3. Chapter 3

Dean’s legs buckled when the floor abruptly formed beneath him, but there was no danger of him actually falling. Not when Castiel’s grip was so tight that he could barely breathe. For a few seconds - just because he didn’t want to cause a fight right away, he told himself - he let himself rest against the angel, momentarily paralyzed with that little tiny flash of awe he’d never been able to get rid of. Angels were dicks, that much was true, but time and again their strength had proven to be something else. Castiel was supporting him, a 200lb man, effortlessly.

Eventually he straightened, squirming free this time, and turned to look at the room. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Another motel, maybe, or even a hotel if Castiel was feeling classy. But instead they were standing in the middle of a living room. The walls were painted a pale red and the furniture was all in deep shades of grey, warm and comfortable. A fireplace was against the wall directly in front of Dean with a real fire already burning away, and right above it was a 60 inch LED television.

To his right was a kitchen, one that actually looked like it could be cooked in. It wasn’t big, but Dean knew from personal experience that sometimes the smallest and shittiest kitchens could still produce awesome stuff. He took a cautious step forward, realizing that there was a hall leading out of the kitchen. He couldn’t see where it led to, but he could see out the windows, and the view was amazing. The house - cabin? - was surrounded by forest. Just barely visible through all the trees was a lake.

“Cas... where the hell are we?” Dean whispered.

“Home.”

That one word was enough to make Dean shiver, though he did his best to cover up the girly reaction. “Dude, did you... is this...”

Castiel smiled. “It is all legal, if that’s what you want to ask,” he said, looking slightly amused. “No one will bother us. We are miles away from the nearest human city, and even the closest dwelling is a twenty minute walk in any direction. This is our home for the foreseeable future, until you decide that you are ready to leave. The only other person who even knows that it’s here is Gabriel.”

“Don’t tell me this is one of those places where Gabriel comes to hook up,” Dean said, swallowing hard when he spotted the bright green blanket tossed across the back of the couch. It looked obscenely soft, and after over two decades of sleeping on shitty motel-grade sheets, it was all he could do to keep himself from walking over and touching it.

“We are the first occupants of this nest, Dean. I built it for us.”

Dean froze and slowly turned to look at him. “What?”

“You are my nestling,” Castiel said calmly, meeting his gaze without flinching. “It is my duty to provide for you, and that includes shelter. I wanted to give you a home. I know you love the Impala, but this is a place where you can be free. You don’t have to worry or pretend here. As I said, it is completely private and no one will bother us unless offered an invitation that will give us plenty of time to prepare.”

“You...” Dean’s head was spinning, and it wasn’t just from the exhaustion or alcohol - especially since he suspected Castiel might’ve used his mojo to sober him up. The only home he had ever known burned when he was four years old. Since then, the Impala was the closest thing that he and his brother had. And as much as he loved his baby, it was hard to call the car home. For one thing, after he reached the age of fifteen it stopped being even remotely comfortable to crash in.

Once more he looked around the room, taking in the smaller details he had not noticed until now. Like the bookcase on the far side of the room which was loaded with books, most of which he didn’t recognize - but a few of them he did, because they looked suspiciously like the few books he’d had the time to read over the years. Or the collection of movies right next to it, many of the titles his favorites. Or the picture on the wall of a blonde woman with a baby in one arm and a little three-year-old standing right beside her.

His throat felt tight. He moved closer to the picture. He’d never seen this one before, yet it was unquestionably Mary Winchester. “Where did you...?”

“You know that I am capable of traveling through time. I removed it from your house a few days before the fire, knowing that it would not be missed,” Castiel admitted.

“Cas, this is... This is...” Dean trailed off and let out a shaky laugh, not sure he was capable of finishing that sentence. “This is too much, man.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why would you say that, Dean?” Castiel was close, suddenly, too close. It made Dean’s heart race. “I want to take care of you and give you the best home and childhood I am capable of. Your mother is an important part of you and I wanted to honor that. I am not trying to diminish her place in your life.”

It didn’t escape Dean’s notice that Castiel had not included his father in that, but Dean was way too tired to bring up John Winchester right then. He’d spent the past three or four - he wasn’t even sure anymore - days in a complete turmoil, drinking himself stupid because he couldn’t get Castiel’s offer out of his head. No matter how many times he told himself that he didn’t want this, he couldn’t squash the part of him that was so frigging tempted to accept.

He dropped his gaze, unable to think of a reply when facing the intensity of Castiel’s blue eyes, but found that staring at the floor didn’t really help. If anything, the sight of the wood only made him feel even more out of his depth. “I... I don’t know what you want from me.”

His name was a sigh, Castiel twitching like he wanted to gather Dean up in his arms again. “You told me you know what it means to be a nestling.”

“I do.”

“Then you know that it will require trust on your part. Do you trust me that much?”

“Yes.” It was out before Dean had even really processed the question, and that surprised him. Of course he trusted Castiel - pretty hard not to after the guy had gone and gotten himself blown up twice trying to stop the Apocalypse - but he hadn’t understood how much until right now.

Castiel’s eyes were still boring into him. “I will ask you again. Do you want to be my nestling, Dean Winchester?”

Dean licked his lips. He hadn’t given an answer before, but he had a feeling Castiel would not let him leave without one now. He had to decide. On the one hand, he felt like saying no. Just walking out and taking the Impala back to his old life. It was the safest route. Seeing nestlings out and around had always made him prickly and uncomfortable, and John's reaction hadn't helped. The act of feeding an adult human grace regressed them to a childlike and vulnerable state whether the human wanted it or not; though there would be periods during which he would be his normal self, in many ways it would be like growing up again.

Not to mention, Castiel had already said that there were parts of this that Dean wouldn’t like. Had specifically said words like awkward and uncomfortable, and coming from Castiel of all people, the dude who had such piss poor people skills that he’d once made a hooker cry, that was practically a screaming red flag right there.

But on the other hand, it wasn’t like he had anything else to do. Sam had Stanford, Bobby had Jody and the hunting community, and Dean had... nothing. He was just an aimless hunter floating around the country, and would continue to do so until something finally got the drop on him. At least by becoming an angel, he would be a better hunter. It really had nothing to do with the knot of longing that tightened in his chest every time Castiel said that he wanted to take care of him.

He cleared his throat. “If we, uh, do this... there’s no turning back, right?”

“Correct.”

“Then I don’t think it’s a good idea,” he mumbled. “You wouldn’t have an escape, Cas.”

“I wish I could smite every person who ever made you feel as though you are unworthy. Dean.” A strong hand seized his chin, pulling his head up until he had to meet Castiel’s gaze. “I know you. I raised you from hell. I have seen everything that you are, right down to the most insignificant atoms that make up your body. I will not change my mind. There is nothing you could do or say that will sway me from this. I want to take care of you.”

“Okay.”

Castiel paused, and then he said carefully, “You’re certain?”

“Yeah,” Dean practically whispered. His heart was still pounding but now that his agreement was out there, he actually felt a little calmer. “So long as... I mean, I might have to be a hunter sometimes.”

“We will deal with that when the situation arises,” said Castiel. His firm grip on Dean’s chin turned into something far more gentle, and the knot in Dean’s chest twisted when Castiel’s fingers trailed up his cheek and swept through his hair. Unconsciously, he leaned into it just a little.

“What happens next?” he asked, trying to keep a cocky tone.

“You eat.”

“Food?”

“It’s been too long since you last ate,” Castiel said, dropping his hand from Dean’s hair. He didn’t go far, though, pressing his palm to Dean’s lower back. “You’re going to eat a sandwich and then take a shower, and then go to bed.”

Dean bit back the automatic protest that it was still light outside and trailed the angel into the kitchen. There was a little dining table set up, just big enough to fit four people so long as none of them were Sam, and Dean sat down. The second he was no longer standing, it hit him just how exhausted he really was. Suddenly the thought of eating and then taking a shower before he was able to hit the sack was overwhelming, and the table was looking like a very comfortable place to put his head down.

“Better hurry up with that food,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

He didn’t get an answer, but less than five minutes later Castiel set a plate down in front of him. Dean stared at the meal and felt the weirdest urge to start laughing. Peanut butter and apple jelly on toast. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had it, mostly because Sam’s favorite had always been peanut butter and bananas and they’d never had the money for both.

“Eat, Dean.”

Automatically, he obeyed. The toast was warm and soft and went down easily, particularly when Castiel gave him a glass of milk. He wasn’t sure where the angel was getting this food from, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue. And when he was finished, Castiel urged him up and sent him to the bathroom. It was huge, containing a shower big enough for two people and a tub that could’ve accommodated at least three, but Dean was too tired to really appreciate it. He took a quick shower, swaying again by the time he was done.

The bathroom door opened just as he was climbing out, and he yelped as he grabbed for a towel. “Dude! You don’t just walk into the bathroom!”

“My apologies,” Castiel said, but he didn’t leave. He walked over to Dean instead, carrying a fresh set of clothing. “I will help you get dressed.”

“I don’t need help, Cas.”

For a split second, something unfamiliar flickered in Castiel’s eyes, but he said only, “Tomorrow we will talk. For tonight, you will let me help you.”

There was a band of steel in that voice that Dean wasn’t sure how to argue with. Dumbly, standing there with a towel around his waist, he watched as a goddamn angel of the Lord went down on his knees and shook out a pair of underwear for him to step into. He was half-tempted to pinch himself to figure out if he’d started dreaming.

“I don’t usually wear tighty whities,” he mumbled, frowning as he stepped into first one hole and then the other. Castiel started to draw them up his legs and Dean batted his hands away at mid-thigh, pulling them up the rest of the way himself. He stiffened as he did, his fingers registering the unfamiliar feel of plastic.

“What the -”

“Tomorrow,” Castiel repeated, holding out a pair of pajama bottoms festooned with cowboys.

If he hadn’t been so tired, Dean never would’ve agreed to it. As it was he, he was about two seconds from passing out on the floor. He scowled and stepped into the bottoms, then allowed Castiel to help him with the button-up top. But it was like even that simple act of dressing took the remainder of his energy. He had little memory of Castiel leading him out of the bathroom or into his bedroom; he remembered seeing a bed, falling on top of it, and nothing more.