Chapter Text
The rushing sound of that sweeping black nothingness still echoed through the dungeon as Dean sat up, stunned, against the cold brick wall.
He was alone.
Only moments before, the Empty had consumed Death, an afterthought in its mission to claim the life of the angel that had thwarted it. The angel who, moments before that, had opened a hole in Dean’s chest that now felt as gaping and empty as that creeping blackness had been.
I love you.
There it was, Cas had said it. Cas had finally said it, and then he died. If Dean had articulated to himself, before, on those rare occasions when he felt just raw enough to even consider what could be lingering in the air between him and Cas all those years, what was the worst thing that could happen if he just said something, it wouldn’t have been as bad as this. Cas would leave, Cas would reject him, but even he hadn’t thought anyone would die.
The paralyzing shock wore off abruptly. Cas was gone. He felt himself shaking before registering the tears, the shuddering gasps tearing through his lungs.
Cas had poured his heart out to him, and he’d just stood there. He didn’t even give the guy a damn hug, he just clammed up. What could he say? He’d never wanted someone to shut up so badly, while also wanting to beg him to continue. The things that Cas said were so completely underserved, and Dean had desperately wanted to hear them. It was like Cas looked at every shitty thing about him and decided that it was okay, like he was polishing up all those dark ugly parts of him until they were shiny and good. He should have made Cas stop. If he’d understood faster what was happening, he could have shut that cloying, needy part of himself away and physically made Cas stop talking. And then he’d be here, and Dean would have found a different way, he could have turned himself over to Billy and bought Cas some time to escape. But he hadn’t, he’d just stood there, he didn’t stop Cas from calling the Empty, and he didn’t even bother to offer the guy any kind of recognition or comfort or love in his final fucking moments.
He'd said nothing. He had one shot to not be such a fucking coward, and he’d blown it, and it was his last chance, and now Cas was dead.
He was vaguely aware that Sam was still calling long after he’d decided not to answer. What did it matter? What could Sam offer that was worse than this, who could be gone that would even come close?
Dean replayed Cas’ words over in his mind. The one thing that I want, it’s something I know I can’t have. Dean knew exactly what Cas had meant. It was the same thing that Dean wanted, that Dean couldn’t have, because it didn’t make sense that Cas would want that too. So Dean had never let either of them have the one thing that would have made Cas happy. How long had he wanted it? If Dean had said something years ago, the empty never could have used it as a bargaining chip now.
Don’t do this, Cas. After all that Cas had done for him, everything they’d been through, those were the last words he’d said to him. He hadn’t even realized that it was already too late, that the angel had already sacrificed himself, that there was no more room for begging, no more time to talk Cas out of it. Just saying those three words had sealed Cas’ fate. That was Cas’ true happiness? Cas loved him so much that just saying it, just letting himself feel it was enough complete his deal with the Empty, and Dean had given him nothing in return, and now never could.
He thought of all the other times that Cas had died. It was always tinged with regret; Dean always cursed his inability to be honest with himself and honest with Cas after. He had spent months thinking that, if he’d known Cas was going to die, he would have done things differently, he would have at least tried. And then Cas would come back, and Dean would still do nothing, still say nothing, because Cas was back and Dean wasn’t going to take a gamble that might make him lose Cas again, that might push him away. And now, not taking that gamble might have been the thing that ultimately lead to him losing Cas.
He felt a surge of fury, with himself, with Chuck, with Billy, the Empty, even with Castiel. Finally, he knew that he’d had a chance at something good, and it was too late. If Dean had another chance, he wouldn’t fucking waste it again, he wouldn’t be that pathetic, scared child again. Who was he afraid of judging him? Both of this parents were gone, the few friends he had were from a different world and hardly even knew him, Jody and the girls wouldn’t care, the rest of the world either thought he was dead or a murderer or were scared shitless of him, and Sam—fuck, Sam was a damn adult, he could deal with it.
He brought his fists away from his eyes. His head throbbed, and his back cracked as he raised his head and stared out at the decimated doorway that Billy had walked through.
Dean picked up his phone and stood.
Cas always came back.
It was like this realization was enough to seal away all the anxiety and horror and pain. A wave of calm, focused determination replaced them.
Cas always came back, and when he did, Dean wouldn’t fuck it up again. He would get him back, and then he’d tell him everything that he’d been too scared to say before.
This was the new mission. Killing Chuck felt small in its magnitude next to this. He could handle that, he had to, it was just one more roadblock fucking up his happiness, Cas’ happiness, and when Chuck was gone and Cas was back and the Empty had fucked off for good, nothing could stop him from getting that happiness for the both of them.