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Hold onto your voice. Hold onto your breath. Don’t make a noise,
don’t leave the room until I come back from the dead for you. I will
come back from the dead for you. This could be a city. This could be a
graveyard. This could be the basket of a big balloon. Leave the lights
on ... I’m in the hallway again, I’m in the hallway. The
radio’s playing my favorite song. Leave the lights on. Keep talking. I’ll
keep walking toward the sound of your voice.
—Richard Siken, You Are Jeff
It happens like this, okay?
One day, long after Chuck groveled in the dirt, long after Jack tripped a little light fantastic and walked away, long after a quiet drive filled with too long and too full silences, Dean realizes he can’t go on.
Not that he was trying all too hard, really; Sam has been splitting his time between the bunker and Eileen’s place, and Dean’s happy for them, honest. It’s just… They’re happy, or content, or something close to that, and Dean tries to smile for Sam when he’s around, show him he’s coping with—things, but sometimes he’s afraid that the longer he wears this mask, the more cracks it accumulates, the harder it will be when it inevitably falls off.
So Dean pretends to be coping when his brother’s around, drinks too much when Sam’s gone, and doesn’t hunt.
That’s the thing that surprises him the most, truthfully: his nonexistent desire to kill monsters, to save people. He doesn’t know if it’s because they just saved, like, seven billion people from Chuck moonlighting as Thanos, or something else (and you think that hate and anger, that's... That's what drives you, that's who you are. It's not. And everyone who knows you sees it. Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love.) but he just doesn’t feel that yawning maw of consuming rage anymore. Mostly, he just feels numb.
Empty.
He takes another swig of whiskey.
Anyway.
Dean’s in 7B, because of course he is, with a bottle of Maker’s Mark steadily working its way through his veins when Jack appears.
To his credit (or maybe he’s just a little too South of sober to care), he doesn’t startle. “What’s up, kid?” Dean says, proud of himself for not slurring his words. Jack furrows his brow, looking at Dean with mild disappointment sketched into his youthful features. He raises a hand and snaps his fingers, and Dean is instantly entirely sober.
“Hey, what the hell?” Dean says, trying to muster up some gumption and indignation, more for Jack’s sake than his own, if he’s being honest.
“Dean,” Jack acknowledges. “How are you?”
Dean’s laugh at the question has a hysterical edge, and he shoots back, “How do I look, man? I’m… well, I’m just peachy. You?”
Jack’s eyebrows draw closer together, his face a moue of unhappiness. “Dean. It’s been over a month. Cas wouldn’t—”
“Cas wouldn’t what?” Dean snarls, already on a hair trigger. “No, you see, Cas wouldn’t do anything. Because he’s gone. He’s gone, and there’s nothing he would or wouldn’t want because he’s not here.” He’s practically shouting by the time he says that. Jack opens his mouth to speak, but Dean cuts him off with, “Cas is gone. He left, and he ain’t coming back. I’ve accepted that.” He swallows, then amends, “I’m working on accepting it.”
Jack is pale, and his eyes are round and sorrowful. Dean almost feels bad, because the kid honestly looks like someone kicked a puppy right in front of him, but Dean’s not done.
“I thought about asking, you know?” Dean says, wishing for the alcoholic fuzz he’s so used to now, but he has to go it alone—what a surprise. “Asking you, that is. If you’d bring him back. Hell, Chuck brought Lucifer back from there, and you’re more powerful than he was, I’d guess.” Jack is silent, so Dean continues. “I realized, though, that maybe—maybe he doesn’t want to come back. Maybe he was just done.” Dean lets out a hollow-sounding laugh. “I understand the feeling.”
“Dean, I think you misunderstood what Castiel wanted.”
The one thing I want... It's something I know I can't have. Dean laughs again, so he doesn’t cry. “I think I know what he wanted, Jack. He wanted to save me, again, and all that got him was dead. Again. So spare me the bullshit, okay? Cas is gone, he’s not coming back, and I ain’t gonna beg you to bring him back. That’s not me.”
“I can’t.”
Dean’s brain shuts down, but as it reboots he croaks out, “What?”
“I can’t bring him back. I would, but…” Jack trails off, searching for the right words. “I can’t bring him back. Not without help.”
Dean’s sure he’s gaping at Jack like the big, dumb human he is, but any hope he might’ve had for Jack to swoop in all deus ex machina or whatever and save his sorry ass from the current hellish existence he’s living is gone, and it feels like his heart is being crushed, same as the last time he saw Billie.
“You—uh. What?” The familiar walls of the bunker seem to close in as Dean processes Jack’s words. “But you’re God!”
“I guess.” Jack looks a little wrong-footed at that. “I have his powers, and Amara’s, but the Empty is… odd. I know Chuck got Lucifer out, but he didn’t get a chance to explain how to hold his position. Besides, I don’t want to be God if it means I’m like Chuck.”
“Hands off, isn’t that what you said?” Dean starts at his brother’s voice, not having noticed Sam entering the room due to his total focus on what Jack was saying.
“Hello, Sam.” Jack politely greets. Dean just grunts at his brother.
“What are you two up to?” Sam inquires, eyes flicking between the bottle of whiskey and Dean’s eyes, as if to check the level of sobriety Dean’s got going on. He’s about to sneer at Sam’s mother henning before realizing a) that’d be hypocritical and b) it’s probably not the first time Sam’s had to gauge his lack of teetotalism in recent weeks.
“I was explaining to Dean how we can get Castiel back from the Empty.”
Utter silence envelops the room, before—
“What? Really? How would w—”
“—No, you the fuck were not— “
Jack holds up a hand and the two brothers fall silent. Dean, for one, is reeling.
“That is so not what we were talking about, kid, you—you were just telling me you couldn’t get him back!”
“No,” the kid stresses, “I said I couldn’t get Cas back without help.”
“I thought you meant you needed another—another cosmic entity! An angel, maybe. Not us!”
“Well, why not us?” Sam posits. “We beat Chuck at his own game, what’s to say we can’t do the same for the Empty?”
Dean splutters. “Where was that attitude when you’ve been tiptoeing around me this past month like I’m some kind of—of baby to be coddled?!” Dean thinks he hears Sam mutter something about how at least babies can only hurl on whatever surface they’re put on but decides to ignore him. He rounds on Jack (or, rather, turns his head just a tad, the rounding is more of an attitudinal or perhaps spiritual type of thing) and demands, “Well? Care to elaborate?”
Jack, damn him, doesn’t even look ruffled. “You two know what the Empty is, right?”
Dean shrugs, while Sam hazards a guess: “Angels and demons’ final resting place?”
Jack nods. “It’s an eternal sleep. The thing that makes it unique are the dreams.”
“Dreams?” Sam’s interest clearly has been piqued, and he’s in full-on nerd mode now. “What do they dream about?”
“Their past. Their past mistakes, to be more precise.”
Dean knows he’s been watching their exchange like a semi-interesting tennis match thus far, but hearing that. Well. “Sounds like hell.”
“I think Hell is worse,” Jack says mildly. “Unless Rowena has significantly changed the day-to-day there, being flayed doesn’t sound pleasant.”
Dean’s mouth opens, about to challenge that as the one who actually went to Hell, before closing it when he realizes he doesn’t care. Also, it seems rude to argue with literally God about semantics, especially when it seems like Jack’s gonna help Cas.
Sam clears his throat. “So! What’s the plan?”
“Well,” Jack begins, and Dean is not a fan of how quiet and hesitant the kid sounds, no sir, “have you ever heard the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?”
Dean racks his brain but can’t remember if that was the one with the harp thing or the one with the sleep god before—
“Are you seriously suggesting that Dean goes to the Empty to get Cas back?” Sam sounds three parts incredulous, one part admiring.
Wait. “Wait,” Dean interjects before Sam and Jack get further into the discussion. “How come I’m the one who’d go? Why not you, or—or Jack, why…” He trails off at the look of whatthefuckDean Sam’s got going on.
“Dean, come on.” His annoying brother says in an annoying tone of voice. Dean is annoyed. “I know you’re not great with mythology, but Orpheus and Eurydice is a story about—”
“Two lovebirds, one dies, the other goes to get her back and fails?” Dean says, pleased and a smidge too smug at Sam’s look of surprise. “I do read, bitch. Again, I ask: why me? Why do I gotta be Orpheus?” Jerk, Sam mouths, but before Dean can throw something at him, Jack answers.
“It has to be you, Dean,” Jack divulges. “Only you can bring Cas back to Earth.”
“Yeah, just like the Righteous Man had to be the one to stop the Apocalypse?” Dean snorts. “Give me a break.”
“Dean.” Jack looks frustrated, looks like he might start crying, and Dean realizes he’s gotta tone down the asshole. The kid lost Cas, too: one of his fathers. Dean decides to be kinder to this God than he was to the last. Or try, at least. He’s not got a great track record when it comes to dealing with figures of authority, okay?
“Dean,” Sam tries. “If you know the myth, then you know why it has to be you. Come on, man.”
“Uh, well. Enlighten me?”
Sam looks ready to tear his too-long hair out at the roots. “Dean. Orpheus tries to rescue his lover from the afterlife. Do you really not see the parallel here?”
“Okay,” Dean starts, “one: never say the word lover again. Two: Cas and I—Me and Cas weren’t… that.”
Jack and Sam must’ve spent too much time together, as they’re wearing eerily similar bitch, please faces.
Fuck.
See, this is what Dean had hoped to avoid by not telling either of them about Cas’ last words. He didn’t want the—the pity from either of them, or (worse) the empathy Sam might be able to offer. He just. He didn’t want to make the tragedy of him and Cas anymore tragic, all right?
Again: fuck.
Dean avoids looking anywhere in the vicinity of either of their faces as he says, “I—fine. So I do it. I go into the Empty, and what? We get to just walk out? Because of the power of l—uh. Because of our profoun—hm. Because?” Dean settles on. He looks up just in time to catch an absolutely epic eye roll from Sam which he ignores. It sucks being the (metaphorically) bigger person.
“No,” Jack says. “It will be—difficult. I can open a doorway, but it’s going to be a trial. For both of you.”
Dean sighs. Of course it is. No way was getting his best friend no fuck shut up we’re trying to accept he meant it the other way his dead almost-lover, then whoa whoa whoa we’re not accepting things that fast his angel Cas out of the cosmic afterlife going to be easy, because when were things ever easy for the two of them?
Wasn’t that the definition of home? Not where you are from, but where you are wanted.
—Abraham Verghese, Cutting of Stone
Getting ready for a trip to the angelic afterlife? Not something Dean ever pictured doing. As he debates what to take with him (shotgun? Possibly. Demon killing knife or angel blade? They’re already dead. Liquid courage? Hm.), Sam approaches him.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” Dean knows he’s in for it now based on the expression on Sam’s face: a frankly ridiculous combination of puppy dog pleading and Winchester worry.
“You up for this?” Sam asks.
Dean’s instinct to scoff is one he reigns in; he is, after all, potentially taking a one-way trip to nonexistence and Sam deserves his—ugh—real feelings.
“I know I never told you what happened. Between me and Cas, right before he was—taken.” Sam nods in acknowledgement, so Dean continues: “I—can’t, not yet. If we get Cas back, I’ll tell you. Or—you’ll know. If not… well. Yeah.”
Bless him, Sam seems to somehow understand his incoherent explanation. Dean hopes his brother is smart enough to read between the lines, hopes Jack explains (or has already explained) the terms of Castiel’s deal with the Entity, hopes Sam makes the connection Dean wasn’t able to, at least not until that final goodbye.
Because if Dean fails? He’ll never get a chance to explain.
In a sudden realization, Dean marvels at the fact he’s finally choosing someone over Sam. Finally, he’s choosing his own life, forging his own path… one with Cas by his side. All of Chuck’s machinations, everything the Winchesters have collectively been through, might end with Dean choosing his real chance at happiness for once.
Well, Dean thinks, we're shutting that shit down, brain! Right now!
“I’m proud of you, Dean,” Sam says with disgusting sincerity. Dean’s eyes burn, and he pulls Sam in for a rough hug.
After some thumps on the back and excessive throat clearing from both of them, Dean heads off to gather what he needs on this quest.
He decides to leave Ruby’s knife behind, electing to take a spare angel blade and his trusty Colt. Dean figures he won’t need much else, but Sam hands him a water bottle and—ew—a granola bar. He makes a face, and Sam laughs. “Sure hope it doesn’t come down to me having to eat this shit,” Dean grumbles, tossing it in his duffel nonetheless.
“You have the amulet? The paper?” Jack appears out of nowhere, Sam and Dean both jumping out of their respective skins.
Dean picks the necklace up from its place in the duffel, showing it off to the nephilim-turned-God, before stashing it back in the bag next to his weapons, sustenance, and the paper Jack handed him with a quirked up mouth. The amulet has really come a long way: first, a gift given out of brotherly love, then a mechanism for finding a God that didn’t want to be found. Now, it gets to play the role of a homing beacon for a dead angel. Funny how these things work.
Jack nods in approval. “Good. I’ll open up the portal to the Empty. The rest is up to you, Dean.” A flicker of grief passes over his young face. “Bring him home. Please.”
Dean must be allergic to this room; his eyes continue to burn and his surroundings swim in front of him. Dean tries to center himself, picturing the tableau that is his for the taking if he succeeds: him, Sam, Jack, and Cas, sitting in the bunker’s kitchen with some beers. The image shifts, becoming broader: Eileen is laughing at Charlie’s attempts at copying a complicated sign, Jody, Donna, and the girls all sitting in the library with them, complaining about sheriff duties and that werewolf Claire killed in Lubbock all by herself despite Kaia’s protests that she helped, too!
Family. It used to just mean him and Sam, Dad and Mom when they were alive, but it’s become so much more. If that’s not worth fighting for, Dean doesn’t know what is.
Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.
—David Foster Wallace, Infinite Jest
Dean opens his eyes to darkness.
Well, that’s not quite right. He can see just fine; it’s just that as far as the eye can see, there’s only abyssal blackness.
It’s silent. Utterly, completely silent. The only things Dean can hear are his own breathing and his heartbeat loud in his ears.
It’s devoid of life, of light; it’s Empty.
Dean exhales shakily, then rummages around in his duffel bag to pull out the amulet. It’s glowing faintly, and Dean spins in a slow circle to see if it brightens in any particular direction. Midway through, he thinks he sees the odd totem brighten, so Dean squares his shoulders and heads off into the void.
What a wild dilemma, how to make it to the stars / on a highway slick with fear.
—Joy Harjo, Conflict Resolution for Holy Beings
He’s not precisely sure how long he walks, but it’s long enough that he’s starting to lose hope of ever finding Cas. The amulet shines steadily brighter as he goes, but the weight of all that’s happened since Chuck showed his true colors is beginning to overwhelm Dean.
Then—wait. Are those voices?
“—thought things would quiet down with you here for good, but it seems like you have a unique ability to disrupt the order.”
Dean continues walking as the voice—is that Meg? Dead demon Meg?—complains, until—
“It’s not my fault you can’t control your domain.” Cas. That’s—that’s Cas. Dean picks up the pace, two figures becoming clearer the faster he runs towards them.
The scene: Meg, slouched on a throne like she was made for it, dark eyes burning into a trench coat-clad figure that can only be—
“Cas!” Dean couldn’t have stopped himself from shouting his joy and relief if he wanted to.
The two in conversation jerk around to face Dean as he skids to a stop next to Cas, a huge grin breaking out on his face as Dean takes in the angel. He looks—well. He looks the same as he had when they last spoke, except this time Dean can examine him knowing Death isn’t hot on their heels. Yeah, Dean’ll admit it: Cas looks good, if a bit peeved. The irritation slowly melts into horror as he registers Dean’s presence.
“Dean, what are you doing here? Are you—are you dead?” Grief clouds Castiel’s face, his eyes welling up and oh. Right.
“No, no, man, I’m fine!” Dean hurriedly assures. Anything to get the teary look off of Cas’ face. “I’m here for you!” He proclaims, still smiling. Just being next to Cas is like a salve for the jagged edges of his soul, a balm soothing the rawness from being cleaved in two when Cas was taken.
Cas opens his mouth, but before he can say anything Meg cuts in with a sardonic laugh. “Well, isn’t this cute! Come to rescue your pet?”
Dean reluctantly tears his eyes away from Cas, facing Meg. “Listen, Meg—”
“Sorry, bucko. Meg can’t come to the phone right now.” The thing that must be the Entity grins. “She’s dead. Well, she’s dead and asleep, just like our darling Castiel should be.” The Entity glares at Cas with pure and unabashed loathing.
Dean swallows, for the first time really acknowledging how difficult it’ll be to get Cas the hell outta dodge when the goon in charge seems to hate his guts. Luckily for all involved, he’s blessed with a true lightbulb moment, and says, “wait,” to the thing wearing Meg’s face. It arches an eyebrow, tapping its foot impatiently. He grasps the slip of paper Jack gave him and hands it over to the Entity with relish.
It begins to read the words scrawled on the page before letting out a laugh. Dean’s eyes cut to Castiel, only to find the angel already staring at him, lips parted in shock and what looks like—huh. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d say reverence. Maybe, a traitorous little voice whispers in his mind, if you didn’t have the self-esteem of a goldfish, you’d allow yourself to see what’s actually in front of you. Dean mentally swats the voice away like a particularly persistent gnat.
By then, the Entity has finished reading whatever Jack thought could convince a cosmic being to spit Cas back out to Earth and is looking between Dean and Castiel with a thoughtful expression. “The kid wants me to let you go, Castiel. Says he’s God now, and he requests I let you and Dean here walk out of here alive.” The Entity pauses, before a dark smile tugs the corner of its lips up. “What he doesn’t say, though, is I have to let you go without a fight. Says I can make a deal, in fact, to make up for the small matter of you reneging on our terms, Clarence.
“So.” Meg’s hands clap together gleefully. “Let’s begin.”
“Begin what?” Cas asks, and damn is it nice to hear his voice saying things besides goodbye.
“The test! You’ll love it,” the Entity promises.
“Name it,” Dean says, and Cas turns to him, horrified.
“Dean, you can’t seriously—”
“I can and I will, Cas. I’m not leaving here without you.” Cas’ eyes go a little more glossy when Dean says that. Dean’s knees feel a little weak with the full depth of Castiel’s affection shining directly at him, and it renders him temporarily mute.
“You two done? Or can I state the terms?” The Entity sounds annoyed. Dean and Castiel both turn to look at it, and Meg’s hands clap together again. “All right! Here’s the deal: you two walk out of here, not a hair on your heads harmed, if and only if you follow the rules.”
“What are the rules?” Cas asks, pragmatic as always.
“Take his hand,” the Entity directs. Dean and Cas exchange a glance before complying. Dean squeezes Castiel’s hand for good measure, assuring himself that Cas is really here, that they can maybe get out of this mess unscathed… and together. “Good. Now, Dean.” He looks at the thing wearing Meg. “What you’re gonna do is turn around, and walk right out of here. As long as you don’t let go of dear Castiel here, and as long as you don’t look back. If you turn around, you lose. And your precious Cas is mine for good. I don’t care how much your little God reasons, begs, pleads: this is it, gentlemen. Your final chance.”
Dean swallows, looks at Cas who nods his agreement, before saying, “You’re on.”
Meg’s face smiles sweetly at them. “Good. Any last words, Clarence?”
“Hang on, what?” Dean barks. “You didn’t say anything about last words!”
The Entity laughs. “Oh, Dean. Haven’t you ever read the tragedy of Orpheus and his dead love?”
Dean grimaces. “That’s the second time I’ve been asked that today.”
“Well, then you should know that he failed in his rescue mission because he lacked faith. Orpheus thought he was alone, and lost everything due to his self-doubt. Can you relate?”
Dean ignores the jibe, instead questioning, “But I’m holding his damn hand! ‘Course I’m gonna know Cas is with me.”
The Entity arches a brow. “You sure? It is a long way home, Dean. A long way back. Doubt has a way of creeping in, you know?” Dean ignores the words. Sighing, it turns to Cas. “Castiel. I release you from our prior agreement. If you make it out of here, you’re never obligated to come back, and I won’t come collect you upon any future deaths.”
Shock flits over Cas’ face. “Why? Why would you do that?”
“Honestly?” The Entity looks frustrated. “I’m done with this—this drama. This way of yours, where you come in here and wake me up, make it loud, make it so I can’t sleep. I just want peace and quiet.” Meg’s lips purse. “I’d think you two idiots could relate.”
Cas nods once, sharply, before looking at Dean.
“Cas, I…” Dean trails off at the determined look on Castiel’s face.
“Dean. Let’s go home.”
Dean’s breath hitches. With one last searching glance, he turns his back on Cas and starts walking back the way he came.
Question: What is the opposite of faith?
Not disbelief. Too final, certain, closed. Itself a kind of belief.
Doubt.
—Salman Rushdie, The Satanic Verses
They start walking in complete silence.
Well, that’s not a strictly true statement, is it? Cas literally can’t talk, according to the Entity’s rule, so Dean soldiers ahead without saying a word, determined to get them the hell out of this graveyard before anything goes wrong.
Cas’ right hand is clasped firmly in Dean’s left, but Dean refuses to think of the gesture as anything but a necessity, even though Cas’ speech before the Empty took him flits around the edges of Dean’s mind on a loop.
You know, ever since we met, ever since I pulled you out of Hell... Knowing you has changed me. Because you cared, I cared. I cared about you. I cared about Sam, I cared about Jack... I cared about the whole world because of you.
Dean tightens his grip.
I love you.
Okay, so Dean figures he’ll literally go insane before they even get halfway to the portal home if he doesn’t start talking soon. There’s only so long he can be alone with his thoughts before he sinks into despair, even with Cas right behind him.
He ponders what to talk about. He could just ramble on about his Star Wars vs. Star Trek opinions, but figures Cas would care more about what’s happened since he’s been gone.
“So, uh. Well. I know you can’t talk back, but—” Dean has another lightbulb moment. Score. “Wait! Squeeze once for yes, twice for no. Capisce?” One squeeze. Dean allows a moment of smugness for doing literally the bare minimum to find a loophole in the Entity’s rules before continuing with his original plan: updates.
“After you got taken, I—um. Well, me and Sam and Jack met up in Hastings. Chuck had erased everyone by that point, except for us. So we figured we had to regroup. Sammy and me noticed Jack doin’ something weird to the plants as he walked by them, and it turns out ever since he became that bomb that was supposed to explode Chuck and Amara? He’s been absorbing energy from things big and small. That’s when our plan started to formulate.
“We weren’t sure how powerful Jack was, though, so we tried to see if we could meet with Chuck and have him make everything right again.” Two quick squeezes from Cas. “Relax, we didn’t think it’d work. And we figured Chuck had us right where he wanted us, anyhow: broken down and feeling defeated.” Dean pauses. “Honestly? He did. All three of us were… none of us were in a good way,” Dean confesses. Cas’ thumbs rubs reassuringly across Dean’s knuckles, and he can’t help but smile. “Yeah, so. We asked, he refused; said he was enjoying it, actually. Sick bastard.” Cas squeezes his hand once—in agreement, if Dean had to guess.
“Then, Jack said he sensed some kind of presence. Couldn’t tell what it was, but we figured we’d check it out. If it was friendly, great. If not, well… we didn’t have anything to lose at that point. Eventually, we wind up at a church. The kid says the presence is coming from inside, so we head in. Turns out it was Michael.” Cas grips his hand twice, with urgency. “Yeah. It was just him, too; when Chuck wiped out humanity, Adam got sent to Heaven.” Dean thinks it over. “Looking back, I’m glad the poor bastard wasn’t sharing that meatsuit.
“Anyway, Michael says he’ll help us out. We didn’t take him at his word, Cas,” Dean rushes to add before Cas can stop the blood flow to his hand. “But we figured we may as well keep him close, see if he could be useful. Thank fuck we did. He was honestly pathetic, just seemed to want Daddy to love him. When we got back to the bunker, we asked Michael to open Chuck’s death book, but he didn’t have the juice. Oh, well. Didn’t end up mattering.”
They’re still walking, hands clasped so tight, but the journey seems to be taking longer than Dean remembers. He’d have figured by now they would be able to have some sense of being closer to escape, but nada. Dean continues, “Sam and I decide we deserve a beer—” and Dean privately decides omitting the rest of the alcohol he was consuming at the time is fine; he doesn’t need Cas to worry about how low he got “—so we go off to have one. Then, funnily enough: I get a call from you.
“It wasn’t you, obviously. It was Lucifer, pretending to be you.” Two squeezes. Dean laughs. “Yep, your old man woke him up from this fucking place to help out. But gimme a minute, I’ll get to that. See, he lies and says it was the Entity that booted him and that it wants him to have Chuck’s book to use. Lucifer brought a reaper with him, and kills her so that she becomes the new Death. She was the first reaper to die since Billie, so…” Dean trails off, well aware that Castiel has firsthand knowledge of what killing a reaper means. “She heads off to read the book, and when she comes back she says she knows how Chuck ends.
“Great, we all thought. That’s that sorted. But Lucifer didn’t let us have, like, thirty seconds before he goes and kills the new Death. He grabs the book and reveals he’s been working for Chuck. What a twist, huh? Lucifer helping Chuck, Michael working against him.” Dean scoffs. “It’s almost out of character for them; Lucifer always hated Chuck, right?” Cas squeezes his hand once. “Yeah. So, Michael and Lucifer duke it out, and honestly? It was a bit of a pissing contest. I thought it was supposed to be some Earth-ending event, but it was pretty lame. At least it didn’t wreck the bunker, I guess?” One squeeze.
“Plus, it served a purpose: Jack was able to absorb all the cosmic energy getting tossed around, so he got stronger. It looked like Lucifer was winning—almost did—but then wham! As he’s leaving and giving this asshole speech, trying to convince Jack to join the dark side or whatever, Michael appears behind Lucifer and stabs him when he turns around.” Dean smirks. “And again, an archangel dying releases a lot of energy, if you catch my drift.” One squeeze.
“Now, you’re not gonna like this next bit, but I promise it worked out.” Dean takes a deep breath. “Me and Sam, we figure Michael’s gonna side with Chuck now that Lucifer is gone again. Try to get back on Daddy’s good side. So we lie to him about being able to read Chuck’s book, that Sam is gonna try to translate it—surprised he bought it, honestly—but Jack and I distract him by convincing him to help us look through the lore.
“Eventually, Sam comes in and says he finished translating. I’m glad he was able to fool Michael, else this gamble wouldn’t’ve paid off. We wanted to have a showdown on our turf, so Sam makes up some shit about the spell to take down Chuck having to take place in a specific spot. I dunno, we were honestly just hoping for the best.
“Chuck shows, because of course he does. Michael tipped him off to our ‘plan’ so he thought he had an advantage. Chuck almost immediately kills Michael for betraying him, back when we first ran into him again: more energy for Jack to soak up. Chuck says he’s done with us, and Sam—get this—punches him. Sam punched God! How insane our lives are, man.” Dean shakes his head in disbelief.
“Chuck beats us up pretty badly: he decided not to snap us out of existence because he wanted to hurt us around one more time, I guess, which releases more energy for Jack. Kid really got his serving of Wheaties.” Cas squeezes Dean’s hand. “So, Jack has finally had enough, and goes in for the final piece of the puzzle: absorbing Chuck’s energy. He does it, thankfully. We would’ve been in deep shit if he hadn’t, huh?” Cas squeezes extra hard that time, if Dean’s not mistaken.
“At this point, Chuck thinks he’s gonna die. He asks us if this was in his death book, which is when we reveal our master plan or whatever. Chuck is literally on the ground, eating dirt, but the sick bastard sounds excited by the prospect that we’d be the ones to kill him.” Dean falls silent for long enough that his hand gets squeezed once; a question. Dean clears his throat, trying to figure out how to word this next part.
“It’s just. He was so sure we were gonna kill him. Called me the ultimate killer and everything. Trying to goad us, maybe? Whatever. At that point, I’d made up my mind. See, I’d recently been told by—by someone very important to me, that that’s not who I am.” Dean waits for Cas to acknowledge that. He gets no extra pressure, so he swallows his fear and continues, “I’m not the ultimate killer. There was no reason to kill Chuck: Jack told us he was powerless, so there was no point. So… we walked away. Left Chuck groveling in the dirt.
“Jack restores the world to the way it was before Chuck wiped out humanity. He has so much power…” Dean trails off. Doesn’t mention the fact he didn’t dare ask Jack to bring Cas back, still too shell-shocked and grief-stricken to think about it. “Anyway, the kid gave us a nice speech about how he’d be hands off, let people decide things for themselves. Says he was raised right, by you, Sam, me, and Kelly. You’d’ve been damn proud, Cas.” Finally, one faint squeeze. “You okay, buddy?” One squeeze. “Okay.”
Maybe I’m getting tired – I can’t think of anything but nights with you. I want them warm and silvery.
—Zelda Fitzgerald, Letter to F. Scott Fitzgerald
They’ve been walking for what feels like miles, like ages, Dean catching Cas up on what Sam and Eileen have been up to, carefully avoiding talking about his version of coping. Finally, Dean can’t take it anymore; he knows Cas is with him—in every sense of the phrase—but he feels like he’s suffocating, like Cas planted seeds in his stomach with his goodbye that have been growing ever since, and now Dean is choking on all of the flowers growing in his throat.
“Cas?” He begins, uncertainly. Castiel immediately squeezes his hand to confirm he’s there, listening. “I, uh. I want to talk about what you said. Before the Empty took you.” Dean swallows once, twice; everything that’s bloomed within him is threatening to come out, spill petals and stems all over the ground, but: “The thing is, I want to look at you when I say—uh. But maybe I can start with something else.”
Another deep breath. Dean comforts himself with a) the fact that Cas was the one who opened up this particular can of worms and b) his hand is being held in a tight grip, secure in the knowledge Cas would never let go.
Shit. Dean’s turned into such a girl. At least it’s only for Cas. At least he’s worth it.
“See, you said your happiness was something you couldn’t have. Now, listen to me very closely, Cas, ‘cause I want to make sure this is perfectly clear: you can have it. You—” Come on, Winchester, say it, “—can have me. You already do.” Hey, this confessing to a Castiel he can’t see and who can’t say anything back is actually pretty nice. Dean’s aware that that probably makes him an asshole, but Cas lo—likes—loves him anyhow.
“Everything you said about me? You were right. That’s how I see myself. And the fact that you said it, made me hear it… that didn’t erase that image I have. But honestly? If you hadn’t said all that, Chuck might be dead. Because all I’ve been able to think about since you died was what you said. That hasn’t always been a good thing, though, man. I—I’ve dreamt of nothing else except you getting taken, hardly done anything but drink and mope. But—I want—I just want, Cas. I want you, and I think you want that, too.
“I want to wake up every morning, knowing you’ll be there. I want to buy a house, a fixer-upper, and we can build it up, just the two of us; we can build something, Cas. Together. Because all this?” Dean laughs wetly, unsure when he began to cry but pushing through regardless. “This whole Orpheus and Eurydice act, it’s all for a future I want with you. Because any future without you? It’s not one I want.”
One squeeze, a thumb swiping over and over the back of his knuckles.
“I want you to plant a garden, keep bees, do whatever makes you happy.” One squeeze. “I’m not sure I wanna keep hunting, so I gotta figure out what I do want. But we’ll have time for that.” One squeeze. “We can have Sammy and Eileen, Jody and Donna, Claire and the girls, Jack over for dinner every couple weeks.” One squeeze. “We can be happy.” One squeeze.
Dean squeeze back, then—
Light and sound envelop them.
I think we deserve
a soft epilogue, my love.
We are good people
and we’ve suffered enough.
—Nikka Ursula, Seventy Years of Sleep
They come to in room 7B still holding hands.
Immediately, Dean turns to look at Cas, who is already looking back at him. Tears stream down Castiel’s face, which is lit up by a smile as bright as the sun.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean laughs, tastes saltwater. “Cas. I love you, too.”
Cas’ smile grows brighter, wider, his eyes crinkling with fondness and—love. So much love it threatens to overwhelm Dean.
But Dean just lets it wash over him, the depth of that love, and hauls Cas into a kiss that has him seeing stars, and welcomes that first mouthful of forever.
fin