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Home, what a strange concept. Something Dean had been searching for, for as long as he could remember. Something that always ended in fire, in destruction. When he had seen Cas’ wings, falling to bits, charred beyond repair, he had thought of that fire. Mary had burned away, but not Cas, never Cas. For so long home had been a fluctuating space, identical and disparate motel rooms, a car, a brother who came and went. Fire, always fire, licking at the walls, burning their flesh.
Hell was almost a homecoming. Dean had felt the irony, the bookends. Then Cas had come for him and changed what it meant to burn. Blue flame, burning behind his eyes, barely hidden by the thin veil of human flesh. A handprint, a branding, and a shift. The fire had always raged between them and when they found the bunker, when Dean found his home, he didn’t realise that it was Cas who made it so.
Dean wasn’t good with words; neither out loud nor mentally. He wasn’t good at identifying thoughts and turning them into something he could explain. He hoped he conveyed his meaning in touch, in facial expressions and body language, he hoped Cas could see inside his mind. Until that confession, until the fire burned bright and then was gone, he had thought that Cas had known. That, above all else, was what glued him in place, what deadened his tongue. Cas had told him he didn’t have to say it. Cas had said he knew. How could Cas have been so wrong? How could Dean? Too late now, to rectify that blindness, too late to have what he’d already thought they had.
It seemed stupid now but Dean always assumed that Cas was the smart one, imbued with the wisdom of millennia. He hadn’t taken in that he truly was a baby in a trench coat, even worse at understanding the way he was seen by others, understanding love, than Dean himself. He supposed, for all that time in heaven, Cas had lived with emotions for no more than a decade. He might as well have been a child, for all he understood. Cas, Jack, it was so easy to forget youth when it wears the face of experience.
Comfortable silence, wordless understanding, so unreliable without agreed terms. Like tone in text messages, even the simplest thing could be misunderstood. And it was the simplest thing, truly, the easiest thing in Dean’s life. He loved Cas. He had always loved Cas. Loving Cas was like breathing, simpler still, a fact of existence that did not need explaining. It was, just was, and he had no trouble accepting that, not anymore. Sometimes you just know something, sometimes knowing is all that’s necessary. Of course there had been doubts, fears, self examinations that he had to have. Breakups and fights and so many miscommunications, but they’d been through that, they’d come out stronger. Things had been clear. He hadn’t thought he needed to say the words.
Now he couldn’t stop saying the words. He was sure they’d replaced his heartbeat, pounding in his chest all day every day, muttered under his breath and screamed at the sky. He didn’t care if Sam heard them, or Jack or Chuck or Lucifer, he had no room left for anything but those words, saw nothing but blue fire and swallowing blackness.
He was praying again, every night before he went to bed, any moment of peace he was given. For the first time since he had learnt what Chuck truly was. This wasn’t for him; this was for Dean’s saviour, his alone.
“Cas, please wake up. I need you. I need you so much I can barely breathe. You can have me Cas, of course you can have me, you’ve always had me. I thought you- I thought we- I love you too. Come back to me my angel. Please. Please. Anyone, anything that can hear me, bring him back. Bring him home. Come home Castiel, come home-“
On and on and on he begged and pleaded, words for the sake of words, words he had never said, words he had always said. Every word in his mind, every feeling in his soul, poured out in the dark, heard by no one or everyone. Over and over he prayed. He prayed until his knees ached and his voice was hoarse.
Rowena was unsurprised when he asked her, maybe she had heard, maybe she just knew. Rowena had an answer for everything. A spell, a totem, a strengthening of hope, like a beacon to reach beyond the light and into that dark place that had stolen love from him.
“All he needs to do, Dean my dearie, is hear. If he’s awake he can free himself from that terrible beastie, he’s a resourceful boy. You’ll get him back, I’m sure of it. Dinnae worry yerself over it,” a reassuring touch, fingers through his hair, and a sending off.
He held tight to hope and prayed once more, summoned everything he had inside him, every dream of a brighter future, every beautiful memory he could find, and he pushed out from himself, into the abyss. He hoped it woke The Empty, along with Cas, he hoped it was loud enough that the gates of heaven shook with it. He felt perhaps it was. Regardless, it was enough.
He turned, knowing without seeing, but needing to see nonetheless.
“Dean,” there was no need for hellos anymore, hello with its possibility of goodbye, just a single word, the one that truly mattered.
“Cas,” Dean slumped on the floor, limbs shaking too hard to kneel.
Hands cupped his face, those strong hands, warming him with their glow.
“I love you,” Dean breathed out, exhaustion filling him as the words left. So long fighting, so much searching, just so he could say those words.
“I know.”
Dean opened his eyes, only now realising he had closed them, looking up to meet twinkling eyes, a mischievous smile. So much warmth in those eyes.
“I thought I was Han.”
He leaned into the touch, a laugh bubbling up in his chest, something giddy and full of love.
“Yes, well, I can’t help but think that the gold bikini would suit you better.”
Dean smiled at the thought. Later, they could do that later. For now he just pulled Cas down on the floor beside him, leaned into his fire, and let himself be consumed. Eternity at his fingertips.
Home. Finally home.