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Art by the amazing and talented sketchydean
“Winchester, your emergency line is ringing.” Benny drawled, raising his eyebrows and giving Dean a significant look.
Dean practically sprinted back to his desk, snatching the phone up before it stopped ringing and pressing the receiver to his ear. There was only one person who had that number. His informant, Castiel.
He spoke briskly. "Winchester speaking."
“Hello, Dean.” The familiar deep voice greeted him. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”
Dean tried and failed to conceal his smile, his heart thudding in his chest as Castiel spoke. “Cas, a pleasure as always. What do you have?”
“Always business with you, Dean. There’s more to life than work. You should come for dinner with me sometime.”
Dean’s lips twitched. They had the same discussion every time Cas called. Sometimes he expected his informant was flirting with him, but sometimes, when Dean was feeling especially brave and flirted back, Castiel completely missed it.
“You’ve never even seen me.” Dean explained, patiently. “For all you know, I could be hideous.”
“Never to me.” Castiel promised.
This was usually the point where Dean refused him and the talk turned to business. Today, however, was different. Something was fuelling Dean into taking a risk, to meet the man he’d been talking to for years, who had seriously furthered their investigation. Not only to see what he was actually like in person, or to act on their chemistry. No, there was something else fuelling this decision.
“Alright.” Dean agreed. “Dinner tonight?”
Castiel didn’t reply for a moment, his surprise evident in his silence. “I don’t think I can wait until dinner. Especially since you could change your mind at any moment, after I’ve waited so long for this opportunity. Lunch? Now? I’m not too far away from FBI headquarters.”
Dean glanced around. The office was busy. Nobody would notice if he took an extended lunch. Except maybe Benny, but they were friends as well as co-workers and he knew all about Castiel.
“Fine.” He agreed. “The Roadhouse? How will I recognise you?”
Castiel laughed. “The Roadhouse is fine. And you don’t need to worry about that, trust me. I’ll find you. I can spot a Fed from a mile away.”
The call ended, leaving Dean scowling at the receiver. A few minutes later, he was on his way out of the building, heading to the diner on the corner. He was seated at a table for two, and amused himself by reading the newspaper until Castiel arrived. His hands were a little less steady than he would have liked, a mixture of nerves and anticipation. It would be nice to eventually put a face to the voice, to meet the man who had spent the last two years charming him, with all his eccentricities.
“I must admit; you are rather more attractive than I imagined.” A solemn voice spoke, its owner blocked by Dean’s newspaper. Slowly, Dean lowered the tabloid, able to put a face to the voice for the first time in two years.
The hair was the first thing he noticed, messier than he expected, as if he’d been running his hand through it. Then blue eyes that held millions of shades, stormy with emotions. Plump but chapped lips, that Dean couldn’t take his eyes off, and stubble, giving him an overall rugged appearance. He looked tired, dark bags under his eyes. Paired with a backwards blue tie, it was clear that Castiel wasn’t getting a lot of sleep.
“Likewise, Castiel.” Dean said, softly. “Please, sit.”
Castiel did so, gratefully dropping into the chair opposite him. They stared at each other for a few minutes, surveying each other with interest and minor suspicion.
“Why now, if I may ask?” Castiel asked, curiously. "You've been refusing to meet me for years, so why did you agree now?"
Dean just looked at him, weighing up his options. His answer now could cause Castiel to run out on him, and he would never see him again, but this was the only way he had the potential to get answers, to understand the question that plagued him. “Because you called to say goodbye.”
The words had the effect that Dean knew they would. Castiel stiffened, then relaxed instantly, but he was suddenly aware of everyone around them, eyes wandering over everyone in the diner, clearly trying to find out where the other agents were hiding.
“You know.” He murmured, sighing, arms folding in his lap as his gaze returned to Dean.
Dean nodded once, his expression solemn. “The call came through last night. I’ll admit, I didn’t believe it at first. You’ve given me so much useful information over the last two years, how could you be a Russian spy? Is Castiel even your real name?”
“It is, but my surname is Novak, not Collins. It won’t mean anything to you now, but I chose you, Dean. To leak information to, I mean. You were different, from what I saw of your file. You’re fair, trustworthy, with a moral compass. I didn’t want to feel like I was deceiving you completely. So I told you part of my real name.”
Dean nodded, slowly. “Why call at all? You clearly knew that we were on to you and you were planning on escaping. You could have been out of the country by now, safely. Why contact me at all, and jeopardise it?”
Castiel smiled, sadly, reaching for a napkin and folding it idly, delicate fingers shredding at the corner. “I didn’t even consider it. We’ve been corresponding for two years, Dean. But it wasn’t until my cover was blown that I realised. We’re all pawns in this. You, me, everyone. Our countries are at war. Who even decides that? Outside of this, I have no issue with you, nor you with me. Just because two men with too much power have decided that they’re going to threaten to blow each other up, I become a wanted man in a country that I’ve lived in for nearly ten years.”
“You’re American, Cas, why are you even involved?” Dean couldn’t wrap his head around it.
“My mother was Russian.” Castiel told him, his eyes stormy. “She owed a favour to someone, and that debt passed to me. I hope you’ll believe me when I say that this was nothing personal, that I have nothing against you or your country.”
Dean nodded once. “I do.” He said hoarsely.
Castiel presented his wrists, fully prepared for Dean to cuff them. Dean smiled, sadly and shook his head. Even before he left the office, he’d made this decision.
“No cuffs. I didn’t tell anyone I was coming. It’s just us.”
“Why?” Castiel asked, sharply. “Dean, if you let me run, you jeopardise your career. And for what? A man you’ve never actually met until today?
“No.” Dean said firmly, leaning forward. “For a man who, whatever his motives, has given me quite a lot of useful information over the past two years. A man whose phone calls stretched beyond professional and were often the highlight of my week. For a man who is caught between his love of one country and a debt to another.”
Castiel leaned forward and brushed his fingers against Dean’s wrist. Dean allowed Castiel to clasp his hand for a moment, before he withdrew. This was all he could allow himself, a moment where he could wonder if things would be different if they were both on the same side.
“Come with me.” Castiel asked, desperately. “Dean, come with me.”
Dean shook his head, leaning back. “I can’t.”
As if he’d already expected that answer, Castiel pulled out a pen and scribbled an address on the napkin he’d been shredding and pressed it into Dean’s hands. “Then come and find me. After all of this is done.”
Dean shook his head, and crumpled the napkin in his hands, miserably, before handing it back to Castiel. “I can’t. If I take that address, I’m obligated to report it. Letting you have a head start is all I can do. I can’t see you again. You can run, Cas, because I owe you that chance, but… that’s all I can give you.”
His heart breaking, Castiel nodded at the floor. He rose to his feet. “I’ll find you, when all this is over. You don’t have to say anything. Not right now. When I can love you without the threat of espionage over my head, I’ll find you.”
Dean shook his head, numbly, and closed his eyes. There was a fleeting brush of Castiel’s lips against his forehead, and when he opened his eyes, Castiel was gone. There was no sign he’d ever been there in the first place, aside from the crippling ache in Dean’s chest. He got to his feet and returned to his desk, purposefully. While he may have let Castiel escape, first and foremost, his duty was to his country.
It seemed to last forever, but of course it didn’t
The Cold War had dwindled to an end just five years after that fateful day when Dean had followed his heart and let Castiel escape.
In that time, Dean had heard nothing at all from his ex-informant. He didn’t even know if Castiel had made it out of the country, if he was still alive. It was something he thought about every day. There was no reprieve from the regret that plagued him.
Knowledge of Dean’s meeting with his informant had never come to light, so there had been no repercussions. He’d worked in the department for another eight months, before he realised that he no longer had the same job satisfaction he had started with. He was just going through the motions. But he had no idea what else he would do, so he stuck with it. Just over two years later, the INF was signed and the tension between Russia and the US began to ease.
A further two years on, the war was officially over.
But everything had changed. Dean’s love of his country had dwindled, and on more than one occasion, he’d considered defecting. The fact that he didn’t know where to start was the only thing that stopped him. He’d pushed away all of his friends, isolating himself. He couldn’t stand the knowing look in Benny’s eyes. His only hope came from the fact that one day, eventually, the war would be over and Castiel would keep his promise.
Every day since, Dean had bitterly regretted not taking the napkin with the scrawled address. In the long run, his duty seemed less important than it once had. Unable to undo his past mistakes, Dean lived in hope that Castiel would contact him.
He never did. Even after Bush had declared the end of the war, Dean had still heard nothing from his ex-informant.
As each day passed, he began to lose hope. Eventually, he accepted that Castiel was either dead, or had moved on, leaving Dean just a memory. Either way, he wasn’t coming back.
Unwilling to mourn, and unable to comprehend that the only thing that had kept him going for five years was gone, Dean threw himself back into his work. Six months later, Dean had been promoted twice.
Eight months after the end of the war, Dean returned home just after midnight after a long day at work. Tiredly, he opened the door to his apartment and froze, sensing someone was inside. His mind racing quickly, Dean realised that they would have already heard him open the door, so it was best for them to think he was defenceless. He closed the door behind him, cocking the gun at the same time as the latch clicked.
He entered his living room with the gun raised, checking his blind spots. The darkness hindered him, but he was adjusting quickly.
“Are you going to shoot me, Dean?”
Dean froze, but didn’t lower the gun. “Who’s there?” He asked, hoarsely, but he knew without needing to see. After all, he’d only seen the owner of that face once, but the voice? That, he’d heard often enough to recognise its cadence.
“Have you forgotten me? I suppose it has been a long time.” The voice murmured, thoughtfully.
Dean fumbled for the light switch, shaking. He found it and light flooded the room.
“Cas.” He whispered, lowering the gun.
Castiel nodded towards the weapon. “Best to put the safety on that.”
Dean ignored him, hand gripping the gun tighter. “What are you doing here?” He asked, calmly.
“I said I would find you.” Castiel replied, equally as calm. “Did you doubt me?”
“I thought you were dead.” Dean admitted, the mild tremor in his voice giving away exactly how much that thought painted him. Castiel moved over to him quickly, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder, but Dean shrugged off the touch.
“If you get caught here, you’ll be tried for treason.” He reminded Castiel coldly.
Castiel shook his head. “Technically, it would be espionage. I never applied for citizenship.”
Silence fell between them. Dean just didn’t know what to say. He didn’t understand how after everything that happened, how Castiel could walk back into his life. He told Castiel so, his language a lot more colourful than intended.
“I know.” Castiel whispered. “Dean, I know everything, and I’m so sorry.”
“No, you don’t know! Don’t presume to know me! You think a few calls and one face-to-face meeting is enough for you to know everything about me?” Dean raged, pointing his gun at Castiel’s face. Both of them froze, Castiel’s eyes fixed on Dean’s despite the barrel of the pistol only a few inches away from his face.
Dean’s hand wavered, and he shook his head, lowering the weapon and putting the safety back on. “What are you doing here?” He asked again, tiredly. He cut Castiel off before he could speak. “No, I know you said you would find me. What do you want?”
Castiel sighed, rubbing his eyes. Dean noted how much older he looked, after only five years. The bags under his eyes were still there, deeper. His hairline had receded a little too. He supposed he was the same. War had taken its toll on both of them.
“Whatever you think of me, Dean, I promise you that not a day went by when I didn’t think of you.” Castiel spoke firmly. “I’d have done anything to contact you before now, but it just wasn’t an option. The way I see it, we have two options. I can walk out of here in handcuffs, or you can come with me, far away from here.”
Dean looked at him, his heart thudding in his chest. “And If I chose to come with you?”
“I can’t promise you anything.” Castiel told him. He had to be honest, and Dean appreciated that. “But I fell in love with you once in a diner not too far from here. And I think you loved me too, at least enough to give me a head start. I still feel the same.”
Dean met his eyes. “As do I.” He admitted, moving closer and cupping a hand to Castiel’s face.
“I need you to think this through, Dean, because there’s no changing your mind this time. Are you willing to do this? For the man that once betrayed your country, made you defect by letting him escape?” Castiel urged.
Dean shook his head. “No. But for the man who came back for me? Anything.”
Their lips met, and in that moment, in that time, there was nothing between them. No war, no loyalties. Just love.