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“Oh come on, you son of a bitch,” Dean swore under his breath.
He tried pressing a few more buttons but nothing changed – the Impala’s speakers remained as silent as they had been since he swerved onto the highway earlier that evening. The car radio had been acting up for a few weeks now, with intermittent periods of only producing static white noise. Today it seemed to be especially insistent on not complying with Dean’s ideas of playing music. He turned it off with a huff, falling back into the driver's seat and putting his hands back onto the steering wheel.
Silence it was, then.
Dean was not used to silence. He usually had somebody riding shotgun, for one. Over the years Sam seemed to have developed some sort of Pavlovian reflex to Dean turning on Zepp at night – he fell asleep within five minutes, trying to out-snore his brother, who was often humming along. But even when the music was low, with Sam sleeping quietly and Dean not humming, there were still Baby’s own noises.
Dean was very aware that a car as old as this one wasn’t exactly a role model for ecological friendliness or noise protection. But the roaring of the engine, the shifting of sticks and turn signals, even the doors that never ceased to creak no matter how often he oiled them – all of these were the noises that grounded him, made him feel like he belonged. The road was his home, as was this car.
Right now, he was driving alone though, and the cassettes were not working. Even Baby’s noises seemed to be drowned out somewhat and all of it made Dean hella uncomfortable. He hated the silence. Hated being alone with his own thoughts. He couldn’t even take a quick sip of Jack to calm his nerves because he forgot his last bottle at the bunker.
As if all of the above wasn’t enough already, rain started dripping onto the car’s roof and windows, light at first, but soon Dean had to turn on the windshield wiper because he wasn’t able to see a damn thing anymore except for the occasional lights of the oncoming traffic.
“Fucking stupid shit,” he grumbled to nobody in particular and gripped the steering wheel tighter.
This was exactly what he had been trying to avoid. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone out on his own at all, but he was tired of sitting around in the bunker, where the walls seemed to close in on him and the halls were too empty at the same time. Where everything reminded him of what had happened, of the battles they had fought and the people they had lost.
Of the words left unsaid .
It had been a little over a week since they defeated Chuck. A little over a week that Jack had absorbed Chuck’s powers, brought back the entire population with a single snap of his fingers and then went off to god-(Jack)-knows-where. A little over a week that Sam received word from Eileen – Dean would never forget the look of happiness and sheer relief on his brother’s face when he realized that Jack had brought her back, too. All of their friends, in fact.
Except for –
It had taken a great deal of effort to convince Sam that he could leave Dean alone for a few days to visit Eileen, that Dean would not drink himself to death or do any other stupid stuff that could bring him into an early grave. He had to promise it to Sam. Sam wasn’t stupid – he knew all of his brother’s dangerous coping mechanisms. He knew that it was different with, with –
Dean tried to shut it out, the thought that almost broke through the walls which were barely holding together his sanity right now.
He had tried to hold his promise to Sam, he had tried really fucking hard . He had taken all the bottles of alcohol he could find, locked them up in a closet and thrown away the key. He had bought fresh organic groceries from the farmer’s market and cooked himself healthy meals to eat while he binged through his entire collection of Dr. Sexy DVDs.
Didn’t help him to sleep at night, though.
The nights were when everything started to fall apart. The quiet of the bunker halls was violent – Dean had never realized just how quiet it was when nobody was there except for himself. Contrary to the Impala, the bunker did not have any sounds on its own because it was built too deeply into the hill; no creaking floor boards or termites living in the wooden attics that usually made up the soundscape of any normal houses (not that there were many Dean had lived in to begin with).
During the course of the last two weeks Dean had probably slept around two to three hours per night maximum – and most times, he didn’t at all. He was used to having nightmares by now, but the ones plaguing him ever since they had fought Billy… they were different. Sometimes Dean woke up in the middle of the night and felt Billy’s grip on his heart again, felt the sharp stab of pain as if somebody crushed his ribcage in their fist and there was no room to breathe, to shout, to do anything at all to make it stop.
It was the same feeling he had whenever he thought about-, whenever he…
He still wasn’t able to even think of his name. Wasn’t able to process what the hell had happened that night. He had barely managed to tell Sam and Jack about the rough censored version of the events of that night, and when he had tried to bargain with Chuck about bringing everyone back, he felt ashamed at how desperate he had sounded.
His resolution of a healthy lifestyle had only lasted for about a week. Picking the lock of the booze closet was easy enough, and Sam wasn’t there to give him judgmental looks. He didn’t even want to drink until he passed out – just enough to numb his mind a little, to maybe fall asleep and give his body a few minutes of rest. Was that really too much to ask?
But alcohol could only do so much, and it definitely worsened Dean’s anger problem. He didn’t want Sam coming back to the interior of the bunker entirely disassembled just because Dean wasn’t able to manage his own damn emotions – it had happened way too often in the past and he started getting tired of himself, of his inability to cope .
»And you think that hate and anger that's -- that's what drives you. That's who you are. It's not.«
That was how he had ended up behind the wheel of the Impala and started driving. There was no direction he was going in, no destination he had in mind. All he wanted was to get away from the bunker, from the drinking, from the way too hollow feeling in his chest.
(Two out of three had to suffice, he guessed.)
The silence didn’t make it easier.
The godforsaken, deafening silence.
Dean felt the anger from earlier bubble up again, scorching hot, as if rising directly from the bottoms of hell – which wasn’t even an exaggeration, Dean knew the place too damn well. He was angry at Chuck for putting them through every second of his divine ego-trip; angry at Jack for disappearing like that when they had tried to give him a home these past few years 'cause the dude was family . He was angry at himself for falling for Lucifer’s dirty phone prank, letting himself actually get his hopes up for a short moment; angry at himself for sitting on his ass the whole damn time and not even trying to do research about the Empty, about finding any loophole or backdoor; angry at himself for not asking Jack if he could bring him back, if possible –
But most of all he was angry at –
He was angry at –
He clenched his teeth and gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, desperately trying to hold back the lump he felt rising at the back of his throat.
He was really fucking angry at Cas.
»You changed me, Dean.«
The words echoed through every corner of his mind as if it had only been moments since they were spoken. Dean could still see Cas standing in front of him, could see the expression of worry and happiness and fucking… fucking love in his eyes when he had decided to drop the biggest bomb on Dean since the beginning of their friendship and Dean- Dean didn’t even have two damn seconds to process all of this because Billie was after them and Cas was about to sacrifice himself, and the Empty was already there, fuck fuck fuCK FUCK-
He only noticed that tears were streaming down his face when they dripped down his chin and onto the collar of his shirt. The more aggressively he tried to wipe them away the more they started to fog his vision until he had to pull over because the car, the road… everything was a blurry mess.
He turned off the engine, rested his head against the steering wheel and stared down into his lap.
All this time he had managed to pull himself together – for Sam, for Jack, for saving the world once again. The only time he had allowed himself to cry was right after Cas’ sacrifice but that was mostly out of shock and confusion and fear.
Now those feelings were back, a billion times stronger, and they were crushing him right where his heart should be. Dean wasn’t even sure if he still had one. Surely no human heart was made for the amount of pain, anger and despair he had gone through over the course of his life.
He remembered a snippet of a song, “I lived so much life, lived so much life/I think that God is gonna have to kill me twice” , and he grimaced at the inherent irony of those lines. They had taken Chuck’s powers, finally defeated the one divine power deciding over their fates and in the process achieved true free will – but it didn’t mean a damn thing to Dean if Cas was not there with him to celebrate.
And worst thing was, he didn’t know if Cas was ever coming back.
A sob built up in his throat and Dean realized it was kind of stupid to still try and hold it back at this point. He buried his head in his hands, searched for that deep, dark pit of grief in himself and finally gave in, buried himself into the pain of losing Cas, losing his best friend of twelve years… losing the love of his life.
*
Cas had always been different. Despite his angel programming he had started to question his orders, started defying everything he believed in and ultimately got cast out of heaven. Cas had been human, he had been God, he had been Lucifer’s vessel – and he had been the one who never left Dean’s side. Never for long, anyway.
He had sacrificed himself multiple times and every time it was harder to get him back, harder to think about the possibility of this being the last time they saw him.
It was exactly what was running through Dean’s mind for two weeks now.
What if our luck runs out this time?
Cas had made a deal with the most unpredictable entity of all – the Empty. Knowledge about the Empty was scarce and Cas had been trapped in there before, too. Chances were small the Empty would simply let him go like that a second time.
»I always wondered since I took that burden, that curse, what it could be. What my true happiness could even look like.«
Cas had no clue how his words had shaken Dean to his core.
He didn’t even remember when he had realized that his feelings for Cas went way deeper than just those of an ally, a good friend, a brother. Cas was a constant and at the same time he was not – Dean sometimes didn’t know what to make of his decisions, of his words. After all, Cas was still an angel of the Lord, and angels they just… weren’t human, right? They didn’t feel the way humans did.
»I cared about the whole world because of you. You changed me, Dean.«
But he should have known, should have realized way sooner. Cas was different. Always has been.
To think that Dean may have been a catalyst in that… differentness – it didn’t make sense. But why would Cas have ranted about it for half of his speech if he didn’t mean it?
»You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know.«
To believe that this was what Cas saw in him, that despite how many people he had let down in his life, despite every mistake he had made, despite every fucked up plan that had gone sideways – Cas decided that this was what he wanted to see in Dean.
It was hard to believe, but somehow – somehow Dean wanted to believe. He wanted to have faith in Cas really meaning what he said, because that would mean he loved Dean. That he loved him back . That all these years of pining after his best friend weren’t wasted for nothing.
That there was still hope in this broken shell of a righteous man whose soul once had shined so brightly.
»Because the one thing I want...it's something I know I can't have.«
Of course Cas could have him. He already had Dean, for all he knew.
»I love you.«
Dean swallowed hard and closed his eyes.
The rain had toned down to a gentle dribbling and for a moment he just sat there, taking in the silence-that-was-not-quite-silent, reminiscing on the smile and the tears on Cas’ face as he had said those words.
Dean wished he could have just one more moment with Cas, to tell him the truth. To tell him that Cas had changed him, too. That he cared about him. That he loved him .
I love you, Cas. You hear me?
Wherever you are, I love you .
*
Dean must have dozed off because he didn’t remember how his head ended up between the car window and the headrest of the driver’s seat. He tried turning his head and instantly regretted the decision, as his neck gave off an unhealthy sounding crack . He decided to leave the car and stretch a little before driving home.
The rain seemed to have stopped some time ago while Dean was sleeping and the sky was almost clear now, speckled with stars and thin veils of clouds. It was colder than Dean expected and he put up his collar against the wind.
His phone showed him that it was way after midnight already. Sam had tried to reach him. He decided to call him back tomorrow – and he would tell him to get his ass back to the bunker soon because they got work to do.
He wanted to get Cas back. He needed to get Cas back, whatever the cost. And he wouldn’t rest until they achieved that goal.
Maybe he could ask Jack to help them? He wasn’t sure just exactly how “hands-off” Jack wanted to handle everything. Couldn’t hurt to try, though.
Lost in thoughts and plans about research Dean got back into the Impala and started the engine. All of a sudden, the radio sprang to life, even though Dean clearly remembered turning it off earlier. The static noise gave way to a sort of squeaking sound, as if somebody played around with the frequencies or the radio signal. Dean tried turning it off – but nothing happened. Instead, the squeaking got louder and louder, until it was almost unbearable.
Then, suddenly a voice, clear as day, broke through – a voice Dean would recognize under thousands.
Cas’ voice.
“Dean? Dean, can you hear me?”