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The hard exterior cracks. Like a frozen glass shattered by impatience; the invasion of the boiling liquid leaving nothing but shards in its wake. It's sudden and it's encompassing, the split across his soul.
He's home when it happens, but just barely. They pile into the bunker stinking of sweat and iron and it's enough of an excuse to head straight to the showers. At least that's what Dean tells himself. The reality is, he can feel the break coming, biting at the edge of his consciousness. He knows the best place for him now is under scalding water. Somewhere that will blur the distinction between water droplets and tears.
Naked and alone, his fists clench. The heat cascading down the nape of his neck hardly matches the temperature of the rage inside of him. Because he's angry. He's angrier than he's ever been.
Angry at Castiel.
He pinches his eyes closed to keep from screaming. Or sobbing. Or both. It doesn't really work. The breath he draws shakes with weight and his chest heaves.
How. Dare. He.
How dare Castiel utter those words. Those three, life altering, huge, stupid, stupid words. Words that have danced on Dean's tongue for longer than he can admit to himself. The words he nearly spoke, wanted to speak, so many years ago in that dark dungeon - beaten nearly to death by a man possessed. That were held back with the sole conviction that speaking them aloud would be their undoing. Would change this perfect balance of friendship and partnership. Love is a complication Dean cannot abide. Has built a brick wall around.
Warriors have allies. Not lovers.
And he'd thought it enough to declare the angel family. He owed him that much, since Castiel had given up everything - heaven, brethren, a chance at a normal existence - for the sake of the Winchesters. Told himself Cas stuck with them because he was smarter than the average angel. Cas recognized that Sam and Dean were on the side of right and hopped on board.
But love?
How can he begin to wrap his head around that?
There's a squeaking noise - the door being pushed open gingerly. And a grunt he recognizes.
“Sorry - mind if I use the other shower?” Cas calls out. The bunker shower room has individual stalls for privacy like a locker room, but by unspoken rule most of the time Sam or Dean use the shower is that they usually leave each other alone. Less potential for nudity sightings and more … private time.
Dean clears his throat before answering, trying to relax his fists. “Yeah, sure Cas. I'll be done in a second.”
“Don't hurry on my account,” Cas grumbles. There are more noises - soft grunts, fabric shifting, the metal of a belt being unbuckled. The frustrated sigh followed by a series of pops - Castiel seemed to lack either the dexterity or patience for buttons. The image of that shirt, bloodied and soaked in black was still fresh in his mind. Under any other circumstance, gently tugging the fabric from Castiel’s slacks to reveal the toned muscle underneath would have been thrilling. As it stood he was quick to pull it back down, to hide from his angel the site that scared him to his core.
Dean can't see anything of course from the other side of the steel shower door. If he wanted to he could stand up a little straighter and see a mess of black hair as it walked into the stall next to his, but he remained hunched over, curling his back to the hot water.
“I could use the company,” Cas muses. “It's been a very long day.” He pauses with a sigh as the water turns on. “Thank you again for driving.”
“Yea, no problem.” Dean mutters, trying and failing to keep the irritation out of his voice. He reaches down for the shampoo - suddenly eager to get out of the shower. Hopefully his anger will read as exhaustion to the angel and he can have a good night's sleep before trying to compartmentalize the events of their day away to the far reaches of his mind. Back behind that brick wall.
“Is everything alright?”
No such luck.
“Yea, just tired.” He tries the lie.
Cas is quiet.
“I know I have limited experience with human emotions Dean,” he sounds exasperated. “But you sound angry. If you didn't want me to take a shower, you could have just said. I would have waited.”
“I'm fine.”
“Clearly.”
Castiel's sass was not helping the way the blood was boiling under his skin. He tipped his head back, letting the water wash away the soap in his hair in streams.
"You know what Cas - it has been a long day. Let's just leave it at that." Dean reaches for the soap and let it slide between his palms. With the added shower the steam was becoming more dense, and it fills his sinuses.
He expects the initial silence he receives - after all, it was just a week before that they were giving each other the silent treatment over his inability to express his feelings. This was par for the course for them. So he was somewhat surprised, as his hands trailed over his chest, to hear Castiel speak up again, his voice stiff.
"I know you don't like - deathbed confessions...." he starts. He doesn't get much further.
"I said leave it!" Dean barks, the timber of his voice echoing off the walls like a gunshot. Still half covered in soap he curses and turns off the shower. He hardly takes the time to dry himself off, knowing that the cold of the concrete bunker air will be more pleasant than the conversation Castiel is trying to begin. He has to get out of there. Before words tumble from his lips that he couldn't take back.
He steps out onto the tile, a plush towel wrapped around his hips as he hears the other shower turn off. "Dean! Wait!" Castiel calls out, and without turning, he hears the clang of the metal door being slammed open. "Please!"
"I'm not doing this, Cas." His heart speeds up but his feet pause. He's not sure why.
Except deep down, he does know. That tiny voice he fights so hard to silence - it wants to hear an explanation. Craves it like a man trapped in the desert craves cool water.
"I don't - I don't want anything from you, Dean." Castiel's voice has lost its resolve. Now it's achingly soft. All the more cruel because he must know that Dean is weak from hearing it. "I just - had to tell you."
The room is quiet without the sound of pressured water, save the light tapping of a faucet not quite closed. It's fast rhythm of drip, drip, drip mimics the pounding of Dean's heart. He should speak now, put Castiel's mind at ease. Tell him it's fine, nothing's changed, they're still best buds. Pretend like the moment Castiel made the second proclamation, the moment he said "I love all of you" and Dean realized what the first confession meant that his entire world didn't screech to a halt.
But he doesn't. He's silent, breathing in steam, his tense back to his angel.
"Dean, look at me."
He takes a shuddering breath. The mist begins to dissipate.
"Please tell me I haven't changed -"
"Haven't changed what, Cas?" Dean goes from zero to sixty because yes, damnit. Castiel changed fucking everything - and he's pissed. He turns sharply to the angel clad in terrycloth, gripped tightly around olive hips. His expanse of chest is peppered with droplets.
Castiel's eyes are wide and vulnerable, like they were after his confession in that stupid barn. "That I haven't changed - us. Your friendship, Dean, it means the world to me. I was so selfish-"
"You're damn right you were!" Dean feels the edges of his voice quiver, fights to maintain control. "How did you think that was going to play out? You were just going to tell me that you, you, love me and then peace out? Just like that?!"
The angel's face turned to a scowl, suddenly fierce. The vulnerable blue eyes were killing Dean to meet. But a pissed off angel? Now that was much more his speed.
"I wasn't aware that telling your family that you love them when you're dying is an inconvenience!" Castiel snaps back, somehow full of the wrath of God half soaked and standing in a towel.
"We don't do death confessions in this family - you know that!"
"Well, I'm sorry I missed that chapter in the 'How to be a Winchester' handbook!" Castiel's nostrils flair and he draws his lips to a thin line. "Or maybe, I just thought just this once, I could be honest about my feelings and then you'd know how important you are to me!"
The last bit is shouted. It leaves them both huffing their chests like they're fist fighting. Dean processes the last words slowly through a haze of rage. It slows him down - but doesn't stop him.
"Yeah well, we don't get to say shit like that." Dean runs a hand through his wet hair as the temperature drops another degree. "It doesn't matter what we feel. What matters is that we're a team and we get the freaking job done. End of story."
"Wait - what do you mean it doesn't matter what we feel?" Castiel seems a little taken aback by that. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. "Dean - that's all that matters in this sad world. Don't you understand?"
Dean clenches his teeth and his fists, fighting against his urge to run, to fight, to disappear. "I understand that love complicates everything." He hates that his voice cracks and he wishes he could just get through this talk with something resembling dignity. "Even if - dude, I don't even say it to Sam. How can I say it to you?"
"I don't need you to say anything Dean." Castiel takes a tentative step forward, his bare feet slap softly against moist tile. "My love for you isn't dependent on what you feel for me. It has nothing to do with me. But you deserved to know - how much of a difference you've made in my life."
He keeps walking towards Dean, so slowly you might mistake him for a predator seeking his prey. Except there's nothing malicious in his body language - his arms outstretched slightly, like you might approach an unfamiliar animal. He's expecting a fight, Dean realizes. And in truth, the moments that have been this tender in the past, where they're both laid out bare for the other to see, haven’t exactly been absent of bloodshed.
But Dean doesn't feel like fighting. The angel's words deflate him, the anger dissipating with the mist.
"It's not fair," the words choke out softly, almost disappearing. He can hardly meet the blue eyes now a foot away. "That you get to say it."
Cas pauses, a wet hand raising to place on Dean's cooling shoulder. "Do you want me to stop?"
Yes! Dean thinks. Please never say it again! Let's go back to the charade, the one where we dance around each other but never commit to the tango. Never take that first step to grasp hands.
"...no"
Dean is pulled in, shoulder first, pressed against wet skin. It's shockingly cold at first and then their bare chests share body heat and it's impossible to pull away. Castiel's arms grip him tightly like he might fight him but Dean goes slack, gingerly placing his arms around the angel's waist and resting his forehead on his shoulder.
"You are worthy of love, Dean."
The words are like a hammer, one that's been lightly pounding against that crack in his soul, waiting patiently for it to shatter.
"Shut up."
Castiel chuckles low, letting a hand trail up his back and into his hair, stroking softly. "Ok."
He's only vaguely aware that they're nearly naked. Probably because he feels his insides are so exposed that his outside is hardly a blip on his radar. But as they stand and sway slightly in each other's arms, the clothing situation becomes a bit more - prevalent. Castiel's muscles are lithe underneath his hands and he presses strong fingertips into the angel's back.
"It's my turn to talk."
He let's himself nose a little at the apex of Castiel's neck, where the muscle meets the shoulder. Untethers his desire, breaking through his brick wall not unlike those childhood commercials of the Kool-Aid man, with only slightly less fervor. Dean opens his lips to kiss at the moist skin, licking gently at the dots of water still sitting atop his shoulder.
Castiel is alive underneath him, humming and breathing as Dean trails lips along his neck. "I thought you were going to speak."
Dean responds by biting the edge of Castiel's jaw. The angel draws in a hissing breath, the hands wrapped around Dean's back clutching tighter. Dean continues the journey of his lips, mouthing at stubble, then chin, then cheeks, then the crinkles of his eye. Mapping the contours of a face he can't seem to live without. That he almost had to if fate hadn't been on their side.
Remembering how he almost lost Castiel, he draws back, placing his hands on the angel's cheeks. They're flush and it's beautiful to see that color even in the florescent light.
"I'm trying to tell you, Cas. You have to listen."
It's the way his lips curl into a small smile that draws Dean in. He wants to kiss it, that knowing look. The look that says 'It took you long enough' because damn, it really has.
He doesn't know how long they stay there, pressed together and somehow maintaining an elevated temperature in a room growing colder by the moment. When they do finally break apart they're breathless and ragged. And desperate.
"You're still soapy." Castiel whispers against his forehead.
"Good point."
Dean grabs the angel's wrist quickly and starts back towards the shower without a second thought. After all, over thinking has kept this from him for years. And he's certain his brain isn't going to let him off the hook that easily later. But right now he's thinking with only two organs, both pumped full of blood and fitting to burst.
Thankfully the stall is big enough for the two of them. He whips off his towel and throws it over the divider. Bold hands reach for Castiel's but Dean thinks better of it, raising his head slightly in question. Their eyes meet and for a moment, the world sort of pauses. That terrycloth barrier is now their point of no return and he wants to know, needs to know, that Castiel is on this suicidal rollercoaster with him.
"I love you Dean," he says, the words flowing smoothly as if he's said them hundreds of times. "I love all of you."
Well, that's about the best offer he's ever gotten.
The towel is tossed aside and the water turned high. They grip each other tight and grind as it pounds against their skin. It's uncoordinated and haphazard, with their feet slipping slightly against wet stone. But they find a rhythm as Castiel pushes Dean against the warm metal divider. And its heaven, pure heaven, the way the angel’s body fits into the curves of his own. The bone deep groan that escapes his lips as Dean grabs two handfuls of his ass and draws him even closer. The cascading water and Dean's previously soapy state make for a slippery joining of hips.
Castiel is aggressive and it's glorious. Dean couldn't move even if he tried and he doesn't want to. It's like he's grabbed onto a passing comet and is hanging on for dear life. He manages to get a hand between them, gripping them both in tandem, which faults Castiel's thrusting only slightly, but makes him throw his head back with a gasp.
"You like that?" Dean huffs, smiling against Castiel's neck. He licks a stripe up his adam's apple and pulls back to watch.
Castiel moans and calls out his name, but seems unable to answer. He's trembling now, despite the heat, and Dean can tell that he's close.
"Cas - look at me." His hand grips tighter on his ass to steady him as he tilts his head back. Castiel's eyes are determined and panicked and just wide, like he's not sure what's going to happen but he sure as shit wants to be there when it does. Dean quickens his movements and watches, mouth agape, as Castiel comes between them. He's broken and beautiful and smiling a little through it, looking at Dean like he is the center of his universe.
Dean knows that look. Because that's how he's felt for a long time.
"Dammit." Dean curses, feeling the swell of his conclusion starting at the base of his spine, his hand racing. "Dammit Cas - I - love - you - too."
And he shuts his eyes as he falls over the edge because he's certain the look on the angel's face would have struck him dead in that moment. His breath comes in heaving gasps from exertion and suddenly his legs feel more like jello than bone. He lets his head fall back against metal as their grip loosens but the angel doesn't let go. Never lets go.
After a moment he feels Castiel move a hand from his hip to their bellies, cupping water and splashing it against them, then rubbing. Dean smiles at that - Castiel trying to clean them. He opens his eyes again to his debauched angel - his cheeks pink, his hair wet and standing on edge. He half expects that so called rational part of his brain to restart now that the moment of pleasure has past but it doesn't. Instead he just feels warm - intensely warm. And loved.
Having cleaned them Castiel reaches over and turns off the water. He silently grabs Dean's towel and begins to rub him down to dry him off.
"You don't need to do that." Dean mutters without conviction. It feels nice.
"You didn't need to tell me you loved me either, but here we are."
Dean quirks an eyebrow, feeling a tinge of embarrassment. "You don't care that I said it during sex?"
Castiel gives a little shrug and wraps the damp towel around Dean's hips, tucking it in on one end. "It's probably not any better than saying it when you're dying. So that makes us even."
Dean takes the towel from the wall and starts drying Castiel off, smoothing the fabric over his skin. Skin that he now has permission to touch - and he wants to take full advantage of that. The angel watches him contentedly.
"Do you think either admission is any less true due to the circumstances?" he asks.
Dean’s hands pause on Castiel's chest and he looks up. But all he can see, when he meets his eyes, is the man he's been unquestioningly in love with for the better part of a decade. And so the answer comes out easily when it falls from his lips, drawing a smile in its wake from both of them.