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I didn’t mean it, I didn’t think it through, that’s not how I feel, I do trust you.
It’s what landed him in the kitchen in the first place. He and Cas. . .
What’s done is done. Dean said it, and he can’t take it back now. This is what he wanted, right?
When he’s around Cas, Dean is, well, he certainly doesn’t feel like himself. Cas will give him that stupid look with that stupid head tilt, and it’s almost like the responsibility of saving the world and defeating God doesn’t belong on his shoulders. It’s all the stupid expressions Cas pulls throughout the day, whether he’s studying an insect he’s found outside or from tasting foods with too many molecules or how his face lights up with the brightest smile after Dean tells a stupid joke to fill the silence. No, Dean is anything but himself around Cas. He feels so much better than that.
You are not dead to me – you are the only thing in this world that makes me feel alive.
And he doesn’t know how to do it. Right now, Dean is anything but the person that Cas calls his best friend.
And maybe that was Dean’s first mistake – letting Cas find a place in his heart that overwhelms the years of self-loathing that eat away at him. Letting him think there was a chance.
But he fucked up. It was inevitable. He couldn’t keep the anger under wraps, and he used it to hurt Cas. Because he wanted to. Because maybe for once Dean didn’t want to put that guilt on himself. Maybe all that time with Cas had finally let Dean see something within himself that wasn’t loathsome. Maybe he was starting to feel alive again – whatever that means. After all, he already had a lifetime’s worth. Wasn’t that enough? Didn’t he deserve to for once in his life not feel like a failure?
Evidently not. They rushed into things, they didn’t think, and look where it’s got them. Twelve years of fighting continuous apocalypses – honestly, more like one long, way too drawn-out apocalypse.
He’s tired.
Dean stops pacing to yawn. It’s past two in the morning, and ever since Cas left, Dean hasn’t been able to bring himself to try and sleep in their room. He doesn’t want to wake up tomorrow and face the decisions of today. He doesn’t want to go to bed only to find his room empty. Without Cas, that bed is as good as a stranger’s.
He wants him back.
He tries to ignore it, the cold ache in his chest. He tries to simply forget about him, to think every abhorrent and cruel thought he can muster about Cas. But with every negative thought he comes up with, countless bright and warm memories flood in, and it just brings him back to where he started.
I miss you.
What he wouldn’t give to bring Cas back and tell him. To apologize for the anger and explain the strange swirl of emotions he’s felt over the past months, the past years. If only he knew the words. He hardly feels an “I’m sorry” would be enough in this instance.
I need you.
If only he could put his mouth to good use and say things that weren’t accusing or defensive. Much like everything else in his life, everything he touches is turned into a weapon. Words are by no means an exception to this. If he’s honest, he should keep his mouth clear of them.
I love you.
If only he could make himself say it. But he knows.
He wonders if Cas has ever felt the same. Sure, Cas had said the combination of I and love and you before, but that was directed at everyone, not just Dean. Cas was dying, briefly, and he was preparing his final goodbye. It would be ludicrous to even consider those words were meant for him.
But ever since that day, Dean has caught himself wondering what it would be like. How would he react? Would it catch him off guard? Would he see it from a mile away? How could he accept those words were meant for him? He certainly doesn’t deserve them. But a very small, very concealed part of Dean wants them.
He wants to be loved, he wants his best friend, he wants to apologize for being a piece of shit and he wants to make it right.
He wouldn’t be able to say it, but if Cas were here right now, the words would be falling off Dean’s tongue before he could even realize what he was saying:
Tell me you love me and I swear I’ll never open my mouth again.
Still. It’s better this way. He’ll let Cas go before one of them does something stupid that can’t be undone.
***
The guilt that twists in his gut and hammers against his heart, that’s as much a part of him as his left arm, or the bend of his legs, or the handprint that was once so distinct against the skin.
It used to startle him, the raised red handprint so fittingly placed on his arm. Such a stark contrast, Dean could never place why the mark Castiel had branded him with had bothered him more than any other scar he’d received, from hunting or otherwise. He rolls the offending shoulder just at the thought.
It’s how he used to feel about Cas, before they had gotten to know each other. Before Cas defied Heaven’s plans. For him. He shudders at the thought. But that was a long time ago; their lives have changed so greatly since then.
Then why is he still making the same mistakes?
The distinction between human skin and angel claim has faded over the many years since his return from hell. Much like how Cas has made a life for himself amongst humanity – adopting the intricacies that come with a life on earth. Sure, he’s still got some catching up to do here and there, but it’s those unpredictable missing pieces that makes Castiel Cas.
And Dean loves him for it.
It’s not the first time Dean has thought it, nor is it the first time he’s felt it with every sinew in his body, but it steals his breath every time. Apparently, that feeling isn’t exclusive to Earth either.
He doesn’t know how he ended up here.
With everything that happened during their first ‘round trip to purgatory, after losing Cas’ grip and returning without him, Dean swore he would never come back. And yet here he is, lost amongst the forest, desperately avoiding the Leviathans.
It was supposed to be an easy grab-‘n’-go for the Leviathan Blossom. But with Chuck at the helm, nothing was ever easy. He looks down on the timer counting down on his phone. Three minutes left. And now he’s going to lose him. He and Cas are going to die in purgatory and he hasn’t said it.
Dean hasn’t said it, won’t say it, because Cas knows. He knows Cas knows, so what reason is there to waste time for a few measly words. He knows.
Doesn’t he?
How could he know when you let him walk away?
It’s haunted Dean since the first night Cas left the Bunker. Cas had walked away, he didn’t want to hear what Dean had to say to him. Hell, Dean had nothing good to say to him that night. He just let him go. He’s tried not to dwell on it, but the thought itches at the heart of him. He didn’t say it. He let Cas walk away uncertain of his love. Dean can’t help but feel that Cas left that night certain that he was unloved.
“You used to trust me. You don’t care. I’m dead to you.”
The screech of a far-off Leviathan pulls Dean from his thoughts. He checks the timer on his phone. Less than three minutes left.
Shit.
It’s over, basically. The trap was a success. They’re going to die here. He’s going to lose him. He’ll never know.
“No, no, no,” Dean whispers under his breath, desperation clinging to every word. The crunch of his feet against the deadfall echoes around him.
He was wrong. He knew he was wrong the second he let Cas walk away. It's not shocking; he’s used to it. He’s been wrong all his life, screwing things up and making a mess of every seemingly good thing in his life. He hates how it defines him. He hates how he can never break free of it.
A tremor runs down his hand. He’s letting down the world, he’s letting down Sam and Eileen and Jack, and he’s letting God win. And he’s about to lose his best friend.
But maybe today can be different.
If they’re going to get stuck here again, if they’re going to die, then maybe Dean has one last chance to make it right. He has a lot to be guilty about, but he can’t, won’t let this weigh on him, too. And who knows? Maybe he can do it this time. Maybe against the timer counting down their demise, he can utter the words for Cas. If they’re going to be trapped here for all eternity, now’s as good a time as any. They’ve already wasted twelve years. What’s another three minutes?
The clouds begin to part, and the muted sunlight of purgatory seeps through the branches. Dean takes a deep breath in.
“Cas?”
I hope you have your ears on.
“Cas, I hope you can hear me.”
***
So that’s that. Chuck defeated, the end of the world prevented, humanity saved. Of all the ways he could have predicted defeating God and saving the world one last time, Dean never could have imagined it like this. Not with a bang, but a whimper, he thinks. They saved the day, but it feels like anything but a win.
They’re gone. Everyone’s gone. It’s just him and Sam, now.
He can see it in Sam’s face as well, his searching look around every corner, hoping for Eileen to appear and run into his arms. The way Sam has no one to spend his day with. Dean feels similarly. What he wouldn’t give to have his family back. Sure he has Sammy and Sam has him, but they’ve relied on each other solely for too long. They need other people to share their lives with. But there’s no one left – everyone’s dead, lost, or otherwise. They were family, too, and they didn’t need Winchester blood to feel welcome around the bunker. Now the bunker is unsettlingly quiet. There’s no activity, no life to be had within its walls. The bunker is as dead as everyone they’ve lost.
It doesn’t help that Dean has reverted back to silence. He hasn’t been able to speak since Cas’ goodbye. How could he? What is there to say? They saved the world and now they are alone. These are simply the facts of their story. And now the rest of their lives await. But what use is a chance at life if they have to face it alone?
Dean is back at Cas’ meadow, desperate to escape the suffocating silence of the bunker. The sun is shining brightly on him; he squints as he scans the abundance of wildflowers blooming between the grasses. The weathered windmill stands tall, if not a little decrepit far off to the side. The sunbeams are warm, and, if Dean focuses long enough, he can almost imagine the warmth of Cas’ grace. Almost.
Dean knows Cas loved the meadow, and he loves it nearly as much. It’s peaceful, not silent – he likes that. He also likes that everywhere he looks, he can see evidence of life. The colourful petals of meadow flowers, the whistling of the birds above. An oriole lands on a branch to his right. The oriole sings its delicate, sweet song. He feels the corners of his mouth twitch. He’s sure the orioles have a nest hidden somewhere in the trees surrounding the meadow. Their bright orange bellies a stark contrast against the greens and browns of the brush around them.
When Cas returned from his first time confined to The Empty, he and Dean had come back out to the meadow. It was then that Cas had identified the various flora and fauna that inhabited the environment. Dean couldn’t keep up with all the scientific names Cas was listing off; he was too busy staring at Cas with a wide grin spreading across his own face. But the birds with the orange bellies stood out to Dean. The colour of the oriole bellies reminded Dean of the warmth Cas brought to his life. Like the rind of a nearly-ripe orange, or the sweetness of honey. Cas was always fascinated by the bees.
The oriole chirps once more before flying away. As the oriole flies off, Dean notices the black feathers that envelope the rest of its small body. It reminds him of the black ooze that swallowed Cas, stole him for good.
Oh, how he misses him now.
“Why does this sound like a goodbye?”
“Because it is.”
The wind picks up, cool against Dean’s cheeks as he breathes in sharply. Despite the three months that had passed since The Empty had claimed Cas again, he finds himself caught off guard by the simplest of things. The coffee mug he used to share with Cas. A small, wilting plant for sale at the hardware store. The colour of orioles.
“Don’t do this, Cas.”
“I love you.”
Dean lets his eyes shut, his brow furrowing. He tries to picture Cas happy, not the look on his face as he was enveloped in The Empty. All he can see is the dying smile on his face, tears streaming down his cheeks.
“Goodbye, Dean.”
Did Cas know what he was doing when he said goodbye? Did he realize how terribly broken it had left Dean here, on his own? Did Cas know that he meant to say it, that he always meant to say it? The thoughts replay in his mind over and over: I didn’t mean to freeze, I never meant to lose you, this isn’t what you deserve, you died because of me, I meant to say I love you, too.
He kept the words out of his mouth, and now they poison his every fiber. It’s no longer a cold ache in his heart; it is a grotesque tumor that curdled within him, eating him away from the inside out. It leaves him feeling sickly, pale, and heavy with grief.
He saved the world so they could all go home at the end of the day and live comfortably and happy for the rest of their lives. He did not save the world to be left alone with his best friend dead and the words hanging from the tip of his tongue. Cas deserved to hear them. He deserved to know that he was just as loved, every bit as much as he loved Dean in return.
“Everything you have ever done, the good and the bad, you have done for love. That is who you are.”
The words echo in Dean’s head, and he opens his eyes. He could hardly believe it when Cas told him, and even now he still struggles to get his mind wrapped around the idea. But he thinks back to their final confrontation with Chuck, how even as Chuck taunted him with titles of violence and hatred, all Dean could think was, that’s not who I am.
The words were on the tip of his tongue. He never got to say them. He has to get it right. Because a life without Cas isn’t the life for him.
They deserve their happy ending. They all do.
Dean wipes the wetness from his cheeks with the backs of his hands. He gives one last silent goodbye to the meadow before retreating back to the impala. He plays with the keys in his pocket, the distinct jingle of metal removing him from the dream-like serenity of the meadow and back to reality. He turns back to the meadow, staring at the sky as blue as Cas’ eyes. He lets the warm spring air fill his lungs. He sees the oriole return to its previously abandoned branch. The oriole whistles two notes at him. He smiles.
“I promise," Dean says, his voice hoarse from disuse, "I’m not coming back without him." The softness of his words blow with the breeze, and the oriole continues singing. The meadow had always been Cas’, anyways.
As Dean drives away he feels a small spark of hope light in his chest. It’s a fire that doesn’t burn his heart, the way anger so often does, but rather it’s a gradual warmth that melts the poisonous lead that weighs him down. Dean doesn’t feel he deserves a lot from this life, but if he deserves anything, he deserves this. For once in his miserable life, he deserves to be selfish for the sake of his happiness. His life does not need to be one of misery and anger. Not anymore.
***
Sam’s in the library putting old tomes away when he hears the faint grumble of the Impala’s engine. The bunker door slams, and he knows Dean is back. It hasn’t been easy since Cas was taken. As much as Sam had lost Cas, he’d lost Dean as well. He just hopes that one day Dean will feel comfortable talking with him again, even if it means never mentioning Cas again. Sam just doesn’t know how long he’ll have to wait.
Little does Sam know, the wait will merely be another thirty seconds or so.
Dean enters the library in a rush, a gust of air rustling some loose papers on the table. There is a gleam in his eyes that Sam hasn’t seen in a long time. It makes Sam pause.
“We’re getting him back,” is the first thing Dean says in three months.
Sam blinks, taking a step back. “What?” is all he can manage to spit out.
“All of them,” Dean starts gesturing wildly, “Cas, Eileen, Bobby, Mom, Charlie, all of them! We’re bringing them back.”
“Dean,” Sam starts, “they’re dead. You know that, right? They’re dead and gone and we need to move on.”
Sam’s point does little to keep the grin from growing on Dean’s face. In fact, as Dean moves further into the library, the grin on his face seems to grow even bigger. “Sammy, you’re forgetting. We killed Chuck. The world is ours for the taking.” Dean claps his hands together.
Sam shakes his head slightly, trying to understand where his brother is coming from with all of this. “Yeah, but just because we’re free of God’s control doesn’t change the facts of life and death.”
“Says who? You and me, Sammy, we’ve both cheated death more times than we can count. Who says we can’t do the same for everyone else?”
“Okay,” Sam hesitates, “and how exactly do you plan on getting them all back?”
Dean straightens, pointing a finger up to the sky. “We’ve got an in with the big guy.”
“Jack? He said he wasn’t interfering, he wants things to be different–”
“Sammy,” Dean drags out his name, a slightly demeaning expression on his face, “he’s a three-year old. Three-year olds will do anything for a bowl of Cookie Crunch.”
A smile starts to spread across Sam’s face.
*