Supernatural 1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Supernatural or the characters therein, they were not of my creation.

**A/N: **I began this story with the intent of it being a oneshot, however my creative ambitions got the better of me and now, not only does it have a prologue, but everything and everyone has a backstory. Go figure. Rated M for sexual content & swearing. Dedicated to my gorgeous friend who constantly inspires and encourages me. I hope you all enjoy it as much as i am loving writing it.

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><p>Twelve years ago...<p>

Chaos. This was chaos. Here and now, standing in the middle of a room half blown to hell, the clang of shotgun shells hitting the concrete floor like rain, young men bleeding and yelling and pulling triggers over and over for the little voice in their ear that screamed at them, preached at them about the greater good, the significance of one life against millions. The frightened, pleading eyes of the young mother on her knees, clutching her child to her chest, begging for her life as her world fell apart around her...this was it. The culmination of three years without self, without free thought, without purpose other than that of a vessel for the intent of the powers that be. It all came down to this. A steady hand pointing the barrel of a 9mm at an innocent woman, finger resting solidly on the trigger. The young soldier eyed his target, the screams of his brothers a dull murmur behind the thud of his pulse hammering in his skull.

Pull it. Pull it, and give up the last shred of the weak, pathetic child he had been. The one who had never been good for anything, the one who could never get it right. The one who could not even save the person closest to him.

Pull it. Pull it and be something.

The blades of the chopper circling in over head beat in time with the blood coursing through his body. He gripped the Beretta tighter against the sheen of sweat on his palm, meeting the terrified stare of the innocent with one of blank resolve. And as he squeezed the trigger, putting a hole through both mother and child, he could have sworn he heard the scream of the boy he once was giving way to the warrior, the weapon, rising within him.

Castiel Novak turned his back on the limp bodies of his victims, holstering his pistol as he made his way out through the rubble. And as the chopper carried them away from the scene of the massacre, he knew the pleading eyes that he had so readily put a bullet between would stay with him for the rest of his life.


	2. The Recruit

**Present day...**

Castiel stared at the young recruit standing before him, an all too familiar figure taking up space in his small office. The air of arrogance and complete self assurance that seemed to radiate from the kid never ceased to amaze him.

"I've got all day, Winchester." He leaned back in his chair, his cold blue stare trained on the recruit.

The younger man kept his eyes trained on the far wall, a small self-satisfied smile tugging at his lips. One year. He had been in the program one year, and he was still a walking, talking 'fuck you' to the concept of authority as a whole. He was the sheer embodiment of self-perceived invincibility. He was constantly brawling, talking back to his higher-ups, taking creative licence on the orders he was given...He was, effectively, the most difficult recruit in the program.

And he was fucking lethal.

If not for his seemingly intrinsic combat ability and his keen mind for tactics, he would have been out on his ass on day one.

"What's it gonna be?" Castiel prompted, knowing he had about as much chance of getting a mere explanation as he did of getting an apology.

"Wasn't my fault." The recruit smiled. "It was self defence."

Castiel rose from his chair and circled around his desk to stand before the recruit.

"Mm, I vaguely remember the last few times being out of 'self defence' too. What is it about Michaels that seems to bring out your more violent tendencies?"

The young man refused to look at him.

"Differences in opinions, sir." The smirk grew.

Castiel stepped into his line of vision, stopping not two feet away from the recruit, his disquieting stare boring into the green eyes that he forcibly met with.

"In future, I suggest you find some other way to vent your frustration. We have inanimate objects, should the need for hand to hand combat practise arise, Winchester."

The boy nodded, his smile still firmly in place.

"Yes sir."

Castiel stepped back, turning his back on the recruit as he walked over to the cabinet under the window.

"As for right now," He turned back to face him, toothbrush in hand, "You've got about five seconds to hit the floor and start scrubbing before I really give you something to bitch about."

The cadet's smile faltered as the small brush was held out to him.

"Bucket's in the corner." Castiel's voice was flat, final, even though he knew the young soldier wouldn't argue with him. No one argued with him. It was why he had been put in charge of training up the bunch of rain man God-complex youths into what, if he succeeded, would be one of the most effective - and deadly - recon units at the marine corps disposal.

Castiel resumed his seated position behind his desk, eyeing the recruit as he sank to his knees and began scouring the floor with the tiny brush, the proud set of his jaw still visible even with his head ducked down. This kid...this one going to be a mission in and of himself.


	3. Running

Dean Winchester jogged the length of the court at a steady pace, his footfalls timed with the thump of the music blaring from his earphones. Drill practise was long since over, and the evening had a heavy, damp kind of warmth to it. The kind of evening best spent knocking back ice cold beers in front of a fan, not pounding the pavement. But, having spent the majority of his afternoon on his hands and knees spit-shining Officer Novak's floor, Dean was pissed. Pissed at Michaels for being the very specific kind of self-satisfied prick that pushed his buttons just by existing, pissed at Novak for wasting his day, and, more than anything, pissed at himself for ending up in this situation. Again. He knew it was beneath him to take the bait every time Michaels opened his smug mouth. But there was just something in him that refused to stand there and take it, despite the fact that he only ever ended up getting himself in trouble. So, in the humid August air, he ran. Up and down, one end of the court to the other, his frustration slowly dissipating as his legs began to burn with exertion.

It was a familiar kind of exhaustion, running until his body gave up on the aggression it held. Growing up, he had spent countless nights doing just that. Running from the anger he felt every time he watched his father walk out the front door, headed to the local bar, leaving Dean the sole protector of his younger brother, Sammy, despite the fact that Dean was barely a teenager himself. Running from the accusations of inadequacy and purposelessness that were hurled at him every time his father returned, drunk and bitter and needing someone to blame for the resentful, morose shell of a man he had become after the death of Dean's mother. It would all fade to a dull ebb at the base of his skull by the time his lungs were screaming for oxygen and his legs would not carry him any further. It became, throughout the course of his earlier teenage years, his coping mechanism. Physical exertion, in whatever form it most readily presented itself. Fighting, fucking, it was all the same.

He could still remember the way his father would look at him, clocking the dark bruises around his eyes, his split eyebrows and swollen lips. He would never say anything about them, wouldn't ask how or why they happened. He would simply look away, ignoring them, pretending they didn't exist as he did every other thing that might shift his focus away from his own misery. And so, Dean had not felt the slightest twinge of guilt when he made the decision to enlist. In his darker moments, he had wondered if his father would even notice he was gone. The only thing that had made him hesitant was Sammy. He had been ten years old, and just starting to come into his own. The thought of leaving him with only his defunct, dispassionate father as a role model had made Dean's heart sink. But he had known that if he did not get out and try to make something of his himself, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

Dean slowed to a walk, gazing up at the faint orange glow still tinting the horizon of the darkening sky. Sweat beaded down his back and chest as he drew in slow, deep breaths. The three years that had passed since the night he had kissed Sammy's sleeping form goodbye and left the house, documents with his father's forged permission stuffed in his duffel, had been a blur of weapons drills and unfamiliar places and mindless grunt work. That is, until he had been picked up by the marines almost a year ago for his 'combative abilities'. He had spent the last eleven months amongst some of the brightest, sharpest, deadliest motherfuckers he had ever met. And he was just as vital a component as any of them to this little dream team Officer Novak was spawning. Eight young men, all in their late teens and early twenties, snapped up from the faceless obscurity of the various national defence outfits, hunted out for what were recognised as 'intrinsic capabilities.' Dean had no idea how they had found him, but the day he had been choppered over to the base where he would begin his training under Officer Novak, the Avenging Angel himself, was the day he had recognised something in himself that he never had before...worth.

He finally had purpose, finally had cause to feel as though his existence was of value. Because it was not by dumb luck that he had been singled out. He had been selected, sought out, because he was exceptional. For once in his life, he was exceptional.

He peeled his sweat soaked shirt off his chest, allowing the evening air to breeze over his damp skin as he turned and headed back towards the barracks, finally deplete of both frustration and energy. Tomorrow was another day, another chance to get it right. And this time, he was determined not to screw it up.


	4. Leader

"Go, go, go, pick it up!" Castiel paced back and forth in front of his recruits in the chill morning air, occasionally stopping to rest his foot (and, once or twice, his entire body weight) on their backs as they performed quick fire push-ups against the damp asphalt.

"What do you wanna be, kiddies?" He taunted.

The voices of the young men rang out, a familiar chorus in the half-darkness.

"Warriors."

Castiel came to a stop in front of the last recruit in the line.

"And what are you?"

The young soldier looked up at him, his body raising and lowering on steady arms as he answered in unison with his brothers in arms.

"Vessels."

Castiel turned and walked back down the line, looking out at the growing light on the horizon.

He checked his watch, mentally calculating how long he had before his recruits were expected in weapons training.

"Ok, wrap it up." He tucked his watch back into his pocket. "There's something I need to talk to you about before you head to drill."

The young men heaved themselves up onto their feet, falling into line before their superior.

"Next week," Castiel began, "We will be heading out on a field op."

He watched the faces of the young recruits light up as the implications of the news sank in. He remembered all too well the relief and anticipation that accompanied the prospect of getting off base and out into the real world. It was easy to forget sometimes there was an entire universe out there when you were stuck in the same environment twenty-four-seven.

"It will be a thirty day stint in an undisclosed location. You will be airlifted in with your packs, and left to your own devices. I will be accompanying you to make sure," he glanced between the two cadets he was most hopeful were paying attention, "that you all return in one piece."

The low echo of approval sounded from the recruits.

"You will be given a list of essentials at the end of this week. Aside from that, the rest of what you choose to bring will be based on your own understanding of your training."  
>He eyed each of the young men standing before him in turn, before stepping back and glancing once again at his watch.<p>

"And I do believe," Castiel sighed "You are late for weapons drill. Haul ass, ladies."

It was as formal a dismissal as they ever got from him. He watched as they jogged across the asphalt, murmuring amongst themselves about their upcoming excursion into the field. Those thirty days were going to be make or break for the young soldiers. Castiel did not doubt their abilities in the slightest. He had, to this point, trained them well. To the best of his abilities. And he was certain that, had his recruits been left under the authority of anyone else, they would not have come half as far as they had in their training. It was one of the few things that made Castiel appreciate his reputation – he knew his recruits had heard stories about him, tales of the 'Avenging Angel', that had them more or less simultaneously terrified and in awe of him. The amount of truth that lay in what they had heard was debatable, but, as long as they kept assenting to him, Castiel was content for them to believe what they wanted.

He slowly made his way back to his office, breathing in the new day. He thought on the coming week, the things that would need to be squared off at base before he took his boys out into the field. Paperwork, mostly. His least favourite pastime. But he could not deny that there was a part of him that was eager for the challenge that awaited him out in the field, when it was just him and his soldiers, his weapons-in-the-making. The impending thirty days would teach those kids more about the reality of the job, of life itself, than the last year they had spent at base. It would not be easy for them, but if they could come through it as a unit, they would be one step closer to actualising what had been deemed, in low murmurs amongst the higher-ups, "Project Hades." Castiel's own, hand-reared death squad. Each and every one of his soldiers were, on their own, a walking death sentence. But all together...they were Fear itself.

The past eleven months had revealed in the young men the unspoken rankings within their own internal hierarchy that simmered just below the surface. Leaders were beginning to rise in the shadows of the group. It was becoming more and more apparent, as the power struggles played out in the form of petty brawls and disagreements. It was the driving factor in Castiel's decision to accompany the recruits on their impending field mission. Sooner or later, someone was going to snap. And he was willing to bet all his pennies on who it would be.

Dean Winchester reminded him more of himself than any other recruit, any other soldier, he had ever crossed paths with. He was coarse, and unrefined, and twice as gifted as any other individual he served beside. And he was angry. There was a deep seated hate within him that Castiel could see every time the kid picked up a gun, or threw a punch, or stood defiantly before him in the wake of some misdemeanour or other. It was almost unsettling, looking into the face of the young man, ten years his junior, and seeing himself. Whether or not that had anything to do with the fact that he was still in the program after so many red cards, Castiel couldn't say. But he knew, with every ounce of the soldier within him, that he would not let Dean Winchester be his own demise. Somehow, he would teach him to curb it, to draw on the ill-disguised hurt within him and turn it into strength and resolve. He would chip away at the exterior until all but his foundations were reduced to rubble, and in doing so, unmask the true leader of Project Hades.


	5. Warnings

Dean padded across the cool tile of the communal bathroom, his bare feet prickling in the cold night air as he made his way over to the sinks. The heavy plunk of water dripping from a leaking pipe in the showers at the far end of the room was the only sound punctuating the still night, as Dean gazed languidly at his reflection in the mirror. He took in the bruise-like shadows that darkened the skin under his eyes, evidence of one too many nights without sleep, and rubbed at the coarse brush of stubble lining his jaw. In the harsh fluorescent light, he looked like a man staring down the barrel of his thirties, not someone a week away from their twenty-first.

When Novak had announced that they were shipping out, it had not even registered that he would once again be spending his birthday in an unfamiliar place. Not that it mattered. He didn't care this year, about being away from home, about his birthday. It didn't matter anymore. Dean doubted if he would ever acknowledge his special day of the year again, let alone celebrate it. Not now that Sammy was gone. He had always been the one to get excited about birthdays.

He twisted the tap around, shivering slightly as he held his hands under the frigid flow of water. He let his hands grow numb, trying to block out the familiar pangs of guilt that always accompanied thoughts of his brother, of the fact that he had not been there when Sam had needed him the most. More than a year had passed since he had received the news of his death. From what Dean understood, it had been pneumonia. Pneumonia, for fuck sake, in this day and age. Their dad had been too busy trying to find the bottom of the bottle to take the kid to the hospital, and by the time he got off his ass to do something, it had been too late. So Sammy had died. Twelve years old, in his bed, in an empty house. And no matter how many triggers he pulled or fights he started or bad guys he blew away, Dean could not change that. He could not fix it, and he could not silence the voice in his head that told him it was All. His. Fault.

He brought his deadened, dripping hands up to scrub at his face, dropping his gaze from his too-old reflection. The upcoming field op was looking more and more like a lifeline with every angry, guilt-ridden thought Dean shoved to the back of his mind. Five more days, that's all he had to hold out for. Five days, and it was bye-bye proverbial brick wall.

He stepped back from the sink, tugging the hem of his shirt up to dab at his damp face as he turned and headed for the door.

A low hiss broke the silence of his thoughts as he clipped shoulders with someone he had not even heard enter the room. He brought the material away from his face, the half-baked apology he was muttering dying on his tongue the second his mind registered who he was staring at.

"Watch it." Michaels growled, meeting Dean's stare head on.

Dean huffed, a tired smile playing on his lips as he turned his back on the smaller man and headed for the door.

"Whatever. Bitch."

He heard the heavy scuff of boots across tile as Michaels slowly turned towards him.

"What was that?" His voice was a low snarl.

Dean sighed, halting with his hand on the door and pivoted back around to face him.

"Nothing. It was nothing."

MIchaels smirked, pacing slowly towards him.

"Would have thought the afternoon of bitch-work you did for Novak would have knocked that attitude right out of you, Winchester."

"What can I say?" Dean eyed the recruit as he came to a stop a few feet away from him, "I'm a sucker for punishment."

Michaels glowered at him.

"I'm not someone you wanna fuck with, Winchester."

Dean laughed softly, rolling his neck in a slow stretch.

"You think this is funny?" Michaels stepped forward. "You think you're invincible? I am UNTOUCHABLE here on base. Every punch you throw at me just gets you closer to being thrown out on your ass."

Dean smiled at him. "You know, you might be right on that one. But as of next week, you're lookin' at a whole month without daddy dearest to fight your battles. And I can assure you that the second we are outside these walls no one is gonna give a rats ass who you r father is."

Michaels hands balled into fists at his side.

"Is that a threat?"

"No," Dean turned back towards the door. "It's a warning. Kill or be killed, Princess."

Michaels lunged forward, fisting a handful of Dean's shirt, and shoved him face first into the wall beside the sinks. Dean let out a harsh cry as his nose connected with the concrete, a trickle of blood tracing its way down from his nose and over his lips. He raised his hands up and pushed at the wall, turning himself around to connect his fist with the smaller recruit's jaw with a sickening crack. His head snapped back with the force of blow, his hand instantly jacking up to cradle the point of contact as he backed away from Dean. Their eyes met, challenge against threat, both men breathing heavily as the echo of footsteps out in the hall sounded a warning. Dean wiped at the blood dripping down his chin, eyeing Michaels as he backed towards the doors, their gazes firmly locked. And as he watched him stumble out into the hallway, self-satisfied smirk firmly in place, Dean silently pleaded with a God he didn't entirely believe in that whatever punishment came of this would not involve being left behind next week.


	6. Fracture

**A/N: **Huge thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far, its so encouraging to see you guys are enjoying it! This chapter goes out to Black Demon Cat, whose review of the last chapter gave me the best laugh I have had all week...so stoked you're getting into the story! Hope you enjoy! xx

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><p>Dean sat with his back against the cold concrete wall of the corridor, forearms resting lazily on bent knees as he listened to the muffled sounds of a back-and-forth between Michaels and Officer Novak in the small office opposite him. They had been in there, door shut and voices raised, for the better part of an hour, and it was no small triumph in Dean's mind that he was not the only one getting chewed out this time.<p>

He tipped his head back against the wall, allowing his eyes to drift shut as he fabricated within his mind the castigation he sincerely hoped Michaels was suffering at that very moment.

The voices died down from within the small room, and Dean hefted himself up onto his feet as he heard the heavy thud of boots approaching the door. He stood to attention as Castiel opened the door, standing aside as Michaels shuffled out. He did not meet Dean's eye as he made his way out into the hall and headed in the direction of the barracks, his mouth set in a hard line.

"Winchester." Castiel gestured for him to step inside.

He stepped forward into the slightly cramped office, turning his head as Castiel shut the door behind them with a clack that was all together too loud in the otherwise silent space.

He kept his eyes forward as the older man seated himself at his desk, resting forward on his elbows with fingers laced together. He could feel his eyes on him, a palpable weight that made his stomach twist in apprehension of the barrage that was no doubt on its way.

He fought the urge to fidget, clasping his hands behind his back as he listened to Officer Novak breath deeply, in and out, sizing him up as he stood before him. His pulse pounded in his ears as he waited, the thick silence of the room pressing at him, making him feel as though he were standing under a heat lamp.

He flicked his eyes over to his commanding officer, a quick glance before returning his gaze to the wall behind the desk.

He sighed heavily, unable to withstand the weighted quietude a moment longer.

"Sir, I –"

"Don't." Castiel nailed him with a grim stare. "Just...Don't, Dean."

The younger man flinched at the harsh absurdity of hearing his first name on Officer Novak's lips.

Castiel stood, planting his hands on the desk.

"Look at me."

Dean drew in a steadying breath as he turned to meet his superior's stare.

Castiel eyed the young recruit as he continued in a grave purr.

"What's it gonna take? Hmm? I have put my ass on the line time and time again to keep you around when everyone else wanted you out. You have had chance, after chance, after fucking chance and still, you continue to spit on my good graces."

Dean felt a fine sheet of sweet slicking over his palms as he held Castiel's stare, his rational mind screaming at him to just keep his mouth shut. He could feel his blood beginning to simmer in his veins as he fiercely tried to quell the frustration building within him.

Castiel stepped around the desk, planting his feet firmly in front of Dean.

"You have been nothing but a pain in my ass since the moment you stepped onto base. And, God help me, I have _tried_ to get past the fact that you are youthful insolence personified. But every time you end up here before me, I loose a little of that will to try and make something of you. So give me one good reason I shouldn't drop you here and now."

Dean's vision blurred at the edges as blood boiled over behind his temples, and an almost audible snap resonated from somewhere within him that he could not quite place.

"Because you need me." He stated plainly, taking in the astonished widening of his superior's gaze that locked with his.

"...I _need_ you?" Castiel's voice was a low growl. "You think I _need_ you?"

"I know you do." Dean continued unflinchingly.

The older man stared in disbelief at the young recruit, measuring his words carefully as he responded.

"_No one, _is indispensable, Winchester. Not even you, you arrogant son of a bitch."

Dean shifted his gaze back to the far wall, his expression falling blank.

"Let me guess," He gibed defiantly, "Bucket's in the corner?"

Castiel huffed humourlessly, stepping in close to speak against Dean's ear in a hoarse whisper.

"Boy, for all I could tear you apart right now, you should be on your knees _kissing _the fucking floor."

Dean turned his head towards him, their faces mere inches apart. He drew in a breath as all his ill-contained resentment, and anger, and self-loathing finally broke the surface, and he saw no reason to withhold it anymore. He locked gaze with his superior, green against blue, and slowly sank to his knees in front of him.

Dean was vaguely aware of a startled gasp escaping Castiel's lips as he pressed his mouth against the cold linoleum that he had scrubbed down mere days before. His pulse shuddered and thumped viciously through his body as he forced himself down against the floor, rolling his hips as he wantonly licked and sucked at the lino, an irate heat burning and building within him. It was as though something within him had finally fractured, and he no longer held concern for the potential consequences of his actions.

His breath was coming in laboured heaves as he rocked back onto his knees, pausing a moment before he hefted his weight up onto his feet. He stood for a moment staring at the floor, panting heavily, before turning towards the door. Without a further word, or glance, to his superior, he marched out of the suddenly too-hot office, breaking into a jog as he hit the corridor. If ever there was a time to run from his actions, from himself, now was it.


	7. Control

**A/N: **So...I _could _have been mean and made you wait for this...but I wont :)

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><p>Castiel stared, dumbfounded and rooted to the spot, as the young soldier fled from his office, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. He desperately grappled to make sense of what had just happened, the brazen display that was in an instant seared into his memory. Clearly, the kid had snapped.<p>

He gazed down at the spot on the floor by his feet where, moments ago, his most promising recruit had been all but dry humping the linoleum with a ferocity that bordered on violence. On unsteady legs, he strode over to the half-open door and pulled it shut, twisting the lock with fumbling fingers as his pulse pounded in his ears.

He flicked the light switch next to the door frame, plunging the room into near darkness, the only remaining light a soft glow from the small lamp on his desk. He leant back against the door, drawing in a steadying breath as his eyes wandered around the room, not quite registering anything his gaze brushed over. He breathed deep against the tight coil of heat that twisted low in his stomach, a long-repressed need building within him. He slowly crossed the room, seating himself once again behind his desk. He brought his forearms up to rest on the polished wood, one hand finding its way up to rub gruffly at his mouth before running through his hair as he dropped his head forward. He stayed like that for what seemed like a lifetime, head bent, one hand clasping the back of his neck as he fought a losing battle against his racing pulse that was frantically redirecting all the blood in his body to his groin.

He drew his lower lip into his mouth, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh until the metallic tang of blood hit his tongue. The throb between his legs grew stronger, more urgent...And God, did it ache. His hands shook as he pushed back from the desk, his breaths coming faster and shallower. He exhaled sharply, unable to suppress his desperate urge for release, and frantically tugged at the buckle on his belt. He worked with quick, impatient fingers to free himself from the restriction of his pants, and as he wrapped a firm hand around himself, his entire body responded violently to the long denied contact.

He moaned deep in his throat, head tipped back and eyes scrunched shut as he fiercely pumped his straining shaft. His arm burned with the exertion of the almost brutal force with which he clambered for release, tugging and squeezing himself as the once familiar beginnings of climax built low in his stomach. He dragged his thumb over his swollen tip, gasping at the heightened sensation as he bucked up into his hand, losing conscious control of his surging hips. He groaned breathlessly as his strokes became desperate, his thumb sliding over the tip with every stroke. His head fell forward, the fingers of his free hand digging into the arm rest of the chair as he gave in to the force of his climax with a low moan, his release spattering his shirt and hand.

His breaths shuddered in and out of his chest as the final shivers of orgasm rolled through him, a wave of what should have been sated completion. But as he stared down at the evidence of his actions that clung to his hand and stomach, he felt nothing but a deep-seated disgust at his own weakness.

He slowly dragged himself out of his chair and over to the sink in the corner, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it into the basin. He pushed the plug into the sinkhole and unscrewed the tap, holding his hands under the hot stream of water as the basin began to fill and soak his shirt. He scrubbed at his skin until it was raw, his mouth set in a hard line as he removed all traces of his lapse in control. He wrung his shirt out and draped it over the heater, pulling a spare one from the small cupboard by the window.

He was not going to follow up on the incident with Dean. The kid had blown a fuse...and so had he. And as he switched off his desk lamp and locked up his office for the night, he erased the last hour of his life from his memory.


	8. Ground Zero

Dean squinted out the window of the chopper into the early morning sun, breathing in deep, genuine relief as he watched the faint orange glow spread over the dense forestry below.

God knows how he had survived it, after spending the last four days in silent dread of what he had believed would be inevitable fallout from his actions in Novak's office last week. But somehow, he had made it to the point of judgement, the final all-in that would be the deciding factor of his fate within the project.

And it had been agony.

He had taken his self-control to its limits in a desperate bid to avoid being sent to Novak on account of misdemeanour, and had avoided eye contact with the man at all costs when forced to be in his presence. He had spent his every waking moment in half-expectation of being called up about his...outburst, of facing some kind of punishment. But it never came. Novak had not once tried to speak with, or draw attention to him since that night, and yet Dean was still unable to quite believe he was to remain unpunished for what had been, he readily admitted, an entirely unjustified and offensive display.

He had at one point been tempted to approach Novak about it, purely for the sake of getting whatever reprobation that was surely coming to him over and done with. But there was something in the way that Officer Novak had been avoiding him almost as avidly as Dean had been attempting to fly below the radar himself, that almost made him believe that Novak was as determined to forget the whole thing as he was.

He glanced out the corner of his eye at his superior, who had spent the entirety of the flight with his eyes glued to the same spot on the door of the chopper, his face (as always) unreadable.

As much as Dean had tried to bury the incidents of the previous week deep under the existing mound of 'don't go there' in his subconscious, one thing had stuck with him, gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

This was his last shot. He screwed up even once over the course of the field op, of his own admonition or someone else's, and Novak would drop his ass in an instant. He had come dangerously close to doing just that last week. Dean knew that it was nothing short of miraculous that he had been roused in the early hours of that morning to deploy with the rest of his squad.

Castiel stood, claiming the recruits' attention without a word. He glanced down at his watch.

"Ok, we're about ten minutes out of location. Everyone clear on how this is gonna work?"

A chorus of "Yes sir" sounded over the whir of the chopper blades.

"Good, 'cause if you don't by now, you're pretty much screwed."

A low rumble of laughter rolled around the recruits as they started moving around the small cargo space, shifting packs and supply crates over to the door of the aircraft, ready to drop in. It was a kind of methodical chaos, both routine and surreal as they went through the motions they had performed countless times before, both in drills and on previous excursions. Each and every recruit inherently knew his place and purpose in the procedure, and the ensuing thirty minutes were a blur of equipment and repelling ropes and raised voices calling commands until they finally found themselves straining to hear the fading hum of the chopper as it disappeared.

An almost palpable silence fell over the recruits as they looked around at each other, at their surroundings, the realisation settling in that this was it. For the next thirty days, all they had was this, each other, and the skills they possessed.

Dean glanced around the mountainous terrain, his lungs stuttering against the thin, chill air that told him they were at a higher altitude than he was accustomed to. They appeared to have been dropped in a small clearing, surrounded on all sides by dense woods that were at once deafeningly silent and humming with unseen life.

He shouldered his pack and fell in with the other recruits as they gathered around Officer Novak, who looked at each of them in turn, a flicker of what could almost be construed as hope behind his eyes. It was almost as though he were calculating their individual chances of coming through this unscathed, and could not quite allow himself complete optimism. Not yet.

As his gaze finally locked with Dean's, for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Dean could almost have sworn their fearless leader was speaking to him and him alone as he offered up the only encouragement he could in the face of the mission that lay before them.

"Welcome to ground zero, boys."

* * *

><p>The sun was hanging low in the sky by the time Officer Novak signalled to the recruits that their day-long hike was over, and they had arrived at their intended location. They worked in the dying light to set up a liveable camp, and by the time the light of day was completely stolen from the sky, they had established what would be their base for the next thirty days.<p>

Dean's gaze drifted around the makeshift base as the gas lamps were lit for the night to chase off the encroaching shadows. He tilted his face to the heavens, the sky above a heavy blanket of end-of-summer haze, barely visible past the soaring tree tops that canopied the entire mountainside. He could almost feel all the pent up tension and frustration seeping out of his body as he breathed in the fresh evening air, what felt like the first full breath he had taken in God knew how long. This was where he belonged, outside of the walls, the barriers that choked him and tried to force him into submission. Out here, he was not just another vessel to be shaped and filled with someone else's ideals. He had been brought here to prove that he had his own two feet to stand on.

He looked over to the far side of the site where Novak had set up his quarters, inwardly flinching as his conscience ticked over the things that he knew needed to be squared off with his superior. He had never been good at explanations, much less apologies. But as much as he dreaded the inevitable discomfort of what he was about to force himself to do, he just as adamantly needed Novak to know that he was serious about his position in the squad.

He attempted to slow his breathing as he began a slow amble in the direction of his commanding officer's tent, his mind working a mile a minute as he grappled for the right words and inwardly rehearsed how the conversation would go. He rubbed his palms nervously against his thighs in a fruitless attempt to dry them, pausing as he reached Novak's tent to suck in as much oxygen as his lungs would allow. He could do it, he could make this right and then be done with it. He glanced back towards the communal area, fighting his last desperate urge to turn back and leave things the way they were. With a silent curse, he stepped forward into the pool of light outside the tent, and raised his voice in an unsteady call.

"Officer Novak?"


	9. Chances

Castiel looked up from his scrawl of writing across the log book balanced on his lap, a tall shadow blocking the light outside his tent. He tossed the book onto the floor beside him and pushed up onto his feet, stepping over the crates of ammunition and supplies that crowded the small space as he headed to pull back the door of the tent.

"Winchester?" He stopped short as his brain registered the recruit standing nervously outside his doorway, hands stuffed into his pockets.

"Sorry to disturb you, Sir, I was just wandering if I could, uh..." The recruit shifted nervously on his feet, "...Do you have a minute?"

Castiel stared at the young man, not quite knowing what to make of the sudden absence of ego and conceit that usually surrounded the recruit. He stepped aside, allowing Dean to step into his tent.

He eyed the young soldier as he stopped just inside the cramped space, the tent just high enough to accommodate his height. Castiel stepped around him and resumed his seated position on the floor, motioning for Dean to sit down.

He waited as the young man lowered himself to the ground, looking decidedly uncomfortable as he avoided Castiel's gaze.

"I just wanted to..." He began, his eyes darting around the tent. "Uh, I...I thought I should..."

Castiel's brows furrowed as the boy sighed heavily, his struggle for words written all over his face. He brought his hand up to scrub at his hair and rub at his mouth, clearly frustrated and awkward as hell as his attempt to communicate crashed and burned.

It was bordering on unsettling, seeing the young soldier reduced to this, so far from his usual presence of complete confidence. Whatever it was that he was trying to say, Castiel whole heartedly believed that it was important that he get the chance to say it. But there was no way that was happening right now, not with Dean in the state he was in.

Castiel broke into the heavy silence between them, his voice grave and commanding in the small space. "You will be out of your tent tomorrow at oh-five-hundred hours, and you will meet me here."

Dean paled as his eyes finally met with his superior's, the faintest trace of dread clouding his expression.

"Yes, Sir."

Castiel nodded, reaching for his long book and settling it in his lap once again. He glanced up at Dean who remained frozen on the spot, eyeing him warily, unsure of what was expected of him in that moment.

"You're dismissed, Winchester."

He watched the recruit as his expression shifted through the realisation that the conversation was over, that he was going to have to wait until tomorrow for the resolution of whatever it was he had come to him for. Dean nodded, hastily stumbling to his feet and ducking out of the door with a mumbled "Sir."

Castiel sighed, pausing with his pen over the page. He could not for the life of him justify to himself why he felt so strongly compelled to resolve whatever it was that was afflicting his recruit. Hell, every damn one of them had a screw loose in some capacity, and not once had he ever taken their issues upon himself. Everyone had their battles, inward and otherwise. It wasn't his domain to play camp counsellor. But there was something in him that told him whatever was going on with Dean, if and when he found out what that was, would not be entirely unfamiliar to him.

He filled in the rest of the day's entry into the log book, his mind only half on the task at hand. He did not know what he would say to Dean in the morning, or if he would even say anything at all. But the young recruit needed to know that he had the space to vent, regardless of whether or not he chose to take advantage of that.

Castiel finished with the necessary paper work for the evening, making a conscious effort to put thoughts of Dean out of his mind. He had lost enough sleep these last few nights over thoughts of the young man, and he was starting to feel the effects of it. Tomorrow, he told himself, he would sort this out. He would put right, to the full extent of his abilities, whatever was afflicting his recruit, and then they could move forward.

And as he readied himself to turn in for the evening, he almost believed it.

* * *

><p>Shit. This is it.<p>

Dean's stomach turned somersaults as he stumbled in the early morning frost towards Officer Novak's tent, his mind frantically churning out the same thoughts that had kept him up for the entire night beforehand.

I've blown it. I've pissed him off for the last time. And now...Novak is going take me into the woods... And kill me.

He rubbed his hands together in a vigorous attempt to generate heat as he came to a stop outside his commanding officer's tent, fidgeting on the spot as he waited. It was a little before five, but he had been too keyed up, and just too damn _afraid_ of what was about to go down to just sit in his tent and wait.

Dean glanced up as a rustling sound broke into the stillness of the morning and Novak emerged from his tent.

"Sir." Dean addressed his superior, planting his feet and holding his head high against every instinct in his body that screamed at him to duck and run.

Novak nodded a silent greeting at him, glancing off into the woods.

"This way." He turned to head away from the camp site, glancing back at Dean as he slowly took up pursuit of his leader.

They walked in silence, Dean a few paces behind as they began a slow trek further up the side of the mountain, weaving in and out of trees, crushing damp leaves underfoot and breathing in the scent of the morning. The sun slowly crept over the horizon, a dim glow building amongst the trees and dappling the dewy forest floor.

Dean listened intently to the sounds of the new day, of the woods waking up around him as he was lead further and further away from the small piece of civilisation they had created.

He fervently stifled the voice in his head that assured him that they were far enough out now that only the birds would hear him scream, as Novak came to a stop, glancing around them at the utter solitude.

Dean's heart beat kicked up a notch as his superior took a few steps towards him, meeting his gaze head on.

For what felt like a lifetime, he did not speak. He did not move, nor did he shift his gaze. He just...stood there. Staring. Waiting.

Dean shifted on his feet, desperately trying to quell the tremors that were building in his muscles. His lungs felt as though they had shrivelled under the weight of Novak's gaze, as he tried, and failed, to draw in a full breath. He dropped his gaze to the ground, unable to hold it a second longer against the weight pressing on his chest. His heart was racing as he grappled for something to say, some way to break the almost palpable tension that hung between them.

"When I was nineteen, I shot a young woman in the heart."

Dean's head snapped up as Novak's voice broke through the heavy silence. He glanced at Dean as he rested his weight against the weathered trunk of an ancient tree, returning his gaze back to the ground.

"I killed her child too."

Dean's entire body froze as he watched the play of emotions on the older man's face as he continued to speak.

"They had nothing to do with the raid we were on. Weren't even in the way. But those were the orders. Kill them all."

He glanced up at Dean, something deeply buried and indiscernible flashing behind his eyes.

"I still see her. Still dream about her, begging for her life. I don't think I'll ever get that image out of my mind."

Dean nodded, the only response he could manage as he held his gaze.

"It's a strange kind of power, that of a soldier. You're given orders, permission to take life from even those completely removed from the conflict at hand. But that day, the day I killed that woman, it wasn't just about doing the job."

Castiel's breath shook slightly as he exhaled.

"I did it because I needed proof that I was capable. That I wasn't worthless, useless. I killed an innocent woman and her child to validate myself, to silence the echoes of my past that told me I could never be good for anything. And I have carried it with me ever since."

Dean swallowed hard, grasping at the edges of the information Novak had poured out into the quietude, something in him completely certain that there was a message in there somewhere, if he could manage to sift it out.

Castiel stepped forward, nailing Dean with a weighted stare that, in an instant, froze all of his thought processes as he offered up the words Dean had spent his whole life believing he would never hear.

"You are better than that."

Dean's stare faltered as he felt something within him shift, ever so slightly.

"I know what it's like," Castiel's voice was a rough murmur, "Waking up with the knowledge that you can't go back. When your every waking moment is tinged with regret and failure and guilt, riding you until you feel like all there is, is hate...But if you can't learn to curb that, Dean, it's gonna kill you. And then _everything_ that you have been through, every single painfully significant inch of Hell that you have walked through to get here, is worth _nothing_."

Dean's lungs burned as he held all his breath inside his body, desperately trying to hold back the fierce rush of nameless emotion that Novak's words incited within him.

"Yes, Sir." His hoarse reply was barely more than a whisper. "I understand."

He kicked at a twig lying near foot, scuffing it along the ground.

"I, uh...I know I've been given a lot of chances..."

"And you deserved every one of them." Novak interrupted, his voice holding no trace of uncertainty.

"God knows you piss me off, Winchester, but if you don't deserve to be here, no one does."

Dean nodded, void of response other than the slight assent of his head, still only half able to believe the conversation was not going to head south and involve a pistol.

"Okay," Novak glanced at his watch, his face resuming its usual mask of detached composure. "We need to head back."

Dean took in the shards of sunlight that were spotting the forest floor, realising with a start that more than an hour must have passed. He fell in beside Novak as they began their descent back toward base, walking side by side in silence.

Dean breathed deeply as they closed in on the camp site, pausing just out of view to address his commanding officer.

"...Sir?"

Novak halted, turning to look back at his recruit.

"Yeah?"

"...Can we walk again tomorrow?"

Dean watched Novak's face carefully as he stared back at him.

"...Yes," Castiel nodded, "...We can."


	10. Screw

**A/N: **Once again, just want to say a massive thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, i absolutely love hearing your feedback on the story! And now, for the moment you have all been waiting for...this chapter is a bit of a long one, but somehow I don't think you guys will mind ;)

**WARNING: **This chapter contains graphic sexual material...FINALLY! ;)

* * *

><p>The first two weeks went by in what felt like the blink of an eye. Every morning, Castiel would step out of his tent and into the pre-dawn frost to find Dean waiting for him. They would walk in silence through the trees, always taking the same path. Once or twice Dean would open the lines of communication, and they would talk for a short while before falling back into comfortable silence. But that wasn't the point of their early morning excursions. It wasn't about talking. It wasn't even about getting away from the camp site. It was about the unspoken understanding that had come to exist between them. Somewhere in amongst the daily ammunitions training and logistics exercises and combat practise, Castiel had begun to see a shift in Dean, the unmistakable emergence of a new side of the young soldier. His presence within the group was more apparent than it had ever been at base, as he began to take upon himself the responsibilities of his squad, stepping up to the plate at every given opportunity to lead his team.<p>

Castiel would step back and watch, unable to quell the pride that would swell within him, as his recruit would lead the young men around him through drills and exercises, his behaviours and mannerisms slowly but surely slipping into that of a captain, a commander.

And so, in the early morning light, when they would walk the familiar path through the forest, Castiel felt as though he were in the presence of not only an equal, but a kindred spirit. He had come to value his time with Dean, the space that was created the moment they fell in stride with each other in which he could truly let himself breathe, and think, and feel understood without ever saying a word.

He knew it was not an entirely sound practice, allowing himself to have such affiliation to his recruit. It was outside of the bounds set down by his position and status, and while there were no explicit guidelines regarding this...whatever it was, he had going on with his recruit, he was fairly certain that there was some rule, somewhere, that he was somehow breaking.

He would often pause before leaving his tent in the morning, considering the potential consequences of staying exactly where he was and putting a stop to their little routine...but he would be out the door before he could convince himself it was the right thing to do.

The days out in the field were long, and run on a tight schedule to accommodate the numerous trials and assessments that had been deemed necessary by Castiel and the higher-ups back at base, to determine the efficacy of the project to date. It all just seemed to blur into one long, insurmountable task as Castiel would write in the log book at the end of each day, flicking through the various drill agendas that were yet to be trialled and carried out.

To the credit of his recruits, they had thus far blitzed every single one, and Castiel had every faith they would return to home base having achieved everything they had set out to.

And so, as Castiel closed the log book on the Sunday evening of the second week, he conceded that a few bottles of liquor and a blind eye for a few hours were well within the limits of what his recruits had earned.

* * *

><p>"...I fold." Dean glanced down at his hand of cards, pressing them face-down against the upturned crate that had been serving as the game table in the communal area.<p>

The young recruit who had bested him chuckled, lacing his hands behind his head in a slow stretch.

"Finally!" He groaned, "Dean Winchester has been taken down!"

"Yeah, yeah." Dean smiled back at him, "Just don't spread it around."

The other recruit sighed contentedly, his eyes suddenly locking on something behind Dean with a vague flash of wary curiosity.

Dean turned to glance at what had spiked his comrade's attention, only to find Novak strolling toward the communal area with a dark glass bottle in each hand.

Dean pushed himself up onto his feet, unable to suppress the smile that tugged at his lips as his commanding officer approached, holding out one of the bottles to him.

"Bourbon?" Dean smiled, accepting the liquor. "What's the occasion?"

"I've survived two weeks of your sorry ass." Castiel smacked him good-naturedly on the side of the arm, setting the other bottle down on the makeshift table. "I'm gonna leave you guys to it. If I didn't see it, it didn't happen."

"Understood." Dean grinned.

"Try to keep it casualty-free, gentlemen." Castiel called over his shoulder as he turned and made his way back across the campsite.

"Well," Dean sighed as the recruits crowded in, "Don't suppose anyone's got any strippers on speed dial?"

A rumble of laughter warmed the evening air as the bottles were passed around amongst the soldiers, the first fragment of normalcy that had been permitted them in what felt like a lifetime.

Night settled in around the recruits as they sprawled around the communal area in a lazy haze of conversation, the contents of the bottles slowly disappearing inch by inch.

Dean lay back against the damp ground, gazing up at the heavy clouds rolling in as the alcohol warmed him from the inside out, a pleasantly familiar numbness creeping over him.

He allowed his eyes to drift shut as he sucked in the pressing scent of impending rain, the edges of his blurring consciousness snapping back into focus as a familiar voice rang out over the group.

"I have an idea..."

Dean peeled back his eyelids to find Michaels sitting up across the circle, cradling a near-empty bottle of liquor as he half-slurred into the quiet.

"Why don't we play a game?"

The recruits laughed guardedly, glanced around at each other, cagey as to where exactly this was going.

"I know...Why don't we all have a game of follow the leader?" He stumbled to his feet, nailing Dean with a sneer, "It'll be easy, seeing as Novak's already picked the leader for us, right?"

Dean pushed up to sit forward, his forearms resting on his knees.

"Sit down, Michaels." He sighed heavily.

"Why? Because _Dean Winchester _told me to?" Michaels weaved slightly on his feet. "You're not above me, Winchester. You're just Novak's little bitch boy."

Dean gritted his teeth, inwardly counting to ten.

"What's in it for him, huh? You payin' him off?" Michaels stumbled closer.

"Come on man, just leave it." One of the other recruits spoke up.

"What? You don't wanna know what pretty boy here had to do to get his little promotion? 'Cause I do!" Michaels continued, turning back to stare straight down at Dean. "Come on Winchester, what did you do? Huh? You get down on your knees and suck his cock?"

Dean shoved up onto his feet, stepping in close to the shorter recruit.

"Fuck you, Michaels."

"Yeah, I bet you'd like to." Michaels smirked. "Except that wouldn't get you as far as fucking Novak, would it?"

Dean's hands slowly curled into fists at his sides, his blunt fingernails digging into his palms.

"...Wow," Michaels snorted. "Not even trying to deny it. I mean, I always knew you were worthless, Winchester, but having to whore yourself out to get noticed...That's pathetic, even for you."

He stepped in close, his voice dropping to a rough murmur.

"Does it make you feel wanted? Does it fill that big old hole in you that just can't quite get past the fact that daddy never loved you?"

Dean could feel every muscle in his body awaken to a dull burn as he slowly began to back away, turning away from Michaels' self-satisfied stare.

"Yeah, that's right, be the bigger man Dean! Walk away!" Michaels' called after him, "Go find Novak, maybe he'll throw you a pity fuck!"

Dean could hear the vague hum of the other recruits trying to talk Michaels down as he headed out past the edge of the camp site, his breath sawing in and out of his chest as he broke into a run.

The crack of twigs snapping underfoot as he weaved between the shadows of the tree trunks filled his ears, punctuating his pulse that pounded inside his skull as he ran, only vaguely aware that his feet were leading him up the path he took every morning with Officer Novak. A low rumble of thunder sounded overhead as the forest grew darker around him, the haze of the crescent moon shrouded by the encroaching storm clouds.

He slowed to a walk as his lungs began to burn, struggling to take in the heavy, damp air, as he fought against the tide of aggression Michaels had stirred within him.

He sucked in a deep breath, filling his stuttering lungs, and threw his head back, unleashing a violent, anguished cry into the solitude. The sound of his anger echoed off the trees, the entire night falling silent in its wake.

"...Dean?"

His head snapped forward as the familiar voice broke through the pained lull. Officer Novak walked towards him, cautious concern tainting his gaze.

"Sir..." Dean stuttered breathlessly, "...What are you doing out here?"

Castiel approached him slowly, arms folded across his chest. "Thought I'd give you guys some space." The older man took in the tight set of Dean's jaw and shoulders. "...What happened?"

Dean dropped his gaze, raising his hand to rub at his mouth.

"Nothing a count of homicide wouldn't fix." He murmured.

Castiel eyed him warily. "...Michaels?"

Dean nodded, glancing skyward as a heavy curtain of rain began to fall. He sighed heavily, tilting his face towards the heavens as he felt the raw heat of his anger rolling off of him in waves. He felt as though every muscle in his body was wound to the brink of snapping.

"...I can't do this." He whispered hoarsely, shifting his gaze to look at his commanding officer. "I'm sorry...But I can't do this."

The older man turned to stare a question at him.

"I just...I'm always gonna be _this._ I'm always gonna be angry. No matter what I do, or how hard I try, there is always gonna be this..._hate_, inside me, that I can never switch off. And if it doesn't end up killing me...it's gonna be the end of someone else." His voice wavered as he met Novak's gaze.

"I'm sorry, Sir...But I am not worth the time you are putting into me, trying to save me from myself, or whatever it is you think you're doing...I'm done."

Castiel nailed him with a stare that pierced through Dean's defences as he spoke in a low growl.

"You're done when I fucking say you're done."

Dean dropped his gaze.

"You don't get to quit because you're pissed off. _You_ don't get to quit at all!" Castiel closed the distance between them. "You're angry? Fine. Hit me. As hard as you can. But don't ever tell me you're done."

Dean stumbled back a step as his superior tugged his shirt over his head and threw it aside.

"What are you doing..." Dean stammered.

"Hit me." Castiel challenged.

Dean stared in blank confusion at the older man as he slowly began to circle him, the pouring rain running in rivulets down his exposed chest.

"I'm not gonna hit you..." Dean murmured.

"Come on, soldier!" Castiel taunted. "You're fucked off? Do something about it! Hit me!"

Dean felt his blood begin to simmer beneath the surface, anger and confusing stirring within him as the older man struck him mockingly up the side of the head.

"Stop fighting it, Dean...Use it..." He struck him again. "Show me just how much you hate yourself..."

Dean growled low in his throat, reaching down with shaking hands to grasp the hem of his shirt and pull it up over his head.

"Oh, he finally mans up!" Castiel goaded, eyeing the young solider as his hands curled into tight fists at his sides.

Dean fought against the tremors racking through him as pure adrenaline burned in his veins, tinting the world red. He stepped in close to Castiel, meeting his piercing gaze head on for a fleeting moment.

"...You will _never_ know how much I hate myself..." He whispered, jacking his arm up in a vicious right hook that caught Castiel square in the mouth.

Dean stared for a weighted second in the wake of the blow, frozen to the spot as the reality of what he had just done hit him like a freight train. His eyes locked with Novak's, an intense burn of satisfaction and something darker, deeper, flooding through his body as Castiel stared back at him, tonguing the split in his lip as it began to swell.

His breaths came in shallow pants as the rain hammered down against his bare skin, an arcane and resonant force combusting within him as he eyed the man in front of him standing stock still in the raging storm, drenched from head to foot.

He stepped forward, all resolve and control and fear of consequence consumed by the raw, primal need to simply _feel_.

With a deep, desperate moan, he forced his body against Castiel, crushing their mouths together with a sudden, frantic hunger.

Castiel gasped into the kiss, his hands coming up to fist through Dean's hair, tugging the young recruit impossibly closer as they sucked and bit at each other, anger and need and frustration mingling with pure want in the torrential darkness.

Deans quaking hands slid down Castiel's body to grasp at his hips, his fingers digging in with bruising force as he tugged the older man's groin against his own. Castiel met and matched his desperation as he pressed himself against Dean, half-hard already as he shoved the young soldier back against a tree, eliciting a groan as he slid his leg between the younger man's thighs.

"Oh, God..." Dean's voice was a guttural plea as he clawed at the taut muscles of Castiel's back, his sudden urge for contact swallowing every other thought and instinct in his body. "...Just fuck me."

Castiel groaned, his cock twitching at the profanity.

Dean began to grind himself against Castiel's thigh, his eyes scrunching shut as a desperate ache grew between his legs.

"Please..." He moaned breathlessly, "...Castiel...God, I need you to fuck me..."

Castiel exhaled sharply as his recruit addressed him by name, what would have been considered complete disrespect in any other circumstance only fuelling his own desperate need to be touched.

He gripped Dean tight around the hips and turned him in a single motion to force him chest first against the tree.

He worked Dean's pants down past his hips with impatient hands, following suit with his own and pressed himself against Dean's back, breathing hard against his shoulder as he lined himself up with his entrance.

"Jesus...Do it..." Dean pleaded, rolling his hips down onto him.

Castiel pressed into him, his breath hitching in his throat as he pushed through the scorching resistance until he was surrounded by fierce, constricting heat.

His fingertips dug deep into the flesh of the young soldier's hips as he buried himself to the hilt within him, completely consumed by the liquid fire of the compliant body beneath him.

Dean panted heavily through the deep, searing burn of the welcome invasion, his shaking hand sliding down to stroke his aching hard-on through the pain that was at once blinding and all-consuming. It was too much, and somehow nowhere near enough as the sounds of Castiel's impatient groans mingled with his own heartbeat thundering in his ears, drowning out everything except the need, the desperation of the moment.

"Uhn...Move..." He whimpered as a shiver of an entirely different sensation began to tinge the edges of the burn as he rocked his hips back to test the movement.

Castiel complied with a low moan, pulling out of him slowly, only to drive back in and nail him harder against the tree.

Dean's knees buckled under the sensation of Castiel's rigid cock pounding into him as he took up a heavy, relentless rhythm, every other thrust hammering the spot inside him that made him feel as though every nerve ending in his body was ablaze.

Castiel forced himself again and again into Dean's willing body, filling him, owning him, the snap of his hips erratic and desperate as he fought for release.

Dean moaned breathlessly, giving himself over completely to the assault on his senses as he fisted himself in time with Castiel's thrusts. His free hand clawed viciously at the damp bark of the tree trunk, the fringes of orgasm building within him until with a salacious cry, Castiel shuddered violently, emptying his hot seed inside of him. Dean's entire body seized as he was thrown into his own profane climax, coming all over his hand and stomach with a wordless scream.

Castiel collapsed against Dean's back, panting heavily against his soaked skin.

He slowly pulled out of him, relinquishing his death-grip on his hips as he slowly stepped back.

Dean turned on unsteady legs, falling back against the tree as he met Castiel's spent stare, his expression rife with an emotion Dean could not place, but felt with every ounce of his own being.

They paused for a second, goose bumps rising on their naked skin as their surroundings came back into focus and their bodies registered the sudden absence of heat. They stared at each other, breathing hard, for what could have been a lifetime for all Dean knew.

With a shuddering exhale, Castiel turned to pick his shirt up from amongst the mud and leaves of the forest floor, releasing Dean's gaze as he slowly began to back away.

"...I'm sorry..." He murmured hoarsely, turning to stumble away from the scene of their shameless transgression.

Dean could only watch, his brain and body completely out of sync, as his commanding officer disappeared into the trees.

He glanced down at the evidence painted all over his half naked body that solidified what, in the aftermath, seemed almost like a bizarre, sacrilegious dream. He slowly ran his hand down his stomach, the only cohesive thought he could grasp onto seeming almost impudent in the wake of what should have been tearing him apart...

Thank God it's raining.


	11. Guilt

Castiel lay flat on his back in the darkness, the rolling thunder and rain hammering at his tent a dull soundtrack to the background of his screaming, tangled thoughts.

He had just screwed one of his recruits.

One of the young men that had been trusted to him to protect and instruct...and NOT fuck out in the woods during a storm.

Of all the irresponsible, impulsive things he had ever done, this was by far the worst.

The fact that it had been consensual, that Dean had practically _begged _for it in no uncertain terms, did nothing for the sickening pangs of guilt that twisted his stomach as he lay, damp and shivering, on top of his sleeping bag.

He clawed at his matted hair, trying to silence the echoes of Dean's shameless moans that still rang out in his ears. Raw images of his grave misconduct tore through his mind...Dean's lean, muscled back arching into his every thrust, his knuckles whitening on the tree trunk in front of him, his head thrown back in unabashed ecstasy as he came, shivering, all over himself...

A wave of nausea came over him as he tried to quell the heat that the memories incited within him. He could not come back from this. No matter what happened from here on out, he could not undo this. He had failed – himself, his superiors...Dean. Worst of all Dean.

God, the kid was messed up enough already, and he'd just gone and taken advantage of his anger, his need for approval. And all for what? His own volatile need to be touched, to heal the years of emptiness and self-loathing?

Rock bottom had never been so imminent.

He turned onto his stomach and buried his face in his hands, biting his lip against the quiet sobs that threatened to escape as he realised that, for all the guilt that was tearing him apart over what he had already done, it had nothing on the fact that in that moment...he wanted nothing more than to do it again.

* * *

><p>Dean's heart thundered in his chest as he made his way on unsteady legs back through the trees, fear and confusion warring with a deep determination as the campsite came back into view.<p>

He clutched his drenched, muddied shirt in his hand, the coursing rain stinging his eyes and pounding at his chest and back, numbing him from the outside in.

This was not over. He would not _let_ this be over.

The deep burn inside of him throbbed with every step he took, spurring him on in a pained sensory memory of what should never have been left at a meagre apology.

His mind churned out broken sentence after broken sentence as he struggled to string together some form of explanation, plea, _anything_ not to have it end like this...with him once again alone and ashamed and in fear of tomorrow.

He reached the edge of the campsite, shivering in the frigid onslaught as he came to a stop outside Novak's tent. He glanced around the empty campsite, the throes of the storm having driven the other recruits into their tents for the night. Which was exactly what he had been hoping for...a complete lack of witnesses to what he was about to do.

"...Officer Novak?"

He spoke into the darkness, his ears straining for any indication that his words had not fallen on deaf ears.

"Sir...we have to talk about this..."

A soft rustling from inside the tent sounded, barely audible over the rain pounding down against the ground.

"...Go away, Dean." The reply came, muted and broken, from inside the makeshift shelter.

Dean sighed deeply. "Please, I just want to talk to you..."

"...There is nothing to talk about."

"Come on_,_ you can't just...You can't do that to me, _with _me, and then just send me away like it never happened..."

His voice trembled as he fought against the swell of desperation edging him with a dull panic, his defences beginning to crack as rejection and abandonment began to take place of his anger.

"...Go back to your tent, soldier. This conversation is over." Novak voiced, his words tinged with a finality that Dean could have sworn the man was only half convinced of himself.

Dean cursed under his breath. He was running out of options. Novak wouldn't talk to him? Fine. Dean would just have to put him in position where he had no choice but to _listen_.

He rocked back on his feet, taking one last glance around him.

This could potentially be the stupidest thing he had ever done, but as much as he knew how badly this could turn out, he knew with even stronger conviction that he would regret it if he didn't at least try.

He stepped forward to unzip the door of the tent, ducking into the small space to a startled cry from his superior.

"What the hell are you doing?" Novak sat bolt upright, a flash of lightning illuminating his still-bare chest and matted hair.

"I'm not leaving until you talk to me about what just happened." Dean's resolve held strong as he stood inside the doorway.

Novak stared at him in sheer disbelief.

"...What do you want me to say, Dean? Talking is not going to change what we just did. And neither is the fact that you're in my fucking tent!"

"Maybe not, but we can't just..."

"Yes, Dean! Yes we can. Whatever it is you think we need to do about this, I'm telling you, we don't. We will both better off if we just forget the whole thing, so just...Leave it!"

"But I _liked_ it!"

The air in the cramped tent grew thick in the wake of the abrupt confession. Castiel blinked up at Dean, his lips parted and face a mask of complete and utter shock.

Dean licked his lips nervously, barely able to raise his voice above a whisper, "I liked it...And you can tell me all you want that it was wrong, and it shouldn't have happened...But I know what I heard, and I know what I_ felt_...and I _know_ you were right there with me."

Castiel stared up at him, completely void of response.

"I'm not just gonna pretend it didn't happen." Dean straightened, looking square at his commanding officer. "Not when it was the first time in...God, I don't even know how long...that I haven't felt dead inside."

Castiel's expression clouded suddenly with something that, if Dean hadn't known any better, he would have sworn was concern, empathy. He turned to duck out of the tent, pausing to glance over his shoulder as he spoke with resolute conviction at his commanding officer.

"I'm gonna be outside tomorrow morning. And every morning after that. And I'm gonna wait for you... I'm gonna keep waiting until you come out and walk with me."

He stepped out into the darkness, zipping up the tent behind him with shaking fingers.

Whatever happened in the morning, he had meant every word he had said. He didn't care if it took the entire rest of the trip to get Novak to acknowledge what had happened. He didn't care if it took _months. _But he _would _acknowledge it. Because as much desperation and anguish as Dean had been feeling out there in the woods, Novak had been feeling it too, just as strong. Dean had felt it in the way he had held onto him like a lifeline, taken him like it was his last hope of salvation.

And maybe it was.

Dean walked back to his tent, slow and heavy footed, too drenched to hold any further concern for the coursing rain. His confession had shocked even himself, and the fact that he had meant it even more so. But as much as he might want to – and God, did he want to – he could not deny the fact that screwing Novak was the most therapeutic thing he had done in a very, very long time.


	12. Propositions

Dawn rolled in on a tide of dense grey fog that settled around the campsite like a protective shroud. The air was heavy and still in the wake of the storm, the world seeming almost too quiet in the aftermath of its thunderous chorus.

Castiel stepped out into the frigid grey dawn, glancing up toward the bleak cover of low hanging cloud as he rubbed his hands together briskly.

He was doing the right thing.

Avoiding Dean would not solve anything. Last night had happened, and he couldn't change it. But he could make sure that it never happened again. All he needed to do was show Dean just how big of a mistake it had been. Somehow.

The harsh light of day was good like that.

Last night there had been hormones, and emotions and thunder and a million other things to drown out the reality of the situation. But now, there was only this...another day of drills and exercises and weighted expectations to live up to. Dean would see that what they had done was no solution to their individual struggles. If anything, all it did was magnify them.

He looked out across the campsite, sucking in a deep breath of the damp, pine-tinted air rolling in from the forest as he registered the familiar figure coming his way.

Vivid replays of the thoughts that had haunted his sleep deprived night came flooding back as he watched the self-assured gait, the slight upward tilt of the head as the young soldier clocked his waiting presence.

Castiel acknowledged him with a nod as he approached, trusting neither his voice nor the words that might escape if he were to open his mouth.

"Sir." Dean regarded him carefully, his expression guarded.

They fell into stride beside one another without further pleasantries, weighted silence hanging between them as they made their way up the well-travelled path they had begun to wear into the ground.

Castiel kept his eyes forward, wilfully ignoring the seemingly cyclical nature of what they were doing... the awkward walk through the woods, neither quite knowing what to say or how to broach the subject of what had lead them to this...The whole thing bore a striking resemblance to square one – the one place Castiel had hoped they would never revisit.

Their footfalls weaved together in a broken melody of branches snapping and wet leaves being squashed underfoot, both men breathing heavily in the moist air as they ascended.

Castiel's attention was drawn to his left as Dean slowed to a stop, sighing heavily. He eyed his recruit apprehensively as the young man looked off into the trees, rubbing nervously at his mouth.

"I'm glad you, uh..." Dean began, the uncertainty in his expression mirrored in his voice. "...Thank you. For coming out today."

Castiel nodded, clearing his throat. How did he even begin to broach this? When he had spent the entire night lying awake in a state of half-aroused, wholly guilty denial of what had happened? How did he even begin to pretend that he saw it as nothing more than an inconvenience to be swept under the rug and never mentioned again? He squared his shoulders and looked over at his recruit, holding his eyes unflinchingly as he spoke.

"Dean...I can not apologise enough for what happened last night."

Dean looked up at him, the response on his parted lips silenced as Castiel continued.

"It was irresponsible of me to allow things to go as far as they did. It is my job to ensure the protection of your best interests at all times, and I am sorry that I failed you on that."

The feigned detachment Castiel was throwing at the young soldier ate away at him as he watched Dean's expression begin a gradual slide into rejected disbelief.

"You didn't fail me on anything!" The young soldier asserted, his eyes piercing straight through the wall Castiel was frantically trying to build up around himself. "I told you, I wanted it...I _needed_ it! And I'll bet you anything you can't look me in the eye right now and tell me you didn't need it too!"

His voice dropped to a defiant rumble as he stepped forward.

"Go on. Say it. Tell me you didn't _love _being inside me last night."

Castiel gritted his teeth against the weary frustration unfurling within him.

"What do you want me to do about it, Dean?" His voice was raw and tired, evidence of his night without sleep. "It doesn't _matter _if I liked it. Or if _you _liked it. It should never have happened."

"Why not?" Dean's frustration echoed off the trees. "It helped, didn't it?"

Castiel groaned, scrubbing at his face with his hands.

Dean shifted on his feet, breathing out a defeated sigh. "Look...All I know, is that when we were...You know..." A faint tinge crept into his cheeks as he dropped his gaze. "Everything else disappeared. I wasn't...I didn't feel angry anymore. Everything I have ever hated about myself and my life, it just...stopped. I didn't feel guilty, or hopeless, or like it would be better if I just ended it all. I just felt you."

Castiel stared at the young man, his entire being echoing everything he had just heard with overwhelming conviction. Dean's words...his _feelings_...were a carbon copy of Castiel's own. And that was more frightening than anything else that had happened in the last twenty four hours.

"Dean..."

"Don't." Dean looked up at him. "Don't try and brush this off...We've found something that helps us, both of us. Why shouldn't we be allowed that?" He walked slowly towards the older man. "No one would have to know, it wouldn't be hurting anyone...It's just another outlet, Cas. There's only so much frustration that combat practise and a strong right hand can resolve."

Castiel slowly shook his head in half-baked conviction, an odd shiver running through him at the way the soldier manipulated his name.

"Don't say no..." Dean whispered, stepping in close.

Castiel sighed deeply as the young man's stare burned into his, the last of his defences shattering under the weight of the deep green gaze.

Every last shred of his better judgement screamed at him to turn around and run in the other direction, and never look back. But there was another part of him, some dark corner of his subconscious that slowly crept out of the shadows and whispered seductively to him to take everything the young man was offering.

He looked around at the vast solitude that surrounded them, miles and miles of dense forest in which words and sounds and actions could be lost to obscurity without anyone ever knowing. He slowly dragged his eyes back to Dean's, the single, solitary word tripping off his tongue in a hoarse sigh of resignation.

"...Ok."


	13. Sprung

Dean had always considered "fuck buddies" to be quite an apt term. It held no connotations of emotion, nor did it drum up any mental images that extended beyond unapologetic, inconsequential sex. It sounded like exactly what it was.

Which was precisely how he knew that it was not an appropriate term for his and Castiel's...'arrangement.'

This was was no run of the mill 'friends with benefits' situation.

This was addiction.

This, right here. This shameless need that awoke Dean at the same time every day and had him beating feet out in the freezing cold dawn for just one more touch, one more shiver, one more mindless fuck that would be swept under the rug as soon as the sun rose.

Eleven days, they had been doing this, seeing in each new dawn with a chorus of moans and profanities and heavy breathing that ricocheted around the trees and dissipated with the morning fog, forgotten as soon as the moment of climax had passed.

Dean knew that Castiel still had his doubts about what they were doing. If Dean were honest with himself, he did too. Something had shifted between them, something nameless and deeply concealed that would spark fleetingly in the moments before they would fall on each other in a needy tangle of limbs. Something in the way they held each other's gaze just a split second too long before throwing up their respective walls in the aftermath of orgasm and returning to the campsite to begin another day of blissful denial.

Sometimes, when caught in the haze between consciousness and dreaming, Dean would think of Castiel, of the way he would sometimes look over during a drill practise in a moment of silent acknowledgement, or the smile that would almost appear when he found Dean waiting outside his tent in the early morning mist. It was almost as though they had created their own reality that existed solely within those moments before the sun would rise.

And Dean had never felt so complete in his whole life.

There was no guilt, there was no pain, no anger or darkness or resentment eating away at him. And every day that he spent with Novak, he grew more and more convinced that the sex had nothing to do with it.

* * *

><p>There were four days left before they were expected to return to base, and only one major assessment that was yet to be carried out. Castiel flicked through his log book by the light of the flickering gas lamp on the floor beside him, checking and double checking that there was nothing he had missed.<p>

Every entry to date had been positive, and he could not help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Whether or not that had anything to do with the early morning routine he had been partaking in with Dean was not something he was willing to let himself dwell on.

It had become something of an emotional solace for him, those moments spent so far beyond words, everything playing out in touches and glances and sounds they no longer bothered to hold in. Dean's presence had come to represent so much more than just a mutual physical arrangement. Somehow, somewhere along the way, Castiel had let his guard down. And he could not for the life of him seem to put it back up. At least, not with Dean.

Which was probably the most blaring indicator of all that their situation was as he had initially believed it to be – a very dangerous, very bad idea. And yet, in the moments when he would allow himself to consider the implications of putting an end to it, he struggled to imagine how he could possibly return to the way things had been before...the way things _should _be, without losing a piece of himself.

Not that it would be losing it as such...more like leaving it with Dean.

"Sir?"

He looked up from his log book, setting it aside as a tall shape ducked into his tent.

"Michaels?" Castiel attempted to conceal his disappointment at the fact that it was not the recruit he had become accustomed to having in his tent. "I didn't hear you ask permission to come in."

The young man settled himself down onto the floor, a knowing smirk firmly in place as he met Castiel's gaze unflinchingly. "Oh, I don't think permission is necessary. Not anymore."

Castiel eyed the young soldier warily, a vague sense of dread seeping in as he took in the smug smile and knowing stare.

"Excuse me?"

"Here's what's gonna happen, Novak," Michaels leaned back to rest his weight on his hands. "You're gonna put me in charge of the squad, and you're gonna tell the higher ups that it's because I am the most skilled recruit in the program."

Castiel stared disbelievingly at the picture of insolence sitting before him.

"And why would I do that?"

"Because if you don't..." Michaels grinned at him, "...I'll tell everyone you're fucking Dean Winchester."

Castiel froze, his heart missing a beat as the blood in his veins turned ice cold, his entire world collapsing in on him as the young recruit looked at him with a deep sense of self-satisfaction.

"What, ah...why do you..." Castiel licked at his lips nervously, fumbling for words.

Michaels quirked an eyebrow at him.

"I saw you. I've _been _seeing you. You really think no one noticed you two sneaking off every day?" He snorted. "It wasn't until I followed you this morning that I realised what was going on...I gotta say, that is some freak show you two got goin' on."

Castiel shook his head, his mind refusing to absorb the implications of the situation.

"I uh, I don't know what you think you saw..."

"I know exactly what I saw!" Michaels raised his voice, his expression clouding with low-simmering anger as he leaned forwards towards his superior. "I _know _what you've been doing. Or who, as is more the case. And don't think for a second that I won't hesitate to tell everyone who'll listen that you've been screwing your squad."

He relaxed back onto his hands once more, his face resuming its mask of gratified indifference. "I don't think they'll take too kindly to that back at base, do you? But hey, if you're willing to play the game, we can both get something out of this. I get to be captain, you get to keep your job. What do you say?"

Castiel tilted his chin up.

The kid had thought this through, he would give him that. He always did have a mind for tactics. But there was no way Castiel was going to play into it. At least, not outwardly.

He leaned in close, summoning all of his presence and command as he spoke in a level voice.

"I say get the fuck out of my tent."

He watched as Michaels' eyes narrowed in confusion.

"You're making a huge mistake." He hissed.

"That's not your concern." Castiel held his eyes steadily.

Michaels laughed humourlessly. "Don't be stupid, Novak. This could destroy you, and you know it. You're cornered."

Castiel stood, raising up to his full height to tower above the younger man as he spoke in a voice that was pure command.

"Get. Out."

The recruit hesitated a moment, gritting his teeth. He slowly pushed himself up onto his feet, and, shaking his head in disbelief, ducked out of the tent.

Castiel let out the breath he had not even realised he had been holding. He had no idea how he was going to deal with this. There was no diffusing it, he knew that for sure. And he believed with everything in him that Michaels meant it when he said he would not hesitate to broadcast it the second they arrived back at base. Michaels knew he held all the cards on this one.

Dean needed to know about this. There was no way they could go for their morning walk tomorrow, not now that they were being watched.

It would have to be tonight.

Castiel scrubbed at his hair, tugging at it as his mind churned over what had just happened.

He had no way of knowing what Michaels was capable of, or how far he would take this, and the thought that their actions may have put Dean in danger scared him more than anything else about this whole mess.

He tugged his boots on and pulled on his jacket, checking his watch.

It had to be now. Nothing productive would come of him sitting around waiting for an opportune moment...because there would never be one. There would never be a good time for this, no matter when he did it, the blow would never be softened.

They had been caught. His job was on the line, and there was every chance Dean was in physical danger.

He ducked out into the freezing night air, his eyes set dead ahead as he made his way across the campsite.

* * *

><p>"...What?"<p>

Dean stared in disbelief at Castiel, his mind refusing to process what the older man had just told him. His pulse rate was sky-high, his body not entirely connecting to what was going on as his brain churned over the implications of the news.

"You're telling me that of all the people who could have caught us out, we got sprung by Douchebag McFuckwit?"

Castiel shrugged, shaking his head.

"I don't know how this happened Dean, he said he saw us this morning..."

"What? So the creepy fucker followed us? And now he's _threatening _you? What the fuck!"

He could feel the blood boiling in his veins as he watched the play of emotions on Castiel's face...fear, concern, defeat – it all hit Dean like a punch in the gut.

No one got to make Cas feel like that.

Especially not someone as low and self-gratifying as Michaels.

Who did the fucker think he was, following them out into the woods? That was _their _time, he had no right to be there. And he certainly had no right to _watch _them.

"Dean...I don't want you to try and do anything about this." Castiel was looking at him like he was afraid he might bolt from the tent then and there, knife in hand. "I've dragged you far enough into this, I don't need you creating trouble for yourself as well now...I just thought you should know because I don't know how far Michaels is going to take this."

Dean laughed humourlessly, scrubbing at his mouth with his hand.

"Oh, I'm gonna do something about this alright, I'm gonna tear that son of a bitch up six ways to Sunday!"

"Dean..."

"No, Cas, _no one _gets to talk to you like that! Especially not him!"

Dean felt his stomach twist as Castiel sighed deeply, burying his face in his hands. His voice was a muffled murmur as he spoke into his palms.

"I just...I can't worry about you too." He lifted his face to meet Dean's stare. "This is enough for me to stress over without wondering if you're getting yourself into a dangerous situation."

Dean clasped his hands behind his neck, trying to calm his breathing.

"God damn it..." He sighed, clawing roughly at his hair as he fought the urge to march straight over to Michaels tent and silence the bitch once and for all. "I don't like it, Cas...But if it's what you want...I'll leave it alone."

Castiel's shoulders dropped, a visible weight removed from them as he breathed an audible sigh of relief.

"Thank you."

Dean shook his head. "Don't thank me, Cas. I'm the reason we're in this mess in the first place."

He lay back onto the floor of his tent, throwing one arm up over his eyes. He heard Castiel shift somewhere over on his right, felt him as he moved closer.

"...This isn't your fault." Castiel murmured. "We knew this was dicey from the start. If it hadn't been Michaels, it would have been someone else."

Dean snorted. "You know, I don't think we would be having this conversation if it had been someone else."

Castiel sighed.

"...You're probably right."

A weighted silence hung between them.

"...I should go." Castiel stared at his feet, unmoving.

Dean nodded slowly, inwardly flinching as the older man dragged himself up onto his feet as though the weight of the world were trying to push him back down.

"...I won't see you in the morning, will I?" Dean whispered.

"...I'm sorry..." Castiel paused in the doorway of the tent, his eyes not meeting Dean's as he looked back over his shoulder. "We just...can't."

He ducked out of the tent, leaving Dean to stare after him.

Dean listened to the fading footfalls as Castiel headed away, back across the campsite. The tent seemed suddenly empty, despite his pack and supplies and his own body taking up space.

He instantly regretted his promise not to take matters into his own hands on this one, images of Castiel's ill-hidden fear flashing through his mind.

If Cas lost his job over this, Dean would never forgive himself.

He groaned as he considered the possibility. Because that was just what he needed, more things to feel guilty over. Just throw it on the pile.

He turned over onto his side, staring into the darkness at nothing particular as his insides twisted and ached in pained anxiety.

There were four days before they returned to base. Four days before Michaels blew the lid off their morning ritual and brought down the wrath of the entire United States Marine Corps on Castiel and himself. And as much as he fought and strained for some idea, some way to derail it all before it got that far, the harsh reality of it sat like a cold, dead weight on his chest, and he had to face the facts of it.

They were fucked.


	14. Accident

Castiel's eyes drifted over his troops as they assembled before him in the mid morning sun, awaiting instruction for their final exercise. This was what it all came down to – if this went off without a hitch, they would return to base in two days with an unmarred success rate, and there was every possibility Project Hades would be officially instated. Whether or not Castiel would be around to see it was a different matter, but the inevitable fallout from his situation with Michaels was not something he was allowing himself to dwell on. At least, not today...he had a good few hours of pure panicking time to look forward to on the chopper ride home.

"Alright, gentlemen." He addressed his squad. "I don't think I need to remind you what today is all about."

He kicked at the box of ammunition by his feet, taking in the eager reactions of the young men standing before him.

"The live ammunitions drill is our final assessment task, and one of the most important. It's an opportunity for you to experience a simulated combat situation, in which you _aren't _getting shot at, so I want you to use this to your full advantage."

Each and every set of eyes trained on him held a fierce glimmer as he spoke.

"Get accustomed to using your weapons, and I mean really _use _them. They need to become an extension of you – feel how they respond, burn it into your muscle memory. You need to know exactly how long it takes you to load the chamber, aim and pull the trigger. We will be using a purpose-built training area that has been laid out not far from here, and you will stay within the parameters set out there."

"Yes sir." The recruits assented in unison.

Castiel looked at his soldiers, standing eager and capable before him, a small flicker of what almost felt like hope passing through him. Whatever happened to him and his position in the defence outfit, his soldiers would go on and fulfil their purpose. No matter what, there was a small amount of comfort and closure in that.

"Same rules as your base weapons drills will apply. I'll go over the protocols for live ammo when we get to the training area."

He gestured to the crates of ammunition and weaponry set out in front of his squad, glancing at his watch. "Ok, we have ammo to move and drones to put holes through. Let's move out."

The soldiers fell into routine flawlessly, each taking the equipment they were most capable of handling. Castiel caught Dean's gaze for a weighted second, so much he wanted to say trapped behind his gritted teeth as the younger man stared back.

This should not hurt as much as it did, being cut off from Dean this way.

But God, it burned.

Yesterday had been hell, the first day he had woken up with the knowledge that he would not be starting his day with Dean. Not being able to share that time with him before they had to go back to pretending they were nothing to each other around everyone else.

Stolen glances were all they had now. And even that would only last until they got back to base.

Castiel turned away, dropping his gaze to the ground as he shoved the emotions rising within him back into their box and turned to lead his recruits towards their destination.

The best (and only) thing he could do now was make sure that he had taught his soldiers, his Dean, everything he possibly could before they would inevitably be removed from his guidance.

* * *

><p>Dean looked around the training area Cas had led them too, taking in the vast open space and various targets set out for them to shoot at – unmanned drones, empty shells of old military vehicles and the go ahead to blow them all to smithereens...it was the wet dream of fifteen year old boys everywhere. Hell, six years on and it was <em>still <em>Dean's wet dream.

Castiel had given them the rundown of how today was going to work, and instated a kind of buddy system that they would be adhering to. Dean had paired off with one of his team mates that he had come to have something of an affinity with over the duration of their months at base and the course of the field op. 'Bullseye', as he was known around base, was the closest thing Dean had to a friend within the squad, and the fact that he hated Michaels about as much as Dean did just put him that much higher up in Dean's book.

Dean watched out the corner of his eye as his nemesis prepped his weaponry, conversing with Castiel about something Dean could not quite overhear.

God he hated that, seeing him talking to Cas.

He knew his commanding officer could take care of himself. Better than Dean could take care of him, for sure. But that did nothing for the primal response that arose within him and screamed _protect _every time the son of a bitch got with ten feet of Castiel. Not that he believed Michaels would go so far as to get violent, not with Cas. The kid talked a lot of smack but everyone knew he didn't have the balls to back it up. But still, it got his back up every damn time.

"You ready?" Bullseye drew Dean's attention away from Castiel, nudging him in the shoulder.

Dean picked up his gear and turned towards his peer.

"Yeah, let's go."

They headed over to the far side of the training area, situating themselves as far away from possible conflict as they could, and readied their weapons.

Dean had never been more grateful to receive orders to spread out and avoid other member of his squad. This was exactly what he needed right now – a wide open space and permission to blow holes through everything without a pulse.

And it was effortless. Falling into the routine of load, aim, shoot, reload, change weapons...it all just rolled through him, out of him, like this was what he was made for. His entire world went quiet as he fell back on the skills that came as easy as breathing to him.

Time became irrelevant as he made use of every square foot of the training area with single-minded focus, thoughts of Michaels and Castiel and their imminent return to base fading to vague static in his head.

The clearing was tinged with a vague orange glow as the afternoon dragged on into early evening, and the recruits began to wind down to completion of the drill. Dean approached his final target, a sense of finality creeping over him as he loaded his pistol for the final time. The last few weeks played out in his mind as he set himself up for the shot, memories and images tugging at his concentration as he realised that it was not only the end of the field op that was approaching all too fast.

"Don't miss."

Dean jumped at the familiar voice that sounded behind him, his stomach twisting with recognition. He lowered his pistol and turned slowly to look at the shorter recruit.

"Oh I'm sorry, did I kill your concentration?" Michaels smirked.

"What do you want?" Dean sighed impatiently.

Michaels laughed humourlessly. "What do I want? Uh, well let's see...your job?"

Dean's brow knotted in frustration as he glared at his team mate.

"And what job would that be? Last time I checked Cas hadn't assigned anyone anything."

"Cas?" Michaels' eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You got a nickname for him now?"

He chuckled, clapping in mocking delight. "Oh, this is too good. You two are _so_ far beyond fucked when we get back to base, you gotta know that, right?"

"If he loses his job because of you I fucking swear ..."

"What, Dean? What are yougonna do? You're just as screwed as he is! You really think they're gonna keep you on when I tell them what's been going down?"

Dean gritted his teeth, glaring at the smaller recruit.

"Stay. Away. From Castiel." He stepped forward. "You have no fucking idea what you're doing here Michaels. You wanna take someone down? Fine. But I'll tell you right now, I won't let it be Cas."

Michaels walked slowly toward Dean.

"It isn't Novak I wanna destroy, Winchester." He grinned. "You think I'd give a flying fuck if it was someone else Novak was banging? The only reason I give a rats ass is because I know exactly how much it's gonna kill you to watch him take the fall for this."

Dean could have sworn he felt his heart stop as his team mate smiled smugly at him, bringing every hateful, vengeful emotion within him to boiling point.

"You sick fuck..." Dean could not raise his voice above a whisper. "I'll never let you win."

Michaels tutted softly. "Dean, Dean, Dean...You already have."

Dean shook his head, desperately holding back the rage, the overwhelming sense of defeat chewing at his insides.

"No. No I haven't. Because no matter what happens, you miserable dick, no matter how this little game of yours pans out, we both know that at the end of the day...I'm better than you." He raised his chin defiantly and stared straight at the other soldier. "And the fact that you have to go to these lengths just to get noticed just proves that all the more."

He stepped in close. "Face it Michaels...even if you win this one, there are at least three people that know you had to cheat to get it. You are, and always will be, inferior."

Michaels face clouded with pure hate, the muscles in his neck straining as he gritted his teeth. Within a second, Dean was flat on his back on the ground, breath knocked out of him, pinned by the weight of the other soldier who began driving his fist repeatedly into Dean's face.

Dean shoved at him violently, trying to free himself and block the assault but the hits just kept on coming. His mouth filled with the metallic tang of blood and his right eye began to swell shut as the recruit remorselessly pummelled him into the ground, not letting up for even a second.

A vague cry sounded from somewhere in his periphery as Bullseye rushed over from where he had been shooting target practise a few hundred feet away.

He tried to prise Michaels off of him, giving Dean a few seconds respite to get in a punch to Michaels' stomach. But the recruit would not let up. He caught Bullseye in the temple with his elbow, knocking him to the ground before he returned his attentions to Dean, bringing his hands down to wrap around his throat.

The world shrunk to tunnel vision as Dean clawed at Michaels' wrists, kicking viciously, unable to throw him off.

Michaels lowered his face down within an inch of Dean's and spoke in a pained growl.

"Look at me..."

Dean scrunched his eyes shut, his vision blurring around the edges.

"I said fucking look at me!" Michaels spat. "This is what it comes down to, Winchester...You in your rightful place...Beneath me."

Dean reached out his hand that he could barely feel anymore, grappling around sightlessly until he felt the familiar weight on the ground. He wrapped his shaking fingers around his pistol and slowly brought it up to shove the barrel into Michaels side.

His brain frantically tired to connect with his body as his lungs began to give up their struggle, and with one final force of effort, Dean tugged at the trigger.

The shot sounded out through the clearing, time coming to a standstill as Michaels hands loosened around his throat, oxygen rushing back into Dean's lungs with a fierce gasp. The smaller recruit rolled off of Dean, his hand coming up to cradle the wound and he lay shaking on the ground.

The world came back into focus and Dean turned to look at the other recruit. Blood poured from his side to pool on the ground beside him, his hand stained red and all colour gone from his face as he stuttered and shook.

"Oh fuck..." Dean breathed, crawling on unsteady knees over to him. "Fuck...oh, fuck..."

He pulled his shirt over his head and pressed it against the wound, feeling the blood instantly soak through the material.

"Help!" His voice was raw and scratchy as he cried out, trying to draw attention to them. "We need help!"

Bullseye stirred where he had fallen, cradling his head as he came to.

"...What the fuck happened?" He cried out as he took in the scene before him.

"Fuck...I don't know, he was choking me...I..." Tears spilled down Dean's face as panic overtook him, his hands shaking as he tried to stop the bleeding.

"Oh my God..." Bullseye breathed, stumbling to his feet. "...I'm gonna get help...just...stay with him."

Dean nodded, pressing his ear down against Michaels' chest, straining for signs that his heart was still beating.

He kept his ear against the faint thud, listening, willing it to keep beating as the minutes ticked by.

The sound of approaching footfalls broke through his panic as he looked up to find Castiel and the other recruits sprinting across the clearing toward them.

"What happened?" Castiel dropped down beside them.

Dean could only shake his head, completely unable to speak as Castiel gently tried to pull him away from Michaels.

"Dean, I need to see the injury..." He spoke calmly, taking hold of Dean's hand and moving it from where the blood was pouring out of Michaels' side.

"Shit..." He gasped, pressing his hand against the gaping wound as he began to bark orders to the other recruits who had rushed over. They handed first aid supplies to Castiel who frantically tried to plug the wound to no avail.

Dean watched, rooted to the spot, as the life drained from Michaels' eyes. Castiel pressed his ear against the young soldier's chest, his face distorting with grief as the pulse slowly faded to a stop.

He cursed at the top of his lungs, slamming his fists into the ground repeatedly and scrubbing at his face with his hands.

Castiel looked up at the recruits who stood frozen to the spot. His voice was unsteady as he spoke, looking at no one in particular.

"...We need to get him back to base." His face was completely void of expression as he issued the orders. "Someone's gonna need to go ahead and get the gas lamps lit for when we get back with him. We're losing daylight."

The recruits took off to gather and carry the equipment back and get the camp site set up.

"Bullseye, help me carry him." Castiel sat Michaels up against his chest and threaded his arms around the front of him, signalling for Bullseye to take his feet. "Dean...Go back to camp."

Dean nodded, watching as the two men lifted the dead weight and began to make their way across the clearing. He looked down at his bloodied hands, everything inside him twisting and shrivelling as his mind refused to absorb what had just happened.

He set off on unstable feet back towards the campsite, leaving his blood-soaked shirt behind.


	15. Aftermath

**A/N**: I fear for my life leaving this chapter off where it ends...You call it cruel, i call it suspense ;)

* * *

><p>Castiel stood before his recruits, his breaths visible in the cold night air. A heavy silence had settled over the campsite in the wake of the crisis, and as the emergency chopper had departed with Michaels' lifeless body, it felt as though all the life in the surrounding woods had been sucked dry.<p>

Castiel stared at the ground, half-formed sentences dying on his tongue as he grappled for words.

"What happened today..." He began, his voice raw as he attempted to throw up his wall of detachment, "...Is the reality of your job. It won't always be your enemies that die."

He looked into the faces of his soldiers as they held back their respective emotions. His eyes met with Dean's anguished, hollow stare. The young soldier's face was a mess of bruises and dried blood from the cuts around his swollen eye and nose. A faint ring of deep purple bruising had come up around his neck, a sickening stab to Castiel's stomach that screamed 'you should have been there to protect him'. But more than anything, the heartbreaking picture served as a reminder that this was how it was going to be when they returned to base and Project Hades was instated. He would not be there with Dean out in the field, and this was by no means the worst that could happen to him out there on the front line.

He cleared his throat as Dean turned his gaze to his feet, his entire body looking as though the only thing keeping him upright was sheer force of will.

"Michaels' death was an unfortunate accident...but it won't be the last time you lose one of your team mates." Castiel continued. "I will be needing to speak with those of you who were witness to what happened today...Bullseye, I will speak with you first. The rest of you are dismissed for the evening."

The recruits nodded, disbanding in strained silence. He glanced over at Dean as the young man turned and made straight for his tent, shutting himself off from the rest of his squad.

Castiel knew that whatever had happened out there, it was not intentional on Dean's part. Just as he knew that it was going to be a nightmare trying to convince Dean of that fact.

He ushered Bullseye over to his tent to get down his statement of what he had seen. But as the young soldier spoke, telling him everything he already knew about Dean's innocence in this mess, all he heard were his own prayers tumbling over in his mind that somehow, some way, he could help Dean come back from this.

* * *

><p>Dean stared at the small, black object laid out before him on his sleeping bag.<p>

There was still blood on the barrel, and it would make a hell of a lot of noise in the thick, depressed silence of the evening. But hey, it's not like conspicuous mattered. Not seeing as it would be lights out for him long before anyone came to investigate the source of the unmistakable sound.

He loaded the chamber with steady hands, his entire being calm and resolute now that he knew what he had to do.

He turned the pistol over in his hands, his mind clear for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.

This was the only way to make it stop. The pain, the guilt, the years of being trapped in his own mind, hating himself to death from the inside out...one simple pull of a trigger and it would all disappear.

And it was a far kinder death than he deserved.

Two people had died because of him, two people whose lives were worth far more than his. Little Sammy, and now Michaels...There was no coming back from this. He did not even deserve to try. This would ride him for the rest of his life, no matter how many times he or anyone else told him it was an accident. There was only one out for him now.

A slow stream of tears rolled down his cheeks, stinging the cuts around his eye as a pained sort of relief washed over him.

It would all be over soon.

He lifted the gun to his mouth, wrapping his lips around the barrel and exhaled slowly through his nose.

He allowed his eyelids to drift shut, holding an image of Castiel in his mind as he offered up a silent plea to universe for the man who had once made him feel like just maybe, he deserved to live.

_Please...don't let him think this is his fault..._

..._And please, please let him know, if I was going to live for anything...It would have been him. _


	16. Savior

Castiel made his way across the campsite, his entire body thrumming as he made his way to Dean's tent. He had dismissed Bullseye the second he had his statement down, and if the other recruits had not still been milling around the communal area, he would have run the distance to Dean's tent.

He did not know what he would say to him, or if he would even be able to speak. But he _needed _to be with him, even if all he could do was hold him. And he would...he would keep him in his arms until he was sure that Dean would not fall apart. And even then, he probably would not let go.

He tugged at the zip of the tent and stepped into the small, dark space.

And as his eyes locked on the picture before him, everything in him went dead still.

Dean gazed up at him with tear filled eyes, the barrel of a pistol between his lips, and his finger resting on the trigger.

Castiel sank to his knees in front of the recruit, his mind blanking of coherent thought as he looked into the lost, terrified stare of the young man.

"Dean..." He whispered, shaking his head in a subconscious substitute of the words he just didn't have.

He reached out a shaking hand and placed it over Deans, gently pulling the gun away from his mouth. Dean resisted, making a weak argumentative sound in his throat as his eyes scrunched shut tight and tears began to stream freely down his cheeks.

"Dean...please..." Castiel begged softly, pulling once more at the pistol as he felt the warmth of his own tears rolling down his face.

Dean acquiesced with a sob, allowing the older man to take the gun from him.

Castiel emptied the chamber and tossed the gun aside, pausing a moment to look at Dean before he tugged him into his arms and crushed him against his body.

"Shhh...it's ok...it's ok..." Castiel shushed, wrapping his arms tightly around him and buried his face in his hair as the young recruit began to sob violently.

Dean shook in his arms, his entire body wracked with anguished sobs and wordless cries as everything within him shattered, and Castiel could feel everything within himself rising up to respond like a protective shroud around the young man.

Dean cried harder, and Castiel held him closer, as though the circle of his arms could ward off the complete and utter emptiness and heartache.

He offered up whispered words of assurance and comfort over and over until his voice sounded foreign in his ears and all he could do was rock them both, gently, back and forth.

He did not know long he stayed like that, holding onto his Dean as though he alone could stop his world from falling apart. Minutes, hours, it didn't matter.

He would stay there for years if that's what it took.

He felt the tension in Dean's body slowly begin to ease as his sobs quieted and his body calmed to a soft tremor. He remained in Castiel's arms, his cheek pressed against his chest, his ear against his heartbeat.

He murmured unintelligibly against the soaked fabric of Castiel's shirt.

"Hm?" Castiel questioned softly.

Dean turned his face upwards to look at Castiel.

"...Cas...I'm so sorry" He whispered, fresh tears spilling from his red-rimmed eyes. "...I didn't mean to...I killed him..."

Castiel cupped his face in his hands, locking their gazes. He shook his head softly, fiercely holding back his own tears. He gently ran his thumbs under Dean's eyes, sweeping away the tears. "I don't need you to apologise to me."

Dean sniffed, shaking his head.

"He's dead because of me...I..."

"Dean..." Castiel spoke firmly, forcing Dean's eyes to meet with his. "...I could have lost you..." He gently caressed the bruised skin around Dean's neck. "...Do you have any idea how much that scares me?"

Dean blinked back at him, his eyes clouding with an indiscernible emotion.

"Cas..." He whispered, his eyes tracing over the older man's face, stopping at his lips.

The young soldier leaned forward, his lips hovering mere inches away from Castiel's as he paused.

Castiel could feel the shaking breaths of his recruit ghosting over his lips, so close, painfully close to his own, but not touching. The air between them grew thick and heavy with a warm kind of electricity, an almost palpable hum as their mouths danced shadows over each other, so close Castiel could _feel _the heat and moisture coming off the younger man's waiting lips.

He shifted forward, the tiniest movement, and Dean closed the almost non-existent distance between them to join their lips in the gentlest of touches, beautifully hesitant in all its complete certainty.

It was unlike anything they'd ever shared before.

There was no heat to it, no fire, no frustration.

It was the barest, simplest touch. A sheer, delicate sweep of nerve endings against nerve endings. And it filled Castiel up more completely than every other heavy-handed touch they'd ever traded put together.

Dean pulled back to rest his forehead against Castiel's, bringing a trembling hand up to press over his commanding officer's racing heartbeat.

"...Will you stay with me tonight?" Dean breathed softly.

Castiel nodded, releasing Dean from his arms as the young soldier shuffled back to lie against his sleeping bag.

Castiel crawled forward to stretch out next to him on the ground, lying face to face with him. Dean intertwined his fingers with Castiel's, their bodies within inches of each other as they simply lay there, looking at one another. For the longest time they did not speak, or move. Just laid there, breathing together until time became irrelevant.

"...My brother died because of me." Dean offered up into the comfortable silence.

Castiel squeezed his hand gently, unspeaking.

"...He got pneumonia...after I left to join the military." Dean continued. "...My dad wasn't exactly father-of-the-year material...He didn't pick up on the fact that Sammy was sick. Not until it was too late."

"I'm so sorry..." Castiel whispered.

The young man nodded.

"Yeah...so am I. If I had been there, if I had never left...He would still be around." He let out a shaking sigh. "Not that that would change the way my dad is...He went off the rails when my mother passed away."

Castiel watched the play of emotions on the recruits face as he thought back to that time in his life. "...How old were you?"

"I was nine. Sammy was still really young so he never really knew any different...But God, I missed her." His deep green eyes flooded with a private sadness as he laid bare the events in his life that Castiel knew had inevitably landed them here tonight. "It was like...I didn't just lose her, but I lost my dad too, you know? He was never the same after that."

Castiel nodded, memories from his own past resurfacing from the depths of his mind where he had buried them long ago.

He had never spoken with anyone about his life before he joined the military...he had never let anyone in before that he wanted to share it with.

And it was wholly unnerving, the way it all came flooding back to him and sat on the tip of his tongue, waiting for him to open his mouth and share his life with the young man lying mere inches away from him.

"I lost my mother too..." The sound of his own voice caught him off guard as the words slipped off his tongue in a hoarse whisper. "...And it was my fault that she died."

He could feel the years of repressed emotion rising to the surface within him as Dean gently stroked his hand, waiting patiently for him to speak. He filled his lungs with an unsteady pull of oxygen and released it slowly.

"My dad was working late one night, and it was just my mother and I in the house..." He forced himself to continue. "...We didn't live in the best neighbourhood, and someone broke in through the back door. I didn't even hear them get in, but...I heard my mom scream, and I heard the shot...By the time I got down the stairs, whoever had done it was gone. And my mom was dead."

Dean tightened his grip on Castiel's hand as the older man's voice wavered.

"My dad blamed me...I blamed me. I enlisted in the military when I was sixteen with forged documents because I thought that if I could get away from it all, I might be able to leave the guilt behind too...But it doesn't work that way."

He lifted his eyes to meet with Dean's. "You can't go back, Dean. It took me a long time to see that. But the reality is, what you've done, or didn't do...You can't change it. All there is, is moving forward...I don't think even I fully understood that until the day you walked onto base, so much the mirror of myself, and made me realise that all this guilt does, is poison you."

Dean sighed deeply, his eyes searching Castiel's.

"I so badly want to let it go..."

Castiel nodded, bringing a hand up to gently trace his fingertip down Dean's cheek.

"...Then let it go."

He leaned in to kiss a feather-light trail down from Dean's swollen eyelid, his lips barely touching the bruised and broken skin. He pressed a chaste kiss to the young recruit's full lips and wrapped his arm around him, pulling his body close.

Dean sank in against the warmth of Castiel's body, his face pressed into the crook of his neck, gently breathing in his scent as he allowed sleep to steal over him.

Castiel lay awake, watching over the sleeping soldier in his arms.

For years, he had stood on the frontlines of battle, taking down anyone and everyone who posed a threat to the safety of his comrades, his fellow countrymen. He had served and honoured and defended, believing that his actions were in the best interest of those he was charged with protecting.

Yet it was not until that night, the night he lay there, fighting off the sleep that tugged at his eyelids to keep watch of the young man in his arms just a little longer, that he understood for the first time what it truly meant to protect.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Come on, ya'll didn't _really _think I'd kill off our hero did you? :p


	17. Departure

Castiel's eyes traced over the bare expanse before him, suddenly transformed and returned to its natural state in the absence of the tents and equipment that now lay packed away. The recruits had spent the better part of the morning disassembling the campsite in preparation for their return to base, and Castiel could not help but feel as though surely, they must have lost a day or two there somewhere. Their scheduled day of departure had come around too damn quick, and despite having completed everything they had set out to achieve here, Castiel was anything but ready to leave.

When he had awoken yesterday morning, his arm completely void of sensation having acted as Dean's pillow for the night, he felt as though his eyes were finally and irrevocably open.

Seeing Dean break down the way he had, pistol in hand, ready to irreversibly remove himself from existence...Something inside Castiel had died the moment he laid eyes on that.

Or maybe, it had just finally woken up.

That part of himself, the part that needed and hoped and cared and _felt..._He had genuinely believed that he had buried that the day he watched his mother's coffin slowly descend into the ground.

But in that moment, faced with the very real horror of being mere milliseconds shy of losing Dean forever, he knew that part of himself was very much alive.

The truth of it was, he had come to care about Dean, to the point where his feelings towards the young soldier made 'emotionally involved' look like a one night stand.

He did not know where the two of them would stand once their feet hit the tarmac back at base, but he knew that regardless, they would not – _could _not – keep on as they had been. They had created an alternate reality out here, and it had been all too easy to forget that it was so very, very temporary.

A deep bellow of laughter drew his attention over to where his recruits had congregated, doing a final check over their packs. He could not help but send up a silent prayer of thanks to whoever was listening that the squad did not seem to be treating Dean any differently since the incident with Michaels...or since Castiel had been seen leaving Dean's tent the morning after. In fact, to the utmost credit of the young soldiers, not one of them had so much quirked an eyebrow at either of them. And God knew they had fair reason to, if the situation were reversed, Castiel knew exactly what he would be assuming.

But the soldiers had merely gone about their morning routine, greeting him with the usual choruses of 'Sir' and 'Officer Novak' as he had walked out through the communal area, and that had been that. Castiel had decided to err on the side of their assuming he had spent the night consoling and grilling Dean over what happened. That, or they had all assumed they'd had sex and in which case, _really _did not want to know about that. Whatever it was, Castiel was just grateful that this whole mess did not seem to be implicating Dean as far as the squad was concerned – much to Castiel's relief, Dean had assured him Michaels had kept his mouth shut around the other recruits about what he had witnessed in the woods that day, evidently having decided to wait until their return to base to drop the bombshell. And wasn't that just typical of Princess Fuck-Wad...make as big of a scene as you can and take as many people as possible down with you.

Not that he needed to worry about that anymore. His and Dean's secret was safe, and as much as he wanted to feel something other than click-your-heels-and-sing relief, he just could not seem to muster up the kind of remorse that should accompany losing a squad member...Or the kind of blind fear that should accompany the fact that said squad member was the only son of an ill-tempered colleague.

And wasn't that just another flashing neon sign pointing to how deep he had gotten himself into this thing with Dean...he couldn't even bring himself to mourn the loss of a young man's life, because it meant his torrid affair would remain undiscovered.

He exhaled a tired rush of air, bending to lift his pack off the ground and heft it onto his shoulders.

He had spent the better part of last night staring at the roof of his tent, trying to come up with some way, some excuse to delay their return, whilst the part of his brain that – praise the lord – had managed to retain some sense of logic gently reminded him that really, there was no point.

Putting it off would not make it hurt any less when they returned to normalcy and he had to give Dean up.

And he _would _have to.

Because even if Dean wasn't a member of his squad, it's not like they could ever make anything of this... whatever it was they had going on. Dean was young, he had his whole life ahead of him, and a future in the military that got more and more promising by the day. Castiel was all too aware of just how far – literally- that future would take him.

But it was what Dean wanted, right? It was what he was good at, what he was made for...and that alone would just have to be enough to give Castiel the barest semblance of the strength it was going to take to let him go. If he could know, with all of himself, that Dean was happy...Then he could be ok.

I mean, he'd gotten on just fine before Dean, right? He did it once, he could do it again...Assuming he lived through the fallout that awaited from Michaels' death, that is. _That _was something he would have no problem putting off. Like, forever.

He looked over towards the smiling group of young soldiers, his eyes locking on Dean as the young man good naturedly shoved one of his team mates, his eyes alight with some shared joke.

Dean would be ok.

Maybe not at first, but eventually. He would come to see that letting him go was the only way Castiel could think of to make sure his life became everything it was meant to be. Because he deserved so much better than Castiel could give him. He didn't know how to be with someone, how to be part of something bigger than himself and his own issues. God knew he wished he did, even if only so he might feel that he deserved the affection that Dean so freely gave him.

But that wasn't how things were going to work out for them. They would return to base, and as soon as Project Hades was finalised and officially instated, Dean would be gone. And Castiel...well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.

He took one last look around at the place that had served as a beginning - and now, an end – and tried to absorb the image into his mind, searing the picture of Dean's carefree, smiling face into his memory as best he could.

Something told him he would be needing it when there wasn't anything else left.


	18. Fallout

Something had changed, Dean could feel it.

He didn't know how he knew, but sitting across from Castiel in the chopper on the way back to base, feeling like there were a million miles between them even though he was _right there_...he just knew. Something in the way Castiel had avoided his gaze, almost like he had rebuilt that god damn wall that Dean had spent _so _long breaking down...It was there in spades once again.

His fears had only been further confirmed when they had arrived back at base and Castiel had instructed him to "get with it, Winchester" and orchestrate the unloading of the aircraft whilst he disappeared over to the offices.

...Maybe he was reading too much into it.

Of course Cas would be stressed about getting back, what with all the shit that was sure to go down about Michaels death. Hell, even Dean was strung out about that, being the one who had pulled the trigger and all. Cas wasn't gonna be the only one in the line of fire.

...But still. The way Cas had addressed him, speaking _at _him instead of to him, never meeting his eyes, it was just...nothing. There was nothing in it. No trace of the man he had come to know so intimately over the past month, the man who had poured his heart out to him in the darkness and held him while he slept. It was like they were strangers again. Commander and recruit, instead of...well, Cas and Dean.

He'd come to like that, the way their names sounded strung together like that. Made it sound like they'd never even been individual entities.

He probably just needed some space, some time to think over everything. Dean could give him that. Maybe when everything with Michaels blew over they could go back to normal...Not that Dean knew exactly when 'normal' had come to mean he and Cas in the '_he and Cas'_ sense.

But things would be ok. They had to be. So much had happened out there on the field op, so much had changed, for both of them. There was no way they could just slip back into what life had been like before any of it had happened. That was the last thing Dean wanted.

They were better off now that they had each other.

Surely Cas could see that.

And if he couldn't...Well, Dean would just have to remind him.

* * *

><p>In the week following their return to base, Castiel had had to deal with four meetings with the General, two with Michaels' father, and a review of his status within the Marine Corps.<p>

It was excessive, in his opinion, considering the fact that had it been a recruit other than Michaels the fallout would not have even come close to what was raining down on him now.

Dean had been called in several times to give account of what had happened, as had Bullseye, and from what Castiel had heard, Michaels' father was all guns blazing to have Dean up for manslaughter.

In short, the whole thing was a big fucking mess.

Castiel had been pushing for it to be passed off as misfire on account of self defence, which had been aided by the fact that Dean still looked like a billboard for domestic violence by the time they got back, but it wasn't easy. He was up to his neck in paper work, with God only knew how much longer to agonize over the whole thing before a final judgement call was made.

Frankly, it pissed him off.

Everything that his recruits had achieved in the field op, every single task that they had nailed, had been completely swept aside in the wake of this one downfall. And he could see how it affected their morale. He had called his squad to a meeting at one point to assure them that as soon as things were sorted out –because they _would _be sorted out, if it was the last thing he did – their efforts would be recognized and he would be able to give them a straight answer about the future of the project.

That had been the first time he'd allowed himself to be in the same room as Dean since they had returned, and it'd been just as painful as he'd expected.

More, actually.

Dean looked rough, to put it plainly. Clearly, he had not been sleeping. Not that he could blame him, Castiel hadn't exactly been getting his eight hours a night either. But the thing that really struck him like a well-deserved kick in the balls was the way the young man's eyes still lit up when he walked into the room, despite the fact that Castiel had made no attempt to even speak with him since they had departed the field op.

He did not deserve to have Dean look at him like that. He had hoped by now Dean might be cottoning on to the fact that things between them were over.

But still, the young soldier looked at him as though he were the one who had hung the moon, his deep green stare offering up secret assurances that he still wanted him, still held hope for them.

And it didn't just break Castiel's heart, it _shattered _it.

It had taken all of his strength not to cross the room and throw his arms around him and tell him how much he needed him until he could no longer form words. But he had known that he hadto hold true to his judgement on this one. For Dean's sake.

So he had addressed them all as a group, keeping his eyes pinned to a spot on the back wall, and left as soon as he had said what he needed to, knowing all too well that if he had hung around, his resolve may just have cracked.

In the weeks that followed, he had busied himself with the administrative side of the project, leaving the squad to carry out their daily routines under the supervision of an officer that he had appointed. He had taken every possible step to remove himself from Dean's daily life. For himself, as much as Dean. He knew it must have been killing Dean, and that knowledge burned just as much as the separation itself.

Every morning, Castiel would stare down his reflection in the small mirror above his bathroom sink and tell himself that it was for the best, it would get easier, anything to take away the screaming emptiness that ate away at him.

But he could not escape it.

His every waking moment was plagued with memories of the sound of Dean's voice and the way it would slip into a laid back drawl when he was tired.

At night, vivid sensory dreams haunted him, taking him back to the feeling of Dean's bare, hot skin against his own, replaying over and over and over until the sound of his own anguished voice crying out for Dean would rouse him from his slumber.

He felt like a shadow, like he wasn't quite real. Never really awake, yet afraid to fall asleep. It was like he was slowly unravelling, being worn down...and the only person who could stop it was the one person he was trying to spare with this whole crusade.

And so it was that on the day that marked a month since their return from the field op, Castiel found himself staring at the official document laid out on his desk before him, inwardly willing it to dissipate into ash. It wasn't that he hadn't expected this. On some level, he would have been surprised if this _hadn't _eventuated. But here and now, staring at the words printed across the crisp white paper, he wished with all of himself that there could have been another outcome.

He buried his face in his hands, sucking in a long breath that did not even come close to filling his lungs, and steeled himself for the confrontation that was being forced upon him.

There was going to be a court case against Dean.

And Castiel had been nominated as the one to inform him.


	19. Bad News

Dean stared at the white-washed wall of the corridor with a kind of avid fascination. God knew he had spent enough time sitting here outside Castiel's office over the past year, but he had never taken the time to actually look around him. His eyes traced over the hairline cracks in the concrete, following them up and outwards as they spider-veined over the wall, reminding him of the bad abstract paintings his mom used to bring home from thrift stores.

...It really wasn't that interesting to look at.

But it beat sitting there wandering why he had been called to this all too familiar corridor. A few months ago, it wouldn't have struck him as even the slightest bit out of place. But considering the amount of effort Castiel had so clearly been putting into _avoiding _Dean these last few weeks, he had to wonder what had tipped the scales.

He drummed his fingers on his knees, his foot tapping the cold concrete floor of its own volition.

He couldn't decide how he felt about meeting with Castiel. On the one hand, he had spent the last few weeks more or less _pining _like some chick in a soap opera just to see the guy, but on the other hand...he was kind of pissed off.

Castiel had had every opportunity to talk to him...Hell, Dean would have settled for him just _acknowledging _him. But he had made absolutely no attempt to have anything to do with him, not a single solitary sign that he even remembered all the things that had gone on between them out on the field op.

So when Dean had been instructed to head over for a hi-how-are-ya with his commanding officer after his morning run, he had been torn between jumping for joy and flat out refusing to play ball. But of course, he couldn't do that. Not when he was potentially about to be put out of his misery on the whole Michaels front. Well, that, or it was gonna head in the other direction...and if that was the case, mad as he was at Castiel, there wasn't anyone he would rather hear it from.

The shrill squeak of the door opening dragged him out of his own head, and he reluctantly pushed himself up onto his feet, keeping his eyes down.

"Dean..."

The familiar voice echoed slightly down the otherwise empty corridor, drawing Dean's eyes away from his feet and onto the man standing in front of him.

"Come in." Castiel stepped aside, his face a very deliberate mask of calm that was not as convincing as he no doubt thought it was.

Dean shuffled forward into the office, his shoulder lightly brushing against the older man as he slid past him, the familiar scent of him hitting Dean like a sensory sledgehammer.

It shouldn't upset him.

It's not like they'd ever actually belonged to each other, never actually said the words...But that little piece of logic wouldn't touch the part of Dean that was in an instant brimming with the cruel, hideous feeling of utter loss.

"Please, have a seat." Castiel gestured to the chair set before his desk as he lowered himself down into his own seat.

The silence that stretched between them as Dean sat in his uncomfortable chair was that very particular kind of skin-scratching, a-million-things-we-should-say-but-won't kind of quiet that Dean had always hated.

He could not bring himself to meet Castiel's eyes, even as the older man shifted in his seat, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the heavy wooden desk.

"...How have you been?" Castiel's voice seemed unnaturally loud in the awkward stillness of the room.

Dean huffed a humourless laugh.

"Small talk? Seriously?"

He shot a hard stare at the man on the other side of the desk.

Castiel nodded, sighing heavily.

"Dean...I know it must seem like I've been avoiding you..."

"Because you have." Dean stated pointedly.

Castiel assented with a slow nod of his head. "...Yes. I have. But I don't want you to think that's because what happened between us didn't mean anything..."

Dean watched Castiel squirm uncomfortably in his seat, not meeting his eye as he churned out the half-assed (and probably well rehearsed) lines that were probably supposed to placate him.

"Cas..." Dean interrupted, leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "If you're not gonna tell me anything real, then let me go...'Cause it's really damn hard to be around you when you're just spitting lines at me."

A shiver of guilt ran through him as Castiel flinched, his wide, anguished eyes giving away everything he was trying so hard to hide. Ok, that had been a bit of a slap in the face, but Dean had the right to be honest with him, didn't he? He was hurting over this, why shouldn't he let Castiel know it?

"I, ah..." Castiel cleared his throat, collecting his thoughts as he shuffled the papers on his desk in front of him. "I called you in today because I have news for you...regarding the charges against you."

Dean cursed inwardly as Castiel switched into commanding-officer mode, firmly putting the lid back on the can of worms Dean had just opened.

"I'm very sorry, Dean," Castiel continued "...You're being court martialled."

Well.

Happy fucking Wednesday to me, Dean thought.

He ran his hand through his hair, firmly clasping the back of his neck.

"...Dean?" Castiel prompted cautiously.

"Yeah, I heard you Cas." Dean sighed, leaning back in his chair. "...So what happens now?"

Castiel pushed a letter across the desk towards him. He glanced down at the paper, his eyes running over the small black print that detailed the upcoming trial. Random tumbles of words jumped out from the page and melded into a blur that hovered just out of the grasp of his conscience.

He should have seen it coming...But he doubted even that would have made this easier to swallow.

"I really tried, Dean..." Castiel ventured, glancing guardedly across the desk. "I did everything I could, but..."

Dean nodded as he trailed off. "I believe you."

Castiel rapped his fingers against the dark lacquer of the desk, hesitantly rising to his feet.

Dean pushed himself up out of his chair and shifted on his feet as Castiel stepped out from behind the desk. Dean could almost feel the heat coming off the older man as he stepped in close, laying a timid hand on his arm.

"Don't..." Dean shook his head, his eyes glued to the floor. "...If you're not in this, just...Don't. It's not fair."

He hated how weak and raw and _honest_ his voice sounded in that moment.

Castiel retracted his hand, exhaling a shaking rush of air as he stepped out of Dean's personal space.

"I just want you to know, even if we can't...do this," He gestured between them, "I'm still here, Dean. If you need anything, you know, with the trial..."

Dean nodded.

"Won't." He whispered.

Castiel cocked his head, the universal gesture of the unspoken 'what?'

"You said, if we _can't_ do this..." Dean lifted his eyes. "It's not a case of can't, Cas. It's a case of won't."

Castiel just gazed back at him, his eyes so full of genuine regret and apology that Dean had to look away.

He turned and headed for the door, pausing as he grasped the doorhandle.

"I miss you..." Dean voiced quietly, not daring to look over his shoulder as he spoke the words. "Just thought you should know that."

He stepped out into the corridor and pulled the door shut behind him, all too aware of the fragility of his resolve as he jilted Castiel's chance to respond.

Castiel's hand on his arm, that one tiny, inconsequential touch, had ripped open the little pocket inside him that he had so avidly been stuffing all his feelings concerning the older man into.

And wasn't that just the last thing he needed right now – a fresh bout of stranded-at-the-drive-in to accompany his anxiety over his upcoming trial.

He slowly started making his way down the long corridor, not entirely sure where he was headed. He guessed, though, in that moment, it didn't really matter.

Anything beat standing on the wrong side of Castiel's door.


	20. Realisation

The process of actually getting Dean in front of a judge was, to put it bluntly, a bitch.

Between pre-trial conferences and one Ms Ruby Lawson, the God-awful attorney that had been assigned to Dean's case, it was enough to keep Castiel in a permanent state of wish-I-was-drunk-right-now.

Dean, by some miracle, seemed to be taking it all in stride with his trademark brand of not giving a fuck, which gave Castiel no small amount of relief. Looking at the young soldier, you would have no idea he was staring down the barrel of a manslaughter charge.

But, in saying that, even if Dean _was_ a terrified mess inside, Castiel knew better than anyone he wasn't the type to show it.

Which was probably why it bugged the hell out of him every time he caught the busty brunette barrister stroking Dean's hand or giving him the 'this must be so hard for you' look from under her fake eyelashes.

Dean was dealing in the best way he knew how, and he certainly didn't need some woman pawing at him and promising she'd "get him through this". The only thing Dean needed from her was for her to do her damn job and come up with a defence argument.

As far as Castiel knew, Ms Legally Brunette intended to shoot for Imperfect Self Defence, which, if she could swing it at the trial, would mean Dean was completely off the hook. It was a long shot, seeing as they only had one witness and Dean was (rightfully, as far as Castiel was concerned) unwilling to plead altered frame of mind. But they had the snapshots of the damage Michaels had dealt to Dean, so they weren't flying completely blind.

The whole thing just felt so...out of his hands. And he _hated _it.

Every single thing that he had done over the past few months had been, he genuinely believed, in Dean's best interest. He had done everything he could to keep Dean's life as uncomplicated and unhindered as he could, because he felt responsible.

Responsible for Dean's safety, responsible for making sure that he fulfilled his potential as a soldier, responsible for his wellbeing in general...And now there was this.

This one thing that would have a bigger impact than all the other crap Castiel had tried so hard to keep Dean sheltered from put together...And it was the one thing he could not protect him from.

The only reason that Castiel had not drunk himself stupid over the whole thing yet was that he was serving as a character witness in the trial, the one miniscule grain of power that he had over the whole situation. If that was all he could give Dean, he would put all of himself into making sure it was perfect.

Not that it was going to require any significant amount of planning, or even fore-thought...all he had to do was get up there and tell the truth. He would stand in front of the judge and panel and tell them that Dean was the best damn soldier he'd ever trained, and one of the most genuinely well-intentioned, trustworthy human beings he knew. And he'd mean every word of it.

He just figured it was probably better to do so sober...just on the off chance that an inebriated version of himself may feel it pertinent to bring up that, as well as being a stand-up guy, Dean also happened to be a phenomenal screw. Something told him that may not go down too well.

Aside from himself, all of the recruits in the squad would be called in to give character witness for both Dean and Michaels, and Bullseye would give testimony as to what he saw happen that day. Which gave Castiel hope...Dean's squad genuinely respected him, it was plain as day to see that, and majority of them would all be able to give honest, first-hand accounts of the temper that Michaels had on him.

On the flipside, however, Dean had countless misdemeanours to his name, several of them violent, and they would certainly not be overlooked when it came down to it.

As much as Castiel hated to dwell on the fact, it really could go either way. Unjust as it may seem, it would all pretty much come down to the mood of the judge and the panel on the day, and how much of Dean's history they were willing to overlook.

...Yeah. It was a long shot.

But hey, if you didn't have hope, all that left you with was reality.

And right now, reality blew.

* * *

><p>In the week leading up to the trial, Dean became simultaneously aware of three things.<p>

One, there was a very good chance that he was going to be found guilty of manslaughter and spend the remainder of his young life in prison.

Two, unless legal representation now automatically included poorly disguised seduction techniques, Ruby what's-her-name was into him. In a big way.

And the third (and most important, in Dean's perception) was...Castiel still was too.

It was plain as day to see it, although he doubted that Cas was aware of just how obvious his disdain of Ruby and her ever increasing proximity was.

Honestly? Dean was kind of pleased. In a twisted way, he quite enjoyed watching Castiel grit his teeth every time Ruby sat just a _little_ too close, leaning over Dean as opposed to just getting him to pass things to her. And heaven forbid she should actually show up with her blouse buttoned all the way up. It was like she thought she was doing Dean a favour by baring her cleavage at every possible opportunity. But it was worth putting up with it all, just to watch Cas get that 'hands off' look on his face. It was so...possessive. And it turned Dean on to no end.

He had taken to returning Ruby's flirtatious gestures every now and then just to watch the older man get all not-so-inwardly riled up about it. Which, in Dean's opinion, was only fair. _He _wasn't the one who had shied away from what they had been building between them. Castiel could sweat for a bit, as far as he was concerned. Especially considering that Dean had every intention of completely removing Castiel's choice from the whole matter of 'them' as soon as the trial was over.

Castiel felt just as much for Dean, as Dean did for him. So if he wanted to get all scared about it, that was fine, but Dean was determined that this time, they would be in it together. Castiel could freak out as much as he wanted, so long as at the end of the day Dean could still call him his.

Although, that was providing Dean came out trumps in the trial. If he was found guilty and sentenced, well...he could not in good conscience expect Cas to wait for him. He _wouldn't._ Cas deserved better than being some jailbird's conjugal.

Which was the only thing that was really keeping Dean's engine running on this whole thing. If not for Cas, he sincerely believed that the outcome of the trial would be but a drop in the bucket...guilty, not guilty, it wouldn't matter.

He was tired of everything being a battle. He just wanted all this behind him, one way or another, so he could get on with whatever future might still be within his grasp.

But the fact that walking away from this charge with his name cleared would mean that future could include Castiel...that was worth fighting for.

Whatever it took.


	21. Never Too Late

Castiel's eyes had been glued to the same spot on his bedroom ceiling since long before the haze of dawn began to seep in through the gap in the too-thin curtains. The morning of the trial had been a long time coming, yet as Castiel laid there with his comforter pulled up around his neck, wishing he could somehow fast forward until the whole thing was over, it kind of felt like it had snuck up out of nowhere.

He flicked his eyes over to the glowing face of the alarm clock on his bedside table, mentally calculating how much longer he could lay there pretending he wasn't due in court.

Six fifteen a.m...

He had just over four hours until he needed to be at the meeting chambers, followed no doubt by countless hours of waiting before he was actually called in to give witness.

He pulled the worn-down comforter over his head, shutting out the light that was sneaking into the room. He didn't know if it was the fact that this might all end horribly, or just the fact that he was going to have to watch Dean go through it at all, that made him so reluctant to drag his ass out of bed and acknowledge that this was actually happening.

Surely a few more minutes of denial couldn't hurt...He lived in a base housing unit; it wouldn't take him more than ten minutes to get over to the meeting chambers where the trial was being held, so it's not like there was any real rush on him getting up.

He stretched his arms and legs out lazily, his back arching into the stretch as he felt every single minute he had spent awake and anxious last night coiling his muscles up one by one.

Coffee. Very, very strong coffee. With a shot of something decidedly _non-_coffee in it.

That would make things better. Or at least, minimally bearable.

He pushed the tangle of sheets off his body, the cool morning air hitting his bare chest as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

Ok, see? He could do this. Step one complete, he was sitting up.

That's how he would manage today, one step at a time.

The off-white carpet scratched at the soles of his feet as he hefted his body off the mattress and shuffled towards the en-suite bathroom, an extra jolt of wake-the-hell-up shooting through his system as his feet connected with the cold tile.

He unscrewed the hot tap in the shower as far as it would go, ignoring the protesting pipes as they groaned their usual morning chorus, and stepped out of his boxers, kicking them aside.

The flash of his reflection out the corner of his eye drew his attention over to the small mirror above the sink. The glass was beginning to fog as the small room clouded with steam, but it was not enough to obscure the dark circles under his eyes, blaring evidence of how he had been so perfectly _not _handling things lately.

_God, I look old..._He absently ran his hand along his jaw, his brain completely detached from the grazing of the stubble against his palm as he took in the sorry sight of his reflection.

The last few weeks, he had hardly slept, had had no appetite to speak of, and had been one misinterpreted glance away from derailing completely.

And the fact that Dean was no doubt feeling it all ten times worse only added to the soul-sucking, spirit-crushing anguish of it all. There was a not a single thing that he would not have given to be able to make this all go away for Dean, to make it so that he did not have to go through this.

He would have taken it all upon himself in a heartbeat if given the choice, if it meant Dean could walk away from it all.

If there was one thing that Castiel did not do well, it was powerless.

And the last few weeks...they'd just about torn him apart.

He stepped into the shower, sighing heavily as the hot spray of water connected with his chest. He scrubbed at his face and hair, feeling his body slowly uncoiling as the heat seeped into his joints.

...Maybe he could try to see Dean before the trial. Surely he would be able to get him aside for a few minutes before the whole thing kicked off? Get him to himself and...what?

Tell him that he missed him and needed him and knew that he'd been a complete dick these last few months? That pushing him away was the stupidest thing he'd ever done?

God knew every word of it was gospel. But he couldn't throw that at him, not knowing that Dean had more than enough clouding his mind right now, without Castiel doing a complete one-eighty on him.

One more day of denial wouldn't do any more damage than he'd already done.

He trailed his hand slowly down his abdomen, letting himself slip into a state of half-awareness as his thought processes stuck on the image of Dean, his mind plucking out a random memory to dwell on as he tried to centre himself.

After the trial, if everything went as he had been frantically praying it would, then maybe they could work something out.

_If _Dean hadn't decided he was sick of all of Castiel's pissing around. Which Castiel would more than understand.

No matter what happened, no matter what Castiel wanted or needed, this had to be about Dean.

And he knew now that everything he had done over the previous months, trying to remove himself from Dean's life, had never really been about Dean.

It had been about himself, and his own fear of what might happen if he let someone in. Sure, maybe he had thought it would compromise Dean's future somehow, that Dean would be 'stuck' with him.

But he had never even considered the fact that maybe that was exactly what Dean wanted. That just maybe, the best thing he could possibly do for Dean, was to give him all of himself, and let him do with it whatever he felt was best.

Take it or leave it...the choice should never have been Castiel's.

He rested his forehead against the slick tile of the shower wall, shuddering as the water cascaded over his back.

...Yeah. He'd been an idiot.

But if there was one thing that he had no choice but to believe in right now, it was simply that there was no such thing as 'too late' when it came to the truth.

Especially when that truth was that you loved someone.


	22. Waiting

**A/N: **Thanks to everyone who has stuck with the story to this point! It's great getting your feedback :) So this chapter is where all the legal proceedings start...please bear in mind that while i did research how the military judicial system works, i am in no way claiming that this is entirely accurate (because it's probably far from it) or how a trial would go down. So just take it with a grain of salt :) Enjoy!

* * *

><p><em>It's too hot in here.<em>

_Why does no one else look hot?_

_There's got to be some kind of air conditioning or something they can turn on...I can't be the only one feeling this right now..._

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat, tugging at the collar of his dress shirt anxiously in a desperate bid to get some air circulating against his skin. Hadn't they ever heard of a freaking fan? It felt like the middle of damned summer in there, although Dean seemed to be the only one particularly concerned.

He ran his palms over his suit-clad thighs, trying to rub off some of the moisture that was slicking his hands.

Up until this point, it had been easy to think of the trial in the abstract sense of it, as something far off and a long way down the line that was happening around him instead of to him.

But when he had awoken that morning (or, he should say, when he had gotten out of bed after deciding that sleep was a futile pursuit) it had all suddenly become very real.

He glanced over at Ruby who was seated next to him, flicking through her file of documents, scribbling last minute notes and skim-reading her argument points time and time again.

She had been very adamant in ensuring Dean that he had a solid case, and she had genuinely seemed as though she believed it on the occasions when she had told Dean so. Which was about the only ray of hope that Dean had to cling to at this point.

"You ok?" Ruby questioned, her eyes still trained on the stack of papers in front of her. "I can _feel _you buzzing, kiddo."

Dean nodded, inhaling shakily. "Yeah...just want this over with."

"I know," Ruby turned her gaze to him, setting down her pen to place her hand on his arm, "just breathe. You need to hold it together, ok? Losing it isn't going to help your case."

Dean blew out a long breath, trying to relax his shoulders that seemed intent on hugging his ears.

He could do this, he just needed to stay calm, and it would all be over soon. He clasped his hands together in front of his face, elbows resting on the table, and pressed his forehead against his interlocked fingers. The sounds around him amplified as he closed his eyes, allowing his ears to track the movements going on around him as people shuffled into the room and took up their respective seats. It was all a blur of unfamiliar voices and footfalls that melded into one continuous drone, until his subconscious picked up a conversation thread and traced it all the way back to the source of the familiar gravel-baritone. His eyes flew open, his heart kicking into double time even as the rest of his body unravelled in the tide of relief flooding through him.

He slowly twisted his torso to glance towards the back of the room, his breath hitching in his chest as his eyes locked on what his brain could saddle with no other label than simply "Mine".

Castiel stood in the doorway of the meeting chamber, head to foot in his Dress Blues, his eyes solemnly raking over the small group that had gathered therein.

Dean shivered against the ache that swelled in his chest as he drank in the image of the older man that he had gazed on so many times before, yet felt as though he was seeing for the first time. Every other person in the room became faceless, nameless, meaningless as Castiel's stare finally fell on Dean, and stayed there.

Dean raised himself up onto unsteady feet, his eyes caressing every inch of Castiel as he stood, motionless, in the doorway, just staring back at him.

He looked tired. Actually, he looked _exhausted. _But there was an underlying strength, a renewed purpose to the set of his shoulders beneath the midnight blue jacket that hugged his torso and set his eyes ablaze. He had an air of...certainty, almost, about him that made everything within Dean fall quiet, like if he could be silent enough, he may just be able to hear the older man's thoughts.

"...Dean?"

A sharp tug at his elbow snapped his attention away from the source of his glorious distraction, and he glanced down to find Ruby giving him the 'sit down and behave' eye.

"Sorry..." He mumbled, throwing a glance over his shoulder towards the now empty doorway.

Right, Castiel was a witness, so he wouldn't be allowed to sit in until he was called. But that one moment, that one shared glance, it was damn near enough to give Dean the strength he needed to do this.

A small man approached the front of the room, turning to the small group that had gathered.

Ruby leaned in as the room fell silent, the small man instructing those present to rise for the officer who was presiding over the case.

"Show time..." She whispered in Dean's ear, giving his arm a small squeeze as they got to their feet.

Dean's heart was in his throat as he swallowed thickly, his pulse thumping out an anxious rhythm behind his temples. He clasped his hands in front of him, fighting the urge to fidget as a once-familiar childhood rhyme began to circle in his head, an all too relevant mantra for the proverbial storm heading his way.

_We can't go over it..._

_We can't go under it..._

_We'll just have to go through it._

* * *

><p>Castiel stood with his back pressed against the wall, surveying the group of young men that had been gathered in the small waiting area.<p>

There was a heady kind of palpable silence in the group; all of them far from strangers, and yet completely void of anything useful to say as they waited to be called to give witness.

The entire squad was there, sitting and standing respectively around the room, some pacing, some chewing their nails or watching the clock on the wall or sitting stock still, no doubt wishing they were anywhere but here.

Castiel tipped his head back to connect with a dull thud against the wall, allowing his eyes to drift shut as he attempted to send out a psychic tendril of thought to the young man in the room beyond.

To his infinite relief, when he had briefly looked in on the assembled group before the trial had commenced, there had only been a handful of people there.

Dean and Ruby, a panel of four officers appointed to act as jury, a stenographer, two uniforms to act as security, Alistair - the lawyer whom Michaels' father had brought in, and the judge. Praise whoever the hell was out there watching over them, Michaels' father had been banned from the trial on account of emotional instability and bias, despite his many (increasingly aggressive) protests.

All in all, as far as trials went, it was miraculously low key considering the weight of the charges.

And just seeing Dean, knowing that he was in fact still able to stand and hold his head up, had given him no small amount of relief.

This was not going to be an easy day for the young soldier. In fact, it would probably be one of the most mentally and emotionally draining experiences of his life. Alistair was ruthless, and there was not a solitary doubt in Castiel's mind that the son of a bitch would do everything he could to blow holes in Dean's self belief; If Dean gave into even the slightest amount of self doubt, that would be all the wiggle room that Alistair would need to tear him - and his argument - apart.

Dean was strong, Castiel knew that...he just hoped that _Dean _knew that too, and held onto it for all he was worth.

Castiel tipped his head forward as Bullseye shot to his feet, threading his fingers through his hair and huffing a heavy sigh.

"Dean's gonna be ok, right?" His eyes bore searchingly into Castiel's face as he shifted from foot to foot. "I mean, it was self defence, we all know that."

Castiel shrugged slightly, shaking his head. "I really don't know. We just have to hope that the judge rules in his favour."

"God, that's such bullshit!" Bullseye kicked at a flimsy plastic chair, sending it skidding across the room as the other recruits stared intently at the floor. "Michaels was a class A cock who had it out for Dean from day one, I can't fucking believe we just have to sit here while Dean gets drilled for doing what any of us would have done in that situation. Dean would be dead right now if he hadn't done what he did! Doesn't that count for anything?"

Castiel winced as the words hit him right in the chest, so much the echo of his own thought processes over the previous weeks.

"It does to us_._" Castiel pushed off the wall and stepped forward to stand in the centre of the room. "The best...the _only _thing, we can do for Dean now, is make sure that there is not a single inch of wiggle room for the jury to believe that he is anything other than a pillar of integrity."

He eyed each of his recruits as they turned their gazes towards him. "Every single one of you has chosen to follow him, and entrust your safety to him time and time again, because you all know that underneath the hot-headed God-complex, Dean is the best fucking soldier any of you know."

The young soldiers nodded, murmuring choruses of assent.

Castiel returned his gaze to Bullseye, clapping him on the shoulder as the young man stilled his pacing.

"Whatever happens, _we _know the truth. And if the judge decides to put him away, I'm gonna be front and centre fighting like hell to get him out. _I _will not let everything he has worked for be taken away from him, not as long as I'm still breathing."

Bullseye nodded fiercely, his stare locked on the older mans.

"...Yes sir." His voice was almost reverent in the quiet that had befallen the group of soldiers.

"...And we'll be right there with you."


	23. Prosecution

**A/N: **Everyone ready to hate Alistair just that little bit more? ;) Just to reiterate, this is probably not an accurate representation of a military court situation.

* * *

><p>"In your own words, Mr Winchester," Alistair rose to his feet, straightening his tie with a slick half-grin, "and to the best of your abilities, will you please relate to us what preceded the incident of Private Michaels' death?"<p>

Dean sat behind the table that had been appointed as the 'witness stand' for all intents and purposes, his hands clasped tightly in front of him in an attempt to just _keep. fucking. still._

"...We were, um..." He had rehearsed this so many times, and it had been so easy to reel off what had happened that day when it was just him and Ruby. But now that he was seated there, in the too-hot room, with Alistair's beady eyes raking over him, just waiting to rip him to shreds, it was like his brain had gone on strike. He looked to Ruby, who nodded a silent 'we've been over this, tell them what you told me' at him.

_Sack up, Dean. _

He dug his nails into his palms, breathing deep and slow.

"We were on our live ammunitions drill... I was paired with Bullseye, but I had moved on to the last target without him."

Dissociating from the memory was a hell of a lot harder in the silent room, with all eyes on him, than it had been in rehearsals.

"Michaels...he came up behind me, he was talking smack about wanting 'my job'...I insulted him, and then next thing I knew his hands were around my neck and I was reaching for my pistol. I couldn't...he wasn't letting me breathe, it felt like my lungs were gonna explode. I panicked...so I shoved the pistol into the first point of contact I could, and I pulled the trigger."

Alistair nodded, clasping his hands behind his back as he paced slowly towards Dean.

"Dean, would you please describe to us the nature of your relationship with Private Michaels?"

Dean stifled the snort that the question incited, meeting Alistair's stare as he recited the response that Ruby had, in rehearsals, deemed the least incriminating on his part.

"We had our differences."

"There are several recorded instances of violent altercation between the two of you...can you recall, just in a general sense, what had served as the catalyst in those situations?" Alistair's voice had a smug, keening sort of whine to it that slid into Dean's ears like grease and made him shift in his seat.

"I guess you could just call them personality clashes, we got under each other's skin." Dean shrugged. "It happens, you know? We're stuck in the same environment, day in day out with the same people, you're gonna snap every once in a while."

Alistair nodded, pacing a few steps towards the panel.

"So, would you say that it was personal between you two?"

"...Not on my part."

"But you feel that Michaels may have been harbouring some form of grudge against you?"

Dean shifted in his seat, choosing his words carefully as the weight of the jurors' stares fell on him.

"...I believe he did, yes."

"Any idea why?"

"I guess..." Dean cleared his throat. "Maybe he felt threatened by me..."

Alistair pivoted towards him.

"So the day of the live ammunitions drill, when Private Michaels confronted you, that was based on a personal issue, as opposed to a 'personality clash'?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah...It was."

"Can you tell us what that personal issue was?"

Dean hesitated.

He had not discussed with Ruby – or anyone, for that matter – what had led Michaels to assume that Dean was being promoted. If he said so much as one word to give Alistair or the panel suspicion of what had gone on out on the field op, it was all over. And not just for him. He sat up straighter, hoping his lungs would get the message to freaking inflate, and gave the most minimally exposing version of the truth possible.

"Michaels was under the impression that I was going to be promoted within the squad, and he wasn't happy about it."

Alistair quirked an eyebrow at him.

"And why did he think that?"

_Because he caught me and Cas fucking, that's why._

"I don't know, I guess Officer Novak had started giving me more responsibility over the drills and training exercises."

Alistair nodded slowly, pursing his lips in a mock-pensive expression.

"Had Officer Novak been giving the same leadership opportunities to the rest of the squad?"

_Fuck ._Dean's stomach began to churn as he realised exactly what angle Alistair intended to work.

"...Well no. But –"

"Did Michaels _want _the opportunity to perform these leadership tasks?" Alistair cut in.

"I guess he did, yeah." Dean could feel the sweat gathering between his clasped palms.

"So why is it, do you think, that he was not given them?" Alistair turned his attentions towards the panel. "Considering the project had not officially been instated and there was therefore no need to relegate any one leader?"

"Objection." Ruby called across the room. "Irrelevant."

"Overruled." The judge pointed a finger towards Alistair. "Make your point."

Alistair directed a weaselly smile at the judge.

"Apologies, Magistrate." He dipped his head in a gesture of feigned castigation. "Dean, did you enjoy stepping into this leadership role that Officer Novak gifted you with?"

"Yes..."

"And you wish to uphold this role, now that you have returned to base?"

Dean swallowed thickly. "Yeah, that's what I want."

"So can you honestly tell this fine panel of upstanding officers," he gestured to the jury, "that there was not a single conscious element to your decision to pull the trigger when Michaels retaliated to your insulting him? No underlying desire to eliminate the competition?"

"Of course there wasn't!" Dean couldpractically feel his blood pressure rising as the smug prick pacing in front of him tried to twist his story.

"They're just questions, Dean." Alistair relished the way he was so obviously getting under the young soldier's skin. "There's no need to lose your temper...Although that's not something that's entirely uncharacteristic of you, is it? Getting angry?"

Dean gritted his teeth, shooting a pleading glance at Ruby. She looked back at him, shaking her head slightly, her expression an apology and an encouragement not to back down.

"I have lost my temper in the past, yeah." He held Alistair's stare unflinchingly. "But I did not intentionally kill Michaels."

"But you _did _intentionally stick a gun into his ribcage and pull the trigger, did you not?"

"Yes, but it was -"

"Self defence, yeah, we know," Alistair rolled his eyes, "but what it comes down to, kiddo, is the simple fact that you know better than anyone what happens when you pull a trigger. It's what you're trained to do. So how can you honestly tell us, that there was not a single part of you that considered the fact that Michaels might just die if you shot him?"

The silence in the room was deafening as Dean stared back at Alistair, his blood running cold in his veins as he realised that it didn't matter what he said -Alistair would find some way to twist it.

Alistair smirked at him, 'gotcha' written all over his face.

He back away from the witness stand, shooting a smile at Ruby before returning to his seat and addressing the judge.

"No further questions."


	24. Defense

**A/N: **I apologise for the delay in updates, I have been plagued by the dreaded writers block. So please be patient, the next few chapters may be slow in coming but I will get back on track eventually, I promise! :)

* * *

><p>Dean was momentarily paralysed in the wake of Alistair's performance.<p>

It was plain as day to see the creepy fucker had been in the game a while, and knew exactly which angle he wanted to play on this case. No doubt he'd known right from the get-go, when he'd been hired.

And, hate it though he might, Dean had to admit - it was good. Exactly what Dean would have done if he were in Alistair's shoes.

Ruby stood and circled around the table to walk towards Dean.

"Dean, you say that it was Private Michaels who approached _you_ during your altercation...do you think it would be fair to say that, had he not, you would not have had anything to do with him that day, beyond what was strictly required of you?"

Dean laughed humourlessly. "I tended to have as little to do with him as humanly possible."

Ruby nodded.

"So he approached you of his own accord, came into _your _space whilst you were working a pretty serious drill, which I'm assuming was very heavily reined in with rules about things like proximity, and attempted to instate confrontation?"

"In a nutshell, yeah."

"And Private Michaels would have been aware of the guidelines of these drills, and your basic ammunitions one-oh-one stuff that you guys are taught from day one? Such as the dangers ofapproaching someone unawares whilst they are handling a live firearm?"

Dean shrugged. "You would think so. But he did always think he was above the rules."

Ruby paced slowly across the room.

"Ok, so he comes up to you and suggests that you don't deserve this 'promotion' that he had assumed you were getting," Ruby gestured a waving motion with one hand, "and I say 'assumed' because there had been no hard evidence to support this, correct? Officer Novak never actually said that any one member of the squad ranked any higher than the others?"

"That's right."

"So he says you don't deserve it, and then you insulted him?"

"Yes."

"What did you say?"

"...I told him that I was better than him."

Ruby crossed her arms over her chest, nodding her head slowly.

"...And then he attacked you?"

"Yes."

"And he tried to strangle you?"

"Yes."

Dean's heart kicked into overdrive as the memories came creeping back, his body responding as though he were once again on the ground, pinned by the other soldier's weight crushing his windpipe.

"Do you feel his actions were a justified response to your remark?" Ruby questioned.

Dean shook his head. "No."

Ruby pivoted back around to stand before him. "...Did you genuinely believe that Michaels intended to kill you?"

Dean tried to still the tremors twitching through his hands. "...Not at first...But then he just wouldn't let up..."

He sighed, meeting Ruby's gaze head on.

"He knew exactly what he was doing. And he would not have stopped, not until I wasn't breathing anymore."

Ruby strode over to the table where her stack of papers sat waiting and plucked a folder from the pile, carrying it over to the magistrate.

"I submit as evidence the photos that were taken of the injuries Private Winchester sustained in the altercation."

The judge nodded, accepting the folder and gesturing for Ruby to continue her questioning.

She turned back towards Dean.

"What were your thoughts as you reached for your pistol?"

Dean chewed on the inside of his lip, trying to cast his mind back to that haze of half-awareness when things had gone so wrong.

"...I don't know that I _was _thinking... It was like I was detached from the whole thing. I knew I couldn't breathe, and that if I didn't do something to get him off me, I would die."

Ruby's eyebrows shot up.

"So when you pulled the trigger, your only thought was to 'get him off you'?"

"Yes," Dean sighed, "I never...I never meant to kill him...I just wanted to breathe again."

The room fell silent as Ruby fixed him with a reassuring stare, dipping her head in the barest semblance of a nod before she turned to the judge.

"No further questions."


	25. For Us

Castiel stared down at the bitten-off nubs of what had been, when he had awoken that morning, his fingernails.

There had been a time, many many years ago, when his mother would put socks on his hands at night to try and wean him from what had then been a habit. She would tell him, each and every night as she wrestled the scratchy blue wool over his flailing hands, that the fearless dragon-slaying Prince Dimitri, the star of Castiel's favourite bed time story, would _never _chew his fingernails.

Castiel could remember thinking, years later, as he trudged through the pouring rain towards the church, shouldering the weight of his mother's coffin, that Prince Dimitri would never have let someone he loved come to such grave harm, either.

But then, he never had managed to live up to all that his childhood hero had represented.

The day of the funeral, when he and his father had returned back to their too-quiet house, Castiel had snuck into his mother's closet and dragged out the dusty old box that lived, tucked away, at the back of the top shelf. He had carefully foraged amongst the sepia photos of unfamiliar faces and the indistinguishable drawings his mother had kept from his preschool days, until he found what he was looking for. Stuffing the moth-eaten socks into his pocket, he had re-shelved the box, and spent the next half hour trying to decide where in his bombsite of a bedroom to hide the stolen reminder.

If he had stopped to think, he probably would have realised that it really didn't matter; no one was going to miss those old blue socks. Not when there was the loss of an entire person to grieve.

He hadn't bitten his nails again after that day.

Not the first time his dad actually voiced the blame he placed on Castiel for the loss they had suffered, not on his first day on the job after he had enlisted...not even the night of his first kill, when the backs of his eyelids had been seared with the images of the life he had taken.

Not once had he felt the need to sink his teeth into the calcified ridges and shred until there was nothing left to chew on. Not once, in fifteen years.

But sitting there, in that claustrophobic room with its bland walls and obnoxiously loud clock, not knowing what the hell was happening to the person he cared most about in the world, who happened to be _right down the hall_...yeah, he was damn lucky his dress uniform included gloves.

He exhaled heavily, tapping his foot against the linoleum in time with the frustrated melody circling in his head. If he was to believe the clock on the wall, he had been there for five hours. Five hours, in which the other members of the squad had been and gone, given their testimonies and been released back to whatever afternoon duties awaited them.

But of course, Castiel was being saved for last.

Because it wasn't painful enough knowing that Dean was in there facing down the devil incarnate _without_ having to wait the better part of the day to do his part in getting him off the hook.

He had rehearsed what he would say a million times in his head, had recited it to his reflection in his bathroom mirror every morning for the past month. And it had always seemed enough.

Enough to convince the jury that Dean simply didn't have it in him to be malicious or vindictive, that he was not capable of bringing someone needless harm.

...But in all his practises, it had been just him, he had not had prosecution breathing down his neck. It made Castiel sick to his stomach knowing that Dean had been in there all day having to field Alistair's hideous accusations.

Because they _would_ have been hideous; Castiel had come across him once before, and the man had been nothing short of soulless. Dean might be stubborn as hell and stronger than any young man his age should ever have cause to be, but there was only so much merciless character defamation a person could be pelted with before they started second guessing themselves.

He slumped down in the too-hard chair, fingering the hem of his jacket. Any minute now, surely, the uniformed recruit who had been called to serve as clerk for the day, would come through those doors and put him out of his misery.

He would lead him out and down the corridor, their footfalls echoing down the otherwise empty passage, until they came to the heavy wooden doors that separated Castiel from the only thing that mattered to him anymore.

He would be told to wait, and he would, until they were ready for him inside.

And then...well, then the real torture would begin.

He would tell them that Dean was the last person who could ever cause someone undue harm, and Alistair would point out that that was exactly what Dean had done. He would say that Dean was trustworthy and level headed, and Alistair would bring up the countless brawls that Dean had been in over his time at base.

Whatever positive things Castiel had to say about Dean, Alistair would be right there slamming him with evidence to the contrary. It was going to be, in every possible sense of the expression, an uphill battle.

He supposed he should enjoy these last few moments in which he could still believe that things had the potential to go the way he barely dared to hope they would...because the second he stepped into that courtroom, the second he met Dean's gaze and took in the faces of the jurors, he would know how much hope there really was.

He may be yet to give witness, but that didn't mean that the jurors and judge had not already made up their minds.

They had probably done that long before Dean even got his chance to defend himself.

"Officer Novak?"

Castiel started as the recruit who had silently let himself in addressed him, his expression giving away nothing of what he had been witness to over the course of the day.

"You are required in the courtroom now, Sir."

The young man stood aside, holding the door open.

Castiel threw one last glance up at the clock, mentally cataloguing the moment he sent up his final prayer for strength, for calm, for justice.

He pulled his gloves back on and straightened his hat as he rose to his feet.

_For Dean..._ He chanted silently, following the recruit out into the hallway.

_For Dean...For us..._


	26. Bullseye

Of all the witnesses who had thus far been called to give testimony, not one had strayed from what seemed to be the mantra of the day – Michaels had deserved what he got.

Deep down, Dean had known his boys would stand by him, but he still found his entire body tensing every time another member of his squad nervously took the stand and was asked the same questions as the last...

_Have you ever witnessed Private Winchester expressing violent tendencies of any sort? _

_In your opinion, is Private Winchester a stable and trustworthy individual? _

_Can you please summarise Private Winchester's character for us?_

The questions never changed, and neither did the answers given. It was almost as though a script had been devised amongst the young men as they had waited behind the scenes.

_Of course Dean is trustworthy; he only ever acts in the best interest of the squad. Violent tendencies? No more so than the rest of us...Michaels was the one with the attitude problem._

It was a feeling that Dean could only describe as surreal, sitting there in a room full of people who were talking about him as if he wasn't there.

If only that were the truth...he would have given anything to be anywhere but there, especially when it had come time for Bullseye to take the stand.

Being the only member of the squad who had been nearby at the time of Michaels' death, Dean had known that Bullseye would be asked to give a full recount, in as much detail as possible. Having to give testimony himself had been bad enough, but reliving that moment through the eyes of someone else...Well, Dean could safely say he'd been punished, regardless of the outcome of the trial.

He could tell that it hadn't been easy for Bullseye to recount the events of that day either; jerk or not, Michaels had been a member of their squad, and his death was the first any of them had experienced first hand. It was something that would probably stay with them forever, hidden away at the backs of their minds, that image vividly painted but never spoken about. Dean could tell this was true at least for Bullseye, his gaze haunted and detached as he relayed the story to the waiting jurors.

_Dean had moved on to the final target, _he had said, _I wasn't with him, but I could see him from where I was. Michaels...he came up and started talkin' at Dean about somethin', I couldn't hear them, but I could tell they was arguing about somethin'. Next thing I know, Dean's screaming for help and Michaels is bleeding out on the ground...I ran as fast as I could to get Officer Novak, but by the time we got back..._

He had trailed off into silence, his eyes blazing with fierce faith and loyalty as they locked on Dean.

_I know one thing for sure, _he had murmured, _Dean ain't no murderer. We all had our issues with Michaels, but if anyone was gonna pop him on account of bad blood, Dean's the last person who'd have been able to pull the trigger._

The jury had been silent, not even talking amongst themselves, as Bullseye was excused from the stand and ordered back to the barracks. Ruby had gently squeezed Dean's hand, humming happily to herself as she shuffled her papers and jotted down notes across the typed out pages. Which, Dean supposed, was reassuring in its own small way, but nothing could quite touch the fact that this was far from over.

Only one witness left. And yet it was just so, so far from over.

Castiel's testimony could make or break their entire case. Dean had faith in Ruby's abilities; she had given him no cause to doubt her. But after witnessing Alistair's capabilities over the course of the day, there was more than a little fear overshadowing that faith.

God only knew what Alistair's deranged mind had conjured up for this, the home stretch. The only thing Dean knew for sure was that it was going to be ugly.

His subconscious honed in on the faint sound of approaching footsteps out in the hallway, a small part of him warming and glowing as he listened to the familiar dull clunk of uniform dress shoes over the polished floor. It reminded him of the way he always used to be able to tell which of his parents were coming down the hall towards his bedroom just by the rhythm of their footfalls.

Had it been a different time and place, Dean might have smiled at the way his entire being seemed to react to just the mere sound of Cas's footsteps.

Had it been a different time and place, he'd have been fucking _running_ towards that sound, instead of wishing it would just turn right around and head back the other way, away from whatever Alistair had in store for those beautiful footsteps when they made it to the courtroom.

_Cas is strong,_ he chanted silently to himself, _he can handle this. _

He drummed his fingers against the tabletop as the footsteps drew nearer. _As long as no one knows about us, Cas is safe. And there's no one who knows about us anymore..._

His eyes darted across the room to where Alistair sat, watching him, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Dean could feel small beads of moisture forming across his forehead as the footsteps came to a stop outside the door. He drew in a feeble attempt at a full breath, and turned to watch as Castiel was ushered into the room.

Surely their secret was safe. There was no way Alistair, or anyone else, could know what had gone on between them during the field op.

...Surely, if Dean told himself that enough, it would be the truth.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **...I'm really not a fan of spoilers, but in the interest of self preservation, im going to tell you all that Castiel's testimony is coming up next ;)


	27. Final Witness

_Fuck it's hot in here._

Castiel stepped into the blaring silence of the small, stuffy room, his gaze immediately seeking out Dean.

Dean, who looked so very, very young sitting there beside Ruby, the weight of the day's proceedings squarely upon his hunched shoulders.

_He must be exhausted by now..._Castiel's brows drew together as he looked Dean over, needing to see for himself that he was still in one piece.

_Surely this can_ _wait...how much more can they expect him to endure today?_

"Your honour," Ruby rose from her seat and gestured towards Castiel, "I present the defence's final witness, Chief Warrant Officer Castiel Novak."

Final witness. This was it.

Castiel had spent the entire day wishing this moment would just hurry the fuck up and get there already. But now it was here, he'd have given anything to be sitting back in that bland, too-small room, still able to believe this could all be okay.

The judge nodded, motioning for him to come forward.

He exhaled long and slow as he put one foot in front of the other, making his way up the small aisle. He passed Dean, desperately fighting the urge to reach out and touch him, take his hand, anything that would mean Dean didn't have to sit there alone in all this.

His eyes remained locked on the young man as he vowed to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, fiercely hoping that Dean knew he meant it on so many more levels than anyone else in that courtroom could comprehend. And, more than anything, he hoped that Dean knew that that promise would stand for whatever portion of the rest of his life that Dean chose to be a part of.

"Officer Novak," Ruby approached the witness stand as Castiel took his seat, "how long has Private Winchester been under your jurisdiction?"

"About fifteen months now."

"In that time, have you become quite familiar with him?"

_I know him better than I know myself._

"Yes," Castiel tried to keep his voice level as he shoved the revealing thought back down into the internal Dean-box, "I have spent a lot of time with him."

Ruby nodded. "What have you observed of his character?"

Castiel glanced towards Dean, the young man's eyes glued to the table.

"Dean is one of the most extraordinary young men I have ever had the pleasure of working with."

Ruby shot a questioning gaze at him. "Extraordinary? How so?"

Castiel tried to keep the smile that tugged at his lips in check as he thought back to that time when Dean had been just another recruit, and they'd both had no idea just how much they were to change and affect each other's lives.

"When Dean first came to me," he began, "he was the most difficult recruit I'd ever trained. He had a temper on him, and a problem with authority, and was completely unaware of his own capacity to succeed. He had no belief in himself, in the skills that he had demonstrated countless times. He just couldn't see how gifted he is."

Ruby folded her arms across her chest. "And that changed?"

"Yes..." Castiel nodded. "Very much so. When our squad deployed on our most recent field operation, it was like someone had finally switched a light on for Dean. It was like he finally came alive out there, started to realise just how much he was capable of. Over the course of that month I watched him become someone that his squadron looked to as a leader, as someone that they have the utmost respect for, and would entrust their lives to. He is someone that _I _would entrust my life to."

He looked over to find Dean staring straight at him, his eyes wide and unreadable.

"Where were you at the time of the altercation?" Ruby questioned.

"I was logging drill ops at our assembly point."

"And when you arrived at the scene, what did you find?"

Castiel's stomach twisted as images flashed behind his eyes of Dean crouched over Michaels' lifeless body, his shirt and hands covered with blood, frantic with panic and grief and guilt.

"When I arrived..." Castiel cleared his throat, "Private Michaels was already dead. Dean was by his side, attempting to stop the bleeding, trying to monitor his breathing and heart rate. He was in shock, and clearly deeply disturbed and grieved by what he had done."

He hated that he had to discuss this around Dean; the last thing he needed was a mental replay of the gruesome scene. Well, _another _replay, he should say. He would put good money on the fact that it was something that revisited Dean every time he closed his eyes.

"Do you think his reaction was common of someone who had mindfully committed murder?"

Castiel shuddered as his subconscious attempted to associate the m-word with Dean.

"Not in the slightest. He looked like the kid who had just knocked the precious family urn off the fireplace...except a million times worse."

"Officer Novak," Ruby continued, "in your opinion, is there any reason to believe that Dean intended to kill Private Michaels?"

Castiel did not hesitate for a heartbeat. "No."

"Do you believe he is capable of intentionally bringing someone unnecessary harm?"

"No."

"Does Dean Winchester in any way pose a threat or safety risk to his squad, or the personnel at base?"

Castiel shook his head firmly. "No."

Dean's gaze remained firmly locked on him, his eyes communicating a million things in the space of a heartbeat. Castiel planted his feet under the table, trying to quell the twitching in his muscles that wanted nothing more than to jump the desk and clear the few yards of floor space that separated him from Dean.

They both knew what was coming next. And they both knew it was going to get messy and painful. But Dean's gaze assured him that, even though Castiel was going to be the one on the receiving end, they were in this together.

Castiel straightened in his seat, sucking in the last full breath he would be able to take until this was over, as Ruby resumed her seat and gave Alistair the floor.

"Your witness."


	28. Sunk

'Snakelike' was the only word Castiel could think of that did justice to Alistair's smile as he slid from his seat and ambled towards the witness stand, slow as you like, as though he were savouring every step he took.

"Officer Novak," he grinned slickly, lacing his fingers together as he paced, "...may I call you Castiel?"

Castiel hated him already.

"No."

"Very well," Alistair smoothed the front of his suit jacket, undeterred, "_Officer Novak. _So...ya like Dean huh?"

Castiel narrowed his eyes at the attorney. "I respect him as a soldier and as a member of my squad, yes."

"Oh come on," Alistair threw his elbow up onto the witness stand, leaning in close as though they were old friends, "job like yours, you're bound to have favourites from time to time. Can't help it..." he grinned at Castiel, "...sometimes, people surprise us. Sometimes, you come across someone...what was the word you used? Extraordinary?"

Castiel laced his fingers together tightly in his lap, squeezing for all he was worth.

"Every soldier is given equal opportunity to rise to the challenges set for them," Castiel kept his voice calm and level, meeting Alistair's stare, "some choose to ignore it, and some choose to run with it. I have no bearing over who commits to the task at hand and who chooses to coast."

Alistair tilted his head, narrowing his eyes conspiratorially. "But is that really the case, Officer Novak?"

He slowly backed away from the stand, clasping his hands behind his back. "_Are _they all given equal opportunity? Because, correct me if I'm wrong," he turned to address the jurors, "but Private Winchester here told us all earlier today that you had been giving him _more _'opportunities to lead' than the other recruits."

Castiel turned to see Dean's eyes widen at the realisation of what he had said, utter panic seeping into his mask of calm.

"Well..." Castiel began, trying for all he was worth to telepathically communicate to Dean that it was ok, he knew he hadn't meant to complicate this for him, "...that may have been how Private Winchester viewed the situation, but it was unintentional on my part."

"Unintentional..." Alistair mused, "...so you're saying that any and all shows of favouritism towards this young man were subconscious?"

Castiel sifted through the question, trying to pinpoint the underlying insinuation.

"...I'm saying it was unintentional."

Alistair nodded, shrugging his shoulders.

Castiel looked towards Dean, the young man's eyes so full of apology that he could barely stand to hold his gaze.

"Officer Novak," Alistair paced his way across the room, "were you aware of the hostilities between Private Winchester and the victim?"

Castiel gritted his teeth as the sly motherfucker slipped that ugly word into the question, probably completely under the radar of the jury but screamingly obvious to him.

"I was aware that there had been situations between them in the past; being their commanding officer it fell to me to diffuse their disagreements at times."

"And what, in your professional and respectable opinion," Alistair's tone smacked of sarcasm, "could possibly have caused such a severe 'disagreement' between them the day Private Michaels was killed, if what you have said concerning a lack of favouritism is in fact true?"

Yeah... now this was getting just a little too close to home for Castiel's liking.

"I was not present at the time, so I am unable to comment on that."

He could feel the moisture beading on his palms as he tried to keep it together, knowing that the worst thing he could possibly do right now was lose his cool.

"Forgive me," Alistair spread his hands in a beseeching gesture, "I'm just trying to work out what could possibly have led Private Michaels to make the assumptions he did, what he could possibly have witnessed..."

"Objection!" Ruby addressed the judge. "Leading the witness."

"Why would Private Michaels have thought you favoured Dean above everyone else on the squad...?" Alistair continued through Ruby's interjection, "...I mean, Officer Novak..."

He stopped square in front of the witness stand and nailed Castiel with a hard stare. "...What did you do?"

"OBJECTION!" Ruby's palm smacked down on the tabletop as she flew out of her seat. "What you are implying is completely unwarranted!"

"Sustained," the judge ruled, "prosecution, you WILL be denied further questioning if you do not adhere to the matter at hand."

Castiel could feel the colour draining from his face as Alistair turned to smile at him.

"Your honour," he grinned, straightening his tie, "...I think I've done enough."

* * *

><p>Dean could only stare as Alistair silently returned to his seat, a satisfied grin on his face as Ruby approached the judge to plead the final statement's removal from the record<p>

It was all over. They were fucked, the pair of them. There was no coming back from this. It wouldn't matter what Ruby or Castiel or even the judge said, the idea had been planted in the minds of the jurors, and it was more than enough to make them question both the integrity of his and Castiel's testimony, and Dean's innocence as a whole.

He lifted his eyes to meet Castiel's gaze, more defeated and regretful than he could ever have imagined possible.

He didn't blame Cas, he had dealt with the questioning better than Dean ever could have. But he knew that Cas would be blaming himself, even though deep down he was certain they both knew who was really at fault.

Dean looked over at Alistair, sitting happily, motionless behind his desk. God, he would rip him to fucking shreds right now if it wasn't a one way ticket to the clink.

Ruby slid into her seat beside Dean, visibly fuming as Castiel was excused from the stand and ordered to leave the courtroom.

"Order!" The judge brought the gavel down over the noise of the courtroom. "The prosecution's final statement will be wiped from the record, and we will reconvene at oh-nine-hundred hours tomorrow."

Dean turned to Ruby as the judge excused himself. "...So that's it? You're not even gonna fight back?"

Ruby shook her head apologetically as she took his hands in her own. "I'm sorry, Dean. I really didn't see that coming. But I don't want you to lose hope, okay? The jurors know he was grasping at straws, and your testimony is solid. Plus you have your entire squad backing you...We can still win this."

Dean slowly drew his hands out of her grasp, sighing heavily. "Right. Alistair's argument didn't screw us at all."

"There's still the closing arguments tomorrow," Ruby reassured him, "you'll see, when it all boils down to it, Alistair has nothing."

"But what about Cas?" Dean shot back, the words escaping before he had a chance to filter. "I mean, Officer Novak...he's gonna be okay right?"

Ruby's eyes narrowed slightly.

"_Officer Novak_ will be fine," she emphasised the title, her voice cautionary, "just..._try_ and stay out of trouble until tomorrow."

Dean nodded as an officer came to escort him out of the courtroom.

How could Ruby know that everything was going to be fine? How could she promise that the jurors weren't sitting back there in their deliberation room mulling over what Alistair said? If one thing was certain about this case, it's that _nothing _was certain. Dean had thought that at least Castiel would be safe in all this, but even that was up in the air now.

And the fact that he hadn't even had the chance to talk to Cas, to tell him how sorry he was to have dragged him into this, made the whole thing just that much worse.

If he could just see him, make sure that he was alright, Dean might just be able to make it until the final verdict without going crazy.

He wandered out into the evening air, his eyes scanning the small, scattered housing units on the outskirts of the base.

Cas was out there somewhere, alone in a too-quiet house, in God only knew what frame of mind.

It wasn't right. Dean had brought this upon him, upon them both. And he needed to make it ok, in whatever small way he might be able to.

Yeah, he could potentially get in a shit load of trouble for this, but with the way things were going, he was screwed already anyways.

Whatever happened with the verdict tomorrow, he needed to see Cas one last time, to hear his voice, to tell him he was sorry.

And that was exactly what he was going to do.


	29. Now or Never

Castiel's legs hung limply over the end of his bed, his feet absently scuffing the carpet as he surveyed the cluster of hangers in the open closet opposite him. He couldn't tell you how long is eyes had been glued to the unzipped garment bag of now-creased dress blues, his mind a hazed blank as if his subconscious were trying to black out the day's events.

His eyes traced over the flawless seams of his uniform, the sharp cut of the material, the insignia that had once made him feel so proud, so worthwhile, suddenly nothing but an empty, un-ironed souvenir of his greatest failure.

Their worst case scenario had become reality. Alistair had zeroed in on the one thing that could potentially destroy Dean's case, and Castiel's working life, and he had done it all without even having to say the words.

Castiel had known from the start that all it would take to bring this whole case crashing down would be the mere insinuation of extracurricular involvement between he and Dean, romantic or otherwise.

Every single thing that had happened between them, from the incident in Castiel's office months ago (that should have been reported, but never was), to the walks they took every morning out on the field op, was completely outside the realms of what their working relationship should be, was _allowed _to be.

If he had really thought about it all that time ago, if he had stopped to consider the implications of the way he had chosen to deal with things, he would not be sitting here right now, staring into his closet, wondering if he just might have ruined the life of the one person he cared about more than anything or anyone else in the entire world.

He shuffled forward to kick the closet door closed.

He loved Dean. More than he had ever loved another human being in his entire life, more than he even knew he _could_ love someone, and deep down he knew that it could not have happened any other way. The way he had handled things was the reason they were together, and he did not regret for a moment the fact that his actions had led them to each other. But in that moment, he honestly didn't know if that outweighed the guilt that came from the fact that his actions had also potentially put Dean in jail.

God, seeing him in court today, knowing what he must have gone through, it hurt so damn much. Castiel was probably the only person who could see right through Dean's front of indifference to how much the young man actually cared about what was going on around him.

Because he _did _care.

All along, he had cared. Right from the beginning, back when he would wind up in Castiel's office every other week for some misdemeanour or other, looking like he couldn't give a flying fuck, he had cared. Because Dean was the kind of person, the kind of soldier, that was harder on himself than any outside party ever could be.

He cared _too _much, and pretending to shut it off completely was the only way he could hide that. It was what made him simultaneously perfect for his job, and not suited to it at all. But then, was anyone ever really suited to this life? Did anyone walk out of it regret-free?

Castiel had once thought so. But then, everyone probably started out thinking they would be the exception.

He fell back against his pillow and reached out to turn his alarm clock to face him, the late hour flashing on the display not coming as any surprise.

The recruits would have been issued back to the barracks by now and final check-ins completed for the night. Most of the personnel on base would have returned to their housing units to fall asleep next to their partners, having left all work-related issues in their offices to be dealt with tomorrow.

Any other day, in any other circumstance, Castiel would have done the same. He had, over the years, become exceptionally good at separating his working life from his, albeit limited, personal life.

Maybe this was why they had rules about relationships with recruits, because it erased that invisible line that kept your work separate from the rest of your life.

The only thing Castiel could say for sure in that moment was that tonight, he would not be getting much sleep.

* * *

><p>Castiel's front door looked just like any other Dean had seen in his life. Dark, weather-worn panelling, a brass handle that could do with being polished...from Dean's position in the shadows nearby, it could have been anyone's door.<p>

But it wasn't just anyone's door. It was Castiel's.

Even if Dean hadn't managed to break into the employee records to find out which housing unit Cas lived in, he still would have known exactly which one to head for...the only one with the lights still on.

He rubbed his palms against his thighs, trying with no real hope of success to slow his breathing down as he played out what was about to happen in his head.

He had been so single-mindedly focussed on avoiding the security cameras as he had crept along the fringes of the base, darting between shadows and half expecting to hear the hum of a patrol vehicle on his tail, that he had not actually stopped to consider what Cas might say, what _he _should say.

Tonight had been a long time coming. This moment, this confession that had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for months on end...it was now or never.

He was here, at Castiel's door, and it was now or never.

He stepped forward into the pool of light illuminating the small porch, and silently ascended the two steps up onto the sturdy wooden platform. He reached towards the door, curling his hand into a loose fist, and rapped his knuckles against the solid panelling in one singular, sharp knock.

The night was dead still around him as shoved his hands deep into his pockets, his ears straining to pick up any indication of movement inside the house.

_Come on Cas..._

He exhaled long and slow, his heart rate clearly ignoring the memo to slow the fuck down.

This was stupid. What the hell was he doing here? It was the middle of the damn night, and he was standing here in the freezing cold, waiting on a door that would probably never open.

He rubbed at his mouth nervously, rocking back on his heels.

Clearly this had been a mistake. Had he really thought Cas would be awake and receptive to house guests at this time of night? After how things had panned out in court today?

He cursed softly under his breath, forcing his feet to move from where they were planted in front of the door. He turned his back to the light, kicking at the small shrub at the bottom of the steps as he made his way back towards the shadows.

"...Dean?"

...It had been barely a whisper, his name in the deafening silence of the night. But it reverberated throughout his entire being, that one word, that voice. His feet froze, his head screaming at him to turn around, to make sure it had not all been a cruel trick of his desperate subconscious.

"Dean..."

That voice again, that one word that was worth a thousand others.

"...Cas." His name escaped as a hoarse whisper as Dean turned to face him. "I'm sorry if I woke you...I just..."

Castiel shook his head, stepping further out onto the porch. Dean could see the raised bumps in the bare flesh of Castiel's arms and legs, his thin t-shirt and boxers providing no sanctuary from the cold night air.

"I wasn't asleep..." Castiel looked down at his state of dress, as though it had only just dawned on him that he was in fact in his pyjamas. His eyes darted up to the cluster of neighbouring houses, any one of which may have at that moment been hiding a pair of watchful eyes. "...Do you want to come in?"

Dean swallowed hard.

_Yes. I want to come in and then never ever leave._

He nodded slowly, deciding it was probably better for everyone if he did not try to speak right now. Castiel opened the door wider, stepping aside to allow him room to get by.

_This is it, _Dean steeled himself as he took a small step towards the porch, towards Castiel.

_Now, or never._


	30. Confession

Castiel shut the door behind himself with a dull click, sealing both himself and Dean into the warmth of the house. His fingers played over the lock for a split second, a force of habit more than anything else, before he realised that locking them in together was probably not the best idea right now. The last thing he wanted was to make Dean uncomfortable, or put pressure on this already far too delicate situation...especially considering the fact that Dean already looked like he couldn't decide whether or not he really wanted to be here.

"What, ah," Castiel spoke softly, eyeing the tense set of Dean's shoulders, "what can I do for you?"

Dean drilled his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket, shifting his weight from one foot to another, and then back again. "...I have something that I want to say to you."

God, was he _sweating? _Castiel took in the young soldier standing before him, and felt like he was seeing an entirely different person. The way his body was square on to Castiel, and yet his eyes were on the floor; the way his feet were planted in a confident stance, and yet Castiel could see his hands fidgeting within his pockets.

In that moment, it was all too easy to picture the nervous teenager Dean may once have been, had he had the chance at a normal adolescence. The shaking hands, the unsteady voice, it was so...human. So young.

"Ok..." Castiel nodded, his voice calm and quiet. "The floor is yours."

Dean cleared his throat.

"Cas..." He began, pushing his shoulders back resolutely as though standing as tall as possible might make what he had to say that much easier. "Castiel, today...today was the worst day of my life. And that's saying something. It was exhausting, and disheartening, and made me feel like I have no hope in hell of winning this case."

Castiel folded his arms across the ache that was pulsing in the centre of his chest, hoping that this conversation was one of those end-with-the-good-news types.

"I sat there," Dean continued, "listening to this fuck wit who doesn't even know me trying to convince a room full of people that I am capable of murder, that I'm the kind of guy who could kill someone without even giving it a second thought. And there was nothing I could do about it."

Castiel breathed deep against the twisting in his stomach, knowing exactly how hard it must be for Dean to admit to feeling like this, and just how emotionally wrecked he must be to put it all out there in the open.

"Dean, you don't have to..." Castiel stepped towards him, his hand reaching out to Dean of it's own accord.

"Yes, I DO have to, Cas..." Dean sighed heavily, his left hand surfacing from his pocket to scrub through his brush cut hair. "I should have done this months ago, but I was too much of a pussy. And now, _fuck..._now it might all be too late."

Castiel's brows drew together in a soft frown. "I don't understand...Too late for what?"

"I might go to jail tomorrow, Cas. This could be the last night, the last time that I ever get to see you like this, to be with you with no one else around. And I will _never _forgive myself if I get put away without telling you...without you knowing..."

He trailed off, fiercely blinking back the unshed tears that were threatening to escape.

Castiel could barely breathe as he stared at the young man in front of him, somehow knowing exactly where this was going, but needing to hear the words spoken aloud.

"...Without me knowing what, Dean?"

It was almost cruel, dragging this confession out of him when it was so painfully obvious how hard it was for Dean to just stand there, his defences gone, his every emotion in plain view.

But Castiel needed to hear the words, to know for sure that this was really, truly what Dean wanted beyond a shadow of a doubt. Because if it was...God, if it was...it would change everything.

Dean stared back at him, his shoulders hiking up slightly with every breath he took. He shook his head slowly, his breath hitching slightly on his drawn out exhale.

The kid was struggling, big time. So much so that it made Castiel wonder if he'd ever actually spoken the words aloud before. If he had, it would have been a damn long time ago.

He slowly extended his hand towards Castiel, the small gesture an offer and an invitation all at once. Castiel placed his hand in Dean's open palm, threading their fingers together as he stepped in towards the young soldier.

Dean gently lifted Castiel's hand to his chest, pressing it over his frantically beating heart and holding it there as he drew in a deep breath.

"Castiel..." His voice was no more than a whisper as he brought his free hand up to rest on Castiel's chest.

"...Yes..." Castiel leaned in to that feather light touch, everything in him desperate to hear the whispered words that he hoped to God were coming next.

Dean tipped his head forward, gently resting his forehead against Castiel's.

"Cas...I love you."


	31. Loved

**A/N: **I sincerely apologize for how long it has taken me to update these last few chapters, I really appreciate everyone's patience with me and this story, and would like to state once and for all that this story HAS NOT and WILL NOT be abandoned. There is plenty more to come if you all are willing to bear with me...I genuinely would love some input on whether or not you all would rather I wrap it up soon or run with the ideas I originally had for the story. It will mean more waiting, but if you are willing to stick with this story, so am I. Once again I am so grateful for all of your wonderful comments and support, I hope you enjoy this chapter.

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><p>There it was.<p>

Countless nights without sleep, days without a single thought other than how this exact moment would feel...this was finally happening, they were finally having this conversation. Those four words, any one of which would, on their own, be completely insignificant, now strung together to sum up everything inside his head, and heart...Dean had never felt so off balance, and yet so completely grounded, in his entire life.

"I, ah...I just needed you to know that." He couldn't raise his voice above a whisper as he began to pull his hand away from Castiel.

"Don't..." Castiel threaded his fingers through Dean's, joining their hands once more, "...please don't stop touching me."

Dean swallowed hard, daring himself to make eye contact with the man standing so close to him.

Castiel exhaled deeply, his expression completely unreadable in the half light of the hallway. His eyes were glassy, his mouth set as though it were ready to smile at the first sign that all of this was actually real, but not a moment sooner.

"Dean, this is..."

"Wildly inappropriate, I know," Dean nodded, "and I know I shouldn't be here, but I couldn't just –"

The rest of his sentence was stolen by Castiel's lips pressed suddenly against his.

God, how long had it been since they had kissed? Since they had had any physical closeness of any sort? He moved in closer until their bodies were flush against each other, his hands circling around to trace over Castiel's back as every single thought in his mind quieted to a dull hum.

This was actually happening. In spite of everything they had been through, everything that was still coming their way, he was standing here in the hallway of Castiel's home, kissing him like nothing and no one else would ever matter again.

He was kissing the man he loved.

_Loved._

That word felt so incredible inside his head, as though it had become a part of his brain that was furiously firing off endorphins to every inch of his body.

Castiel gently held Dean's face in his hands as he pulled back from the kiss to look at him.

"I love you too, Dean."

Dean's breath hitched in his throat, a soft gasp that may as well have been a scream in the stillness of the hallway.

"...You do?"

Castiel's voice trembled as his thumbs softly stroked across Dean's cheeks.

"You're the reason I get up in the morning, Dean. You are the most incredible, inspiring, frustrating person I have ever met..."

Dean raised his hands to cover Castiel's, lacing their fingers together.

"You challenge me," Castiel continued, "and you piss me off, and you make me feel like I'm worth something. Loving you with all of me is the one thing in my life that I'm sure of."

Dean didn't even try to stop the tears that were making their way down his cheeks, his chest suddenly far too tight to contain his heart that he was sure was swollen as hell right now.

He couldn't remember the last time someone had said those words to him, and he knew for a fact that no one had ever meant them in the way that Cas did right now. He felt as though everything inside him was glowing, like he had swallowed the sun and his body wasn't big enough to contain it.

Castiel wrapped his arms tight around Dean, pulling him in close.

For the longest time, neither of them moved, or spoke. If Dean was completely honest with himself, he was afraid that the whole damn thing was all in his head, and he'd wake up any minute now back in the barracks, alone and lonelier than ever.

He buried his face deeper into the crook of Castiel's neck, softly inhaling the scent of freshly washed cotton and fading aftershave.

"Can I stay with you tonight..." He whispered against the warm, smooth skin of Castiel's neck.

Castiel shivered softly, arching his neck into the gentle caress of lips.

"I could never tell you to leave...I never will."


	32. Show You My Love

**A/N**: I would just like to thank everyone for the supportive and encouraging feedback about whether I should carry on with my original plan for the story...thanks to your amazing patience, I will be sticking to my original plan :) Hope you enjoy this chapters and those that follow!

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><p>Castiel stepped back, gently grasping Dean's hands in his as he ran his eyes over the young man's face.<p>

He looked...elated, to the point where he was almost unrecognisable. In fact, had Castiel not witnessed this transformation with his own eyes, he would never have believed this was the same young man who had stood before him so long ago, jaded and weary beyond his years.

"That smile..." Castiel sighed, words failing him as he traced the soft outline of Dean's lips, "...I've missed that."

Dean trapped Castiel's fingertip between his lips in a gentle kiss.

"I missed _you _Cas...every last bit of you..."

Castiel watched intently as the younger man's gaze trailed slowly, slowly down his body, a soft flush creeping into his cheeks as his eyes drifted further and further south.

He breathed deeply against the long-forgotten feelings that were welling up inside of him, not trying to stop them, but trying to hold onto himself long enough to know that he and Dean were both on the same page before he gave in and lost himself entirely.

"Dean...are you..."

...Sure? Was that where he was going with that? He could barely form a coherent thought in that moment, other than the conviction circling in his mind that he wanted Dean in every way under the sun, _needed _to show him what he meant to him in every way that he had ever known how to...and then some that he might just make up on the spot.

"Cas..." Dean stepped in close, pressing their bodies together once more. His lips played softly against the shell of Castiel's ear as he spoke in a voice that betrayed the nerves he was trying so hard to hide, "...please let me...I wanna show you..."

He swallowed hard, his entire body trembling as he fought to untangle the words on his tongue.

"...Make love with me, Cas."

Castiel's entire body responded to those softly spoken words, his heart rate suddenly too fast for his breath to keep up with.

He couldn't think of a single fitting response other than to take Dean by the hand and lead him down the hallway into his bedroom. He didn't take his eyes off the younger man's face even for a second as he flicked the bedside lamp on, somewhere in the back of his mind wondering if he should have checked out the state of his room first before bringing Dean here.

They stood facing each other in the dim orange glow of the lamp, the weight of what they were about to do thickening the air between them.

Castiel exhaled a shaking breath as he wrapped his arms around Dean. He wanted to do this right, to take it slow, and savour every last second of this experience with Dean. He wanted to remember this, every feeling, every movement of Dean's body, every expression on his face as they took their relationship somewhere that it had never been before. He wanted this to be perfect.

"I've thought about this moment so many times...didn't think I'd be this nervous" Dean's voice shook as he ran his hands over Castiel's back, chuckling softly at himself "...feel like a freakin' virgin on prom night."

Castiel smiled, knowing exactly how Dean felt. It didn't matter that they had had sex before, because that was all it had ever been – sex. There had never been any emotion, any connection, any substance to what they had done.

_This _was something else entirely. If Castiel was honest with himself, this was probably the most emotionally significant moment of his entire life.

"We don't have to do anything you don't want to..." Castiel searched Dean's gaze, seeking any evidence that may be hiding there that maybe Dean didn't quite know what he was getting into.

"I want this, Cas. I just didn't know how much until I saw you standing there on the porch tonight, not knowing if you wanted it too."

Castiel nodded slowly, knowing on a deeper level than he ever thought possible that this was the right thing to do, that this had always been the right thing to do.

He leaned in close and swept a gentle kiss across Dean's lips, as he whispered for his ears alone...

"I love you."


	33. Awe

**A/N: **Happy new year to you all! I'm aware this is a short chapter - I initially intended to post it as part of a much longer chapter, but it's been so long since I put anything up I thought it best not to keep you all waiting too long. Hope you enjoy it.

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><p>Dean had never been more in awe of anything in his entire life as he stood before Castiel, their clothes discarded, completely bared to each other in every way possible.<p>

As they had slowly undressed each other, Dean had had the feeling that he was shedding not only layers of clothing, but layers of himself that he had built up over the years, desperately trying to disguise the person underneath that had never quite been enough.

But now, under Castiel's intent and adoring gaze, he had never felt more worthy, or more worthwhile.

Dean didn't even know how long it had been since he had arrived at the house... it felt as though they had spent an eternity just looking at each other, kissing and undressing together slowly, whispering words of affection they had never before spoken to another soul.

His gaze trailed down Castiel's body, drinking in every last curve of musculature, every strong, defined angle. It was almost as though he was seeing him, truly seeing him, for the first time...all of his emotions, his hopes, his fragility in plain view...and he had never loved him more.

"You're beautiful..."

Dean knew the words could never do justice to the work of art that stood before him, but somewhere in the expanse of time since he had arrived here tonight, the filter that usually existed between his heart and his mouth had somehow disappeared.

Castiel sighed softly, a delicate blush creeping into his cheeks.

"...So are you."

His voice held a reverence, and his eyes a vulnerability, that Dean had never witnessed before tonight. He was beginning to realise that this was just as big a step for Castiel as it was for himself, that he had just as much to lose now. They were in this together, on every level and in every way.

He reached a trembling hand towards Castiel, who did not hesitate for a second, and pulled him towards him.

Castiel's hands circled around Dean's back, caressing his bare flesh with feather-light strokes as he brought his mouth to Dean's, kissing him as though he were afraid he might break.

Dean could feel the rhythmic thud of Castiel's heart beating against his chest, almost as fast as his own as their lips played softly against each other's, Castiel's touch gentle and explorative.

"You're so warm..." Castiel sighed against Dean's lips, pressing his body flush against him.

Dean shivered at the complete contact, a gentle heat building within him as Castiel's tongue stroked lightly against his own.

He let his hands wander over Castiel's chest, down across his stomach, eliciting a small gasp from the older man as he gently pressed his fingertips into his hips.

"Dean..." Castiel breathed, his hands firmly holding Dean's body against his own. His eyes held a mosaic of emotions, of desires and fears and absolute conviction – everything Dean was feeling in spades.

He slowly stepped back, his arms wrapped tight around Castiel, until he felt the edge of the bed hit the back of his knees. He drew in an unsteady breath as he lowered himself onto the mattress, drawing Castiel down with him.


End file.
