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There’s an angel in the back seat of the Impala, and that’s something Dean is still adjusting to. Castiel is alive. Castiel is alive, and whole, and here, and a part of Dean’s brain is telling him this isn’t real. He knows that’s ridiculous. Knows Sam, and Crowley, and Kevin, and Mrs Tran can all see Cas too. He’s there, really there, solid under Dean’s hand when he reaches out and grabs his shoulder.
He expects his mind to be playing tricks on him because it’s exactly the kind of cruel thing it would do. He’d pasted on his own ending to escaping purgatory after all. If not a trick, then he half expects Cas to flutter off somewhere because that’s what Cas did before. It seems like a hundred years ago now, Cas torn between Heaven and his own beliefs that what Sam and Dean fight for is right.
Sometimes Dean struggles to grasp what they are even fighting for any more. He’s tired, has been for a long time, but that doesn’t stop him. There’s always another battle to be fought, but for what endgame he isn’t sure.
So Sam lives to breathe another day? So Kevin gets to go to school and graduate top of his class and live a normal life? So Mrs Tran doesn’t have to worry about her son being attacked by demons every moment of every day? So that those who have no idea, none at all, of all the things that go bump in the night get to go on in ignorance? Safe and sound and far away from dangerous things that want to cut you up and eat you, or maybe just wear your skin for a while.
He wonders sometimes, too, if he is one of those things. No longer a beacon of righteousness, though he thinks Cas is the only one who ever saw him that way, but rather one of those things he hunts, killing anything that can’t pass as human for as long as he can.
But Cas is still there every time he looks in the rear-view mirror, still a steady presence as though he had never been gone at all.
***
Dean doesn’t sleep. It’s not even nightmares anymore, though he’s lived through enough to compel nightmares in even the most twisted of minds. It’s not that he’s afraid of closing his eyes and reliving purgatory, of reminding himself of his failure to save Cas. It wasn’t his fault, Cas had told him, but that doesn’t mean that Dean believes him right off the bat. How many times has Dean not listened to Cas? How many times could things have been fixed if only Dean hadn’t been pushing away? If he hadn’t been asking too much and never giving back?
If he looked deep enough then perhaps he’d find that he isn’t sleeping because he’s afraid that when he wakes up Cas won’t be there anymore. Just like the dreams of purgatory; there one minute, slipping through his fingers the next.
But Cas didn’t slip. Cas pushed. Cas believed he deserved punishment and needed to earn his redemption—and maybe once Dean had believed that too, smarting from Cas’ betrayal as he had once upon a time—but not the pain and terror of purgatory alone. There are still the frayed edges of hurt, of Cas not thinking he deserved to be saved, and Dean finding himself broken without him.
They’ve stopped at a motel on the way to Idaho—chasing down a possible ghoul—at Sam’s insistence. Dean might not be sleeping, but Sam needs it. Sam is curled up as best as his giant frame allows him, buried under the covers, probably dreaming of the girl he left behind.
Cas is sitting at the table under the window, his frown illuminated by the white glow from Sam’s laptop. Dean can’t even be bothered getting up to look at what Cas is doing, what he’s searching for. He’ll get there eventually. Dean’s sitting on the other bed, still fully clothed, on top of the blankets, arms folded as he watches Cas.
‘You’re staring again,’ Cas says quietly, looking over at Dean. Dean crosses one foot over the other, shifts minutely, but doesn’t look away. ‘I thought you said that was creepy?’
‘When you do it it’s like you’re trying to look into my soul,’ Dean says, and he can think of a hundred reasons why that makes him uncomfortable, but the primary one is that Cas sees a good in him that is pure, unwaveringly so. Cas tilts his head a little, eyes narrowing.
‘And what are you doing?’
‘Thinking.’
‘About?’
‘Everything.’
‘You haven’t been sleeping,’ Cas states. ‘Since purgatory. When you do it’s restless.’
‘Have you been watching me sleep again Cas?’ Dean says, smirking a little as he adds, ‘Because we can have that talk about what is creepy again.’
‘Dean.’
‘Alright smartass,’ Dean mutters. ‘I don’t sleep well. What of it? It’s hardly new.’
‘You punish yourself too much,’ Cas says softly.
‘Pot, kettle’ Dean mutters, shaking his head. He casts a glance at where Sam is still sleeping before looking back at Cas. Cas is still watching him, features conflicted.
‘I needed to pay penance, Dean,’ Cas says. ‘For what I did. To the world. To you.’
‘Cas—’
‘I don’t know why I was saved, or how,’ Cas says. ‘But the frequency at which it happens suggests that there’s probably a greater purpose for me.’
Dean can’t look away, they are past the days he wants to, where the staring becomes something awkward. He doesn’t say what he knows they are both thinking; that perhaps Castiel was saved because Dean got out, perhaps Cas was saved because his fate—however ugly a word that is that Dean never wants to tie himself to—is linked to Dean’s. Or perhaps there’s a greater, darker, reason they are not aware of yet.
‘I missed you,’ Dean says before he can stop himself. He’s missed Cas’ way of talking, he’s missed the pristine trench coat, the ill-fitting suit, and the flipped around tie. He’s missed him on a grander scale than just those few months he didn’t have him since purgatory. He misses the Cas that was there before everything fell apart, when Dean stopped listening, and Cas made the world unravel. He misses this sane, irritating creature before him, the one that is everything Cas used to be, and everything he should be.
He can feel a knot in his chest loosen, something tight and hot he’s bottled up for too long. Cas is watching him in a way that makes him feel like his skin is on fire, eyes filled with too much emotion. Too much heart was always Castiel’s problem…
Dean doesn’t think he deserves Castiel’s heart.
‘Dean—’
‘I should try and get some sleep,’ Dean deflects, forcing himself to slump down the bed a bit until he’s mostly lying.
‘I can help with that,’ Cas says, and Dean looks at him. He sees his own expression mirrored on Cas’ face a second later; that mix of confusion and anticipation. ‘I meant…’ Cas makes a face and waves a hand.
‘Spirit fingers,’ Dean says for him. ‘You’re still not at full power, save your energy.’
‘I’m not weak, Dean,’ Cas says.
‘I know that,’ Dean says quickly. ‘I never said you were. You just need to pace yourself.’
‘I’m sure I’ll survive,’ Cas says. ‘Okay, how about this…’
‘What?’ Dean interrupts, watching Cas quizzically as Cas gets up from his chair and crosses the room. He advances towards the bed, rounding to the empty half of Dean’s.
‘Remember when we were in purgatory,’ he pauses as Dean rolls his eyes. ‘And we used to take turns keeping watch?’
‘Yeah?’ Dean says, wondering where this is going as Cas sits down on the edge of the bed. Cas shifts, taking his shoes off, and then looks over his shoulder.
‘How about you sleep, and I keep watch?’ Cas says, sliding back on the bed until he’s leaning against the headboard, crossing his sock clad feet one over the other as Dean had earlier. There’s still a good foot of space between them, the closest they’ve been in a while except for those few grounding touches, but still a million miles away. Baby steps, Dean thinks, baby steps.
‘Yeah, okay,’ Dean says, moving down the bed that last little bit so his head is resting against the pillow. He looks up at Cas before he closes his eyes, catches a small smile on his face, and pretends that he doesn’t feel Cas’ fingers against his temple before sleep takes him.
Cas is such a cheat. He’s not sure why this information had escaped him before, but he thinks they might have words about it later.