It’s quiet as a church in the bunker when Dean prays for Castiel.
The flutter of wings is accompanied by a deep sigh, one that makes Dean’s ears heat up because he knows he’s being an idiot. He’s just got to make sure.
“You know why I called you,” Dean gruffs finally, as Cas seems determined not to break the silence first.
“I do,” Cas admits, sitting across from Dean at the table in the library. Only one lamp light is on, and as Cas stares him down with that ancient, searching gaze he has, Dean feels like he’s being interrogated. “I only came to offer you congratulations, and to say it’s about time.”
Dean can’t argue with that. There is a warm, sleeping Sam all curled up in Dean’s bed, filled to the brim and leaking with everything Dean had to give him: a lifetime worth of love and desire, of missed opportunities and second chances. Sam has always been the beauty coloring Dean’s world, but tonight, he discovered colors he’s never seen before, colors they created together with shaky but sure brush strokes. It’s changed his entire world, because Dean has never gotten everything he’s ever wanted.
And now he has. But. But–
Swallowing around a lump, Dean tries. “Cas, I–”
Castiel quiets him with two cool, dry palms pressed to his adrenaline-trembling hands.
“You’re worried about him being your brother. About whether heaven will accept him, and you, after this.”
Dean sighs, soul-deep. He wants to be selfish with Sam, but if there’s any chance that this between them locks the gates of heaven on his sanctified little brother, he can’t do this. He can’t damn him.
“For the common person, my answer would be different. Family isn’t supposed to mean this to you, because you two were made with the same flesh, the same blood.”
“Yeah,” Dean sighs. “I’ve been– my whole life, I’ve pushed it down– but he does, too, and I can’t– I can’t say no to him, but I just– it feels wrong, Cas. To be celebrating this. He’s my little brother.”
“He’s hardly little, Dean.”
“You’re tellin’ me.” That slips out of his mouth without his permission, but Cas just chuckles, and they share a smile across the table.
“It’s true that you were made from the same blood. But Dean, before your flesh was made, before your blood was made, your soul was first. And it was made from his, of his, as his soul is made of yours. You and Sam are souls, Dean. Before blood, before family. The aching all of your life has been for the other half of your soul. The pain is quieter now because you have found it, the way God made it to be. You and Sam could never be wrong, Dean. Loving each other could never be wrong. Not according to Him. And certainly not according to me.”
Dean holds Castiel’s steady blue gaze for a very long time, letting the words wash over him. When they are sunk as deep as they can go, he starts to feel a tug in his gut, and before he can turn around, he hears Sam’s sleepy voice from the doorway.
In that one word, Dean can hear every inch of his fear, his worries, the same ones that Dean has been harboring, confessing to Castiel. It’s his job, as Sam’s big brother, and now his– his… his partner– to settles his worries, alleviate his doubts. It always has been, but it’s different now. Sam has always been his number one priority, but it’s bigger than that now.
Now, Sam is his devotion.
Castiel winks out of the bunker before Sam turns the corner, so Dean sends him a silent thank you as he stands, draining the last of his whiskey, letting the warmth settle in his gut. In his soul.
“Everything okay?” Sam wonders quietly, tall and brave and beautiful, standing steadily in the doorway as Dean saunters back up to him.
He melts a soft kiss against Sam’s still swollen lips, closing his eyes to smile into his little brother’s mouth, hearing the contented hum in the back of his throat.
“Promise, Sammy,” he murmurs, putting his palm against Sam’s warm stomach, feeling the muscles twitch underneath. He swears he can feel something else just below the surface, pulsing a familiar rhythm that matches up exactly to his own.
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