9. Accepting

Dean is sleeping. At least, Castiel hopes he is. He can't confirm without touching Dean's mind and that is something he can't do. It doesn't help that Dean is still mad.

Even after Castiel had managed to clear his head and opened his eyes, Dean had not looked at him again. He and Sam had drained the very small-sea and pushed the empty glass walls out of the room. Sam and Jess had left together, and Dean had changed his clothes, turned the lights off, and gone straight to bed. Now he's laying on his side with his back to the small-sea and the blanket drawn high over his shoulder.

Castiel curls forward, his arms wrapped around his stomach. There is a hurt low in his gut, a sharp and jabbing pain that distracts from the ache in his chest and the silence in his head. He knows that he only hurts because he needs to relieve himself. But Sam didn't leave the bucket hanging from the corner of the small-sea and there are no fish and their bones.

Castiel doesn't want to make a mess in small-sea for the humans to see. It’s not that he’s embarrassed about his body’s functions, because he’s not. Back at home, it’s considered rude to relieve yourself in the presence of others. Here in small-sea, he doesn't have the privacy of the rocks that line the edges of the trench or any sand to bury his discharge under. He doesn't know what the human etiquette for leavings is, and he doesn't want to be accidentally insulting. Castiel has been waiting until the cover of the dimmed lights and hiding his waste with the fish bones, hoping no one notices.

The pain makes him double over again. He wonders if it is because he hasn’t relieved himself in a few days – since the night of Dean’s nightmares. Or if it’s the human food. Dean had said that they weren’t sure if Castiel would be able to properly digest the food and he should have listened better. He should have only tried the meat, or waited until someone brought him fish. But he’d been so hungry, and their food had smelled good and tasted even better.

Castiel grits his teeth against the stabbing hurt and tries to breathe deep, to center himself and rise above the pain. He’s been taught how to ignore pain, to keep soldiering on like a true warrior should. But the wrenching in his gut is different to the burn of a blade across his scales. He feels hot in his skin and presses his side against the cool of the glass. His fins are rippling wildly and the spines of his fans keep spreading and retracting as he tries to focus elsewhere.

He could just reach out to Dean and ask for the bucket. He could even ask Dean to leave the room so he doesn’t have to see what Castiel needs to do. But Castiel doesn’t want to touch Dean’s mind. He needs to distance himself from Dean and all the confusion he brings that makes his head and chest hurt. Another bloom of pain in his stomach is almost enough to make him reconsider and he really hopes it will go away once he relieves himself.

For a moment he uncurls to stretch his back. The speakers and the microphone-box are points of black against the glass that reflects the pale shape of his glow pattern. Castiel pushes away from the back corner and slides along the floor until he can curl up near the box with the button. The reflection of his natural-glow makes it hard to see Dean on his bed and Castiel finds it difficult to summon the focus necessary to force the dimming of his lights so he can better see.

He pushes the button. “Dean?”

Dean’s shoulders twitch and in the shadows Castiel thinks he sees Dean lift and turn his head a little. But he doesn’t move more than that. He says his name again as he presses his hand against another flare of sharp pain. “Dean.”

If anything, Dean’s shoulders hunch more. Castiel hisses, frustrated. He deserves this for forcing Dean out without any kind of explanation, but this is a very bad time for Dean to be stubborn. He won’t be able to hold it in for much longer and though privacy is unnecessary, it is preferred.

“Dean, please.” Castiel curls forward over the throb in his stomach.

The lights flicker on and Castiel groans, covering his eyes. There’s a knocking on the glass and the speakers crackle before Dean’s concerned tones pulse through the water.

“Cas? What’s wrong?”

He looks up and Dean is right there on the other side of the glass, the headset flattening his hair in places. Dean has both hands pressed to the glass and he’s watching Castiel closely, eyes wide with worry. Castiel winces through another jab of pain. He realizes now that it will be difficult to explain what he needs without the kin-connection and Castiel wavers, catching himself just as he touches the first fine tendrils of Dean’s thoughts.

Castiel points toward the bucket by the door. “Please.”

Confusion flickers over Dean’s face and he frowns, but he goes to get it anyway. “You sick?”

“Hurt.” He murmurs through grit teeth.

He’s surprised when Dean turns around sharply and comes back to the glass with quick steps. “You’re hurt? Where? How? Do you want me to get Pam?”

Castiel presses his forehead to the glass. Half of Dean’s words are meaningless to him without the kin-connection and this is a very stupid idea to try and communicate without it. But he won’t - he can’t - go back to the comfort of Dean’s mind. The very fact that he can find his calm in the touch of the thoughts of a two-tails is wrong. He doesn’t find the same kind of comfort with Sam. Only Dean. And it’s wrong.

It’s only been a handful of hours since he severed his connection with Dean and already there is an empty space in his mind where Dean should be. It’s a separate place from the space where his kin would sing. It’s a place that shouldn’t exist. He doesn’t understand why he’s craving the feel of his mind now. He’s been disconnected from Dean for longer than this before.

He doesn’t want Dean to bring Pamela in. The mention of her only brings up the memory of her kissing Dean and it creates sparks in his blood, white-hot and angry. It’s just another thing Castiel doesn’t understand. He didn’t have this feeling when Sam and Jess kissed.

“No Pamela.” Castiel speaks with more vehemence than he needs and he can see the confusion in Dean’s eyes over it. He ignores the questioning look and points at the bucket and to the platform. The bars are closed and Dean will have to open them to give him the bucket. “Please.”

Dean is slow to move, but Castiel is slower. It is difficult to swim when hunched over and holding his stomach. When he finally manages to drag himself up the glass-wall, Dean is waiting and the bars have been raised. Castiel is both horrified and disappointed to find that Dean is holding the bucket well out of reach. He frowns and hooks his arm over the lip of the small-sea, stretching for the handle.

He’ll take the bucket underwater with him and release directly into it. He can tip most of the water out before giving it back. And Castiel is sure if he tells Dean not to look inside, he probably won’t. It’s possible that Sam might. He hasn’t broached the subject of waste disposal yet, but Castiel is almost certain that Sam will ask at some point.

Dean steps back to the edge of the platform. “No.”

Castiel flares his fans in disapproval. “Dean, please.”

“Sure, after the kin-connection is up.” Dean hangs the bucket from one arm and taps his temple. “Kin-connection, Cas.”

He looks away and bites at his bottom lip. Castiel should have expected something like this. But he can’t. He’s still scared of all the emotions that Dean stirs up inside him – emotions he doesn’t understand and things he’s never felt before.  He’s still scared of the brief arousal that had flickered through Dean’s thoughts while they ate. Arousal Dean had felt because of him. And Dean had kissed him before. Was it only because Dean had thought Castiel should be kissed at least once? Or was it because Dean was actually attracted to him?

“No.” He shakes his head and folds his tail between him stomach and the glass. Castiel winces at the sharp jolt that sings through his gut as he sinks until he can take a few breaths again. He’s not planning on staying above the water long enough to need to clear his lungs. “Bucket.”

Dean crosses his arms and there’s a stubborn set to his shoulders. “No, Cas. Kin-connection. You said you’re hurt and I want to know what’s going on. And guess what – there’s this whole thing where you don’t speak English and I don’t speak Atlantean or whatever the hell you call your language. If you’re sick and something’s hurting you Cas, I need to know. Now set up the damn kin-connection before I climb in there and have to nearly kill myself to get you to do it, again.”

He has no idea what Dean is saying and he shakes his head again. “Dean. Bucket. Please.” Castiel flexes his fingers toward the bucket in a weak grabbing motion. “Bucket. Dean. Door.”

Dean’s eyes narrow and Castiel can see the muscles of his jaw twitch. He’s grinding his teeth and every line of his body is showing Castiel that Dean is angry again. His arms tense briefly and the bucket slides to his hand. Castiel hisses and ducks, even though Dean throws it at the bars too far to the left for it to even come close to hitting him. The clanging of the bucket hitting the bars echoes in the room, but dies in the boom of the door slamming behind Dean.

Castiel is slow to fill the bucket and it drags heavily in the water as he takes it down to one of the back corners of the small-sea. He keeps his back to the cameras and the room, just in case Dean or anyone else enters. He hopes that Dean is just waiting on the other side of the door. If he left for somewhere else on the boat, it’s possible that Alistair, Gordon, Lilith, or Kubrick, or any number of humans Castiel doesn’t know yet could come in and if they have the dart-gun he won’t be able to defend himself.

He tries not to think about that as he strains to relieve himself. It almost hurts more letting it out than it did to hold it in. There’s a quick burst of panic in his chest when he smells blood in the water and he barely manages to stop himself from checking over his shoulder for any sharks. Of course there wouldn’t be any sharks in the small-sea. He might never see or fight another shark again. But his many seasons of training and his instincts are hard to ignore.

His waste is hard and a different colour than usual, and it’s funny shaped and Castiel is worried. Is this normal when trying new foods? He doesn’t know. He’s never had anything other than fish and the occasional strip of kelp when feeling sick. While he waits for the waste to settle at the bottom of the bucket, Castiel nearly folds in half to check the slit at the top of his sheath. It’s sore and slightly swollen, and he can still smell blood, even though it’s dispersing to quickly for him to see.

At least his stomach doesn’t hurt so much anymore, but it still clenches with phantom remnants of the sharp pain from before. Castiel decides that he’ll ask Sam about it in the morning, to find out if he should be worried or if he’s hurt himself badly. It will be the beginning of the conversation he knows Sam, or Jess, or someone, will eventually want to have. They’re curious about how his body functions and this is just one of the many ways. Although, Castiel isn’t sure if he wants to learn how humans relieve themselves. It’s not a very interesting or attractive topic.

He takes the bucket back to the surface and leaves a few finger-widths of water in the bottom before carefully hanging it on the corner of the small-sea. Castiel takes to swimming in tight, nervous circles under the opening in the bars, moving from the front wall to the back. By the eighth loop, Dean still hasn’t returned and there’s a tight knot of panic swelling in his chest at the possibility that he might not come back again.

Castiel closes the bars, narrowly avoiding having them swing shut on his head, and dives to the microphone. He presses the button. “Dean?”

There’s no answer. He was hoping but he didn’t really expect one. No one had told him if the headset could hear the words from the microphone too, or if it was just the speakers set out in the room. His fins ripple and Castiel tries calling Dean again. He says his name several times, and even calls for Sam, or Jess. No one replies and the door doesn’t open and the small knot of worry is quickly expanding. It’s taking up the room his lungs need and his gills are fluttering wildly with every breath.

The cameras will show Lilith that Castiel is alone. Alistair works with Lilith and if she tells him, Alistair will come and Castiel doesn’t know what else Alistair could do to him but he’s sure that the humans have more tests. They must be done running the tests on his blood by now. And why had he taken Castiel’s scales too? What if Alistair wants to look at samples of Castiel’s fins, or his fans, or his skin? How long until Alistair wants to see under his skin, to see how different his insides are from humans?

Castiel doesn’t have a weapon to fight them with, and their weapons are designed to incapacitate him from a distance. He could easily defeat Alistair if he had to face him in the water, but everything here plays against Castiel and it would take an act of mother-sea for him to be able to win.

He needs to move. He can’t hold still anymore and his fingers keep twitching, his hands starting to shake. Castiel starts with short trips to and from the grey-wall at the back of small-sea, stopping every few rotations to use the microphone to call for any of the few people he’s come to trust. No one comes and his laps start turning into wide circles, following along all the walls.

His panic fluctuates over the hours he spends like this. Some of the time his movements are erratic and he runs into the walls while trying to keep his eye on the door. At other times, he’s almost relaxed enough that he finds himself dozing off until he remembers that anyone who isn’t Dean could come through the door at any moment.

There are several times, during the lonely night, that he finds himself regretting his decision to distance himself from Dean. He has to continuously, almost in a mantra, remind himself that it’s for the best. Castiel can’t get attached to Dean. Dean is human and he is fin-kin. And if they ever manage to free him, Castiel will return to the colony and Dean will stay with Sam and Jess, and Bobby and Pamela – he ignores how that thought causes an unhappy twinge high in his chest.

It’s nice to make friends with the humans and keep the comfort of the kin-connection so the silence doesn’t make him lose his mind. But it’s another thing entirely to get too close. He’s not even sure if he would miss Sam or Jess if they managed to get him back to the sea. But Dean? He’s shared more time with Dean’s mind than anyone else’s on the boat. It feels, for lack of a better word, it feels right and it surprises him with how quickly Dean has taken to the kin-connection.

The small hand of the clock is close to the peaked number with the sharp lines when Castiel finally stops swimming. He settles into the corner of small-sea farthest from the door and he hugs his tail to his chest.

And he thinks.

Castiel isn’t stupid. He may not understand the chaotic tumble of emotions that ebb and flow in confusing waves, but that’s because he’s never felt them before. He’s never felt the angry-hot burn of jealousy, or the empty-warmth of desire. He doesn’t know the name for everything that keeps pulling him in too many directions at once.

Not for the first time does he wish that he had Anna to explain his feelings to him, like she did when he was a hatchling. He wants to share his emotions and find out why he’s scared that if he lets Dean closer, he won’t be able to let him go. He won’t be able to drop back beneath the waves and sink into the deep and never see Dean again. He wants to know why he keeps dreaming of Dean with scales and fans and fins the colour of his eyes and webbing dotted with flecks like the freckles on his skin.

Would Castiel mind as much, getting closer to Dean, if Dean was a fin-kin? His answer terrifies him. Because if their circumstances were different, if Castiel could take Dean home with him, he thinks he would never let him go. And that is foolish and stupid and every other word Castiel can imagine that can describe what a terrible idea it is to even think of Dean like that.

It’s only been seven days.

But it’s been seven days and he already feels like he knows Dean inside and out. He knows the scars his past has left on him. He knows that Dean would do almost anything for his family. He knows how Dean thinks, and acts, and feels – though most of the time it confuses him because Dean is human and humans are so different. They’re so wholly unexpected in so many ways. But Castiel still knows Dean more intimately than anyone probably ever has, or ever will.

And it ignites a selfish, prideful glee that he tries to smother.

Even though it makes his upper lip twitch with the desire to pull back into a snarl, Castiel thinks about Dean’s kiss with Pamela. He doesn’t know why she kissed Dean, or why Dean kissed back. He knows that Sam said that Dean wasn’t in a relationship like Sam is with Jess. And he also knows that Dean is more free with his affections, that he’s been with many people, both female and male. So it’s entirely possible that Dean and Pamela have kissed and done more together before Castiel met Dean.

It makes his throat feel tight to think about that.

It takes too long for him to name that feeling as possession. He doesn’t like thinking of Dean with someone else. And for a brief moment, one that sends a terrifying curl of warmth low into his gut, he entertains the thought of being the one to get to kiss and touch Dean. The instant he realizes what he’s imagining, Castiel shoves the thoughts away with a vicious litany of wrong.

Dean is human. Castiel is fin-kin. He shouldn’t want a human. He should only want a fin-kin. If he wants to be more specific, he should only want a female fin-kin. It’s the biologically logical thing. Even if he knows he doesn’t want a female, and he might never want a female. He wants a male. A fin-kin male. Someone with a tail, and fins. Someone who can reach out to touch his mind without him having to reach first. Someone who knows the songs of the colony and will sing them with him.

Castiel is lonely. He wants his family and his friends and his home. That has to be the only reason he’s getting so attached to Dean. He’s trapped here, in this strange world, and he’s latched himself to the first person to show him kindness. The only person who doesn’t want anything from him. The only person who’s willingly put himself into all sorts of trouble to try and help him and is willing to do it again if it means he can get Castiel home.

Because Dean is kind. As he is to everyone. And Castiel is stupid to even think for a second that he’s special to Dean the same way Dean is special to him. Dean shouldn’t even be special. He’s human and he’s keeping Castiel here too. But he’s not. He’s not because he’s going to try and help Castiel escape.

He hisses and presses his face into his scales. His thoughts are going in circles and the tense knot in his chest hasn’t abated. Castiel wants it to go away, just like he wants these feelings that keep revolving around Dean to go away. He wishes he never met Dean and he prays to mother-sea that when the time comes, however long it takes, that he’ll be able to say goodbye.

He won’t be able to take Dean with him. Dean lives on the hard ground above the sea and Castiel lives beneath the waves. Even if he could ignore the differences between them – and it keeps looking more and more like he can – he would never be able to stay with Dean. He needs his kin and he wants to go home. He’ll have to leave Dean and it would be so much harder, so much more painful, to have to leave him if he means more than just a friend. It’s already starting to hurt.

Castiel’s side-fans twitch, catching the soft thud that barely vibrates through the water. He looks up quickly, fans and fins spread aggressively before he even sees who it is. Dean is leaning his forehead against the door. He doesn’t look at Castiel when he puts the headset on the ledge opposite the small-sea, or when he dims the lights. There’s an annoying twinge of disappointment and pain in his chest that Castiel knows he deserves.

Dean stops at the drawers at the end of his bed. Castiel recognizes the clothing he sets out as the ones he wears during the day and it confuses him. Dean shouldn’t be changing his clothes for another few hours. But despite this, Dean still removes his grey pants. He doesn’t even check to see if Castiel is watching when he pulls off the shorts he wears underneath.

Castiel doesn’t understand why Dean made such a big fuss about it before. It’s certainly weird to see what a human looks like under their clothes, but it’s nothing that he thinks deserves him looking away. Dean pulls on a new set of underpants, and a pair of jeans. When he pulls his shirt off, Castiel thinks his heart might have stopped for a few beats. He’s seizing at Dean’s mind before he knows what he’s doing. And he is angry.

(Who hurt you?!)

There are bright red lines, in groups of four or five, that streak the blades of Dean’s shoulders and the curve of his back. The rounded muscles of Dean’s shoulders, between the merge of his neck to the slope of his arm, are peppered with round bruises and Castiel thinks he can see the indents of teeth. Someone has bitten and scratched Dean and Castiel will find out who hurt him and he will make them pay.

Dean turns so quickly, he almost unbalances himself and has to catch at the corner of the drawers to stop from falling over. He’s holding his old shirt in his hand and the kin-connection is bright and alive with surprise for the few moments before it crumbles under Dean’s own fury and everything from his mind, to his expression, to the way he holds himself hardens.

Castiel can feel Dean drawing away from the link and that is unacceptable. It’s entirely too hypocritical of him, but Castiel doesn’t let go. He strengthens his hold on Dean’s mind to the point where Dean winces and presses the palm of his hand to his temple.

(Dean. Who hurt you?) He uncurls and it only takes a few quick beats of his tail to swim across the small-sea and press his hands against the glass. Now that he can see Dean’s front, he can see that the bruise-marks cover his chest too and there are scratches near his hips and a few fading lines along his stomach.

Dean is pushing at Castiel’s mind, trying to force him out. He could sever the connection, but he’s not and Castiel doesn’t know why and he doesn’t care. He wants – needs – to know who hurt Dean. He doesn’t care why they hurt him. All that matters is that Dean has these marks and they’re marring his skin and Castiel hates it. Every single one of his thoughts are pouring into the link and he might be smothering anything Dean could be trying to say, but Castiel can’t really hear past the buzzing and the white and the anger.

He jerks back when Dean  throws his shirt at the glass-wall. It’s sufficient enough of a distraction that Castiel loses his grip on the connection and the wall snaps up between them, leaving him with nothing but Dean's presence and none of his thoughts or emotions.

A growl rumbles low in his throat and he slaps the glass. (Who hurt you? Where did you go? Dean!)

Dean’s response is the raising of his middle finger as he turns away. Castiel has learned by now that this is considered an insulting gesture. Dean pulls on his other shirt, covering the marks. But not being able to see them doesn’t lessen Castiel’s frustration, his worry, or his upset. He bangs on the glass again, even as Dean climbs into his bed and pulls the blanket back over his shoulders.

(If you don’t tell me, I’ll just ask Sam or Jess.)

Dean rolls over and the glare he gives him isn’t lacking in intensity without the flow of emotions through the kin-connection. (Fuck you, Castiel.) It’s the first time since the day they met that Dean uses his full name when addressing him, and it stings. (You can’t just fuck off on me like you did today without telling me what I did that made you freak out or letting me try and fix it, and then expect me to answer you like it’s your goddamn right to know every little thing that happens to me.)

It’s still not the answer to the question Castiel wants. (Who hurt you?)

(You did.) He turns over again until it’s his back to Castiel. (I’m not telling you anything until you explain what happened this afternoon. And I swear to God, Cas, if you close the kin-connection – if you push me away like that again, don’t bother trying to mind-meld with me anymore. Anything you have to say to me after that can just go through Sam or Jess or whoever else you want to talk to.)

Dean falls silent and Castiel is left stunned and floundering in the wake of his thoughts. He knows Dean can feel the quick flurries of fear that sweep through him at the thought of not being allowed to talk to Dean again. His resolve from earlier to stay away from Dean’s mind is already quickly crumbling and despite the tumult of his reaction to the marks on Dean’s skin, that knot of panic that had been sitting in his chest all night has loosened and all but entirely disappeared.

He doesn’t know what to do. Castiel wants to keep from getting closer to Dean, but he doesn’t want to give up his mind completely. He wants to still be able to talk to Dean, and sit on his bed and lean against him to steal his warmth. He shouldn’t want that but he does. Castiel can understand that if he ever gets back to the ocean, he’ll have to leave Dean. But he can’t accept leaving him when he’s right there on the other side of the glass-wall. When he’s close enough to touch.

Castiel breaks away from the wall and swims straight for the moving bars. They’re heavy and hard to push up without something to brace himself against. He has to fit his arms through the bars and grip the edge of the glass-wall to press up with his shoulders to get them to move high enough that he can get the leverage he needs. By the time they rest angled toward the ceiling, Castiel is already coughing the water from his lungs and working to pull himself over the wall.

(What the hell are you doing?) Dean is coming around the corner and Castiel can see that he’s irritated, but he can’t feel it and he wants the blockade in the connection gone. (Christ, Cas, you’re gonna fall and break an arm or something!) His hands are warm over Castiel’s shoulders, but they’re pushing him back and he doesn’t want that.

“No.” Castiel hisses, grabbing handfuls of Dean’s shirt. The lip of the small-sea is digging uncomfortably into his stomach. He drags Dean forward, though he doesn’t come easily, until he can slip his arms around his shoulders and press his face against Dean’s neck. (I want to explain, but not through the glass.)

Dean’s sigh washes along the edges of his side-fan and it tingles all the way down Castiel’s spine to the tip of his tail. It makes his fins rustle and he half hopes Dean doesn’t realize it’s because of him and thinks it’s only because he’s still trying to wiggle his way over the glass. His arms come up around Castiel’s waist and Dean hesitates.

(I think… I’m not sure how to – hold on let’s do this like...) Dean drops the barrier and Castiel finds the wash of emotions very relaxing. He’s surprised to find relief in amongst the frustration and confusion, the hurt and the wariness.

An image rises above everything else; the memory of how Dean carried Castiel the first time he was ever outside of small-sea. It takes a little maneuvering, but Castiel manages to lean mostly on one of Dean’s shoulders while Dean tries to pull Castiel over the edge so his tail falls across one arm without losing his balance. More than once, the adipose of his fins gets pinched roughly between the glass and the weight of his tail and Dean apologizes every time Castiel hisses or grunts. Castiel apologizes for how many times he accidentally splashes Dean while trying to help flip his tail over the glass – despite Dean’s many attempts to tell him not to move.

Dean staggers slightly under Castiel’s full weight and he tightens his hold on his shoulders. Castiel clearly pictures Dean’s bed and pushes it through the kin-connection. That’s where he wants to go. It’s the most comfortable place for either of them and even though he’s only been on it once, Castiel really likes the mattress and the warm bedding that smells like Dean.

(Are you kidding me? That’s all the way on the other side of the room. Can’t you just tell me here?)

(No. Not here. I want you to take me to your bed. Please?)

Dean huffs a small laugh and wry amusement trickles across the kin-connection. Castiel doesn’t understand it and at this point, he doesn’t want to. It could be another Dean-thing, it could be a human-thing. For now, it can wait until after he’s explained to Dean. Even if what he has to explain might not be something Dean wants to hear. Despite all of Castiel’s fears and the hours he spent deliberating tonight, he’s not entirely sure exactly what Dean feels about him.

He knows Dean likes him, and that he’s comfortable enough with Castiel to share painful and important things about his past and his family. He knows that Dean thinks he’s attractive enough – human enough – to kiss or feel arousal over if Castiel does something he finds seductive. He knows that Dean is protective of him. But he doesn’t know if Dean feels the same way about him as he thinks he might for Dean. Will Dean be sad when he leaves?

The spines of his fans flex with worried agitation. What if Dean doesn’t feel the same? What if he’s disgusted that Castiel is even thinking about him like that? Emotional responses and physical responses are entirely different things and if Dean only has physical reactions to him, telling Dean that he’s getting too attached could ruin what fragile pieces of their friendship still remains from this afternoon.

It takes several minutes and many pauses to lean against the small-sea before they reach the bed. Dean drops him on the mattress gracelessly and collapses next to him, legs slung over his tail. Castiel props himself up on his elbows and looks down at Dean as he drapes an arm over his eyes.

(And I’m going to have to do that to get you back in the damn thing, aren’t I?)

(I could crawl over to the platform if you’d prefer.)

(Fuck that. The floor is dirty as hell and you’ll get your scales all mussed up. Why’d we have to do this over here again?)

Castiel dips his head and runs his fingers along the seam at the edge of the pillow. (I wanted to talk to you without the wall between us – both the physical and the mental one. Your bed is soft, and comfortable. This seemed like the most appropriate location.)

(Thanks for the consideration, I guess.) He shifts until Castiel can see his eyes under the shadow of his arm. There’s still so much confusion and hurt floating through the kin-connection, and with it are the bright tendrils of anger and a few wisps of concern. (So what the hell happened this afternoon?)

He bites his lip and lays back down, crossing his arms and using them as his own pillow. Castiel stares at the wall instead of looking at Dean and allows the tickle of his nervousness to flow across to the edges of Dean’s mind. It’s a few moments before he supplies the memories of their brief conversation.

(Yeah, Cas, I know what I said. What I don’t know is why it made you hate me.)

Castiel’s fans flare and he looks at Dean sharply. (I don’t hate you! I was just…) He groans and buries his face in his arms. (This is very difficult to explain.)

(Try me.)

His tail is still under Dean’s legs and the end is hanging over the edge of the bed. The tip of it is touching the floor and Castiel drags it in small circles, his fins rustle with every movement. He struggles to find the right words, or the right place to start and he’s not sure where to begin and he’s terrified it will only push Dean away. He wants to stay where they are. If they move forward, if they become more when everything Castiel knows says they shouldn’t… He sees nothing but pain down that path. And to lose Dean’s friendship when it’s one of the few oases he has here, would be a whole different kind of pain.

(Do you find me attractive?)

The startled surprise that overtakes all of Dean’s thoughts is enough to tell Castiel that out of everything he could have said, that wasn’t one of the things Dean was expecting. He can feel the brush of Dean’s arm against his shoulder as he lowers it to his chest, and the pillow under his elbow shifts as if Dean is turning his head. Castiel doesn’t dare look to check.

(Do I find you… what?)

(… Attractive?)

(Where is this even-)

(Please, just answer.)

There’s a rustling sound and when Castiel peeks, Dean is running his other hand through his hair. (I’ve already told you that if we ignore your fish-bits that you’re pretty cute by human standards. So yeah, I do think you’re attractive. Why?)

(If it wasn’t because I don’t think it’ll happen again, if it was because you wanted to… Would you kiss me again?)

The anger is gone from Dean’s mind and all that is left are flashes of confusion, concern and a slowly growing sense of understanding. He looks at Castiel and he stares back steadily. (Do you… do you want me to kiss you again?)

(I don’t know.) Castiel is truthful in his answer. He thinks that the last kiss felt nice, but it was the reason Lilith got angry and put the tracking tag in his back. Even if she gave her permission for him and Dean to do it again, Castiel doesn’t want to do anything that might make her do other things that will hurt him or Dean. But at the same time he does want to try again, but he doesn’t because further contact like that with Dean might only aggravate these budding feelings of his.

He takes the jumble of his emotions and thoughts and pushes them at Dean. It takes several minutes before Dean sorts through them all and his answer is nothing more than a short “Oh.” and many more moments of silence. Dean’s mind is surprisingly quiet, and when Castiel reaches through the connection to check, he finds no walls hiding anything and it’s just merely Dean shocked into a numb silence.

It makes him nervous and he is entirely too relieved at the first hesitant return of Dean’s thoughts. (Okay… Let’s toss this up a bit. Do you find me attractive?)

(If you were a fin-kin?)

(Yeah, sure. If you took away my human-bits and I was a fin-kin.)

(A fin-kin who just admitted to being attracted to me?)

(Yes, Cas.)

(If that were the case, then I would very much like to mate with you.)

Dean snorts and covers his face with his arm again. His chest keeps jerking in little jumps and Castiel doesn’t know what’s happening until he realizes that it’s amusement running along the edges of the connection and that Dean is laughing. He frowns and flicks at him through their link. (I don’t see what’s so funny.)

(Cas, you just admitted to wanting to have sex with me not even fifteen minutes after telling me to take you to my bed.) Dean makes the snorting noise again and this time he actually laughs out loud in little rolling rumbles that are pleasing to listen to. But when Castiel doesn’t reciprocate his amusement, he looks out at him from under his arm. (You… you do know what that means don’t you?)

(No.)

(Oh.) His delight ebbs slightly and he lowers his arms. (Well, for the record, we usually have sex in our beds. And asking someone to ‘take you to their bed’ is kind of a euphemism for saying you’re ready to sleep with them. And by ‘sleep’, I don’t mean the restful kind, Cas.)

Castiel can feel the blush spread over his gills and up his cheeks and he wonders if even the webbing and spines of his side-fans are turning red too. He did it again. He did something stupidly human that they consider sexual and he didn’t even know it. It’s just like the food incident and the ragged edges of panic are eating at his insides again.

Dean’s fingers press into his hair and it’s surprisingly soothing to have them rub at his scalp. (Dude, it’s fine. I know you don't mean it that way. And I honestly didn’t even know you might possibly sorta maybe feel that way either. Is that why you freaked earlier? Because I said you were being accidentally sexy?)

He hums in agreement and rolls his shoulders to press his head up against Dean’s fingers. The rubbing is very pleasing. (I wasn’t prepared for the idea that you could be sexually attracted to me.)

(How come?)

(I’m not human, Dean. And you’re not fin-kin. Sexual attraction to a human is as weird to me as it is to be attracted to a dolphin. But at the same time, it’s very different.)

Dean laughs and the circles his fingertips are inscribing move down the back of his head, dipping along to press behind his side-fans. (I hope so. I’m way sexier than Flipper.)

(Who?)

(It’s a – No, never mind.) He shakes his head and rolls onto his side to face Castiel. He brings up his other hand and starts massaging up and behind his other side-fan. (So, I wanna make sure I got this straight. You freaked out earlier because you were having trouble accepting that I could pop a boner at you being accidentally sexy. That sound right?)

Castiel hums again as a low rumble starts in his chest and it makes Dean smile.

(Okay.) Dean’s thoughts take a chilled edge and Castiel nearly flinches from them. (But why did you shut me out? I can understand not wanting me to touch you after that, but you shut out me and Sam and Jess. And you wouldn’t even talk to me long enough to explain the thing with the bucket. Hell, you even told me to get out. So what the fuck was up with that?)

He regrets that ducking his head pulls him out of reach of the soothing circles of Dean’s fingertips. Castiel rearranges himself until he’s laying on his side, hands tucked under his cheek and he fixes his eyes on the collar of Dean’s shirt instead of his face. He tries not to notice the edge of a red-blue bruise that can just barely be seen on his collarbone.

(I know that shutting you out was… it was rude and you were hurt by it. I’m sorry.)

(Apology accepted, but I still want to know why.)

(I want to distance myself from you.)

Dean pushes up sharply and his emotions are ricocheting between surprise and disbelief, horror and anger. (Why would you – Why?)

(It’ll hurt less to leave you if I don’t get any closer than this.)

He drops back down, but on his stomach this time, with his face buried in the pillow. (Cas, man, I… Y’know I’m not looking for anything like what you’re thinking of right now, right? I mean – I only got out of prison a couple months before Sam convinced Lilith to hire me. And I’ve never really been that kinda guy. I tried it – and it was awesome – but it didn’t end up – I’m not really – I mean, I like you well enough but –)

Castiel presses against the trembling wash of Dean’s rambling. It’s a refreshing turn to be the one having to calm Dean instead of the other way around. (You misunderstand me, Dean. I like being your friend. This is nice. This is safe. I’m not sure if I could handle being anything else, and that’s not just because of the differences between us.)

Dean is quiet for several moments before he starts laughing again. But there is no amusement flitting through his mind. There’s just a confusing flicker of disappointment that smolders beneath a roll of gratitude. (When I first saw you, I really didn’t think we’d ever end up having the ‘should we stay friends’ conversation.)

(Mmm. Does this mean you’ve forgiven me for earlier?)

(Yeah, I guess. Except I don’t understand the thing about the bucket and kicking me out of the room.)

(I was not having a favourable reaction to your food.) Castiel twists up until he can look down at his sheath. The swelling around the slit has long since gone down and there’s a slight ache, but nothing near the pain from earlier. (I don’t know human etiquette, but since I haven’t seen how you relieve yourself, I assume you do it in privacy. I didn’t want you to feel awkward.)

Dean lifts his head and he stares at him for a few moments before dissolving into a laughter that is more gasps and hiccupping coughs and snorts than it is actual laughter. (Oh my God, you were going poop! I got all pissed off because you wanted me out and it was just so you could take a shit! That’s… that’s the funniest reason I’ve ever had angry sex over.)

Castiel’s fans flare and he hides the sudden rush of those nameless emotions, the dark and ugly ones he doesn’t like feeling that make his head feel too full and too empty while his chest burns and his insides freeze. (What?)

His laughter dies off quickly and Dean looks up at Castiel with an expression he’s seen on warriors of lower ranks who’ve been caught doing something they shouldn’t. Castiel can feel his hesitancy to answer, but Dean still tugs at the collar of his shirt and bares a few of the bruises. (Do you know what these are?)

(No. And I still want to know who attacked you.) Castiel brushes a finger against one of the bruises, but quickly pulls his hand away when Dean twitches back. (Do they hurt?)

(I wasn’t attacked, Cas. And these don’t hurt. They’re called ‘hickeys’. It’s a… uh, a ‘sucking kiss’, I guess. Pam can kinda get a little rough if I let her, she bites and scratches a lot and I was angry so… It seemed like a good idea at the time, since she’d offered earlier. It helped me blow off steam.)

Castiel’s adipose fins are rippling and he presses them down against his tail with his hands as he wills his fans not to move. He didn’t want Pamela to kiss Dean again, but his actions had driven Dean into more than just kisses. It makes his stomach churn and another lump rises in his throat. He’s almost scared by the sudden, vicious anger at not only himself, but at Pamela too.

He’s not expecting or prepared for the hand that grabs his shoulder and pulls his down until he’s on his side again and facing Dean. Dean’s expression is hard, but his thoughts are worried and they’re breaking in waves against the wall Castiel is hiding behind. (Don’t do that. Don’t hide yourself like that from me.)

Castiel closes his eyes and turns his face into the pillow. The scent of Dean is almost overwhelming, but it helps to calm the storm raging in his head. (You do it all the time.)

(Yeah, well, I’m usually hiding private sexy thoughts. But judging by your face, I’m thinking you’re not thinking sexy thoughts. Unless that’s your thinking-sexy-thoughts face, in which case you might want to try for a different one coz’ that looks more like you’re ready to maim someone instead.)

(That is an astute observation. You’re correct in assuming that I am not thinking of pleasant things. I don’t know what to call these, but I don’t like them.)

(Let me see. If I can name them, maybe you won’t feel so bad?) Dean is close, very close. He huffs a short laugh again, and he’s near enough that the air rushes over Castiel’s gills. It makes him shiver and he tucks his hands under the pillow.

It’s a few moments of deliberating before he drops the wall and lets his emotions through one at a time for Dean to touch. He knows that it’s a terrible idea to keep sharing more of himself with Dean. The more he lets him in, the harder it’s going to be to stay friends and the harder it’s going to be to leave.

(All I’m seeing here is jealousy.) Dean brushes his touch over the emotions, sorting through them. (Different kinds of it, but it basically boils down to jealousy and envy. You really don’t like that I had sex with Pam, do you?)

He shakes his head and withdraws those thoughts from the kin-connection. He shoves them back behind the wall and tries to ignore that they even exist and he hopes Dean won’t talk about it anymore either. Now that he knows what it is, he’s ashamed to even be feeling them. Worse still for letting Dean know.

Dean is radiating warmth and it’s taking all of Castiel’s will power not to wrap himself around him and cover Pamela’s marks with his own. He’s never wanted to brand anyone before, and it’s a frightening thought that makes him tremble. He shouldn’t want to mark Dean, not after how they’ve decided to try and stay as they are.

(Are you cold?)  Dean draws away, taking his heat with him and Castiel stifles a whine before it even reaches his tongue.

Castiel cries out in surprise when the pull of the blanket suddenly drags him halfway across the bed. Dean keeps laughing and smiling and apologizing as he works it out from underneath his tail before he covers Castiel with it. He leaves a note on a chair by the door and explains that it’s for Sam to wake them when he arrives in a few hours.

(That way, if we fall asleep, we won’t sleep through you drying out completely. I don’t want you dying on me just coz’ we ended up snuggling or something. ‘Death by cuddles’ isn’t a very warrior-ish way to go.)

(Wouldn’t it be better for me to go to sleep in small-sea?) Even as he asks, Castiel burrows deep under the blanket, pulling his tail up under the cover. It’s warm and everything smells like Dean. The only point of cold is the collar still rubbing at his skin around his neck. (I believe this is counterproductive to our decision not to take our friendship further.)

(Yeah, well, we’re special friends – but not the special kind of friends that are fuck buddies. We can be, uh, cuddle buddies. And if you tell Sam I said that, I swear to God I won’t ever let you cuddle with me again.) Dean is trying to glare at him as he climbs under the blankets, but a smile keeps pulling at the corner of his mouth. (Now I don’t know about you, but I could use a couple hours sleep. And Jess promised they’d bring their easiest books so we can start teaching you to read.)

Castiel stifles a yawn and he doesn’t complain when Dean puts an arm around his shoulders or when he pulls him up against his side. He doesn’t think twice about weaving his tail between his legs or wrapping an arm around Dean’s waist. He’s already half asleep by the time he presses his nose up under his jaw. Lips brush his forehead and he thinks he might hear Dean tell him to sleep well, but he’s too comfortable and warm to even notice the other voices in the back of his head – the ones that sound like Lucifer, Michael, Raphael and Uriel – that tell him he’s doing the exact opposite of everything he’d resolved against earlier that day.

He’s too happy to really care.

x

Dean is talking with his throat-voice. Castiel can hear it rumbling under his cheek and above his head. Everything is heat and warmth and Dean and he really can’t find any fault with this moment. He presses closer, tightening his arms and his tail and hoping that Dean doesn’t have to get up to use the washroom again like he did the last time he woke up like this.

(Cas, you need to get up now.) There’s a bitter tinge to his thoughts that rouses Castiel more than his words do. The hand on his shoulder tightens in a near-painful squeeze. (And I really hate to say this, but Lilith is here.)

Castiel’s fans flare and his back-fans catch on the blanket, dragging it aside. The air in the room is much colder than under the blanket and when Castiel lifts his head, he sees Lilith sitting in a chair right next to the bed. She’s propping her chin in her hands, elbows on her knees. Her eyes are wide and she’s grinning in such a way Castiel almost thinks she must be, in some distant way, related to sharks.

“Good morning, Castiel.”

He stares at her and presses his fingers into Dean’s ribs. (What does she want?)

(To talk to you.)

(I don’t want to talk to her. Make her go away, Dean.)

Lilith’s smile drops and Castiel is, for a moment, terrified that she heard his thoughts. Dean shares his quick flash of horror as Lilith leans closer. “I said: Good morning, Castiel.”

(Dude, she wants you to talk to her so fucking talk to her. Do it before she brings out the whips and chains or whatever the fuck it is she has for her pets.)

(I am not –)

(Cas.)

He can’t help the curl to his upper lip. “Good morning, Lilith.”

She sits back and claps her hands, smiling brightly. “Good boy!”

Castiel pushes himself up, already feeling cold despite still being mostly pressed against Dean. He has to untangle his tail from Dean’s legs and the blanket for Dean to be able to slide further up the bed until he’s sitting with his back to the wall. Lilith pulls the chair closer to the bed and Castiel reflexively leans back, tugging tightly at the connection with Dean for reassurance. His legs are the only barrier between Castiel and Lilith and he really doesn’t want her to kiss him again.

“Today I’m going to start your training.” Lilith’s smile is a mockery of the sweetness she is trying to achieve. “So first things first, you’re going to do your little mind talk thingy with me. Do you understand, Castiel?”

He understands, thanks to Dean’s translation, but he is so vehemently opposed to it that he actually hunches his shoulders, spreads his fans as wide as they will go and hisses. “No.”

Dean winces. (No, dude, that is so the wrong answer.)

(I am not going to touch her mind! I want nothing to do with her thoughts when her actions alone make me sick. You can tell her that, I encourage you to. I’m not going to let her push me around like that.)

Lilith tilts her head and her predator-smile is back. It doesn’t reach her eyes. They’re wide and just as empty as a shark’s. “It wasn’t a request. It was a command.” She leans even closer, barely a hand-span away. “I know you’re a warrior, so you’ve probably been trained to withstand quite a large bit of pain.”

“Yes.”

“Oh good.” Her voice drops to soft, almost whispering tones and Castiel has to angle his side-fans to catch it in the air. “But I don’t think the others have, do you?”

His eyes immediately turn to Dean. Surprise and hatred and fear blazes bright and painful across Dean’s thoughts. It sears the kin-connection and Castiel has to protect himself against it and the storm of Sam and Jess and Bobby and Pamela. He’s looking at Dean, but Dean is staring over Lilith’s shoulder at Jess and Sam and Meg at the computers and microscopes.

(Oh God, please don’t let her hurt them.)

It’s not a thought that Castiel thinks he’s meant to hear. It’s almost immediately lost in the whirlpool of worry and fear and rage. Dean’s fingers are clenched so tightly in the sheets that his knuckles are turning white and his hands tremble slightly. He covers one of Dean’s hands with his own and he presses at the vortex tearing at the kin-connection, feeding into it a soothing calm. He’s not going to let Lilith hurt Dean or his loved ones.

Castiel steels himself and erects every blockade between him and Lilith that he can, everything that will keep him from feeling anything beyond the loudest of her thoughts. He reaches out and brushes against her mind.

(Hello Lilith.)