Chapter Text
Dean was never a fan of poetry or symbolism, but he’s spent the last six months floating around the bunker like an empty husk. It’s only fair that Cas leaving results in all of his hope leaving too.
After Cas is gone, he spends most of his time mindlessly praying. Sometimes he doesn’t even mean to, it just happens. Deep in his subconscious, locked in his chest underneath the rest of the shit that he doesn’t bother touching.
He’s washing the dishes, the back of his mind screams for him. Scrub. Cas. Rinse. Please. Dry. Come home.
He cleans his car, and his brain fills in the broad shape of Cas in his passenger seat.
Some days it’s just an endless chant of his name. Cas, Cas, Cas.
There’s nothing simple about the way that he’s existing right now. There’s no peace.
Cas had asked him once, if he’d rather have peace or freedom. As of right now, he’s free. But there is no peace. Not one shred of it.
He goes through the motions. He barely acknowledges Sam, cringes away from his brother’s downturned eyes and crinkled expressions. Even Miracle seems to judge him, but he can’t even look at her. Her tan fur and light eyes only remind him of someone he can’t seem to forget.
He can’t do it. He can’t do it. If he so much as says Cas’ name, he’ll fall apart.
He drinks constantly, somehow more than he did before. Sam worries for him constantly. Dean drinks, Sam hides the alcohol, Dean finds it, so it goes.
So it goes.
In every bite of food he takes, he hears Cas in his head complaining about unpleasant molecules.
Why is he free? Why is he free to choose if he can’t choose him? Why did he have to die for the rest of us to go on?
I love you, goodbye Dean.
Anger takes too much energy for him. He wants to be angry, wants to cry and scream and fight, but none of that will bring him back. Nothing will bring him home. He wants to be furious, another family member gone to another stupid deal. Another loved one stupid enough to throw their life away for Dean Winchester of all people.
He’s six months into relentless grief when everything finally falls apart.
He spends way too much time aimlessly haunting the bunker’s halls. He walks up and down the hallways, running his hands over the stone walls. He recites the definition of insanity, doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. He’s insane. He’s gone insane.
Cas, he subconsciously prays. How could you do this to me?
He wonders if the rest of the angels (or what’s left of them) can hear him. If they can sense his longing, sense how utterly ruined he is.
He tucks Cas’ memory behind his ribs, and treads to his room.
He knows he shouldn’t go into Cas' room, it should be a sacred location of some kind, but there is nothing sacred about the cold and barren walls that line his room. There is nothing holy about the empty desk and perfectly made bed.
Cas barely even saw this room as fully his, especially considering he didn’t need to sleep. Dean would pretend not to know what Cas did while he was sleeping, but he was always lying. Sleepless nights revealed heavy footsteps making their rounds through the slumbering inner workings of the bunker.
Cas would always patrol at night when he wasn’t reading. Of course, that was when he was actually there.
He hasn’t been in Cas’ room since before he died. He hasn’t really had a reason to. Normally, he stays a healthy distance away from both Cas’ room and the dungeon. Cas’ blood is still on the dungeon door.
He even averts his eyes when walking past the tables in the War Room. The carved Castiel in the wood only seems to mock him.
He’s sure Sam grieves him too. They were friends too, healthy and open and always joking to each other in the dim lowlight of the kitchen lights. They had an inside joke about Sam’s name being Justin, a reference to a case they took almost a year ago.
Cas would make comments about Sam’s hair, and would tell him if it looked different that day. Sam would joke about Cas wanting a Guinea pig.
A selfish part of him wants to hoard Cas’ memory to himself, insist that he’s the only one that truly gets to be upset about this. He wants to shout that he’s the only one that’s truly mourning.
But Cas told him he was selfless, and he’s not gonna spit on Cas’ memory by proving him otherwise.
Sam grieves differently than he does. But inside, buried under the gaps in his sternum, he feels as though nobody really cares that Cas is gone at all. How can the world keep turning while he’s not here? How can the world that he died for keep going while he’s gone?
When he gets to Cas’ door, he hesitates.
He’s only been in this room a few times, it’s usually empty. But something about entering it now feels taboo. Normally, it’s empty because Cas doesn’t sleep and prefers to be on guard in case something breaks into the bunker. Now, it’s empty because he’s dead. It’s empty because he’s gone.
He wraps a calloused hand around Cas’ doorknob, and turns. The rotation causes his wrist joint to briefly pinch in delayed pain.
When the door pushes open, Dean feels like he’s been punched in the chest. His eyes immediately water.
Dean flips up the light switch.
The room itself is unassuming. There’s a bed with tan sheets, completely untouched. There’s a layer of dust over it, coating the beige sheets in a misty film. There’s a brown nightstand, a dresser. A lamp.
Across from the bed, though, is a desk. Dean, for some reason, doesn’t remember there being a desk in here. There’s not much on it, there’s what seems to be a fake succulent on it and a cup of pens and pencils. The desk has a drawer on the front.
Like the bed, the desk is covered in dust. Dean’s allergies act up the moment he stands in the center of the room.
Emotion wells up in his chest. It all hurts so bad. He feels so hollow, something he can’t even describe weighs heavily on his ribs, the same ones Cas warded in his native tongue.
He has to force his feet to carry him to the innocent desk in the corner of Cas’ room. He feels like he’s violating Cas’ privacy somehow, but Cas is gone. There’s nothing more private than that. It’s all hidden, just like everything between the two of them.
Dean opens the desk’s drawer.
There’s not much in there, just a couple loose erasers, pens, sticky notes, paper clips, thumbtacks, and a small journal.
The journal is what catches Dean’s eye. His eyebrows furrow.
It’s leather, held closed by brown twine that wraps around it. It reminds Dean of his father’s journal, but Cas’ is darker and has a carved design of a crow on the front. The pages are a light tan, some of them folded and dog eared in the corners. He can see the gaps in the pages where the folds are. He picks it up, rotates it in his hands, inspecting.
He wants to read it so bad. He doesn’t think he should. What types of things would Cas even write about? What sentiments would he express without the limits of Dean’s repression?
Cas always felt more than he would say. Dean’s almost scared to even open the damn thing.
He doesn’t. He sets it back in the drawer, and slowly pushes it closed. The drag and thump of the drawer closing feels like the first sound he’s actually heard in months. Cas, he prays. I miss you.
He feels the need to leave the room exactly as he found it. So he turns the light off on his way out, and does nothing about the dust. A broken sniffle escapes him on his way back to his room, but he doesn’t know if it’s the allergies or tears.
He’s lying to himself.
Once he’s back in his room, he just lays on top of his sheets, doesn’t bother to get comfortable. He’ll barely sleep anyways. He wonders what Cas would even write about in that little journal of his. If the paper is lined, if it’s plain. Would he talk about Dean? Would he talk about Jack? Maybe he’ll write about the movies Dean makes him watch, or the games Jack made him play.
This is so hard, he thinks. Or maybe prays, he doesn’t quite know. Why couldn’t this be easy? What was winning worth if you weren’t the reward?
Distantly, he finds that he misses Jack as well. But Jack’s absence isn’t as hard knowing that he’s out there, trying to make the world a better place. Dean prays to him sometimes, but he hasn’t answered. He wants to have faith in Jack, but Cas took Dean’s faith with him. It’s sanctimonious, it’s futile.
When he finally falls asleep, he dreams of words he never deserved.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
Cas loves him. He’s so unbearably sorry.
~~~
He can’t stop thinking about the fucking journal. Since the moment he woke up, it’s plagued his mind.
He never changed out of his clothes from yesterday. They’re rumpled and uncomfortable, but he’s too numb to think about it. He gets out of bed the same way he has for the last six months.
His feet touch the ground, he shudders, he blinks, he walks out. So it goes, so it goes.
Sam and Dean don’t talk about Cas. Sam has no idea what happened the night Cas was taken by the empty. He knows the basics, the bare bones of what happened, but nothing more. None of the love, none of the pain.
Dean would like to believe that Sam doesn’t mention Cas because his pain is so grand that he can’t even utter the angel’s name, but the truth is obvious.
Sam is worried that Dean will either jump down his throat, or break down entirely.
Dean isn’t entirely sure that Sam’s wrong.
He doesn’t even know what he’d do. If he’d laugh, cry, yell. He knows his brother didn’t deserve it, he’d give him those sympathetic puppy eyes that Dean always fell for but now, he just can’t. He just can’t see the pity in his brother’s eyes, not while he’s mourning like a damn widow.
He’s not even fully here. He’s not real, just a floating spirit through these lifeless walls. When he looks at the table in the kitchen, he sees Cas eating Nougat in remembrance of his son. Laughing and smiling, telling stories and listening to Sam and Dean tease each other.
When he passes the War Room, he sees Cas sitting down and drinking a beer after he saved Lily Sunder.
When he passes by his own room, he thinks of Cas telling him that he should relax, that it’s finally quiet.
Cas, he prays as he walks out of his room. You’ve ruined me, man.
If any other angels are listening, his head spits as he heads back to Cas’ room, close your damn ears.
He casts a cautious look around before entering to see if Sam’s there. He’s not.
Dean doesn’t even know where he is. If he’s in his room, if he’s out with Eileen, if he’s fighting a vampire somewhere. It’s insane, but he doesn’t think he cares. Despite whether or not he was with Sam, this pain will not go away. It’s the most persistent thing he’s ever suffered through, he might not make it through the other side.
He won’t even look at a picture of Cas. He has one tucked away in his wallet, but he can’t bear to look at it. He’d just see everything he’s been dancing around for the last twelve years. Cas’ kind and sharp blue eyes, the curve of his nose, the heights of his cheekbones, the color of his mouth. He can’t do it. He goes through the motions. So it goes.
It feels like an eternity before he makes it to Cas’ door. Maybe he was subconsciously procrastinating. He doesn’t feel in control of his own body or thoughts anymore.
He puts his hand on the handle, pushes it open. It squeaks, and his nose preemptively fills due to the dust. His eyes well up too, but he’s not sure if he can blame that one on allergies.
He shuts the door behind him, rushing over to the dumb spruce wood desk. It’s polished, but scratched in some places. He doesn’t remember it being here when they first moved in, but maybe Cas had used to mojo to teleport it there. Dean has no clue.
He sits down at the little stool in front of the desk and pulls the drawer open. Some of the dust lifts and flies, and Dean raises a hand to wave some of it away from his face. He coughs. It’s the first sensation strong enough to break through the numbness in weeks.
He runs an anxious and bony hand through his hair. He’s gotten a bit lighter over the months, bodily neglect finally catching up with him. He reaches down and picks up the little journal, unnecessarily careful. The leather is pleasant in his rough palms. The crow on the front is cute, and it almost makes Dean want to smile.
He closes the drawer and carefully unwraps the twine from the journal. It comes away easily. He lets it flutter down onto the desk and peels the book open. The thick pages make a slight dissonant sound, like some of them were wet or warped.
The first page just has his name.
Castiel.
It’s otherwise blank, there’s no last name. The corners of the page have pre-printed swirly designs, adding some elegance to the page.
He flips through the first couple of pages. They’re blank. It’s almost as though Cas wanted whoever found the journal to believe there was nothing written in it. Dean wouldn’t have settled for that, anyways.
He would stop now while he’s ahead and avoid whatever lies beyond the warped pages, but he’s never been that smart. It doesn’t feel like too much of an invasion of privacy, because Cas is gone. He’s never coming back. His heart yearns for his best friend and he’s never coming back.
So if this dumb little journal is all that’s left of him, he’s reading it. He’ll be damned if he doesn’t read it.
The journal must be on the newer side, because the first entry takes place right after Chuck killed Jack. Before Jack came back, before they beat Chuck, before Cas was nothing but nostalgia.
‘He’s gone. My son is gone.’
The first sentences cause a stone to drop low in Dean’s stomach. The air feels punched out of his lungs.
‘He’s gone. Chuck was lying this whole time. He killed my son. I held so much hope after Dean stood down, but he’s gone anyways.
He was flawed, I know he was. He made mistakes, but he was mine. He chose me. And I couldn’t protect him.
What kind of father am I? How can I be an Angel and still allow this to happen?
Kelly would be so disappointed in me. I promised her, and I failed. She entrusted me with him.
I was never deserving of the title of father.’
The entry is short. Dean’s eyes fill and spill over the darkness of his lower lashes. A stunted sob spills from his lips. There’s dried tear spots already on the page, and Dean only adds his own. Cas must’ve gotten the journal to cope with Jack’s loss.
He couldn’t talk to Dean about this because Dean was too busy blaming him for everything. Too busy driving Cas out of his own home. At the same time that Dean was telling him that he’s everything that goes wrong, Cas was mourning his son. The thought only makes Dean feel worse. He feels like his mind has left his body.
Of course Cas deserved to be a father, he was better than Dean’s, better than his own. He tended to his son, loved him in a way that exceeded physical standards. Two celestial beings, and they chose each other as family.
It only makes Dean cry more.
The next entry, Dean assumes, is soon after they’d returned from Purgatory. When Cas had left after their fight, Dean hadn’t seen him come back for the journal, so he must not have. He spent all of that time outside the bunker alone, without his friends and without the comfort of his journal. Dean lets out a shaky exhale. More tears slip freely from his eyes.
‘Dean’s finally forgiven me, I believe.’
Dean hefts out a self-deprecating laugh. Of course was worried about being forgiven, but Dean never wanted him gone to begin with.
He knows he pushed Cas away. He knows what he did.
But, despite everything, he never actually expected Cas to leave. It was stupid of him, for him to think that he could treat Cas the way he did and assume he would stay. He was stupid for believing he was ever worth staying for.
‘I didn’t enjoy returning to purgatory. It brings back bad memories for me.
I miss my son.
I hope Dean knows that I never wanted to leave him, I just couldn’t stay knowing I am dead to him. I couldn’t stay knowing he blamed me for Mary.
I liked Mary Winchester.
She was kind, she treated me well.
She once asked me how I knew I truly belonged here, and I told her I wasn’t sure. I’m still not, but I’ll stay for as long as I can be useful to Sam and Dean.
I want them to know I’m sorry.
I want them to know that the deal couldn’t be stopped. But I miss my son. I don’t regret saving him, but I saved him only for him to die again at the hands of my father.
I want this to be over, I want my family to be free.
I just want my son. I want Dean to want my son as much as I do.’
Dean’s fists clench as hard as they can without damaging the journal. He failed Cas so much. He failed his son, he failed his best friend. There’s shame settling deep in his gut, and it hurts. It hurts so bad. Reading this is bringing up all the emotions he’s tried to shove down for the last six months.
He reminds himself that Jack is alive and well, managing the universe and blessing the days. Cas would be ecstatic to know that his son is thriving. He’d be horrified that he’s God, however. Cas has a thing against beings that try to be god, including himself. He knows that it’s not what Cas would’ve wanted for his son, but Dean’s just glad he’s alive.
He wants to be able to say the same about Cas.
Dean reluctantly turns the pages, skimming through some of the other entries that mainly just consist of Cas retelling his day. There’s one where Cas recalls his time with Sam and town with drugged milkshakes or something like that.
Some of the entries are just Cas talking about Jack. One of the entries takes place after Billie brought Jack back, and Dean can sense the frustration in the neatly written text.
‘Things can never be easy. I finally get my son back, and Billie is using him as some kind of weapon against god.
Why can’t he just live?
Why can’t he just live without being a pawn in some kind of cosmic game? What if I just want him as he is?
I want to read to him, I want to teach him things. I want to watch Sam and Dean clap him on the shoulder and tell him he did good, I want to enjoy him.
I want him to be able to exist without falling victim to something as cruel as circumstance. I want him to be better than me, I want him to be a kid.
I never was, I was simply created one day with no purpose other than to follow orders.
But now my purpose is to be a father, my purpose is to be a friend.
I can’t seem to do either correctly.’
Dean growls somewhere in the back of his throat. Cas was good. If there’s anything that he knows about his late friend, it’s that he was good, and he was loving and pure and Dean’s.
He wants to go back and scream at Cas that he’s loved, scream at him that he’s deserving.
But he can’t, because the same love that Dean admired in him is the same long that got him killed.
Cas’ love killed him, and there’s no going back from that. He can kick and claw and scratch, but there’s no going back.
Deans fist thumps weakly on the wood of the desk. More dust flies into the air.
He skims through some more entries, they’re mostly uneventful. Although, just seeing Cas’ handwriting brings him catharsis. Holding something that’s proof that he loved Dean other than a bloodied jacket is more than Dean thought he’d get.
Some of the entries are just one sentence. So it goes, so it goes.
One entry catches his eyes. It’s an entry that he just knows is about him before he even reads it, so he stops to make sense of it. There’s dried tear streaks on the warped paper. Cas’ handwriting smudges out in some places, but Dean pays it no mind.
He reads.
‘I love him. I love him.
It’s so frustrating, how much I hold back just to keep him.
I am scared that he will find out. I am scared that he’ll never forgive me.
I know what I feel, I know what I’ve done. But this, it’s so painful and it’s all so hard.
I keep my hands in my lap so I do not reach for him. I shouldn’t have ever left him, but he doesn’t ask me to stay.
He would be disgusted, if he knew. I wish I could help it. I wish I could change the circumstances, but I can’t.
I eat his food that I can’t even taste just so he has a reason to talk to me. I heal the tiniest cuts and scrapes so I have an excuse to touch him.
But I am terrified. I am terrified of losing him, terrified that he’ll find out and think of me differently.
Admiring him from afar has become so difficult, we rotate around the bunker on different planets and I’m falling out of orbit. I can’t do it anymore.
I love him, and it’s breaking my heart. I want to tell him. I wish I could tell him.
He’d never forgive me. I should be content with what I have, what we are, but I’m selfish. I’ve always been.
I want him to see me. I just want to stay.’
That’s it, this is his breaking point.
He throws the journal at the wall. It hits the wall hard, the spine of the small cracking under the force. He yells. He yells and screams and thrashes, swiping the pens and pencils off the desk as hard as he can.
“Why?!” He shouts desperately. “Why?! Why?! Why me?!”
He storms around the room like an untamed tornado, throwing the innocent lamp to the ground and ripping the perfectly made sheets off of Cas’ bed.
“Why?!” He screams, punching the nightstand as hard as can, the wood splintering and falling to the ground. “What have you done?! God, you son of a bitch!”
It all hurts so bad.
Anger is easy. Anger comes easier than any emotion Dean has tried to make himself feel in the last six months. Anger is familiar, anger is what made Cas fear him.
He screams and screams, a tempest untamed unleashed upon the normally peaceful state of Cas’ room.
He falls to his knees in the center of Cas’ room, the destruction around him suffocating and incriminating. It’s all wrenching out of him. It’s shredding his vocal cords. It hurts, it hurts.
Sobs and growls rip from his throat, his hands reaching up to tug on his hair hard enough to rip it out. His muscles shake from exertion, his head pounds hard enough to kill. Loud and ugly cries spill from his mouth, brows pinched together enough to be painful. He screams and screams and screams.
Cas’ door flies open, revealing a distressed and rumpled Sam, like he just ran over here.
Based on the frantic rise and fall of his brother’s chest, he can guess that that’s exactly what happened.
“Dean?” Sam demands breathlessly.
He seems, then, to really take in the image in front of him. The entire room is destroyed, the journal lays abandoned in the tangled sheets from Cas’ bed, and there Dean kneels in the center of the chaos. He wants absolution. He wants Cas.
“Dean,” he says, understanding. He walks over, kneeling down on a scarred knee to wrap his arms around Dean’s shaking shoulders like a weighted blanket. His tree branch arms grab hold of the back of Dean’s shirt, and he pulls him close to his chest.
Dean just sobs into his brother’s torso. He feels so small, so separated from the Dean that raised Sam into the man he is now. He feels like the little brother, clinging to Sam just to ground himself to reality for just a moment.
There is freedom. There is no peace.
He can’t stop crying, and he wants to be ashamed and hide from Sam, but it’s too late. Here, he bears his soul to his brother and lets him hold it. His soul cries out for him, and Sam's hair falls onto Dean’s head. It smells like his coconut shampoo, an expensive brand that Dean feels too dirty to use.
He grasps at the front of Sam’s shirt, his limbs aching.
“Sam-“ he tries, his voice tearful and destroyed. “Sam, he-“
Sam just tightens his hold on his shoulders. “Dean, it’s okay. It’s okay, it’s okay.”
Dean just shakes his head where it’s pressed against Sam’s chest. His knees complain from where they’re pressed unforgivingly into the ground. “It’s not, Sam. It’s not, he- he just wanted-“
Sam lets himself fall fully to the ground, his knee giving out and falling in place next to the other. They’re both kneeling in the destruction of their friends’ room, and Dean feels like a little kid.
“Dean,” he says, sounding more affected than he has since Cas died, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
When Dean finally feels okay enough to pry himself from his brother’s arms, Sam lets go easily. He knows Sam must be wary, scared to push too hard in case Dean pushes back. But Dean’s too tired to keep hiding from Sam, tired of putting on a brave face for the sake of his brother.
Dean can imagine what he looks like right now. His face is burning and splotchy, his head is pounding, and tear tracks cake his face. When he makes eye contact with Sam, Sam’s face pinches in sympathy. His whole face softens.
“I’m sorry, big brother.” Sam’s eyes fill with twinning tears. “Dean.”
Sam seems to say his name just to say it. His green eyes are staring right through Dean’s, and he feels like Sam can see right through him. He feels displayed, Sam is seeing a side of him that was never meant to meet the light of day. This was never meant to come up.
It was always going to. Dean couldn’t hide it forever.
“He loved me, Sam.”
Sam’s eyebrows unfurrow, his eyes only getting warmer. There’s understanding flooding the glassy eyes of his baby brother.
“I know.”
He sounds wrecked as he says it, but those two words shoot down Dean’s spine like a lightning strike. “You- you what?”
Sam just stares at Dean. Blinks. “I knew, Dean.”
Dean scrubs at his face with the back of his wrist. “How?” He demands, incredulous. “How could you have known?”
Sam just lowers his head. His body is taut, like the drawn bowstring of a new violin. Dean waits for him to snap. Sam’s whole demeanor is soft, like he’s ready to bear the impact of whatever Dean’s reaction will be to the words he’s about to say. He doesn’t know if he’s prepared himself. Dean wishes Sam never opened his mouth.
“You didn’t see the way he looked at you, Dean.”
Dean shatters.
He folds over himself, more tears spilling over his cheeks in rapid succession. He mourns and mourns and mourns. He wants him back. He wants to stare into Cas’ endless blue eyes, he wants to see Cas’ face crinkle when he sees him.
He wants to hear him laugh, he wants to hold his hand. He wants him back. He wants Cas to still want him. He wants Cas to eat his dumb pancakes that he can’t even taste but he wants Cas to eat them because Dean made them.
Dean wants to hear his voice. He wants to see his dumb trenchcoat that Cas has gotten emotionally attached to over the years. He wants to see Cas in the passenger seat of his car. He wants Cas to tell him that he loves him again. He wants to say it back.
Dean is familiar with wanting. He is not familiar with coming to terms with those wants.
“I didn’t even say anything, Sam.”
Sam just tilts his head, his face full of pity. He lets some of his long hair fall into his face. His jaw clenches. Sam seems so wise from his crouched position next to Dean. Dean wants to hate him for it.
“He said- he said so much to me, he poured his fucking heart out to me, and I didn’t say anything.”
Sam’s face falls.
“Dean, none of it was your fault.”
Dean slaps the ground with an open palm, a sob spilling from his lips. “Of course it was, Sam. I could’ve said anything at that moment and I didn’t. He died, and nobody has ever told him they loved him.”
He sobs even more at his own realization, his heart shattering in his chest. His breath stutters. “Not you, not me, not Jack. And he told us he loved us, Sam. He’s told me!”
Sam just lets him cry. Sam lets him speak. This is the most he's spoken to Sam in the last six months. Before this, it was short and clipped conversations or quick grunts. Nothing substantial. Sam’s probably just happy to hear his own brother’s voice.
“He told me, to my face, that he loved me. And I stood there like an idiot , Sam! I stood there and I let him die!” His voice breaks, and he inhales shakily after he’s done.
Sam’s hand lands heavy on his shoulder. Dean heaves, fighting for breath.
“Why him, Sam?” He cries quietly into the charged air between them. “Why did it have to be him?”
Sam just pulls him closer and shakes his head. “I don’t know, Dean.”
He rests his forehead on the crown of Dean’s head. “I wish I knew.”
His chest hurts so bad, he feels turned inside out, like a raw exposed nerve. He should have never read that fucking journal, and Dean never stops praying Cas’ name.
~~~
Dean hates symbolism, but there’s something so stupidly poetic about it that he almost can’t help but be amused by it.
Jack shows up on a Thursday, teleporting next to Dean as he makes himself some coffee. Dean startles, spilling some of the coffee on his shirt and cursing under his breath.
“Dammit, Jack.”
Jack waves a hand, a remorseful look on his face. “Hello, Dean. Sorry about that.”
Jack snaps his fingers and the mess and burn are both gone. He smiles proudly after, like he’s just solved world hunger. Maybe he did, he is God after all. Dean hasn’t spoken to him in a while, he has no clue what Jack’s been up to.
Dean sets his mug down on the counter and leans forward on his elbows.
“Don’t worry about it, kid. What’s goin’ on?”
Jack wastes no time, shoving Dean into the deep end with nothing but the skin on his back.
“I’m going to bring him back.”
Dean chokes on his coffee.
“You- you mean Cas?”
Jack nods, childlike excitement in his eyes. “I didn’t answer your prayers because I hadn’t found a solution yet. I didn’t wanna bring you false hope.”
Dean’s frozen, his face hasn’t moved. He can’t- he can’t believe this. His heart races.
“What- why couldn’t you do it before?”
Jack frowns, seeming to sense Dean’s distress. Dean’s a little worried about what the kid knows, he is omniscient and omnipotent after all.
“Come sit down, Dean.”
Jack walks over to the kitchen table, and Dean grabs his coffee and numbly follows him. The scrape of the chairs on the hard flooring makes Dean cringe, but he ignores it and sits down.
Jack gets started immediately. Just like his father, never one to beat around the bush.
“I can’t wake up Cas as easily as I did last time.” He says, mournfully. “The Empty has a tight hold on him.”
Dean’s blood boils for a moment. He wills it down so as to not scare the kid. Cas is not for the Empty to have, Cas belongs to him. “What does that mean for Cas?”
“It means that if I can’t wake him up, I can’t get him out. He’s stuck in an endless loop of what’s probably his worst regrets. But that’s where you come in.”
Dean splutters, pressing a finger into his own chest. “Me?”
Jack smiles and nods, eyes big.
“You have a connection to him, a lifeline if you will.” Jack’s hands move as he explains, and Dean can’t even believe they’re having this conversation. “He used his Grace to put you back together atom from atom after Hell. His handprint was a result of his Grace making contact with your physical body.”
Dean’s mind flashes to the raised scar Cas had left on his body. Now, he used to find it strange and hide it, but now it feels more like a momento left by an old friend.
“There’s a bond you two share, and it’s profound in nature. With it, you can call out to him.”
Dean’s head shakes slightly, incredulous.
“How?”
Jack smiles.
“I can’t find him if I can’t wake him up. We need to wake him up, and I think I know how.”
Dean just stares at him. Get on with it, he thinks. Jack must be able to read his mind or see it on his face, because he just stares back.
“I’m going to fuse the Grace he left behind in your body with your soul.”
Dean blanches.
“My soul?”
Jack seems to sense his distrust. “Don’t worry, it won’t harm you. But if I fuse his leftover Grace with your soul, you might be able to call out to him. You’ll be connected.”
Dean bristles, but anything is worth bringing him home. “Will there be any lasting effects?”
Jack considers that for a moment, then fixes Dean with a look that says does that really matter?
“You’d be slightly more drawn to each other, more in tune with each other’s thoughts and feelings. But that’s about it. Nothing damaging or life-altering.”
Yeah. Totally not life-altering.
It doesn’t matter anyways. Even if the consequences were life threatening and entirely detrimental, he’d probably take the chance anyways. It’s Cas, and if Cas can save Dean without worrying about himself then Dean can do the same thing. Cas saved Dean without a second thought, like it was as easy as breathing.
He recalls the words written in the privacy of Cas’ journal.
I want him to see me. I just want to stay.
Dean’s heart skips just to think about him. You can, he thinks grievously. You can. I want you to.
He’s gotta bring him back to make him stay, so that’s exactly what he’s gonna do. “How’s it work, Jack?”
Jack looks contemplative for a moment. He seems to connect some imaginary dots in his head, so Dean lets him think. “It’s a spell, it allows a shred of celestial energy to meld with a human soul indefinitely.”
Dean sips at his coffee, it doesn’t help. It doesn’t calm him down at all. He just gives his anxious hands something to do. “What do I need to do?”
Jack pulls at the collar of his sweater. It’s a baby blue, and it matches his eyes in a way that makes his heart clench. It reminds him of Cas.
“I’ll need to make contact with the handprint on your arm, but other than that, not much. After the spell is complete, I’ll need you to pray to him. If it works and wakes him up, I can handle the rest.”
Dean smiles and his eyebrows relax. He feels lighter for the first time in months. He’ll do anything to have him back.
Jack frowns in thought for a moment. “I need Sam.”
~~~
“You need me to do what?”
Jack rolls his eyes and frowns at Sam like he’s done something rather distasteful. “It’s simple, Sam. I need you to help me conduct a spell that will fuse Cas’ Grace to Dean’s soul so I can drag him out of the empty myself.”
Dean snorts, adjusting the collar of his flannel. “Yeah Sam, keep up.”
Sam shoots a dirty look at him, but continues talking to Jack. His hands twitch where they rest on the War Room table. “That’s not my problem, my problem is why me? Why can’t Rowena come up and help us? She’s the strongest witch we know.”
Jack frowns. He looks a bit agitated. “I actually reached out to her already. Since becoming queen, she’s much busier than she used to be. She wouldn’t be able to come up fast enough and I want Cas out as soon as possible.”
Sam’s eyebrows furrow. Dean can tell by the look on his face that there’s something bothering him. “What if I can’t do it?” Sam says quietly. “What if I mess it up? I don’t wanna be the reason that we can’t bring Cas home.”
Jack just smiles knowingly at him.
“Sam, you are one of the most gifted witches on Earth right now.”
Sam gawks at him. “What? I am?”
Jack nods enthusiastically. “Rowena left you with much knowledge and many resources, and you’re the fastest learning witch I can find. There’s no one I trust to do this more than you.”
Sam smiles shyly and ducks his head, shooting a wary glance at Dean. Dean just raises his eyebrows at him.
Sam’s shoulders shift with pride. Dean can’t help but roll his eyes, but the sight is so endearing that he just has to smile.
He claps his hand once. “Alright, let’s get started.”
~~~
Dean’s sat down on one of the table chairs, Jack’s small hand resting on the scarred skin of his shoulder. His fingers align with Cas’, palms pressed together while Jack’s eyebrows screw together in concentration.
“I’ve got the ingredients ready, Jack. You just gotta say the words.”
Jack shudders in preparation, but his features are set in determination.
“Allar amiran, iaiadix bi-en. Monons rest-el sobam torzul. Allar amiran, iaiadix bi-en. Monons rest-el sobam torzul.”
Electricity shoots through Dean’s arm and down his spine, the center of his chest feeling deathly hot. He feels like the purest form of energy is being injected directly into his bloodstream, and it’s all so overwhelming. It doesn’t hurt, per se, but it’s so much. It’s hot and it’s aggressive. He can feel the Grace knitting itself to the very core of his soul. It interweaves with his ribs and briefly knocks the air out of his lungs. His face scrunches, and his mouth is pulled into a grimace that he knows is probably concerning Sam.
Jack’s voice breaks through the overwhelming energy rushing through his eardrums. “Call out to him, Dean! Say his name!”
“Cas!” Dean cries out, immediately. A bright blue light is emanating from his chest and Sam averts his eyes. “Cas! I need you to wake up! I need you to come home!”
The light only grows brighter. “The connection will be at its strongest right after you’re bonded, keep calling him!” Jack does his best to yell over the loud ringing echoing through the bunker. Lights flicker throughout the halls, and the bunker panics. The red distress lights come on, and the table in front of them shakes.
“I need you here with me! You have to wake up so Jack can bring you back to me! Wake up, man, come on!”
Dean does his best to keep yelling, but the heat racing through his veins is almost too much. An emotion that doesn’t feel like own shoots blooms in his subconscious. He feels a strong sense of alertness and panic, and his heart palpitates.
“Castiel! I want you to stay! I need you to wake up, I want you to stay! I’ll ask you to stay!”
Jack pushes down harder on his arm.
“Cas, please!”
The light bursts out of his chest in one large energy blast.
Everything stops. The bunker stills, the ringing stops. Dean’s breathes heavily, catching his breath and regaining strength in his limbs. He slumps in his chair.
“What happened?” Sam asks frantically. “What’s going on?”
Jack releases Dean’s arm and looks up. His eyes settle on the ceiling. A smile sits on his face, and he looks younger than he’s ever looked.
“Jack,” Dean demands, exhausted. “What happened?”
“He’s awake,” Jack informs. “He heard you. He’s awake.”
“How do you know?” Dean asks worriedly.
“I can feel him, he’s praying.”
“To who?” Sam asks.
Jack’s eyes flicker over to Dean. “To you.”
The exhaustion catches up with Dean, and he feels his eyes getting heavier. He casts a helpless look over to his son. “Jack, you bring him back to me.”
Jack just smiles at him, his eyes glowing yellow. “There’s nothing else I’d rather do.”
With that, Jack is gone. There’s a flutter of wings, and then silence. Sam is catching his breath on the other side of the table.
Dean hears a muffled shout of his name, and then he passes out in his chair.
~~~
When Dean wakes up, he’s in his bed. It’s strange to him, and almost startling, because he very vividly remembers becoming soul tied with Cas then passing out at the War Room table.
He feels a rush of calming energy flow through him, but a part of his brain screams that the emotions don’t belong to him. It feels foreign, but also safe.
A thought hurdles at him at full speed. Cas.
He has to be out by now, he has to be. Cas, he prays. I’m sorry. I’m coming.
He flies out of bed, disentangling his ankle from the thick sheets. He almost trips from the speed he races out of his room with. He uses the doorframe to propel him forward, rushing towards the War Room.
C’mon Cas, you better be here or I swear to God-
When he crashes through the threshold of the War Room, he stops so abruptly that he almost trips over his own feet.
He’s-
He’s there.
Arms around his son like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance, Cas stands in the War Room like a beacon in a dark room.
He’s there. He’s there.
“Cas,” he whispers. It’s quiet, even to his own ears. Cas hears him anyway.
His head raises from where it’s resting on Jack’s, and he makes tentative eye contact with Dean. It’s hesitant, like he’s scared that Dean will yell at him or fight him.
His blue eyes are soft, and he’s looking at Dean like he hung the moon with his bare hands. He’s got this kicked puppy expression on his face. He’s soft, soft, soft.
Sam’s sitting at one of the chairs, looking stressed out of his mind. When he turns to look at Dean, he looks endlessly relieved.
The tan of Cas’ dumb trenchcoat has never been so appealing. He loves him, he loves him. He slowly unravels from Jack who looks so, so affected by his father being home. There are tears streaming down his face, but he’s got the biggest smile stretching across his childlike features.
Once he’s upright, disentangled from the young boy he’s protected with his life, Dean regains function in his legs and rushes towards Cas as fast as he can.
Cas can’t do anything but widen his eyes and make a startled noise before Dean slams into him.
Dean throws his arms around Cas’ neck and shoulders, face smushed into the side of Cas’ head. Cas smells like he always has, old books and morning dew.
The second they connect, the Grace fused with Dean’s soul sings in his chest.
Cas just slowly wraps his arms low around Dean’s waist. The feeling makes his knees weak. Here, in his tie and trenchcoat, he’s real and tangible in Dean’s arms. Tears well up in his eyes, and he pathetically sniffles as he tightens his arms around his best friend.
“You’re an idiot,” he cries into Cas’ shoulder. “You- You’re so stupid.”
Cas just continues to hold him, not saying a word. Dean won’t let him go. He feels like he’s been shredded by a potato peeler, flipped inside out and inside in again.
“I’m sorry, Dean,” he says remorsefully. “I’m sorry, I-“
“Shut up,” Dean growls, cutting him off entirely. Cas doesn’t try to argue. He hears Sam whisper something to Jack, and suddenly they’re both leaving the room. The footsteps taper out, and Dean and Cas are alone. Cas seems to realize that this is the longest that Dean’s ever hugged him before, so he tries to pull away.
Dean doesn’t let him. He grabs fistfuls of the back of Cas’ coat and he doesn’t let go. “Dean?” He asks, voice high and worried. “Are you… okay?”
Dean finally pulls away from him, moved by Cas’ concern. He pushes Cas away by his shoulders, his blue eyes worried and confused. “I didn’t want to leave you, I-“
Dean cuts him off by sliding his hands up and resting them solidly on Cas’ cheeks, cradling. Cas’ Grace zings with Dean’s soul, and Dean’s cheeks flush.
Cas raises his hands and grabs hold of Dean’s wrists, endlessly gentle. “Cas,” he whispers, eyes flicking around Cas’ face like he’s never going to see it again. His eyes fill with more tears, and one spills over the cliff of his bottom lashes. Cas’ eyes soften and search Dean’s face. “I missed you so much.”
Cas’ entire face tilts and crinkles. “I missed you too, Dean.” His eyes flicker away, something uncertain crossing his features. Dean’s heart feels like it’s going to explode in his chest. “I know that… it must be hard to see me again, after…”
Dean’s hands shake where they rest on Cas’ face. “No, Cas- No.”
Cas’ eyes fly back towards him at the anger in his voice. “No?”
“No, I’m not mad. I’m… I’m sorry, Cas, I'm sorry I couldn’t get you out sooner.”
Now that Dean’s really looking at him, Cas looks exhausted. The bags under his eyes are dark despite having been sleeping this entire time, and his limbs look heavy, like he’s having a hard time standing there. Dean pulls his hands from Cas’ face, and he slumps slightly. His shoulders fall. It’s as if Dean’s touch alone has been supporting him this whole time. Maybe it was.
His mind flicks back the neatly written words scrawled in Cas’ journal.
I keep my hands in my lap so I do not reach for him. I eat his food that I can’t even taste just so he has a reason to talk to me. I heal the tiniest cuts and scrapes so I have an excuse to touch him.
“Come to my room, Cas.”
Cas’ eyes widen. “What?”
The corners of Dean’s mouth tick upwards. Cas’ shock is so damn comedic to him. Cas is as subtle as a brick to the face, always upfront and genuine. He says what he means and he means what he says, but Dean isn’t the same. He hides his true feelings behind wordless dismissals. Cas seems shocked that Dean is just… saying what he wants him to do for once.
“Come to my room with me.”
“What about Jack?” Cas asks, a bewildered look on face.
“I’ll pray to him, tell him to give you and I some privacy for a while.”
Cas’ entire face flushes. “Oh, uh- alright.”
Dean just grabs his hand, already leading back towards his bedroom. The truth is, Dean isn’t planning on doing anything crazy, but it’s funny to watch Cas’ little reactions to everything. He’s so in love, and Dean feels so stupid for not noticing it before.
He’s feigning nonchalance so much that his body almost doesn’t feel like his own, and he feels like he’s watching himself take Cas’ hand from someone else’s perspective.
Cas’ hand is actually larger than his, and the realization makes him pink. It’s now that he chooses to shoot a little prayer to Jack.
Jack, let me hash some things out with Cas for a bit. He prays, trying to convey confidence through his subconscious. You and Sam hang out for a while.
The light in the hallway flickers once, twice, and Dean smiles at Jack’s method of communication. Cas’ dress shoes click on the floor behind him.
Getting to his room feels like it’s taking an eternity. He leads Cas in, closes the door behind them, pushes Cas down to the foot of the bed. Cas goes willingly, looking up at Dean like he’s the only man in the world. There’s reverence in his gaze, but there’s caution in his body language.
“I don’t understand,” Cas whispers timidly. From where he sits on Dean’s bed, he seems so small. His coat is rumpled and wrinkled, and his pants aren’t any better, Dean gestures for him to scoot over. Cas does so without question.
Dean sits down next to him, his body turned to face Cas and all of his crinkled demeanor. He raises his right hand to Cas’ cheek. Cas tilts his head to rest it in Dean’s palm. Dean can feel his face soften.
“You don’t understand what it’s like to lose you, Cas.”
Cas’ gaze flickers somewhere to the side. “I’m sorry. I don’t regret it, I’d do it again to save you.”
“That’s the problem, Cas.”
Cas’ eyes flicker back towards him, his eyebrows pinching together in discontentment. “Are you saying I should’ve let you die?”
“Why are you only worried about me dying? What about you, Cas? What about you?”
Cas’ eyes harden. Even with his face in Dean’s hand, he still has that I’ll smite you look about him. “You’re hardly one to lecture me about self-sacrifice, Dean.”
Dean just shakes his head frantically, willing Cas to listen with his eyes.
“I know, I know. But… you told me that I did everything I did for love. But what about you, Cas? Everything I did for you was for love. Every time I’ve prayed to you was for love, every time I’ve made you food you didn’t even need to eat has been for love. How could you exclude yourself from that love like you don’t even matter?”
It’s been keeping him up at night, the thought of Cas dying without anyone telling him they loved him. He loves him. He’s scared out of his mind to tell him, and he doesn’t know why. Cas has already put his heart on the line, he’s already come clean. He stood in front of Dean in the stupid dungeon and he bore his soul for Dean to hold. And now, as they sit here fused together, Dean is still scared to close the distance between them. It feels insurmountable, it feels impossible.
“Dean,” Cas whispers, so unbelievably affected. Tears well up in dark blue eyes, and Dean can’t even believe that Cas is here in front of him.
After all of this time, all of this pain, having him back felt impossible. It was a possibility that was so far out of reach that it caused Dean to grieve more painful than he ever has before. He burned the jacket that bore Cas’ bloody handprint. He couldn’t stand to look at it anymore. He needed it gone.
Cas’ true happiness was something as simple as telling Dean he loved him. But what about before? What about every time Cas had told him he was fine? How often had he lied, how often had he barely been keeping it all together?
He’s reminded of Cas’ journal.
‘I love him, and it’s breaking my heart. I want to tell him. I wish I could tell him.
He’d never forgive me. I should be content with what I have, what we are, but I’m selfish. I’ve always been.
I want him to see me. I just want to stay.’
Cas raises his hand and places it delicately over Dean’s. For what feels like the first time, they’re really seeing each other. I want him to see me.
He’s raw and exposed, blue eyes scanning every inch of Dean’s face like he’s committing it to memory. There’s no question about what will happen in the charged air of Dean’s room. They will kiss, and then they will kiss again. So it goes.
Dean tugs his face forward with his hand. Cas moves easily, a broken noise blooming from the back of his throat.
Dean tilts his head, pressing his lips to Cas’ as gently as he can. Cas raises a hand to Dean’s jaw, cradling the angle of it with soft hands.
The Grace infused with Dean’s soul sings, and energy shoots through his whole body. Cas must be able to feel it too, because he presses against Dean even harder.
When Dean starts to move his lips, Cas makes a pathetic ‘mmph’ noise into his mouth, and Dean’s heart breaks for him. Cas can’t even seem to believe it’s happening, because his other hand slides to Dean’s knee and squeezes.
It’s the most intimate kiss that Dean’s ever shared with someone. It’s soft, careful in a way that Dean’s never had to worry about before. Cas is kissing him, not some random guy in a bar. He loves him, he lost him, he loves him.
When Dean swipes his thumb across Cas’ cheek, it comes away wet. The sensation of tears against his fingers causes him to open his eyes and pull away.
Cas is sniffling, his eyes anywhere but Dean’s. It’s like he’s scared to look at him, like he’s scared that Dean will regret it and take it all back.
“I’m sorry,” Cas says shamefully. He looks scared for reasons Dean doesn’t even want to discover.
“God, Cas.” He speaks as softly as he can, not wanting to scare Cas away. “It’s okay. I’m not upset.”
And that’s what seems to get Cas’ attention. He thinks about Cas’ journal, about how Cas thought that Dean would find him disgusting. He’d never, he couldn’t.
Even when Cas has been choking on his own blood in front of him, he’s never been disgusting. He’s never been anything less than good.
He wipes away Cas’ tears with a hand, and the tenderness only makes the sad tilt of Cas’ eyes more heartbreaking. More tears spill over his cheeks and Dean hurts for him.
“Again,” he whispers pitifully.
Dean searches his face for a moment, and leans back in more emphatically than he did the first time. He returns his hand to its rightful place on Cas’ cheek, and Cas tries his best to sniffle while Dean kisses the life out of him.
He releases Cas face to wind his arms around Cas’ shoulders. Cas rests his hand on Dean’s waist. It makes him feel treasured, like he’s something small to kept in a little keepsake box on someone’s dresser.
Dean’s hand wander around Cas’ back, and they snag on something ripped and loose. He pulls at it slightly, pulling his lips away from Cas with a smack that makes him blush way more than it should.
“Cas,” Dean starts. “Why is the back of your coat ripped?”
Cas pulls back, eyeing Dean like he’s curious about why he’s asking. Why he even cares. His eyes flick away. “The Empty didn’t put me to sleep right away.”
Dean’s heart falls to his stomach, his stomach falls to his shoes.
“What?”
“It wanted to… have some fun with me first, is what it said.”
Panic settles in Dean’s mind, all consuming and horrifying. His hands shake. “What do you mean?”
Cas looks back towards him, a knowing look his face. There’s pain scattered throughout his features. “Dean, it’s okay. You don’t- you don’t have to worry about it. What’s done is done.”
Dean scoffs. Cas flinches, like he knew this time was coming. Like he’s been waiting this entire time for Dean’s kindness for him to come up short. He flinches like he’s been anticipating this from the moment he got back. Dean regrets it immediately. “No, I’m sorry. I just-“
Dean sighs, trying his best to make sense of his emotions. “I just want you to be able to tell me things, Cas. You can tell me. It’s okay.”
Cas’ face is understanding, but it’s pitying at the same time. “No, Dean. It’s not.” Cas’ eyes flicker around, like he’s trying to gather the words for what he feels. “If I tell you, you’ll only feel worse. You’ll feel guilty, I know it. I never meant to… burden you with this. It’s better if you don’t know.”
Of course Cas is trying to protect him, even now. Dying for him just wasn’t enough. God, Dean is tortured by how much he loves him. “Just… give me the simple version. Please.”
Dean’s plea seems to be Cas’ breaking point, and he opens his mouth to explain. “The Empty threw me around a bit before it put me to sleep. It said it wanted me to suffer first.”
Of course. Dean just can’t stop hurting the people he loves. Cas’ love for Dean got him killed and tortured, and there’s not even anything he can do about that now.
Actually, maybe there is.
Dean grabs onto the lapels of Cas’ coat, clenching his fists until his knuckles are white. Cas is weak for him, he knows that when he pulls, Cas will push.
He tugs him forward to connect their lips once again. Dean scoots his hips closer to where Cas’ rest on the bed, and he lets his lips do all of the thinking for him. He slips out of his mind, getting lost in the sensation of Cas’ chapped but soft lips against his.
Dean whimpers when Cas pushes, resting a hand at the base of Dean’s throat. Not squeezing, just resting. Cas’ stubble rubs against Dean’s cheek in a way that’s so unfamiliar but so, so welcome. He tilts his head just so, allowing them to slot perfectly together so Dean can run his tongue along the seam of Cas’ lips. When they part, Cas makes a tortured sound in his throat, and Cas rests a hand on his chest. It’s almost soothing.
Cas is so moved, just by them kissing. He never expected this, he thought Dean would hate him. Dean can’t imagine a universe in which he hates Cas. Not the same Cas that squeezes his shoulder to console him, not the same Cas that’s died for him over and over. Not the same Cas that wrote about his secret love for Dean in his little journal. Not him, not ever.
Kisses slur together, pulling and pushing in an endless fight to get more and more. They’re long, hungry displays of broken restraint. Dean runs his tongue along the back of Cas’ teeth, and Cas whines into his mouth. Cas doesn’t need to breathe, so Dean must break away to catch his breath.
Cas seems to really observe him, then. Dean can imagine what he looks like. Dark bags, blotchy face, greasy hair. The last six months have not been kind to him. They’ve not been kind to Cas, either. Cas’ face tilts and softens. He’s a molten marshmallow, and Dean doesn’t know how he ever said the things he’s said to him.
“You look so tired, Dean.”
And oh, he has no idea. He has no idea the pain he’s been in for the last six months. The drinking, the nightmares, the numbness, the rage. It’s been one bleeding cesspool and pain and garbage and Dean doesn’t think he would’ve ever made it out if Cas hadn’t come home.
It’s like Cas saying it makes his body feel the need to show him how right he is. His eyelids feel heavy and his limbs feel like lead. But if he goes to sleep, Cas will leave. The thought drives panic through his skull. Cas seems to sense his panic, because he raises a hand and places it under Dean’s chin. Dean lets his head rest in the safety of Cas’ palm. He dips his head, looking up at Cas through his lashes.
“Cas,” he whispers. The tone immediately has Cas blushing, his whole body becoming complacent. Dean knows Cas would do anything he asked of him, right now at this moment. Dean grabs a gentle hold of Cas’ wrist. “Stay with me.”
Cas’ eyes widen, his flush deepening.
“You mean… here?”
Dean just timidly nods. Cas’ fingers tremble from where they hold up Dean’s head.
“Like, in your bed?”
Dean smiles, finding the incredulity and shock in his voice amusing. Cas has wanted this for so long, that he must not understand how he’s meant to receive it. He’s suddenly being given everything he’s ever wanted. How is he meant to take it? How is he meant to stow his skepticism?
Cas’ blue eyes scan his face, like he’s trying to decipher whether or not Dean’s being serious. But Dean’s completely serious, not an ounce of irony or sarcasm in his request. “How should I-”
Cas seems to realize something then, his eyes growing sad. He cuts himself off. “Dean, I don’t sleep. I can’t… sleep beside you or-“
Dean interrupts him, he can’t bear to listen to Cas’ self-deprecating tone right now. Cas sees himself as something… Other. But to Dean, he’s not. He’s his dorky little friend that likes bees and is coincidentally really good at handling a blade. He’s Cas. That’s all that really matters to him. He can hear the doubt in Cas’ tone, like he’s saying I’m not human, do you still want me?
Dean wouldn’t have him any other way.
“It’s okay, Cas. You don’t have to sleep, I just want-“
He cuts himself off. Voicing his desires just seems like too much despite the fact that he’s been kissing Cas for all of 30 minutes. It’s too intimate, what he wants to ask for. But Cas can see inside him anyways, can see his hesitance.
“What do you want, Dean?”
Cas stops holding up his head in favor of running a hand through Dean’s hair. It’s gotten a bit long in the last six months, neglect and lack of care resulting in brown strands falling into his face. Cas pushes it off his forehead. He runs his finger over and around the base of Dean’s ear. The touch is reverent, packed with love that Cas doesn’t even know what to do with.
‘I heal the tiniest cuts and scrapes so I have an excuse to touch him.”
Dean doesn’t want him to have to settle for bare bones of affection. He wants Cas to take, but he’s so cautious and gentle that Dean knows he just won’t. He’s too unsure of himself.
“I want you… to watch over me.”
Cas’ eyes sharpen, staring at him with an appalled type of shyness. His lips part, and he looks like Dean’s just asked him to marry him. He wants it so bad, Dean thinks. You can have it, you can have me.
“Here?”
“Y-yeah. Here. Just stay here tonight and watch over me.”
Cas nods frantically, like he'll never get another chance. “Yes, alright. Yes.”
Dean smiles at his enthusiasm. An Angel of the lord that’s millions of years old should not be the most adorable thing Dean’s ever seen.
Dean sheds his jacket, leaving him in just a black t-shirt. He leaves his jeans on. He’s gotten used to sleeping in jeans over the last few months, especially after passing out in random locations all around the bunker.
He crawls up his bed, plopping himself down and wrapping his sheets around himself. Cas just watches him. Cas looks expectant, like he’s waiting for Dean to change his mind and tell him to hit the road. The thought breaks his heart, but he wouldn’t. Not now.
“C’mere, Cas.”
Cas pales. “…What?”
Dean just snickers at him. The air is so delicate. Cas feels so delicate, even though he’s endured ten times worse than any human ever could.
“Come closer,” he purrs.
Cas scoots forward, sitting on the bed by Dean’s side. Dean’s immediately soothed by the proximity. Cas is here. He’s here . After all these months of grieving and mourning, he’s back. He’s back with a torn coat and dark eyes but he’s back nonetheless.
Dean doesn’t know what he’d do without him. Cas’ mouth moves without words for a moment, like he’s trying to gain the courage to say something.
“I could… put you to sleep myself, if you’d like.”
Dean shakes his head from where it lays on his pillow. He can’t take his eyes from Cas. “Save your mojo, Cas. I’m five seconds from passin’ out anyway.”
Cas nods, but still raises two fingers to Dean’s temple. Warmth spreads through Dean’s skull, his eyes growing even heavier.
“What’d you..” His words slur, exhaustion making his tongue fumble in his mouth. “What’d you do?”
Cas at least has the decency to look bashful. “I made it so that you wouldn’t dream tonight.” He says, a shy smile on his face. “No nightmares.”
Dean feels his face heat up. He closes his eyes and turns his head into the pillow. He can feel Cas watching, and he knows his gaze must be fond. “Thank you,” he whispers.
Cas runs a hand through his hair. “Of course, Dean. Goodnight.”
“And you’ll watch over me?”
Cas scratches a tender part of his scalp. “I’ll watch over you.”
Another wave of warmth radiates throughout his body, and he’s gone. He swears he feels a press of lips on his forehead before he falls asleep.
~~~
When he wakes up, Cas is no longer with him.
Immediately, panic infests every thought and impulse in his brain.
Oh god, he's gone. He just got back, and he's gone!
What if The Empty took him again? What if Jack dragged him up to heaven? What if he decided Dean wasn’t worth staying for?
His upper half shoots up, and his head spins at the velocity. His stomach churns, hot and uncomfortable in his stomach. He’s gone. He left again, he’s gone.
He throws his legs over his bed as fast as he can, and sprints out of his room. He’s running like a bat out of hell, trying to conjure up any idea on where Cas could possibly be.
The kitchen? No, he doesn’t eat. Maybe he’d be with Sam? Maybe he went out with Jack. Maybe he went to write in his-
It feels like a brick to the head when it hits him.
His room.
Cas must’ve gone to look at his room, and it’s utterly destroyed. Dean never fixed any of it up after. He’d already come to terms with the fact that Cas was never coming back. Oh god, Dean thinks racing to Cas’ room. He’ll know I read his journal.
The room is still a wreck, neither Sam or Dean ever revisited it after their little heart to heart in there. Shit, shit, shit.
Cas, please don’t be in your room.
Dean left it looking like a hurricane ran through there. He doesn't know what Cas will think. When he makes it to Cas’ room, the door is already open. It’s open a couple of inches, and Dean’s heart drops. They hadn’t left his door open.
Dean scrunches his face and winces. He slowly raises his hand to the door…
And pushes it open.
He freezes in the doorway.
Cas is standing in the center of the destruction, the journal hanging limply in his hand. He looks defeated, so resigned. His back is to the door, and Dean can see the various rips in the back of his coat.
His head is down, and when he hears the door open, it raises. He looks up at the ceiling, the same way Dean watched him do when he was out looking for Chuck. He looks up at the ceiling like it will provide him guidance.
The ceiling light casts a faint glow over the top of Cas’ head. He’s never looked so desolate, he’s never looked so angelic.
Dean takes a cautious step into the demolition of Cas’ bedroom. “…Cas?” He says hesitantly. Delicately. If he scares Cas away now, he’ll never forgive himself. Especially not after he just got him back. The journal in Cas’ hand makes fear shoot through Dean’s spine.
“You read it, didn’t you?”
Cas doesn’t even turn around to ask him the question. Dean can’t move. He feels frozen in place. His hair sticks to the sweat on his forehead.
“Cas,” he says quietly, unable to actually answer.
Cas finally turns his head, staring at Dean over his shoulder. He still won’t fully turn around. “Dean,” he says warningly. His tone shuts Dean up immediately. His blue eyes flare with frustration.
“Did you. Read it.”
It’s not really a question. It’s a demand, an order for Dean to tell him the truth. He’s giving him the chance to come clean. But he already knows the answer. He just wants to hear Dean say it. Dean takes another step into the room. He’s about three feet from Cas, but the dangerous aura emanating off his best friend right now is thoroughly stressing him out.
Dean can’t even lie. He knows that Cas would be able to sense if he was. “Yes,” he says resolutely. He knows what he did. He never thought he’d have to face consequences for this, he’d thought Cas was gone forever. He was never coming back! Or at least, that’s what Dean had thought.
Cas turns his head to stare straight forward again. He must be mortified, so horribly embarrassed to know that Dean of all people read what was essentially his innermost thoughts and secrets. Cas isn’t extremely open, often saying he’s fine when he isn’t. He prefers for people to believe that he’s always useful, always at one hundred percent.
The things Cas wrote in there, those were things that he’d never say aloud to another person. Dean took that from him, invaded his privacy in a way that he might not ever be able to fix.
He’d written about his love for Dean, his love for Jack, his time with Sam. He’d written about his doubts, his insecurities, his fears. Christ, how can Dean fix this? Dean’s own eyes are wide, and he’s scared out of his mind.
He’s not scared that Cas will hurt him, but he’s terrified that he’ll have caused some irreparable damage between them. He just got him back. He can’t lose him again.
Cas is silent. He’s scarily silent.
And then Dean notices his shoulders shaking.
Dean pales, concern and remorse pooling in his gut. “No, Cas, c’mon-“
He’s supposed to be angry, he wasn’t meant to cry. He’s never meant to cry.
Cas just abruptly turns around, the journal now clenched tightly in his fist. Tears make their way steadily down his face. “You- you shouldn’t have read it. How could you read it?”
Dean feels flooded with guilt, eyes filling with tears simply because Cas’ are. Cas’ blue eyes are wild, and he scans the room like he wants to run. Unfortunately for him, Dean’s blocking the door. “Cas,” he starts, his hands raised placatingly. He feels like he’s talking to a wild animal. “You gotta understand, I-“
“No,” he cuts in harshly, little sobs leaving his lips. He looks so distraught. Dean almost can’t take it. “The things I wrote in there- how can I- I can’t-“
His breathing is ragged, heart stuttering in his chest and breath coming quickly despite him not needing to breathe. He’s hemorrhaging, falling apart in front of Dean’s eyes. “Cas, please just calm down.”
Cas’ eyes shoot up to meet his, incredulous and pained. “Calm down? Dean this is- I-“
Dean finally gains the courage to step forward, grabbing hold of Cas’ shoulders and holding tight. “Cas, you need to breathe.” He’s scared, so scared that Cas will run and never come back.
Cas steps abruptly backwards, creating a chasm of space between them. He’s schooling his expression, and his face is reminiscent of the first time he killed Billie, when heartbreak was written all over his face but he tried his hardest not to let it show.
“I don’t need to breathe,” Cas spits. “But Dean, the things I wrote in there- you were never meant to see that.”
Dean just shakes his head, his hands hovering uselessly in the air. He wants to repair this so bad. “Why not, Cas? You were never gonna tell me any of that!”
Cas’ eyes harden, clearly angrier. His shoulder stiffen, and angry hand gestures punctuate his daggered words. “Exactly,” he growls. “When you don’t want to tell someone something, you don’t.”
Cas’ eyebrows pinch together and raise, and he looks pathetic, he looks distraught. “Am I not deserving of the same privacy?”
Dean’s heart clenches, the adrenaline of the confrontation making his hands shake. He wants to will Cas to explain with his mind, but he has to use his words. He has to- he has to fix it-
What can he say to slow Cas down? What could he confess right now to fix this- What should he do?
Wait. He never said it.
They’d kissed and smiled but Dean had never said it. Better late than never.
“Cas, I love you.”
Cas’ whole face falls. There’s a muted shock spreading through his features, and his lips pull down into a frown like he’s gonna start crying again. “What?”
Dean sputters out an explanation. “I love you. I’m sorry, I know I shouldn't have done it, but I- I was scared I’d never see you again. And anything that you wanted to tell would’ve been left unsaid.”
Cas just stares at him, lips parted and blue eyes glassy. Dean just barrels on in an attempt to fix what he’s broken.
“And I- I was up every night worried that I’d never see you again, I thought it was all over. And you-“ He lets out a bitter and self-deprecating huff of laughter. “You were dead! So I came in here and I- I just wanted something that was really you.”
Cas’ eyes narrow, and his head tilts up. “What are you saying?”
Dean fumbles for a moment, hands flailing in front of him as he grasps at straws. “You- you hide everything! And you rarely say how you truly feel and I wanted something that was truly you! I- I don’t know how else to explain, but you never say how you feel and-“
“I never say how I feel? Me? Are you saying this is my fault?”
Dean pales.
“No- no, I’m not-“ He cuts himself off to scrub a hand at his face. He doesn’t even know what to say to dig himself out of this. “I’m not blaming you. I have no excuse, Cas. Really, I don’t.”
Cas just takes a step backward while shaking his head. Then something seems to settle in his brain, then, because his face morphs into something accusatory. He glares daggers at Dean, blue eyes flashing with anger.
“Did you say you loved me just to get out of this?”
Dean blanches, horror blooming across his face. “No! God, Cas, I wouldn't. I swear I wouldn’t.”
He considers that, blue eyes flicking frantically between both of Dean’s like he’s trying to read his mind. Maybe he is, and whatever he finds seems to properly convince him.
Some of the fight seems to drain out of Cas. He slumps, shoulders falling forward. He walks over the foot of his bed (which is bare from where Dean ripped the sheets off) and plops himself down. He still looks so tired.
He rubs his forehead with his fingers, looking nothing like the smiting Angel he was a second ago. “I’m sorry, Dean.”
Shock blooms in his chest. He wills his legs to work, walking over to Cas’ bed to sit down next to him at the foot. He has to step over debris to avoid tripping. “For what, Cas? It’s not your fault.”
Cas just sighs, looking as melancholy as ever. “It is, Dean. I was accusing you because I was scared. I felt exposed because you read the book and it frightened me… I-I don’t know what I was thinking, Dean. I’m sorry.”
Dean places a hand on Cas’ shoulder. He doesn’t turn his head. “You don’t have to apologize, Cas.” He can’t believe Cas thinks he did something wrong. “And I’m sorry I read it. I shouldn’t have, and I know it. I was grieving and I wasn’t thinking straight.” He pauses, knowing what he needs to reaffirm.
“And I do love you, Cas.”
Cas sniffles, ripping his eyes away from Dean like he’s too flustered to maintain eye contact. “Do you mean it?” He murmurs, his voice quieted even more by the fact that he’s not even looking at Dean.
Dean raises a hand, resting it on the opposite side of Cas’ jaw so he can turn his head back towards him. “Of course.”
When Cas’ eyes meet his, they’re soft and glossed over. They flick between Dean’s eyes and they’re so, so blue. “I love you too, Dean.”
Dean tugs him forward, fisting his other hand in Cas’ coat. He kisses him softly, moving almost teasingly slowly as he works Cas’ mouth open. Cas just takes it, pushing back harder than he has before. He raises a hand to the nape of Dean’s neck, holding him in place.
It’s electricity, it’s all so damn good. The slide of Cas’ lips against his is intoxicating, and it’s something he thought he’d never feel. Cas makes pathetic noises into his mouth, guttural whines spilling from his throat. This is all Cas has wanted for a long time.
Dean’s been the center of every single one of Cas’ choices since he rebelled. He’s made him wait for so long, and now that he’s giving it to him, Cas doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself.
They kiss for so long that Dean has to pull away for breath, and Cas makes a displeased noise.
“I remember some of your entries, Cas.”
Cas blushes, thoroughly humiliated. “Please, Dean-“
Dean settles a thumb over his lips, the rest of his fingers cradling Cas’ jaw. He knows Cas is embarrassed, but this is important. “Being loved by you isn’t a curse, Cas. You don’t have to admire from afar anymore.”
Cas’ eyes crinkle, and his eyes well up with tears. Dean just wants him to understand, he has to say this. “And neither do I.”
Cas seems to lose his restraint, because he tugs Dean forward harshly and delivers biting kisses to Dean’s lips. Dean breathes out harshly through his nose, fisting a hand in the front of Cas’ dress shirt. Cas licks into Dean’s mouth and finally takes what he wants.
Dean tries his best to keep up until he pulls away. He takes a deep breath. “I want you to stay. Please, stay.”
Cas sobs, and for a moment Dean is reminded of You changed me, Dean.
He remembers Cas’ journal, and Dean finally understands. Asking Cas to say is something he’s never been brave enough to do until now. Everyone always leaves, but Cas has been a constant in his life now for the last twelve years. Even when he’s sent Cas away, he’s always come back. Even when he didn’t deserve it.
“I want to stay,” he whispers, voice unsteady. “I’ll always choose to stay with you.”
Dean hears the message in his words: You've always been it for me.
Dean’s ready to choose Cas, finally after all this time. So when Cas gets up and asks Dean to go back to his room with him, he follows. He’ll always follow.
He mentally notes to get Cas a new trenchcoat.