41. Raised Me From the Pit

For the first time in a long time, Dean doesn’t wake up already on his knees. 

He shifts, scrunching his eyes closed a little tighter against the morning light as he slowly joins the living. He can hear the heater kicking off and on. Beyond that, faint birdsong outside the window. 

From right above him, he can also hear Cas’s soft, rhythmic snoring.

The alpha had slept right through the night on the couch – Dean had absolutely lied about waking him up. It had been nearly eight by the time Cas had given in, anyway, and Dean figured the alpha needed all the sleep he could get. 

Dean, for his part, had stayed up for a few more hours, reading through the first few chapters of the book he’d picked off the shelf. The novel had been familiar. He’d read it at some point during school. The characters had rung a bell, at least – Ponyboy and Darry, in particular. 

Dean had usually been too busy with real life problems to give a shit about schoolwork. But, reading through the thing last night, it had quickly become obvious to him why he’d latched onto this book and had actually bothered to read it.

Ponyboy – smart as a whip, still ignorant of how cruel the world was, and friendlier than he should have been – had of course reminded him so much of Sammy that he couldn’t help but love him immediately. Dean had rooted for the kid from the first few pages, and had been more invested in seeing that character’s happy ending than he’d ever been before. 

He’d wanted to see Darry’s happy ending, too. Even if the older brother had been harsh with his words, it had been crystal clear to Dean that he cared for his family. After all, he’d dropped out of school, picked up two jobs, and, with the few resources he’d had, did the best he could to protect and raise his kid brothers.

Anyway. Dean doesn’t exactly need an English degree to figure out why he’d liked that particular book so much. 

When his eyes had started to fall shut of their own accord, Dean had reluctantly bookmarked the novel and set it down on the coffee table to finish later, knowing that Cas would probably be thrilled to see him taking an interest. He’d gone up to his room, grabbed a blanket and his green pillow, and stared at his mattress for a grand total of thirty seconds. 

And then he’d come right back down the stairs, carrying both. 

The floor alongside the couch had been comfortable enough, tired as he was. Curled against the bottom of the sofa, inhaling Cas’s comforting scent, he’d drifted off in record time – fast enough that he hadn’t really had time to consider how the alpha might feel about waking up to Dean literally at his feet. 

Moving slowly, he stretches out his legs until his toes point forward, and takes in a deep breath. And, as he shifts, he realizes that there’s something warm and heavy draped over his back.

He smiles and opens his eyes. 

Cas’s messy hair is just poking over the couch. The alpha is sleeping on his chest, one arm hanging off the sofa and curled protectively around Dean’s shoulders; his touch warm, languid, and secure. The angle should be awkward, he thinks, but the alpha looks comfortable as hell. Dead to the world. 

After all these months, it’s the first time he’s gotten to wake up to Cas’s sleeping face.

Dean likes it. 

He likes it a lot. Probably more than he should. 

He figures that he should find a way to wriggle out of the situation that he’s found himself in – figures that it probably isn’t a good idea for Cas to find him like this. He knows the alpha doesn’t like it when he sleeps on the floor. But, just this once, Dean decides not to give in to the ever-present little voice in the back of his head that tells him how best to please. 

Instead, he keeps laying there, and keeps looking up at Cas, and keeps breathing slow and steady. Neither one of them, as far as he can tell, had woken up throughout the night. Not even once. And, sue him, Dean wants to enjoy that peace for a little while longer. 

So he stays. And as he waits, his thoughts drift. 

There is, of course, an element of self disgust in what he’s doing. He’s supposed to be working on staying on the furniture, and he decided to start that battle by… sleeping on the floor. He grimaces to himself, wondering what Benny would think about what he’s doing. Wondering if he’s supposed to tell the therapist things like this, if he’s somehow obligated to share every embarrassing thing he does. 

Probably. 

Dean swallows, thinking about the advice Benny had given him about the stupid cushion. He’d made it sound so fucking simple, to ask Cas for that, but of course it isn’t. Dean hates asking for things, hates being the recipient of charity even at the best of times – not that he hasn’t gotten a lifetime’s worth of charity out of Cas already. This is something that, in his opinion, he shouldn’t need at all. Something his dad would laugh at him for, in that harsh, brutal way of his; disappointment and anger wrapped into one deceptive sound that was usually followed by a backhand and a reminder to not be such a bitch. 

No matter how long he thinks about it, there’s not a single way he can come up with that doesn’t sound utterly pathetic. But he wants to get better. And Benny had said this would help. 

He’s torn from his thoughts when the alpha starts shifting. Dean can’t help but tense. He waits, breath held, as Cas’s breathing quickens, watches as he slowly wakes up. 

When the alpha's eyes finally flutter open, they are unfocused, soft. The bluest thing he’s ever seen. And instead of frowning like Dean thought he would, Cas smiles when he sees him. He's... pleased.  

Dean has just enough time to feel really, really good about that before the rest of Cas’s brain catches up with him. He blinks, his smile shifting into something closer to puzzlement. 

“You are... on the floor.” He squints, and adds, “And I’m... still on the couch?”

Dean winces guiltily. “Uh… yeah. Yep.”

Cas stares at him, his brow furrowed adorably. Slowly, his gaze travels down Dean’s back until it reaches his own arm – which, of course, is still wrapped comfortably around Dean’s shoulders. 

He freezes. And, to Dean’s delighted surprise, a dark blush blooms over his already sleep flushed cheeks. 

“When did- How long have I been...?” he asks, strangled, his tone edging a little closer to mortification with every word. 

Dean grins, relieved that Cas doesn’t seem to be upset with him. “Not sure,” he answers, wriggling till he’s a little more comfortable under the blankets and the alpha’s touch. Cas watches him with wide eyes, still frozen. “Didn’t exactly mind it, though.” 

Cas looks very awake now, and maybe a little panicked. He’s staring at his own arm as though he can’t believe it’s attached to him. Slowly, he pulls away, tucking his hand against his chest. He looks… bewildered. Almost shell shocked. 

Dean misses his touch instantly – he suppresses the urge to yank the alpha’s arm back down over him as though it’s his blanket and it’s too early on a Saturday morning. 

The alpha clears his throat. “I’m… sorry, Dean,” he finally manages, looking spooked. “That was… inappropriate.” 

Dean can’t help but roll his eyes at that, finally making himself sit up. The blanket pools around his hips. “Cas, I’ve fallen asleep in your lap. Like, multiple times. An arm around my shoulders ain’t exactly crossing my lines.” 

Cas seems to disagree, though – he turns his head away so he isn’t looking at Dean at all. Rubbing a hand through his dark, messy hair, he swallows, staring up at the ceiling. “But you chose to – um.” He stumbles over the words, blushing furiously and stammering before he manages to say, “To sleep on me. You did not choose to have me… spoon you.”

He bursts out laughing. God, if only Cas knew. Dean would cut off a finger – maybe two – to sleep with Cas curled around him every night for the rest of his life. “Dude. You weren’t friggin’ spooning me.”

Cas makes an incredulous noise, turning back to stare. “No? What would you call that, then?”

Dean shrugs, stretching his arms up and bending slightly back and forth. He’s… a little stiff. Seems like Cas might have had a point about sleeping on the floor – not that he’ll admit it. “I dunno. Besides,” he adds, smirking, “I woke up like an hour ago.”

Cas takes a second to digest that, but when he does, he relaxes considerably. “Ah. So… you really didn’t mind it?”

Dean scoffs. “Nah. I liked it.” 

Cas blinks a few times, his mouth forming a little circle. “Oh.”

Dean, realizing the significance of what he just said, finds himself feeling more than a little exposed. Especially because Cas looks fucking… baffled. Confused, Dean figures, as to how anyone could like something like that. He’s got a goddamn point – Dean really shouldn’t have been enjoying himself, should he? Being held like that while he slept, by an alpha, in a way that could be seen as possessive… it should have freaked him the hell out. 

It hadn’t, though. ‘Cause it was just Cas. 

Swallowing his hurt, Dean smiles again, hoping the expression isn’t as brittle as it feels. “Sorry for takin’ advantage, though. Kinda sounds like you didn’t like it all that much.”  

Cas’s eyebrows draw together. He finally sits up as well, frowning and leaning forward. “Of course I did, Dean. I reached out to you subconsciously, yes. But this morning, when I opened up my eyes and saw you, safe and sound, right there? I was…” 

He pauses. Blinks, as though he’s only just now realizing it himself. “I was content.”

It’s Dean’s turn to blush, apparently – he looks down at his lap to hide it. “I didn’t wake up one friggin’ time,” he admits quietly, fiddling with the hem of his pyjama pants. “Not one nightmare.”

“And I,” the alpha says, his tone softening, “Slept through the night, uninterrupted. I… cannot remember the last time that happened.”

Dean lets out a relieved little laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess we’d make pretty good roommates.” 

Cas’s expression wavers at that, some inscrutable indecision warring on his face – his mouth opens, but no sound comes out for half a beat. 

The implications of what Dean just said – what he basically just asked for – hit him like a train. He starts to backtrack, starts to try and erase the significance of his words, but Cas doesn’t give him a chance. 

“I should – breakfast,” he blurts, and by the time Dean blinks he’s already in the kitchen. 

Cas is so flustered that he doesn’t even notice when Dean trails in behind him and kneels down on the tile.

It hurts his knee, of course, but it’s not the sort of pain that’s unbearable – it’s healed enough to where Dean can almost completely ignore it. And right now, Dean needs something familiar. Needs something to remind him of his place. 

He keeps his eyes on his lap as Cas bumbles around, his hands fiddling subconsciously with the edge of his hoodie. He feels… small. Kinda stupid. He’s not sure what he’d been hoping for, saying that – did he really think Cas would jump at the idea? That he would be unfazed by the thought of sharing a room with Dean, when, day after day, he’s been extremely careful not to cross that boundary?

He doesn’t know why he thinks he deserves any of this. Why he’s acting like a little kid, crying to a parent about a bad dream. He hadn’t even done that as a child – he’s not sure why he thinks he can get away with it now. 

And he’s worried, based on the tense silence, that he’s crossed a line that they’re not going to be able to come back from. This is it, he figures. This is the moment when Cas shoots him down, irrevocably and firmly. When he makes it absolutely clear that he’s as close to Dean as he’s willing to get.

Dean cocks his jaw. Closes his eyes, for a moment, and takes a long, deep breath. He needs to fix this, only he’s not sure how he’s supposed to backtrack and pretend that he wasn’t hoping Cas would, by some miracle, wanna spend every night with him. 

He opens his mouth to try and pull his way out of the grave he’s dug himself, but Cas is already talking. 

“I cannot have you sleeping on the floor,” he says out of nowhere, his back still to Dean. He jumps – he hadn’t even known Cas was aware he was in here. “It’s not… I can’t abide that,” he insists. 

Dean swallows around a lump in his throat that feels a whole lot like rejection. “Sorry.” 

But Cas talks right over him, his voice slightly louder than normal. “The best option would be another mattress in your room – I believe there’s space on the other side, if we move the chair–”

Dean feels something catch in his chest. “What?”

At the short, breathless word, Cas abruptly loses what little composure he had. He fumbles with the coffee machine, nearly dropping the glass pot. “I just – I meant. I would also… um. I would. Enjoy the closer proximity.” He pauses, and then adds, a little too fast and a little insecurely, “If that is actually... what you meant? Earlier?”

It’s bumbling, and it’s awkward... and it’s a fundamentally Cas way of checking to see if Dean is okay with what he’s offering. His throat feels a little tight, which is dumb, because he should be fucking ecstatic right now. 

“You mean... you actually want to?” he checks, not quite able to believe what he’s hearing.  

Finally, the alpha slows down a little. He pauses where he’s standing, one hand resting on the coffee machine, the other on the counter. He still hasn’t turned around. 

“I… very much want to,” he admits quietly. 

Dean blinks harshly. “You can’t… don’t do it for me,” he says desperately, praying to God Cas knows what he means. “I don’t want you to do that just for me.” Because he can't make Cas do something that is going to weigh on his conscience. Not for Dean.

Cas’s head dips down, almost like he’s in prayer – or, maybe more accurately, like he’s in a confessional. “You have… no idea, how hard it’s been. How difficult it is for me to just… leave you every night. And that’s – I’m sure that’s not appropriate,” he adds, voice a little strangled, “but it’s the truth, and I don’t want to lie to you.” 

Dean feels a swoop of relief so strong it threatens to bowl him over. “Thank God.”

Finally, finally, Cas turns around – his face is a bright, deep red, his eyes still a little shifty. But when they land on Dean, all folded down onto the tile, they soften.

Walking closer, he hesitates for a moment, seeming to chew on unspoken words, shifting back and forth. And, while he stands there, Dean gives in to the weird little pressure in his chest and leans forward, resting his forehead on Cas’s leg with a sigh.  

For just a split second, the alpha freezes again. Dean honestly feels a little bad, because he knows this sort of thing makes Cas uncomfortable. He’s really putting the alpha through the wringer this morning. But, slowly, Cas drops a hand on top of Dean’s head and rests it there.

“You… you do want that, yes?” he asks, his voice still far too fragile for Dean’s liking. “Me staying with you?”

Dean can’t help but laugh, his eyes pressed closed. The alpha’s hand is warm and heavy and grounding. “Yeah, Cas. I feel like that’s pretty friggin’ obvious.”

There’s a soft sigh above him, like Cas wants to argue but decides against it. “I’ll move one of the other guest beds into your room, then,” he says instead, and Dean feels even more tension drain away from him. He doesn’t know why it’s such a relief to know that Cas is gonna be there with him at night – he logically gets that the alpha is never more than a few rooms away from him, anyway. But there’d been something different about seeing him right there, this morning. Something more… real. 

“‘Kay,” he whispers, not trusting himself to say more. 

Cas stands there for a while, carding his fingers through Dean’s hair as they both settle down. And, just as Dean is starting to feel sleepy and syrupy again, the alpha draws away from him – though he doesn’t go far. 

Dean suppresses the urge to groan as Cas folds himself down on the tile.

Experimentally, Cas shifts back and forth on his knees, examining Dean's posture and trying, for some reason, to emulate it. He grimaces. “I am still mystified as to how you can sit like this for any length of time and be comfortable,” he grouses, transparently attempting to encourage Dean to sit. 

Dean would normally take the bait. This time, he doesn’t. 

Instead, he snorts, shaking his head. “It ain’t comfortable, Cas.”

Cas blinks like he hadn’t even considered that. “But…”

Dean falters, his amusement fading abruptly. He hadn’t really meant to say that – the last thing he wants to do is make Cas feel even worse about his habit of avoiding the furniture. But it’s out now, and there’s no backtracking.

Fumblingly, he tries to explain. “I mean, it’s… I’m used to it. But, no. Being on my knees on tile don’t exactly feel good.” He nods meaningfully at the alpha, and adds, “And I’ve got years of practice. You can’t be comfortable, either.”

An idea slowly starts to form in his head – one that is probably far too transparent to work. But it’s worth a damn shot. 

“Maybe, you could, uh. I don’t know. Get a cushion or something to sit on? If you’re gonna insist on doin’ that,” he suggests, gesturing at Cas’s folded up position on the floor. 

And Cas’s face clears like Dean’s just had the idea of the century. 

“A cushion!  Why didn’t I think of that?” he asks, smacking himself gently in the forehead. “That should be fairly easy to find, I believe. We can order some right now.” 

Dean bites the inside of his cheek so he doesn’t grin his damn fool head off. Somehow, he just managed to get exactly what he needed, and he didn’t even really have to ask for it. He looks down at his lap to hide his smile and sits back on his ass rather than on his knees, and Cas makes an appreciative noise that he definitely doesn't glow over. 

Cas scoots a little closer to him, sitting down as well, and pulls out his phone. He taps in a few mystifying commands and nods at whatever he sees, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"There's quite the variety," he notes, squinting at the screen. Dean edges closer so he can see as well, something inside of him very happy that he is so close to the alpha - even if he's still sitting on the floor where he shouldn't be.

He scrolls through page after page of floor cushions, a hundred different colors and shapes and sizes listed on whatever online store he's looking at. It seems crazy to Dean that there’s this much variety for something so simple. Leaning back after a while, a little dizzy at all the different options, Dean decides to watch Cas instead. He smiles at what he sees. 

The alpha, as usual, has thrown himself headfirst into tackling another of Dean’s problems. He’s completely absorbed in the task, and his eagerness, his dead-set desire to solve something, anything, in Dean's life... it's endearing.  

It makes Dean want to kiss him right on his stupid mouth. 

“Any color preference?” Cas asks absently, startling Dean away from those very dangerous thoughts. He's squinting at the screen with a small frown, probably actually concerned with what Dean wants.

He can't help the huff of laughter at the thought. The alpha turns and looks up at him curiously, his eyes earnest, but Dean just shakes his head. “Nah, Cas. Don’t care what color.”

Cas pauses, turning back to him. He waits, his silence solemn and heavy, as though it had been an important question with an equally important answer. Dean finds himself swallowing under that steady, patient gaze. Finds that it is suddenly very difficult to maintain eye contact. 

But he does. Studies the blue in Cas’s eyes, the little flecks of cobalt and navy that remind him of rain and the sky and the robin’s egg Sam brought him once; cracked in half and long empty. 

He breathes out an answer before he even knows he’s talking.  

“Blue,” he says, voice a little rough.  

That same night, Cas had followed up on his promise to move in. Without a hint of complaint, he’d easily lifted up a mattress from an unused spare room and carried it into Dean’s room – and Dean definitely hadn’t gotten a little zing of something in his gut at the sight of the alpha moving the thing so easily. Together, they’d pushed the furniture around until it seemed like the new bed almost belonged there, two twin mattresses separated by five feet of no-man’s land, the side table and lamp nudged under the window between them, the armchair pushed against the opposite wall. 

As tradition dictated, they’d still read until they fell asleep. Cas had, in fact, discovered Dean’s half finished book on the coffee table, and his grin had been so wide it had looked like he was going to start dancing the cha cha. He’d brought it up to the room along with his pillows and blankets when they’d decided to turn in for the night, and had offered to read a few chapters. 

Dean had struggled with himself for a moment, his face slowly turning red, and then had forced himself to mumble, “Or I could, uh. Read to you.”

The scent of Cas’s happiness – bright and sunny and sweet as honey – had burst through the room like a firecracker. 

So Dean, ignoring his pounding heart and shaking hands, had. He’d stumbled through the words self consciously, at first, growing a little more sure of himself as he went. By the time he’d finished the second chapter of the night, Cas had dropped off to dreamland, and Dean hadn’t been able to keep his eyes open much longer himself. 

That had been a few nights ago, now. And he hasn't had a nightmare since. In no time at all, the alpha’s presence in his room has become normal instead of novel, comfortable instead of exciting. He’s so, so fucking grateful for that. Grateful for Cas.

Dean isn't naive enough to think that his sleeping troubles are over for good, but he's gonna take whatever he can. 

Today, Dean had decided to make his way into the spare bedroom downstairs to make some headway on the mess inside. Cas left him to do his own thing that morning, busy with something going on at the center. Dean hadn’t minded – with the alpha in his room every night, it’s been easier to drift away from him for longer and longer periods during the day. 

He’s in the middle of arranging a line of old textbooks in a way that makes much more sense to him than Cas’s haphazard piles when he hears the doorbell ring.

With a dull, dusty thud, the book that was in his hands falls flat on the shelf. 

Dean is frozen.  

He doesn’t know why he’s scared, only that he is, and when Cas walks past the room to get to the door he flinches in a little, curling closer to the shelf. It makes no sense, because they’ve had visitors before – Pamela and Balthazar. But Dean had been expecting those people, Cas had known those people, and if this is someone else, someone new, then they might –  

Moments after the front door clicks open, Dean understands exactly why he’s afraid. The spiced scent of an unfamiliar alpha is sharp in his nose even from here. 

He’s on his knees instantly. Head blank, chest tight. The decision to drop down was not a conscious one, but he’s here now, and he just barely stops himself from slipping his hands behind his back like he’s been trained, his palms frozen on the ground instead. He’s fucking terrified, heart pounding in his ears so loud that he can’t make out what Cas is saying to the unfamiliar man on the porch. 

Then the front door shuts and the scent of the alpha fades. It’s only when Cas shuffles into the room with a large box in his hands that Dean can breathe again. 

Right. The cushions. 

The alpha had just been the goddamn delivery driver.

He’s mortified at his reaction, even more so when Cas stiffens and drops the box on the ground, his attention on Dean sharp as he picks up on his obvious, embarrassing fear-scent. “Dean?”

Dean weakly sits back on the ground and drops his head between his knees so he can take in deep, hungry breaths. 

Jesus. He can’t believe he’d actually managed to forget what that was like. The sick anticipation, the ice cold fear of some new john in the room, the held-breath waiting game. He knows why he reacted like that, logically – knows that this is the first time he’s been around an unfamiliar alpha since that creep in the parking garage. Knows that his body isn’t used to it, anymore, and that the only thing he’s built to expect from alpha men other than Cas is pain. 

It doesn’t change the fact that he’s embarrassed. The gallons of adrenaline racing through his bloodstream are pointless, and do nothing but fan the hot coals of that embarrassment into something closer to anger. It grows, searing and sharp, until it incinerates everything inside of him but shame. 

When Cas draws closer, concern rolling off of him, Dean holds up a hand and keeps trying to catch his breath. The alpha stays put, his eyebrows drawn together as he waits. 

They sit there long enough that Dean can’t help but laugh at how ridiculous this is, how ridiculous he is. Scared of a fucking delivery guy. 

Cas gets a clue somewhere in the middle of his hysterical giggle, the expression on his face clearing into something apologetic. “I didn’t know he’d be an alpha,” he says guiltily. 

Dean shakes his head, waving his hand back and forth as if he hadn’t just been deathly terrified; as if he hadn’t, just for a moment, forgotten that Cas wouldn’t ever let someone touch him like that. 

“You can’t control that,” he says, and his voice is only shaking a little. What a goddamn victory. “Sorry. I overreacted.”  Understatement of the century.  

He drops his hand and Cas takes that as his cue to step a little closer, settling down on the ground a scant few inches away. He’s mercifully silent while Dean puts himself back together. Doesn’t reach out, and doesn’t push. 

When he can breathe without feeling like there’s a stick lodged in his ribcage, he leans back and laughs again, disgusted with himself. 

“Dean.” Cas’s voice is serious, earnest, and Dean already knows that he’s about to start pouring out reassurances and kindnesses about how he’s safe here, and how he has nothing to fear. And while he appreciates it... he doesn’t really want to hear it. 

He knows all those things already, and he’d still been scared. In the end, it hadn’t mattered; even now, he can’t seem to stop acting like he wants to bend over and take it. 

But Cas doesn’t say what Dean expected him to. “I don’t like that you are ashamed of how you just reacted,” he says seriously, his eyes boring into Dean with all the subtlety of a power drill. 

Dean snorts. “How could I not be?” He grits his teeth. “Scared of the fucking postman. And I just sat here–”

He cuts himself off, jaw working. If that alpha had come in the house, come after him, what would he have done? Fought and bit and stood up for himself? Kicked and screamed and clawed his way out of the alpha’s grasp? Or would he have stayed on the ground like the bitch he is and presented like he’d been trained? His nose shoved into the carpet, hands gripped behind his back? 

He doesn’t know, and it scares him. It sickens him. Even now, months away from Alastair, even when he knows he’s on his way to freedom, he still acts the exact same way as he had in the parking garage. The exact same way he’d acted in Hell.  

A sharp sigh from the alpha makes him twitch, his hands gripped into fists. He can see Cas shift back and forth out of the corner of his eye. “May I touch you, Dean?”

Dean closes his eyes. Skittish as a damn colt. He can feel something sharp and angry in his chest when he nods, jaw clenched so tight it feels like he’s going to break it.

Cas’s gentle touch on his shoulder is warm and welcome, despite his self disgust at wanting it at all. He lets out a slow breath and tries to relax into it. 

“You are healing,” Cas reminds him. “It takes time.”

Dean snorts again, but the sound has lost some of its vitriol as he lets Cas rub feeling back into his body. “How am I s’pposed to be normal if I can’t even handle being in the same fifty foot radius as some random alpha?”

Cas shakes his head. “You’ll get there.”

He appreciates the hell out of that – Cas isn’t lying to him, isn’t giving him useless platitudes like he’d been expecting. The stark honesty in his words gets Dean to look up and study the man next to him, his eyes crinkled as he examines Dean in return. “Yeah?”

Cas nods. “You will.”

He can’t help but want to believe the alpha’s words, but he still has to push, has to ask. “How?”

Cas’s mouth twitches at his persistence. “Practice. There are well-vetted alphas at the campus who I trust. Ones you can interact with at your pace, when you’re willing to meet them. And we go from there.”

Dean stares at him for a moment, and some of what he’s feeling must translate to his face because the alpha’s expression softens. “Sounds like you’ve seen this before,” Dean says eventually.

“Every omega that stays there goes through the same thing, Dean,” Cas confirms. “That’s why Balthazar pushed me to actually hire alphas, despite my initial misgivings. He knew that it would be better to have residents exposed to them – to us,” he corrects, faltering for a moment before continuing, “in stages.”

It’s probably awful of him, but Dean is inexplicably relieved that he isn’t the only person that acts like this. It’s good to know that it’s a common enough problem that not even Cas, who seems largely ignorant of what his fears will be, is surprised by this behavior. Makes him feel like a little less of a freak. 

Cas’s expression twists minutely. “If you were there, you would know that,” he admits. “Being here, instead... I’ve no doubt that it’s setting you back.”  

Dean very much disagrees, but he doesn’t have time to say so before the alpha gives him a quick, apologetic smile and a shrug. He traps the reassurances in his mouth, feeling a little silly for even assuming they’d be needed. Cas already knows he wants to be here.  

Cas draws him in closer, and Dean follows his guiding hand easily, sighing as the alpha wraps his arms around him. They sit like that for a while, until Dean doesn’t feel like he needs to bolt anymore. 

When he finally pulls away, Cas unboxes the cushions with exacting precision, in the same methodical way he seems to do everything. There’s two; one a dark green that looks too much like the pillow he still sometimes carts around to be a coincidence, and another that's a similar shade of blue. 

“I figured we’d test these out to see how we like them before I purchase more,” Cas says reasonably, holding the pillow up and examining it with a critical eye. It’s thick and square, and there’s a little handle on one side that tells Dean that, weird or not, they aren’t the first people to need something like this. Cas hands him the blue pillow and raises an eyebrow, and Dean realizes that he’s being asked to give an impromptu review. 

He takes it tentatively. The fabric is smooth under his fingers, and the padding is thick enough to where he can already tell that it’s going to be one hell of an improvement over the floor. He scoots it underneath himself, and when he looks up at Cas with a grin, the alpha looks inexplicably nervous.  

“Is it comfortable?”

Dean wiggles a little, and it might be his imagination, but he thinks Cas’s eyes track the movement. “Yep.” Cas smiles at the announcement. “Really comfortable, actually.”

And it is. Dean brings it everywhere, the thought of going back to kneeling on the unforgiving ground unthinkable once he has a taste for softness. He sits on his little pillow, trying not to feel like a prized pet, while Cas works or cooks or watches the news, and at the end of the day he and Cas go up to their room together and sleep. It’s easily the most comfortable he’s ever been, and not nearly as embarrassing as he anticipated.  

It would be friggin’ perfect… if Cas wasn’t just as determined to be on the ground with Dean as before. 

He can’t pretend it isn’t pretty fucking endearing that the alpha carts the damn cushions from room to room like he’s their personal valet, but the whole point of the things was for Dean to use them as a stepping stone to graduate to being a real boy again. The problem is, with Cas right there next to him, he doesn’t exactly feel any urgency to move forward. 

And, more often than ever before, there’s a prickly, uncomfortable feeling in his gut when Cas sits at his same level. A creeping wish that the alpha sometimes… wouldn’t. 

Unfortunately, Cas seems for all the world as if he’s intending on disregarding his own furniture entirely from this point forward. The only exception is in his office, and Dean’s pretty sure that’s just because he can’t figure out how to angle his screen so he can see it from the ground.

It’s a struggle to keep his mouth shut and his frustration in check, and more than once he finds himself glaring at the alpha’s little green pillow like it’s that thing’s fault that nothing is going to plan. Cas either doesn’t notice, or purposefully doesn’t comment. Either way, Dean can’t quite find the will to bring it up. 

Not until his next session, anyway.