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With Cas back, there had been a shift. Benny was on high alert, club smeared in blood and raised high because they were traveling with a freaking angel, brother, that’s askin’ for trouble .
And Cas himself walked with the purpose and determination he always did, but there was a small hesitation in his steps that only someone looking closely could see.
Dean took leadership again, giving and getting comfort in the form of orders and chopped off heads. He tried to ease Benny’s fears with their fighting stealth, but it didn’t seem to do much good. And he couldn’t facilitate a bond between Cas and Benny— he would have to hope they’d do it themselves.
As for Cas, he found a certain benefit through cupping shoulder pats, soft hands— almost too soft for Purgatory—skating across his back, the swipe of a thumb across his palm when they traded weapons.
And sleeping was another matter. He and Benny had stayed close during the nights, sure, but never like this, like with Cas. Never with a hand grasping tightly at a shoulder, holding on like it was the only truth in the world; never with a leg touching so close, their body heat swapping and the feel of muscles tightening; never with Deans head bowed down as if in prayer onto the rise and fall of its sacred chest.
Never so soft and vulnerable. Never with love.
Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? Dean loved Cas, revered the stubbornness and tenderness that made him do things like leave Dean in Purgatory to keep him safe.
And Dean knew Cas didn’t love him— Dean was a fucked up mess, Cas was an angel—but it was in moments like these that he could fool himself.
Imagine that Cas’s hand, which has started out tentative and soft at the first touch but had strengthened was lined with the same tender desperation as Dean’s was, that his careful gaze flitting down to Dean’s face was so he could reassure himself that Dean was real and Dean was alive and Dean was here, that the catch in Cas’s breath and the thump in his glowing heart when Dean had laid down close, and the small exhale, soft and in wonderment... well, Dean could let himself imagine that it meant something. That maybe Cas loved him too.
And it was foolish; it was greedy and selfish and would only hurt more when Dean would have to lay to rest without the steady drum and heavy breaths behind his head.
But Dean did it anyway. He was strong enough for Purgatory, that he knew, but he wasn’t strong enough to deny Cas’s love— whatever he could have of it. Even if it was just delusion.
“This is risky,” Benny murmured, his southern drawl rough as they climbed through the trees. “Cartin’ an angel with us—”
“I’ll have you know—”
“Hey!” Dean turned around from his position up front and stopped. “I’m your ticket out of here—both of your tickets,” he said, with a pointed look toward Cas. “So you’re gonna do what I say and stop arguing!”
Benny sighed and turned away, hand gripping the club but not arguing. Dean was satisfied with that; he supposed that if Cas was just some angel to him, he might not be so happy either.
But he wasn’t.
“Cas?” he asked, voice filled with the strain. He knew, practically, that Cas was not a human. The portal might not work for him—but it didn’t matter. They would either find a way out with Cas, or they didn’t get out. Non-negotiable.
“Fine.” Cas turned away too, brows pinched.
“Good. Now keep moving.” Dean kicked a stray stick out of his way and turned to keep walking.
But Cas reached a hand out, barely tapping his elbow but still getting his attention. “Dean,” he said, resigned. “I know that you know it’s not possible for—”
Dean sighed. “Cas. I don’t care.”
“Yes, I know that, too.” Cas sounded desperate, and his eyes were curved, the blue shining beneath the film of Purgatory. “That’s why I’m telling you that if there’s a choice, you have to save yourself. Leave me.”
The thought of leaving Cas, alone and vulnerable, in Purgatory while he was out? Cas watching him leave, Cas standing there in the grime and the bloodshed, alone again, alone forever? “There’s not gonna be a choice , Cas.”
Dean turned on his heel, ignoring Cas’s feeble attempts to combat that.
And there wasn’t a choice; he had Cas again, and he wasn’t losing him—again.
Dean no longer had to pray every night. He no longer had to chase every child of Eve, threatening them with the agony in his eyes and a blood-stained blade to their throat.
Still, there was pain; every turn was another foe, and every moment of rest and peace was stolen, precarious. New scars formed, muscles cried, and Dean was sure that the scent of blood and grime of dirt was smeared into his skin so deep it practically formed his weary body now.
It was still Purgatory.
Dean wiped a hand over his face, trying feebly to cleanse his face of the blood dribbling down it. It did no good, only painting his cheek red and leaving a sticky warmth on the back of his palm.
“That was a nasty one.” Benny sighed, stretching his arms. “They just keep comin’. We shouldn’t make camp for a while.”
“Yeah.” Dean rubbed his hand on his jacket. He was tired, but it was better than being dead.
Cas’s eyes followed him, heavy and deep as always. “You both should sleep, though,” he said. “I can keep watch. The only reason so many are coming is me.”
Benny sized him up before nodding and sitting down against a tree. “Thanks, brother.”
Cas nodded back, and turned to face the wall of trees behind the clearing; they’d learned that attacks were more frequent from the darkness.
Dean slowly sank down against a tree too, leaning his head back and sighing deeply. His arm was burning, but he wasn’t sure if it was overused muscles or an injury. He rubbed small circles against his shoulder, trying to ease the pain, but it did little good.
“Are you hurt, Dean?” Cas asked quietly, glancing quickly back.
“Nah.” Dean dropped his hand and gave a forced, everything’s fine smile. “Feeling peachy.”
Cas quirked an eyebrow and turned back to the dark mass of trees. “I know you’re lying.”
“Yeah, well. What can you do.” He cringed as he said it, instantly regretting the words. Cas’s grace couldn’t heal in Purgatory, too marred by the spirit. It had been a sore subject for Cas.
His eyes were wide when he turned around to face Dean again. “Dean, I would heal you if I could, but—”
“Yeah, no, buddy, I know that. It’s not your fault.” He rubbed a hand across his face again in discomfort, although it didn’t stem from the blood and dirt caking it.
Cas stared down at his dulled angel blade. “I’m sorry, Dean. For everything. I’m just a beacon for all these monsters, and I can’t even heal you.”
“It’s fine.”
“I…” Cas hesitated. “I know you don’t want me talking about it, but I really think that you should—”
“No.”
“Dean.” Cas’s voice was imploring. “Listen.”
“No, Cas. I’m not gonna listen to bullshit.”
“It’s to protect your life, Dean!”
Dean shook his head and finally shut his eyes. “Cas, stop bringing it up. We’re not leaving you behind.”
Cas stared at him for a while; Dean could feel it, practically see it, even with his eyes closed.
“Fine,” Cas said finally. His gaze lifted.
“Thank you,” Dean said tersely. He opened an eye, peaking at him. “For not being an asshole.”
Cas turned back once more, exasperation and fondness written on his face. “Alright,” he muttered dryly.
Dean smiled back at him, a real one, and closed his eyes again.
So now, there was light.
Dean has his angel, and a loyal friend, and a way to get home. He had his nightly prayers, but in person, with those lingering touches and halting whispers of good memories and hope.
It was dirty and bloody and sweaty and yet Dean felt light around him, shining a thrum in his chest.
No— Dean felt a halo.