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Dean’s thoughts are wandering again.
He can’t really help it, since they got Sam back, life has been relatively dull for them. He tries to focus on the personnel files Sam set aside for him to look through, hoping to find any other ‘underground’ Men of Letters chapters, but he can’t focus. There’s something else that’s been on his mind lately, something he can’t seem to leave alone.
It was funny, how quickly and easily things changed.
Yes, there was a deep companionship between him and Cas, and there had been for some time. Cas pulled Dean out of Hell, gave up heaven for him. Dean risked all of Purgatory to find Cas, and the relief when Cas came back… He’d only realized when Lucifer had taken Cas just how much he’d taken for granted Cas’ being there. Knowing that Cas had said yes, that there was a possibility he wanted Lucifer to use him, had cut deep, and the feeling of loss, of failing Cas was twice as bad as what he'd felt after Purgatory. It wasn't through Dean’s actions, but his inaction, his inability to focus on anyone's problems but his and Sam’s, that led Cas to Lucifer, that left him feeling like he had no other choice. It was the only way Cas thought he could help, because Dean couldn’t find the time or the words to tell him just how much he truly meant to him. How much Cas helped simply by being there as a companion and friend, knowing Cas had his back.
The sounds of voices drift out of the dormitory hallway, and Dean looks up briefly to see Sam and Cas walk into the library, Sam down to a tshirt and jeans, Cas without his coat, jacket, or tie. Sam bends down and pulls a beer out of the mini fridge by the map room, popping it open on his pocketknife and handing it to Cas before grabbing one himself. The bottles clink in victory, and Dean shakes his head as he hears Cas go on a tangent about the practice of ‘toasting’. Dean watches them a moment, the way Sam is genuinely smiling as Cas’ brow furrows halfway through his speech.
“Why is this humorous, Sam?” Sam laughs hard and loud, making Cas tilt his head in confusion and Dean can’t stop the smile from pulling at the corner of his lips. Watching Sam and Cas just talk and share a beer, it’s a shadow of what a normal life would look like, if they could ditch the demons and the monsters. His brother and his best friend, discussing their triumph over the Ikea tv stand they’d just put together in Cas’ room, the domesticity unusual for their lives. A bit of regret and bitterness sneak in, ruining Dean’s enjoyment of the moment, and he shifts uncomfortably in his chair . Cas looks over suddenly, like he’d heard Dean say something, blue eyes meeting his, and Dean waves, Cas raising his beer back in silent salute. Dean raises his coffee and takes a quick sip, and he can feel Cas’ gaze lingering even when he’s looked back down at the papers in front of him.
Dean forces his focus back on the files while Sam announces he’s going to go grocery shopping, and Dean calls out the usual reminder to bring pie at Sam’s retreating back. Cas drops into a chair near Dean without a word, flipping open the Greek transcripts he was translating for them and settling in to work. Dean watched him over the top of a file folder, realizing this is their first time alone together in almost a week.
Cas’ hand slides gracefully across the paper as he writes down notes and translations, scanning the book with a deep concentration. Cas never half-asses anything, if he’s going to do something, he does it, and it’s one of the things Dean’s always admired about him. His hand that isn’t writing traces along the words on the page, and Dean’s belatedly wondering why he’s just watching Cas work when he has work of his own to do. He’s been watching Cas a lot lately, noticing the human traits he’s picked up over the years, and also seeing all the little things that remind Dean of what he actually is. The fact that he doesn’t sleep isn’t lost on Dean, the way he sits at the table while Sam and Dean eat without touching any food himself, and how even now he takes things just a bit too literally.
It’s when Dean starts to notice the little curl of hair behind his ear that something turns over in his brain, and his metaphorical lightbulb nearly blinds him. The feeling gnawing at him, the one he's been too scared to even think about, it’s suddenly all he can think about. And he really doesn’t want to right now with him and Cas alone, no Sam sized buffer to conveniently interrupt.
“You're thoughts are quite loud today,” Cas says calmly, not looking up from his work. Dean shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
“Sorry, Cas, didn't mean to broadcast,” he muttered. Cas put his pen down and looked up at Dean.
“Is there something you wish to talk about?” Cas asked. Dean just stared at the file in front of him, not really seeing it. Where would he begin?
Sorry I never said thank you for saving me from Hell.
Sorry I've only ever used you as a tool or a weapon.
Sorry you felt like you had to stay in Purgatory.
Sorry I never told you that your sacrifices for me and Sam were more than appreciated.
Sorry I never think about anyone but my brother and me.
Sorry that you got sucked into my life when you deserved so much more.
Sorry it took me 8 years to realize all you've done…
“Nah, Cas,” he sighed instead, leaning back in his chair and picking up his coffee, tilting it back to take a sip. It was starting to cool down, and the extra bitterness matched the mood in his stomach. Cas continued to look at him, the concern in his eyes making Dean’s heart ache in a way that was all new and quite terrifying.
“I wish I,” Cas starts in, his voice quiet and small in the large room. Dean’s eyes flicked up to meet Cas’.
“What?” Cas’ hand slips from the page of the journal he was on, coming to rest in his lap.
“I wish I had spent more time as a human,” the angel finally sighed. Dean focuses in on his friend, all pretense of caring about the files in front of him gone.
“What for, Cas? You didn’t exactly have the best human experience, and that’s saying something coming from me.” He tries to offer Cas a smile to lighten the mood, but Cas seemed to be pondering that question deeply, taking a minute before answering.
“If I had more time, maybe I would know what to say to offer you comfort right now.” Dean’s smile faded as he looked at the angel, Cas’ words uncomfortably close to the core of his current internal dialogue. He shifted in his chair again, picking at a crack on the lip of his cup.
“You don’t need to comfort me, Cas, I’m fine. Besides, sometimes words aren't enough.” God knows there's nothing I can say to tell you how sorry I am, for everything, for not realizing sooner how much you mean, how much I need you, how much I… His thoughts stumbled when Cas’ eyes widened like he could hear Dean, and he realized that it was entirely within the realm of possibility that he was. “Shit, I didn't- how much did you hear?” Dean sighed, scrubbing his free hand over his face in embarrassment. Cas’ face softened, the corner of his lip turning upward slightly.
“It's not really words so much as an emotion, a feeling,” he paused, his hand twirling his pen slowly across his fingers. “A longing,” he added quietly. Dean took a deep breath, letting it out in one huff before speaking again. Well, if he was going to talk about it, might as well go all in.
“Why are you still here, Cas?” Cas’ eyes narrowed and Dean quickly elaborated. “Not here in the bunker I mean, on our side, me and Sam. Why did you stay in the first place?”
“There's a very real chance you would be dead right now, and the world would be destroyed,” Cas pointed out seriously, and Dean pinched the bridge of his nose because he was totally missing his point.
“Besides that, Cas. You could have just gone back to heaven ages ago, given up on us. Avoided all the crap we've put you through. Why would you give all that up?” Cas’ brows pinched together, his head shaking slightly.
“You really have to ask that?” he said, as if the answer was obvious. Dean nodded.
“Yeah, I do Cas. You could have just walked away from all this. You didn't have to save Sam from his visions, you didn't have to, to…” Dean’s words trail off helplessly, already starting to lose his nerves because when the fuck did he talk about things like this with anyone? Cas set his pen down again, carefully placing it along the spine of his notebook.
“When I pulled you from hell, I had never been in such close contact with a soul before. In all my thousands of years, yours was the first human soul I touched.” Cas flexed his fingers, like his body was remembering the feeling. “I think something happened that day. Something in you altered something in me, and I've…” Cas looked down at the table, a smile in his eyes. “Charlie gave me a word to use, when I spoke to her about it. And it fit, perfectly.” He looked back up at Dean. “I just didn't know if you wanted to hear it.”
Dean had a feeling he knew what the word was, and he ducked his head, overwhelmed by it.
A small voice in his head whispered it makes sense.
Cas gave up everything for Dean’s sake.
He did anything Dean would ask.
He dropped everything for him as soon as Dean needed him.
“I could go with you.”
He had been facing certain death, a suicide run on Amara, and Cas’ voice, an angel’s voice, cracked with emotion when he offered to go with Dean, to die with him, so he wouldn't have to be alone.
“Cas,” Dean forced out, lifting his head just enough to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of his eye. He set his coffee down carefully, afraid the trembling in his fingers might make him drop the cup. “Do you love me?” The words were soft but they felt loud in the stillness of the room. Cas ducked his head briefly, raising it with a calm confidence on his face, his eyes on Dean. Dean’s cheeks burned under his scrutiny.
“I do. Is that okay?” The air left Dean’s lungs, and he felt himself smile as he risked looking up into the bright blue eyes of the angel.
“Yeah, Cas,” he coughed out. “Yeah, that's okay.” Cas smiled then, a rare but beautiful sight, and wordlessly they both returned to their tasks, the only difference being the brush of their knees under the table.
Maybe he had a word for his own feelings now. Because that word made sense. It felt right. And having heard it, Dean could think of no other word to describe what he was feeling.
It may have taken Dean a while, but after eight years, he finally realized what Cas must have known all along.
Love was funny that way.