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After Iowa and the case of the WiFi surfing vengeful spirit, Dean and Sam headed back to the bunker. Dean wanted a little rest, and he needed a new phone. Why buy a new one when he had a box of burner cells in his room, right? Plus, all his research on the Mark was back there, and they were running low on rock salt and other supplies. No other cases in the immediate vicinity presented themselves in the extra couple of days they spent there, just making sure the problem really had been resolved, and Cas hadn't yet called with any leads. He was still looking for Cain.
This is what Dean told himself and Sam, anyway. He said he found his peace in helping people, which was true, but he couldn't escape the fear that he would go nuclear. Just because he hadn't lost his mind to the Mark for a few weeks didn't mean he could control it long term. He needed a break, to try to find a balance. Too many hunts in a row seemed to wear down his resistance.
They rolled into Lebanon a little after 4:00 in the morning on Valentine's Day. Sam was passed out in the passenger seat, head against the window, when he pulled into the garage at the bunker thirty minutes later. (Dean had made a stop in town. The Impala needed gas, and if he also bought two fairly sizable bags of Hershey's Kisses in Valentine packaging, one for him and one to save for Cas, no one else needed to know.) After he had pulled their bags out of the Impala's trunk, he woke Sam and herded him off to his room. After he watched his Sasquatch of a brother face plant into the bed and immediately start snoring, Dean headed for his own room.
The first thing he noticed was the the books and papers he'd left strewn across the bed and the floor and every available surface were neatly arranged in stacks on the desk and the floor beside it. The second thing he noticed was that the bed was made, a pillow on each side, which he had found once before: when he'd returned to the bunker the first time after receiving the Mark, when Cas had stayed with Sam. They never talked about it, but Dean knew that Cas used his room when he was gone, and they'd given Cas a key to the bunker so he could come and go as he pleased. He'd obviously stopped by in his travels. He wondered if he had said anything to Sam about it.
Dean hadn't been talking to Cas directly lately. He knew Cas would be nice to him, defend him, try to make him feel better, and he just couldn't handle that right now. He hadn't thought he deserved to feel better, or at least not until he heard himself speaking to Andrew's vengeful spirit and Delilah, and then he wondered if perhaps he should take his own advice. But old habits of self-loathing and self-sabotage were hard to break.
He put his bag down and walked over to the bed, when he noticed there was something there besides pillows, the blanket, and sheets. There was a book titled I Wrote This for You, laid carefully between the pillows, nearly new by the look of it, with a Post It note sticking out of the top, his name sloppily printed, the capital D resembling its Enochian equivalent. Dean sat down, picking up the book as though it were a holy relic, carefully placing it in his lap and opening it to the marked page.
The Post It didn't just have his name on it. Cas had written a note, which said, "Dean, You still deserve to be saved. You will always deserve to be saved. - Cas"
It was stuck to a page with a black and white photograph of what appeared to be a collapsing building reflected in a puddle, and two neat paragraphs of text titled "The Fury of Water," the second of which was underlined in blue ink, and read:
"You can try and hold me back. Build your damn walls, pack sandbags along the edges and yell at the clouds and the rain and the sky to stop.
"But I will not relent. I will reach you. Because I am the sea. And I will continue to love you no matter what."
Tears pricked at Dean's eyes. He dropped the book on the bed like he'd been burned, Post It still marking Cas's place, quickly swiping the tears away. He walked over to the desk where he kept the box of spare phones, sifting through until he found one that worked and had Cas's number programmed in. His thumb hovered over Cas's name in the contact list. He didn't realize he'd pressed it until he heard it ringing. Too late to change his mind by then, so he pressed it to his ear and sat back down on the bed.
It rang three times. "Hello, Dean."
"Cas," he said, voice thick and shaking. "I..." I love you, too. I wish you were here. I wish I wasn't so stupid, that things were different...
"I know, Dean," he said. "I know."
"Huh? I didn't even..."
He could hear the smile in Cas's voice as he interjected. "You may not have meant to do so, but you were praying."
"Oh." Dean cleared his throat, feeling the blush creeping across his cheeks and turning even the tips of his ears deep pink. "So how are things going?"
"I think I may have a lead on Cain, but he's ahead of me. I will let you know when I catch up," he replied, serious Angel of the Lord persona in place again.
"I didn't mean with that. I meant with you...Y'know, like how are you? How are things going with your borrowed Grace? Are you okay?" He got up, pacing around the room.
"I am fine. This Grace is holding up well so far. I do miss you. I missed talking to you, not that I don't enjoy talking to Sam. He gives more accurate reports concerning your well-being. But...He's not you," he replied, his voice going soft and quiet at the end.
"Yeah. Sorry about that. I just...After what happened with those douchebags I massacred and nearly killing Metatron--I would have killed him, Cas, even though he was our best lead--and hurting Charlie, I just couldn't stand to hear anybody say anything good about me. I felt like..." He swallowed. "Like I didn't deserve kindness or understanding or forgiveness or...It was stupid, I guess, and had everything to do with me and nothing to do with you."
"You know, I killed more humans and innocent angels after I swallowed the souls from Purgatory than you have humans and monsters combined since you received the Mark. And yet, you forgave me. You didn't give up on me, Dean. How could I give up on you? How could I not forgive you? Even though I must admit I hated seeing you make a similar mistake, turning yourself into a weapon as a means to an end."
Dean collapsed onto the edge of the bed again, sighing. "We really need to stop doing that."
"Yes, we do. Perhaps after we find Cain we can remove the Mark, then perhaps we will find a way to remove my stolen Grace, breaking the cycle," he replied.
"Wouldn't you be human again without the Grace?" he asked.
"Yes, I would be human again, but human is better than dead."
"I guess so," Dean says, almost a whisper. "Part of me says that I should know better than to hope by now, but I do. I hope we're able to solve both our problems. And when it's all over, if you want, you can come back here with us, with me, to stay. But only if you want."
"I'd like that," Cas replied softly.
Dean smiled. "Yeah? Cool. So...Uh, it's Valentine's Day."
"I know. Happy Valentine's Day, Dean."
"Happy Valentine's Day, Cas. I have an extra bag of Valentine's chocolates here with your name on them. I'll leave them out, and you can get them next time you swing by," he said. "And, uh, thanks for the book."
"You're welcome. I did not plan for you to find it on a day devoted to romantic gestures, just so you know. I wasn't sure when you would be back in the bunker, but I found it abandoned in a truck stop and read some of it. The place I marked spoke my feelings better than I felt I could, and, after everything, you needed to know. There was another prose poem in that same section that reminded me of you, the way you reacted when we first met on this plane of existence. It's called 'The Tender Tinder Box,' if you want to read it later."
Dean smiled. "We are such saps. You got me a poetry book and I have chocolate for you." He chuckled. So did Cas. "Just, you know...Don't tell Sam. I mean, about us, and the sappiness. At least not yet. I'm already embarrassed that he knows I like Taylor Swift's music."
"What is wrong with Taylor Swift's music? I like her song, the one that's been on the radio a lot...'Shake It Off', I think? It, as you would say, gets stuck in my head," Cas said. "And it has a good message about letting go of the past and others' expectations and assumptions. I texted the link to the YouTube video to Claire. She said I'm a nerd."
Dean laughed, genuinely laughed, which made Cas laugh. "You are that. And so am I. After the Hansel and Gretel thing, when we were leaving town that song came on the radio and I left it on. He's not going to ever stop making fun of me for that. I'm not ready to completely destroy his image of his big brother just yet."
"Very well. I won't mention the poetry or chocolates to Sam the next time I speak to him," Cas replied, his tone full of fond warmth.
"Thanks." Dean yawned, and lay back on the bed.
"You're welcome. It sounds like you should get some sleep."
"Probably. We drove here from Iowa with only one stop to eat and take a piss, so I'm pretty tired." He raised up and fluffed the pillow into a more comfortable shape.
"That's good, though, that you still feel the need to sleep. Otherwise..."
"Yeah. Otherwise it would mean I'm well on my way to being a black-eyed bitch again," he said. "But, so far, I'm sleeping and eating, so things could be worse." He paused, feeling a little awkward, like he was bringing down the mood.
"Goodnight, Dean." And, somehow, he felt the affection Cas put into those two words.
"'Night, Cas." He hoped his reply held similar warmth. They stalled hanging up for a minute, just listening to the other breathe. Cas hung up first.
Dean set his phone on his nightstand and picked the book back up, flipping to the table of contents, then turning to the second poem Cas had referenced, "The Tender Tinder Box," and saw what Cas was talking about when he read it. The lines that stuck out to him said:
"You shouldn't have come here, made of fireworks, if you didn't want me to play with fire.
"I need a light."
Then he flipped back to "The Fury of Water," re-read it and Cas's note. When he woke that afternoon, he found he had fallen asleep with it spread across his chest, Cas's note resting against his heart. He smiled, closed the book, and placed it under the other pillow, the one he had come to think of as Cas's, before heading to the shower, quietly humming Taylor Swift's "Shake It Off."