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Death wasn’t what Dean had expected—and he’d been dead lots of times. It wasn’t like he’d had a real fear of dying, since, unlike most people, he wasn’t afraid of the big unknown, the uncertainty in a lack of existence, or the possibility of paradise or damnation. He figured he’d had a pretty good grasp on what death was like. They’d been old friends after all. Dying hadn’t been easy. It was the hard part, the painful part. Knowing your corporeal, earthly life was ending. That it’d be mere hours before your lifeless body would go up in flames. That there’d be nothing left of you, just memories. And really, who was there, on earth, who’d remember him besides Sam? Maybe Jody and Donna. A couple old friends. But as he was dying in his brother’s arms, Dean had felt more alone than he ever could have imagined. He knew the limitations of death. He didn’t anticipate seeing anyone he’d ever loved again. Hell is cruel, but Heaven is mostly exaggerated, too. He’d wondered which memory would trap him forever. He'd wondered if he’d be aware of his own demise. And he was scared—not of the unknown but of this forever that lay before him.
So, when he blinked and found himself not in a memory but in a full world, when Bobby was there to great him … well, perhaps death wasn’t half bad.
“Cas helped,” Bobby said, and Dean felt his pulse jump in his throat. Cas. Cas wasn’t in the Empty. He wasn’t gone forever. He was here.
The thing with surprise love confessions is, they’re never easy for anyone involved. And in all the grief, loss, and tragedy, the one thing Dean had after hearing his best friend utter three words that would change them forever was time. He had a lot of time to think. To cry. To wallow. And to relive every second, every minute of the last decade. Because it wasn’t like Dean didn’t reciprocate—he, well, he really didn’t know. He’d never given his feelings deeper thought, had never paused to examine his reactions—the long gazes, the frequent invasion of personal space, how angry Cas made him. Oh, there was so much anger there. Frankly, Dean had never had a minute to breathe before, to consider his emotions and preferences. To question.
And now? Well, now he was dead. And his best friend, who was in love with him, wasn’t lost in the abyss. And all he had was time. So, Dean went for a drive, turned up the music, and tried to think. He tried to imagine it, to go back in time and tell Cas I love you too. To go back further, to long nights in the bunker, but instead of sipping whiskey and poring over ancient texts, there were calloused fingers and hot mouths and—
Dean slammed the brakes, the Impala skittering to a screeching halt. He winced, patting the dashboard in apology. “Sorry, Baby.”
His head fell back, and he slumped in the driver’s seat. This was heaven, so he wasn’t really worried about any oncoming traffic. He just sat in his car, in the middle of a lonely road, squeezing his eyes shut to avoid all the images in his brain.
Had he been into dudes for his entire life and never realized it? He wasn’t sure. Sure, he’d notice a hot guy here and there, but that was … normal, right? Checking out a nice ass in jeans—who cares about the gender it belongs to? Surely, everyone did that. Dean sighed and pressed his palms into his eyes. Was he really that much of an idiot? Was he secretly more bigoted than he'd assumed, and this was all just … what? Internalized homophobia or some shit?
He winced. “I’m not gay,” he murmured quietly to himself. A nagging voice in the back of his mind cackled. You can be into girls and guys, asshole. He grimaced again. Fucking hell. So maybe he could potentially, probably, possibly perhaps be attracted to guys. Theoretically, of course. He wouldn’t be the first. (Right? Oh, shit.) But wasn’t he a bit old for such a revelation? Then again, his angsty, confused teen years were spent running from werewolves, rugarus, and wendigos, so—maybe not.
Completely wrapped up in his own anxiety, it took a second to categorize the sound of flapping wings outside the car. It was so intrinsically familiar, he didn’t even register it as odd or something to worry about, despite not having heard it in years. He blinked his eyes open, blinding light obscuring his view of the road before him before vanishing a second later.
Dazed, he pushed the car door open and stumbled out, turning in a circle in an attempt to make sense of the situation. Then his heart stopped. Well, not really, but it felt like it. Blood rushing in his ears, his stomach tightening into knots, he stared at a trench coat and a head of dark hair.
Castiel was turned away from him, looking out onto the road, his stance more relaxed than Dean had ever seen it. His hair was as messy as ever, but the faint outline of enormous wings was definitely a new addition.
“Cas?” he asked softly, his voice rough.
Slowly, the angel turned around, his face calm and even, his eyes as intense as the first night they’d met. “Hello, Dean.”
He’d never dared to imagine hearing those words in that deep, raspy voice again. The mere thought had almost torn him apart from the inside, all that anguish, sorrow, guilt, and regret bottled up within him, threatening to burst open and drown him in it. He wasn’t drowning anymore.
“Cas,” he repeated, the word sounding strangely wet from the depth of his throat. His eyes felt hot—he hadn’t known that you could in Heaven, but the burning and the moisture on his cheeks were far too familiar. “Cas.” He didn’t know what else to say—was there really anything more? He felt like he’d ripped out his own bleeding heart with that one syllable. Everything he’d never imagined, never dreamed, was there, bubbling to the surface.
Dean didn’t decide to move; his legs just started working by their own accord, and with a few long strides, he was right in front of Cas, entirely too close, and he wrapped his arms around him, fingers digging into the smooth material of the trench coat. For a second, Cas didn’t react, didn’t move—he just stood there, arms hanging by his side, allowing Dean to cling to him with all his might. For the first time in—hell, always, Dean sank into the moment, burying his face into the crook of Cas’s neck, the short hairs tickling his cheek. Then he felt strong hands against his back, pulling him in even closer. Fingers stroked his hair, arms embracing him. It could’ve been an eternity, the two of them melting into one, tangled up until neither one knew where the other began.
It was Dean who pulled away first but only far enough to look at Cas’s face, taking it roughly into his hands. “Cas … can’t believe you’re really here.” He gulped. “It’s really good to see you.”
Cas squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then his piercing gaze landed back on Dean. “It’s good to see you too.” His hands were roaming Dean’s body as far as he could reach—back, shoulders, hips, arms, neck. As if checking to see that everything was still in order. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect to see you here so soon.” There was sorrow in his expression, silent condolences.
Dean leaned his forehead against Cas’s. “It’s okay. I didn’t either but … it’s okay, I think.” He inhaled deeply, his breath hitting Cas’s skin. “If you were here all this time, why—why didn’t you come?”
“I was going to,” Cas assured, his thumb tracing Dean’s jaw. “Jack needed my help, and I—I wasn’t sure if you would want to see me. If you would’ve wanted me there. But I would’ve come. Eventually. I just needed time, and I think you did, too. I wanted to give that to you, Dean.”
“Cas,” Dean’s voice trembled, his throat tightened. “I always wanted you there. And after … especially after. I—I—” There weren’t words. He couldn’t string them together; he’d never been good at it before, and now? There was so much, so many emotions just pouring out of him. He wasn’t sure if Cas could feel them, but they seemed so transparent, so obvious to Dean. He wasn’t good at the talking part, but perhaps he didn’t have to be.
“Cas,” he said again, almost in a whine. And then he wasn’t talking anymore. Cas had told him he loved him. He’d said he thought he couldn’t have him. He’d died for him. What could anyone say to that, what could ever measure up?
So, Dean tilted his head and brushed his lips against Cas’s mouth. The kiss was tentative, a little awkward. Dean had never kissed anyone who was this close to his own height, Cas hadn’t kissed many people, period. Cas’s lips were dry and rough, the stubble brushing against Dean’s chin was a new sensation, one he didn’t hate. At all. The angel seemed stunned, his hands gripped the front of Dean’s jacket tighter, he almost seemed like he was swaying into him. Dean was still cupping his face, deepening the kiss, testing the waters. And suddenly Cas opened up, his lips parting, a low sound rumbling in his throat, and oh, fuck—there was a tongue tracing Dean’s lower lips, long fingers slipping under his jacket and clasping his hips.
“Dean,” Cas murmured against his mouth. “Dean, what are you…”
“Shut up, just—” Dean kissed him harder, almost feverish. He didn’t know how to hold back anymore, didn’t know if he could ever stop. This right here—this feeling, it was all he could’ve ever dreamed of, it was everything. “You can have it. You can have it all. I’m yours for the taking.”