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Dean might be the untold master of self-repression, but as he watches Gavin and his sweetheart fade away together into the far distant past he can’t help himself. He thinks about Lisa. Wonders where Ben ended up – he’ll have finished school by now and moved on. To college maybe, or a job of some kind. Maybe he’s got himself a girlfriend, a shot at a future. A family.
Dean normally does his best not to remember the year that he got to take his shot at normal. Not just because it hurts, but because honestly? It wasn’t always great. It chafed at times, wore on him and ground him down until it felt like the walls were closing in and he felt like he couldn’t breathe.
He is surprised how little it hurts to remember. It helps that for every night he woke up screaming from nightmares, there are half a dozen happy memories to counter them. Some of his favourite days where he just mowed lawns and showed Ben the best ways to work on cars. And then there were the quiet moments he shared with Lisa – curled up on the sofa or in bed. Where she would snuggle up to him and he’d just let her, all easy and warm and homey.
If there’s one thing that he still misses, still craves, it’s the easy affection he shared with them. The warm (if rare) hugs with Ben, absent minded kisses with Lisa. The fact that he could just lean into her space on a whim and be met with warmth and gentleness instead of crackling electricity and bad tension.
He’d never dare admit it to his brother (or anyone else for that matter) but Dean really, really likes being hugged. Gentle touches were something he never really got again after his mom died. He’d wager that a lot of his sexual bravado as a young man was probably somehow related to how lacking his formative years were in gentle, loving contact. Even if a girl never wanted to see you again afterwards it was worth it, in the moment, to be on the receiving end of a soft touch.
Long after the spell bowl has been cleansed and the sigil removed from the wall, Dean finds himself in his room, absently thumbing at his phone.
He can’t exactly message Cas with something like I miss you because as it turns out, even seeing the guy having a near death experience isn't enough to turn Dean into some hippy dippy touchy feely guy. Instead he sends, Hey man, how’s the hunt for Kelly going? And when he gets back a terse Badly, he chuckles and sends a frown emoji. Can responds with one of his own and soon they devolve into a hieroglyphic text war that culminates in a swarm of bees from Cas. Dean can’t help but smile when he texts a final Night and settles in to sleep. He puts the phone on his nightstand to charge but almost the second he’s closed his eyes it vibrates with Cas’ response.
Good night Dean.
They’re talking in the kind of nuance Cas wouldn't have been able to parse even a few years ago. For every awkward social faux pas he makes, he’s so human in other ways that it’s kind of painful at times.
Like when he was dying.
The thought has Dean wide awake, bile rising in his gullet before he can collect himself. He re-reads Cas’ final text until his heartbeat drops again and his eyelids droop. It’s proof that Cas is out there somewhere, alive and whole and he’ll be coming home soon.
Dean Winchester doesn’t exactly have a whole lot of love in his life, or affection. His moms return has only thrown into sharper relief how desperately he craves it. Every time she screws up, chips away at the pedestal he’s had her on since he was a kid, he finds himself snapping at her – pushing her away when all he really wants is for her to do something dumb like stroke his hair and tell him everything is going to be fine.
It’s bull and he knows it, but it’s a comforting lie that he wishes he could still believe.
At least Cas actually wants to be around. And hell, if the guy keeps initiating hugs the way he has been lately (gotta love those near death experiences!) maybe Dean could even get used to the idea.
Half asleep and drifting, an errant thought occurs to him.
He wouldn’t mind at all if Cas kept on hugging him the way he has been.