Chapter Text
Cas walked back to the Roadhouse, his boots scraping against the gravel, the chill in the air seeping through his coat. He couldn’t tell how long he’d been walking—time had blurred, his mind stuck on the words Dean had thrown at him.
Dean had missed him. It was a shock, something Cas hadn’t expected. For a brief moment, a flicker of hope flared. But then came the next words—Dean had called him a stranger, someone he couldn’t trust. The sting of it had wiped that hope away almost instantly.
It was foolish to have hoped. Dean was a stranger now. The version of Cas he remembered was gone, lost somewhere along the way.
For so long, Cas had told himself it was just a passing moment. That it hadn’t meant anything more than what it was. He was just a friend—nothing more. People didn’t stay. They moved on.
But hearing Dean’s pain, raw and unguarded, hit harder than Cas had anticipated. It felt familiar, like something Cas had buried deep inside himself.
He had left. But now it wasn’t just about the past. It was about what could’ve been, if he hadn’t been too afraid to admit how much he cared.
He stood in the parking lot, staring at the spot where the Impala had been. It hit him then—the truth, simple and brutal.
He hadn’t left to protect Dean. He’d left because he couldn’t face the truth. He couldn’t be vulnerable. He couldn’t let Dean see how much he meant to him. Cas had told himself he was doing it for Dean’s sake, but in reality, he’d never gave Dean the chance to love him back.
He had pushed Dean away and in doing so, he had lost everything.
It wasn’t self-sacrifice. It was fear.
Cas didn’t realize he’d left his car unlocked until his eyes landed on the keys sitting in the cupholder. His phone was wedged between the seat and the passenger door, a little further off than he remembered. He reached for it, fingers stiff. He felt a small wave of relief—nothing was missing. He hadn’t even registered it as gone until now. His mind had been too caught up in the conversation with Dean.
The guilt crept back in, sharper than before. He had promised himself he wouldn’t let fear dictate his actions again. But there it was—holding him back when it mattered most.
He checked his battery. Three percent. With a sigh, he typed a brief message to Gabe: “I’m at the car. Be here in 15 minutes or I’m leaving.” He tucked the phone back into his pocket, hoping Gabe would get the message before Cas had to follow through on his ultimatum.
Cas rummaged through the center console for a charger, but found nothing. It didn’t matter. He wasn’t planning to stay here anyway.
Leaning back in the passenger seat, he closed his eyes, trying to block out the thoughts that crowded in. The silence was heavy, but his mind wouldn’t quiet. Dean’s voice. His own confusion. Everything was tangled together.
Cas took a slow breath and ran through a grounding exercise he’d learned: one thing you can hear, two things you can feel, three things you can see. A way to shift his focus, if only for a moment.
He listened. The wind, faint and distant. It was something. Enough to give him a little space.
He focused on the sensation of his boots pressing into the floor of the car—solid. The weight of his jacket, cool against his shoulders. Simple things. It was a small relief.
He opened his eyes and glanced out the fogged-up window. The trees were swaying, slow and steady. He watched them for a moment, the motion easing some of the tension in his chest. The silence wasn’t suffocating now.
His gaze shifted to the rearview mirror. The parking lot reflected back at him, blurry and distant, like something fading from memory.
Then, just past the mirror, something caught his eye—a piece of paper fluttering against the windshield. A napkin, wedged between the wiper and the glass.
Cas stepped out into the cold. He reached for the paper, fingers brushing against the cool metal of the windshield.
When he unfolded it, his eyes caught the ink, and his breath caught in his throat.
It wasn’t much, just a few digits scribbled quickly, but it felt like a lifeline, the weight of it sinking in. Cas blinked at the paper, processing, and then something shifted—maybe, just maybe, there was something still there to work with.
Dean’s number.
He ran a shaky hand through his hair, the tightness in his chest returning, but this time, it wasn’t as suffocating. He turned the paper over, hoping there was more, but there wasn’t. Just the number.
Nothing more.