“Dean?” Cas calls out from the living room. Dean wipes his hand on the dish towel and leaves the tomatoes on the counter, making his way through the long bunker hallway to where Cas sits on the couch, staring at the TV transfixed.
“What is it?” he asks, concerned, turning to look at the screen. When he realizes what Cas is watching, he sighs his understanding.
“Cas, it’s just a television show,” he explains quietly. “People die on TV all the time.”
“But Ianto loved Jack,” Cas says softly, his voice haunted. He turns to Dean, his eyes half-wild. “What if something happens to you on a hunt? What will I do?”
Dean moves swiftly, sitting down across from Cas on the ottoman and taking his hands in his own. He rubs soothing patterns into the palms of his hand and speaks softly.
“I will never let anything happen to you,” he reassures him. “And I know that you’ll always be watching over me. But this is what humanity is, Cas. People die. They leave, and you’re left with a hole in your heart, and you need to move on or else you’ll be swallowed by grief, and that’s not life anymore.”
“But I don’t understand how Captain Jack could move on from this,” Cas says, tears welling up in his eyes. He wipes them away, frustrated at how easily they come to him now that he has a soul, but Dean leans in and cups his face in both hands.
His kiss is deep and slow and comforting, and Cas sinks into it, sinks into Dean’s hold, his touch, his very alive hands that pull Cas up off the couch and onto his lap. The fallen angel obliges, his knees digging into the ottoman on either side of Dean’s thighs as he wraps his arms around his neck and returns the kiss, desperate and needy.
“I don’t want you to die,” he gasps when he pulls away for air. “Dean, don’t die, okay? I can’t-”
“I won’t die,” Dean interrupts. He reaches up, pulling Cas in so that their foreheads rest against each other. Cas closes his eyes and breathes in Dean’s words. “I’m not Ianto,” he murmurs softly, “and you’re not Jack. We’ll be okay, Cas. I promise.”
And Cas believes him.