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Oddly enough, after six weeks left to himself, Sam wants nothing more than to vanish into his room and lock the door. Maybe it’s like turning on a bright light right after you wake up: it’s normally exactly the brightness you need to see, but in the moment, it’s too much. Having to endure Mary’s worried chatter is one thing. Having to deal with the heavy glances Dean and Cas keep half exchanging—one looking while the other isn’t and then vice versa—is another. It’s all too much to process at once for his poor brain. When his internal clock hits nine and the lights don’t go out, reality goes sideways for a moment.
“Sam?” Mary asks quietly, but Sam can’t respond for a moment. He’s too busy trying to convince himself that this is all real. He has dirt underneath his fingernails from clawing his way through the woods with Dean. There’s a bruise forming underneath his left ribcage from one of the soldiers throwing an elbow before he’d managed to subdue him.
“I’m fine. I think I’m going to call it a night.”
And then, before anyone can try to call him back, he darts off to his room.
What he really wants is a shower—running through the woods for several hours hadn’t exactly helped the smell situation—he doesn’t want to have to go back out there again. They’re all well-meaning, but right now, he needs a few minutes to himself to think through everything that just happened. It’s like going swimming. Dean is the kind of person who jumps straight into the icy cold water without acclimating himself. He’ll be chatting up a storm by tomorrow afternoon. Sam has to wade in, one step at a time. The car ride was too much like a cannonball for his liking.
He doesn’t turn out the light, though. As much as his body is rebelling at the sight of something so unnatural to him after several weeks of routine, he fights the thoughts back. He can wade at least this far tonight.
It’s only about fifteen minutes before his door opens. To his surprise, it’s not Dean, holding a beer and urging him to join them for a late dinner. Nor is it Cas with a halfway smile, blaming himself for the last few weeks. It’s Mary.
Sam sits up. “Hey.’
She looks as if she regrets opening the door. The thing is, Sam can’t help but think she looks young. Hopelessly so. And maybe that’s his hundred something soul or his thirty something body talking, but it’s true. She is young.
“I wanted to ask you something. But if you want to just get some sleep, I—”
“It’s okay. Really.”
It’s weird; at the moment, she feels a little more like a younger sister than a mother. Sam pats the place beside him on the bed. Mary walks over just as hesitantly and haltingly as she had stood in the in the doorway.
“Dean said it was worse than Hell. Has he—I mean—has he gone? To Hell, I mean.”
Sam freezes. But she’s looking at him so earnestly that he has to answer. “We, um. We both have.”
As soon as Mom has vanished around the corner, the words that have been bubbling up in Dean’s throat since the conversation with Billie burst forth. “What were you thinking?”
He almost feels bad about the small flinch from Cas that the outburst earns him, but not bad enough to stop. They were finally ready to own up to the consequences of the universe, and Cas has ruined it.
“What?”
Cas looks a little like a dog after it knows it’s done something wrong, but doesn’t understand why the owner is yelling at it. Dean huffs, frustrated. He wants a fight, not Cas cowering with his tail between his legs.
“Did the words ‘big consequences’ mean anything to you?”
They’ve broken the world so many times. And on Dean’s behalf, too. He doesn’t need this. He doesn’t need it to be for his sake again. Amara had been enough. Only pure luck and the weirdest form of deus ex machina that Dean has ever experienced in his life had saved them that time.
Again, Cas refuses to look at him. He sinks into the chair nearest to him, folds his hands, and stares down at them. Part of Dean wants to stamp his foot and demand that he defend himself.
“I thought we weren’t going to do this anymore! This going around in circles, screwing the world to save each other.”
“You never consulted me on that decision,” Cas replies coolly.
Dean thinks back to the screaming matches that periodically erupted between Sam and Dad. Back then, he’d always been the mediator, trying desperately to get them both to stand down. Now, all he wants is to raise his voice and get a response. He can’t explain it—must be something about being cooped up for so long. He feels explosive.
“Yeah, well—you should have been able to figure that out.”
Still, nothing. Cas flexes one hand convulsively, but still doesn’t respond.
“And dragging Mom into it—”
“She’s a hunter, too, Dean.”
There’s something about the way Cas says his name like it’s a prayer, like it means everything, that makes him snap.
“I’m not worth that! Not worth yanking Mom back into this—this messed up thing we call a life! Not worth upending the entire world for the thousandth time!”
By the time the tirade is over, his chest is heaving like he’s followed Sam on one of his ridiculous runs. Of all things, that’s finally what earns him a response.
“Of course you are.”
Cas’s voice is measured, quiet, contemplating. He looks more like the rock of granite Dean met eight years ago than he has in months.
“What could possibly make you say that?” Dean snaps.
From the expression on Cas’s face, it’s like the words are being dragged one by one out of his mouth.
“I love you.”
Mary gapes at him. “Wh—wait. What?”
She’d been expecting for Sam to shake his head and laugh, say something about how Dean had obviously been hyperbolic. Not this. Sam’s mouth twists.
“Yeah. I never worked out how long it was but it—it was a while.”
This time, tears really do well up in Mary’s eyes. She’s not sure if they’re from sadness, or just pure frustration at the thought that she wasn’t there to protect them. To her shock, Sam reaches over and places an arm around her shoulders.
“You shouldn’t be the one comforting me!” she says, pulling back. When she sees the look on his face, she ducks back underneath his arm. “How did you…you know…”
And Sam explains. The apocalypse, the vessels, the rings. She’s heard the story before, of course. The little that the boys have told her, plus what she’s gathered from other hunters over the last few months. What she doesn’t know is what followed.
“So I jumped.”
Mary realizes too late that she has an almost bruising grip on her son’s hand. She pulls free, muttering an apology and flexing her sore fingers.
“So…the same Lucifer that was wandering around this bunker had you down there for…centuries?”
Something in Sam’s jaw twitches. “Yeah, but—”
“There’s no ‘but’ about it! Why the hell didn’t God do something?”
It’s a miracle that he’s here. That he’s gentle, that he knows how to give her just enough space to breathe, that he isn’t shattering to pieces in her arms.
“We had more important things to worry about.”
Her throat goes tight. Mary wants nothing more in the world than to hold her baby again and tell him that everything is going to be okay, but all she has is this adult stranger, so she wraps her arms around his chest.
“Nothing could possibly be more important than you.”
He’s trembling, Mary realizes, so she pulls him closer. He tucks his face in his hair like Mary imagines he might have after scraping his knee riding his bike with his big brother. Her heart breaks a little more at the thought of all the time they’ve missed.
“It’s over,” Sam says at last, pulling back a little. “He’s gone. He’s not ever coming back.”
Mary doesn’t point out that, with their luck, the little egg trick of the British Men of Letters didn’t work. Instead, she smiles at him, a little watery.
“I know you wanted to be alone, but I had a question about the card catalog you were putting together?”
He knows it’s a ploy to drag him out of the darkness of his room, Mary can tell, but he goes along with it anyway, a small smile on his face.
“Yeah. It’s not that hard, really, but the trick is learning how to navigate it. I didn’t want any bad guys getting their hands on our library.”
Cas instantly wants to shove the words back in his mouth for a better time—like when one of them hasn’t just been liberated from solitary confinement, for instance—but since he can’t do that, he squares his shoulders.
“Love?” Dean looks as if he’s never heard the word before in his life. “You mean—”
“Love, and love. Like I do Sam. And then—another way.”
Dean’s arms hang limply at his sides, the hands that had been tightening into fists slowly uncurling. Cas wonders if the words have hit him yet, or if he’s still stuck on the first one.
“I don’t—”
“We can put the world back together. We’ve done that before. But I couldn’t rescue you.”
Dean lets out a choked little noise that might be a protest. Cas just shakes his head. Of course he doesn’t feel the same way. Why would he? Cas has been a useful tool these last few years, but in the end, that’s all he is.
His nose, of all things, begins to tingle. Is this what crying feels like? “I understand that you’re angry, but—”
“Confused,” Dean corrects. “I don’t understand how you could—Cas—”
This hug is nothing like the others, Cas reflects. This time, Dean allows himself to tuck his nose into his neck. Cas tentatively laces his fingers so they won’t be separated too easily.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Dean pulls back just far enough to look him in the face. “No, Cas. I’m sorry. For everything.”
Then, he shakes his head. Cas’s gut wrenches, and when he keeps going, the sick feeling grows.
“That’s not really an apology. I’m sorry that you don’t think you’re worth an apology. I’m sorry that I don’t—”
“You don’t have to say it.”
He doesn’t need to hear that Dean doesn’t feel the same way. He doesn’t need to be told to leave again. He can do that on his own. Cas releases him and takes a step back. Dean just stares at him, bewildered.
“Yes I do. I’m sorry that I don’t know how to do this. Say it, I mean. That I—the same thing.”
Cas tilts his head to the side and considers him. Somewhere inside him, the human part wins out and his heart beats faster.
“I love you too. Love and love.”
His nose prickles again, but for a different reason this time. Dean takes a stuttering step forward and presses a soft kiss to his lips. Just a brush, but it’s enough. Dean offers him a crooked smile.
“You’re worth it, too, Cas.”
And he laces his fingers with Cas’s as if it’s the most natural thing in the world and leads him towards the kitchen, already talking about the first home-cooked meal he wants to eat.