Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dean is quiet on the drive back to the bunker. Not for the lack of things to say but enjoying a peace that settled deep in him all the way into Baby’s bones. Cas coming back was like restoring water to the ocean and Dean breathes in that crisp air like a dying man.

So, he let himself be silent and feel it. Billy Joule was singing on the radio, the engine rumbled under him in companionship. The leather on the steering wheel was silk on his skin. It has been weeks since Baby fit right. After watching Cas die, he was worse off than broken. The light from Cas’ eyes grew before letting go for good and Dean was nothing, fading as the light blew out. He didn’t mean to, but Dean let go a little too much, let Cas take every part of him the angel ever touched. Dean couldn’t feel sorry for it, not when Dean… not when his best and worst years have been with Cas. He didn’t regret a thing, but damn if it didn’t fuck him up.

He forgot who he was, what he fought for. How to believe.

And it’s not like it was all Cas, with Mom in apocalypse world and Jack just being a kid and already Jack has had his fair share of violence.

Not that it’s his fault. Dean never blamed Jack for any of it. He took one look at that kid and thought That’s Cas’ kid holy shit. Because holy shit it was in the eyes and head tilts and the curiosity for humanity, and then Jack said so himself. Lucifer might be his blood but besides the power, that blood is bullshit to who he really is.

So ya, Cas’ kid had already used his hands as weapons and his mom is gone, Kelly had died, and the world just keeps ending and Dean didn’t remember why he doesn’t let it. If it wasn’t for his family, he might have gone to bed and screw whatever happened outside his door.

Cas being back doesn’t bring back everything they’ve lost, everything they still need to fight, but it made things a hell of a lot better than they were. Cas has always made the pain more barrable and he gave Dean something he hadn’t had since he was four years old. Hope.

As Sam sleeps with his head on a bundled jacket against the passenger’s seat and Cas looks at Dean in the review mirror, Dean looks back at him and he sees the light of his life. He never plans on letting go of it without being taken too.

Jack was overwhelmingly ecstatic, and that’s putting it mildly. The four of them sat there, beer in hand, coke for Jake, and talked loud and happily. Like the walls weren’t closing in as tight and the room is big enough for joy.

“What was it like there?” Sam asks, leaning forward onto the table, beer loosely in hand. “The Empty, I mean.”

Cas, who is sitting on Dean’s left, looks down at the hands in his lap, tilting his head in thought. “It was nothing, quite literally empty. All angels and demons come to sleep for eternity.” Cas fidgets with his hands and Dean’s stomach tightness. His hand tingles close to Cas’. He casually gets closer, wanting to feel how real the angel is.

Dean thought back at all the nothing he has been left with. Nothing but drink. Nothing but work. Nothing but dead bodies. Nothing but kill. This true emptiness though, nothing to distract from the nothingness, it was worse.

“Until I woke up. The Empty was very surprised, apparently that has never happened before. They tried to put me back to sleep and when they couldn’t… Now here I am.”

“Right where you belong,” Dean squeezes Cas’ shoulder as a substitute for taking his hand, “and we’re not ever going to let you go back there Cas.” He doesn’t let go, a little scared and a lot pissed at this fucking Empty.

Cas looks over at him. “I don’t think you can stop death Dean.”

“Watch me. I’ve killed death once I’ll do it again.”

“You’ve what!” Jack’s head pops up from where he was resting it on his hand. He looks as confused as he sounds.

Dean holds Cas’ gaze a bit longer, green on blue, trying to convey how much he means it, before dropping his shoulder and telling Jack all about Death 1.0.

Eventually the group (minus Cas) break out into yawns. Sam waves them goodnight and grabs the empty beer bottles to throw away before heading to bed. Jack buzzes as he tells Cas about his new Star Wars poster hung neatly above his bed (likely the first of many) and drags Cas to show off his room.

Dean stays seated, watching Cas leave, his heart twisting, legs resisting going after him. Which is ridiculous, Cas doesn’t need a babysitter. He’s an angel for fucks sake! Cas won’t suddenly drop dead. 

Except that’s what the son of a bitch did. Dean closes his eyes tight enough to snip the image of Cas being stabbed through the heart.

But masochist his brain is, he sees Cas, waltzing into a reservoir, covered in black ooze instead. His arms embracing the life he was leaving behind. He sees Lucifer snap his fingers and Cas becoming red dust in the wind. He sees himself holding onto Cas in purgatory, begging him to do the same. Only for Cas to let go and leave him again.

He is kneeling over Cas’ died body knowing this is it, he is not coming back. Unclear whether he means himself or the angel. Yet he can’t get up. Not when his brother leaves or when the sky goes dark. No, he is stuck inside those faded eyes. Always fading.

Nothing.

Dean isn’t aware that he has dropped to his knees until Cas is there next to him, holding both his forearms tight.

“Dean?! Dean! You must breathe Dean. Come on breathe in with me.”

Dean’s lungs are on fire. He tries to mimic Cas into breathing in. He watches his chest grow up and drop back down but can’t seem to do the same. Air is coming in short intervals and it’s getting harder and harder to think.

What is Dean doing on the floor with Cas? Is Cas ok? Dean searches for Cas’ eyes and meets panic. Shit why is he so worried? Something’s wrong again isn’t it? something’s wrong, something…

“Cas- Cas I can’t-” He gulps in another breath.

“It’s ok Dean. It’s going to be ok.” Cas sounds fuzzy, he looks fuzzy too. Dean wished he was fizzy, but no, everything in him screams. Random shots of pian down his arms and legs and something telling him that everything is wrong. It feels wrong and Dean doesn’t know how to fix it.

“Dean, listen to me, I have done a full assessment, nothing is physically wrong with you. I think you’re having a panic attack.” Huh. That sounds familiar. Right, Dean used to get them all the time as a kid. After Mom died. God, she could be died again, probably is, probably why he’s so afraid.

What did he used to do? He can’t remember. It’s hard to remember anything except wrong, wrong, wrong.

The pressure on his arm leaves and Dean groans at the loss. God, it happened again. What happened? Where is he? On the ground, but Cas was there. Cas is supposed to be here, but no, it happened again. Dean screwed it up and Cas left. Dean can’t do this anymore, it’s too much and his body is screaming, and his lungs are on fire.

His mom is screaming. Sammy’s room is on fire.

Everybody leaves him.

He doesn’t know how long has passed, he couldn’t even try to guess, but suddenly there is a burst of feeling in his hands. His hands have gone cold. Good because my lungs are burning. Dean brings his hands up to his chest and the cold spreads there too.

“Dean, I’m right here. May I touch you?” Dean snaps his eyes open, not sure when they closed. He nods, having no idea what Cas just asked for, but too astounded he stayed to care.

Cas scootches closer and pulls his arms around Dean and Dean falls into him like a bee to honey. Cas holds on tighter, maneuvering to allow Dean’s head to fall on his chest and yes, this is better. He can feel Cas now, his life, the ups and downs of his heartbeat. Dean could cry when the tension starts to ebb and his breathing evens out.

They stay like that for a while. Dean brushes the fabric of Cas’ trench coat with his cheek. He listens to Cas’ breath against his hair.

Slowly Dean calms and his mind clears enough to feel wet on his legs. For a horrible moment Dean thinks he peed himself, until he looks down and notices water dripping off his hands and onto his shirt too.

“Cas…” his voice belongs to him again, “Why are my hands wet?”

Cas shifts a little but keeps Dean close.

“Oh, I read that ice can help a person come back during a panic attack, so I put some in your hands.”

“Oh”

Dean’s cheeks and ears heat up, suddenly aware of the situation. Cas just saw Dean, hunter, soldier of hell, Dean Winchester, turn into a hyperventilating puddle on the floor of the Men of Letters bunker.

Dean pushes out of Cas’ arms and gets up way too quick. His knees crack and he stubbles from being lightheaded. “Sorry,” Dean mumbles, putting some distance between them.

Cas gets up gracefully and furrows his brows at Dean. “You did nothing wrong Dean.”

“Right, no, cause you just coddled me in your arms. That’s normal.” The sarcasm falls flat.

“I am your friend, I comforted you like any friend should do.”

Dean forces himself to not go running to his room and avoid Cas for the next few weeks. He sighs, wiping a still wet hand down his face.

He can’t push Cas away anymore. Loosing Cas each time is hell, but this time felt different. The other times Dean would grieve the friend he lost. This time was… more. Since finding the bunker, Sam, Dean, and Cas have made this place their own. For Dean and Cas that means movie nights and Cas discovering he likes soda. (The carbonation feels nice on my throat) The side of the bunker has a great view of the stars. Cas would tell him the different constellations and point out stars he helped create when Dean couldn’t sleep. (Well now you’re just showing off Cas) Dean has a kitchen now to concoct anything he wants. Cas will lean on the aisle and tell Dean which molecules taste the best to him.

The past few years, Cas and Dean have had more little moments in between apocalypses. Those moments Dean has craved for years and always denied for the current big bad.

Always Dean wanted more, more, more. It drove him crazy. It wasn’t until this death, Dean finally allowed himself to feel how big it all is with just the two of them. So much unsaid, so much left to feel. Until it was nothing again. And Dean can’t keep losing him like this, it gets worse every time.

“You can’t keep doing this to me man.” The sudden change in tone turns Cas’ confusion into concern.

“I don’t believe I’m following this conversation well.”

Dean groans inwardly, trying to find words. “You keep coming back and then leaving again. I need to know if you’re here. Really here. To stay.”

Cas gives a small sad smile, “I already told you; I can’t promise that. We live dangerous lives; you know I am no exception.”

“That’s not what I’m taking about Cas! I mean if you will stay here. With me.” Dean leaned against the back of a chair next to him. This day has been exhausting.

“I don’t understand the difference.” Cas shuffles, looking uncertain.

God! Angels.

“The difference! The difference is what you want. Like if you want to look at the stars here or- or-”

“You want to watch the stars?” Cas looks even more lost. He steps closer to Dean as if concerned he is going to drop to the floor again.

“No! Well, yes, maybe some time,” Dean sputters, “But like with me, like are you going to ditch us the first chance you get,” Dean takes a breath, “Do you want to be here with us Cas?” With me.

Dean isn’t sure if Cas understands any of this. The angel has stilled and is standing there staring. Dean lets him for a while before getting antsy under the gaze.

“It’s ok if you don’t.” It’s not, but Dean’s not going to make him. “You’re an angel, hell I get it, we’re not exactly at your level…” Cas now is looking at him like he’s explaining his plan to kill the pope. He takes another gentle shift towards him. “Um, or anything.”

“I want to be anywhere you are Dean. Of course, you are ‘on my level.’” Cas air quotes the last part, because of course he does.

And Dean is so gone on him, because of course he is.

“Oh, awesome. That’s great, I’m glad.” Dean cringes. He should say more, but he’s got no words left. It’s becoming hard to think again.

Cas gets lost in himself before seeming set on something, suddenly closing the distance between them and Dean forces himself to stay still. “What do you want Dean?”

Hasn’t Dean been telling him exactly what he wants? Maybe it got lost along the way, or maybe Cas is fucking with him. Dean eyes Cas, seeming to go through the same process Cas just did.

For once in his life, Dean knows with certainty what he wants, and he is too afraid to lose it not to say it.

Dean leans in to murmur his reply, so they are nose to nose. “You,” He looks up into those deep blue eyes, that look like galaxies and spring nights.

With the one-word Cas falls in the rest of the way.

It is only a brush of the lips, but it sends a shockwave through Dean. Cas’ lips are dry on his, but soft, only a whisper. It feels like a promise. Dean brings his hand to Cas’ chin. He feels the texture of stubble across the pads of his fingers and presses his lips more firmly on Cas.

He knows it’s a promise too.