#post-confession

“Was this a coven of hoarders?” Sam complains as he lugs yet another box of dusty items out of the secluded cabin. Morning mist plays around his boots as he stomps across the damp grass toward Baby. 

Dean follows him with his own armful of stuff, wrapped securely in a bedsheet so none of it touches his skin. Something sharp digs into his forearm and he adjusts his stance. “At least Rowena’s minions took care of the witches. I really didn’t feel like gettin’ hexed today.” 

The Impala’s backseat is piled high with the coven’s enormous stash of (all undoubtedly cursed) items by the time they take off. Before they leave, they ward the cabin from prying eyes just as a precaution, and it disappears from view before them as Dean backs Baby away down the bumpy forest road. 

“Ugh, this is gonna be days of inventory,” he grumbles. “We gotta make a snack pit stop. And we’re out of coffee.” 

Sam nods as he makes notes on a scrap of paper. “I called Cas earlier. He’s gonna meet us at the Bunker. You know how fast he is at cataloging.”

“He picked up the phone?” Dean hopes his voice doesn’t betray his surprise. “Thought he was on that werewolf hunt with Claire.” 

 Sam shrugs. “Guess they wrapped it up last night.”

“Well. Cool.” Rain starts to patter against the windshield as Dean pulls Baby onto the highway. “Guess we’ll see him, then.” 

The prospect of their enormous task suddenly doesn’t seem like such a drag anymore. 

~~~~~~

Dean’s eyes burn and he rubs them for the umpteenth time this evening. Finishing up the documentation of the vials he just packed away, he slips his hands back into the heavy, warded gloves they use for inventory and dives back into the box in front of him. 

Beside him, Castiel lifts a pair of tweezers and inspects them with a squint. “Dean, what do you think — simple personal hygiene product or cursed object?” he asks, waving the tweezers at him. 

Dean takes them and mutters a revelation incantation. Nothing happens, and he purses his lips. “Dunno. Do we wanna risk it?”

“I’d rather not be magically pinched,” Castiel admits, and the tweezers go into the warded box at their feet. Castiel makes a note of them in their log. 

Across the table, Sam yawns. “Ugh, I’m about ready to call it a night. Gonna do one more, I think.” He tugs a pair of old handcuffs out of his box. “Oh, damn.” 

Dean laughs. “Kinky witches.”

The cuffs are obviously vintage; tarnished gold and with more of a horseshoe shape than modern ones. They glint in the light as they dangle from Sam’s gloved fingers. He inspects them and mutters a few incantations, but nothing happens. 

“Hmm. There’s a symbol on each of them, looks like intertwined hearts, but I haven’t seen it before.” 

Cas and Dean lean over the table to look, and Dean sketches out the double-heart pattern onto a notepad for reference.

“Hey Cas, can you hold these for a sec? I’m gonna grab the spell inspection potion.” Sam holds the handcuffs out and Cas reaches across the table. He grasps the other side of the cuffs, and—

A bang. A blinding purple light. 

Dean throws an arm over his face and gropes for Cas through the glimmering mist left in the wake of the light. Sam coughs and Dean’s eyes burn as his hand finds Cas’ arm. “You guys okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam splutters. “Cas? Oh— Cas. I— uh—” 

The mist thins, and Dean squints at the scene in front of him. Cas is sprawled across the table, left arm still extended out to Sam, but his hand is limp, and around his wrist, just above the glove, is the handcuff. The other side is attached to Sam’s right wrist. As they all watch, the handcuffs glow once more, then dim. 

“Um,” Castiel says. He weakly shakes his arm. The chain clinks. “It appears we’re stuck.”

“How’d that even happen?” Sam asks, brow furrowed. “Are you hurt?”

“No. Are you?”

Sam shakes his head. “I feel fine. The metal’s not affecting my skin, either. We can probably take off our gloves.” 

“What kinda enchantment does that?” Dean wonders, watching as Sam and Cas slide off their heavy gloves. 

“I wonder if it’s just what it seems — a really powerful restraining spell built into the locking mechanism.” Sam fumbles for a spellbook just out of his reach, then pauses and looks up at Cas. “You might want to scoot over here. Looks like we’re gonna have to stick close for a bit.”

“Of course.” Castiel stands, and, one arm still stretched across the table, maneuvers himself and his chair away from Dean and around to the other side, to settle in next to Sam. Their arms rest next to each other on the table, knuckles practically touching, and Dean— Dean just stares. 

He’s not sure why, exactly, he’s getting heartburn from the sight of his brother cozying up to Cas. They’re cursed. But then Sam twists slightly in his chair and reaches behind him for something, and the whole long line of his back leans against Cas’ arm and chest. 

Dean’s knee hits the table with a resounding thud. “Let’s break this damn curse,” he blurts loudly. 

Cas and Sam both look at him. 

“That’s the plan,” Sam says, with a lingering side-eye that clearly says what’s your problem? “But we got lucky. Of the curses we could’ve been hit with, this one’s not bad at all.”

“No,” Castiel agrees. “I don’t mind being stuck to you for a while.”

Dean has never dived into research so quickly. 

~~~~~~

They find nothing. Two long hours pass with them flipping through tome after tome, Dean retrieving books from the library at Sam’s request so he and Cas don’t have to navigate moving together too much. They find no sign of the strange heart symbol, and no other counter-incantations meant for locking spells yield any results.

Midnight crawls by, and Sam eventually rubs his eyes with his free hand. “Man, I need to sleep or I’ll be useless tomorrow.”

Castiel nods and yawns as well. “That last hunt with Claire exhausted me.”

“Let’s call it a night, then.” Sam closes his book. 

Dean watches them with wide eyes, mouth slightly open. “But, uh— sleeping. Where. How?”

“My bed’s plenty big,” Sam tells him, very slowly, as if explaining something to a child. Then he turns to Cas with raised eyebrows. “Unless you prefer your room, of course, Cas.”

“I have no preference,” Cas responds pleasantly.

Dean sputters. “But— Eileen—”

“—is at Donna’s for at least another three days,” Sam interrupts. “And why would she care? Stop being weird.” 

He and Cas navigate pushing their chairs back and standing up simultaneously. Sam has to walk with shorter strides than usual to match Cas’, and they wobble to the door.  

“We can grab your pillow on our way. We’ll probably have to share a blanket since— well.” Sam lifts their closely connected wrists. “But my comforter’s pretty big.”

He and Cas leave the room together, bidding Dean goodnight on their way, and Dean stands there and watches them go with a half-assed wave.

Two more hours pass before his vision’s officially too blurry to keep reading. 

The crack under Sam’s bedroom door is dark when he passes by, and something twists, cold and sour, in his chest.

~~~~~~

It’s been nearly three months since Jack pulled Cas out of the Empty, the culmination of months of negotiations, fruitless break-in attempts, and every type of summoning ritual Dean and Sam could cook up. Dean’s still not totally sure how Jack convinced the Entity to release Cas, but one morning the young God appeared in their kitchen, with a semi-unconscious — and human — Castiel slumped against him. 

After the initial round of shock and exclamations, they revived Cas in the infirmary. When his blue eyes finally blinked open and he frowned with that trademark confusion, that’s when the joy set in — the utter, breath-shaking joy that had Dean hugging Cas harder and longer than he’d ever dared before. He pressed his face into Cas’ neck and clutched at the back of his shirt and kind of laugh-sobbed while Cas wound his arms around him and squeezed back. 

Jack had to take off, eventually, but not before Sam and Dean reminded him to check in once in a while. They then quickly made sure Cas’ room was ready for him (Dean hadn’t gone in there since— well. It was dusty). That first night, Cas slept fourteen hours straight. 

They fell into a relaxed routine, with Castiel relearning how to be human, and Dean and Sam taking a pause on hunting to simply spend time with the friend they’d tried so long to save. They watched countless movies, Dean taught Cas how to make burgers, they visited Jody and Donna and the girls (Claire was the first call Dean made after Cas returned, and she hugged him nearly as hard as Dean had). 

It was the most content Dean’s ever been. Of course, Castiel’s last words hummed in the back of his mind, a constant echo that he studiously avoided talking about, but Cas didn’t mention anything either, so Dean figured that somehow, miraculously, he’d been spared having to bare any of his confused heart. He could just enjoy this time with the person he— anyway. Cas was finally here. That's all Dean wanted.

Cas did say that happiness was in just being, after all. That worked out well for Dean, who wasn’t sure what he wanted with Cas. Being seemed easy enough, for now. 

Then, one morning, Claire called Cas and asked if he'd be interested in hunting with her for a bit. Kaia was taking a short break, and Jody wouldn’t let Claire hunt without a partner. Cas, of course, was touched that Claire thought of him and agreed right away. 

Dean wasn’t gonna stand in the way of that, now was he? So he plastered on a supportive mask and put together a bag of weapons for Cas, even as heart plummeted. 

He knew it had been too good to be true. Castiel never stayed. He was stupid to think it might’ve been different this time. Silly.

Dean handed Cas a duffel bag, patted him on the shoulder, and sent him on his way.

They’ve seen him twice since then. 

~~~~~~

“Morning, Dean,” Sam says as footsteps shuffle into the kitchen. Dean’s slumped at the table, hands wrapped around a hot mug of coffee and head resting on an open book. “Did you stay up all night?”

“I got my four hours,” Dean mutters against the page. 

Sam makes a sound that’s half sigh, half snort. “You know me and Cas are fine, right? This isn’t a life or death case. You can sleep.”

Dean cracks open his eyes and glares at his brother, who’s leaning against the counter, shoulder-to-shoulder with a sleep-rumpled Castiel. They’re each holding a mug in their non-manacled hand. 

“I just want to give you your freedom, is that so bad?”

“I appreciate the effort,” Cas says with a small smile. His hair’s wild, and Dean realizes with a sick pang that he’s wearing different pants from last night. Visions of him and Sam getting changed while attached by a six-inch-long chain flash vividly and unbidden through his brain. 

God, why hadn’t Sam handed him the cuffs? Better yet, why hadn’t Dean found them, and then handed them to Cas—

Oh.

Dean freezes with his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. 

Well. That explains the heartburn. 

"Dean? You good?" Sam's voice floats through the rushing in Dean's ears. 

Just having an existential crisis about the man who confessed his love to me, that's all.

"Yep. So good." The words sound forced as fuck, but it's the best he can do. "Any ideas on how to tackle this today? Really haven't found anything in the lore." 

The handcuffed duo shuffle over to the table, and Sam grabs a chair to place it right up next to Cas’. They settle in next to each other, forearms touching. Dean chugs some coffee.

“We’re not sure,” Cas says. “We talked about it last night, and tried some more manual techniques as well, but at this point it’s unclear what the enchantment even is.”

Trying very hard to push the thought of Sam and Cas engaging in nighttime manual techniques, Dean gets up to start a batch of pancakes. “Can we get in touch with Rowena? She tipped us off about the coven in the first place.”

“I’ll try a blood call later,” Sam says, taking a sip from his mug. “Oh, Cas, I thought of a spell that can get us out of our shirts without having to cut them. And after breakfast we should figure out how to take a shower like this.”

Dean cracks an egg so hard that some droplets fly straight off the counter. As he starts beating the pancake batter, he sends a fervent, pleading prayer down to Hell that Rowena will come put him out of his misery. 

~~~~~~

Turns out Hell’s busy these days, or some shit, because Rowena does not answer Sam’s various attempts to make contact. Two days pass, and Dean is slowly reaching the end of his rope. Everywhere he goes, it’s Cas and Sam on the couch, Cas and Sam sharing a blanket, Cas and Sam in the backseat. They brush their teeth side by side, lean into one another at the table after a long evening of research, and Dean even catches Sam adjusting the collar of Cas’ shirt a couple times. 

He can’t stop his stupid brain from imagining what it’d be like if he were in Sam’s place. Sleeping in the same bed as Cas, that dark hair just inches from his own, feeling the blanket rise and fall with Cas’ breaths. Having Cas next to him all the time — watching movies, cooking dinner, working on Baby in the garage. Knowing Cas wouldn’t take off at any second.

The more he watches them, the more he thinks. And the more he thinks, the more he panics.

At this point, he’s past denying to himself that he wants Cas — not just in being, but in being together, in having, goddammit. And that means that if he ever wants a shot at happiness, he’s gonna have to talk to Cas. Gonna have to try to reciprocate, in his own ungraceful way, what Cas said to him. And hope that it’ll be enough.

On the third morning, they’re back in the library again, Cas on the phone with Claire to see if she can ask around about the heart symbol, Dean texting with Eileen about the same thing (Eileen finds the whole situation hilarious and expresses deep regret that she’s not there to witness it), and Sam hunched over his copper summoning bowl once more, muttering at the rippling surface of his own blood and trying to get through to Rowena. 

For his part, Dean has taken to avoiding looking at Cas and Sam as much as possible, just to quiet the bitter surges in his gut whenever he sees them. 

He’s about to suggest they break for an early lunch, when there’s a poof across the room, followed by a saccharine “Well, hello, boys.”

They all startle and look up to see Rowena striding towards them, her long red gown gliding behind her. “Haven’t you gotten yourselves into a pickle?”

“Rowena, finally, ” Sam says in relief. He and Cas lift their shackled hands. “Any chance you know how to get us out of these?”

“Hello to you too, Samuel,” Rowena says primly, leaning down to kiss him on the cheek. She bops Cas on the nose with her index finger and leaves him blinking in confusion. Dean gets a wave and a wink, which he returns with a small sarcastic smile.

Rowena then lifts the chain of the handcuffs with perfectly manicured fingers and inspects it. “Hmm. It appears you have stumbled upon an item from my personal collection!” She laughs airily. “Ah, these cuffs have seen many a delightful dalliance…”

“That means you can open ‘em, right?” Dean interrupts, trying very hard to ignore the implications.

Rowena tuts at him and traces the heart symbol. “Unfortunately… no.” 

“What?” Sam furrows his brow. “What’s it going to take?”

“Well,” Rowena says, drawn-out and exaggerated, as she takes a seat on the edge of the table. “You see, I used these for rather particular, intimate activities, and to ensure that I’d have a fulfilling night, the restrained party would have to— how do I put this delicately?” She taps her chin. “Well, they would have to reach a peak of satisfaction before the handcuffs would release them.”

Dean feels like the chair’s been kicked out from under him. “Oh, hell no.”

Cas just squints. “The handcuffs unlock upon orgasm?”

“Yes, dearie.” Rowena nods. “Of course, they were meant for use by one individual at a time, so I can’t say if you and Sammy will need to ring the bell simultaneously, if you will, or if one of you achieving org—”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Sam blurts, harried, cheeks flaming. His eyes dart over at Dean, who’s sitting there glued in place, not breathing. “Um. Oh, god. Okay. Cas, I think we should— we should go to my room, and— and figure out logistics, and then— then just forget this ever happened.”

Cas nods gravely, though he also glances at Dean, and there’s something in his eyes like… regret? “Yes. We’ll forget about it after.”

They each take a breath, then stand up together, much more graceful now that they’ve practiced for a few days. Sam looks ill, like he’s on his way to witness an execution. Dean’s brain wars between shouting at them to stop and simply ceasing to function, and it seems like option two is winning out. 

They make it three steps toward the door before Rowena suddenly breaks out into peals of laughter, torso shaking and head thrown back. “Oh, boys, you are so gullible.” 

All three of them stare at her. Dean’s heart pounds amid his confusion. Rowena just shakes her head with mirth. “That was a fun little experiment. Now come here. Of course I have keys to my own handcuffs.” She produces a chain from her cleavage, on which dangles a key with the same heart-symbol. 

“You’re kidding me,” Sam says, flat and unamused. Dean finally breathes again.

“Oh, forgive me a bit of amusing torture. It’s ingrained now, with my new job.” Rowena beckons them over and lines up the head of the key with the symbol on the cuffs. They glow purple again, and with a click, Sam and Cas are free. They quickly step apart, rubbing at their wrists.

“That last part was unnecessary,” Castiel says. “But thank you for getting us out of this predicament.”

“Cas is a lot more charitable than me,” Dean nearly growls. 

“Oh, Dean.” Rowena tucks the key, and somehow the handcuffs, back into her cleavage. “I hope you learned something from all this.” She winks again, and then with another poof, she’s gone.

The three of them stand there and stare at each other for a long, long moment. Then Sam lets out a huge breath, slaps his thigh, and says, “All right. I’m going to Donna’s. No offense, Cas, but I’m ready for some space.”

“None taken,” Cas says mildly. “Tell her and Eileen hello from me.”

“See ya,” Sam mutters awkwardly to Dean as he passes, and Dean grunts in return.

And then it’s just Dean and Cas. 

“That was strange,” Cas comments as he cleans away Sam’s bowl and starts to organize the books strewn across the table. “I’m glad I didn’t have to orgasm in front of Sam.”

Dean, slightly strangled, just says, “You’re glad?”

Cas tilts his head at him. “Of course. You’re the only one with whom I’m interested in engaging in sexual activities.” 

Dean can do nothing but nod blankly, tiny jerks of the chin, as he processes. 

Cas said "I love you." And he also wants to have sex. Both of those things. 

"You gotta stick around if you want that," Dean says, before his brain catches up. Well, Cas has laid out his cards pretty damn clearly. Dean can probably stand to reveal some of his hand.

Cas' lips curl into a pleased smile. "Luckily, my time hunting with Claire has come to an end."

"You're comin' back?" An embarrassing little edge of hope creeps into Dean's voice. He leans against the table as Cas skirts around the chairs and stops right in front of him. They're nearly chest-to-chest; Dean can feel Cas' body heat through their t-shirts. His shoulders really are broad. Dean flushes. 

"You want me to stay?" Cas murmurs, voice deep and rough.

Maybe Dean can still work up to the talking part of all of this. It seems like Cas is on board to start this thing, and Dean's not about to pass up. So he settles for sharing the first of his confessions.

It’s all she can do to keep looking at it, to keep staring at this symbol of her parents love that her best friend gave her. The words of his confession repeat themselves in her head, they dance around her in a never ending circle. “I love you, Iris,” he said, breathlessly, and she listened to him like she has always listened to him and then, in the blink of an eye, it felt like she was floating. And even now, even hours after he left her by herself, she’s still unanchored. She’s still drifting through space, still trying her best to grab on to whatever she can to pull herself back to her old life, to the way the world was even just a day ago when Barry was Barry and Eddie was the man she loved and she wasn’t so rocked, so confused, so questioning.

He’s been in love with her for years. Since before he was in a coma, before he went off to school, before he moved in and before his mom died. He’s loved her for more than half of his life and she doesn’t know how to react to any of this, doesn’t know how to process this information. Now that she knows, now that she knows that Barry loves her, every memory she has is imbued with that knowledge. The way he smiles at her when he thinks she doesn’t see him (and how can he ever think she doesn’t see him? She has been looking out for Barry her whole life, she’s been watching him from the corner of her eye for god knows how long. Because he isn’t always truthful to someone’s face but when he looks away, when he looks down, when they turn away he can’t help but show himself) starts to make sense to her, starts to take on layers of meaning that she somehow ignored before. He loves her.

He loves her.

Iris’ breath hitches.

She can remember all of those Christmases, when he would touch her hand lightly and look at her with his mouth open and then wait a beat to long to say “Iris, I love you,” and she’s always thought it was because holidays are hard when you’ve lost people you care about, and she always thought it was hard for him to be with her family when his was so shattered. She always imagined that Barry was just in pain, and she felt his pain too, felt his heartbreak (and she would tell him, I love you too Barry, over and over again because a broken heart was too much to bear alone and she knows exactly how it feels to lose the ones you love. She tells him this because she feels the loss of her mother every Christmas, too).

She can picture his face at each one of his birthday parties, each one of the intimate dinners that she took him to when they were in college and after they graduated. How open and happy he was, with the undercurrent of something more. (She wonders why it was so easy for her to assign that look she couldn’t quite identify to anything other than love, why she was so hesitant to even believe... ) She can see the ways his eyes soften when she tells him happy birthday and the way he smiles and she can still hear him, just a few years ago, when he told her she was the best thing in his life. She can still remember how those words made her smile, made her heart flutter; she can still remember how she pushed it down. And then she laughed and told him of course she was, and he was the best thing in hers, too. Best friends forever.

Iris can still feel his hand lingering on her back as they danced to a slow song at their junior prom. She can still hear his heart beat under her cheek. She still remembers the song that they danced to, the way that her body fit nearly perfectly against his, the way that he told her she was beautiful when he first saw her walk down the steps in her dress.

Echoes of their life reverberate around her and she remembers each and every one of them. Her life with Barry, up to this point, is carefully catalogued and contained within her; all of it is there, just waiting for her to pick it up and examine it. And now, with all of the facts on her side, she can see each moment for what it is and she’s shocked and hurting and so deeply confused.

Iris takes a deep breath and chokes back a sob, and she clutches the ring tightly in her right hand.

Eddie was right to think that it was a symbol of something deeper than friendship, she thinks. He was right to question something she thinks that maybe she has known forever and chose to ignore because there was no way that Barry could ever like her, there was no way that he could have cared about her as something other than a friend. She asked herself that question a million times in the past and every time she always came back with the answer that was just how Barry was because he was never any different around her. And she had always thought, through the crushes and the moments of self-realization and self-doubt, that because he was never any different around her that they were just friends. Best friends. Only ever going to be friends.

He wasn’t different around her because he has always loved her.