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For the past few months, every morning has been about the same. Dean wakes up from dreams of fire and blood, feeling like he hasn’t slept at all, and there’s a question in the back of his mind. Should I say yes? That question is the first thing in his mind, like a demented repeat of hell, only this time he doesn’t get to blame any external forces. And the answer is always no. There’s something in him, some spark of resistance, a wall in his mind that’s preventing him from doing it. So he gets up and drags himself through the day, a free man still.
And over time, that wall gets thinner and thinner.
Until one day, he wakes up in his and Sam’s motel room in Blue Earth, Minnesota and it’s gone completely. Some generic flashback of hell, knives or hot wax or something - opens his eyes - he feels bone tired. Say yes to Michael?
There’s nothing holding him back. He can’t think of any reason left to say no.
Technically, he knows they exist. The world will burn. Sam will feel like he has to say yes. But Dean can’t get himself to believe any of those reasons, or sympathize with them. He’s tired. They’re all tired, the universe is against them, even Cas has given up, and if he says yes, everyone’s just going to go to heaven anyway. Live in some eternal trip flashback of all their best memories; it won’t be real, but he won’t have to feel the way he does.
Why not?
There’s something about the realization that almost…energizes him, for the first time in months. It doesn’t feel like dragging his feet to get out of bed that morning. To keep investigating that situation with this Lutheran Militia, see what’s going on. He doesn’t give a shit about any of it. But he knows what he’s going to do.
He’ll have to be careful, though; Sam’s watching him like a hawk, and Dean hasn’t exactly tried to hide how apathetic he feels about everything. Then Cas shows up, which makes everything more complicated; particularly because Cas is very drunk, and pretty human. Another thing on the list that Dean can’t do anything about. Not anymore. He fucked Cas up forever, although maybe even that wouldn’t have mattered in the end. Could a normal powered up angel even do anything to stop the apocalypse? No way to know.
Either way, though, he’ll have to trick Cas now, too. He’ll have to act normal. Make both of them think he’s not gonna do anything.
He has to go through the motions, and not look like he’s going through the motions, as he has lately. He can throw himself into this, killing the whore of Babylon. They have to save the town. Dean can pretend he cares about saving the town. Then, he’ll have to figure out a way to split from both Sam and Cas, at the end of the night. He’ll write everyone letters good-bye, to explain everything, and then he’ll do it.
At the end of the night, he’ll say yes.
But until that happens -
Dean hasn’t been good at being a person lately, but he tries. They send Cas to get the pastor, and explain to him what’s going on, and what’s going on just seems like another nail in the coffin for their cause. The whore of Babylon is dragging people to hell by making them kill in the name of heaven. Lucifer rose, they couldn’t stop it -
Dean shuts off his train of thought by going to sit with Cas outside.
The angel - and the word is more ironic here than ever - is sitting with his head in his hands. Probably nursing one hell of a hangover. He looks more miserable than Dean’s ever seen him, and Dean doesn’t know how to deal with the feelings it all stirs up. Cas went drinking because he knows what they’ve been trying to tell him, which is that God doesn’t care; but that’s exactly what he did in that future universe, isn’t it? Turned to substance abuse once he was disconnected from heaven.
Maybe they’re on their way there, after all.
Dean shouldn’t be encouraging this human behavior. He knows he shouldn’t. But he can’t help joining him anyway, tossing him the bottle of painkillers.
“I’ve been there,” Dean can’t help telling him. He’s not gonna be around, mentally, for very long after this. Maybe he can help Cas one more time, give him some advice he can hold onto after Dean’s gone. “I’m a big expert on deadbeat dads. So…” He kicks at a rock. “I get it.”
He remembers the night before he went to get Sam from Stanford. Curled up in a shitty motel bathroom, empty bottle of whiskey cradled between his knees as he called his dad again and again. Listening to his dad’s voice telling him to call himself for the tenth time in an hour was what finally broke him, and he spewed out vomit and tears into the cracked porcelain of the toilet.
Cas looks up, and there’s that something in his eyes that makes Dean want to look away. Vulnerable now, which is different, but as always there’s this sense that he completely understands Dean, inside and out.
“How do you manage it?” Cas asks him.
How does he? Dean doesn’t think he’s ever managed it. He just went and got Sam so he had something else to do, something else to live for, and then Dad died for real and Sam died and Dean sold his soul, and now they’re in the apocalypse. He knows he’s to blame for that, but after everything maybe he really could just blame his dad.
“On a good day, you get to kill a whore,” Dean says, despite the fact that he’s been a whore before, in a past life. Oh, well. It was decades ago by now, to him.
In return, Cas gives him what could almost be called a smile.
It lances to the core of Dean’s pitiful and ineffective heart, a well-placed arrow. He’s gonna say yes to Michael. Cas has no idea. Cas is gonna be…well, Dean has no idea how to judge what the angel actually fucking cares about, but he’s pretty sure he cares about that.
Dean’s gonna make sure Cas is okay, he decides. The angels are going to hate that, but he won’t say yes otherwise. He says yes, only if they never kill Cas. Conditional. The angels will have no choice but to accept it. Cas will be fine.
He thinks about Cas for a while, after that, even as they go out to kill Leah. He already has plans to drop in and see Lisa, just to say goodbye, to promise her her safety as well; he owes her, and he especially owes Ben. But Cas is the person he maybe feels the worst for. He wishes he could’ve been strong enough to keep saying no, but heaven would’ve just kept pushing them. He ruined the angel’s whole existence, and if he’s gonna say yes, then he owes him some last time. He would offer sex, but he doesn’t think angels are interested in that. (He hopes Cas isn’t interested in it, not the way his future self was.) Still, he’ll have to do something, when this is all said and done. Give Cas one last good-bye, even though he’ll have to pretend it’s not a good-bye.
Cas still looks miserable, even after everything, even after Dean kills Leah with a stake to the heart, and sure, that’s gonna be great at convincing everybody he’s not about to say yes, but he can’t do anything about it. He distracts himself by focusing on Cas. Why does he still look so miserable? Maybe the painkillers haven’t kicked in; maybe they’re not gonna do anything for him. Dean should make sure he’s gonna be okay.
“Hey,” Sam grabs his arm as he’s about to walk out. “How were you able to kill Leah?”
Great. Dean had hoped they weren’t going to get into this. He knows exactly why: she can only be killed by a true servant of heaven, which he is now that he’s decided to say yes. But -
“Just got lucky,” he says with his best nonchalant shrug. “Hey, everything’s done. What are you worried about?”
Sam narrows his eyes. “You’re not thinking of doing anything stupid, are you?”
Dean feels his heart pound faster. He has to get out of this without any suspicion, he just has to. “Like what?”
“Michael stupid,” Sam says evenly.
“Give me a break, man,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You really think I’m that much of an idiot?”
Sam stares at him for another second before he shrugs. He’s bought it - for now. “I’m gonna help Pastor Gideon, here. He needs a hospital.”
“Yeah, course,” Dean says. “Just make sure they don't see you, or anything."
"No shit," Sam says with a laugh.
"I’ll get Cas back to the hotel," Dean says. "Meet me there, alright?”
He has no intention of meeting Sam there, but saying it seems to do the trick. Sam nods and puts an arm around Pastor Gideon's shoulders.
Then Dean’s free. Cas could probably fly them, but he takes the keys anyway. He’ll head out before Sam can hitch a ride back; he doesn’t know how much time he has, but Sam’s volunteered himself for church clean up duty, it seems. Dean has an hour. Maybe. He’ll have to take off before Sam gets back.
He doesn’t have much time.
Cas seems to be pretty okay at this point, but he’s quiet. Dean gets that; he’s been pretty shut down himself, lately. But he doesn’t know how to explain what a difference it makes now that Cas has joined him in his apathy. Does that mean Cas’ faith in God kept him going the whole time? That would be ironic. All Dean wanted was to convince Cas that God wasn’t listening so they could get focused on an actual solution, but all the solutions they’ve tried have amounted to nothing.
“Come on,” he says, and touches Cas’ elbow lightly. Cas allows himself to be moved - he could easily resist, he’s still a hundred times stronger than Dean - and they cross over to the main bed. Cas’ expression looks as dull and dead as it did before, when he learned God had decided not to help them.
“Dean, I’m fine,” Cas says quietly, and Dean lets go of him; they’ve reached the bed anyway. Cas sits down, and then Dean doesn’t know what to do. He only has a good thirty minutes; he can’t cut it close.
Will Cas even care, though? As apathetic as he is? If he knew what Dean was going to do -
Dean can’t tell him. He can’t let on what he’s planning, just in case.
There’s something in the back of his throat; something sickening there, in his throat, in the pit of his stomach, like his body doesn’t like something he ate. And that’s not even possible, because he hasn’t eaten for…hours, really. That’s a shame; he won’t have to eat after this. Angels don’t need to. He should have at least tried to grab a burger, or something. One last hurrah.
But even now, as he thinks about it, he doesn’t want one.
Maybe he’ll stop on the way to Lisa’s. Find some gas station, refuel, grab a cheeseburger. Go through the old routine, one last time.
For now, he doesn’t know what to give Cas that will help him; again, he thinks about sex, but even if Cas wanted it, Dean’s not sure he would have anything to give. He hasn’t had sex with anyone since Anna, a year and a half ago.
But he doesn’t want the angel to be alone, he knows that much. Legs as heavy as lead, he crosses over to the other side of the bed and sits down.
“You need anything?” he offers. “Glass of water, more painkillers -”
“I said no,” Cas says quietly, but he doesn’t sound angry. “Thank you, for…trying to help me. I just didn’t know what to do.”
“Yeah, it’s -” Dean looks straight ahead, at the old TV. The rumpled motel bedspread. He’s gotta remember all this, take it in. This is his childhood right here, his home; an endless string of unknown motel rooms. Years ago, he would’ve shared a bed like this with Sam. Now, he’s here with Cas. “It’s fucked, man. I’m sorry.”
“I just don’t understand,” Cas says, and now he sounds more animated, if only because he’s distressed. Dean is drawn to look over at him, away from the Dean Winchester Farewell Tour. There’s something manic behind Cas’ expression. “I don’t understand why he would bring me back, why he would - give me hope like that, only to turn his back on me. On all of us. Doesn’t he care? Doesn’t he want to stop all this death and destruction from happening? I thought - I thought he loved everything down here. I thought he loved humanity - I thought he loved me. Was I not enough for him?”
Dean used to think those words, am I not enough, more times than he can count.
And beyond that, does Cas think Dean has the answers here? Dean feels something tight in his chest; he doesn’t like seeing Cas upset.
“I don’t - I don’t know,” he says, a little frantic himself. “But it’s gonna be okay, alright? It’s just been us from the beginning. We can do it.”
He doesn’t believe a word he’s saying, but it seems to help Cas, just a little. A corner of his mouth tilts up sadly, and Dean is drawn by an intense desire to kiss it, all of a sudden; to help him feel better, maybe, to make him feel not so alone.
Then he thinks about it. What, exactly, is stopping him? He’s about to say yes to Michael. He’ll never see Cas again.
Making a decision, Dean goes for it; it’s very chaste. He just closes the distance between them and touches his lips to the corner of Cas’ mouth, not even a real kiss, he thinks.
When he pulls back, though, Cas is staring at him in wonder. It’s the most hopeful Dean has seen him since they returned from heaven.
“Why did you do that?” he asks.
Dean shrugs. “Looked like you needed it.”
Cas doesn’t make a move to kiss him back; maybe he doesn’t know how to. His smile grows, though, becomes a little less sad. They just look at each other for a while -
Until it becomes too much for Dean, having Cas look at him like that, like he’s the best thing the angel’s ever seen, like sitting next to him can fix everything. Dean can’t, that’s why he’s about to say yes, but he can’t say that to Cas.
What’s Cas gonna say, when he finds out? Dean thought a few moments ago that maybe Cas wouldn’t care, but that’s obviously not true. Dean himself gives him faith.
And that’s why he has to say yes. That’s not gonna work out for them. Still -
“Here,” Dean says, and he’s not sure what possesses him to say this. “Why don’t you lie down? Just -” He starts tugging on Cas’ shoulder, pulling him down. “Just right here.”
Cas looks confused, but he lets himself be moved until his head rests in Dean’s lap, across the middle of his thighs. A look of happy surprise crosses his face.
“This…okay?” Dean ventures.
Cas’ head turns out toward the TV, so Dean can’t entirely see his expression. “More than okay.”
Dean glances at the clock. It’s been forty minutes since they got to the motel. Twenty minutes. He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat, and doesn’t entirely succeed.
He doesn’t know how Cas will react to this, but he hasn’t had a negative reaction to the rest so far. Dean can reasonably assume that Cas was more than okay with the kiss, so he probably liked it. And he likes this. So -
Trying to will his hand to stop shaking, Dean puts it on the crown of Cas’ head. It feels forbidden, touching him like this. Cas gives a start, probably unfamiliar with the sensation, but relaxes as Dean’s fingers move in his hair. It’s luxuriating, to do this for him; and horrible, because it feels like a mockery. Dean could’ve had this with Cas, maybe, if the apocalypse wasn’t a problem, but now he never will.
I’m sorry, he thinks, I’m sorry, Cas.
“Dean -” Cas turns over, briefly disturbing Dean’s hand in his hair. “What are you sorry about?”
Dean stills. That didn’t register as a prayer…right? He has no idea.
He swallows. “I - just, what you’re going through. I dunno.”
“Oh.” Cas looks away, at nothing, for a few seconds. “You don’t have to be sorry.” He frowns. “You don’t have to…do this for me, either.”
Well, I’m never going to again, Dean thinks, making sure not to aim his thoughts at Cas this time.
“I want to,” he says. “It’s like…before. You look like you need it.”
“Is this a thing -” Cas pauses, like he’s thinking about it. “Is this a thing humans do for each other?”
Yes. The last time Dean’s seen it was in a small house in Lawrence, a living room that had peeling wallpaper. He has a distinct memory of his mom doing this for his dad, and he remembers feeling curious. He didn’t understand it. But he knew they both looked happy. He must have been around three, because he doesn’t think his mom looked visibly pregnant, but he might have been too young to notice it, too.
“Y-yeah,” he says, stuttering over the word.
“Alright.” Cas closes his eyes, and Dean’s fingers tentatively start stroking through his hair again, moving dark locks away from his forehead. “It feels nice.”
The nausea is back in the pit of Dean’s stomach, and this time it feels almost unmanageable. How can he do this to them? To Sam and Bobby, of course, but especially to Cas? If Dean’s restored his faith now…the angel’s going to be more than heartbroken when he finds out.
He’ll have to be okay with it, Dean tells himself stubbornly, because this is how he makes sure nothing happens to Cas. He won’t die. He’ll be okay.
He just…won’t have Dean to give his faith to every day, and that’s how it should be. That’s why they’re in this mess in the first place; Cas saw him in hell and liked him, for whatever reason, Dean challenged him on his faith to heaven, and now they’re here. So Dean’s got to go away and stop ruining everything.
Cas won’t understand it. It’s for the best, and he doesn’t understand it, but - but -
Maybe this can be enough. He’ll understand later; he’ll know why Dean gave this to him, just so he could have something.
He doesn’t know why his fingers aren’t shaking, on Cas’ head; doesn’t know why Cas isn’t picking up on the fine tremor possessing his joints. He wills himself to be okay, just for - he looks at the clock - shit. Five minutes.
They only have five minutes.
He looks down at Cas’ face; he’ll never forget the first time he saw him, in that barn. When he was so afraid of everything; when he was dragged out of hell, his body an uncomfortable suit he’d been forced back into, itchy and too tight, when he was looking over his shoulder for signs that this was one of hell’s elaborate tricks. He almost can’t fathom what his life had been like before Castiel existed. Obviously, he’d experienced it; it had been him and Sam against the world, which was great, but even when Cas was a terrifying figure, there was something about him that made Dean feel like he didn’t have to do anything. That Cas could just will whatever he wanted into Dean’s life, and Dean would have to deal with it. And over time, Cas got less terrifying, and more just…unavoidable. Immutable.
For the first time in his life, Dean had something to believe in.
And now he has that immutable being’s head in his lap, and Dean is having to comfort him. It’s not something he minds, at all; it’s just an eternal reminder of the way he ruined Cas.
All the same. He’s gonna miss him.
There’s something thick behind his eyes now, in the back of his head; something is burning. Dean can’t - it’s too much. He only has two minutes, anyway. He has to go.
He allows himself one more stroke over Cas’ forehead, one more movement of his fingers. Tries to will his hands to remember it, even though he knows they won’t, once Michael takes over.
Bye, Cas, he thinks, and hopes the burning behind his eyes doesn’t spill over. Sorry I wasn’t enough.
Then he lifts Cas’ head off his lap; Cas moves easily, pulls himself upright once he gets the sense it’s over.
“Are you tired?” Cas asks, hand on Dean’s shoulder the second he’s sitting up.
Don’t touch me, Dean wants to beg, everything in him focused on the point where Cas’ fingers are connected to him. Don’t tempt me to stay.
“No, I just -” Dean gestures at the door. “Left some food in the car, I’m just gonna bring it in.”
“Oh.” Cas settles back. He doesn’t exactly smile, but he does give Dean this soft look that tears at his heart. “Alright.”
Dean makes himself look away, then; he levers himself off the bed, puts his boots on, and walks to the door. He can’t help one last glance back at Cas; he’s already risking everything, looking at him. Cas is going to suspect something.
But Cas just keeps looking at him softly, like he sees to the core of him.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Dean says, forcing a laugh as he grabs the hotel key. “Don’t worry, man. I’ll be right back.”
Then he walks out the door.
Dean half expects Sam to be waiting for him when he gets outside, but luck is on his side. It’s just the car - and whatever’s in his own head willing him to go back. Still, he urges his feet forward. Unlocks the Impala, gets into the driver’s seat.
He sits there for a second, with the keys in the ignition. There’s food in the backseat, McDonald’s from earlier. He could still grab it and walk inside, just like Cas is expecting. Maybe there would be a movie on the motel television. It would be pretty nice. They could kiss again, for real this time. Maybe do something else. Maybe he’d put Cas’ head back in his lap and touch him again. Maybe Cas would touch him. They’d go to sleep, curled around each other, and if Sam saw and he gave a shit, Dean would tell him to fuck off. Maybe Sam would laugh.
But then they’d wake up tomorrow, and Lucifer or Michael would drag up something else to ruin their lives. The horsemen they haven’t found yet would win. They’d face another loss, more people would die.
Dean can’t keep selfishly holding onto these nights forever. Even if he wants to.
It’s that thought that makes him turn the keys and start the car; and the flash of the headlights illuminate Sam, walking around the corner from the church.
Dean stares, a deer caught in the headlights, almost literally.
Sam has a bag of something in his hand. He drops it, shocked.
Then Dean launches into action; he backs the car up so fast he almost hits a tree. Recognition flashes through Sam’s eyes.
“No!” he shouts, sprinting forward. “Dean, wait!”
But Dean’s already spinning the car around. He tears down the street and leaves Sam in the rearview mirror, with his arms outstretched.