Chapter Text
They just had to keep going. One foot in front of the other. Head down. Nose clean. It always worked out. In the end. And if it wasn’t working out, then it wasn’t the end.
Right?
Castiel slumped from his exhausted shoulders again, dragged down by The Empty’s oppressive forces. Dean cursed as he scrambled to catch him, coat slipping from his sore hands.
“C’mon, Cas. Get up. We have to keep moving.”
Castiel groaned, head lolling back as Dean tugged at his arms. Fuck. He was hardly conscious. And Dean knew he wasn’t far behind. Soon, they’d be asleep again. Slumbering forever. Completely forgotten. No way Sam and Eileen would betray their promise. Jack meant too much to Sam, too much to all of them. And if he had any sense left, Sam and Eileen had already moved out of the Bunker. They had better. Especially since Dean couldn’t do any of that haunting he’d sworn to do. So they were on their own, again. It was up to him and Castiel to get themselves out of their own mess. At least they were together again.
He found little solace in that fact. As he hunched over Castiel, still trying to pull him back up to his feet, the rancid taste of bile rose into his throat. Regret. He knew that feeling too well. From too much hope. He’d allowed himself way too much hope. But Castiel did that to him. Gave him a reason to hold onto irrational things like that. Gave him a reason to believe in the possibility of miracles.
To believe in himself.
The harder he pulled, the heavier Castiel became. Soon, the ache in his bones overwhelmed him, and Dean collapsed with Castiel draped across his lap. He did his best to cradle him but he was so damn heavy…
Of course he was. He was an angel. Cosmic beings weighed a ton.
Right?
Castiel’s eyes rolled shut, and his chin dropped to his chest.
“Don’t you fall asleep on me, now,” Dean demanded. Castiel stirred but only just. “No—” His voice cracked, and through that fissure burst the flood. All the rage, the pain, the regret surged from him like a tidal wave. And he let it. Nothing mattered anymore. There was nobody there besides Castiel anyway. And it wasn’t like he was conscious enough to witness his moment of weakness.
“You can’t give up now,” Dean sobbed. “Since when do you quit? You beat this place once before, you can do it again. And you got me. I’m here. We always beat the odds.”
Castiel grunted, lingering in that liminal space between asleep and awake. And that broke Dean down to his very soul.
“Son of a bitch,” he choked, “I’m not doing this alone. I lied, I told Sam a dirty rotten lie, I can’t go out like this.” He gasped for air to ramble on. “I take it all back, I want to live, no matter what that life is like. I’d live a thousand lifetimes fighting Heaven and Hell and everything in between if you’re there.” Another heaving sob wracked his shoulders. “If you’re there, then I wanna be there, too. No matter where or when, as long as we’re alive together.” Rapid little breaths shuddered through him. “Cursed or not, Cas. Cursed or not. Even if we never figure it out. Even if the only things we ever share after this are those weird staring contests and invading each other’s personal space and the incidental touches when you heal me. Even if we never feel this close ever again…”
Dean hauled Castiel up in his arms and held him as tightly to his chest as his waning strength allowed. Castiel no longer responded, no agreeable hum, contented sigh, or irritated groan. And Dean simply wept in silence. For how long, he wasn’t sure. Again, time had no power in The Empty. It might have been minutes or months that he sat there with Castiel cradled in his arms, comforted only by the warmth of his slumbering breath on his neck.
Eventually, Dean stilled, and the pain ebbed as numbness crept up his spine. Then The Empty’s unnerving silence pressed in around them. Every attempt to move, to pick up Castiel and himself was met with a resistance the likes of which Dean had never known. Useless muscles screamed in agony with each flex, each struggle. And so he stopped. Stopped trying. Stopped fighting. Stopped caring.
The steady rise and fall of Castiel’s chest told Dean everything he needed to know. Endless tears streamed down his face, but he’d long since gone quiet. He could hardly hold up his own head any longer, let alone cry out. The pain, though. That kept him awake. The pain of knowing he had wasted yet another chance. The pain of losing Castiel. Again. The pain of dying. Again.
You’re giving up .
“What the hell else am I supposed to do?”
Fight. Get back up, get on your feet, and fight.
“Fight what? There’s nothing to fight. It’s over…”
You haven’t even tried. You know everything there is to know about Heaven and Hell and everything in between, you just said it.
“No, I don’t. If I did, we wouldn’t be in this fucked up situation.”
That’s never stopped you before .
“Just quit it.”
No, you’re being a whiny little—
“Seriously, give it a rest.” Dean clung to Castiel’s sleeping body, pulling him impossibly closer. Tearstains dotted his coat, and Dean tried to wipe them away.
Those won’t come out. They never will.
“Please… I’m begging for just a moment of peace. Just one moment of peace as I fall asleep for the last time.” A deep breath rattled through his lungs. “Wasn’t that what I was promised? When I was done?”
For once, that stupid little voice in the back of his stupid little brain listened. And, despite his muttered pleas to Castiel to wake up, to come back to him, that eerie quiet returned. Wholly, it consumed him, and he slipped away. Like water through his fingers, thoughts and feelings and sensations drained, and he floundered, adrift on an endless ocean.
The numbness spread, slowly unraveling him. Even the sensation of Castiel, sleeping so soundly in his arms, abandoned him. His fleeting thoughts pursued, desperate for that feedback, that tangible confirmation of existence. Of being. So fragile, those ambitions shattered into a million tiny pieces out in the great, wide nothing that he had become.
In a final moment lasting a lifetime, Dean Winchester was no more.
But as that moment stretched, daring into infinity, it failed to resist time’s inexorable march. Crackling light burst into existence before him, raining down a shower of sparks. Mind and body reunited, colliding, reacting. Whiskey, musty books, and knowledge filled his nose, permeating oblivion, and Dean gasped, inhaling a breath so sharp, he startled himself awake.
Then, as it was, enlightenment opened his eyes. A long thin line of light rose before him, suspended amidst that vast nothingness of The Empty. It writhed, undulating like a lazy coil of smoke as though it had no other purpose than to soothe those who gazed upon it. But then it pulsed, rolling thunder hammering in his chest again. With each beat, the thread stretched, widening at the middle until an oval of golden light stood before them.
Dean dug deep for the last of his strength, the dredges thinner than ever. He lay Castiel down as he struggled to his hands and knees, then pressed up to his feet. Vertigo threatened to lay him out flat on his back, but Dean steadied himself, hands posted on his thighs. With a few deep, clarifying breaths, he pressed on. He had to. He wasn’t about to waste yet another chance. Hope had never tasted so sweet.
His fingers wrapped around Castiel’s wrist, and Dean pulled as hard as he could. He only had to go three feet. Just three damn feet. Then they would be free, they would be safe.
They would be together.
“C’mon you big baby, we’re so fucking close.”
Warmth enveloped him, and Dean turned back to find his shoulder touching the light. He lifted one foot, stepping over the threshold. Fuck wherever it went, anything was better than The Empty. Yes, even Hell. Because at least there, Rowena would be able to help them. Shit, even if they ended up in the apocalypse universe, he’d take it over this endless nightmare.
But, in a matter of seconds, the effort of dragging Castiel’s unconscious metric-ton cosmic body drained him of whatever resolve he had mustered. His muscles screamed out in protest, and Dean screamed in kind. He had to. Had to get them out, wherever that took them. Had to beat back the ache in his bones, his soul.
Suddenly his hand on Castiel’s wrist began to burn, and his scream cut off, caught in his throat. The sharp sting lancing up his arm sucked the breath right out of his lungs. What could he do? Letting go of Castiel was definitely not an option, but son of a BITCH, it burned! He forced a breath in through his nose, gritted his teeth, then howled. Louder and louder, he screamed as he dragged Castiel’s motionless body.
He gained little ground, inches at best, and that white hot pain shot through him with each and every step. If he let go now, he could never live with himself. Wouldn't make it more than a day knowing he'd had a chance to save them both and he just gave up. Because it was too painful. Because it was too hard. Dean snarled at the thought. No matter what it was, no matter how agonizing or grueling, he always pushed through it. And in that particular moment, at the other end of that trial was freedom and security and most importantly, love.
Love . It felt strange on his tongue. Still. To this day. That thought drew his attention back to Castiel, to his sleeping body stretched out behind him. Love . Castiel loved him. And Dean loved him in kind. But it still felt… foreign. Even though he had said it aloud, had admitted that very real fact—twice—that word still felt foreign to him, like a language he had never learned but was now submersed in.
Good thing he was a quick study.
That thought should have reinvigorated him. And at first, it had. But, just as Dean turned back to the light, his reality shattered. Castiel’s true voice burst from him, dialed all the way up to eleven. Dean howled as he covered one ear with his free hand and turned back to find Castiel convulsing violently, thrashing as though to escape his grasp. And Dean hesitated. The time had come to make a very conscious decision, one with a risk he wasn’t sure he wanted to take. Something terrible was happening to Castiel, and Dean worried it might kill him. He couldn’t live with that. With the fact that his choice had killed the man he loved.
You’re both already dead in The Empty, anyway .
He hated being right all the time.
Dean redoubled his efforts, renewing his grip on Castiel's wrist with a strength born out of desperation, pushing through the scalding pain. It was as if the very essence of Castiel's condition coursed through him and into Dean, searing his flesh and bones. He wanted it to stop, to end, and to do that, he knew he had to let go. But he couldn’t. Even if he was willing to do so, to make that sacrifice and save only himself, he simply could not let Castiel go. And, as he inched ever further into the light, a terrifying truth took shape. He would never be able to let go because he was bound, bonded profoundly, to Castiel.
So Dean had no choice. He understood that then. It was all or nothing. And with that thought, he took one giant step.
He cleared the threshold, then channeled whatever strength he still possessed and heaved with all his might. As he straightened, he cleared the light bodily, and he stood in the library of the Bunker, just in front of the telescope alcove. The fucking Bunker. Of all places… No, shut up, focus, don’t question it you fucking dumbass, just keep going.
The sight of his home inspired him, filling him with more hope than he had any right to feel. One final pull would clear Castiel, too. He knew it. It had to. So he put it all, all his suffering and hatred and joy, into one last heave.
As Castiel’s hand broke the threshold, a force slammed against Dean’s grip as if to crush it. He might as well have punched a brick wall. Broken, every bone in his entire hand had to be broken. His echoing scream summoned racing boots, and in another second, Sam cleared the library steps in one leap, Taurus drawn and ready. But the second he spotted Dean, he tossed the gun on the nearby table and raced to him.
“Pull, Sam, I can’t—I can’t do it, my hand—”
Sam wasted no time on asking questions, leaping into action. As if he were about to hug him, Sam wrapped his arms beneath Dean’s, then pushed with his entire mass, feet driving into the library floor and shoulder into Dean’s chest.
Inch by inch, Dean’s grasp on Castiel’s wrist emerged from the light. He had expected to see his hand on fire, burning with the fury of a thousand suns. But it appeared completely normal, each finger clearing the light as he and Sam continued to dig their boots into the cement. Time slowed to a crawl again, stretched so thin. The burning seared through him, racing through his entire body, scorching every fiber of his being. Dean howled against that incessant agony, his mind, body, and soul consumed by the raging inferno of all the suffering in his life, coalescing to beat him back in that pivotal moment.
And then suddenly, it was gone.
As though it had never existed to begin with, that incinerating pain vanished. So suddenly devoid of any sensations, Dean froze in fear, terrified he had died all over again. But time returned, racing to catch up with them, and the world pitched. The floor raced up to meet them as they launched back, and Castiel catapulted out of the light as though shot from a cannon, shouting. Sam and Dean crashed to the floor, and Castiel landed atop them. Then the portal winked out.
Sam scrambled to his knees first, all the questions he’d held back rushing from him in a single breath. Dean couldn’t hear him, couldn’t see him. How could he? How could anyone expect him to spare even a single brain cell when he had Castiel on top of him. Conscious. Wide-eyed. And both of them so acutely aware of just how few inches kept them apart. All he had to do was pick up his head and his lips would…
Castiel pressed back and lifted his right arm. Dean yet grasped him, much to his surprise. Though there was no pain or burning any longer, his fingers ached from the strain. So he snatched his hand away revealing a bright red handprint, raised and raw, enveloping Castiel’s wrist.
Dean reached for his left shoulder without a single thought to do so. When he realized what he had done, he tore his stare away from the ghastly mark and looked Castiel in the eye. He expected to see his grace flare, brighten those blue eyes, and the brand would vanish.
Don't do it . Please, don't wash this one away.
Castiel tried, that much Dean could tell. And yet, all the cuts and bruises on his face—the wounds weeping crimson, the bright red, blue, and purple blots—persisted. It looked like he had gone a round or two with Sugar Ray Leonard, bare knuckle. And no matter how hard Castiel scowled, no matter how hard he ground his teeth, squeezed his eyes shut, his wounds remained. His eyes popped open, scanning, searching until they landed on Dean again.
When Castiel placed his fingers on his forehead, Dean startled, but again, nothing happened. No icy rush of healing. No familiar stitching back together. Nothing. Nothing, that was, besides Castiel’s warmth. Dean turned into his touch, and Castiel opened to him like a flower to the sun, palm cupping his cheek. And all Dean could do was stare, too stunned to do what his entire body, what every atom of his entire existence screamed out to do.
As though doused by a bucket of ice water, Castiel’s warmth vanished, his hand suddenly ripped away. Dean only just resisted the impulse to cry out, to snatch his wrist again and haul Castiel back down atop him. To feel that connection—that bond—forever. But why he resisted, he had not a clue.
“I suppose it’s never too late for payback…” Castiel said, smiling as he looked back at his wrist.
Dean blinked. Once. Twice. Then he saw the crooked smirk on Castiel’s face as he considered the brand. Dean barked a beat of laughter, then broke into a fit, unable to control it. Tears streamed down his face and he shook, trembling from head to toe as his adrenaline finally gave out. Relief, sweet, sweet relief overwhelmed him and he knew, finally knew, it was over. They were free. They were safe. They were together. It had to be over, dammit.
Sam held out his hand and Castiel took it, rising up to his feet. Together, they helped Dean up and dusted him off while he continued to oscillate between laughter and tears. Neither felt right. Even at the same time, laughing and crying after everything, after all they had suffered, after all they had survived, it didn’t feel like enough. Like he needed a bigger, better way to express all of the things he felt in that moment.
His eyes met Castiel’s, and his laughter—and sobbing—subsided. Dean knew what he wanted. What he needed. And yet…
They just stood there, speechless. Staring at Castiel. He looked good . So damn good, fresh from a fight and coming out the other side a little battered, a little bruised. But alive. That was the important part. They were alive. They had won.
I love you .
He shoved the very clear memory to the back of his mind, focused on Castiel. But then Dean saw in his eyes the one thing he had hoped to avoid forever. He was waiting for Dean to make the first move. After all of that, he still needed Dean to respond. And damn it all to hell, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t bring himself to say the words. Put it out in the universe, make it true. He wanted nothing more than to enjoy the moment without complicating it any further. Couldn’t they just have that? For now?
He had to do something, though. He couldn’t just stand there all awkwardly like a terrified teenager at prom. But he wasn’t about to profess his undying love to Castiel, not right to his face after surviving the most horrific trial he’d ever experienced short of torture in Hell. Which was dumb, he knew that. He had already confessed, not only to himself, but to Sam as he had died, for Christ’s sake. So why not to Castiel, the man he absolutely, unquestionably, undeniably loved and who deserved to hear him say it in return?
Dean opened his mouth only to stumble over the words, still so foreign on his tongue, his lips. So his teeth clicked shut, and, in a hairbrained split decision, Dean decided instead to envelope Castiel in a familiar hug. That embrace, one Dean had come to call home after so many years, felt hollow. Though Castiel returned the gesture, there was something— everything— missing from it. All the parts, the warmth, the clinging, the closeness, all those things that Dean had come to love, were gone. Castiel’s heart was breaking and it sucked the very breath from Dean’s lungs. Stole the words from his lips. The courage from his own heart.
Dean hated himself more in that moment than he had in his entire life.
Coward .
“It’s all over?”
Dean pulled back and held Castiel out at arm’s length. “I… sure as shit hope so.”
A small, restrained smile tugged at Castiel’s lips, and Dean had to tear his eyes away from him. He scanned the library, searching for something to say, to do , to get out of the situation. C’mon, man, get your shit together, it isn’t that big of a deal, just tell him .
But then his eyes landed on Sam, and his brother rushed them, gathering Dean up in a tight hug. That embrace hit him so hard, he froze at first. But then he clung to him, beyond relieved. He’ll figure it out later. He would tell Castiel later, come clean, face to face. For now, it was all he could handle saving himself and Castiel, surviving yet another death.
“What happened?” Sam asked as he let him go. “I saw you… you were…”
“I know,” Dean started. “I died. But I’m back.”
Sam shook his head emphatically. “No, Dean, you didn’t just die. Your… you disappeared. Your entire body, like that,” he said as he snapped his fingers, and Dean flinched. “And now you’re back a week later. With Cas. That means—”
“The Empty,” he interjected. “Yeah, it doesn’t make a lick of sense. Neither did that portal.”
The implications found Sam after a moment. “I’ve seen portals like that before, but for the life of me…” He shook his head again. “Never mind, how did you open it?”
“We didn’t,” Dean said. “It opened right in front of us. I was damn sure that we weren’t going to make it outta there.”
Sam turned back over his shoulder then, eyeing the spot where the portal had been. “So then who—”
“Hello.”
Dean startled back with a shout as Jack appeared. “No… I… just no. Get out.”
Jack merely laughed. “I’m not here for either of you, I promise. I… probably need to move back in.”
Dean blinked, considered Castiel, then Sam, both of whom only shrugged. He looked back at Jack, eyes narrowed in a ridiculous attempt to see through the ruse. When it was clear that Jack wasn’t playing any games, his words finally sank in.
“Wait, what?” he asked.
Jack gestured to the table. “We should probably sit. Might take a while to explain.”
Dean crossed his arms. “I’m fine standing right here. Been sittin’ a good long while in The Empty. But I’m beginning to think you knew that.”
Jack nodded then, remaining where he stood. “I did. And I got you out. Well, me and Amara. And Billie.”
Billie . “Son of a bitch, I knew it. She survived.”
“Yes. But not for a lack of trying on Castiel’s behalf.” Jack’s focused stare flicked to Castiel. “You sent her packing straight back to her library with that little ‘blaze of glory’.”
“But how is she still alive?” Castiel asked. “I… I thought I killed her. And The Shadow.”
“The Shadow, yes. Billie… no,” Jack said. “Billie was mortally wounded, and Death’s library has… protocols to protect them. Upon her return, the library went into lock down to pick up where you left off.”
That explained the key not working. But Dean still had a million questions. “Can you just give it to us straight?”
Jack’s stare flattened as he regarded Dean. “Castiel intended to kill Billie. Instead, he saved her. By burning the grace right out of him, he healed those cuts from her scythe, so graciously donated by you, Dean.”
“Are you…” Dean could hardly keep up. “He…” He turned to Castiel, and the lightbulb damn near exploded. “You fried your grace up? To save me?”
“I had to do something,” Castiel said. “Billie and The Shadow were right there. So I figured I’d… swing for the fences? Yeah. That sounds right.”
The cuts and bruises—t he brand on his wrist —it all made sense. “You’re human.”
Castiel shrugged so casually, Dean almost believed it. “I think so. I wasn’t quite sure at first, after we escaped. But when I couldn’t heal us…” His voice trailed away as he sighed.
Dean turned to Jack. “Well?! Is he?!”
“I’m not entirely sure, either, but I do believe that is the case,” Jack said. “Which explains why The Empty was rejecting the two of you. Or rather, The Empty was consuming reality because humans do not belong in The Empty.”
Dean scowled at that. “How did I end up there?”
“That… is an excellent question,” Jack said. “You were a demon once. And possessed by the angel destined for your vessel, albeit from another universe, for a short time. Could be residual from either of those. Or…” Jack eyed Castiel then. “Something else. A mistake.” He returned to Dean. “Love.” Dean swallowed hard against the oppressive Bunker air. “Vengeance.” Jack shrugged again. “Simple, unrelenting human stubbornness.”
Dean rolled his eyes.
“Alright, fine,” Jack sighed, “It was one of Chuck’s contingencies. To unmake reality. A human in The Empty is a logical fallacy and it causes reality to unravel.”
Contingencies. Would they ever escape Chuck’s manipulation? Dean scanned the library for something to punch. Something to beat the piss out of before he took it out on himself. The only outlet he managed was grinding his teeth so hard, he nearly chipped a molar.
But then Castiel was beside him, close enough that their hands touched, his little finger against Castiel’s index. And he let it. The anger, the frustration, all the pent up emotions washed away with that faintest of connections. Tension oozed from his shoulders, and he simply existed, present in that moment. Because that was all he wanted. To be by Castiel’s side, close enough to feel the small touches whenever he needed them.
Even when Castiel burst his perfect bubble with uppity questions.
“He didn’t anticipate you, as God, helping us escape The Empty?” Castiel asked. “I find that hard to believe.”
“As did those who helped me,” Jack added.
What the fuck did that mean? Dean shook his head and instead, asked a different, more important, question. “What about that stipulation we agreed to? Is Amara gonna come after us now? Send Billie after us to balance the scales? I don’t want to be looking over my shoulder anymore.”
“No, neither of them have any vendetta against you any longer. I made sure of that,” Jack said.
“How?” Sam asked.
“For starters, Billie is healing. Instead of dead,” he began, then turned to Castiel once more. “After what you did to her, Cas, and the power she just spent to bring you and Dean back from the Empty… it’ll be a good long while before she’s in the field again. As in a few millennia.”
Nobody said anything for a minute until Sam asked, “She helped you save them?”
Jack averted his eyes, searching the room as if to find the right words. “I… made a deal. Amara and I. With Billie. We sacrificed our powers. Billie got to ‘reap’ us. And together we used all that power to open that portal.”
“ Reap you?!” Dean shouted. “What do you mean? Are you a ghost—”
“No, not me, personally. God,” Jack clarified. “Billie reaped God from me and The Darkness from Amara. She’s… back in Reno? I think that’s what she said she wanted to do… told me to visit her once in a while, too.”
“So that’s why you need to move back in?” Sam asked.
Jack smiled as he nodded, and the conversation stalled there. And Dean let it. If it meant a little more uncomplicated time beside Castiel, their fingers brushing against one another, he’d suffer the silence.
Except he had too many questions. They all tried to rush out of him at the same time, and he restarted his thought twice before he said, “You’re telling me that God and The Darkness are both dead .”
“I’m not sure ‘dead’ is accurate, but that’s probably the best analog,” Jack mused. “So… sure. God and The Darkness are dead.”
Sam shook his head. “How did you survive that?”
Good question . Dean felt better knowing he wasn’t the only one confused.
“Part of the agreement,” Jack started. “I had some leverage.”
Castiel squinted. “Reality-ending leverage.”
“Yes… the multiverse was crumbling. And Billie would not have survived it. Nothing would have,” he clarified. “And Amara still had Billie’s scythe, too,” he added with a small smile. “But, hey. I still kind of know like… everything .” He laughed a beat, then continued. “Probably something to do with being a nephilim.” His thoughts seemed to wander as he rambled. “I can’t do anything with all of this knowledge. It just… takes up space.” He pointed to his head. “But I’m fine with that. The price was well worth it.”
“Worth… us?” Castiel asked.
“Well, yeah. You’re my family,” Jack stated. “And then there’s the whole world, too, lots of worlds really, millions—”
“What about all that free will bullshit? The stipulation you forced on us,” Sam demanded.
Jack’s mouth shut at Sam’s interruption. For a long moment, he sat with that question. Then he frowned—no, scowled . Dean had never seen him so…
Disgusted . Like he’s absolutely repulsed by himself .
“I was God for five minutes and it went straight to my head.”
A restrained scoff escaped Castiel, and Dean turned to him. The reaction caught him a little off guard, but after thinking for a second, he understood. It wasn’t like Dean would ever forget Purgatory or the Leviathans or Castiel’s own run at playing God. But he’d buried that part of his life a long time ago. So yeah, it took him a beat to know why Castiel found that so fucking funny.
“I thought I’d be better than that… than Chuck.”
Sam rounded the table then, covering the space between them in three long strides. Once he was beside him, Sam placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, then pulled him in for a hug.
“We’re here,” he said. “We all are. Because of you.”
“I’m sorry,” Jack said as he parted from Sam. “I should have… listened.”
Castiel started for Jack then, guiding Dean to follow him with a brush of their fingers. Dean had to gather up all his restraint not to sprint after Castiel, not to lunge for his hand and hold it. Instead, he stepped up next to Jack, shoulder to shoulder with Castiel, and clapped the boy on the shoulder. “You did the right thing in the end. That’s all that matters. And if that’s not free will, I don’t know what is.”
Jack smiled at that. “Technically, there’s no God now… which means nobody is writing these stories anymore. There’s more free will now than ever before.”
Dean glanced first at Sam, then Castiel. “So… that’s it? It’s… over? We can just… do whatever we want now?”
“I mean, you always could. But, sure…” Jack said as he turned and headed toward the war room. “For instance, I’m going to go eat an entire box of Cookie Crisp and nobody is going to stop me,” he said with a pointed look at Sam. Then he paused at the top of the stairs and shifted his attention. His glare, serious as a heart attack, bore into Dean for so long, it unnerved him, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsettled. Then, finally, after an eternity, Jack’s eyes flicked to Castiel. “I sacrificed a lot.”
For me , Dean thought. He, too, looked at Castiel. For us .
“Don’t make me regret it.”
And with that, Jack turned down the steps and strode through the war room.
Dean couldn’t help but stare, not at Jack, but Castiel. And as his heart hammered in his chest, the memory of Castiel’s words played like a broken record, drowning out everything but the sound and sight of him.
I love you .
I love you.
I love you.
Fuck.
