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He found it folded away in the back of the closet. Hidden behind old shirts and a trench coat that’d seen better days. Soft off white cotton, with blue and silver lining the frayed sleeves and bottom. One of the poly filled grey wings on the back was long gone and the other had a big rip down the center.
He let his fingers brush over the ripped seam before he pressed the stuffing back into it. It was a ridiculous notion that the thing still existed at all but here it was.
Fingers tightening in the fabric he pressed it against his heart. The tell tale burning behind his eyelids reminded him he was long overdue for a good cry. It seemed like so long ago now. Had it really been five years? Had it really—
“Was’ at?” His eyes shot open at the slurred inquiry. He hadn’t even heard the beaded curtain move let alone Cas’s heavy footsteps. Blinking rapidly to clear away the tears, lest Cas see, he turned slightly to look at the fallen Angel.
Cas was staring at the sweater with hazy, slightly unfocused eyes. His head was tipped just enough to send a sharp pain through Dean’s heart. It was clear Cas had no idea what it even was anymore… maybe it was better that way. “It’s nothing.” He bit out, words tasting like ash in his mouth.
Reluctantly he set the sweater down on the end of the bed. Letting the tips of his fingers just barely brush against the wing one last time before pulling away. He turned back to the closet again, he had to finish cleaning his things out. He had to finish this now or else he wouldn’t have the will power to at all. “Thas mine.” The soft statement made him jerk his head back to look at Cas.
Much closer now, the man was peering down at the sweater with an expression of one fighting to understand. “Gave tha ta me.” He tore his eyes away from the fabric to look Dean in the eyes. He felt his heart break at the confusion and frustration written on Cas’s face. “Was for— for— fuck.”
He clenched his eyes shut and furrowed his brow, his mouth pinched in a frown. “It was a Christmas present.” Dean supplied hollowly, “5 years ago. A joke from me and— and Sam.”
Silence and then, “We gave him the one with the stupid cartoon moose.” His heart ached with the memory and he had to look away as Cas slowly opened his eyes again. The dim light coming in from the window caught in the tears gathering at the corners. He’d never been good with seeing Cas cry. “You gave me the one with a squirrel with devil horns. The one that said—“
He let the thought trail away when he noticed Cas had moved. He watched as the man picked up the sweater, gaze flicking over it in frustration. “Y’told me it made me look extra angelic.” Shaking fingers fiddled with a loose thread on the sleeve. “Made me happy. Was a ridiculous custom… but it did.” There was a strange sobering lilt to his tone that Dean wanted desperately to ignore. He couldn’t. Not when those blue eyes were finally clear and staring at him. “It made me so happy. Especially after my own wings...” Cas trailed off and clenched at the ripped cotton.
Stomach turning unpleasantly at that he sighed and sat on the end of the bed. “Me too, Cas. Me too.” A quiet shuffle of feet and then Cas was sitting beside him as well.
“Do you—“ The ‘still have yours?’ Was dropped but he still heard it. He still understood. A slow nod as he reached out a hand to run over the white cotton. Of course he did. He kept it tucked neatly in a box under the bed. He took it out when Cas was gone on one of his benders or too stoned out of his mind to register his actions. He held it close to his heart when Cas got too far away. He took it out when the world hurt too much for anything else.
He kept it to remember. To remember that once upon a time, Cas loved him. Without hesitation. Without fault or obligation. Cas had loved only him. “Yeah. Yeah I do.”
Thin fingers curled around his wrist. “My ‘dashing devil’” Cas’s voice was quiet in the growing dark and his skin was warm on his. “Always did suit you, even if it was meant to be a joke.” He didn’t know what he could say to that.
“Are you still drunk?” He asked instead. If the abrupt change startled Cas he gave no indication of it. He merely shrugged and ran his thumb over the bone at his wrist.
“Feelings can sober someone up pretty quick.” Cas said finally as Dean looked up at him. “Plus I— didn’t drink as much as I threatened too. Earlier.” He looked away as shame washed over his face. “I’m sorry about that… about earlier. I didn’t mean to make you upset. I didn’t… I don’t want you to leave. I need you, Dean”
And it shouldn’t calm him as much as it did. It shouldn’t give him hope because this was still Cas. He was still going to drink and do drugs and have orgies and piss him off. This was still the end of the world and it wouldn’t change anything. But the knot in his chest unfurled at the words.
Shaking off his hand, he reached up to brush his fingers through the hair at Cas’s temple before smoothing down his cheek. “I know… I love you too, Cas.” He didn’t say everything was alright again. He didn’t say he was sorry too, that he had been wrong. That they both had been wrong. He didn’t because they both knew it would have been a lie.
He was still going to be hurt and angry and hostile. Cas was still going to be high on whatever he got his hands on. They were still going to hurt each other. They loved each other implicitly but that changed nothing. It would take more than an old cotton sweater and dug up memories to fix them.
“Bee…” it was gentle, hesitant as pale hands folded over a grey cotton wing, “Will you kiss me again?”
But maybe it was just the push they’d needed to remember what they once were.