. He deserves better.”

“No one’s arguing with that, but maybe you could have waited a good twenty-four?” he snaps, irritated. “Where is he now?”

Castiel closes his eyes, bowing his head. “I don’t know. Probably in his room. He didn’t want to be, um. Anywhere near me.”

His voice has gone quiet, by now, and he knows he sounds like he’s about to cry. Probably because he is. Balthazar must hear that too, because he goes quiet for a moment, and when he talks again his voice is much, much softer. 

“He didn’t take it well?”

“Well, he… he didn’t let me say much of anything,” Castiel admits, wiping at his nose. “But he knows who they are, Bal. How could he want to have anything to do with me?”

Balthazar scoffs. “Oh, I don’t know, Cassie. Maybe because he knows you have no control over them? Maybe because he sees you’re doing everything you can to negate what those bastards are doing?”

“But–”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Balthazar snaps. “Don’t assume you know what he’s feeling, for once. Did you even bloody ask him?”

“Well, no, but he–”

“That’s it.” His friend’s tone books no room for argument – he sounds fed up. Exasperated. “I’m going to come over there first thing tomorrow morning. We are going to sit down,” he threatens, “and talk. And neither one of you have a choice about that, you understand me?”

Castiel’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He clears his throat. “Balthazar, he basically bolted out of the car before it even stopped rolling. I don’t think he wants to talk.”

“Well, that’s just too bad,” Balthazar snaps. “If he’s really upset with you over something you can’t even control, he needs to have some sense knocked into him.”

Appreciation for Balthazar’s fierce loyalty and fear for Dean war inside of him. On the one hand, it is nice to be defended. On the other, he knows that he doesn’t deserve it. 

“He has a right,” he says quietly. “You know he does. He’s… suffered. Because of them.”

“And I haven’t?” Balthazar growls, his voice deadly serious. “If I can bloody forgive you, he sure as hell can. And you don’t even know what’s going through his head anyway, you daft git.” 

Castiel swallows, but Balthazar doesn’t ease up. “I will see you. Tomorrow. Please, for the love of God, don’t do anything stupid beforehand, alright? Give the kid time to breathe. To get his head screwed on straight.”

He takes a breath. No matter what he says, he knows that he’s not going to convince Balthazar to stay away. When the man decides he’s going to do something, there isn’t a damn thing any of them can do to stop it. “Okay.”

“Good,” Bal says gruffly. “Fine. Eat something. And get some bloody sleep.”

The demands, harshly snapped, do nothing to change the flickering warmth in Castiel’s stomach. Balthazar cares for him – that is unchanged, no matter how irritated he becomes. “I will,” he says softly, and Bal makes a gruff, approving noise before hanging up. 

For the first time, Dean locks the door behind him when he shuts it. 

He’s never been brave enough to use the little lock on his bedroom door. At first, it was because he thought it was pointless – of course Cas would have a key. Then, he thought that he might get in trouble for daring to use it. And, lately, he’d trusted Cas enough to have no reason to use it. 

But now, he clicks the thing over to the side and presses his forehead to the door. A quick jiggle on the knob confirms that it actually does work. That shouldn’t surprise him, at this point. 

Cas ain’t exactly pounding up the stairs after him, so he’s not sure why he bothers. He doesn’t actually think the alpha will intrude if Dean tells him he isn’t welcome. But something inside of him wants that extra blanket of security, right now. Something inside of him needs it. 

Hands shaking, he slides the covers off of his bed on the floor and tosses them on the ground. Feeling more than a little insane, he grunts and strains and lifts the mattress off the floor until it’s tipped up against the wall, ignoring the sharp pain in his knee. Now, there’s a little lean-to against the wall, just enough space for him to crawl in and curl up. It’s pathetic, but he feels safer this way. More hidden. 

He closes his eyes. 

Morningstar. 

Of course Dean knows the name. Every slave knows that name. They’re the reason none of them can escape, the reason slaves don’t generally try and run away at all. The microchip that was inside of his collar – the one Alastair used to hunt him down and drag him back to Hell – is produced, sold, and regulated by them. 

And Cas was a Morningstar.

He’d connected the dots as soon as Cas had said the name. It made perfect sense, after all. Cas has all this money, all this influence – that doesn’t come from nowhere. Neither does the hatred he’d seen in the man’s eyes when speaking of his family. The guilt in his scent. The disgust he holds for bullies, for people who take advantage of people like Dean. 

Not sure what’s possessing him to do so – not sure why he wants things to hurt more than they already do – Dean takes his phone out with trembling hands and shakily taps in the name. A Wikipedia article pops up instantly, and, heart in his throat, Dean clicks it. He’s not sure what he’s hoping to find on the page, simply entitled Morningstar Incorporated.  

He scrolls past the company information – the products they sell, the lobbyist and political action committees they fund, the contracts they hold. The services they provide. He knows all of that already. He’s been watching people use their services since he was fourteen; his Dad, on a drunken ramble, had let it slip that he was hunting slaves using their GPS tracking data. Dean’s good and familiar with what the Morningstars do – he’s just not sure who they are. 

Identical in nearly every way, it is only their contrasting styles that set the eldest two brothers – co-CEOs – apart. Michael wears a sensible black suit in most of his pictures, while Lucifer sports flashier outfits. Whites and reds and blues. They are alpha in every way imaginable, and Dean shudders just looking at their cold, sharklike smiles. He does not, at all, see even a passing resemblance between them and Cas. Nor does he see the resemblance between him and his late father, dead nearly a decade ago now.  

The younger brother – Gabriel – has fewer photos. Their junior by a few years, the man’s face is softer, somehow less cold. Most of the photos on the page have him with a drink in hand at some event or another, wearing a flashy shirt and a shit-eating grin. He’s a beta, and Dean thinks that might be part of the reason that the shorter bio of him ends with an abrupt estrangement from the company. Apparently, Castiel isn’t the only black sheep. 

Cas himself is just a footnote at the bottom of the section about the family. Castiel Morningstar is a confirmed half-sibling of the Morningstar trio. He is not active in the company. 

And that’s it. Nothing else. 

Dean can figure out the rest. If what Cas said was true, he wasn’t raised like his siblings. It isn’t that hard to believe that someone like his alpha would have a stronger moral compass than the rest of this fucked up family – and it also isn’t that hard to believe that he wouldn’t want to have anything to do with them. Dean’s not exactly surprised he’d change his name and deny any relation to just to escape being lumped in with people like that.

He feels his heart twist in his chest. How awful must it have been, to grow up alone, and then to find out the only family you had was supporting and upholding a system that made livestock out of humans? Dean was alone because he had no other choice, but Cas… he’s going without his kin just because he decided he had to. 

And what a difficult choice it must have been. Nothing is more important to Dean than family, and he imagines that, no matter how fucked up they might be, it would be hard to do. 

Dean’s not an idiot. He knows that Cas is carrying around guilt for something that has nothing to do with him, knows that the alpha is trying to shoulder the responsibility of fixing what his brothers are so gleefully and skillfully breaking. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that the alpha wants to erase sins of his kin, one slave at a time. 

And that’s what it boils down to, isn’t it? Cas is doing the right damn thing. Any way you slice it, the alpha is morally, spiritually, and fundamentally righteous. Dean isn’t too far gone to know that human beings were not meant to be owned, isn’t too far gone to know that the work Cas and his crew are doing is noble and good. 

His first wild, pathetic thought had been to beg. To plead with Cas to keep him, even though he doesn’t want to. But he can’t do that – especially not now. It is the antithesis of everything Cas believes in, and asking that of him wouldn’t be fucking fair. He understands, now, where so many of Cas’s fears come from, understands that he’s terrified of becoming his family. Keeping Dean – even if Dean wants to be kept – is probably Castiel’s worst nightmare. 

Dean can’t ask him to disregard everything he believes in just for him. He’s going to have to get it together, because if Cas doesn’t free him… he’s never going to be happy. And he doesn’t deserve to have to take care of Dean for the rest of their lives.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Dean curls tighter into himself. The thick mattress and the blankets make it so that all he can hear is his own stupid, weak sniffling and hitching breath. 

He doesn’t want to leave. He doesn’t want to leave. 

God, he loves Cas. 

That has been the other big realization of the day – why not add one more, right? But this one hadn’t hit with nearly the same weight. Dean has known for a long time that he trusts Cas with his life, has known for a long time that he will do just about anything for this strange, kind alpha. And for Dean, loyalty is not far from love anyway. 

Still, it had taken this – the realization that he will not actually get to keep what he has found – to make him realize it. He loves Cas. Loves him so fucking much that it hurts. 

And how could he not? How could he not love a man with so much kindness and goodness inside of him? How could he not love him all the more, knowing where he came from, knowing what he had the potential to become and being himself anyway? Dean is so far gone for this man that it’s not even funny. 

But. 

Cas can’t feel that way about him. He can’t. Because Dean is just his slave, and he’s going to stay that way until he can man up and start chasing his own freedom. And even when he has it – and he has no doubt that he will, has no doubt that Cas won’t stop until he does – he knows he won’t ever be good enough for this man. 

People don’t fall in love with broken things like Dean. Pity, sure. Sympathy. Maybe even friendship, of a sort – or at least an accidental scent bond. But not love.

He feels his lips turn up in a bitter smile. It would be just his luck, to fall ass over tea kettle for a man who is never going to be able to feel the same. But he guesses that’s okay. Dean’s kind of used to this – to loving people more than they’re ever gonna love him. 

And if there’s one thing Dean’s good at, it’s sacrificing what he wants for the people in his heart. 

Nausea dissuades Castiel from keeping his first promise to Balthazar, and insomnia keeps him from the second. 

It’s close to four, by the time he gives up on rest completely and wanders out of his room. He trudges to the kitchen, pours himself a glass of water. Stands over the sink and stares down into it blankly, thoughts whirring back and forth in his head on the same hamster wheel they’ve been on all night long. 

Dean, it turns out, isn’t sleeping either.  

The back porch is the last place Castiel expected him to be – it is still quite cold, and dark, and Dean has never shown any inclination to go outside before now. So it shocks him, when he looks up and catches sight of the omega sitting on the first step down, hunched in on himself with Castiel’s jacket still around his shoulders. 

His first instinct, of course, is to rush out there and usher him inside. To gently chastise him for sitting out in the cold. To warm him up, to make him drink soothing tea, to scent away his distress. But Dean is going to be free, soon – Dean needs to be able to make his own choices.  

And Dean knows who he is, now. Knows the blood that’s on his hands.

So, instead, he picks up a blanket and goes outside to join him, hoping like hell he won’t be turned away. 

The omega’s shoulders cinch together when Castiel drapes the blanket over them, but it’s only a moment before he relaxes and hitches the quilt around himself more firmly, shivering a little. He doesn’t look up, still lost in his own thoughts. And, ignoring the urge to fill the air with reassurances and soothing words, he lets the silence reign. 

“How long?”

The question is flat. Emotionless. It sounds so dead, so opposite of the vibrancy that he has come to know from Dean, that it sets off all his alarm bells. 

“What do you mean, how long?”

Dean takes a slow, deep breath, like he’s holding himself together by the barest of threads. “How. Long,” he repeats, still not looking at Castiel, a muscle twitching in his jaw, “do I have left. With you. Here.”

He reminds himself that that question should not hurt. Reminds himself that Dean has gone over a decade without the faintest glimmer of hope for freedom – of course he’d be eager to leave, now that it’s in sight. Of course he wouldn’t want to be around Castiel, knowing what he now knows about his family, about who Castiel came from. 

But, no matter how much he tries to pretend otherwise, it does hurt. Because he never wants to lose Dean. Deep down, he knows that there is something ugly inside of him, something that whispers to him that the only way Dean will ever stay is if he has no other choice. He can ignore that voice – is ignoring that voice – but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s there. It’s all the more proof that Dean needs his freedom, he knows. 

So he pushes away the agony at the thought of a Dean-shaped hole in his life, and clears his throat. “Once we start the process, it usually takes a few months at the very least. There’s all kinds of tests you’ll need to pass, evaluations you’ll need to score highly on.” 

Dean doesn’t react to that. There’s no spark of curiosity, no stubborn glint in his eye when he’s presented with a challenge. He just looks pale. Haggard. “A few months,” he repeats blankly. He stares out into the dark yard, his breath slowly clouding around him. “That’s it, huh?”

Castiel’s stomach hurts. “I know it seems like a long time,” he offers, not sure what else to say. 

Dean just laughs – a short, strangled sounding noise that makes him want to hide from this forever. “I know, Dean. But it will go by faster than you think, and then you’ll be free.”

Dean still won’t look at him. “Free.” He repeats it like it’s something foreign, an unfamiliar word in an unfamiliar language. Castiel understands that – he’s sure the man is still wrapping his head around it. Is still feeling a little intimidated by it. Even if he no longer wants to be with Castiel… Dean, he’s sure, would not want to be all alone.

Tentative, he reaches out to touch his hand. “We… If you wanted to. I could try and find Sam, or–”

“Don’t.”

Dean is sure staring at him now. The blood has drained from his face, his eyes are wide. He looks terrified. He snatches his hand away from Castiel’s touch, shaking his head. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

He feels like he just swallowed glass. This rejection stings, even though he knows he deserves it. “I… I’m sorry, Dean. I won’t.”

Dean just stares at him, his eyes wet in the dim light from the window. “I can’t –” He shudders, closing his eyes again. Turning away. “I can’t.” 

Swallowing, he pulls his hand away, tucking it into his lap. It is the opposite of everything his body is screaming at him to do, but he does it anyway, because that’s what Dean wants. 

The omega takes a breath. Presses his palms to his eyes, mouth trembling. “I’m – I’m just not ready for that. Sorry. I know that’s… I know I’m a fucking coward. But I can’t…” 

“Dean,” he forces out. “That’s not cowardly. I understand.” And he does, even if he wishes it were different. Perhaps, in Dean’s place, he wouldn’t want to touch Castiel either. 

Dean half laughs – a bitter sound. “I guess you do. You have a good reason, though. I’m just a pussy. I can’t – I don’t want to face him like this, you know?”

Frowning, Castiel cocks his head to the side. It occurs to him, much later than it should have, that he’s missing something crucial here. “Are you… do you mean your brother?”

Dean scoffs. “Yeah, Cas. I don’t want him to see me like this.”

“Like what?”

Dean snarls at him, though there’s much more hurt and frustration in the look than anger. He gestures at himself, hunched over on the stairs, eyes wet. Glares out at the yard with self hatred in his eyes. 

Slowly, it starts to sink in that Dean is not, somehow, adverse to his touch. He’s upset about the thought of contacting his family. And that’s so unexpected that Castiel has no idea what to do with it.

“You believe he would be ashamed of you?” he asks slowly. Dean flinches like he’s been slapped. 

“Of course he would,” he whispers. “How could he not be? Last time I saw him, I was his bigger, older brother, I beat up his bullies, I took care of him–” He shakes his head, a tear streaking down his cheek that he angrily wipes to the side. “And now, I’m sitting out in the cold because I can’t even sleep alone. I’m so scared to be free that it’s making me sick. And, every other fucking minute, I’m crying like a little bitch over something that no one even cares about.” He scoffs, voice thick with tears. “So, yeah. I’m sure he’d be so glad to see me.” 

Castiel’s chest aches at the pain in the air, aches at the scent of Dean’s shame. “I should have looked him up the instant you took off my collar,” Dean whispers, shaking his head. “Should'a… should'a run away the first chance I got.”

“If it’s any consolation,” Castiel says quietly, “I’m very glad you didn’t.”

Dean scoffs at that, shaking his head with an angry laugh. “Maybe if I had, you wouldn’t have to deal with this. Deal with me.” His face screws up as he speaks, as he presses his fist to his chest. “I – I know you want me to be free, Cas. And I’m gonna – I’m gonna try. I know I’m being a real bitch about it, but I will. Because, God. You really, really don’t deserve to have to live with this anymore.” 

He shakes his head, a wry smile on his face that cuts like glass. “You’re too good to have to deal with me, man.”

And suddenly, Castiel can’t quite keep himself in check anymore. He breaks the promise he made to himself moments ago and reaches out to touch Dean, his hand landing on the man’s shoulder. And Dean doesn’t flinch – doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t smell scared in the slightest. In fact, he leans into the touch.  

Castiel, with a clarity that is almost painful, understands that he’s gotten this all wrong. 

“You don’t think you deserve to be saved,” he murmurs, shocked at the realization, and knowing, immediately, that it is true. 

The wretched, broken expression on Dean’s face says it all. 

“Oh, Dean,” he says, and he comes closer. Wraps his arms around the trembling man next to him, holds him to his chest. And Dean only lasts a moment before he turns into him, burying his face into Castiel’s neck and hitching out a sob. 

“I care for you more than I can say. And you can stay here as long as you want to stay here,” he says, his voice wrecked from the tears he himself is holding back. God, he should have known this is how Dean would feel – should have known that, to the omega, freedom would only be another form of self sacrifice. 

He just hadn’t anticipated that Dean would want to be anywhere near him, given the choice to be somewhere else. 

“You have as long as you need,” he says, voice low, “to heal. I will never turn you away.”

“I can’t stay, Cas,” Dean mumbles into his shirt. “I’m – I’m like poison.”

Castiel laughs, something caught in his throat. “Poison. You know who I came from – what I come from – and you think you’re poison?”

But Dean just shakes his head, the simplicity of his words making them all the more impactful, shots to Castiel’s chest that feel so good they hurt. “You ain’t your family, Cas. You can’t blame yourself for the shit they’ve done.” He pauses. “I don’t blame you for it. You know that, right?”

Biting his lip, Castiel can only hold Dean closer. Can only bury his nose in Dean’s hair. “I know that now,” he manages, nearly choking on the words. 

Dean is quiet against him, at that. When he pulls back, his eyes and nose are red from the cold and from crying. He looks at Castiel like he’s putting together a puzzle with no picture on the box. “You… shit, Cas. You really thought I’d hate you, didn’t you?”

Castiel closes his eyes. “I’d hate me,” he says softly, and his voice only gets quieter when he admits, “I… hate me.”

Dean’s palm on his cheek makes his eyes fly open – makes his heart jump to his throat. He’s looking at Castiel with so much trust in his dark green eyes that it could kill him. “You shouldn’t.”

His eyes fill with tears so fast it’s like someone turned on the faucet, and Dean watches them drip down his face with a raw sort of sympathy. “I’m selfish, though,” he chokes, shaking his head. “Because, despite what you seem to think, I want you to stay here forever. Even if it is the worst possible thing for you.”

Dean’s palm is still warm on his face, but his voice catches in his throat. “Really?”

Castiel smiles, very tremulous and more than a little guilty. “I dislike what it says about me. But, yes. Very much so.”

“Even if I’m free? Even if I don’t have to be here?” Dean checks, voice shaking a little. 

“Even more so, then,” he confirms, and watches as disbelief and hope wage a war on Dean’s face. “I never wanted you to think that you had to stay just because I wished for it, and that is why it’s taken me so long to say so. But, Dean, if you’ll have me,” he says, palms up, hands spread wide, “You’ve got me. For however long you’ll stay.”

And Dean’s face crumples up, fresh tears falling from his eyes. He takes in a breath – a long, sharp gasp, like coming up for air. “I’d, um,” he says shakily, hands trembling. “I think I’d really, really like that, Cas. I’d like to stay.”

“Then you will,” Castiel says, and it’s the easiest promise he’s ever made.