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The quiet of the morning air, the sun still hidden beyond the horizon, were peaceful in a way that he was not.
Cas moved quietly around the back of the house, careful to avoid the creaking porch step as he made his way to the porte cochere, clenching his car keys in his hand til their edges bit into his skin. He needed to stay awake, he told himself, because there would be no chance of sleeping any time soon. It was an effort not to check the trunk yet again, knowing full well everything he needed was already packed and ready to go.
Closing his eyes with a silent prayer, he turned the ignition and let out a breath at the relatively quiet start of the engine. He'd take whatever bits of luck he was given.
He pulled out of the drive, foot easing on the gas to keep as quiet as he could. He gave the house— this place that had been home to him since he was just a little boy—one long last look. It wasn't fair to Aunt Ellen and Uncle Bill that he was leaving like this. But they would find his note on the kitchen table when they woke in a few hours, and maybe he'd call them in a couple of weeks. His skin itched, though, under the surface, in a way that made him more than restless, more than just eager to get away from Denison and find something outside of small town Kansas.
With a start, he caught a glimpse from the dashboard window of Jo watching him from her bedroom. He slowed down, meeting her gaze; there wasn't anger there, or even confusion. Cas wondered, suddenly, if she had seen this coming, and somehow understood. The first real pangs of regret hit him then, and he wished that he had at least said goodbye to his dear cousin.
She waved at him, a small smile pulling at her gentle features. 'Go,' she mouthed.
He smiled in return, waving back at her before pulling out onto the gravel drive to the main road.
He watched the old house in the rearview for as long as he could before following the road out through town. He passed by all the little shops, their doors locked, their windows with faded paint and dusty glass watching him as he drove by. The neon signs of the Roadhouse weren't lit, but with the sun starting to rise, he could see the old building's familiar silhouette. He'd already given his own form of goodbye to the little town's streets and signs and stores, but leaving was harder than he had thought it would be.
Finally reaching the edge of town, passing Turner's General, Cas felt the anxiety he'd been firmly tapping down begin to roil in his chest. To reach the highway, to get to Kansas City - and from there, who knew where else - he would have to drive past the acres and acres of wheat fields outside of Denison.
Past Walker and Winchester property. Past the old farmhouse where he knew his best friend would be lying in his bed, sleeping fitfully, or not at all.
Cas, I can't just... I can't lie to myself anymore.
He did his best not to watch the golden blur of wheat stalks flash by on either side of him, to keep his eyes ahead of him on the road, but the sky was tinged with a deep orange as the sun rose, and it drew his eyes to the dark shadows of familiar buildings out past the fields. Maybe...
He eased his foot off the gas, ready to turn down the gravel road leading to the Winchester farmhouse and pull up alongside Dean's old truck, like he always did. He could pretend things hadn't changed. He could stay, he could go on being Dean's best friend, and everything could go back to the way it had been before.
But Dean's desperate words, heavy and hopeless, pricked at Cas' mind — Cas, I love you, please — and he jerked his foot back to the gas pedal, engine whining as he sped away from the fields, away from Denison, out toward the pale morning.
-Ten Years Later-
Thunder rumbled in the heavy sky above him, and Dean eyed the dark clouds before readjusting his grip on the steering wheel.
It was a damn inconvenience that a storm was rolling in today, but he needed to pick up those two-by-fours from Rufus before the rain started in earnest, otherwise John would have his ass. Johnny Cash filtered in and out of the truck's speakers, the signal a bit weaker here on the gravel road south of town, so Dean pushed in a cassette tape and let Boston rock him out the rest of the drive. The Winchester and Walker crop fields were a green and golden blur on either side of the road.
Twenty minutes and a few start-and-stop spits of rain later, Dean pulled up in front of Turner's General & Hardware Store. There were a few cars there, both Rufus's and Bobby's, and another that Dean didn't recognize; he figured it must be someone passing through. He slammed the door shut and dashed up the steps inside, not eager to get caught in any rain.
The bell rang above him, a familiar noise, as he walked in, pulling off his old ball cap as the smell of sawdust and paint assaulted his nose. He made his way to the main registers, smiling as the sound of Rufus and Bobby bickering back and forth carried from the middle of the store.
"You ain't gonna convince me, Singer. Joe Green was the best to play the game, and that's just it."
"I'm just sayin', you can't go comparing Mean Joe and Staubach, it's apples and fucking burgers, for Chrissake—"
"That don't make a lick of sense, what does that even mean?"
"Howdy boys," Dean said with a wide smirk as he approached the counter. Bobby rolled his eyes, but reached over to pat Dean on the back.
Rufus glared at him without any real heat. "Ain't no 'boys' in here 'cept you, smartass."
"Yessir," Dean smiled. "No disrespecting my elders."
Bobby snorted at the emphasis, while Rufus just gave him a deadpan look. "You want your order or not?"
"Please," Dean said. He leaned forward on the countertop, grin charming as ever, but Rufus just shook his head and left for the storage room, muttering under his breath. Dean and Bobby chuckled as he walked off. "The old defense or offense debate, huh?" he asked.
Bobby rolled his eyes again. "I keep tellin' him, there's no point in comparing, both parts need the other. It's like talking to a stubborn-ass brick wall."
"Yeah well," said Dean, "You have to hand it to him for sticking to his guns for so long."
"I suppose," Bobby muttered. He looked up at Dean again, eyes sincere. "How're you doin', boy?"
Dean shrugged. "'M okay. Be better if the damn weather would cooperate for once in my life. Sam called last night though, that was good."
"Good, good," said Bobby, but he seemed distracted, lines of worry creasing his brow, the corners of his eyes. "Just—"
Dean frowned. "What?"
Bobby met his gaze again, something significant and almost pleading in his face. "I didn't know you'd be here today, Dean. And if I did, I woulda—"
"Bobby, what are you talking about?" he asked, but no sooner had the words left his mouth than he heard a gasp and the crack of glass just a few feet behind him, and he spun around to see who—
Oh.
Dean vaguely registered the fleeting touch of Bobby's hand on his elbow, but everything else was the roar of static to his senses, pushing all of it aside save the sight of the man who stood at the end of the lighting supply aisle.
Castiel Harvelle, frozen in a state of surprise, bits of light bulb shards scattered at his feet, was there in Turner's General. He was there, back in Denison, after nearly ten years, and all Dean could do was stand there and stare at him, everything pushing at his insides, tight around his ribs and throat.
This was the last thing he’d ever prepared for, having spent so long forcing himself to accept that his old friend was never coming back. He felt dizzy, chest burning as he held Cas's gaze, and it was only when Rufus rolled a clattering dolly back out from the storage room that he broke eye contact, the noise startling a gasp out of him.
Rufus hesitated, eyes darting back and forth between Dean and Cas. "Everything alright?"
Dean huffed out a breath. Shock gave way to something sharper, an anger that he had bottled away for so long digging into his bones like twisted knives.
"Yeah," he said, sending Cas a glassy, fleeting expression. "Yeah, we're good. Help me load up, Bobby?"
"Sure," Bobby said. He took the dolly handles from Rufus, moving to follow Dean.
"Dean," Cas finally said, and his voice was scratchy, caught somewhere in his chest. "Dean, I-"
"Good to see ya, Cas," Dean said over him, long strides carrying him past Cas and his broken light bulb shards without so much as another glance, and he pushed the door open. Bobby followed after him, and together they loaded the case of two-by-fours into the truck bed, fat drops of water falling from above, a bit stronger than they had on the drive up.
Tailgate shut, Bobby caught Dean by the shoulder.
"He got in last night," he said. "Ellen called, said he just showed up, no warnin' or nothing."
Dean nodded at the scuffmark on his boot, stuffing his hands in his pockets to keep from balling them into fists. He hated being blindsided like this – having the rug pulled out from under his feet without anything to hold onto. He took a deep breath and looked back up. "I ain't mad at you, Bobby. I know you woulda told me if you got the chance."
Bobby gave him a look, lips pursed and hidden away by his beard. "You'll be okay, won'tcha?"
Shrugging, Dean pulled his cap back over his head. "Just 'cause he's here don't mean I gotta talk to him. Knowing him, he'll probably only be here a few days before he decides to take off again. Besides," he said, adding a small smirk to his words. "You know me, Bobby - I'm always okay."
He didn't catch the shrewd look on Bobby's face as he stepped back around to the truck cab and started the ignition, and in a minute he was tearing back down the road to the farmhouse.
The rain had begun falling in earnest by the time he pulled into the storage barn, heavy sheets of it, washing across the fields of wheat as they waved in the wind.
Dean pulled the key out of the ignition and sat motionless for a moment, his eyes glazed over as he stared at the barn wall. Chest still tight, he swallowed thickly and shut his eyes against the burning tears that threatened to fall at the memory of Cas's face, etched into his mind.
He would not cry; he had wasted enough time on that already.
Pounding his fist once against the steering wheel, Dean pushed the truck door open and jogged out into the rain toward the house, his cap brim shielding his eyes. He shook himself off as he stepped inside, reaching for the towel they kept handy during storm season.
"You home, Dean?"
Mary's voice echoed from the kitchen, the sound of dishes being pulled out of the cabinet following behind, and Dean hung both the towel and his hat up before walking down the hallway.
"Hey," he said, leaning down to kiss her cheek. Wisps of silvery-blond hair curled into her eyes, and he brushed them aside for her. She smiled at him before moving back to the table, setting down the plates and silverware.
"You weren't gone long," she said over her shoulder, adding a quick, "Grab some glasses, will you?"
"Sure," he said, glad for the chance to turn away.
"Rufus had the order John made, right? Usually you stick around to chat for a while, I thought maybe..." She paused, noticing the way his shoulders had stilled. "Dean?"
He gave himself a moment, steeling his expression before turning around, three glasses in hand. He gave his mother a tight smile. "I'm fine."
"No," she said, shaking her head. "No, baby, you're not. Don't you go trying to fool me, you know it won't work. What happened?"
He swallowed again, moving around her as he set the glasses on the table.
"Cas is back in town," he said, and he clenched his jaw at how hoarse his voice sounded even to his own ears.
Dean blinked a few times before looking back up at Mary. She had her hand over her mouth, eyes wide and shining.
"Oh sweetheart," she whispered, and in a moment she had her arms around his shoulders, petting his head with tenderness as he buried his face into the crook of her neck. He inhaled deeply, his heart soothed by the smell of vanilla and lavender on her skin, so very Mom that the iron band that had clamped itself around his chest since he'd seen Cas began to loosen its hold on him.
"I'll be okay," he said, pulling back to kiss her forehead. "Really, I will. It was just... it was a shock, that's all."
"I can imagine," said Mary. "When did this happen, when did he get back?"
"Bobby said something about Ellen calling him last night. Told him that Cas had just showed up outta nowhere last night."
Mary frowned. "That's... strange. Well, do you need to me to run errands in town? If you don't want to see him, I can do that for you."
"Nah," Dean said. "I don't want you to be doing any sort of lifting that you don't have to do, Mom. I doubt he'll even be here that long, I can suck it up and deal for a while."
Mary reached up to cup her hand over his cheek, searching his eyes for a long moment. "My strong boy," she said finally. "Let's get you something to eat."
Dean chuckled. "Yes, ma'am."
--
Despite what he'd said to Mary, Dean wasn't altogether sure how he was doing. True, that first moment of seeing his old friend had been shocking, emotional without doubt, but in the days that followed, he more often than not caught himself stewing in the anger that had been building up for the better part of the last decade.
In a small town like Denison, Kansas, it was never uncommon for everyone to know almost everything about everybody, but Dean had no clue how many people knew what had happened between him and Cas Harvelle, or even how much they knew. The son of deceased Daniel and Emily Harvelle, Cas hadn't come to Denison until he was almost nine years old, when Bill - Daniel's older brother - and his wife Ellen became his legal guardians. He was a quiet boy, Dean remembered, and he hadn't known if Cas was always like that or if it was because of the way his parents had died. Whatever the case, Dean had liked him, and they had become fast friends.
Sometimes Dean longed for those days, when they were just boys, and everything was simple; when they could sit in easy silence, loose hands holding fishing poles on the creek bed, or spend the day laughing and roughhousing. Dean remembered one sun-kissed afternoon, the two of them stretched out on grass at the far end of Winchester property, how Dean had thought that it could last forever, a moment trapped in the amber light of a late summer day.
Those were moments that Dean could never look back on with bitterness, no matter how his heart ached. Maybe it was rose-colored glasses, he thought; it all seemed so much better than everything that came afterward.
"You gonna get to work on that fence like I asked?"
Dean was startled from his thoughts. He looked up from his coffee mug to see John take a seat at the table, newspaper in hand.
"Yessir," he said.
John nodded. "Can't have the county on our asses about that. Make sure that gets done before you do anything else today."
Dean gulped down the rest of his coffee, standing up. "I will."
He rinsed his mug out in the sink and placed it in the dishwasher, turning to walk out the back door. No sooner had he placed his hand on the doorknob than John spoke up again.
"Rufus mentioned the Harvelle boy is back in town."
Dean closed his eyes, gritting his teeth before facing John again. "Yeah."
John looked at him, face unreadable. They stared at each other, neither of them willing to speak first. After a tense moment, John turned back to his paper, flipping to the sports section. "Get that fence done."
Grateful for the dismissal, Dean didn't bother with a response before tearing out the door. He'd never really talked with his dad about what had happened; John's gruff nature was enough to discourage any attempts of emotional disclosure. But Dean had the feeling that John still knew quite a bit about the rejection he'd been dealt by his best friend all those years ago.
He was trying his damnedest not to think about it; he'd come so far in keeping that wound closed up, able to wake up in the mornings without feeling like every bone in his body was made of jagged steel, weighing him down and tearing him apart. But how could he get it out of his mind, now that Cas was back? It was like no time had passed at all, that wound as fresh and bleeding as the day Cas had left.
They had been best friends, and high school hadn't changed that. True, they hadn't been attached at the hip like when they were kids, but they'd still spent as much time together as possible. Cas would cheer in the stands at Dean's baseball games, and Dean never missed a single band recital. Freshman year had rolled into sophomore, and there were still lazy afternoons at the creek, late nights spent watching old movies in Dean's room.
Dean wasn't sure when it had happened; everything out here came on slow, a gentle ease of realization, gradual-like, until it didn't. But in the middle of their junior year, Dean slowly began to understand that he was in love with his best friend.
And it was fine. They spent all their time together like they always did, laughed like they always did, and Dean could push it to the back of his mind, forget for a while that he felt something more.
But something had shifted, the closer they got to finishing their days in high school. Cas grew more distant, lost in his own thoughts in a way that Dean had never seen him before. He wasn't sure how much he had caught onto back then, but maybe in his heart he'd known that he was losing Cas. Maybe that was what had finally loosened his tongue. Only a day after their school's small graduation ceremony, Dean had decided he couldn't keep the truth hidden away inside him anymore.
Dean shook his head now, annoyed with himself for letting his thoughts linger like that. Thinking back on that night wouldn't make anything different, and he had work to get done. He finished loading up the wood and tools in his trunk, and the gray morning sky spread out before him as he pulled out of the barn and drove to the property's edge.
--
Wind whipped the collar of his shirt as he stepped out of the Impala, and Dean frowned up at the gloom. He couldn't remember the last time the weather had been this testy, even for the beginning of tornado season. He pushed down the urge to catalog and make lists and plan ahead for farm duties - it was his night off, and he would spend it here at the Roadhouse, weather be damned. Benny Lafitte's truck was already here, so Dean pushed inside to head back to their usual table.
REO Speedwagon blasted from the jukebox, and Dean smirked, knowing that it was Jo Harvelle's night to pick the music. The dining room, its maze of tables and chairs almost impossible to navigate without much experience, was fairly full for a Thursday night, but Benny waved him over to where he had snagged their spot early, right next to the best pool table.
"Hey, brother!" Benny called out, grinning wide as Dean approached.
"Ragin' Cajun," replied Dean with a returned smile, and they pulled each other into a bear hug.
"Where you been, man?" Benny said as they took a seat. "Feel like I ain't seen you in two weeks."
"Oh, you know," he said, swallowing back the gruffness in his voice; he felt guilty that, in avoiding town, he'd also been avoiding his friends. "Been having to work a bit longer thanks to this weather."
"Don't I know it," grumbled Benny, accepting Dean's answer easily. "Walker's got me doubling down on tornado prep at his place too."
Dean nodded, filing that information away for when he got home; John had mentioned wanting to hire an extra hand, and he wouldn't be happy that the Walkers had already picked up the best tractor-driver in Denison.
"Victor coming?" he asked, switching gears.
"He said something about needing to finish up something at the office, but - well, speak of the devil."
Dean turned his gaze to see Deputy Henriksen coming into the Roadhouse, nodding and smiling at other patrons who called out their greetings. He still had on his uniform, but Dean could tell from the slope of his shoulders, the relaxed pace of his walk, that Victor had tucked away his on-duty face to come spend time with his friends.
"The town hero," said Dean, nudging Victor as he pulled up a seat next to him. "Here to grace us with his presence."
Victor rolled his eyes, leaning across the table to shake Benny's hand. "When I do something that actually calls for that title, believe me, Dean, you will be the first to know."
The three of them chatted idly over the din of the bar room, poking fun at each other and already placing bets on their pool game for the night. The tension in Dean's shoulders, the heavy weight he felt he'd been carrying around in his chest for the whole week—he could put it all away for a while; he could smile and pretend that it didn't exist, at least for tonight. He knew how lucky he was to have these two as his friends; he and Victor hadn't been all that close in high school, but time and circumstances had found them fostering a friendship that had come to be a big part of his life. And Benny had only come into town a few years ago, a drifter from Louisiana looking for work, but he and Dean had hit it off immediately as they worked together on the farm. As someone who tended to isolate himself, to get so lost in his thoughts and his work that he went days without really speaking to anyone, he could never put into words just how much Victor and Benny meant to him.
"Hey, who's the new guy?" Benny asked suddenly.
Dean followed his gaze before his thoughts caught up with him, and he found his chest tightening at the sight of Cas working behind the bar, clearing off empty shot glasses and wiping the counter behind him. Whipping back to face the guys, he caught Victor's gaze for a moment before staring down at his hands, tracing the whorls and grains of the table.
"That's Cas Harvelle," Victor said, just loud enough for the two of them to hear. "Jo's cousin."
"Really now," said Benny. "What, is he stopping by for a visit or something?"
Victor hesitated, and Dean knew he was waiting to see if Dean had anything to say, or if he should continue on his own. "I don't know for sure," Victor said finally. "He, uh... well, he lived here in town after his parents died. Ellen and Bill were his godparents or something. He graduated with us, but he..."
"He booked it pretty soon after that," Dean finished.
Benny glanced back and forth between them, a slight frown creasing his brow as he worried the ring on his pinky. He wasn't an idiot, and whatever curiosities he had about the situation, he knew not to keep at it tonight.
"Evening, boys," a bright voice cut in, and in a few quick and sure movements, Jo Harvelle had set their usual beers and a tray of chips and dip on the table before them. "Sorry to keep you waiting, it's a madhouse tonight."
Her presence eased the tension that had settled upon them, and Victor did a poor job of masking his smile. "Hi Jo," he said. She smiled just as brightly back at him, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.
"I'd like to file a complaint on tonight's music," said Dean, turning a teasing smirk onto her. She rolled her eyes, swatting him on the shoulder.
"The more you complain about REO, the hotter my love for them burns," she said, jutting her chin out at him. "And I know for a fact that you rock it out to Air Supply, Dean, so you can get off your high horse."
Dean put on a mock-offended expression, ignoring the snickers from the guys. "Low blow, Miss Harvelle, low blow."
She grinned sweetly at him, batting her eyelashes before turning back to the table. "Y'all need anything else?"
Victor cleared his throat. "I didn't get a chance to eat before I left the office tonight, may I—"
"Plate of hot wings, coming right up."
She was already turning to leave when Dean, on impulse, caught her by the wrist. The expression on her face as she looked at him again, tender with understanding, told Dean she already knew what he was going to say, but he said it anyway.
"Can I talk to you?" he asked.
Jo bit her lip, glancing at the bar before nodding. "I've got a few more tables to check up on, but meet me at the juke in like... ten minutes."
Dean quirked his lips in thanks and let her go, turning back to the table and picking up his beer.
"You good, man?" Victor asked.
Dean shrugged. "Dunno yet."
He let himself drift off then, scratching idly at the label on his beer as his friends carried on their own conversation. Caught up in his own reaction to Cas coming back to Denison, he hadn't stopped to think about what his return would mean to Jo, or even Ellen and Bill. He knew that Jo thought of Cas as her brother, almost as close as he and Sammy were. Cas's sudden departure had been hard on her too. It was something they'd shared in the following years, and even though being around her had seemed like pouring salt in the wound for a long while, Dean would be lying if he said that the experience hadn't made Jo his closest friend, his confidant.
She returned in sooner than ten minutes with Victor's hot wings and a glass of water, granting the sheriff a gentle smile before tugging Dean away to the jukebox. He followed behind her, watching the way the stiff line of her shoulders indicated the same stress that he felt, even as she flashed bright smiles to other patrons in the dining room. In front of the box, she began to put together another playlist for the next hour.
"I didn't know," she said after a moment, and the look she gave him was sincere. "The last time I talked to him was in February, and he didn't say anything about wanting to come back, I swear."
Dean nodded. "I believe you. That's not even... I wanted to make sure you were okay."
She paused for a moment, shooting him an incredulous glance. "Dean, I'm fine. My brother is back, after years having his head stuck up his ass, and he's finally — seriously, Dean, I'm great."
"You're not..." He hesitated, not sure he had the right word. "You're not angry?"
She placed her hand on his arm. "I'm angry for you. This isn't about what he did to me, honestly. Cas and I, we cleared that up between us already. Him coming back? He hasn't said anything about it to me, but I'm pretty sure he's here to clear the air between you and him."
"He—" Dean swallowed, glancing back to where Cas stood behind the bar. "I don't know if that's possible."
Jo smiled at him, and the compassion in her eyes made his throat burn. "It may not be. I know how bad he hurt you. But I think... I think you should give him a chance, Dean. He wouldn't be back after so long for nothing."
Holding her gaze, Dean bit on the inside of his lip. "I'll try," he said finally.
She smiled again, and pulled him into a hug. "Good."
He held her tight. "Thank you, Jo," he whispered.
"For what?" she asked, pulling back to look at him.
Dean shrugged. "You're my best friend. You give me shit, and you're a fucking pistol, but you always know what to say and... dunno, I'm just glad I have you, is all."
Rolling her eyes, Jo turned back to the jukebox. "You're so sappy," she said. "Go back to your boys before I get a cavity or something, Jesus."
Dean huffed out a laugh, reaching over to mess up her hair a bit before turning back to his table. Victor and Benny had already started their game of pool, and when Dean reached them Jo's selection of Styx began to play on the speakers.
He was going to have a good time, he decided, and he pushed his awareness of Cas' eyes on him from the bar to the back of his mind. The din of the bar, the people, the music, the glasses, everything was just the way it had always been, and the familiarity soothed Dean.
Outside, the wind picked up speed, whirls of dust and debris spinning about in the parking lot and on the street, and the sky groaned its protest as the weight of all it carried grew heavier.
--
Dean was usually up before six on most mornings - work done outside was best done early, to avoid the heat and humidity of afternoons - so it wasn't any trouble when his cell started ringing just after 6:30, on his way to check on the tractor.
"Benny."
"Hey man, you all clear down there?"
A tornado had touched down near Denison the night before, only half an hour after Dean had made it back home from the Roadhouse. It had only been a one or two on the EF scale, according to the radio - nothing to sneeze at, but still not as bad as it could have been - and it had mainly hovered around the north side of town, but Dean wanted to be sure that they hadn't sustained any damage here.
"I'm on my way to check, but I think we're good. You?"
"Most of us only had trees knocked around, nothing too major, but Ol' Miss Sandy got some of her fence torn up and her shed window’s busted. If you're not doing anything, you think you could come help a couple of us with the cleanup?"
Dean nodded. "I'll be up there in an hour."
"Thanks, brother," Benny said, and the line clicked.
Satisfied that nothing had been too banged up or knocked out of place, Dean jogged back to the house to get his keys. Mary was shuffling into the kitchen, rubbing her bleary eyes, and Dean leaned down to press a kiss on her head.
"Where are you going?" she asked, poking him in the side.
Dean made a face, moving away from her finger. "Miss Sandy needs some help clearing up, me and a few guys are gonna take care of that for her."
Mary smiled, swaying a bit as she tried to keep her eyes open. "You're such a sweet boy," she murmured.
"Drink your coffee, Mom," he said in answer, moving her gently in the direction of the coffee pot before heading back out the door. He wasn't sure who else was going to be there, so he went to find his toolbox before getting on the road.
It took him less than an hour to get to Sandy Hildebrant's property, a quaint little farmhouse surrounded by empty fields that she had sold to the county after her husband died, but there were still a couple of cars parked outside before him. Nobody was outside, so he figured that Miss Sandy had invited them in for coffee or something. Navigating his way around the tree branches strewn about the yard, he went to the door and knocked.
"Can you get that for me, hon?" Miss Sandy's voice, rich and musical, carried from wherever she was deeper in the house, and Dean heard heavy footsteps come toward the door. The morning was still dim, and the outline of the body was blurred by the frosted glass windows, but Dean realized a split second before the door opened just who was behind it.
Cas stood before him, hair still ruffled a bit from bedhead, looking just as shocked to see Dean here as Dean was to see him. He didn't know how he kept forgetting at the most inopportune times that Cas was back, when it was on his mind almost every other waking moment of the day. Hopefully he was just imagining it, but he felt like his mouth was gaping open and shut, like a fucking goldfish pulled out of its bowl.
But Cas was looking a bit like a deer in headlights too, staring with wide eyes for a long moment before clearing his throat. He stepped back finally, allowing Dean room to come inside. "Good morning, Dean," he said, and his eyes were fixed on a corner of the wall.
It was such a Cas thing to do, so simple and understated, and Dean thought of what Jo had said to him the other night at the bar. Yes, he would try.
"Morning, Cas," he said.
Cas glanced up at him, perhaps shocked at the softness of Dean's tone, and Dean gave him a quick nod before walking past him to follow the sound of Miss Sandy chatting up a storm in her kitchen. She scurried back and forth between the stove and the breakfast table, the smell of bacon and pancakes floating lazily in the air. Benny sat at the table, sipping out of one of her old coffee cups and nodding at her stories. Roy, one of the mechanics who worked in town for Bobby, had already started in on his plate full of pancakes.
"There's that Winchester boy," said Sandy, waving her spatula at him. "Let me get my apron off and get a hug from you, Dean, it's been too long."
"Yes ma'am," he said, laughing, grimacing a bit as she squeezed him tight around the ribs.
"Sit down, sit down," she said after she released him. "Gotta fill you boys up before I put you to work."
Dean took a seat across from Benny, which left the chair to Dean's right for Cas. Sandy brought over her platter of pancakes, stacking one after the other on Cas's plate. As the pile grew higher, Cas exchanged a look of terror with Dean, and Dean had to choke back laughter.
"Mrs. Hildebrant," said Cas, voice timid. "I'm fine, I think I can—"
"Boy, I haven't seen you for ten years and you come back looking like a twig!" she interrupted, but she moved to filling Dean's plate instead. "Had us all worried half to death with you running off like — well. I'm just so glad you're back."
Dean stared down at his plate, just missing the glance Cas sent his way as he replied with a quiet voice, "Me, too."
"Yeah, what were ya up to anyway, Cas?" asked Roy around a mouthful of bacon. He was older than both Dean and Cas, had graduated and started working in town about five years before them. He'd never been close with either of them, but, as evidenced by Miss Sandy's open worry, the small town meant he'd known about Cas's departure same as everyone else.
There was a definite hush over everyone in the room as Cas chewed his food, considering what to say.
"Well," he said after a moment. "Music, for the most part. I found my way to Nashville, worked at restaurants and diners for a while, before I managed to get some stage time at small bars and such. It was... well, I enjoyed what I did – what I do – but I'm glad to be home."
Dean watched him from the corner of his eye as Cas clammed up and began to eat his breakfast in earnest. He'd never really liked talking about himself, and Dean guessed that was still the case, if the faint blush creeping up his neck meant anything. He wondered what else Cas didn't want to talk about, what was making him shy. As angry as Dean had been for so long, he'd spent countless nights awake, wondering what Cas was up to, if he was doing alright. Strange how those thoughts had kept him sane, in spite of everything.
The four of them didn't speak much through the rest of the meal, listening to Miss Sandy's idle chatter as they hurried to finish so they could get to work outside. They cleared off their plates and set them in the sink, thanking Sandy before heading out back.
"What's the plan?" Dean asked.
"Roy's gonna check out the damage to the shed, see what he needs in town to fix up them windows," said Benny, pulling gloves out of his pocket. "The three of us'll work on clearing up the yard, and then we'll see about gettin’ to work on the fence."
Dean nodded. "Sounds good."
The three of them got to work, hauling the branches and splintered fence posts into a pile at the far end of the yard, enough distance from the house that burning it all wouldn't be a danger. Even in the early morning, with the heavy blanket of clouds that still hung low in the sky, the summer heat was still oppressive. Dean liked the work, liked to feel like he was doing something useful, but after almost an hour he had to stop for a moment, take a breather under the porch shade and sip at the iced tea Miss Sandy had put out for them. As the cool drink slid down his throat, he found his gaze drifting to Cas, watching the way his lean arms stretched as he threw debris onto the pile, lingering on the sweat soaking through his dark t-shirt.
Benny sidled up to the porch, took his own glass. He eyed Dean for a moment, looked at Cas, and back again.
"You wanna tell me what the deal is here?" he asked.
Dean took another sip, glancing down at his shoes. "Did I ever tell you that I'm bi?" he asked after a second.
"I kinda figured it out after those times you tried to kiss me when you'd had a few," said Benny, and even without looking Dean knew he was smirking.
"You should take that as a compliment. Drunk Me obviously finds you attractive," Dean said, wrinkling his nose. "But anyway, that's not... what I mean is...."
Benny waited, and Dean was grateful, because no matter how obvious it was what he was going to say, he had to say it anyway.
"We grew up together, Cas and me. Practically in each other's pockets, for fuck's sake. And... I don't know, I guess at some point I realized that I never wanted it to be any different. That I wanted us to be together for the rest of our lives, and that the word 'friend'... it just wasn't enough for me."
"And I take it that Cas..." Benny began, and Dean huffed out a short laugh.
"I don't know what he wanted. What he wants," he said, and despite his good will from earlier that morning he could feel the bitterness seeping back into his skin. "Obviously it wasn't me."
Humming absently, Benny took one last sip of his tea before setting it back down. He reached over, clapped Dean on the shoulder. "Way I see it, ain't nothing that's obvious til you got all the facts."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Thanks, detective."
Benny ignored him and stepped back off the porch, heading for the nearest scattering of debris. Dean heaved a sigh, letting his head fall back as he closed his eyes. He felt moorless, unsure. So much of him, deep into his bones, was stirring like restless storm clouds, agitated electric charges that didn't know whether to strike or just fade away, drift off. Jo was right, and Benny was right, but he was right too, wasn't he? Didn't he deserve to be angry? To be bitter and sad and vicious over the way he had been left behind, forgotten and lonely?
But they had been young, all that time ago, and Cas was back now - and no matter his anger, Dean couldn't deny the way his heart beat wildly in his chest at the sight of his old friend, of his dear, dear friend who he had missed so much. And maybe... maybe things would be different.
He still didn't know why Cas was back, after all. There was so much he didn't know, so much he wanted to know. He would get the answers he needed, and then he would go from there.
They finished the yard quickly after that, branches and fence posts and whatever else had been thrown around during the storm, all piled up and left to burn. It wasn't even ten o'clock yet, but with the fire going and the heat of the day starting to rise, Benny decided they would hold off on fixing up the fence just yet.
"That'll be just fine," said Miss Sandy. "You boys are so kind to help in the first place, there's no rush on my end." She tried to get them to stay for lunch, but as tempting as the offer of her fried chicken was, Benny had some other errands to run and needed to finish helping Roy with the windows, and Dean wanted to check around the rest of town, see if anyone else needed his help. On his part, Dean overheard Cas mention to Sandy that he was headed back to the Roadhouse to help with the lunch rush.
As they were leaving the house, each walking to their separate cars, Dean reached out on an impulse and grabbed Cas by the elbow.
"Dean?" Cas glanced down at his hand before looking up to meet Dean's gaze. He was obviously nervous, the same as Dean, but it was that bit of hope in his eye, something of a promise, that made Dean put away his anger, his doubt.
"Can we talk?" he said.
"Of course," said Cas, his voice rough and quiet. He cleared his throat and said again, "Yes, of course. Where...?"
"The creek," Dean answered. "Later tonight?"
"Okay," said Cas.
"Okay," Dean repeated.
--
With the sun sunk low, the tip of it clinging to the horizon and burning the sky, Dean walked the old path down to the creek. Years without use had given the grass a chance to grow back, but he could remember rambling down this path on lazy summer days with Sam trailing behind, fishing poles in hand. Cas would be waiting at the water's edge, already baiting his lure, and the three of them would cast their lines and fall back in the grass, rolling around and roughhousing while the fish nipped at the hooks. Dean could never look on those days with anything but fondness, but it was still disconcerting for him to be walking this path again, heading towards a much more serious conversation. Back then, Cas had ridden his bike along the creek's bends to meet the brothers at the edge of their property; Dean wondered how he was going to get there today.
Suddenly struck by the fact that he was going to be talking with Cas, having an actual conversation with him, Dean faltered in his steps, and took several deep breaths. His heart pounded – whether from fear or excitement he couldn't tell – and the anticipation roiled in his stomach. This had to happen sooner or later, but as much as Dean longed for resolution, he couldn't help but wish he was anywhere else. He looked out over the fields, where the swaying grass soaked in gold took in the last bit of sunlight. He'd seen this all before, had it ingrained into everything that made up the life of a farm boy, and not for the first time he wondered what life would have been like if he had been the one to leave instead.
The last bits of light reflected off the water as Dean finally reached the creek bed, and the dark silhouette of Cas leaning against a tree greeted him. Dean came up beside him, following his gaze out over the empty fields just beyond the Winchester property.
"I was thinking about how often we used to come down here," Cas said after a moment of quiet, voice hushed and contemplative. "How I'd watch you and Sam roll around in the grass and tackle each other. We never stopped laughing."
"Yeah," Dean whispered. "Yeah, I remember."
The silence that hung between them was heavy; Dean was unsure of who was supposed to start. Glancing over at Cas, he watched as his old friend bit his lip, a nervous expression on his face. Every time he looked like he was about to speak, he swallowed it back down again. Dean didn't really know what to say either, but someone had to, so he took the reins.
"Music in Nashville, huh?" he asked, obviously startling Cas. "That seems like more of a story than you let on earlier."
Cas nodded, tilting his head a bit. "I wasn't sure how to tell it exactly, without sounding...prideful, I suppose."
"Prideful?" Dean repeated.
"I'm...doing very well, Dean," Cas said, grimacing. "I don't have my own album yet, but I've been writing music for several different record labels, and I'm in talks to collaborate with quite a few artists, and... I don't know, I just didn't...."
"You didn't what?" said Dean.
Cas shrugged. "I didn't want it to seem like the reason I had come back was to brag."
"No one would think that," said Dean, ignoring the aching in his chest. "Cas, you're living the dream, not many people get to say that. You're...you're allowed to feel good about what you've accomplished."
"I'm not, though," Cas said quickly. "Living the dream, I mean. On the surface, maybe, but... as much as I love what I do, I'm not happy."
Dean swallowed. "What do you mean?"
Cas looked at him, and even in the fading light Dean could see the desperate anguish in his eyes. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure of where to start.
"Dean," he said finally, "Dean, I had been planning on leaving before you told me any of the things you said. My bags were already packed, I had money saved, everything was ready. And when you came to me, when you told me how you felt... I panicked. I didn't know what to do, I was so overwhelmed, so I just...left."
Hearing Cas's reasons for leaving him behind didn't make any of those old wounds hurt any less, and a bitterness that had grown stronger with time flooded his voice.
"So, what, you thought it would be a good idea to just leave me hanging like that? That after I'd opened up to you like that, I'd be fine if you just disappeared out of my life?"
"Dean, no," said Cas, his voice hitching. "That's not... I made a mistake. The biggest one of my life, and not a day goes by that I don't regret leaving you behind like that."
Dean folded his arms across his chest, sucked on his teeth. "This doesn't just go away, you know," he said. "You don't get to just turn up out of the blue and say you're sorry, and then everything goes back to the way it was."
"I know," said Cas. "Believe me, I know. Ten years... it's why I came back, Dean."
Closing his eyes, Dean passed a hand over his face. There was determination in Cas's voice now, and not a small amount of fear. There was still so much at war within him, anger and hope and sorrow all vying for a place at the front of his mind, and even if he had an idea of where Cas was going with this, he wasn't sure how much of this he could take again.
"What is it, exactly," he said after a moment, "that you came back for?"
Cas took a deep breath, like he had prepared this speech.
"First of all, I came back to repair relationships. With people around town, with Aunt Ellen and Uncle Bill, with Jo, but most of all with you.”
The words held a gravity, something heavier than the sum of what they contained, and Dean felt their weight in his chest, like a burden he was only just realizing. Cas must have felt them too, no matter how many times he had probably rehearsed the speech, because his voice caught. He cleared his throat, started again.
“I told you that not a single day goes by where I don't regret the way I left. For ten years, I've felt your absence in my life like a hole in my chest, and I realized that no matter how much I've achieved, none of it means anything if I don't have my best friend there too. And secondly... I've had a lot of time. To think about what you said that night, and what you mean to me. I ran because I was scared, but I'm not anymore. I met so many people when I was gone, but no one has ever understood me the way you did. Or do."
"Cas, I—"
"I'm not expecting anything," Cas cut in. "I know how badly I hurt you. It would be stupid of me to think that you would feel remotely the same about me as you did ten years ago. I'm just... laying it all out there, I suppose. My goal first and foremost is to fix what I've done. Moving on from there, well...." He shrugged.
Dean took in his words, furrowing his brow as he let them sink in. Since the first day he'd seen Cas returned to town, he'd known, deep in his mind, that this was where it all had been leading, and he'd been preparing for how he would let it all play out. To hear Cas's apology and say no, that it was too little too late, maybe tell him that he could stick it up his lily white ass. But now, here on the shores of their childhood, Cas by his side, he was unable to keep a grip on the anger. He looked at Cas and felt a sudden ache, an overwhelming desire to pull Cas into his arms and just hug him. He hadn't touched his best friend in a decade, and he was so tired, so very tired.
"Sam's coming home in few days," he said after a long while.
"From Lawrence?" Cas asked, and at the look Dean gave him, he added, "Jo told me he'd gotten a job in town there."
"Huh," Dean muttered, and wondered if he'd have to have a talk with Jo. "Yeah, he, uh... he's been working with a law firm there. Doing really well. Anyway, he's coming home, and we're having a little get together at the house. Your family's gonna be there, and Bobby and Rufus, few other people. But. Um. Yeah, if you wanted to... drop by...or something...." He trailed off, feeling lame.
Cas smiled, and Dean's eyes caught the way his nose still crinkled up, the way he'd always loved. "I'd love to, Dean."
Dean's heart felt a bit lighter than it had in a long time.
--
There were a few moments over the next couple days where Dean thought about calling Cas back over to the creek, where they could spend time together, just the two of them, but he knew that he needed to take it slow. No matter how well-intentioned Cas was, Dean couldn't forget that they both were carrying ten years of baggage between them back into this. It would be better to have intermediaries with them there, friends that could fill in the empty voids that were bound to open up if anything went south.
So on his usual night out with Victor and Benny, Dean approached the bar where Cas was hiding, wiping down empty glasses. He cleared his throat, licked his lips nervously. Cas looked up, surprised to see him there.
"Dean," he said. "Are you... can I get you anything?"
"Do you wanna—" Dean swallowed. "Wanna come shoot some pool with me and the guys?"
Cas glanced behind Dean, where Benny and Victor stood over at the tables, leaning on their cue sticks and chatting idly, and then looked around at the bar. It was pretty quiet tonight, and both Jo and Ellen were out chatting with a couple of the patrons. He nodded. "Let me finish here," he said. "I'll be over in a few minutes."
And so that was how they spent the evening, Cas awkwardly shaking hands with Victor, who was wary and cast him sidelong glances every few minutes, and with Benny, who thanked him for the help he had lent the other day after the tornado. Dean watched as the three of them cued up, not even sure what he was looking for, but after the first few shots on the table and a little bit of beer, Dean could see the tension in Cas's shoulders loosen out a bit, and he laughed along with Benny's stories of life in Louisiana, listened carefully as Cas dropped little bits and pieces of information about his own life in Tennessee. He'd thought for a long time that he wouldn't want to know about all the things that Cas had done after he left, thought that it would be like twisting the knife, knowing how much Cas had accomplished without him in his life. But hearing the bits and pieces now made him curious, and he had to resist the urge to ask more questions.
They played the first game (Benny won) and another (Cas surprised them all and won easily) before they decided to call it a night - Victor had an early morning shift at the station, and Dean needed to help Mary get ready for Sam's arrival tomorrow. They all said their goodnights, Cas shaking Benny and Victor's hands again, but Dean lingered a moment.
"Is everything alright?" Cas asked, noticing his hesitance.
Dean shrugged. "I just...wanted to thank you. For being patient with me. I know it's gonna take some time, but I do want to fix this."
Cas paused for a moment, then reached out and put his hand on Dean's arm gently. "Thank you for giving me the chance."
Swallowing past the sudden thickness in his throat, Dean nodded and reached into his pocket for his keys. "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?"
"Of course," said Cas. "Good night."
"Night," Dean said, and left before he could say or do anything else. The night was hot, dense, but there was a tremor in Dean's bones, the awakening of something hopeful that he'd never expected to feel again.
He got into his car and leaned his head against the steering wheel. He had a long way to go yet.
--
"Sam called while you were out last night," Mary said over breakfast, in lieu of greeting. John was already at the table, newspaper in hand, and merely nodded his head as Dean sat down. They'd been asleep already when Dean had gotten home, and he'd slept fitfully, too much racing through his mind. He blinked, replayed Mary's words, and shook his head.
"He's still coming, isn't he?" he asked. The reason Sam was visiting this week was because the law firm had taken on a big case during the week of his birthday, an all hands on deck kind of situation, and he hadn't been able to make it up home.
"Yes, he'll be here in a few hours," Mary assured. "But he decided last minute to bring someone with him."
Dean squinted at the coy look in her eyes, the smirk on her face. "Does Sammy finally have a girlfriend?" he asked, unable to hide his own smirk, and from behind his paper John barked out a laugh.
"About damn time," he said, and Dean snorted into his coffee.
"Oh hush," said Mary. "He's just like you, John, focused on his work. You wouldn't have noticed me if I hadn't practically smacked you in the face."
"Not true!" John protested, ducking his head as Mary reached out a hand to ruffle his hair, and Dean grinned at the two of them over the rim of his mug. Not even his dad, in all his gruffness, could resist Mary's bright, teasing smile.
"Anyway," said Mary. "I'm betting that they'll both want to stay in Sam's old room, but it would probably be a good idea to have the guest room ready, don't you think?"
Dean nodded. "I can help you take care of that. What else needs to get done?"
"I took care of the dining room yesterday, but I went grocery shopping afterwards, so I didn't get much done beyond that," said Mary. "So if you could take care of the living room? Dust, vacuum, mop - you know the drill."
"Yes ma'am," Dean saluted. He put his coffee mug in the dishwasher, and the two of them got to work.
--
The quiet hum of Sam's modest Ford Taurus rolled up the driveway, and Dean went outside before his brother had even turned off the car. As Sam extricated himself from the driver's seat, on the passenger side the door opened, and out stepped a tall, gorgeous blonde.
Well damn, Sammy, he thought.
"Dean!" Sam called out, and the two of them pulled each other into a bear hug. It had only been half a year since Dean had seen him, when he'd come home for Christmas, but Sam seemed even broader, more muscular, and it was hard for Dean to reconcile this with the gangly boy he'd grown up with.
"Good to see you, Sammy," said Dean, patting him on the shoulder. "Now...who is this lovely lady and why haven't I heard anything about her until this morning?"
Sam ducked his head before reaching out his hand. "Dean, this is Jessica," he said, pulling her close.
"Sam didn't tell you about me because he's got his face buried so deep in his books and papers, it's a miracle I can even get him to sleep at night," said Jessica, elbowing Sam in the ribs with a smirk on her face.
"I am so not surprised," said Dean. He stuck out his hand. "Well, Jess, I don't know how he managed to land a girl as beautiful as you, but it's nice to meet you."
Sam thwacked Dean on the head, and the two of them scuffled a bit, Jessica’s loud laughter egging them on. The commotion drew Mary out of the house; she wiped her hands on her apron before calling them in.
“Come inside, boys! I wanna meet Mystery Girl,” she said.
“Is that my name now?” asked Jess, and despite her big smile, Dean could see she was a little bit nervous. He’d never needed to do the whole “meet the parents” thing – everyone in town knew everyone. But if he had, Dean imagined he would have handled it much less gracefully than Jessica was now.
As they headed toward the house, the wind picked up suddenly, whipping Jessica’s long curls around her face. Thunder rumbled distantly out over the fields, and Dean hesitated.
“Mom, I’m just gonna check to make sure everything’s put up,” he said.
She nodded. “Sam, once you get your bags upstairs, could you help your brother?”
“Of course,” said Sam.
There wouldn’t be much to put away – John was very methodical about how he kept the tools and machinery organized – but Dean knew better to be safe than sorry. They were close enough to harvest that he couldn’t risk any of the equipment being damaged in a storm. Walking around the outside of the farmhouse, he made sure none of the single scythes were laying out in odd places before checking the tarp over the tractor.
“What do you need me to do?” Sam asked.
Dean looked up from where he was testing the knot on the tarp rope. “Not much, really,” he said. “You know Dad, man runs a tight ship. Come with me, we’ll check the locks on the mowers and binders.”
The wind died down as they stepped into the barn, and the boys worked their way down the aisle checking the padlocks on the stall doors.
“So…” Sam began awkwardly, and Dean resisted the urge to heave a sigh. The kid hadn’t been here more than ten minutes and already he was pulling out his let’s-talk-about-our-feelings voice.
“Mom told me that Cas is back in town,” he said.
Dean tugged on the last few doors, making sure the locks were secure, before answering.
“Yeah,” he said, keeping his eyes trained on the rusted edges of the last padlock. He’d have to replace it soon. “He’ll be here tonight. With everyone, I mean.”
Sam furrowed his brow, worry evident in his gaze. “Are you…okay with that?”
“I asked him to come, Sam,” said Dean, snapping his eyes back to his brother. He felt belligerent, his hackles raised as he went on the defense, even though he knew Sam was just concerned.
“You did?” Sam’s eyes were wide. “Wait—I don’t even know what’s happening with all of this. Mom said he got back a couple weeks ago, but I mean…what’s going on? Where has he been?”
“Nashville,” Dean answered, because it was the easiest question. “He’s been in Nashville, working on music. He’s doing well for himself, apparently.”
Sam nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said, long and drawn out. “That still doesn’t explain what he’s doing back here. Or why you’re weirdly okay with all of it.”
“Sam, will you just—” He cut himself off, shaking his head as he moved to leave the barn again.
Sam’s hand fell on his shoulder, warm and gentle, and he tugged Dean back around to look at him. “Dean, I’m not trying to—I just don’t understand what’s happening. He was gone for so long, and I know how badly he hurt you, so I’m just…You have to see how it looks from my side of things. I’m your brother, you can tell me what’s going on.”
Dean took a deep breath, letting it settle him.
“Sorry,” he finally muttered. “I just… It’s a lot of questions, and I don’t know all the answers and I guess I’m a little on edge. But you’re right, it’s not just weird from your side of things, it’s me too. So much is happening, I…”
He stood in silence for a moment, struggling for the right words. Sam waited patiently, his eyes steady on his brother.
“Cas is back because he wanted to apologize,” said Dean, and the words still felt inadequate. “But more than that, he wants to try to be my friend again. More, maybe. If it works out that way.”
Sam watched him with careful eyes. “And you? Is this what you want?”
“I think so,” Dean said. “I mean…As angry as I was, for all those years, it’s always kinda felt like there was a part of me that was empty without Cas there.” He shrugged, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck. “We talked a bit. Down by the creek, you know, where we all used to goof off. It was some heavy shit, man, but it felt good to get it out, you know?”
Sam nodded. He knew more than anybody that it took some coaxing to get Dean to open up.
Dean shrugged again, his eyes falling down to the scuff marks of his boots. “And it’ll take a lot of time to fix what we fucked up, but. I don’t know, I think it might be worth it? Ain’t worth nothing if it ain’t hard work.”
Sam looked for a moment like he was considering this, and Dean worried that he might protest. Cas was right when he said that he had a lot of apologies to make – hurting Dean had left Sam feeling angry too, and Dean knew that Sam could hold one hell of a grudge. But his brother smiled at him after a moment, and Dean released the breath he’d been holding.
“If you’re okay with all of this,” said Sam, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Then I’m good too.”
Dean smiled. “Thanks, Sammy.”
They walked out of the barn together, and Dean laughed at Sam’s squawk of indignation when they found Mary and Jess in the living room with all the old photo albums spread out around them.
--
The impending storm held off for a little while longer, which meant that Sam’s Welcome Home dinner was still underway.
Ellen and Jo arrived early, greeting everyone with hugs and kisses, and helped Mary with the food. Jess insisted that she would help too, and so Dean and Sam watched helplessly as the four women owned their space, weaving in between and around each other so effortlessly that it seemed like a dance. At one point Mary caught them staring and shooed them off with instructions to set the table. (“Forks on the left, spoons and knives on the right!” “Yes ma’am!”)
John wandered downstairs from his mid-afternoon nap around the same time that delicious smells began to waft out into the living room. Mary having banned him from the kitchen, he resorted to sulking on the couch behind his newspaper.
Rufus and Bobby showed up at the same time, completely on accident of course – Rufus with a case of beer, and Bobby with a pan of peach cobbler (“I run an auto shop, don’t mean I’m a heathen, ya idjit”) – and the two of them immediately started a debate about football, roping John and Sam into the discussion. Not long after that, Benny knocked on the door, and Victor after that, and Bill Harvelle after that, until the house was full of people talking and laughing, the loud noises of reunions and introductions and stories.
Dean wandered in and out of conversations, happy just to be here with all the people he loved, but there was a nervousness that he couldn’t shake. Every time there was a knock on the door, he wasn’t sure if his heart lurched out of excitement or dread, and the anxiety was beginning to grate. His gaze was drawn to window more often than not, watching the rolling clouds grow heavier.
He could tell that Sam was watching him as he paced over to where Jo and Victor were standing off to the side, but he waved off Sam’s questioning glance. Victor was leaning down, saying quiet things meant only for Jo to hear, and Dean felt a twinge of guilt as he cleared his throat.
“Hey,” he said. “Uh, sorry to interrupt, but… Jo, do you know where Cas is?”
Jo’s frown of annoyance turned into one of confusion. “Did my dad not tell you? We had a supply truck coming to drop stuff off at the Roadhouse, Cas volunteered to stay behind and do stock and inventory.”
Dean’s face fell. “Oh,” he said. “I thought…”
“Don’t worry, you dweeb,” she said with a smirk. “He’s still coming, he should be on his way soon.”
“Hopefully before that rain starts up,” added Victor.
“Yeah,” Dean nodded, still fighting the sense of unease that gripped him. “Hopefully.”
“Alright everybody!” Mary shouted over the din, and every face turned toward the dining room entrance. Her long hair was pulled back, and she had a smudge of something that looked like flour on her chin. “Dinner’s ready, but make sure you’ve washed up before you come sit at the table.”
Dean watched as everyone stood up, his eyes catching on Jess leaning against Sam’s side before they made their way to the table.
The smells of fried chicken and mashed potatoes, green beans and corn, biscuits and gravy, made everyone’s mouth water, and as they all took their seats, Mary smacked John’s sneaking hand. Sam sat down at the head of the table, with Jess at his left and Mary at his right, and after John spoke grace, they began to pass the food around.
--
Outside, the wind picked up speed, big gusts of it sending up whirling dervishes of dirt and debris. Even as the conversations were continued from before, Dean saw that every few minutes someone would glance nervously out the windows, watching the trees bow and twist with the wind.
“Dean,” said John, keeping his voice low. “Go turn on the radio in the kitchen. Just so we can keep an ear out.”
“Yes, sir,” he replied, and excused himself from the table.
Mary’s antique radio, a faded blue plastic with shiny silver knobs, sat on the kitchen bar, and Dean leaned heavily against the countertop as he flipped on the switch. Static fizzed out the speakers, but with a few twists of the dial he found a station that was broadcasting the weather situation.
“And if you’re just tuning in, folks,” the voice crackled over the speakers. “We’ve got several tornado warnings for Jackson County and the surrounding areas. There’s been reports of funnels touching down south of Larkinburg, and just outside of Denison. Stay off the roads, folks, and try to get down to your basements as soon as possible.”
As the warning was broadcasted, Dean fumbled for his phone, pulling it out of his back pocket to call Cas. No signal. Taking the home phone off its hook proved to be useless too: there must have been a line down somewhere closer to town.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Dean heaved a shaky sigh. He was probably worried over nothing. Cas had lived almost half his life in this town, he knew how to take care of himself. But he thought of all those years that Cas had lived in a big city, where tall buildings and close spaces left no room for forces of nature like this. One moment of bad judgment, one forgetful second, and that could be it.
The thought made Dean’s stomach bottom out.
The window shutters rattled against the house, the way that Dean could feel his own breath rattling in his chest. He gripped the countertop, the realization coming on so sudden and strong, it made his knees weak.
He could not lose Cas.
He’d thought that he wanted to wait, that the two of them could take it slow and fix what had been broken for so long. But he thought of all the years wasted, of all the nights he’d spent yearning for Cas’s voice in his ear, his breath on Dean’s neck, their bodies touching.
They didn’t have time to waste anymore. He was done running in the same circles, winding round and round feelings that he could no more wish away than he could do without breathing.
“Dean?”
He whipped his gaze up to where Jo stood in the middle of the kitchen, that same concern from before in her voice.
“Dean, what’s wrong?” she asked.
“Jo, we have to find him,” he said, desperate.
“We can’t,” she said, nodding to the radio. “Haven’t you been listening? There was a touchdown just outside of town, we need to take shelter in the basement. Your mom sent me to get you.”
Dean’s heart pounded against his ribs. “But Jo, he’s—”
“I know he is, Dean,” she said firmly, but Dean noticed the tremor in her lips. She stepped forward, took hold of his hand. “We just have to trust that he’s gotten somewhere safe, that he’ll be alright.”
He swallowed, closed his eyes against the stinging tears that were coming. Jo squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back, following her to the basement stairs.
The basement itself was well-stocked – no one could ever say that John Winchester was not prepared for anything – with plenty of room for the dinner guests to spread out, but for the most part they stood gathered around the table at the center of the room.
“Y’all eat,” said Mary, arranging the plates she had apparently brought down from the dining room. “I’m not gonna let this food go to waste just ‘cause of some storm.”
Dean watched for a moment as everyone began to fill their plates up again, before he tore his gaze away and wandered to one of the couches in the far corner of the room. It was an older piece, one that his mom’s parents had given to her before they died, and he traced his finger along the worn out seams on the cushions.
He didn’t want to be sitting here. He’d just had a fucking revelation, he had made a decision for himself, something Dean couldn’t remember doing in years, and now nature was working against him, keeping him cooped up in here when he needed to be out there. His legs itched, jolting in their need for movement, and it was all he could do to keep from pacing.
“Take a deep breath, baby.”
Mary stood before him, haloed in the dim light and holding a plate of chicken. Dean had been so wrapped up in his own mind, he hadn’t noticed her approach.
But he did as she asked, closing his eyes as he inhaled through his nose, held it, and out through his mouth. He felt the cushion next to him sink as she sat down beside him, and when she ran gentle fingers through his hair, he leaned into her touch.
“He’ll be alright,” she said after another moment.
Dean opened his eyes. “But what if he’s not, Mom?” There was no hiding the tremor in his voice. “What if he’s hurt or something happened, what if we don’t have another chance to—”
“Shhh, honey, shhh,” Mary soothed, rubbing her hand back and forth between his shoulder blades. “Cas grew up with this, same as you. He knows what to do.”
Thunder rumbled above them, heavy and deep into the foundation of the house, and the lights began to flicker. From his spot on the couch, Dean could see the way that Sam and Jess huddled closer together, whispering over their glasses of wine, and how John glanced up from his conversation with Bobby and Rufus, keeping an ear out for the inevitable hum of the backup generator.
Mary squeezed his knee, and he reached down to twine his fingers in hers.
“I made up my mind,” he said, keeping his voice low to hide his nerves. “I want to be with him.”
He looked at Mary, meeting her gaze openly while his heart beat wildly in his chest. The same defiance he’d felt before with Sam, the same fear that his choices would be questioned and met with protest, both flared in his gut. He didn’t want to hear that he was being rash, or that he’d made the wrong decision.
But Mary smiled at him, her hand coming up to cup his cheek.
“My brave boy,” she whispered. “It’s about time that you got something you want.”
--
The moment that the meteorologists gave the all clear on the radio, Dean was the first to bolt upstairs, grabbing his keys before running outside. The only thought he spared for the debris scattered about was to move the bigger tree branches out of his way before opening the barn door. His truck rumbled to life and then he was off down the road, driving as quickly as he could while avoiding branches and fence posts.
The highway into town was slick, rainwater pooled up in the uneven parts of the tarmac, and no matter how quickly his heart was pounding, he wasn’t fool enough to speed even here. He slowed to check the bars on his cell, hoping against hope that he would have enough signal to reach Cas. It was getting dark, the sun sinking under the cover of empty storm clouds, and there was no—
Dean’s heart stopped in his chest.
There, on the gravel roadside, sat Cas’s old Honda. Dean pulled up alongside it, his eyes searching for any damage, any sign that its occupant had been harmed.
“Cas!” he called as he ran from his truck. “Cas, are you okay?”
The front door opened, and Cas stepped out, looking slightly bemused. “Dean, what—”
His question was cut short as Dean pulled him roughly into a hug and held on tight. He breathed in deeply, twisting his hands into Cas’s short hair and burying his face against his shoulder. It was stupid how relieved he felt, like everything had been released all at once and he had deflated, leaving him clinging to Cas like a lifeboat, but he didn’t care.
“Dean,” said Cas, his voice soft. “I’m okay.”
He sniffed, pulling back to look at Cas. Cas who had aged so beautifully while he was gone, Cas who still had those blue eyes that seemed to look deeper than just the skin, Cas who he still loved with all of his heart.
“I don’t want to wait,” Dean said.
Cas blinked. “What?”
“I don’t want us to take our time with this,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t want us to start all over again.”
He licked his lips, watching his words sink in for Cas. “We’ve wasted so much time already, Cas, we’ve waited for ten years. And what you did, it hurt something awful, but it hurt more that I didn’t have you in my life. I’ve spent my whole life waiting, never thinking about doing what I wanted. I don’t want to wait for you anymore, I want you now. I’ve always wanted you.”
“Dean,” said Cas, and his voice trembled. “Dean, I need to make amends for you. I need to fix what I broke.”
Dean took a deep breath and leaned forward. Gently, carefully, he pressed his lips against Cas’s, cupping his hand under his jaw. Cas’s sharp gasp of surprise was quickly replaced by a soft sigh, and he chased after his mouth as Dean pulled back with a smile.
“I think,” he said, leaning his forehead against Cas, “that’s all the fixing I need.”
In the humid Kansas air, they held each other close, making up for a decade’s worth of distance.
end