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“Dean? Will you join me outside, in the clearing on top of the hill above the bunker?” Castiel’s voice sounded small over the phone in Dean’s hand.
It’s been two months since Castiel popped back into existence right there in the bunker, too many months after Jack became God, and Dean has never been more frightened by such unassuming and harmless words.
~~~
Despite Jack’s parting words to the Winchesters before he disappeared to do his godly duties, Dean never stopped praying to him to bring Castiel back. The angel didn’t deserve to spend eternity in The Empty, and Dean believed that with his whole being and not just because of how and why Castiel had died.
Jack, however, never answered Dean’s prayers, well, not until 7:19 pm on that fateful Wednesday two months ago.
And all Dean was able to say to Castiel was “Welcome back, buddy!” while hugging him as he would hug his brother, his brain frozen in a loop of ‘he’s back, he’s back, he’s back’ and not able to advance past that. Bless Sam for entering the library a moment after Dean stepped away, because Dean was about to run to his room and sob like a child.
Castiel, who had spent who knows how long in the Empty, was thoroughly confused, not understanding what had happened. Sam obliged quickly, and after seating everyone at the library desk with sparkling glasses of whisky in hand, he recounted happily everything that happened after Castiel’s death.
Dean was confused as well. Worse, he was afraid. You see, Castiel was clearly back with all his powers, and there was nothing to stop him from leaving. Jack was God, humanity was saved from being obliterated, and with no new apocalypse on the horizon, Castiel had no reason to stay with the brothers. With Dean.
The light in the library was golden soft, the dark wood desk gleaming, and all seemed right with the world. Sort of. Dean peeked at Castiel as he sipped from his whiskey, and he looked handsome as always with his dark, messy hair, the light stubble on his square jaw making him look sharp as ever. And his eyes, those blue, penetrating eyes that always seemed to see right through him, straight into his soul, well, Dean avoided them as much as he could, not sure he wanted to see what was in them when Castiel looked at him.
By the end of the evening those angel eyes were more confused than ever, and Dean thought he saw a flash of pain in them when he said good night and went, more like rushed, to his room, before Sam could leave him alone with the angel.
Dean spent the entire night turning and twisting in his bed, agonizing about the previous evening, and worrying about how the next day would look like. Whether Castiel would even be there in the morning. He thought back to that horrid night when the angel died, and his heart turned to dust all over again.
He flipped onto his back, his eyes directed at the ceiling, his mind running in circles.
He didn’t want Castiel to leave, he wanted… Dean wanted… hmmm, he wasn’t 100% sure what he wanted, because he never let himself believe that this day would come, and besides, what he wanted didn’t matter much, did it? Yes, Castiel said he loved him, but Dean’s history with loved ones was far from stellar. Everybody who got too close to him was hurt or died, even Castiel himself. How many times was he hurt, and even died because he helped Dean, because he wanted to do the right thing, because he ‘loved’ Dean?
Dean twisted to his left side again and hugged one of his pillows to his chest, too tired to consider the self-soothing position and how much he wished he was holding ‘someone’ in his arms.
It would have been selfish to tie Castiel to him; who knows what new catastrophe that would unleash? A catastrophe that would lead to the angel’s death, no doubt. Again.
A conundrum then. Dean l…, he l…, well, he cared about Castiel more than he ever thought possible, and he did not want to continue his miserable life without Castiel at his side.
Sam had Eileen now, and it was just a matter of time before he moved in with her, leaving Dean behind. Truth be told, Dean thought that the only reason Sam hadn’t moved out yet was because he was worried about his brother. Dean was ecstatic for Sam, he truly was and hoped his brother would be happy with Eileen and live together for many years until they are both old and wrinkly, but Dean was not looking forward to being left to fend for himself.
Alone. Lonely.
He would be able to do it, oh yes, he would. Dean was aware. But it would be a miserable, lonely life, one that wouldn’t be worth living. One that would most likely end in liver failure if not worse.
The sheets were twisted messily under him by the time it was late or early enough, depending on how you looked at it, for him to be able to call it morning and rise slowly and shuffle to the kitchen to have some coffee.
An entire night of thinking ended with no results, no decision was made, no light bulb went on, and he felt worse than before, his heart dropping to his stomach when he stepped into the kitchen.
“Good morning, Dean.”
Castiel hadn’t left. He was still there.
And he was there the next day and the next, always with a soft smile on his face, always ready to follow Dean wherever he wanted to go, whether it was shopping for groceries or hunting a lone vampire a state over.
The angel never mentioned the time ‘before’, nor his words of love, but instead of this bringing a sense of peace to Dean, it only made him feel worse, because maybe the angel didn’t love him anymore, maybe he was just going through the motions, because at a time they had been friends. As far as Dean knows, because he hadn’t dared to ask, Castiel spent centuries or millennia in the Empty, and Dean was just a fond memory by the time he returned.
Not even two weeks after Castiel’s return, Sam left the bunker and moved into a house he rented with Eileen, an hour’s drive from the bunker. It was close enough to visit whenever they wanted, but far enough not to be under each other’s feet all the time.
Life was, umm, Dean didn’t know how to describe it, good, maybe? Better than he’d hoped for, anyway.
Castiel was there, by his side, every day, keeping him company, helping him on hunts, watching movies together in the Dean cave, even joining Dean for drinks and a game of pool at one bar or another.
In the beginning, Dean was happily surprised and quickly became content with how things were going, with how easy things were between them. It was only at night, lying alone in his bed, that the other thoughts surfaced; the ones that told him he was a coward for not talking to Castiel about what had happened between them, about his own feelings, about whether Castiel still had feelings for him or not.
As much as Dean tried to cherish his days with Castiel, his own hunter instincts worked against him, and he couldn’t ignore how, as the days went by, the angel smiled less and frowned more, and there was an air of gloom around him, especially when he was unaware Dean was observing him.
More and more often he caught sight of Castiel sitting at one of the library tables, with his shoulders hunched and his head tilted towards the table, staring at his clasped hands. Initially, Dean assumed Castiel was praying to Jack, but then he glimpsed him surreptitiously brushing away tears before rising and exiting the bunker, purportedly ‘to get some fresh air’ as he replied to Dean when asked.
Whatever it was that had brought Castiel to his knees, metaphorically speaking, Dean didn’t like it. His attempts to ignore and bury those pesky thoughts that kept popping up, announcing loudly that he was the reason for the angel’s dejection, didn’t work as well as they usually did when he tried to push away unwelcome thoughts and feelings. This was Castiel after all, the person he l…, umm… the person he cared about, his best friend, his…
The angel spent more time walking outside, usually around the bunker, but he never looked better for it. The opposite seemed to be true. The more he spent alone with his thoughts, the sadder he appeared, and the day came when Dean couldn’t hide from what was happening anymore, becoming convinced that one day soon Castiel would go for a walk never to return, and Dean would forever be alone.
~~~
“Dean? Can you hear me?”
Castiel’s voice is like a cold shower, snapping Dean out of his musings.
“Yes, sure,” he answers, the anxiety mixing with relief, because this morning the angel took the car without telling Dean where he was going.
“Why do you want me up there?” No wonder the words come out harsh with how his apprehension is ramping up.
A small sigh reaches him through the phone before Castiel says one single word. “Please?”
Dean walks with measured steps around the bunker and up the hill, his gaze kept on the ground, oblivious to any of the spring beauty surrounding him. The air is fresh and filled with the fragrances of wildflowers; the trees are green and blooming, the grass is lush on the ground, and Dean sees none of it.
He stumbles to a stop when he hears the usual “Hello, Dean” in Castiel’s rumbly voice, and he gawks, like a deer in headlights, trying to understand what he sees.
There is a large blue-green checkered blanket spread over the grass with pillows for sitting, Dean assumes, and in the middle, well, there’s a small feast from what he can see. There are numerous dishes with food, and the cooler is open to the side, filled with bottles of beer, and Dean stands there taking it all in. Wondering.
“Cas?” That’s all he is able to say as he glances at the angel who stands by the blanket dressed in dark blue jeans and a bright blue Henley, looking more uncomfortable than Dean feels.
“Will you join me?” Castiel asks, pointing at the spread of food and lowering himself onto one of the pillows.
As Dean sits down across from the angel, his eyes flitter over the different types of food and in a flash, he realizes that they are all his favorites: mini burgers, finger foods, bacon wrapped sausages, French fries, fried onions—there is enough food to feed many more mouths than theirs. And pies. He can see pies set to the side, and his favorite beer in the cooler.
“Cas? What is this?”
“I,” Castiel clears his throat, “I needed to speak with you, and I thought this would be better than the kitchen… it is a sensitive subject and…” Castiel looks down at his hands that are clasped together so tightly that his knuckles are white.
“You’re leaving.” Dean blurts out harshly and accusingly, his own hands turned into angry fists on his knees, his eyes hard as he glares at Castiel, fighting the urge to stand and run away, because he doesn’t want to hear what comes next. He might not survive what comes next.
Dean’s heart pounds in his chest, echoing the cold terror flooding his veins, and the longer it takes Castiel to answer, the more convinced he becomes that he was right.
This is a goodbye picnic, and if he weren’t almost crying, he would burst into laughter at the irony of it all. A last meal. Yes, it is fitting. A last meal before his heart is crushed and his life ends.
“I, well, yes… but, no,” Castiel stutters, the hesitant words hanging in the air, and it is so odd, because Castiel never had any difficulties expressing himself before.
It is probably lucky that Dean is shocked into silence and doesn’t stop the angel from speaking.
“Living here in the bunker is not good for me.” Castiel glances at Dean and recoils from the anger imprinted on his beautiful face.
“No, Dean, please,” he rushes to add, “it is not because of you, but the bunker itself.”
Castiel looks away, and there is a slight tremor in his voice that only someone who knows him as well as Dean does would hear it.
“There are too many memories, and, well, I need to be somewhere else, so,” the angel shrugs, “I found a house, not far from here, closer to Sam and Eileen, and…”
“So, you are leaving me.” Dean bites his cheeks so hard he can taste the blood in his mouth, because if he doesn’t, he will say things that he will definitely regret.
Castiel frowns, but, curiously, his cheeks flush at the same time as he looks at Dean, not flinching away this time at what he sees there.
“I was hoping we would go together,” he says softly and watches as Dean’s face changes from angry to surprised and maybe even pleased.
“You want me with you? Together? House?” Dean seems to have lost his ability to speak coherently, but he keeps on trying. “Live together in a house?” He finally manages to say. “With me?”
And then, as an afterthought, but not, because that is the crux of it all, “Why?”
Castiel’s brow creases lightly and he squints, confused, his head tilted to the side. “Did you forget?”
When Dean looks more baffled than ever, the angel smiles softly at him. “I love you, Dean.”
Those words, though it is not the first time he hears them falling from the angel’s lips, short-circuit Dean’s mind again, his heart thumping hard in his chest, his body warm all over.
When time starts up again, bright blue eyes are gazing into his from only a few inches away, a warm hand on his cheek, worry creasing the angel’s beautiful face as he keeps calling his name.
“Dean? Dean, are you alright?”
The world has disappeared around him, but Dean doesn’t mind, because what he can see is the most beautiful sight that ever existed. He concentrates on Castiel’s features, his wild hair clear evidence of how many times he ran his hands through it, the laugh crinkles at the corners of his eyes not deep enough in Dean’s opinion, those deep blue eyes filled with so much…, so much of everything, worry, compassion, love, and a moment later his eyes fall onto those pink, plush lips that he’s been wondering, but only in the darkest nights when nobody could know, how they would feel if he kissed them.
His sight is blurry, and he blinks, but their faces are much closer than before, and he closes his eyes as their brows touch.
Castiel has stopped speaking, the tension in the surrounding air almost palpable as Dean raises his hand to his cheek and brushes his lips with his thumb.
They are so soft to the touch, much softer than he expected, and a moment later, without any conscious decision to do so, Dean’s lips touch Castiel’s, sighing.
It is the angel’s turn to sit there, frozen, mouth open in shock, a good shock, yes, and yet still a shock.
“Cas,” Dean starts and stops, their brows still touching, his whisper ending in another chaste kiss on his lips, because that seems like a much better idea than speaking. Dean is not good at talking, never has been, and touching the angel and kissing him do not help in the least with his verbal eloquence.
The angel’s hand keeps on stroking his cheek, sliding to his nape, scratching lightly at the short hairs there, and it takes all of Dean’s will not to lose himself in the warm feeling that floods his chest. If he didn’t know better, he’d say Castiel is healing him and it’s his grace inside him that he feels.
“Cas, I… I… “ Dean stutters weakly, their breath mingling, “I l… I…” Dean sighs and tries again. “I don’t know how to do this, I …” He pulls slightly away, his eyes locked on Castiel’s this time, his expression one of pure dread. Fear that Castiel wouldn’t understand, fear that the angel would reject him, fear that…
Castiel’s soft voice cuts through his nightmarish thoughts like a hot knife through butter, his lips curled up in a smile, the sort of smile that Dean knows is only for him.
“Despite my old age, this is new to me as well, and like you, I do not know how to do this either.” He pauses for a moment and takes Dean’s hands in his own, and Dean could swear that Castiel’s eyes sparkle with unshed tears. “But if you wish, we will learn how to do it together.”
A moment or a century later, they both lean in slowly, holding on to each other, and their lips meet in the middle in a soft, warm, never-ending, perfect kiss.
Much later in the day, when the sun hides behind the trees lining the clearing, they are lying on the blanket, facing each other, the remnants of the food pushed aside, and Dean shivers slightly.
“We should go in; it is getting too cold for you out here,” Castiel whispers while rubbing Dean’s side, trying to warm him up.
Dean hums, smiling, and brushes his thumb over the angel’s stubble. “You know, this was the best picnic ever. Can we do this again tomorrow?”