#bamfcastiel

Apparently confused at being spoken to, Dean glances up at him and then back down to his scrambled eggs. Castiel made them for him – as well as some toast, hash browns, bacon, sausages, and a couple of pancakes – and added in a lot of herbs and butter, as Dean looked like he needed it, but they turned out runny and looking a bit funny. Dean had looked a bit overwhelmed by all the food set down before him, but then began wolfing down everything, as if he hadn't had a proper meal in weeks. Going by the slimness of his neck, he probably hadn't. If Castiel hadn't given him something light to eat and a few snacks the night before, he would probably be scared that Dean might get sick from this much food for breakfast. Really, he still is afraid of that. But when he started making breakfast, he did not think of that – in fact, he did not think much, except that he wanted to feed the young boy until he looked healthy again.

“They are pretty good,” Dean replies, stirring the eggs with his fork. “Though I'm not sure I can finish them.”

“It's fine if you don't. You don't have to eat everything I make, whether you simply don't like it or might be sick from it.”

“Yeah, okay. Thanks,” Dean says and only keeps stirring his eggs now instead of taking another bite, which Castiel takes as a sign that he only kept eating because he thought he had to.

Slightly disgruntled, Castiel takes a sip of his coffee. In the light of the morning and without the exhaustion of the cold clinging to him, the boy already looks somewhat healthier than the night before, and even more stunning. Castiel has no doubt that, were Dean an Omega, he would have been mated and impregnated long ago, if he comes from a pack that supports early matings. Or at least been mated for some time now or on headed that way. Because Castiel knows that even in his own, rather civilized pack, every unmated Alpha and Beta would have been vying for Dean's attention, showered him in gifts and sweet promises, trailed him like a bunch of lost puppies until he finally decided on one of them. Whoever Dean chose would have been considered to be the luckiest member of the pack, the most enviable one. And Castiel is neither too proud nor proud enough to admit that he, too, would have been one of Dean's hopeless little suitors – that he would have courted him shamelessly, probably gotten into fights with all the other admirers and tried to pathetically use his position as the pack Alpha to draw Dean's attention on him, even if just for a bit.

He would have been the king of the fools.

Castiel heaves out a sigh. What good does it do to draw up these kinds of fantasy scenarios and then berate himself for them? Maybe Meg is right: as the pack Alpha and still unmated at his age, he should have made more of an effort to find a viable mate. Even if no one in his pack or outside of it appealed to him yet – at least not to a degree at which he would consider anything long-term with them –, he should have set a good example and settled with someone by now. Certainly, he is not at an age that waiting a few more years or maybe even a decade would make him so old that he could not take proper care of a mate or any children, but the older he gets, the more time seems to just fly by. Whereas a year seemed like an eternity when he was younger, it now feels more like one more turn of the moon, the blink of an eye. If he is not careful, it might be too late for him to mate before he knows it.

Regardless, this is an issue to be dealt with at another time. Right now, all his attention should be on the young Alpha in front of him, who is by now doing nothing but sitting idly in his chair and breathing in that heavy, sluggish way that probably means he ate too much and is working on keeping the food down.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asks.

“Hm-mh,” Dean reassures. He strokes a hand over his belly, covered by the thick clothing Castiel has given him, and lets out a sound that is just so verging on a moan, both pleasured and pained.

Castiel feels his fingers tightening around the handle of his cup.

“Haven't eaten so much at once lately,” Dean all but slurs, “so it's a bit much right now. But it was good.”

“Yes?” Castiel asks, eyes perked.

“Yeah.” Dean confirms. This pleases Castiel immensely.

Castiel nods and makes a thoughtful noise. “I did notice that you look a bit... slim for your height. And the overall frame of your body. Which I assume is not just the result of any recent growth spurt?”

Dean tenses up at that, the previous laziness already leaving his body. Castiel cannot help but regret diving into the topic right away, but he has to. “Yeah, it's not like I've had any growth spurts recently.”

Which could either mean Dean is a bit older than Castiel assumed, or that he hasn't had proper nutrition for quite a while now. Maybe it's both.

“Is that why you were in my woods? To hunt?”

For a moment, Dean looks at him in a strange, undefinable way, then shrugs his shoulders. “If some rabbit was randomly crossing my path, maybe. I'm not a very good hunter, though.” He shuffles in his seat. “I was looking for some berries or herbs to eat. I thought there might be some since I've seen some thrushes in the tree tops, so I followed them. Until you pounced on me.”

The memory of which is slightly embarrassing, since Castiel has had a rather non-threatening Dean below him, begging to be killed, and now has him sit in front of him with a full belly, and satisfaction in his features.

“You did not enter the pack's territory on purpose, then,” Castiel resumes from Dean's story.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees, “I didn't know where I was, let alone whose pack the woods belonged to. All I knew was that there were thrushes, so there must be berries around.”

Castiel does not comment on the fact that for Dean to know so much about berries that he would be able to track them down by watching birds is a bit unusual for an Alpha. As are his apparently insufficient hunting skills. Instead, he nods as if he could ever make the same kind of connection between birds and berries, and puts his cup down on the table.

“How long have you been wandering then, when you did not even know whose pack grounds you were entreating upon? Our territory is rather vast, and any proximate pack would know where the borders lay.”

“Been walking for a while,” Dean says noncommittally, shrugging and picking at his fingernails. Castiel remembers how dirty they were just the night before; how dirty all of him was, at least whatever glimpses he caught of Dean’s skin when he began to undress as Castiel was still busy bringing him clothing, fresh towels and soap into the bathroom. His hands are clean now, but Castiel should probably still take a brush and clippers to his fingernails. Maybe even to his toenails? He could pull off Dean’s socks, roll up the hems of his pants, let his feet soak in warm soapy water and then go about taking care of his probably sore and abused feet as slowly and gently as he would take care of his fingers.

Exasperated with himself, Castiel pinches his nose. Forget wrong or inappropriate, these kinds of thoughts are just downright strange. Not just because of the sense of self-abasement and worship that is inherent in feet-washing, let alone since both of them are Alphas, but because the very idea of doing so shouldn’t warm him to his core.

So, he looks away from Dean’s hands and, just to be on the safe side, from his face and any part of his body as well, and stares out the window instead. Outside, the sky is gray and thick snowflakes are falling. Certainly no good day for anyone to be wandering through the woods.

“What does ‘a while’ mean? A couple of days? Weeks?” Castiel probes. “For you to be in such a poor shape, it must have been quite some time.”

“...since spring?” Dean estimates vaguely.

Castiel’s gaze immediately snaps back to Dean. “Spring? Dean, we are in the middle of winter!” He cannot help the rush of anger and terror -- not directed at Dean, but his circumstances. No wonder he looked and still looks like he was put through the meatgrinder. No wonder he begged for Castiel to kill him!

Castiel's scent must stink of his rush of emotions, but Dean’s doesn’t even waver.

Because Dean just shrugs once more and nods, as if more than half a year spent as a vagrant did not matter all that much. “I guess.”

“How?” Castiel asks, then corrects himself. “Why?”

Slowly, Dean blows out a breath and lifts his eyes just enough to catch Castiel’s. “Don’t wanna talk about it.”

But Castiel pushes on. “Who would allow something like this to happen? It would have been your pack Alpha’s duty to find you and return you to pack grounds. Someone as young as yourself should never be left to his own devices, particularly not for such a long amount of time.”

Dean’s eyes skip away again. He does not reply, just tenses slightly. Castiel’s eyes narrow at that.

“Or is there a reason your pack Alpha did not look for you? Did you run away -- or were you exiled?”

For a moment, Dean clenches his eyes shut. “Neither. Both. I really don’t wanna talk about it, okay?”

And Castiel wants to leave him alone, he does, yet it is more than simple curiosity for the beautiful young man sitting in front of him that is driving him, but also his pack’s safety. If Dean was indeed exiled, then it wouldn’t have happened without good reason. At least, it shouldn’t have. Hard as it is to keep pushing Dean and to do so much as assume that he might have committed a crime grave enough to warrant exile, Castiel needs to know the truth for safety reasons.

“Was there any kind of trouble?” As soon as he asks, he thinks of the second confirmation that Dean has given him: that, in the same way that he was and was not exiled, he also did and did not run away. “Did anyone cause you any trouble?”

Dean lets out a short, humorless laugh. Castiel straightens up.

“Did anyone hurt you?” The anger returns tenfold, turns into rage; the very idea of anyone touching Dean in such a painful way that he would flee his pack forces Castiel’s words to come out in a growl. “Is that why---? Is that where the scars came from? Dean, what---”

“Alpha,” Dean cuts in, and his voice and the expression on his face seem both to be warring between fear and anger too, settling on indignation. All of him is tense, and he bites his lip as he corrects himself. “Castiel. Please. I mean it. I don’t-- I can’t talk about this.” He slumps slightly in his seat, and Castiel hates himself for being the cause of this, for interrupting the serene scene from before, for distressing the boy who was so full and relaxed mere moments ago.

“I apologize,” Castiel says upon a deep exhale. “I recognize that you do not wish to talk about this, so I will not force you to. I have no right to your past, but some to your presence, as you are now part of my pack, which is why I need to know if what happened could have an impact on either your or the pack’s safety.” He shakes his head, tries to gather his thoughts. “No, this is not fair of me. I have already accepted your submission and your vow that you will not be a threat to my pack, so whatever you might have done in the past should not matter. Yet, as you are pack now, if there is still a threat to you, you should tell me, so that I can take the proper precautions. I cannot protect you if I don’t know that I need to -- if I don’t know what from.”

Dean appears taken aback by that statement. As if, upon admitting that he might pose a threat to the pack in whatever capacity, Castiel would grab him and drag him back to the woods. Which is ridiculous, given that right now, with Dean looking so small and unsure, Castiel would love to do nothing more than embrace him, stroke his hair and assure him that no harm will ever come to him again.

“I guess I do owe you as much,” Dean concedes, and he straightens his shoulders almost imperceptibly. “The truth is,” he breathes in deeply, “I don’t know for sure. I don’t think anyone would come looking for me, ‘specially since no one did ever since I left, or at least they didn’t find me, so I doubt they’d bother now. They’ve probably forgotten about me by now.” He curls his hands, where they are resting on the table, into fists. “So, I can’t give you any guarantee on that front. Just that I promise that I don’t wanna cause any trouble while I’m here, and that back there, I didn’t… murder anyone or whatever you might be thinking.” He is silent for a few moments. “So, if you don’t want me around as a potential hazard, I get that, really, and I’ll be out of your hair as soon as you say the word.”

“No,” Castiel decides, “as I said, you are now pack and under my protection, so as long as you accept my position as the Alpha and don’t harm anyone here. Since you have already done the first and just promised the second, there is absolutely no reason to refute this.”

Dean still looks somewhat doubtful, and all he gives as a reply is an unconvinced, “Alright.”

Castiel gets up from his chair with a sigh, and as he crosses the small space between him and a still seated Dean, the younger Alpha’s doubtfulness turns into wariness.

“Dean,” Castiel says in what he hopes is a soothing tone. Dean remains still and tense when Castiel comes to a halt next to him, and he lets him do as he likes when Castiel reaches out his hand and settles it on the side of his cloth-covered neck. On the spot that anyone else would present if they wanted to submit to an Alpha, and not in such a painfully absolute way in which Dean did the night before, all his scars on display, or where a mating bite would go, if Dean were not an Alpha.

Dean’s breathing turns short and shallow, but his smell does not turn sour in fear. Rather, its sweetness intensifies, picks up a notch, just like the pulse now beating against the palm of Castiel’s hand, pinkening his cheeks. Despite Dean’s designation, he does seem to take to submission rather easily.

“You are safe and welcome here. Knowing that you might be hurt if you leave, to say nothing of the harsh environmental conditions that would await you, fortifies my conviction that it was the right choice to allow you to join the pack. I won’t revoke that.” Unable to help himself, he strokes Dean’s warm neck, just once, twice, making the boy’s eyes go round and then flutter shut for a second. The urge to do more than just caress that vulnerable part of him suddenly overwhelms Castiel, and with regret and a soft brush of his thumb against Dean’s bobbing Adam’s apple, he retracts his hands. “I want you to stay here, where you are safe and can flourish. You deserve more than a life on the run, and if I can provide you with an actual future, then I am delighted to do so.”

“Yeah?” Dean asks, so quiet and intimate as if they were sharing a secret. His eyes remain barely more than half-open, apparently still weighed down by Castiels caress. “What’s the catch?”

Castiel chuckles and wishes there were a catch -- some ulterior motive that would help him justify this foolish decision beyond that his genuine wish to see Dean safe and happy.

“The catch,” he says playfully, “is that you will need to do the dishes after breakfast, and any other time I cook because I abhor doing it myself. You will also need to keep your room clean yourself and take care of your own laundry. And you will have to let me introduce you to the other members of the pack, so that they know that there is one more part of our family, and that you are as welcome as any of them.”

The corners of Dean’s mouth tick up in the tiniest of smiles, and Castiel is suddenly awash with an overwhelming sense of pride for being the cause of it.

That being said, he is more than aware of the inappropriateness of his thoughts; not only is Dean another Alpha, but also in his charge. But, maybe it is precisely because of the latter that he feels as he does: after all, as the pack Alpha, it should be only natural for him to want to take care of a member of his pack, regardless of how recent the membership itself is. And as an Alpha in general, wanting to provide a person he considers to be in need of his help with a safe space is certainly to be considered even more natural. In this case, it should not matter that Dean is an Alpha and no Omega, not just because his smell is sweeter and more enticing than any other scent Castiel has ever picked up on in any case, but because Dean is young and vulnerable, and he found him in a truly miserable state. Castiel would extend his help to anyone he found like this, frozen and frightened, and the feelings that Dean evokes in him would probably be caused by anyone else who were in his pitiful position.

Yes, Castiel reassures himself as he puts some more marshmallows onto the creamy crown of the hot chocolate that he makes for Dean for the third time today, there is nothing odd about any of this.

Before he can delve even further into this issue, he is interrupted by the sound of steps on stairs, and before he has the chance to complete topping off the hot chocolate, Dean sidles into the room, and all thought is lost.

Dean looks slightly healthier by now, thanks to all his sleeping and the food Castiel insists he ingests. He is still too skinny, not dangerously so anymore though, and his cheeks have taken on a pink tinge that goes well with his perpetually bed-tousled hair. Even right now, he seems to still be blinking the sleep from his eyes and trying to fully wake his mind, yawning every now and then. Yet, he looks somewhat different compared to the rest of the week, a bit more formal -- he must have been upstairs to search for new clothes in Castiel’s closet, something else than the sets of pajamas he has worn all week. Which would also explain why he came from upstairs when his room is on the ground floor.

Castiel had almost forgotten what they meant to do today: to go to the town hall, finally register Dean as an official pack member, and maybe set a date for a pack meeting in which he could be formally introduced to everyone else. He remembers now. Dean was shy and uncertain about this at first, but Castiel could easily coax him into agreeing to this as he was handing Dean a piece of pie that he had baked for him. Besides, registering was a necessity. There were rules and laws in the pack for a reason, and Castiel, as the pack Alpha, should set an example by adhering to them, instead of putting himself above them. And since one such rule was that every person living on pack grounds, whether temporarily or permanently, had to be registered within the first two weeks of their arrival, Castiel wanted to get Dean down to the town hall sooner rather than later. At least, as soon as he was well enough to do so. And he had seemed fit enough for a short walk by yesterday, so Castiel told him they that would take care of this today, and Dean agreed. Yet, Castiel forgot all about the law and the outside world again as soon as he started preparing food and brought Dean some books to read, so this matter slipped Castiel’s mind pretty much as soon as he told Dean that they have to tend to it.

Which is why the sight of a dressed-up Dean is a puzzling one, at first. Dean keeps sticking to the turtlenecks, even when Castiel encourages him to wear whatever he wants from his closet, and it is not much of a surprise. They do hide his scars well. It is as little of a surprise, perhaps, as Castiel’s wish to stay in the same room as Dean whenever the boy rifles through his clothing, choosing what he will wear for sleep or what might fit if he has to leave the house, and to aid him in finding clothes that would fit his slight frame, maybe even help him change, should he still be too fatigued to do so himself. Castiel’s mouth goes dry at the image of holding Dean up against his body, his head resting back against Castiel’s shoulder, as Castiel slowly slides the fabric over his freckled skin, covers his vulnerable body in his clothes and scent.

Castiel does no such thing, of course. He is well-aware of the inappropriateness of his daydreams, so he stays far from his bedroom whenever Dean is in there, and he already vows not to go in there until evening, when hopefully any remaining scent of the younger Alpha has long dissipated. Still, he cannot help but stiffen as Dean walks into the room, dressed in the aforementioned turtleneck, a somewhat fitting pair of jeans so old that Castiel cannot even remember them, thick wool socks and an even thicker cardigan.

Warm and soft, he is the very picture of domesticity.

“Are you still cold?” Castiel asks around the lump in his throat. Dean looks gorgeous, and smells even better; the trace of the soap he used last night has finally faded, to give way to his natural scent, which has blended with what remains of Castiel’s own on his clothes.

“A bit, yeah,” Dean says, his words like a shrug. He tugs his sleeve up, as if wanting to make no big deal out of being cold, then seems to think better of it and tugs it down again.

Castiel frowns. “If so, please feel free to put on more clothes and turn up the heat in the entire house anytime. I want you to be warm. I also have thermal underwear that you may use.”

A soft, amused sound -- almost a laugh but not quite -- escapes Dean’s lips at that. “Thermal underwear?” he echoes.

His voice sounds different from before. Lighter, playful, teasing even. Which is entirely wondrous to Castiel, who finds he does not mind to be teased by Dean, not at all. Instead, he revels in the sly expression on Dean’s face, the burst of sweetness in his scent, the recognition that for Dean to tease him at all must presuppose a trust unimaginable even a few nights before. Castiel is the Alpha, yes, and Dean is on his territory and part of his pack, but he is not scared anymore, not as he was a week ago. Already, Dean is far from baring his neck and begging for death by Castiel’s hands to put him out of his misery. There is a tad more confidence in him now and he moves with a certain sense of safety that straightens his shoulders and lifts his head.

Castiel can only hope for this to hold; for Dean to grow into this apparent safety and to be able to rely on it for more than just a simple tease.

That he cannot do so yet is obvious by the troubled looking slowly creeping upon Dean’s features the longer Castiel remains silent. While Dean does not apologize or prostrate himself before him, thank god, his eyes do dart downwards, as if he has done something wrong by joking about the underwear.

Cursing himself inwardly for taking so long to react, Castiel tilts his lips up in an hopefully soothing smile and, quite without intending to, steps closer towards the boy.

“It can get very cold around here, so every member of the pack owns at least a couple of pairs of thermal underwear. It would be foolish not to. You have experienced first-hand how freezing it can be, especially far from any houses and out in the fields and forests, if you are not dressed appropriately.” His own reminder distresses him; Dean’s tattered clothes went straight to the trash, but not before Castiel had taken a closer look at them and their countless holes, lacking isolation and overall threadbare state. The image of Dean lounging in thermal underwear in front of his fireplace and drinking hot chocolate is much nicer. “You must have been hypothermic for quite some time, so for you to still feel cold comes as no surprise. You should keep trying to stay warm, eat and rest as much as you can to regain your strength.”

Dean, thankfully looking more comfortable again, shifts his weight from foot to foot. “About that. I was wondering if I there was anything more for me to do than taking care of the dishes. I mean, I’m already feeling much better already, and I’d probably feel even better if I could make myself useful. Y’know, to even out everything you’ve done and are still doing for me.”

Castiel creases his brow. “There is no need for that. I am glad to hear and see that you are feeling better, but you should rest still. This should be your main concern right now, and nothing else. Besides, you have nothing to ‘even out’; it is a given that I would do this for you. After all, you are a member of my pack now. I am responsible for you.” He is proud of the conviction with which he says this, as if this were in fact all there is to this.

Dean does not seem quite as happy with this as Castiel. “Yeah, but I could rest and not be a total parasite at the same time. I mean, I could take care of some other tasks around the house that you don’t wanna do, like, I dunno, shovel snow or vacuum-clean or whatever.”

“‘Shovel snow’?” Castiel asks, incredulous. “While you are still cold from wandering out in the frozen woods for all of the season? And need to sleep in a room as hot as an oven all day, just to rest and recover at least some of your strength?”

A light flush graces Dean’s cheeks and he plays with the hem of his cardigan. “Okay, maybe not that, then. But there’s still stuff I could do, ways in which I could be useful. I don’t have to sit on my ass all day and let you do everything for me.”

“You have been through a lot already. Resting, so that you may actually recover, is not ‘sitting on your ass all day’. It’s the reasonable thing to do, a consequence of the hardships that you endured, the struggle you survived, and nothing to feel bad about. Furthermore, you are helping me by helping yourself. My current main objective is providing you with a space in which you feel safe enough to allow yourself to recover. A place where you know that you will be taken care of. Seeing you sleep and getting healthier shows me that I am doing something right -- that I am succeeding in what I set out to do.”

Dean’s skin takes on an even deeper, prettier flush at this, and his scent beckons with a light note of flowers. “You do succeed.” His tongue darts out to wet his lips. “I am feeling safe here and I’m glad that it was you who found me and is taking care of me. I know that if anyone else or simply no one in general would’ve found me and taken me in as you did, I wouldn’t have made it much longer out there. That I’d never have survived the winter in this damn cold.”

Castiel tamps down on the whine that threatens to crawl up his throat at the image of Dean, weak and freezing, dying alone in the cold of the forest. He already had to struggle with this image before, a mere week ago -- and whereas the thought was already almost too much to bear back then, it strikes absolute terror in his heart now. If Dean had not been sighted or if Castiel had not have the mind to take him home, Dean might already be no more by now. He might have died in those very woods, a stone’s throw away from Castiel, and Castiel never would even have known. They might have found his body eventually, maybe in the winter or maybe not even before spring, and Castiel would have looked at his remains and pitied but not grieved him.

“Dean,” Castiel says, against the ache in his heart.

“I wanna show you that I’m grateful for that. That I recognize how much you’ve done for me, and that I can give back at least a little. If there’s anything I can do, any way I could be helpful, I’ll do that.”

For a fleeting moment, Castiel is struck by the urge to drag Dean to bed and use his hands and lips to help the boy relax, to make him experience any good feeling his body is capable of experience, and then carry him to the bath tub and back to bed, where warm and clean sheets and a good night’s sleep would await him. Dean would not be able to come up with unreasonable ideas like these then; he would have no choice but to rest and allow his body to claim what it needs.

And by god, Castiel has no explanation and no excuse for these urges, could not even begin to point out what is wrong with them, so all he hopes is that they do not taint his scent, will not let Dean in on his uncalled-for desires.

Dean's nose flares wide for a moment, scenting, and as soon as he inhales, he stares at Castiel, freezes and-- takes a half-step back.

“Dean,” Castiel says once more, rejected and ashamed, and his mouth moves slowly, more on instinct than intention, working against whatever feelings threaten to overwhelm him. “I appreciate the thought, but you are really in no condition to be doing anything but rest. In the same way that you recognize that the cold would have taken you in eventually, I recognize that the conditions in which you have lived since spring have already taken a toll on you, especially the lack of food and warmth, and that you need to recover from that now.”

“Yeah, but like I said, I could still help.” Dean argues, and thankfully swaying forward, as if he has already forgotten the mortifying exposition Castiel's body just subjected both of them to, as if he did not feel disgust or fear at the mere implication. Maybe Dean misread the reaction, contributed it to something else. All Castiel can hope for is for Dean not to have thought of Castiel’s change in scent to be a direct result of Dean’s offer, to not think that what he longs for is a repayment in the crudest of nature.

Shuddering inwardly, Castiel pushes on. “And like I said, it would be of great help to me if you allowed yourself some rest.” He sighs, pinches his nose, forces himself to breathe through his nose instead. “I do not consider taking care of another person who is sick and weak a burden. Instead, I see it as my duty, and not a disagreeable one. I do not mind seeing to your safety and health myself -- in fact, I enjoy that you are trusting and comfortable enough with me to accept this. If I did not want to care for you, I could simply call a nurse to do so in my stead. Remember, I am the Alpha of this pack and if there is one true privilege that comes with the position, it’s that I can delegate my tasks to other people. But it was me who found you in the woods and decided to put you under my care and protection, so it is only right that I do care and protect you. To see you regain your strength and claim a safe space for yourself is,” he hesitates for a second, because he knows he will not be able to stop this train of thoughts once he gives words to it, knows that he has already made a fool of himself today, “ nice. To know that you feel safe in my home, with me, is more than I could have possibly expected mere days ago. Your trust, and to be allowed to care for you, is-- a pleasure.”

Castiel barely dares to look at Dean, and to his relief, Dean does not dare to look at all. All he does is scuff his feet and keep blushing. “Ah,” is his only reply, which is fitting, Castiel guesses. He, too, does not know what to say about whatever he just spouted.

“And that is why,” Castiel presses on, not quite sure of whatever point he wants to make now, only that talking is the only way they can move beyond his shameful little confession, “you may repay me in whatever measure you deem acceptable once you are fully recovered, but for the moment, your highest and most coveted repayment is for you to rest and be healthy again. No snow shoveling, no whatever else beyond doing the dishes. Just eating and sleeping.”

Dean seems to mull this over in his mind, if his silence and expression of deep thought are anything to go by. He is does not seem bent on arguing any further, at least, which Castiel already counts as a small success.

Finally, Dean speaks again. “And getting myself registered?” He glances back up at Castiel, as a small smile, more an olive branch than anything else, curves up his lips.

“Yes,” Castiel says upon a relieved exhale, “that as well.”

“Okay, so I’ll do that,” Dean says, and then, he almost rushes out, “and if it’s so important to you, I’ll do what I can to get back on my feet and we can talk about this again sometime later. I do want to repay you, but if that’d more trouble than help right now and actually only mean more work for you, then I won’t bug you any further. You took me in when you had absolutely no reason to, and don’t think that, just ‘cause I might be relatively young and another Alpha, I don’t know how to show gratitude.”

Castiel huffs out a laugh at that. For Dean, with his big eyes and unmarred, beautiful face and lithe body to see himself as anything but in the prime of his youth, is amusing. “Don’t worry, I would never think that,” Castiel reassures him, amusement probably reflected in his voice. “And I will hold you to that, regardless of the fact that you are relatively young and another Alpha.”

“Don’t make fun of me,” Dean grumbles, and Castiel enjoys the pinkening of his ears probably more than he should.

“I'm not,” Castiel fibs, only to earn another grumble from Dean that has him laugh lightly.

“If it’s all the same to you, then I’ll go look for that thermal underwear now,” Dean says, and as if his own words reminded him of the persisting coldness of his body, a shiver runs through him.

The knowledge about what to do when another person is hypothermic tickles at the edges of Castiel’s consciousness. Of course, as someone who has lived in this region for all of his life, he knows that, when someone’s core temperature has fallen to such a degree that their body has troubles getting itself warm, the one true way to help them is for both of them to strip down, cover their nudity under the same blanket and press their bodies so close to another that the heat transfers. Castiel also knows that he could never propose such a thing to Dean -- as well as, for Dean to still be cold despite his frequent bathing and his warm little den, his mind probably needs to shake off the frozen forests more than his body does.

Either way, for Dean to work on a sense of warmth is a good thing. “Please do,” Castiel encourages. “In the meantime, I will,” he looks towards the long-forgotten mug, from which the cream has already melted and dripped down, so that the hot chocolate has overflowed and leaked onto the counter, framed by tiny marshmallows, “make you another cup of hot chocolate and then get changed as well.”

The embarrassment is well worth the smile that draws up Dean’s lips and softens his features. “You do that,” Dean graciously allows, and with one last, amused glance back, he turns back towards the stairs, “see you later.”

“See you later,” Castiel promises back.

It is only when Castiel watches Dean’s ascent -- and he wishes he could say that he unreservedly enjoys watching him leave, but despite the tad of gained weight, the slightness of his body still worries him -- that he wonders about how, despite their differences in opinion and the slip-up of his scent, their conversation was still such a pleasurable one. That Dean contradicting him proves that he is on his way to recovery, and he realizes that he has to be healthy again to do good on his promise and repay Castiel. Not because Castiel wants him to -- he would happily tend to Dean for the rest of his life, it it meant he got to see him regularly, which would be repayment enough, and then some -- but because he wants Dean to feel useful and good about himself, wants him to lose his haunted gaze and replace it with an easy smile.