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The beers went quicker than Dean could count them. He rarely ever did, unless it was figuring out how many were left until he needed to go on a supply run. This time, apparently, he’d forgotten.
He knew for sure that he had a six pack, seeing as that was discarded on his floor. Sam always complained about the smell in there. His nose would wrinkle up and he’d ask him to throw out his garbage. Lately, he’s tried to run his version of a tight ship. But tonight, he’d allow himself one slip.
The TV blared with some cartoon Dean vaguely remembered from his childhood. If one could call it that, anyway.
He chuckled at the thought, eyes glazed over. Cartoons were always a fun distraction. And by always, he means always. As early as he can remember, he’d have them on every morning and night and whatever time he found in the middle. Mary started the tradition, and John… well, it dropped off once he was in charge. But Dean would seek it out on his own. Put them on for Sam, too, but he never cared for them much. That was just Dean’s thing. Some mindless humor. Sure, it could be ridiculous at times, but what could be more ridiculous than their lives? They raised the bastard son of Lucifer, and now he’s God. Can’t get more Looney Tunes than that.
Dean let the bottle he was semi-cuddling clang to the ground, making him wince. Luckily, Sam’s room was far enough so that he couldn’t hear a thing from there. And Dean’s tested that to holy hell. A grown man needs a shred of privacy.
He let out a sigh, closing his eyes and letting that mildly intoxicated feeling take over. Things swam behind his eyelids, the bed sinking or rising around him—he couldn’t much tell the difference. Maybe now, he’d be able to sleep.
Except… no. Nothing in particular was on his mind. His body was exhausted. But if he could just stop being so goddamn wired all the time.
He squeezed his eyes tighter. Things were fine. World was saved. The usual. But this time, Chuck was gone. Nobody was pulling the strings. He got to write his own story for once.
But what would he do with it? Monsters were still around. People needed saving. Things needed hunting. Maybe, though, Jack wouldn’t let it get so bad. Hands-off couldn’t have meant completely aloof, right? That’d just be square one again.
What was going on with Hell and Heaven? Had Jack sealed any doors? Changed any leadership? Held upstairs and downstairs elections? What about Purgatory? What about Death? What about—
Dean swallowed hard against the sinking in his chest. The Empty. What had become of it, after taking Billie? After taking…
His thought was interrupted by the abrupt hit against his calf, and Dean shot up in defense to be met with the shadowy figure of Miracle, watching him with curious eyes.
Dean smiled. “C’mere, boy.”
Miracle obliged, coming right up to the perfect cuddle spot beside Dean’s chest. He pulled him in, petting first his face and ears before rubbing his back.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Dean asked. No response, because he was a dog. Obviously. “Me neither.”
Miracle whimpered, and Dean nodded. “Me too, buddy.”
And they stayed like that for a minute. Miracle couldn’t understand a word of what Dean would say, aside from maybe his own name and the word “food.” It all sounded like white noise to him, probably.
“You know, you came at just the right time,” Dean said, more softly. “I wish I had you before, though. Maybe I’ll add your name to the table. Two MWs.”
Miracle shifted in his spot, closer to Dean’s warmth.
“Y’know Cas?” Dean started, so out of nowhere he surprised even himself. “You never met, actually. He’d have loved you, though.”
Still no response. Still a dog. Still making Dean sound ridiculous for talking into the void.
“He saved me. I didn’t tell Sam this, so, don’t tell him,” Dean said, pausing to smile at his own joke, “but… he said he loved me. I didn’t even know he could love anything, let alone…”
He stopped himself, rubbing Miracle’s back.
“He said all these things about me. Good things. Things I sure as hell didn’t deserve,” he continued. “He’s a freakin’ angel, I mean, he’s seen my—my soul. Not in the crappy teenage poet way. My actual soul.”
Miracle’s head came up at that, and he tilted it, staring at Dean.
“Ha,” Dean said. “He used to give me that look, too.”
Miracle set his head back down, and Dean kissed the top of it.
“I’ve tried praying to Jack,” he said. “You know him. Blonde kid with the glowing… well, everything. That little son of a bitch said he’d be around. Everywhere. You’d think he could bring his own father back.”
Dean laid his head on his pillow, closing his eyes as he held Miracle closer.
“I told Cas no more deals, and he did it anyway. To save Jack. And when he cashed in his chips, he did it to save me,” Dean said, anger filling him again. It starts from his stomach, climbing up his chest to his throat and ends in a hardened jaw. The anger Cas said Dean wasn’t made of. “And what kind of bullcrap was that? To take him only when he experiences happiness? And to have that happiness be something as—“
He stopped, digging the heel of his hand into his eye. Cas’s happiness was just in loving Dean. Not even having him. How could that be true?
Every time he thought of it, every time it creeped back into his mind, it made him sick. It was tragic. One simple, stupid thing and Dean couldn’t even give him that.
“He didn’t give me the chance to think,” Dean said, defending himself out loud. “Who springs something like that on someone? How long was he going to keep that? That’s not what we do.”
Something he can’t have. That’s what he said. He knew he couldn’t have Dean.
Maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised. All of Cas’s little angelic brothers and sisters told him. People had been joking for years, but that’s all Dean thought it was. How could a celestial freaking being feel anything for him? Family love was one thing, whatever that might have meant to Cas. But romantic love?
“But none of it matters anymore, does it?” Dean asked. He took in a deep breath. It wasn’t calming, nor steadying.
Cas was gone.
Miracle licked Dean’s arm, and Dean looked down at him, eyelids heavy. How someone could be so damn grateful for an animal, he didn’t know.
“Maybe I’ll get that job. You’d lose me for a few hours per day, but I think it could be good,” Dean said, pushing away the rest of it. He couldn’t change the subject like that with anyone but Miracle. “Night, buddy.”