Work Text:
„Yeah, I know, you would have tried another long-shot. I’m fine, Dean.”
Cas stands still, and Dean can’t see his hands under the table but he’s sure they are curled into fists. Why are they doing this again? He knows Cas can’t be fine, he can’t be okay with all this.
“Are you sure?” he asks. Dean forces himself to look up again, meet Cas’ eyes and read the answer there. Cas looks tired and defeated, and his gaze is full of longing. Dean meets it head-on, even as he feels tears in the corner of his eyes.
“I…,” Cas starts. Dean hums to urge him to go on. “It’s not important. What’s important now is that we get Jack and your mother back.”
Dean can’t stand it. They played this game too often and the peace of mind it once gave him when Cas told him everything is fine has long lost its power. He rounds the table and stops a few feet from Cas, and Cas turns, slowly, fists straining at his sides just as Dean knew they would.
“I should have known, Cas, I should have known it wasn’t you.”
“And what then? You might have gotten hurt trying to rescue me.” Cas’ voice is low and his shoulders curl forward. Dean reaches out to touch his arm, as if he could physically give Cas back his posture, make him strong again.
“Might have, yeah. That doesn’t change the fact that I talked to Asmodeus a dozen times and failed to realize who I was talking to.” His fingers dig into the fabric of the trench coat, as the familiar bitter taste of self-loathing sours his mouth and tightens his throat. Cas looks to the ground.
“I heard him talking to you.” It’s not more than a whisper, but it might as well have been a shout, as it hits Dean like a blow. He tugs on Cas’ shoulder.
“What?”
“I heard him talking to you. Mostly about your hunts, about Donna and Jody, and it was a solace to know you were alive and well. And then, last week…”
Cas is still not looking at him and Dean can feel him trembling under his hand. Dean’s heart is beating furiously in his chest, hammers against his rips as if it wants to spring free. He knows where this is heading, even if he can’t remember the conversation.
“The love spell,” he breathes, and when Cas, finally, lifts his head to meet his gaze, Dean almost wishes he hadn’t. There’s too much raw emotion in Cas’ eyes, and it’s painful to watch, like an open wound.
“You sounded so happy,” Cas whispers, then clears his throat, and his gaze flickers away again. His shoulders roll back. Dean knows what he’s doing, getting back into his role, but he’s having none of that. The hand on Cas’ shoulder moves up to cradle his jaw, his thumb presses lightly into Cas’ chin to turn his face back to him.
“It wasn’t real, Cas, just a spell. I don’t even remember calling you, can’t remember much of the whole day really.”
Cas huffs. “I know it was a spell. But in that moment, you were happy. And instead of being grateful for you, I…”
Dean can’t stop the small grin building in his face, even if it’s trembling at the edges. “Cas, were you jealous?” His palm is still holding Cas’ jaw and all of a sudden, the skin under his hand feels burning hot. He lets his arm drop and now it’s him who can’t look Cas in the eye.
“Of course I was,” Cas states, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world. “I can ignore it when you are with other people, when you’re giving in to human urges, but to know you find happiness with someone, to imagine your soul flares bright for them like it does only for me…”
Dean’s head snaps up and the bottom drops out of his stomach. Cas reaches out and puts his hand on Dean’s heart. “I couldn’t bear it.” Cas watches him with that special focus, as if he’s seeing right through his skin, through every layer that the years grew around him like the rings of a tree, until he’s naked under the scrutiny.
“For weeks I didn’t want you to realize it wasn’t me. I knew if you would see through Asmodeus’ charade you would come rescue me, and I didn’t deserve that. I cursed myself for my stupidity, for failing in protecting Jack. But in that moment all I wanted was to break free and come back to you, to destroy the spell with my own hands…”
His voice wavers and his fingers curl until Dean’s shirt bundles up in his grasp. He’s breathing heavy now, gone is every shred of his cool composure. Dean wanted to know what lay underneath, he prodded and he dug until Cas broke.
The air is heavy with tension, laden with something akin to rage, dark and intense and inevitable. Dean shivers with it. The old clock is ticking loudly in the background, and the air vents rumble deep inside the belly of the bunker.
“You did. You outsmarted Lucifer and you came back.”
Slowly, he lifts his hand and covers Cas’ with it so he can feel the thumping of his own heart and Cas’ pulse at the same time. Cas’ eyes are wide and burning, his lips slightly parted as if he can’t get enough air. Dean takes as small step closer. Cas’ expression changes from anger to disbelief while his gaze roams over Dean’s face. Dean takes a deep breath to steady himself, tries to find his balance in a world that’s tilting on its axis.
“What does my soul look like now?” he asks, voice low.
Cas doesn’t say anything. For seconds that feel like hours, he stays still, as he stares into Dean’s soul, that blackened, broken, twisted thing, and for whatever reason he seems to find something bright and worthy in it. Dean lets every ounce of longing pour out of him, lets his heart beat heavily with the weight of what he knows must be love even if he never could bring himself to call it that, and it takes all his courage, but like Cas he’s tired, so tired of keeping it all in.
They might have to start another war tomorrow, they might be headed for a foreign universe and maybe they’ll lose everything. What difference does one more stupid, reckless decision make? He knows how it feels to lose Cas, and he’s sure it can’t hurt any more the next time even if he lets this moment unfold.
Cas gasps like he’s been punched in the gut. “Dean,” he rasps and he sounds helpless, torn and desperate.
And then he’s barging forward, a hand still fisted in Dean’s shirt, the other on Dean’s neck, and their lips meet in a searing kiss. It’s not gentle. Dean never imagined it to be gentle.
The tension snaps with a thunderclap and the storm that has been building for years breaks loose. Cas presses his whole body against Dean in a demanding gesture that leaves Dean breathless.
The edge of the table is digging into his thighs and Dean lets Cas push him up and backward until he’s sitting. Cas moves with determination until he’s between Dean’s open legs and tugs Dean’s head down hungrily. The kiss is all teeth and spit and tongue, greedy and uncoordinated, and Dean buries his hands in Cas’ hair to have something to hold onto, to tug and pull until Cas moans into his open mouth.
“You’re mine,” Cas grates out before he bites down on Dean’s bottom lip.
“Yeah,” Dean answers and licks deep into Cas’ mouth, along his teeth, tastes the remnants of the burger and the beer they had for dinner, and that special flavor that’s just Cas, otherworldly and sharp. They have work to do, but right now, he lets himself be swept away by being close to Cas. His blood is coursing hot in his veins, and his skin feels too tight, and he hasn’t felt alive like this in years.
“Yeah, I’m yours.”