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“Do you ever think about endings?”
Cas roots around in the bottom of the microwavable popcorn bag and pops the few unpopped kernels at the bottom into his mouth while he thinks about how to answer. He ignores the disgusted look on Dean’s face--the kernels don’t taste like molecules, they taste like nature, so Cas likes them better than the fluffy, inside-out ones.
“What do you mean?”
Dean gestures vaguely, clearing exactly nothing up. On the screen, the very last credits of Star Wars: Return of the Jedi fade away with the last few notes of music. Dean turns the TV off and leans back in his recliner.
“The Force ghosts got me thinking.”
Cas crumples up the popcorn bag and tosses it at the trashcan in the corner. Dean gives him a look when it bounces off the rim and lands on the ground.
“I mean, Obi Wan dies in the first movie, right? But he’s still around to help Luke for the rest of the series.”
“He told Vader that he’d come back stronger than before,” Cas says. “And he did.”
He’s not sure what this has to do with endings. Or with anything, really. But then, he’s never been good at metaphor. Dean pauses movies sometimes to talk about why the directors chose a certain color, or fill in fun facts about the lines that actors ad-libbed. Cas likes the little interruptions. Sam usually groans and throws a pillow at him.
“Yeah. But that’s not how life works.”
Cas’s brow furrows. “Ghosts are real.”
Even if they don’t look like the wobbly blue projection of Obi Wan Kenobi. Or offer sage advice to the people they’re haunting.
“Yeah. I just mean that when humans die, there’s no Force ghost. No way for us to give advice or support or help.”
And suddenly, it clicks.
“You’re talking about Jack.”
Dean nods. “I guess I’ve been thinking lately about what happens when Sammy and I are gone.”
Cas’s heart clenches. He’s been thinking the same thing. All it took was one head injury on one hunt to remind him just how fragile the Winchesters are. They’re extraordinary humans, but humans nonetheless. Which makes them oh so easy to break.
“That won’t be for a long time,” Cas says.
Thinking about it reminds him of the time he’d gotten a fever when he was human. Everything around him feels fuzzy, and he doesn’t feel quite at home in his own skin.
“Maybe,” Dean says with a shrug. “Maybe not. I mean, seeing all those books Billie had? There’s a thousand ways it could happen.”
There’s a thousand ways it has happened, too. And remembering each one just makes Cas feel worse. Everything he’d said to Jack about accepting what human morality means just feels like another stone lodged in his gut.
Dean shoots him a look, waggling his eyebrows. “I could choke on a piece of popcorn.”
Cas throws a pillow at him. “Don’t joke about that.”
But the weight in his chest eases. Dean’s funny like that. He knows just the right way to make Cas feel at least a little bit better.
“I’m not joking.” He casts a glance at the empty popcorn bag sitting on the floor. “Okay, I’m joking about that. But it really could be anything.”
Cas stands abruptly, pushing the footrest of the recliner back under the chair. He’s perfectly aware of the Winchesters’ mortality. Of Dean’s mortality. He doesn’t need the reminder. Dean scrambles to his feet, too, hands held out.
“It won’t happen any time soon,” Cas says. He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince.
“It could!”
Both of their voices are louder, now. Cas looks toward the door, hoping that neither Sam nor Jack are able to hear them. The bunker’s walls are pretty thick. It’s likely that they’re both asleep right now. Or, in Sam’s case, pretending to be asleep, and in Jack’s, watching yet another movie on his laptop.
“We need to talk about this,” Dean says, voice level and reasonable.
And isn’t that just rich. Dean, who can get worked up about everything, from an empty popcorn bag on his otherwise spotless floor to the possibility that Jack no longer has a soul, trying to be reasonable.
“I’ll look after Jack,” Cas says sharply. “I once told you that I’d watch you murder the world, remember? So even if he is no longer the person he was--”
His voice breaks a little on the word. He’s already thought about what that long road would feel like. Years after Sam and Dean are gone, it will be him and Jack. And if Jack really has changed, then what does that mean for him?
“It’s not just Jack. I need to know that you’re going to be okay,” Dean says, taking a few steps towards him.
Cas turns so he doesn’t have to look him in the eye. “I survived several millennia without you, Dean. I’m confident I can do it again.”
The time that he’s known Dean Winchester has been merely a blip on a long, long radar. This pain is as if a human were crushed by the thought that a butterfly that they cared for in its caterpillar days will eventually die. So why does the thought hurt so badly?
“That was different. You were different back then, and you know it.”
He was different. He’d been a loyal soldier, a good angel. He’d had the Host of Heaven echoing in the back of his mind and a mission to follow. Now? He’s not an angel of the Lord. He’s an angel of the Winchesters, and without that, he’s not sure what he is anymore.
“I used to think about what it would feel like to willingly fall,” Cas says quietly.
Dean’s placating hands sink slowly down to his sides. “What?”
“Like Anna. I used to think about ripping out my Grace and falling. About living a human life with you.”
It had never been more than a fleeting thought. But especially in those long nights in the bunker with Sam and Dean asleep, he’d wondered what it would be like to become like them. To need food and water and sleep again, but this time, to know where he belonged.
“You’d have done that?”
Dean’s close, now. Far past the realm of personal space that he had always talked about.
“Of course.”
He’s not entirely sure if he takes a step forward or if Dean does, but then their foreheads are touching and he can feel warm puffs of air on his lips.
“It doesn’t matter now. Jack needs guidance, and I can’t give it to him if I’m--”
“Mortal,” Dean finishes.
He links his hands with Cas’s, fingers interlacing. Cas lets out a long breath.
“I’d always hoped we’d end together.”
But he’s not selfish enough to leave Jack to roam the Earth alone, which means watching so much--watching Dean Winchester--end.
Cas leans in, presses a soft kiss to chapped lips. There are no fireworks, no bursting feelings in his chest. Just a warm glow, a feeling that something is finally right. Dean smiles against his lips.
“We might not be able to end together,” Dean agrees once they’ve parted. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t begin.”