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Chapter Text

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Castiel had always respected Dean's privacy.

Well, he had always tried, at least.

At the beginning of their relationship Dean had been very clear about the boundaries Cas had to respect, and Cas had respected them very scrupulously.

As time passed, however, Castiel had developed feelings that made it very difficult to comply with Dean's request.

Naming those feelings had been a long, painful, confusing journey. When Castiel finally managed to use the word love in regards to his feelings for Dean, something clicked in him and at that point respecting Dean’s limits became very, very easy.

Because Castiel didn't want Dean to find out about his love for him.

He hadn't wanted it before the deal with the Empty, and he certainly didn't want it now, knowing that if there was anything that could make him happy it was the chance to see joy and acceptance in Dean's eyes (unlikely hypothesis, Castiel knew, but still…).

But now…Castiel had no idea what had changed for Dean, but something had changed.

Sam and Dean had recently been to Garth’s and Dean had told him about an unpleasant dental accident...Castiel hadn't objected, but he was certain that he had always kept Dean in optimal condition in all those years, including his teeth.

It was probably Chuck undermining the brothers' self-confidence...

After all, that was all Chuck had ever done.

Playing with all of them, especially Sam and Dean.

The very idea that Chuck had tried to manipulate them to the point of making them question their abilities had sent Castiel into a rage.

In Chuck's narrative, Sam and Dean were superheroes, with incredible abilities, and Chuck had let the two brothers believe that those abilities were just a gift from him .

Castiel, however, knew that wasn't true. 

Because it was very clear to him that Sam and Dean were actually two ordinary human beings, with no superpowers at all…except one: their hearts.

And it was that heart that made them the heroes Chuck could no longer handle and control.

Castiel knew he couldn't tell this to any of them, they wouldn't believe him, but the angel wished he could show them the incredible beauty and strength of their souls.

But now he needed to focus on the problem at hand.

Something had changed. Something in Dean's soul had shifted.

Dean had told him about the visit to Garth’s, but he had also talked about how he had observed Garth dancing with his wife, while he and Sam were about to leave again, and how Dean was sure he could have been a good dancer, too. 

Castiel had found that belief very strange, he didn't know that Dean loved to dance, but it was even stranger the way Dean had looked at him while saying it.

That had been the first moment Castiel had sensed longing shrouded in bitterness and regret coming from Dean. Confused, Castiel looked at him without saying anything and Dean's face fell into an expression of resignation.

Since then, Dean's soul had started calling to him while he slept.

It wasn't really a calling…it was more like a cord between them that was growing shorter and shorter, forcing Castiel to be in Dean's room much more often than he usually did.

Because the intensity of Dean's soul calling was impossible to ignore.

It was now the seventh night that this had happened and Castiel didn't know what to do.

What had changed? Did Dean need him? For what?

Sitting in the chair Dean always left free next to his bed, his eyes on a peacefully sleeping Dean, Castiel concentrated on deciphering the sensation that tormented him, awakening in him feelings that could not be let free.

It was a calling, but it was also pain and uncertainty, and need . Oh, so much need…

Dean's body was relaxed, but he occasionally jerked imperceptibly, caught up in whatever he was dreaming about.

Castiel couldn't stand it anymore, he didn't know if Dean was having a nightmare (it didn't seem like a nightmare...Castiel recognized those pretty easily) or if he was in a dream in which he simply felt bad.

Castiel decided to push his luck and take a look at what was going on inside Dean's head. He shouldn't have done that, he knew he shouldn't have...

Extending what little Grace he had left, he delicately touched the light of Dean's soul, rediscovering the wonderful sensation of warmth that only Dean's soul could transmit to him, and a moment later he was in the bunker, in the war room, watching Dean dance in the space where they usually did research: the tables and bookcases were gone and the space was empty.

And it was all…in black and white!

Human dreams were usually in color. Often in dreams the colors took on even brighter intensities than in reality. A black and white dream was definitely strange, as if something was missing.

Intrigued by that detail, Castiel observed Dean, elegantly dressed, dancing.

It was strange to see him dressed like that. The suit was dressier than the clothes he usually wore when he posed as an FBI agent. This dress in particular suited him (well, what didn't suit him?!)

In the dream there was no danger that Castiel could identify, yet all around him there was still an echo of the sensations that had driven him to invade Dean's dream.

Dean meanwhile was still dancing, a light smile painted on his lips. He seemed happy, free, a carefree Dean.

Castiel felt the unhealthy desire to always keep him in this dream.

Dean deserved to be free and do the things he wanted to do. He had already given so much to the world...and continued to do so, even if it meant going against God himself, in order to guarantee freedom for everyone.

Someone should have done the same thing for Dean, relieving him of all the burdens that over time had left an imprint on his brilliant soul. That was perhaps the only thing Dean couldn't do on his own.

Or maybe he could. 

Castiel wasn't sure, but if there was anyone on the face of the Earth who could surprise him, that was Dean Winchester.

At that moment Dean grabbed a lamp and dragged it with him into the dance, making it twirl with him, smiling, at ease...hopeful.

Castiel was stunned for a second. He barely raised a finger to slow down time, holding Dean in that precise moment.

Everything around him moved a lot more slowly giving him time to admire the facial expressions of the man he loved.

Castiel knew he couldn't be the one to make Dean so happy, not only because Dean's happiness would also be his happiness and the Empty would snatch him from there in an instant, but also because Castiel was very aware that Dean...just, Castiel was not what Dean could have wanted.

And he was fine with that, really, even if it hurt.

All too soon, Dean ushered the lamp over to Castiel and set it back down, greeting it with a nod and a kiss.

Castiel felt something break in his heart and was unable to understand why.

Dean was so close, the lamp had disappeared right next to Castiel and all that remained was that moment, the stillness of both of them, intertwined with something invisible that remained unnamed.

Cas wanted this man…so much! 

How could he have him? 

No…no! Dean was a free human being, Cas couldn’t think in that way, it wasn’t fair to this beautiful, brave, and strong man. 

But that sensation was painful, eating Cas up. Because it was like having a hole in his chest and being unable to fill it. 

His throat was closed and his heart was pumping against his chest with unnecessary strength...just by watching his loved one. What a strange sensation…

Regrets and sorrow came back to him and Cas couldn’t do anything other than look at Dean. 

I love you, but I know I can’t have you. It's ok. Just...It hurts so much... 

Without permission, his mouth let out a “Dean…” full of longing and pain, and then the most absurd thing happened. Castiel found himself surrounded by colors. 

He bowed his head and saw the beige of his trench coat, the blue of his tie, the color on the walls, but Dean was still all in black and white, trapped in a cone of cold light.

Castiel's eyes locked again with Dean, who was still, his hand outstretched after blowing away the kiss given to who knows who and his eyes lost in the moment. Castiel took a step closer, invading Dean's personal space, and color began to drip onto the fingers of the man he loved.

As if Dean had sensed the change, he lifted his head and looked at Castiel.

Terrified, Castiel looked at him in shock. He couldn't be seen, he was sure of it, yet Dean's eyes seemed to know exactly where his were, and it was one of the most terrifying things in the world for Castiel to enjoy that look as Dean's sense of longing crashed over him in waves.

It couldn't be…he was definitely misunderstanding…it didn't make any sense!

Because Dean Winchester didn't want him! And even the smallest hope could quickly turn into the end for Castiel, so the angel did the only thing possible, withdrawing from the dream.

Disturbed more than human words could express, Castiel quickly left Dean's room as soon as he was fully in his body again.

The next day he didn't say anything to Dean, who acted as if nothing had happened. He seemed perhaps a little sadder than usual, but Castiel decided that he couldn't have anything to do with what happened during the night.

What Castiel had seen, after all, was only a dream.

Chapter Text

Dean wiped the kitchen counter one last time, leaving the surface clean and shiny.

There was something comforting about cleaning and tidying up the kitchen after a good meal, something he had never had for most of his life on Earth, and now nothing and no one could take that small, simple pleasure away from him.

But he couldn't wait to retreat to his room and go to sleep.

Not that he was really tired (well…a little) but he felt like...trying his luck.

A couple of days had passed since he had that dream and a part of him couldn't wait to do it again. Of course, then it meant waking up the next morning with the painful awareness of having a hole inside himself. A huge hole in the shape of an angel. But the dream was all he had, so what the hell, he wasn’t going to be picky.

“Okay Sammy, now it's time for some shut-eye!”

“Dude,” Sam said, chuckling, “you’re not 50.”

“Shut up, Samantha! I have a memory foam mattress that’s just waiting to hug me.”

Sam tried to hold back a smile, his eyes fixed on the computer screen.

“Yeah, like I said…old man.”

“Ok, no pancakes for you tomorrow!”

“Did you want to make pancakes?” he asked, a hint of naive boyishness in his voice.

The point was, if Dean had missed a kitchen to keep tidy, Sam had missed having someone to make him tasty breakfasts (and a lot of other things). Dean had always done the best he could, but with the little money John left in Dean's pocket it wasn't easy.

“Guess what. This not old man needs his well deserved rest if he has to make you pancakes in the morning” Dean said as he headed towards the exit of the kitchen, thinking about the ingredients he would need. All that fruity shit Sam loved so much was missing, but he could find an alternative.

“Jerk,” Sam sighed, unable to hold back his smile any longer.

“I hear you, bitch!”

But Dean was already headed towards his room and, he hoped, towards a beautiful dream.

*

The great thing about dancing is that he can use his body for something other than killing.

It’s funny!

We're all alone, no chaperone

Can get our number

The world's in slumber

Let's misbehave

Tapping heel and toe, twirling a walking stick, playing with the hat on his head (hey, not a cowboy hat, but still…!).

It's all fun, and it's funny doing it next to Garth, who, let's face it, doesn't wear the white jacket as well as Dean does.

There's something wild about you child

That's so contagious

Let's be outrageous

Let's misbehave

The bunker, his home, is finally the place where he can be himself. No worries, no research to do, no cases to solve.

He can be light, carefree, he can do something that makes him laugh and have fun.

And he can enjoy the light.

The light…

When Adam won Eve's hand

He wouldn't stand for teasin'

He didn't care about those apples out of season

That lamp is looking at him strangely, tilting the shade just a little, isn't it?

Typical of the lamp. It's always there to light up his heart, and Dean is happy to live in its light.

They say the spring 

Means just one thing to little lovebirds

Wait!!! Why not dance a little with the lamp too? Dean really wants to…

The next moment the lamp is in his arms and Dean has never felt so happy in his life.

We're not above birds

Let's misbehave

He is where he should be. He doesn't know where, but he has reached his destination, where he wants to be, where he will be happy and safe.

The lamp is with him, it will shed light on his life forever and Dean is excited by the idea.

For some strange reason their dancing seems slower than usual, but Dean likes it. In that way he can enjoy the lamp in his arms for longer!

Dean realizes the idiotic smile he must have on his lips, but he can't help himself. Everything is as he would like it to be. He continues to dance and dance until he feels like doing a few more tap steps again.

Sorry lamp, I'm just stepping away for a moment.

But he can't leave his beloved lamp like this, he wants the lamp to know that it’s always in Dean's heart. Always.

Dean raises his hand to his lips without even thinking about it and blows a kiss to the lamp, also winking at it.

Yes, he's flirting with the lamp, so what?

He tries to ignore the bitterness he feels knowing that that kiss is nothing special, it can't be, it's silly and provocative, nothing more. Because Dean knows that's the only thing he really can do with the lamp.

After all, the lamp is...a lamp!!! Lamps don't kiss. Lamps don’t hug. Lamps don’t love, not like Dean wants.

Lamps shine and give light, and Dean is grateful for that. He would be lost without his lamp. But he’s overcome with sadness while he’s there, motionless, his hand still turned to the lamp and the burning desire to have something more, something impossible...

He will continue to dance, he knows it. He will continue to take his steps without the lamp, because that’s how it has to go.

But for a moment, just for a moment, Dean wants…oh, so much!

And there, on that improvised dance floor, Dean is free to admit his desire without worrying about anything.

He has been living with that yearning for years. Dean's gotten good at managing it, at hiding it, at keeping it from ruining his moments with the lamp, but he'd be lying if he said he wished he didn't have to hold back.

“Dean…”

A voice rings in his ears and Dean freezes, stunned.

Did the lamp speak? Impossible! But Dean heard his voice, he's sure of it!

It doesn't make any sense…

Suddenly a pleasant sensation of heat touches his fingers and warms his heart, and that's when Dean raises his head and sees color all around him. He’s the only one still surrounded by a cone of white light and suddenly all that black and white becomes too narrow for him...Why can't he have colors too?

He instinctively looks for what isn't there, but he’s sure that where he’s looking, there should be two splendid blue eyes looking back at him.

Instead there’s nothing, just a feeling of desire, and a void that Dean desperately wants to fill but he doesn't know how...

Closing the disappointment in a small part of his soul, Dean starts dancing again until everything becomes dark and sleep swallows him, dragging him where there is nothing, no music, no light, no colors, just space... 

Empty.

*

Dean rubbed his face, sitting on the edge of the bed.

The alarm clock showed 7.00 a.m.

He tried to ignore the sadness as he stood up and put on his gray robe and headed towards the kitchen. He promised Sam pancakes, he needed to start making them if he wanted them to be ready for when Sam would wake up.

He reached the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, took milk and eggs and placed them on the kitchen counter. As he opened the pantry for the flour and sugar he managed not to pay too much attention to the weight in his chest.

He bent down to look for the bowl, the one he liked the most, and the gray color of the utensils reminded him of the lamp. Stupid dream… 

Hoping to distract himself, he began to make breakfast.

He loved the lamp dream, but that time it hadn't just been pleasant. It had also been painful. Something had happened in the dream, as if someone were there with him...

He pressed his lips into a thin line and stopped himself from thinking too much. He had been stupid enough, there was no need to continue, right?

How on Earth did it seem like a good idea to hold on to the hallucination he had while Garth was treating him?!?! Dean was a master at torturing himself, but maybe that one was too much even for him.

He knew he loved Cas. Oh, he knew it all right. But he knew equally well that angels couldn’t love like human beings. So what was the point?!

And then, even if angels could love…There was really no way Cas could love him back, Dean had hurt him too many times.

Thinking about all the times he had hurt or abandoned Cas was a refined form of torture that not even Alastair could have taught him. Dean excelled at that kind of torture.

No chance in hell that Cas would want something more with Dean.

And so there was this. The fact that Dean was an idiot because he had hurt Cas and because he had fallen so madly in love with him that sometimes it hurt like hell.

Congratulations Winchester, there is no one as good as you at messing up their life.

Taking a deep breath, Dean decided it was best to focus on what was real, on the breakfast he could make.

He managed not to think about the dream for only three minutes, then his mind remembered how powerful he felt Cas’ presence in the dream. And that explosion of colors as he perceived his presence...

Ignoring the feeling of having just been punched in the chest, Dean mixed the dough with a little more energy than necessary.

And it was funny how in Dean's mind Cas was always associated with light.

Because this was Castiel to Dean. Light.

Standing in front of the lamp, his hand still raised after throwing his forbidden kiss into the air, Dean was complete, honest, pure in his misery.

He set to cooking pancakes, Sam's fruit replaced by honey and nuts. He hoped his brother liked them anyway. He managed to cook six pancakes before he started having uncomfortable thoughts again.

Why the hell did he fall in love with Cas? There wasn't enough pain in his life already? God, he wished there was an anesthetic for feelings...

At that moment, Cas entered the kitchen silently, giving Dean a…disturbed look? Great, Cas had probably noticed the misery in Dean's expression and was now getting worried.

“Hey, man. Good morning,” he said, trying to hide the pain in his heart and offering a sad smile to his best friend.

To the love of his life.

To his light.

“Good morning, Dean” Cas greeted him.

And so another day began. Dean just had to stop hoping that something would change because the freedom he felt while he slept was unreal.

What Dean had seen, after all, was only a dream.

Chapter Text

The bunker was extremely quiet.

It was unnerving.

The systems that kept it running were shutting down for good and Sam and Dean had often talked about leaving, but Dean had always postponed the final decision, because that bunker had been their first real home since the fire that destroyed their family.

Sam was humoring Dean for now. Who knows how long Dean would manage to dissuade his brother from looking for a house outside those walls...

He didn't want to leave.

He couldn't even imagine walking out that door and never coming back.

There, in those rooms designed to be a refuge and not a home, Dean had all the important memories of Cas. He couldn't leave.

Turning the now empty glass in his hands (The third? The fourth? He wasn't sure), Dean sighed.

He hated nights like that. Yet he knew there was nothing he could do to avoid the nightmares and insomnia.

Letting out a bitter half laugh, he ran a hand over his face.

He hadn't had that dream for several months, he had no idea what had brought it back now, but he certainly had no intention of going back to bed risking  it happening again.

The very idea made his stomach clench.

He had had that dream so often after Chuck had stripped them of their "superhero" nature...

Dean had no idea if a dream could be induced, but he sure had tried many times to do so and often succeeded.

It was his traitorous heart’s fault for wanting to relive again and again a moment of carefreeness, with the sensation of having Cas in his arms so real that it hurt.

Dean poured himself another generous shot of whiskey and downed it like water.

Fucking dream...that night had stirred his soul until he collapsed on the floor in tears.

Sure, the brain had a strange way of reprocessing information and feelings, but that…Dean had really managed to massacre himself in the most subtle way possible.

He closed his eyes and saw it in front of him. Cas, suddenly immersed in the color, in the light, in the life that Dean wanted so desperately to grasp but that was always beyond his reach...

It was to that beat that Dean wanted to dance, but there was no music in his life.

Because Cas was an angel, Cas couldn't love him that way, or at least that's what Dean had always told himself.

Too bad the bastard then confessed his love to save him, turning Dean's world completely upside down.

And now…now that Cas was gone, the problem didn't exist.

There was only Dean's heart, in a thousand pieces, as he smiled at Sam day after day while dying inside.

They were free, they owned their time and their lives after defeating God, they should be happy, right?

But no, it wasn't possible, because Dean couldn't have his happiness! And he couldn't even say what his happiness was!

He tightened his hand around the glass, staring at an indefinite point in front of him.

Cas had taken that satisfaction. The satisfaction of saying it out loud, of putting aside fears and doubts and coming out into the open. Dean, on the other hand, was holed up inside a cavern in his soul, deeper and more armored than the bunker itself.

The images of the dream came back before his eyes, suddenly veiled by the tears he refused to let fall.

He dreamed again of dancing, of picking up a lamp and dragging it around the bookcase, hoping to feel it transform into solid back and shoulders.

It was the feeling he had loved most about that dream: knowing that the lamp wasn't really a lamp...

But that night his brain — traitor as it was — had dared to do the unthinkable, had inserted Cas into the dream. Not just the feeling that Cas was there, no…he had inserted Cas himself.

Still, motionless, rigid as a marble statue, looking at Dean bending down to throw him a kiss.

Dean had felt the distance between them, the impossibility of grabbing him and holding him next to him.

God, how much he missed him...

And then that fucking black goo appeared and engulfed Cas with exhausting slowness, while Dean couldn't move.

He woke up with a hand stretched out towards the emptiness of his room while he still saw that horror in front of him sucking away the light and the color, and leaving Dean on the floor, in the cold, unable to move or breathe, let alone dance.

So there he was, holding the only anesthetic he knew and death in his heart.

Sam wanted to leave the bunker, and maybe it was time to actually do it, leave behind all the pain and regrets in that place.

Maybe it was time to take charge of his life and do something about it, right?

They got rid of God for that, didn't they?

Dean closed his eyes and sighed, letting the pain and exhaustion take over. He no longer had to be strong, he no longer had any reason to.

He dozed off in the uncomfortable chair without even realizing it and was woken up by Sam.

How many hours had passed?

Dean rubbed his face, a terrible taste in his mouth and his neck that hurts like a bitch.

Sam said nothing about the empty glass, which had fallen to the floor while Dean slept, and nothing on Dean's state. Thank God.

“I made some breakfast,” he said, using the gentle voice Dean hated, the voice Sam used when he was worried. “I can bring it here or…”

“No,” Dean interrupted, rising from his chair and ignoring all the pain in his body, “No, I'm good.”

He didn't look at Sam, kept his gaze on everything but his brother and walked towards his room. He needed to take a shower to get rid of that horrible night.

He didn't have to think about any dancing, he didn't have to think about a lamp in his hands, he didn't have to think about anything like that.

What Dean had seen, after all, was just a nightmare.

Chapter Text

Silence.

Blessed silence. 

No voices, no images, no sensations or memories...everything was quiet.

It wouldn't last long, but he could use those few moments to recover.

Castiel knew that the Empty hated him and that it had designed that specific mechanism for him. And it was incredibly more painful than the first time he had ended up there.

Perhaps precisely because of those few moments of quiet and awareness between one regret and another.

Castiel had ended up with the Empty while alive, with his own physical body, and he was certain that this too had made the consequences different.

He tried to open his eyes, but he wasn't sure he succeeded. Not that it was easy for him to understand, since he was still surrounded by absolute darkness, but he was sure he had raised his eyelids.

He felt his human form around him, which wasn’t gone. Not yet, at least.

There's time for that, a metallic voice whispered around him. Your human body allows you to feel pain more accurately.

Castiel couldn't be sure, his senses were fuzzy, but he thought he heard someone sneer.

He sighed, resigned.

He had so far only relived moments of his last life on Earth since meeting the Winchesters.

Not that it surprised him that much, but he knew he had fought several wars over the centuries, and he had thought he would have much older remorses...

The Empty, however, had a different opinion.

What would the next nightmare be?

While he waited for everything to begin again, he took a moment to consider the sophisticated torture the Empty applied to his specific case.

Because being conscious was a luxury that hardly lasted and only happened between one nightmare and the next. When the nightmare began, Castiel only had a few minutes of conscious clarity, then something changed and all that remained was his bleeding heart experiencing everything as if it were the first time.

He had just left behind one of the many scenes of Purgatory, where Benny's presence had awakened a protective (and possessive) attitude in him he had struggled to control, and where at times he had also taken out his frustration on Dean, who was stubbornly trying to save everyone.

Dean, always altruistic, always willing to sacrifice himself...Castiel remembered the few moments in which, at the gate that would bring him back to Earth, Dean realized that Cas was letting him go alone towards safety.

Dean, who had systematically lost everyone in his life, found himself rejected by Cas without knowing why. At the time Castiel hadn't given it too much thought - the only important thing was that Dean was safe - but then he realized he had underestimated the impact of his actions on Dean's soul.

Because Dean had rewritten his memories to reject the idea that Castiel had actively chosen to stay in Purgatory.

For Castiel it had been a disconcerting discovery.

Why on Earth would Dean have preferred to create an altered scenario rather than deal with the fact that Castiel had decided to stay in Purgatory to pay for his sins?

He didn't have time to think about it much, because something around him was changing.

He let out what could only be compared to a human sigh.

What would he see this time?

One of the many instances where he had lied to Dean while working with Crowley?

Or the time he'd beaten Dean until his face was bloody, Naomi's voice in his ears?

Or that time when…

Castiel looked surprised at what was appearing around him.

It was the bunker, the library, but completely empty, and in black and white.

Oh …

He wasn't sure what could make him feel guilty here. Maybe sneaking into Dean's dream?

Slowly, as always, the awareness of being in a dream left him and everything became as real as the first time.

Dean danced, free and happy, and even did it with a lamp!

Castiel smiled. A shy smile as Dean blew a kiss to the lamp.

And then everything stopped.

What had he done? How had he dared?

How could he have betrayed Dean's trust like that?

Castiel knew that Dean didn't want to share certain things with him.

Dean had always been very clear about this, he had always told him - always! - that he had to respect his personal space.

It was obvious that Dean wanted to keep Castiel confined to only certain parts of his life.

How dare Castiel insinuate himself into Dean's dream like that?

A dream in which the romantic symbolism was evidently strong. Who knew who the woman Dean had depicted holding a lamp was? Or perhaps there was no woman, not a real one, but an ideal one, who could be a partner for Dean in a life as difficult as that of the Hunter.

Something Castiel could never be.

And Castiel had invaded a space where Dean was allowing himself hope and joy.

Castiel should be ashamed of himself.

He was nothing more than a profiteer, a burden in Dean's life.

Yes, a burden, nothing else.

With his powers weakening, Castiel was no longer even a good guardian angel or a good weapon.

He was lucky that Dean still let him be around him.

Oh, but as soon as Dean realized what Castiel had done, he would look at him with contempt.

And Castiel would have deserved it.

He, who was just a burden…how had he dared to look at the immense light that was Dean?

How had he dared to harbor shameful and impure feelings towards the righteous man?

Castiel felt immense disgust for himself.

He had done Dean dirty.

He had dirtied his light.

How had he dared?

Behind him he heard an all too familiar noise, a slight creak, and here came the Empty.

And…Dean wasn't doing anything to help him.

Obviously. Why on Earth would he?

Dean was now watching him, motionless, while the Empty took his time to advance and allow Castiel to understand what was going on.

Dean didn't want him.

Dean was letting him go into the hands of the enemy as it should have been, because Castiel was expendable. 

Rightly.

It was good that the black goo came to take him, to tear him away from a place where he should have never dared to go.

Castiel didn't deserve to see Dean so free and carefree.

And the Empty would have taken care to keep Castiel away from Dean, allowing the hunter to finally free himself from his uncomfortable presence.

For long interminable minutes, Castiel watched the green eyes of his love look at him in disbelief as the Empty slowly took him, and for one last time Castiel allowed himself the privilege of basking in Dean's presence.

He woke up again in the Empty, more shocked than the other times. Regaining awareness of his eternal damnation this time had a different flavor.

For a moment, just for a moment, Castiel had felt like Dean was…real. There with him.

And it was a different feeling than the Empty's other deceptions.

But it didn't make any sense, Dean couldn't be there.

Dean was fighting God. Or who knows, maybe he had already defeated him and was moving on with his life.

Castiel truly hoped that he had made it and that he was enjoying his well-deserved freedom in a long, peaceful and safe life.

It didn't matter what Castiel was going through here.

It was a very small thing compared to Dean's freedom.

And it didn't matter that in that last vision, for a moment Castiel had felt something tug in his Grace, an unnamed bond that was looking for a way to regenerate.

Dean wasn't really there, and he certainly hadn't shared that vision with Castiel.

What Castiel had seen, after all, was just a nightmare.

Chapter Text

The air that entered through the French windows left open was fresh and pleasant, an invitation to go outside and admire the sunset over the sea.

Without even thinking, Dean went out onto the patio, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, appreciating the warmth of the sun on his skin.

He went around the chairs arranged in the center of the patio and leaned with his arms on the handrail, watching the waves chase each other.

The sun was setting, painting the water with wonderful colors and reflections.

The sound of the waves was relaxing, timeless, hypnotic, and the air was filled with the scent of the sea.

Dean spent a lot of time on the patio, hungry for air and open space. It had become his favorite place as soon as he started living in that house. After years locked underground, he deserved to spend as much time as possible outside.

Light footsteps behind him caught his attention but he didn't move.

A delicate hand rested on his left shoulder and he smiled.

“Sam's coming,” Castiel said.

“I know, but I couldn't resist,” he replied, standing up and turning towards his angel. Leaning against the handrail, he hugged Cas around the waist and pulled him against his chest.

Cas looked at him for a moment with wide eyes, then relaxed and put his hands on Dean’s hips, smiling at him.

Dean felt something warm and sweet bubbling in his chest. Despite the months they spent together learning the dynamics of their new relationship, Cas still had moments of disbelief, especially when Dean decided to show him physical affection.

And Dean understood it, because it wasn't easy for him either. Fighting against decades-old beliefs and his father's voice in his head had been a daily exercise for some time. It was better now, Dean felt he had the right to express himself more freely, but sometimes...sometimes it was still difficult and he knew Cas didn't take anything for granted. He loved him even more for that.

Caressing his lower back, Deans leaned forward slightly, brushing the tip of his nose against Cas' cheek, a half-smile on his lips.

“Being able to hug you like this is…” he let a sigh escape his lips. “…God, Cas…I needed this.”

“You can do it as many times as you want,” Cas replied, a tender tremble in his voice. “You will have me forever.”

“Good,” Dean said, voice low and tense before leaning in a little more and placing his lips on Cas's.

Dean shuddered as his blood went up in flames. Cas's lips were soft, welcoming, and they were his, only his.

He kissed him with slow determination, feeling their bodies melt against each other, while his heart galloped in his chest. After a time that seemed too short and interminable, Cas moved away a little, his breath short and his lips puffy from the kiss.

“If we go on like this, we will not have anything ready for when the others will be here…”

“They can wait,” Dean moaned, trying to capture Cas's mouth again.

Cas, for his part, let himself be captured rather easily, and Dean lost himself in those lips for a while longer, until Cas decided to be the responsible one.

“We have time, my love. Later,” he said in a whisper in his ear, which made the situation incredibly worse for Dean.

How the hell was he supposed to calm down if Cas did things like that?

“Here me out,” he proposed, yearning for more physical contact. “I’ll go get everything ready for the barbecue only if you give me a dance.”

“A dance?” Cas asked, taken aback.

“Yes, a dance. Here, on the patio. And then I’ll be running to the kitchen, I swear.”

Cas smiled at him, one of those shy smiles behind which hid a universe, and Dean knew he had succeeded. He held out a hand in invitation and Cas didn't hesitate to grab it.

They danced for maybe less than a minute, laughing and twirling in an uncoordinated and awkward way, but for them it was perfect, and in the end Dean held him tightly before pulling away and blowing him a kiss with his hand.

That gesture had a completely different meaning now. 

It meant being safe, complete, free to have that love so suffered and longed for, happiness beyond measure, domesticity, and eternal welcome.

Because they were finally each other's home, and they knew it.

And in that home…oh, in that home they could dance as much as they wanted.