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Cas could still feel Dean’s longings, his powerful emotions that ebbed through him so strongly that they overflowed to Cas. As an Angel, he'd noticed it; as a human, he felt it.
Some days, he would wake up with a warm glow in his stomach, a lightness in his chest. He’d roll over and see Dean, green eyes staring at him with adoration, his soft smile seraphic.
“Hey, sunshine,” he’d whisper, and Cas would feel another burst of that light inside him. He was never able to distinguish his happiness and Dean’s; they mixed together perfectly, a harmony of joy and contentment so powerful that Cas hadn’t even known it was possible to feel.
The worst was the sadness.
Dean’s sadness was deep, strong. They’d be looking at old photos, seeing young Sam in his too-big clothes and Dean with a worry in his eyes that shouldn’t be there, and Cas would feel a little twinge in his gut. But he’d give Dean a small smile, a brush of the shoulder, and turn the page. Jo, Ellen, Kevin, Charlie, Bobby. Each person’s memory caused another twinge, a deeper hole.
A squeeze of the hand, a kiss on the cheek, Cas tried to comfort the sadness away. It didn’t always work, but Dean seemed to appreciate that he tried. Some days, Cas thought he could feel some of Dean’s sadness retreat, a little of that sunshine happiness poke through.
Cas hoped that Dean was happy for the memories, too, not just the comfort.
Other days, the sadness was darker. Cas would be sifting through a book, caring for his garden, living his life with the comforts of simplicity, and he’d feel a deep cut through his chest, his lungs, his heart. Tears would prick hotly in his eyes, and his throat would tighten.
He always knew when it was Dean’s sadness; his was more nuanced than Cas’, mixed with years of layered anger, fear, despair--not as cold. And times like these, it was practically tangible, cutting Cas up raggedly from the inside.
Cas would go to Dean, poke his head through the door, and see a bowed head and gripped hands. Sometimes there’d been a worn leather journal, or an old baseball cap. Sometimes there wasn’t anything; sometimes Dean would just be sad.
But Cas’ favorite emotion to feel was love.
Dean’s was similar to his happiness, as warm and bright as the sunshine he called Cas, but softer. Dean would glance over, and that look in his eyes--the one where’d they’d crinkle, and sparkle a little, smiling all by themselves--that same fullness was what Cas felt. A comfort, a hope, a belief.
It was nice to know that after all this time, that after all that had happened, Dean still loved him; that he still believed in him so much that Cas’ heart felt thirty times heavier with the feeling.
He told Dean once, how loving him made his heart heavier, and Dean gave him an odd look. “It’s full of love now,” Cas implored. “It grew, because of you. Before, it was empty.”
Dean smiled that smile again, the one that was almost a smirk but sweeter. “You made it sound like lovin’ me’s work,” he said gruffly.
Before Cas could protest, he pulled him in for a small kiss. But Cas could feel a little wobble in his heavy-heart as their lips met.
Cas didn’t respond right away. Loving Dean was work, he supposed, because it took time and energy and a patience that he didn’t have for much else.
But it was easy work most of the time, work that was worth it--beyond worth it--because it was Dean.
Dean, whose happiness filled up his stomach with light; Dean, whose sadness from all that he had lived weighed down his chest; Dean, who let Cas help him carry that weight; Dean, whose love was so strong in Cas’ heart that it fell, all the way down to Earth as a human.
And he told Dean as much. And when that medley of happiness shone through him again, his and Dean’s, he smiled wide.