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A cosmic reset button. Dean didn’t think they could actually do it. Well, they didn’t necessarily. It had mostly been Jack.
The nephilim slept for a solid week after the fight. After Chuck was gone for good, as well as Amara. Dean had worried if the boy would wake up, but Sam kept an eye on him. And everything was back the way it should be. Mostly, anyway. The world seemed to be back. According to news reports, the entire world just didn’t remember the two or three days between when they disappeared and when they were returned. Some people had little memory, and there were cases of some people missing entirely still, though enough John and Jane Does kept turning up that it appeared that everyone had returned, in one fashion or another. People tried to piece it together, but few people had any pieces, and they weren’t sharing. Bobby, Charlie, Stevie, they were all back. Eileen was back, and happy with Sam. They had been helping Bobby and Charlie, tracking down and tracing all of the missing family members to the claims of people whose memories had been more affected, and working on reuniting them with their loved ones.
The day Jack woke up, he disappeared almost immediately, leaving behind Sam and Eileen worried, and Dean cursing under his breath. He had hoped to talk to Jack. To find out if he…If the Empty might like him better than Chuck. If he could do anything to bring Cas back. But he left.
It was a win. On some level, Dean knew that. On a logical level, maybe. The entire population of the world had been returned. Sam had Eileen. Charlie had Stevie. They were worried about Dean, of course. But they were also happy. They won.
They won. Dean didn’t. Dean felt like screaming at the world. They got to go on as if nothing had changed. As if everyone was safe and alive, but not everyone was. Cas wasn’t.
Dean spent more than his fair share of time drunk. He’d tried for a few days, reading books and going through lore. But he couldn’t ind anything, and when Sam offered to help, he let his brother search. And he got drunk.
He alternated between drinking in his room and drinking in the trap room. Staring, just staring at the wall where the Empty had manifested, had came to take Cas away from him.
Standing in there, now two weeks after everything—a week after Jack had left, Dean’s eyes traced the wall. Sam had cleaned up the glass shards from the beer bottle Dean had thrown at the wall last night. Just like he’d cleaned it up every time it happened. The stained splatter of the small amount of liquid left in the bottles still decorated the wall. Dark spots of beer soaked into the cracks.
Sam had tried to get him to talk at first, but he’d given up after a few days. It wasn’t his business to know exactly what had happened. Cas was gone. That was all he needed to know. The details were for Dean alone. The tearful words spoken into the air between him and Cas—those were his burden to carry.
The words unspoken between them—those were heavier, but still his alone to carry.
Lately, Sam left Dean to his own devices. Probably believing he’d come around eventually. It was a naive thought, but it suited Dean’s needs, so he didn’t correct it. Sam only ever bothered him to make sure he ate a meal on occasion, and drank some water along with the beer. Otherwise, he left Dean alone and stayed buried in books that didn’t hold any answers.
Which was why it was strange to hear his brother’s voice calling his name, and hurried footsteps in the hall outside. “Dean! Dean! Wait, no don’t—“ His voice broke off, and Dean turned to see his brother wince at the shatter of yet against bottle against the wall.
“Leave me alone, Sam,” Dean muttered. His voice didn’t sound angry, not anymore. Just tired.
“At least that’s the last bottle I’ll have to clean up,” Sam said. Dean heard the sigh, but he wasn’t looking at his brother, just using to storm past him and go get another beer. It was early, before noon, and he hadn’t been awake long enough to build up anything stronger than a light buzz, and that wouldn’t get him through the day.
“Tell yourself whatever you need to.”
“Dean, wait,” Sam grabbed his arm, and Dean jerked away from him like he’d caught fire, glare now turned to his brother.
“Leave me alone,” he repeated, venom returning to his voice.
“Jack’s back,” Sam said. Now Dean could see the smile on Sam’s face, the brightness in his eyes. Dean wanted to punch him.
“Good for him. Hope he brought more beer.”
“No, Dean, wait,” Sam hurried, stepping to block Dean’s path, though he didn’t touch him again. Sam’s hands were held up in front of Dean to stop him, but he didn’t reach out to try and grab his arm again. “He didn’t come back alone.”
Dean waited a beat, eyebrows raised before sighing. “I don’t care. Tell Bobby or whoever that I’m sick.”
“Dean,” Sam repeated his name again, it almost sounding like a whine. Dean was tired of this already. He just wanted to lock himself in his room, and let everyone else enjoy their new perfect world. He was the only one suffering, apparently.
The thought wasn’t a fair one, he knew. Sam missed Cas, and Jack missed him, but it wasn’t the same.
“Cas is with him.”
The words sounded strange, like they didn’t make sense together. The words all had distinct meanings, and Dean understood those, but put together in that way—It sounded almost like static.
“What?” For the first time since the day Cas was taken, when he’d had to tell Sam that Cas was gone, he heard his own voice break.
He wasn’t sure if Sam said anything else. It sounded like an ocean roaring in his ears as he pushed past Sam, his legs carrying him at a sprint through the bunker. It belated occurred to him that he should’ve asked Sam where Jack and Cas were, but he stopped dead when his feet reached the entryway.
Jack’s smile was bright when he turned to look at Dean, but Dean’s eyes were glued to the figure beside him. “Cas,” he breathed, so quietly he didn’t think either of them could hear him, but Cas smiled.
“Hello, Dean,” he said. The familiar greeting, the familiar voice, broke something, and Dean surged across the empty space between them, nearly knocking them both over as he wrapped his arms around Cas. He vaguely registered Jack’s hand brushing his arm, pressed against Cas’s back for just a moment to help keep Dean from actually knocking them over, then the nephilim stepped out of his line of sight.
“You’re alive,” Dean said, his voice muffled against the shoulder of Cas’s trench coat.
“I am,” Cas answered. Dean felt the arms around him loosen after a moment, a silent signal that the typically expected hug had reached its allotted time limit, but Dean only tightened his grip. He wasn’t ready to let go, not yet. Seconds ticked by. Cas wrapped his arms around Dean again, though loosely, almost uncertain. Slow footsteps drew closer—heavy steps that definitely belonged to his brother, not Eileen.
If Sam noticed that Dean held on to Cas a little too long, he had the decency not to mention it. Once Dean felt like he could breathe again, he pulled back. The smile that stretched across his face pulled at muscles sorely used over the last few weeks.
Looking at Cas though, his hands still resting on the angel’s shoulders, he knew he should say something. He had to say something, but no words came out. His smile faded a little, though Cas was still beaming at him.
“I think this calls for a celebration dinner.” Dean hadn’t been so happy to hear his brother’s voice in a long time.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dean said quickly, squeezing Cas’s shoulder again, as if reminded himself that he was here, alive and in one piece.
Dinner was a blur for Dean. Everyone was relieved, everyone was happy. Dean made everyone swear multiple times that they were done with making deals with anything. “No demon deals, no angel deals, no deals with—“ he broke off for a moment, waving vaguely at nothing. “All powerful voids of Emptiness or whatever. None.”
Otherwise, Dean was quiet at dinner. Some part of him couldn’t quite believe it was real, but some small part of him was also unreasonably pissed off. And he knew it wasn’t fair, he knew that. But fuck. He’d been miserable, he’d spent endless nights cataloging everything he’d done wrong, how he’d gotten him and Cas into that damn situation in the first place, and how Cas had just made his big speech, knowing he would be swallowed up by the Empty. No facing Dean after he said it, no having to deal with Dean’s pain after he was gone, with Dean’s guilt, with his understanding, with his realization—hell, he probably hadn’t even heard Dean’s prayers.
Dean hardly noticed when Jack helped Sam clear the table, and Eileen got up to leave with Sam. He barely registered Jack giving Cas another hug before leaving for his room. He did notice the subtle, uncomfortable way Cas shifted a bit once they were alone. He’d been acutely aware of the angel since the moment he got back. Every smile that faded a little into something uncertain when he caught Dean’s eye, every hesitation when he accidentally brushed against Dean’s arm when he reached past him or was speaking with his hands too much.
“Good night, Dean.” The words, the scrape of the chair as Cas stood, snapped Dean back, his hand reaching out to grip the sleeve of Cas’s trench coat without conscious thought. Cas froze, blue eyes meeting his with some uncertainty, though no less warmth than they always held. Love, Dean knew now.
Dean licked his lips, and tried not to notice the way Cas’s eyes dropped a fraction to follow the movement. Dean opened his mouth, tried to form any kind of coherent thought. An apology, a confession, anything.
“You stupid son of a bitch.” Not that. He did not intend to say that, and judging by the way Cas’s expression hardened, defensive in what he must’ve assumed to become an angry response to his confession to Dean, he hadn’t expected that response either. Dean stood as well so they were closer to eye level, his grip only tightening on the sleeve of Cas’s coat. “You don’t get to just tell me you frickin love me, and then die. You can’t just—What the hell, man?”
“I’m sorry if my words made you uncomfortable, Dean. It was never my intention,” Cas answered, his voice low and dejected in a way that made Dean feel like the bad guy. But he wasn’t. Cas was the one that left—what right did he have to make Dean feel guilty over being upset with him for leaving?
Except, it occurred belatedly to Dean that that wasn’t what Cas had apologized for. “Cas, that’s not—“
“I didn’t intend to hurt you, or make you feel—“
“Cas, stop. You—“
“—uncomfortable. I don’t expect—“
“—aren’t listening to—“
“—you to reciprocate. You don’t—“
“—me. Will you shut up for a—“
“—have to say anything. I understa—“
Dean almost wishes he could fall back on alcohol, or say he wasn’t thinking, but he was. He knew exactly what he was doing when he cut Cas off one more time, this time the only way he knew for certain would shut him up. The hand gripping Cas’s sleeve came up to the lapel of his trench coat instead, tugging Cas forward as his other hand found the back of Cas’s neck.
When their lips met, it was like everything stopped, and everything came alive simultaneously. Words ceased, the room fell away, the steady hum of the fridge faded. And everything felt electric. His skin buzzed, his lips burned in the most pleasant way—and after a moment it hit him that Cas wasn’t moving.
Dean jerked away as soon as the realization occurred to him. Cas stared, unmoving back at him, eyes wide. Dread and guilt hit him like a wave. He’d misread everything. Cas didn’t love him—not like that—of course he didn’t. Dean was just a human, and not even a good one at that. His soul was tainted, burned and charred from the pits of Hell, from the demon, from everything he’d done and everyone he’d hurt without the excuse of either.
“Shit,” Dean breathed out. His hands pulled back, palms held up in front of him. “Cas, I’m sorry. I didn’t—I misunderstood—Shit, I’m sorry.”
“Dean,” Cas’s voice was softer, almost wistful this time when he spoke, a small, almost disbelieving smile pulling at his lips. Dean didn’t move, didn’t say anything, afraid of screwing up again. It seemed to be the only thing he was good at, apparently. But Cas only reached out, taking one of Dean’s hands in his own, and pulling it forward to press flat against as his chest as he closer the distance between them again.
Every muscle in Dean’s body seemed to melt into the embrace this time, in the reciprocity of Cas’s lips pressed against his. Dean wrapped his hand still under Cas’s tight in the fabric of the trench coat under his fingers, as if he could hold on tightly enough to keep him from leaving again. The kiss was more desperate, or maybe it only felt that way to Dean. After a moment, Cas moved a hand to his face, fingers caressing over his cheek causing Dean’s breath to hitch. He didn’t realize there were tears on his face until Cas pulled away, just a little, and Dean felt fingertips brush wet tears away from his face. When his eyes fluttered open, he couldn’t catch his breath, not with the way Cas was looking at him. His eyes were bright and warm, filled with the love that he’d been able to voice and Dean was still unable to.
“Cas, I—“
“Hey Dean, can you help me with—Shit, sorry,” Sam’s hurried voice broke off at the same time that Dean stumbled back away from Cas, facing burning and gaze unable to meet his brother’s.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean muttered under his breath. “Can it wait, Sam?” The words came out sharper than he’d intended.
“It’s nothing, it can wait,” Sam said quickly.
“There’s no need,” Cas answered. Dean was surprised, and honestly a little annoyed, with how even his tone was. How little affected he sounded. “I’ll go and check on Jack.” He caught Dean’s eye offering a smile that made Dean blush harder, before turning to leave.
“I’m really sorry,” Sam repeated. “I uh, I didn’t mean to interrupt…anything.”
“Nothing to interrupt,” Dean answered. He coughed to clear his throat and made his way to the fridge for a beer, still unable to catch Sam’s eye.
“Right,” Sam said. Dean could hear the disbelief in his tone.
“What do you need, Sammy?”
“It’s nothing, really,” Sam insisted, but his laptop was open and perched on his arm. Dean looked at it instead of his brother, nodding towards it.
“Really? Seriously, what’s going on?”
“Just the latest list of John and Jane Does Bobby sent over,” Sam answered. He closed the laptop and set it on the table. Dean popped the cap off his beer, already dreading whatever Sam was going to say. “You know it’s okay, right?” Sam’s voice was softer when he spoke again.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Dean responded. “I’ll help you go through the list tomorrow, alright? I’m tired, I think I’m just gonna—“
“Dean, stop,” Sam said, exasperation clear in his tone. Dean stopped moving towards the door, though his back was still to his brother, hand clenching the beer bottle so tight his knuckles were turning white. “It’s okay. You and Cas. You deserve to be happy, just like I am with Eileen.” Dean didn’t respond, he wasn’t sure how to. After a moment, Sam laughed a little, and Dean turned around to shoot a glare at him. Sam only held a hand up in innocence. “Sorry, I just. I’m surprised I didn’t figure it out sooner.”
“Yeah, and how’s that?” Dean snapped at him. He didn’t intend to snap at him, but how the hell did Sam expect that he was supposed to figure something out when Dean wasn’t even sure he’d figured it out entirely?
“Every time we lost Cas, you were always—you were devastated, and it was worse every time. Especially this last time, I thought—Dean, I honestly, if he hadn’t come back, I wasn’t sure we’d had ever gotten you back,” Sam admitted. Dean felt himself—not relax, more just drop. His shoulders fell, his head dropped, his grip on the bottle loosened a little.
“I know,” he said quietly. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Sam said. Dean dragged his eyes back up to meet Sam’s, to se a warm smile on his face. Dean was unwilling to move, so Sam did, walking towards him and reaching out to squeeze Dean’s shoulder. “Just be happy. Let yourself be happy, for once. Everything’s ok. There’s no overarching evil, no Chuck, no Amara. Hell, I haven’t seen even the inkling of any kind of demon activity since everything was set back. It’s ok. The world is ok, and you and Cas—That’s ok too.”
Dean didn’t know what he was supposed to say. He hadn’t expected any of this, and hadn’t even thought about how he was going to tell Sam, much less how Sam would respond. So he didn’t say anything, he just reached up, wrapping his arms around his brother in a tight hug. Sam had that bright, stupid smile on his face when he pulled away, drawing an involuntary smile from Dean as well, even as he shoved Sam’s shoulder before turning to leave. “Thanks, Sammy,” he said, mostly because he knew he should, and if he didn’t say it now, he wasn’t going to.
It felt like some kind of weight was taken from his shoulder as he left the kitchen in search of Castiel. A smile tugged at his lips at the thought of the angel, and eh was finally able to indulge the excitement and happiness everyone else had found since the world had been put back together again, now a little bit brighter.