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“There is a spell,” Rowena said, temporarily separated from her throne in hell to deal with the Chuck problem.
For just a moment, Dean felt hope blossom in his chest. If there was a spell that could help Jack kill Chuck, there was a chance they could win.
“Well, what is it?” he asked, fully ready to be crushed by the weight of whatever had to be sacrificed.
“Well…” she searched for eye contact and found it with Sam. There was a desperation in them that told Dean all he needed to know.
“Just tell us, Rowena, whatever it is we’ll get it done.”
“It is a similar spell intended to remove the mark of Cain,” She swallowed and looked at Dean with pity.
“A sacrifice,” Sam interrupted, eyes going wide, “No, there has to be another way-”
“I’ll do it,” Dean said, stepping forward to put himself in the line of fire. He had a responsibility to protect the people he cared about, and he would never stop doing so until his last breath.
“No,” Cas said, stepping in his path and blocking the way, “It has to be me.”
Dean clenched his fist and tried not to lash out. He and Cas had finally stopped fighting, and he didn’t- couldn’t- die knowing Cas was furious with him.
“Cas, don’t do this, please. It’s not up for debate-”
“There are things…” Cas paused and looked briefly at Jack, “that you don’t know.”
“I swear Cas if you’re keeping secrets again-”
“It was my fault!” Jack shouted. His eyes had begun to faintly glow golden that reflected on the tears collecting there, “He made me promise not to tell you, but I don’t care.”
Dean flicked a gaze between the two of them, hot anger pooling in his gut, “Well I’m here now, and clearly it is important! What happened to us working together, Cas, huh? God, In purgatory the things I said and you-” Dean swallowed and resisted the tightness in his eyes, “I don’t even care anymore.” Without a second thought, he stormed down that hallway into the library.
As expected, Cas followed him. The others, however, did not. Dean had to suppress a twisted laugh at the entire situation.
“I made a deal, Dean. My soul for Jack’s,” his tone was flat and emotionless, a reflection of his past self ten years ago when he was still a thoughtless soldier. Dean hated it.
“I thought we were done with sacrifices behind each other's backs.”
“I did it to-”
“Oh what! Protect me! Yeah, Cas, that’s working out really great. How much time do you have, a year? Two?”
“However long it takes,” his voice was thinner now, stretched on a wire between composure and despair.
“For what.”
“For me to be happy.”
Dean looked up at Cas, a fast and instant reaction. With horror, Dean realized that for the first time since they had known each other, Dean had never seen Cas cry. Not like this. The mess of tears falling down his cheeks and clumping under his eyes. They were so tired, when had they gotten so tired? When had Cas gone from a timeless being of magnificent beauty to a sobbing, exhausted, mess? Dean couldn’t fight it anymore, the tears were falling from his eyes too. They burnt as they fell, heavy lead balls pinging on his maroon button-up.
After all these years, everything they had been through and this conversation had never happened. The type of unsaid conversation that meant Dean knew exactly what the answer to his question would be before he asked it.
“What would make you happy, Cas?” There. He had said it. He had asked the fatal question, the money blow. The shriveled up, locked away part of himself that would be exposed as a festering, blistered wound if faced with the honest truth.
“I think you know already,” and through all of the pain, and tears, and unsaid things Cas smiled. It was so honest and raw, so much so that Dean couldn’t stop the sound that escaped his lips. He didn’t know what to do, anymore. Not that he ever really knew what to do, he had Sam to tell him what to do when he couldn’t figure it out. This was something Sam could never fix.
“If I said it-” Dean swallowed.
“Then it would already be too late.”
It was a crippling feeling that flooded him. There was nothing he could do. If they didn’t want to waste the opportunity, Dean couldn’t do anything. Everything they had done for over a decade fell apart at his emotional nakedness. When their eyes locked, all Dean cared about was blue.
Before either of them knew what was happening, there was a pop at the end of the bunker.
“Sam!” Dean began to call, frantically taken out of the moment.
“Oh, Dean,” Chuck laughed to himself, a crooked thing that made Dean want to rip him to shreds, “always too quick to act and so slow to think.” Chuck snapped his fingers and they were in the dungeon. All of them. Sam, Jack, Dean; they were all instantly tied up in chairs surrounding the main devil’s trap. In this chair sat Cas, cheeks still streaked with tears but attitude completely shifted. Dean pulled against his restraints and looked to Sam, who looked surprisingly at ease.
“In my whole writing career, there was one thing I could never get right,” Chuck began to pace and scratch at his own beard, “I had thousands of years and hundreds of relationships with humans of all types, but I could never seem to get it right .”
Dean focused on Jack, who looked like he was trying to get out of his restraints, but his eyes would begin to glow and then faint out. All the hope from just a few minutes ago was nowhere to be found. How had Chuck managed to get through the warding? They had been caught off guard, Dean knew this would happen.
“Even in my books, none of your little relationships truly worked out,” Chuck walked over to Sam, “You had Jess, yes, tragic. Then Ruby and some other ones,” he gestured vaguely into the air, “and now Eileen, which I have to say is pretty convincing.” He spun around and walked in front of Cas, “But none of them could ever come close to the love story I didn’t even know I was writing .”
Dean’s heart started to pick up and he locked eyes with Cas. There was stoicism there in the way only someone already too hurt could produce. Dean felt suddenly very sick.
“All of the sacrifices and saving and pining and devotion! I mean, Castiel, you abandoned heaven for him. You defied me, ” Chuck wiped his face as if he had made a terribly funny joke, “Truly the love story of our century.” The smile morphed into a terrible grimace, “too bad you never even got to resolve it. Really a shame. Poor literary practice.”
Chuck snapped once again and Dean was free from his bonds and standing in front of Cas. There was a blade in his hand that wasn’t there before, but when he tried to move he was frozen in place.
“No-” Sam murmured from under his gag. It was strangled and desperate in a way that was so rare to him, heaviness fell over Dean at the weight of it.
With a flick of the wrist, Dean was approaching Cas with the knife.
“How genius is it that the one person the rebellious angel dedicated his insignificant life to was the one who would kill him.”
Against everything Dean tried, his knife drew a fine line up Cas’s arm through his well-worn trenchcoat. Blood pooled around the edges, but Cas didn’t flinch.
“I’d call it better than Romeo and Juliet, personally,” he clapped his hands and the knife was driven through Cas’s side.
A scream fell from Dean’s mouth so strangled and pained he felt it ripple through his body. It tore through every muscle, every bone as it ricocheted along with his being. There was something about it so unlike any pain, he had ever felt that he nearly vomited on the floor.
“No, no, no, no, please no,” he begged as the knife in his own hand was twisted around the wound. The spot wasn’t lethal on its own, but the blood loss…
“You could have made it easy Dean Winchester,” Chuck said as the blade was pulled from the wound and dragged around the edges, “all you had to do was follow the script.”
Cas’s face was turning pale, but his eyes were still clear. Dean clung to the life in them as he unwillingly carved into newly human flesh. It didn’t even register to Dean until now that an angel wouldn’t be bleeding like this. Cas was human. How long had it been that way? Dean had no idea.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw a black sludge creeping under the iron door.
“You thought you could defeat me,” Chuck laughed, unaware of the sludge, “I’m God!”
Suddenly, the black wrapped itself around Jack’s restraints and he busted free, tears in his raging eyes.
“Get away from him!” He screamed, and all of his power was directed towards Chuck. Dean ran to Sam and untied him with the knife still dripping with Cas’s blood.
“Get him out,” Sam panted, “The spell, it was already cast. Just get him out.”
Dean was confused, but he didn’t hesitate. He ran to Cas’s side as Jack and the empty worked to subdue Chuck.
Cas was leaning on his right side as they limped through the familiar halls of the bunker. One of Cas’s hands was pressing into his wound and the other was slung over Dean’s shoulders. His breaths were shallow.
“Come on Cas, stay with me,” Dean pleaded as they pushed into the library. He tried to start going up the stairs but Cas collapsed.
“Dean,” Cas reached away from his wound and put a bloody handprint on Dean’s sleeve, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault,” Dean put his hand frantically on the wound to stop the bleeding, “it’s not- please, Cas, come on keep breathing.”
He was slipping, but he watched Dean’s face with soft joy, “Do you under-s-stand Dean.” he muttered, a filthy blood-smile slipping between his lips, “He didn’t write-”
“No, come on Cas stay with me,” Dean pressed their foreheads together and tried to straighten his tilting head with gentle hands.
“He didn’t write us,” Cas gripped Dean's hand from his cheek and it was warm and slick, “We did.”
“No one could ever write us” Dean smiled briefly, “You do too many stupid things to be predictable,” he cradled his angel between his arms, vaguely aware that the sounds of fighting had stopped.
Something like a laugh came from Cas, and then he was tunneling himself closer to Dean’s neck.
“It had to be-,” Cas coughed while rasping for air, “be this way, Dean. It always had- had to be me.”
“You’re gonna make it through this. I need you. I can’t lose you again,” the last words were nearly impossible to get through his tightening throat.
Cas just looked up at him, blue eyes shining with the closest thing to satisfaction Dean had ever seen in them, “At least I can promise,” they fluttered shut and Cas drew a final breath, “this is the last time.”
“Cas,” Dean pressed his face into Cas’s cheek and hiccuped, “Cas! Cas, come on buddy, come on, don’t die on me, don’t-”
There’s something that happens when a boy is trained at a very young age to suppress his feelings for as long as the immediate threat was dealt with. It was then that this training kicked in for Dean. He wasn’t crying. He didn’t know how anymore. With the back of his hands, he pressed into his eyes and felt himself slip down what was left of the wall.
“Dean…?” Sam’s quiet voice broke through the void he was sucked into, “Are you there?” He froze in the doorway of the library where they had once sat as a family and played games, eaten food, and read lore books. Jack was next to him, the joy of accomplishing their goal wiped clean from his face at the sight.
“Dad?” His voice was strained, and when Jack sprinted to Cas in a failed attempt to restore his grace and bring him back from death, Sam felt himself crumble too.
“No, I can save him. I can bring him back!” Jack’s face was distorted with grief so badly Sam had to look away.
“You can’t,” Meg said, standing in the middle of the library.
“You son of a-” Dean said, his first words raw and seething.
“Ah, ah, ah,” she smiled and put up a finger, “A deal is a deal. Now that Chuck is with me, I can finally rest.”
“What about Cas?” Sam asked.
“Truly a shame,” she shook her head, looking satisfied, “But once again, a deal is a deal.”
“He did nothing,” Dean broke and swallowed.
“Casualty of war I’m afraid. Never really got to be happy, what a shame. It would have hurt more.”
“I’ll kill you where you stand,” Dean said.
“We won’t leave him,” Jack agreed, eyes glowing.
She laughed, “You can’t kill me, boy. You need me. It’s just how it is. Now if you don’t mind, I have a very nice nap to get to.”
“I will never let you rest for as long as you have him,” Jack promised, “Never. I’ll keep you awake for eternity with all your thoughts and demons.”
She grimaced, and for a moment it looked as though she would cave. Instead, she left in a puff of black smoke and the room was silent again.
“I’m going for a drive,” Dean said, standing suddenly and stepping away from Cas’s body. He had to get out- didn’t know how long the emotion wall would last in his head.
“Dean. please don’t go yet-”
“I’ll do whatever I want. You knew about this plan, his sacrifice, and you told me nothing.” He slammed the door on the way out.
Getting inside of baby was easy. Driving to the nearest field was not. He was swerving through the road, trying to see through tears as he pushed the pedal to the floor and heard the tires screech. He wanted to drive off the nearest cliff and never look back. He wanted to drink way too much alcohol, hook up with some rando, and overdose. He wanted to do anything except living in a world without Castiel. His angel.
He pulled into the field, rolling on the hills of grass, and pulled the car door open to vomit. When the heaving stopped he ran into the weeds and collapsed to his knees, already gasping for air when he screamed. He screamed and sobbed and let all of his tears flow. Scream after scream escaped him as he fisted clumps of grass and held his head in his hands.
So many years of bottling up his feelings. Not just for Cas, for everything. His crap life, how unfair it was. Mom, Sam, Charlie, hell even Crowley. He sobbed for each of them then like he should have before. The most righteous man, Micheal’s perfect vessel, Castiel’s human, broke like pottery under the stars in a random Kansas field.
Out of all the things he expected his insane and messed up life to be, trapping God in the empty and losing his angel best friend in one night was not one of them. He would laugh if it didn’t hurt to breathe.
Memories of his life passed by Dean behind his throbbing eyelids like a movie. All the concealed touches and glances, everything he had hidden from so long. He hated feeling so much that when he finally realized he was, it was too late. Always too late. Hell, Cas's bloody handprint was still on his arm, nevermind that his hands were coated in browning clots.
Everything in his life had been a mistake, hell, he was a mistake. He loved Cas. God, he loved Cas more than anything. The last time he thought he lost him, Dean literally killed himself. What was he supposed to do? If he tried again, would death let him? He didn’t have anything left to accomplish- Chuck was trapped. Had he finally done enough to earn the peace he craved?
“Cas,” Dean said to no one, “I know you can’t hear me,” he squeezed the bridge of his nose and fought back hiccups, “But, I just gotta know. What am I supposed to do without you?”
Dean looked up at the stars and tried to imagine that one of them was Cas. Maybe, because Cas was sleeping in the empty, he would be dreaming of the same stars Dean was looking at.
With one swallow and a few deep breaths to make it look like he hadn’t just lost everything he had eaten all week and cried out all of the water in his body, Dean returned to the bunker. As he started to walk down the stairs, he tried to avoid looking at the Cas-sized-blanket-lump on the dining table.
“We have to find him, what if he does something stupid, he didn’t bring his phone. He doesn’t know-” Sam’s voice came from the library.
“I’ll find him.”
“Don’t need to find me, folks,” Dean smiled and splayed out his arms, “right here.”
“Dean,” Jack sighed, running to Dean and wrapping him in a hug.
“I’m right here buddy,” Dean stroked his back in long, soothing strokes.
“We thought-”
“I know what you thought,” Dean swallowed back the guilt of his selfishness, “It’s okay.”
“I can’t lose both of you.”
Dean pulled him closer and rested his forehead on the crown of Jack’s head. He didn’t know what to say because he didn’t want to lie. With a glance at his right, Dean saw Sam smiling softly at him. Dean was never one for affection, ever. He preferred to be affectionate with a case of beer and a stranger from the bar over someone he actually cared about. In this moment with Jack he still wanted the beer, but maybe being loved by people wasn’t as bad as he thought it was.
The funeral was the next morning. Naturally, Dean didn’t sleep. Instead, he stared at Cas’s bloody trenchcoat on his dresser and tried not to go for a second full bottle of whiskey. His head was pounding as he watched the numbers on the clock tick every agonizing second until it hit 4 am and he couldn't stand to lie there anymore.
He went out into the woods to cut down enough wood for the pyre before the light even cut through the trees and the dew was still settling on the grass. It was peaceful, being out there. It reminded him of his childhood when he would sneak out of their motel rooms just to watch the sunrise, rare moments dedicated just to him. He smiled mildly at the thought because Cas would’ve liked to have known that about him.
Sam was drinking coffee when he got back, sweaty with a pink flush of morning cold air on his cheeks. Jack was next to him staring at Cas’s empty seat and Dean patted his arm when he walked around the table with his own cup.
“Did you get any sleep?” Sam asked him with an eyebrow raised, but not in any way judgemental. Dean assumed by the state of his eyebags Sam didn’t get any sleep either.
He considered lying, but didn’t really see the point anymore, “No.”
Jack was the one who lit the match and tossed it on the pyre. Part of Dean wished he had been the one to do it, but he didn’t have the right to compare to Jack. Jack had never betrayed Cas or lied to him.
In Dean’s arms was the trench coat that still had the slit down the arm. When he was sure neither of them was watching, Dean drew it to his nose once more. For a moment, it was 11 years ago. Cas’s smell had changed over time, most angels had a metallic, almost rain type smell to them. As Cas became more his own person, he started to smell of lavender and clove. His heart skipped a beat at the smell, and with one more whiff, Dean threw the folded coat into the pyre.
“He was human, when he died you know,” Dean said, remembering the moment too vividly.
“I think he always wanted that,” Sam raspily replied.
Jack tensed up suddenly and looked at Dean with wide eyes, “Human?”
“Yeah, Jack. Flesh and blood.”
“If he was human that means-” Jack disappeared with a rush of wings.
Dean looked at Sam, who seemed equally as confused at Jack’s behavior.
“Jack!” Sam called into the air.
Dean cupped his mouth with his hands and shouted, “Jack come back-”
“You burned my coat.”
At high risk of whiplash, Dean spun around at the voice and inhaled quickly. Cas was standing there, in his usual suit but lacking the coat.
“Cas?” Sam said to break the tension and Dean shook his head to see if he was dreaming.
Dean resisted every urge to run to him and just smiled broadly, “How?”
“Because he died human and not an angel,” Jack chimed, grinning from ear to ear while holding onto his father’s arm, “I just had to get him from heaven. Not the empty.”
Sam moved first and embraced Cas, “It’s good to see you,” he said with a sniffle.
“It is good to see you as well, Sam,” Cas smiled, and Dean felt his insides twist.
“Come on, let’s go make Cas something to eat,” Sam said, grabbing Jack’s arm and leading him back to the bunker without looking back.
“Hello, Dean.”
“Last time, huh?” Dean stepped forward so they were inches away from each other.
“Personal space, huh?”
“That’s different,” he felt his eyes tear up against his own will.
“How could that be different?”
Dean just huffed out a laugh, because Cas had changed so much since they had first met in that barn and he was so glad of it.
“Does it matter?”
Cas leaned in closer and cupped Dean’s cheek, “I don’t think it does.”
I was a soft kiss, tepid and quick. Less worried about a promise to continue and more an admittance of past failures.
“I'm sorry about the coat,” he murmured into Cas’s neck when they broke apart, “I couldn’t bear to look at it anymore.”
“I understand,” Cas replied, and Dean could feel his face forming a grin, “I was in need of a new wardrobe anyway.”
“I always liked the trenchcoat, it was a signature- you know? Like Fred’s ascot or Marty Mcfly’s orange vest.”
Dean let go of Cas and pulled away to really take in that he was alive again.
“I have an unlimited knowledge in pop culture, Dean, yet you never seem to confuse me.”
“Not my fault Metatron wasn’t a back to the future fan.”
A growl came from Cas’s stomach, followed by a confused face that made Dean burst out laughing.
“I have been human before,” Cas said, returning the smile, “But I will never forget the simple novelty of being hungry .”
“We should go in and make sure your first meal in a decade isn’t vegan tofu,” Dean said.
They walked into the bunker with their arms swinging side by side and ate as a family. They were finally happy, and Dean nearly sobbed at the relief of Cas’s hand connected with his under the table.