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If Dean wasn’t out of his mind with grief, he would’ve never leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Cas’s. If he wasn’t out of his mind with grief he would make an effort to turn his head and hide the tears steadily leaking from his eyes. He would slap his shoulder, maybe hug him, and welcome him home then leave it at that.
He doesn’t, he can’t leave it at that. He lets out an embarrassing half sob and presses his forehead into Cas’s, hands trembling where they’re clutching the angel’s shoulders. He’s back, god he’s back, and Dean can’t even believe it.
Sam is standing just feet away and Dean doesn’t give a single fuck.
“It’s okay Dean, I’m right here, it’s okay.” Cas murmurs, making no move to lean away from the forehead touch, gently stroking his thumb against Dean’s inner arm.
“But you weren’t.” The words rip out of his throat like a living thing, “I can’t keep losing you, Cas, I can’t.”
“I’m sorry, I’m here now.” He reassures him and Dean crumbles. He dips his head low, disconnecting their foreheads, and presses his forehead to the edge of Cas’s jaw.
The new position allows Cas to cradle the back of Dean’s head with one hand, the other hand slowly rubbing down the length of his spine in an attempt at soothing him.
“You can’t keep sacrificing yourself.” Dean damn near begs and immediately continues almost as if sensing Castiel’s need to argue, “Please.”
“Okay Dean, okay.” He finally concedes, turning his head to press a kiss against the hunter’s forehead.