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Castiel had known Mary Winchester—well, known of, not truly known. The Castiel that had watched the vessels’ family tree expand with vague disinterest would have never believed that one day he’d be standing by her grave, saying goodbye to her son.
That Castiel didn’t even know what hurt was. Come to think of it, he hadn’t really known much of anything at all.
His entire body ached. Lucifer had rooted his Grace deep into Cas’s and ripping it out had been like ripping off a limb, a necessary surgery to save the rest, but without anesthetic. Ultimately good in the end, but still painful to do. He shoves it to the back of his mind like he always has to, because there’s still a world out there worth saving.
He doesn’t intrude on the Winchesters’ moment. Their familiar outlines are silhouetted by the light of a dying sun. Both hunch in on themselves, as if dwarfed by their mother’s grave.
“She was a good one,” Chuck says absently, still leaning on Rowena for support.
She pats his arm consolingly, as if He was the one who needed to be comforted about Mary Winchester. Cas turns more firmly away from Him.
The Castiel at the start of it all had been a hammer with doubts that his absent Father would have been able to soothe just by appearing. Now he needs more than that. He’d heard the apology second-hand through Lucifer, but he’d also heard what Dean had said—apologies don’t have to mean anything to you if they’re said correctly. Chuck isn’t sorry. They’re great cosmic chess pieces to him, rooks and knights He could move around all he wanted, free to be sacrificed for the sake of a king. He doesn’t feel the need to apologize to them, infinitesimally smaller than Him.
Dean turns his back on the grave and walks back. It’s not the face of the boy who’d been willing to throw it all away and chain himself to Michael’s comet. It’s the face of a man who has too much at his back but still sees a road ahead of him.
A road that he’s never going to walk. Cas’s heart breaks a little more.
“Dean,” he manages.
He doesn’t care that it sounds like the words have been ripped out of aching lungs, that it sounds like a plea, that it sounds like he’s barely keeping it together because all of it is true. He opens his arms.
“Okay. All right.”
They don’t touch, as a rule. Moments meant to reassure, to comfort, sure, but not like this. They’ve only hugged twice—once with Cas refusing to return the favor and once with Dean. This time, they both cling like it’s the end of the world.
Well. No time like the present.
There’s a million things he wants to say that he’s always felt but never put words to. He wants to say that he’s never once regretted being the only one of his garrison to reach the goal, even when he’s been hurt and bleeding from one tiny choice. All he can do is tighten his grip.
Cas considers for a very long moment tucking his nose against Dean’s neck and just refusing to let him go. He could do it, too. With Chuck depowered, he’s easily the strongest member of the team even if he can’t fly anymore.
Instead, he wraps his hands in the back of his jacket and pretends he doesn’t have to let go.
“I could go with you.”
He likes the idea more than he lets on. This way, Dean wouldn’t have to go alone. Sam wouldn’t have to bear the burden of a halfway human angel. They’d be together at the end of it all.
“No, no, no. I’ve got to do this alone.”
And then he entrusts Cas with the job he’s been doing since he was four years old with the weight of that gravestone already on his shoulders.
Three hours later, he’s trying to do it.
Despite the fact that it’s probably been far too long since Sam’s last meal, they drive back to the bunker without stopping. It’s not like Lawrence is that far away, but Cas already feels a little like he’s failed.
“Sam—”
“How are you feeling?”
Cas suspects that the interruption is more for Sam’s benefit than it is for his.
“Fine.”
Sam takes his eyes off the road for the first time since they’d gotten in the car. ‘You were just possessed by Lucifer for a half year. You can’t be fine.”
What does he want to hear? That he hadn’t had to fight Lucifer because he hadn’t wanted to? That instead of the horrendous battle Sam had fought as a vessel and then after in the Cage, he’d watched the entirety of the X Files and Buffy? That even though it’s only been three hours, he still keeps expecting him to come back somehow?
He tries, instead of expressing any of that, to smooth over a wound. “I’m sorry I let him out. I know what it cost you to get him in the Cage in the—”
“No. We’re not doing this. Not now.”
The unspoken not ever hangs in the air silently between them.
Cas tries to imagine this future. Hunting with Sam until his Grace burns out again with no one to replace it this time. Learning how to be human all over again. Long nights on the road trying to curb the pain with exhaustion because Sam’s go-to is to drive himself into the ground and Cas hasn’t had time to develop his own screwed-up coping mechanisms. A future without Dean.
They’re always going to have the ghost of Dean sitting at the breakfast table. They’re always going to be waiting for the magic reset button they’ve grown too used to.
And what then? Sam finds the future he’s always been looking for and then he’s alone.
When they pull up outside the bunker, Sam doesn’t say a word. Cas follows him closely, determined to live up to Dean’s last request. He couldn’t save him, couldn’t get the words out. But he can do this.