Chapter Text
Cas finds Dean on the kitchen floor.
He takes in the profile of his face through the shadows where Dean stares blankly at the concrete, back pressed against the counter, knees tucked up close to his chest. Dean’s disposition bares all the vulnerability of a lost child, and it would be easy to believe that is what he was beholding at this very moment, if it weren’t for the bottle of Jack fused to Dean’s fist in a vice grip.
It’s been… tense, in the week since he got back.
The day Jack, now God– for all intents and purposes– had hauled him out the Empty had been spent in a haze between sleep and wakefulness. He had been sitting at the map table, a blanket wrapped around him, when he first saw Dean again. He had hugged Cas then, brutal and bruising in his hold, and Castiel could’ve sworn he’d felt relief flood Dean’s body like a riptide. Why, then, from that moment on, had Dean not uttered a word to him?
Castiel was afraid, of course he was, he never thought he would have to come back and deal with the consequences of his words. Never thought he would have to live without Dean through Dean’s own choice, but the cold, sharp silence between them is hard to mistake.
Though he meant what he said– Happiness isn’t in the having, it’s just in the being– the knowledge that Dean was likely made uncomfortable by the confession, had woven knots into his stomach like ivy.
Cas stays chained to the archway of the kitchen, as if just one step of a well-polished dress shoe will bring down a landslide inside the room.
“You’re a bastard, you know that?”
Though he can tell he wants to, Dean doesn’t say this bitterly. It’s humourless, yes, but Cas can hear the words for what they really are- insecurity, regret, completely baseless self-hatred. The question, however, is why?
“Dean…”
"Don't," Dean bites.
" Dean –" Cas says again, the only word that will form on his lips, clinging to his tongue like it lives there. It does.
"What the hell did you think would happen, huh?" Dean won't look at him, just keeps staring at the concrete like he could cause an earthquake if he focuses hard enough, "What, you tell me you lo– you tell me all that and you think I'll be fine? You think I'll finally feel like I'm worth a damn?"
Cas can only hold his breath, can only stare at how small the larger-than-life man on the floor looks to him now. He can feel the first tremors of the quake, the snow on the mountain that stands between them start to shift. He did think that. He thought, maybe, because Dean didn't feel that way, maybe-
"You left, man!" Dean barks out, though the waver in his voice is undeniable. "You left me Cas. With all that. And I was just meant to fuckin' deal?"
He turns his head to look at Cas now, finally, finally – but when he looks up it's with verdant, red-rimmed eyes, the silvery tracks of his tears glinting in the low light.
He didn't– he never meant for this to happen, to cause Dean such pain. When he said his goodbye it had been like revelation, he thought Dean would understand what it was for, understand why Cas did it, said it. He had thought, though yes, it would be difficult, that Dean would move on, that moment eventually becoming just a cloudy day in a lifetime of what Cas was so sure would be sunshine. He thought– he thought it was enough. Dean was strong, he'd always been able to pick himself back up after losing people he cared about. At least this way, Dean would know he was loved.
And there it is, the final crack in the rock-face that is Cas' resolve, and the landslide slips from the mountain, burying his stubbornness like snow over crocuses. He steps towards Dean, desperate to say something, anything, to claw his way out of the cold grave he put them in.
Dean takes a slug of whiskey as he scrubs a calloused hand over his beautiful, wet face. Cas crouches beside him, resting on his heels and Dean turns away from his worried gaze, eyes finding that same crack in the concrete as before.
"You left," he says again, his tired voice barely a whisper.
Cas needs to fix this. Now.
"I– Dean, I'm so sorry. You have to know I thought I was doing the right thing. I– I needed to save you. I needed to stop Billie. It was the only way." Cas, ever the soldier, tries with all his might to remain composed.
"Should'a just let Billie get us. 'Least then I wouldn't have had to live through hell again."
Castiel can’t stop the rage that spills over when he hears what Dean is insinuating.
"Don't say that, Dean. Don't you dare say that!" he hisses, "You were meant to move on! You were meant to have a life!"
"How the hell was I meant to have a life when you weren't in it?" Dean roars, anger getting the better of him now, and maybe this is what they need, fury hot enough to melt the ice that has settled between them, "I was already dead, Cas! I was dead the moment the Empty took you!"
Breathing heavily in his frustration, Cas stares at Dean for a long moment, eyes like saucers and frown-lines like ridges in the sand. Surely Dean doesn't mean this? Cas knows this doesn't mean Dean reciprocates his feelings, he never expected him to. But to even know Dean feels this much, this desolate over Cas' absence, is more than he can comprehend at the moment. He had been so sure, so sure that Dean would be okay without him. He hadn't considered the alternative, he hadn't let himself.
Cas takes a deep breath. He can't keep arguing, not with him, not with Dean .
"Everything I said to you Dean… I– I just– I had just wanted you to know," his voice is softer now, "I'm sorry, Dean. I have never wanted to cause you pain, just the opposite, please know that, please . I– I know you don't feel the same way. So I didn't… I didn't think it would affect you like this."
Even after all Dean has said to him, Cas braces for outright rejection.
"You're kidding me? Cas!" He grits out, clearly frustrated, "My best friend tells me he loves me, tells me it's his true happiness to tell me that, and you didn't think it would affect me? Do you even understand what you are to me, man?"
Cas blinks.
"What– what am I to you?"
"You're–" Dean looks away and furrows his brow as he tries to think for a moment, the right words seemingly escaping him. He sighs when he realises that he can’t find the right words, "You're more than just my best friend, that's for damn sure."
Dean takes a pull of whiskey as another few ribbons of tears escape his perfect eyes.
Castiel just watches him, unsure of what to say next. He wants to hold him, scoop him up into his arms and let him burrow into him forever. He wants to tell him that it doesn't matter what he is to Dean, that he'll have him anyway he'll take him. That his love doesn't have to be a two way street. It just is .
"You're drunk," is what he settles on.
"So?"
"So, I don't think we should be having this conversation while you're not sober."
Dean laughs. It's humourless.
"Ain't been sober since you said goodbye, man."
Cas feels his chest collapse.
"Dean… please–" he lifts his hand, just slightly, hoping Dean will understand what he wishes to do, "please just let me."
Dean finally lifts his eyes to meet Castiel's and- oh . Cas sees it all now, sees the fear and the hurt and the guilt that swims behind them, everything that Cas was trying to erase that day in the dungeon. Had it really been for nothing? Knowing his love had only caused more hurt makes Castiel long for that landslide to swallow him up again.
But Dean's eyes, despite the apprehension and all that lays beneath the surface, are soft.
"Okay," Dean says, in a barely audible whisper. Again, his eyes– always his eyes , Castiel thinks– tells him so much more than his mouth ever could. Cas sees a plea in them, and he hopes, maybe forgiveness, too.
He usually uses his hands in these acts of healing but he finds this moment is far too intimate for such a perfunctory touch. He needs to feel Dean, to pour his love into him in a way he knows Dean will understand.
Cas cups Dean's jaw in his large hands, fingers rasping over the stubble there. He wipes the tracks of tears away with his thumbs, gently, so gently, he can't afford to hurt him anymore. He closes his eyes in silent prayer as he presses a soft kiss to Dean's forehead, letting his grace and love spill through him in a warm stream of light, pulling the ache and the alcohol from his body. If he concentrates hard enough, he can almost feel the grace like a ribbon, connecting one soul to the other.
Cas inhales deeply, savouring the moment of intimacy, the way Dean's jaw feels strong under his fingers, the way his short hair tickles his nose. Ever so slowly, he pulls away.
He studies Dean's face, the furrow of his brow, the way his eyelashes fan across his speckled cheeks, the slight part of his soft, pink lips. He looks as peaceful as a sleeping baby, and Cas wishes that this was the expression he had left Dean with.
Dean slowly opens his eyes, and when they finally meet Cas', the warmth in them could melt early spring snow.
"Dean… I am sorry," Castiel says, and he means it. He doesn't regret it, no, but he means it.
"'S okay, Cas," Dean whispers, and his voice, it's so small, "but can we talk about all this tomorrow? I'm tired."
"I understand," Cas replies, hoping at the very least, once they discuss it all, that they won't fall back into a routine of tip-toeing around each other.
"Would you–" Dean starts, uncertainty lacing his tired voice, ducking his head as he swallows, "Would you just… I dunno… would you just hold me, for a bit?"
Cas' heart leaps into his throat as his eyes widen gently in surprise at the request. This is more than he expected, even if Dean hadn't been so hurt.
"Of course," Castiel breathes, because of course, of course he'll hold him. He'd do anything for him, as if he hadn't already proved that.
Cas scootches closer now, enveloping him in his long arms, Dean's bent knees now squashed between his chest and Cas'. With one hand, Castiel tucks Dean's head between the gap of his collar and jaw, giving his hair a soothing stroke as Dean nestles closer.
"Man, I really frickin' missed you," Dean murmurs into Castiel’s coat, and he can feel the shudder that shakes through Dean's bones as he begins to quietly sob.
Castiel doesn't say anything, just holds him tighter, like letting him go would trigger another apocalypse, and in this moment, he actually believes it would.
Dean eventually falls asleep like that, wrapped in Cas' arms like a chick nestled in the wings of its mother. Cas carries him to bed, careful not to wake him, pressing a light kiss to his forehead as he pulls up the covers.