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Weirdly enough, the only part that Dean doesn’t like about living in the bunker is the fact that he can’t hear the rain down here, no matter how hard it happens to be pouring outside. He grew up with the cacophony of rain on the Impala’s metal roof. On some nights, all he wants is the steady noise to lull him to sleep.
Tonight, though, he’s cursing the bunker for an entirely different reason. He hadn’t known to grab a pair of the old-fashioned wellies the Men of Letters had left laying around before he stomped out here.
“Cas! Damn it, come back!”
Why the angel had insisted on running out the front door when Jack disappeared is beyond him. The water dripping off of his hair forms a hazy film over his eyes. Dean shoves the strands of hair back with a growl of frustration.
His socks squelch in his boots—his Tombstone boots, which are about to be utterly ruined, thank you very much—as he crests the hill that hides the road that leads to the bunker from the rest of the world. Dean wants nothing more than to pause and shake some of the water in the hopes of salvaging them, but he’s not about to get Cas storm off in the rain alone.
For some reason, Cas remained convinced that Jack couldn’t have possibly had enough control of his powers to escape completely with his wings, so he’d determined that Jack had set off on foot after flying out of the bunker. Both his and Sam’s arguments went unheard. Stubborn bastard.
“Cas!”
His jacket is going to be wet enough to wring out like a washcloth soon.
Dean emerges on to the main road, such that it is. Right now, it’s less of a road than it is ordinarily. The wheel tracks from the Impala’s most recent passing are filled with water. Dean splashes across the ruts to stand in the middle of the road.
About a hundred yards away, walking in the direction of Lebanon as if the kid minus powers could have possibly been fast enough to evade him, is a new trench coat that’s about to be just as ratty as the last one.
He tries again. “I know you can hear me!”
No reaction. Cursing lowly under his breath, Dean stomps down the road after him. It doesn’t take him long to catch up. For all of his determination, Cas doesn’t seem to have the energy to go that quickly.
“Cas,” Dean scolds when he finally catches up to him. “He’s long gone by now.”
Cas shakes his head. “Then I need to go after him. He can’t just wander the Earth for the rest of his life. I won’t allow it.”
Dean remembers a very similar time in his own life, terrified that he was going to hurt the people he loved and convinced that the best way to prevent it was to lock himself away. He can’t blame Jack for the same instinct.
He wants to say that, but he knows it’s not what Cas needs to hear. Instead, “It might be what you have to do, Cas.”
Something in him slumps. Dean’s heart breaks a little. He knows what it likes to feel like you’ve shirked your duty.
“I told Kelly I would protect him. I swore.”
Dean shakes his head. “You saw him get shot, Cas. He can take a bullet like no one’s business. I’m not sure that there’s anything in the world to protect him from.”
Cas’s face doesn’t lighten. If anything, the load on his shoulders seems to crush him even further. Dean opens his arms.
“Cas. This isn’t your fault.”
For the second time in less than forty-eight hours, he pulls Cas into his arms. A distant part of his brains chimes in unhelpfully that it’s got to be some sort of record. Despite the rain pouring down on both of their heads, it’s the warmest Dean has felt in a long time.
“I swore—” Cas begins.
“Yeah. I know.” He speaks the words half into Cas’s neck. He’s been holding on too long, but he can’t bring himself to let go. Not just yet. “Listen. I swore to my dad something like that once. I promised I’d keep Sammy safe no matter what happened. And I’ve failed more times than I can count.”
Cas makes a sort of disgruntled noise into Dean’s shoulder. They’re still clinging to each other, Dean half realizes through the first true contentment he’s felt since—well. Since that night.
“My point, Cas, is that there are some points where you have to let them make their own choices. And damn, it hurts. Especially when they make decisions you don’t agree with. But they’re their mistakes to make.”
When Cas pulls back, his eyes are wet and it’s not just the rain still coming down. With his hair plastered to his ears, he suddenly looks must younger. On instinct, Dean reaches forward and brushes some of the water off his face.
They’re very close.
“Please come back inside,” Dean says. “I just got you back. I can’t let you run off so soon.”
They’re still so close. Dean’s heart rate spikes like it does right when he figures out what sort of monster they’re hunting—he can feel the adrenaline reaching all the way down to the tips of his fingers. Without really realizing what he’s doing, he presses their foreheads together.
Cas’s breath audibly catches. “I didn’t know if I wanted to come back,” he admits shakily. “And then I thought about leaving you and it was no question at all.”
Dean wants to kiss him, but he’s too much a coward. Instead, he pulls Cas in for another hug. Cas closes his eyes and melts into the embrace.
“Let’s go home. Please.”
The corner of Cas’s mouth twitches. “I’ll clean your boots for you when we get back. I know how you love your cowboys.”
Dean shakes his head. “They’re just stupid boots. I’d rather have you anyway.”
And with that, the two of them turn and walk back towards the bunker just as the rain starts to die down.