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The first thing Sam does once he can force himself to let go of Eileen is remember that she’s only wearing a towel.
Even as he scrambles around looking for something else for her to put on, he can’t take his off of her. It worked. It really worked. Eileen is back, and his hand won’t go through her if he reaches out to touch her again. After Jack, Rowena, and Mom, he feels like he can hardly breathe. This is such a big win that he almost would’ve expected her to disappear again at any moment if he didn’t have faith in Rowena’s spellwork. It’s too good to be true.
“Sam,” Eileen says.
“I, uh, one second,” Sam says, almost tripping over the cart he backs into. “I’m gonna see if we have an extra bathrobe.”
Eileen smiles, then shakes her head and catches his arm. Her fingers are wet and cold, but very much solid and alive. “Sam, it’s okay. I can wait.”
Sam scrubs his other hand down his face, then signs as he speaks. “Sorry. I’m just…”
“Me too.” Eileen slides her hand down to take his and squeezes it. “But we have time now.”
He ends up taking Eileen back to his room to look for warm clothes. She’d said that she’s pretty sure she still has a spare change of them in the trunk of her car (most hunters do, since driving for hours while covered in monster guts isn’t exactly comfortable), but he can tell that she’s exhausted. It can wait until morning.
After rummaging through his drawers for a minute or two, he manages to find an old pair of his pajamas that had shrunk in the wash a few times and he’d been meaning to give to Jack, but…well, the boy won’t be needing them anymore. Eileen might have to fold them up a few times, but he’s pretty sure they’re good enough for now. Maybe he should’ve grabbed an outfit or two from Rowena’s apartment while he’d been packing up her magical supplies, but that somehow felt wrong. She might’ve left all of her things to him, but it doesn’t change the fact that he killed her.
“Here,” he says, handing the pajamas to Eileen, then signs, “they might be a little big.”
Eileen accepts them with one hand, then signs back, “Thanks.”
Sam smiles. “I’ll let you change. I’m just gonna go outside, okay? Then we’ll find you somewhere to sleep.”
“I don’t know why I’m so tired,” Eileen says, frowning and trying to stifle another yawn. “I guess being a ghost is hard work.”
Sam chuckles a bit at that. God, he missed her. “You had a long day.”
He waits just outside the door while she gets changed, texting Dean to let him know that the spell worked. His brother had said he wanted to go food shopping on the way home, presumably to stock up on more cereal. Then he sends a text to Cas, despite knowing that the angel probably won’t read it, before pocketing his phone and scrubbing another hand down his face. When Eileen’s ghost first materialized in the park, he’d been determined to do right by her even if it meant never seeing her again. Now that she’s back being warm and solid and alive, there’s a part of him that never wants to let her go again. And then there’s the voice in the back of his head that’s telling her to run before she gets hurt because of him. If he were to lose Eileen again now, after everything…well, he’s not sure what he’d do.
“Sam?” Eileen’s voice calls from inside his room, pulling him out his thoughts.
“Yeah, I’m coming,” he starts, then stops and internally kicks himself when he remembers that she can’t hear him or read his lips through a wall. Apparently, he’s so relieved that she’s here again he keeps forgetting that.
Eileen’s standing there wearing his old pajamas when he opens the door, and for a moment, all he can do is stare. They’re clearly way too big on her, but at the same time, they seem to fit just right. The last time he’d shared pajamas with someone like this must’ve been with Jessica, and the thought makes his eyes sting.
“Ta-da.” Eileen smiles, motioning to her new outfit. “They’re comfortable.”
“You can keep them,” Sam says automatically, suddenly remembering his words and returning her smile. He’s smiled more today than he has in weeks. “I’ll get you set up so you can go to sleep.”
Eileen hesitates at that, biting her lip despite the fact that she looks and sounds wiped. Suddenly, she looks so small and vulnerable, swimming in clothes that are much too big for her. Then she murmurs, “I’m afraid I’ll see Hell if I close my eyes.”
A dull ache spreads through his chest, but he can’t say he’s surprised. He wishes he could promise her that the nightmares will go away with time, or that Rowena left him some kind of spell to go back and fix everything. But he can’t, and he knows better than to give her false hope when there are still nights where he wakes up drenched in sweat and expecting to find himself back in the Cage. Hell tears at you in more ways than one and digs into places you didn’t even know exist. It’s not something you can just shove down and leave behind. There’s a part of you that never really leaves. You’ll feel the pain and the missing part of you forever, and he can’t say that it will get better. However, what he does know is that she doesn’t have to go into this fight alone.
“I’ll stay in here with you,” he says, his expression softening and voice gentle. “I’ll wake you up if you’re having a nightmare. I got you.”
She pauses, but then nods slowly and signs, “Thank you.”
They stand there awkwardly for a moment, apparently unsure of which one of them should move first. Finally, Sam decides to take a step towards his desk so he can sit in the chair, and Eileen raises an eyebrow.
“I’m not gonna steal your bed, Sam,” she says. “You should sleep too.”
“It’s fine, seriously.” He tries to smile reassuringly, but he’s suddenly aware of the fact that she can probably tell he hasn’t slept well in weeks. “I don’t mind.”
“Sam,” Eileen says again in that stubborn tone of hers. “We can share. I don’t bite, I promise. And I just took a bath.”
This is the part where he should insist on setting her up in one of the bunker’s spare rooms and as far from him as possible. Because he’s been down this road before, and it never ends well. Anyone who gets too close, dies. And he can’t do that anymore. He just can’t.
Then again…if they’re trying to make their own rules, why not start now? Chuck’s taken so much from them, but he’s done playing his rigged game. If they’re really going to write their own future, it’s going to be one that they chose.
“Yeah,” Sam finally agrees, nodding to himself more than Eileen. “We can share.”
She waits for him to toe his boots off— this wouldn’t be the first time he’s slept in his jeans— before sliding under the covers. Sam joins her after he grabs a spare pillow from the closet and decides to keep the lights on so they can still talk. The bed’s big enough for two people, but it isn’t exactly a king. He can feel her where she’s pressed up against his side, and her body still seems to be radiating cold. Jack had been freezing when he came back to life too, though the thought of that makes his heart do a painful twist.
“Are you cold?” Sam asks. “I can get another blanket.”
“Yes, but—” Eileen settles herself closer to him and pillows her head on his shoulder. “This is fine.”
They lay like that for a minute or two, the only sounds in the room being their breathing. To him, it still sounds like a miracle. Finally, hesitantly, Sam brings an arm up to wrap around her waist, which she responds to by resting a hand on his hip. He absentmindedly rubs small circles on the square of her back with his thumb, then pauses briefly and says, “Eileen?”
“Sam?”
“I’m really glad you’re back.”
Eileen smiles, and he’s pretty sure he’ll never get enough of that. “Me too.”
She nods off just a few moments later, and Sam reaches over and turns out the lights.
Dean gets back to the bunker about an hour later with a bunch of grocery bags. If Eileen’s going to be staying with them, she’s gonna need to eat now that she isn’t a ghost. Plus, they were almost out of cereal, and the last thing they need is a crisis on their hands.
It’s pretty quiet, so he figures that Sam must be with Eileen and decides to give them some privacy. His baby brother can deny it all he wants, but he’s seen the way he looks at her. And good for him, seriously; he deserves some happiness in his life. This was a pretty big win.
Or was it just God pulling their strings again, bringing Eileen back because she and Sam were just part of his story while nothing about them was real? Will he toss her aside again once he gets bored, damning her to a fate she in no way deserves?
Dammit, he needs a drink and more Crunch Cookie Crunch.
He tosses anything frozen into the freezer and decides that putting away the rest of the groceries can wait until tomorrow. Whiskey’s more important, and given the fact that he got tossed around by a witch today, he figures he’s entitled to be lazy.
Dean’s about two shots in when he hears footsteps behind him, and because he doesn’t need to look to know who it is, says, “How is she, Sammy?”
“I wouldn’t know,” responds a gravelly voice that almost makes his heart stop dead. “I’m not Sam.”
He spins around so fast that he almost knocks the bottle of whiskey into the sink. Cas is standing in the doorway, wearing a pair of jeans and what looks like a sweatshirt from a bait and tackle shop. If the ghost of Sam’s not-girlfriend hadn’t shown up on their doorstep this morning, it might’ve been the strangest thing he’s seen all day.
“Cas,” he manages, “the hell are you doing here?”
“Hello to you too.” The angel rolls his eyes. “I checked my messages.”
“Oh, now he checks them.”
“Sam told me about Eileen.”
“Yeah, well.” Dean scrubs a hand down his face. “You’re a little late on that one. He already brought her back using one of Rowena’s spells.”
“I know,” Cas says. “I’m glad he did, but that’s not why I’m here.”
“Then why are you here?”
He knows that he shouldn’t keep prodding him like this, he really does. But being angry is easier than letting himself feel anything else, because if he’s being honest, he knows that what happened to his mother wasn’t Cas’ fault. None if it was, but he’s afraid that if he lets go of his anger, he won’t have anything else. If he stops lashing out at Cas, maybe he’ll choose to stay and let Dean continue to drag him into his bullshit.
“Sam said that he’s worried about you.” Cas eyes the whiskey bottle behind him. “He mentioned that you’ve been eating an excessive amount of cereal.”
Of course. He’s here because Sam asked him to be. Of course.
“It’s not ‘excessive,’” Dean grumbles. “And I’m fine, Cas. You can go back to playing FBI agent, or whatever.”
“I wasn’t—” Cas cuts himself off, frustrated. “And you’re not fine.”
“What the hell do you want me to say?” Dean asks, his temper flaring suddenly as the dam breaks. “That I’m totally cool with the fact that God’s dicked us around our entire lives just for some story? That I don’t know what about me is him and what’s me? That the first thing you do when he’s not here is leave?”
And, okay, maybe he hadn’t meant to say that last part out loud, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s true. He’d always pushed people away because it was easier than letting them in, but Cas was always the one who stayed no matter what. But then, as soon as he had the choice not to be, he left. He left, and it’s been eating him alive ever since. A heavy silence hangs between them before Cas quietly says, “Dean, it wasn’t like that.”
“Yeah?” Dean’s fingers are itching for another shot. He can’t do this right now. “‘Cause that’s what it looked like on my end.”
Cas glances away like he always does when he’s looking for words. “I left because it was impossible for me to stay,” he finally says. “I couldn’t continue to let myself be blamed for things that weren’t my fault. I couldn’t keep staying somewhere where I’d be held at arms length because you’re too afraid to let me come any closer. You couldn’t even look at me. And in the one instance where I needed you, you wouldn’t have it. I wouldn’t have left if you hadn’t left me with no other choice.”
Dean knows that, too. He knows he forced Cas out because he’s poison and has been too afraid to let him in the way he’s wanted to for years. Once he does, he won’t be able to let him go, and that scares him more than facing down God does. And frankly, Cas deserves better than someone who can’t process how he feels long enough to quit lashing out like a cornered animal.
But the angel takes a step towards him instead of out the door. “I’m here now, though.”
There’s a part of him that’s screaming at him to push Cas away again, tell him that he was right to walk out and leave him to his bullshit. The words don’t come, however, because in the midst of their fight he’d almost forgotten how much he needs Cas right here with him. Instead, his hands stay clenched into fists at his side and his voice sounds embarrassingly small even to his own ears. “Cas, seriously—”
“Tell me that you want me to leave,” he says, “and I’ll go.”
It should be the easiest thing in the world to make Cas walk back out that door. All he needs is one word. But Cas’ eyes are impossibly blue and Dean’s a coward who can’t even isolate himself right.
“No, you—” He stops, biting the inside of his cheek. “You, uh. You’re not a screwup. You gotta know that.”
Cas looks surprised, and Dean hates himself for it. “Dean—”
“And you did what you had to do, because I just can’t…I just can’t believe that anything in our lives is real the way you do.” He scrubs his hand down his face again. “All I know is that God turned our lives into his personal shitshow, and I’m sick of it.”
“I told you, Dean. God— Chuck— may have designed the race, but he didn’t dictate how we ran it.” The angel’s close enough to reach out and touch now. “He didn’t decide how I feel for you, despite how infuriating you can be.”
Dean’s mouth is very, very dry. “Cas.”
“He didn’t make me come back here to see you,” he continues, his gaze flickering down to Dean’s lips. “And he doesn’t have anything to do with what I’d like to do, if you’ll let me.”
By way of an answer, Dean grabs two fist fulls of Cas’ ridiculous fishing sweatshirt and smashes their mouths together.
It’s rough and mostly teeth at first, almost as though they’re still having an argument instead of kissing. But then it softens, and Dean pours everything he can’t say in words into it because he’s always been better at letting his body do the talking. I’m sorry. I need you. I don’t deserve you. Please don’t go away again.
When they finally pull apart, Cas’ lips are swollen and his hair is an absolute mess, almost like it was the night they met. At some point, he must’ve backed Dean up into the counter, because it’s digging into his back. He can bring himself to care too much, though; not when the angel’s looking at him like that.
“Next time,” Cas tells him, “I want us to talk to each other.”
“Yeah,” Dean breathes. His heart is still racing, as it does when you’ve just made out with the guy you’ve been trying to swallow your feelings for over a decade. He’s still not sure he knows what’s Chuck and what’s isn’t, but the feeling of Cas’ lips against his wasn’t anything but real. “Do you wanna…y’know. Crash in my room? Tonight?”
Hell, if they’re gonna do this, might as well go all the way, and Dean’s tired of running a one-man show. If they’re gonna choose, they might as well do it while they’re free.
Cas’ hands are still on his hips. It doesn’t look like he’s going to move them anytime soon. “I was going to put my suit in the wash.”
“What?”
“My suit is covered in djinn blood.” There’s a ghost of a smirk on Cas’ face. “I came here in the hopes of saving money on the laundromat.”
Dean laughs at that; actually laughs, for the first time in what’s probably forever. It makes him feel something that might be hope. “You’re an asshole.”
“Mm,” Cas hums, “but I’ve decided that it can wait until morning.”
“Yeah?” Dean asks, resting their foreheads together.
“Yes,” Cas agrees, closing his eyes. “We have time.”