Heal the sick / And rise the dead
Let your light from the lighthouse shine on me
/
Angels in heaven / Done wrote my name
Let your light from the lighthouse shine on me
-Let Your Light Shine on Me, Blind Willie Johnson

Almost nine years they've been together now. For two of them, Dean and Castiel have been officially retired from the hunting business. After averting eight apocalypses (yeah, somehow that word can be pluralized), almost dying in five of those, and discovering that his bones were a little too old, and his joints a little too rusty to keep up with the fighting, Dean decided he was ready to be done. To turn in his shotgun shells for a mismatched cutlery set from the thrift store, magic fingers in a motel room for an orthopaedic mattress, and cross-country road trips for early morning traffic.

Castiel makes a living as a translator, and he's pretty much the best one that can be found north of Antarctica. Dean somehow got a job at a crisis intervention centre. He doesn't do much besides talk to people and find ways to help them vent their frustration before the professionals take over, but… it seems to be working.

His life is pretty friggin' boring these days relative to the one he used to live, but it's not so bad, really. Actually it's kind of awesome. Being in love with a guy who loves him right back, and who doesn't seem to plan on going anywhere in the foreseeable future. Knowing that he has a place to sleep every night- and a place that's his, on top of it. No questionable stains on the linens, no odd smells dangling from the air vents. Having a mortgage isn't exactly easy, even though they're paying for something that's barely more substantial than a shotgun shack, but they're official homeowners and Dean thinks that's an accomplishment on its own.

Though they aren't going to save the world, or change it in any significant way with the jobs they have now, Dean knows that he and Cas still do a lot of good. They just doll it out by the milligram now where before they exported it in tanker trucks. This morning, for example, Dean talked a kid down from hurting himself. Convinced him to walk the four miles it would take to get to the crisis centre, and stayed on the phone with him the whole time. Last week Cas helped a college exchange student from Sri Lanka find justice against two men that had attacked her, when a language barrier had kept the police from moving forward on the case.

Dean has a feeling that this is what causes a particular notion to creep up on him tonight. It's two a.m. on a Sunday. He and Cas have just fallen into bed after getting home from a baby shower for Sam and his wife Marisa. They're tangled up with each other, both of them in different states of undress. Cas still has his shirt and socks on, while Dean's wearing his undershirt and boxers. They're fitted together with Dean's back against Cas' front, and the curtains are open so they can see the stars peering in at them from the night sky.

Around that time is when the epiphany strikes him. Not in a jarring or unpleasant way. It spreads across his mind like warm syrup over a stack of pancakes. Funnels down into his chest to coat his heart and lungs, heating them up and making them flutter with some odd combination of excitement, relief, and contentment.

"Cas," he whispers into the darkness, rolling back just enough that he can turn his head to see the angel tucked up against him.

"Yes?" he murmurs into Dean's shoulder, eyes closed.

"I just… I realized. That." He takes Cas' hand in his. Threads their fingers together and gives a squeeze, because even though he's sure he's right, he's a little apprehensive about actually voicing this thought. "I… I deserved it. I deserved to be saved."

Cas' trachea appears to close up then, and he stops breathing for a full ten seconds. Fear cripples every nerve and muscle in Dean's body when he feels the movement of his partner's chest come to a halt.

Oh, shit. Shit, what an idiot. Why the hell had he said that? What… what did this have to do with anything? All of that hunting crap was in the past- way in the past, and yeah Cas had implied as much when they first met but he hadn't actually told Dean that he thought it was true, and-

His panicked, admittedly irrational thoughts are interrupted when a deep breath rolls through Cas, and he somehow manages to pull Dean even closer to him than he'd been a minute ago. The angel folds his legs over top of his and locks him against his hips. Extracts his hand from Dean's so that he can slide it under his shirt and press it directly against the bony plate over his heart. Slides his other arm under the pillow and folds it across Dean's collarbones so he's fully embracing him. At the end of it, Dean feels like he's caught inside a Cas-shaped cage.

Nuzzling into Dean's neck, Cas kisses the slope where it meets his shoulder. He then trails his lips up to his ear, and sighs softly against him. "I know."

[-End-]