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So brief a life, and then an endless life
Or endless death;
So brief a life, then endless peace or
strife:
Whoso considereth
How man but like a flower
Or shoot of grass
Blooms an hour,
Well may sigh “Alas!”
So brief a life, and then an endless grief
Or endless joy;
So brief a life, then ruin or relief:
What solace, what annoy
Of Time needs dwelling on?
It is, it was,
It is done,
While we sigh “Alas!”
Yet saints are singing in a happy hope
Forecasting pleasure,
Bright eyes of faith enlarging all their
scope;
Saints love beyond Time’s measure:
Where love is, there is bliss
That will not pass;
Where love is,
Dies away “Alas!”
All Flesh is Grass, Christina Rossetti
-
Dean prays every night, sometimes multiple times throughout the day.
“I love you, too, Cas.”
His prayers were different than in Purgatory - both times. Then, each one was a desperate plea: Please hear me. Please be safe. Please let me find you. I need you. Do you hear me? Cas, where are you, man? Please, please… please be alive. Please don’t let it be too late.
When Cas was killed by Lucifer, Dean’s prayers were still tinged with desperation, but they were full of reflection. Mourning. He had no idea where angels went when they died, if Cas might hear him. But there were things he needed to confess, so he spoke them for only the angel to hear: Cas, I can’t do this without you here. The kid – I just can’t. I can’t look at him. Cas, you’re supposed to be here. This is something I don’t know how to do without you. You’re the one who believes in this kid. And I look at him and I just see Lucifer killing you – over and over. And it’s not the his fault – god, I know I’ve handled things so bad with him. But you are supposed to be here. I need you here, Cas.
The problem now is that Dean knows it’s too late. He knows what happens when angels die. He knows that his words have no power in the Empty. He knows even Jack has no power there.
So, his prayer has become the same words, repeated again and again. They are the words that he couldn’t find to say when they mattered most: I love you, too.
He uses them to steady himself when he stumbles back to bed – that is, on the nights when he makes it that far – after having too much to drink again.
He wakes with them on his tongue. Sleeps with them tormenting his dreams.
Sam is used to Dean’s silence at this point, disturbing to him as it is. But Sam doesn’t know that there isn’t room in Dean’s mind for any words for him to speak. His mind is too focused on the ones echoing: I love you, too.
I’m not exactly a believer, Dean had said once. It feels like a thousand lifetimes ago. And what was it the Reverend had replied? You will be, son. You will be.
That is your problem, Dean, a familiar voice resounding in his mind. The only voice he wants to hear. You have no faith.
The memories taunt and haunt Dean, cruel reminders of the only real subject of his supplications: Cas.
I should have told you. I should have told you every damn day, he thinks, bitterly, in the dark of his room. The tears have stopped flowing. He must have cried them all by now. He rolls onto his back, preparing for another sleepless night, and thinks one more time: I love you, too.
-
“I’m sorry, dear,” Rowena says as gently as she can, placing her hand on Dean’s. “The blood – the spellwork that Nick tried to do. The blood – it has to be fresh. Maybe, if we had tried right away, but –” She lets the thought drop off at the pained look on Dean’s face.
“We’ll figure something else out,” she says. They have to, she thinks, casting another glance at Dean’s pale face, his bloodshot eyes, his defeated demeanor. She knows well what dead man walking looks like.
Later that week, she calls Sam with an idea. Rowena explains to him that the spell, while fairly simple, would need to be cast in a specific place – a hortus conclusus, she calls it.
“Enclosed garden, taken quite literally, that is” she says. “And in the hortus conclusus, with this spell – a summoning ritual – it’s our best chance to bring back the handsome angel.”
The Occultum comes to mind for Sam, and he says so.
“But that would be impossible for us to get to again. Even with God – Jack’s help. There must be another –” he says hurriedly.
Rowena cuts him off. The garden, she explains, is more of a symbolic thing.
“It’s a place, aye? But not necessarily a garden in the strictest sense of the word. And it needn’t be a holy place, like the Occultum. It needs only be a place that’s significant to the connection between the living person casting the spell and the loved one that they wish to reach. Can you not think of anything that fits that description?”
When Sam relays this to Dean, his brother is quiet. He has the same empty lack-of-expression on his face that has been in place for months. It’s as if all of the light has been tamped out from inside of him, and all that’s left are the crumbling ruins of an abandoned temple; that he’s still standing is nothing but a tribute to Cas.
Finally, Dean rubs his cheek with the palm of hand involuntarily, and says, barely audible, “Purgatory.” Then again, more firmly: “It’s Purgatory”
Purgatory. The first place he’d first realized the impact of losing Cas. The place they’d reconciled – not so long ago, but a lifetime all the same. He’s sure of it. Surer of anything than he’s been in months.
Dean is going back to Purgatory.
-
“Sergei wasn’t the only collector,” Rowena explains when she arrives at the bunker, holding up the shimmering vial of archangel grace. “But there isn’t very much here. And I truly don’t know of more when this is gone. You’ll have four, maybe five hours to do the spell and get yourself back through the rift. That should do the trick, but just so. You’ll have to be quick. And be careful.”
Rowena asks Sam to stay back with her, to help. With so little grace to power it, she needs all the help she can get to work the magic on the rift.
Dean steps through the rift and back in the gray forest of Purgatory.
Rowena had walked him through the steps he’d have to take once he arrived. He inhales deeply and starts on the spell she wrote down for him. Dean stumbles over the first words of the incantation, cursing himself, then hoping that doesn’t mess up the whole spell, and wishes to himself that Sam was here with him. He’s better at the Latin, the magic, all of that. But it’s just Dean. And he has to do this.
Crouched down in the dirt of Purgatory, he continues reciting the words and is suddenly disoriented by an onslaught of memories. Rowena didn’t say anything about this, but he knows that magic always has its cost. His hands shoot up to his head, as pain sparks behind his eyes.
There’s a thing about the stories that people tell themselves. Sometimes stories rewrite themselves. Either out of self-preservation or outside interference, some memories can’t be trusted, or even cease to be.
Dean had known that his memory of losing Cas once in Purgatory had been wrong – Cas had shown him that a long time ago. Cas had helped Dean remember.
“You can’t save everyone, my friend… though, you try,” he had said, after setting Dean’s memories straight. He had shown him that he had never intended to leave when Dean had escaped. That one moment, entirely rewritten in Dean’s mind. But once righted, Dean had thought that was the extent of what he’d missed.
He had no idea until this moment how much he had lost – rewritten because remembering was too much to bear. After all, how could he remember moments of pure instinct, devotion, and even love, when he had lost them?
But now he remembers now. He remembers it all.
Dean gasps as the memories flood back through him and collapses onto the dirt.
-
“You had better fucking be dead, Cas,” Dean had gritted out, breathless and beyond exhaustion from running for days after being separated from Cas as soon as they were thrown into Purgatory. His muscles burned as he came to a stop and leaned against a nearby tree. He continued, to himself, to the air, to Cas – if he could hear him - “because if you’re not –”
He hadn’t been able to finish the thought. Hadn’t been able to voice the fear that Cas could be alive and have chosen to leave him. Chosen to stay away after weeks. Weeks of endless fighting and running. Weeks of ceaseless prayers.
Despite his fear that Cas chose to leave him, the alternative that he wasn’t choosing to stay away – that he could be hurt, or worse, dead – was all-consuming.
So, Dean kept praying to him. Every morning. Throughout the day. Into the night.
Some were said only in his mind, others voiced aloud for whomever, whatever, to hear. He was beyond caring what else might come for him. Not if it meant his words might reach Cas.
“Can you hear me? Cas - I don’t know if you’re out there,” he spoke out softly to the trees. “The only thing keeping me going is that I can’t imagine a world where you’re not.”
He paused and ran his hands through his hair absentmindedly.
“Tell me I’m not living in that world. I - I can’t. I just can’t.”
“Cas?”
Calling it prayer had become a bit of a stretch at that point. He sent streams of consciousness desperately out into the vast, grim forest every time he thought of the angel, which was near-constant. His only break was when fighting for his life or collapsed and unconscious, for brief moments, from fatigue.
Any time the landscape shifted slightly, he sent out an update: There’s this large rock – can’t miss the thing – next to the biggest tree I’ve seen so far in this place. Must be hundreds of feet tall. And there’s, uh, a clearing nearby, too. If you’ve come across it. If you can hear me, Cas, I’m staying here as long as I can. I’m not leaving you. Can you hear me, man? Cas? Where are you?
There in the shadows of night, surrounded by the ever-present threat of danger, Dean found that he could say all of the things he wanted. The things he’d never allowed himself to even think about wanting before. There was no deep examination of what it all meant; like the constant thrumming of action in the place, the words would come unbidden, and Dean sent them immediately to the sky.
He ended most days with a mix of pleas, curses, and often tears – more from frustration than sadness at that point. Some nights he spoke until his voice gave out, still muttering Cas’ name as he passed out from exhaustion.
-
It had been seven weeks. Dean was keeping track of the days by starting each prayer off with a count: Cas, 49 days now. I hope you can hear me. I hope you have a damn good reason for not answering, for not being here. I’m trying to find you, man. Please. Give me a sign that you can hear me. I’m asking – I’m begging you, man. I need you.
“Heard you talkin’ to yourself last night,” Benny said by way of a good morning greeting, as Dean shifted, still waking up, and pushed himself up from the spot beneath the tree that had served as his bed the night before.
Dean grunted his acknowledgement but said nothing.
“I ain’t sayin’ I like it, wastin’ all this time runnin’ ‘round here when we could be gettin’ out,” Benny said, “That bein’ said, we’ll find your feather boy, if that’s what it takes to get you to make the jump.” He had punctuated his declaration with a firm nod, as if it was that simple. Decided and that’s that.
Dean had wished then he felt that certain. He nodded automatically in response anyway, hoisted himself up, and followed Benny forward, deeper into the forest.
Benny’s certainty would have to be enough for the both of them.
-
It was three weeks later and they were cleaning themselves up after an attack by a particularly nasty pack of vampires. Dean had pushed himself up from the ground and started dusting off his jeans. There was no point to the action, really, other than the habit of it. His clothes were more grime than cloth at that point, but some habits die hard. He still managed to shave, using his blade. He needed the rituals.
“Got a little somethin’ on your mouth there, Chief,” Benny said to him, gesturing at Dean with his blade in hand.
Dean grunted and rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth. All this had achieved was smearing the blood from his lip across his cheek.
“You’re making it worse,” Benny said through gritted teeth. “Here. Let me just –”
He secured the weapon and moved closer to Dean. Dean tensed up at the proximity, their first outside of fighting together and huddling close at night – back-to-back for protection. But he stayed in place, jutting his chin out and locking eyes with Benny.
Benny licked his thumb and dragged it across Dean’s cheek, moving inward. He paused there, letting his thumb move across Dean’s lips, looking to see Dean’s reaction as he did. Seeing his mouth slacken and pupils dilate at the unexpected contact, he continued, pressing his thumb just into Dean’s mouth, then dragging it out slowly, catching on his lip. Dean’s breath caught as Benny pulled back his finger and brought it to his own mouth, sucking off Dean’s blood. His eyes were locked with Dean’s the entire time.
Dean hadn’t been able to help it. It was more touching than he’d had, outside of killing, in longer than he could remember. Not to mention the hungry look Benny gave him as he removed his finger from his mouth. Dean was captivated, and he leaned into the touch as Benny’s hand came back up toward him, behind Dean’s head this time, pulling him forward to close the distance between them.
Benny captured Dean’s bottom lip, then, biting gently and sucking it into his own mouth. Dean let out an involuntary moan that brought him back to reality.
He had started to pull back, but Benny stilled him with one hand on his hip, and said, “This ain’t gotta mean nothin’, Dean. We’ll find your angel. That don’t mean we can’t blow off steam. Ain’t like there’s much else to do out here. It doesn’t have to mean a thing.”
“He’s not my angel –” Dean had started to protest.
“I heard you callin’ his name at night,” Benny responded simply, but Dean’s hand had come up to grasp at Benny’s hair and pulled him forward into a rough kiss, effectively shutting him up.
Dean let himself get lost in the sensations: Benny’s stubble against his chin, the heaviness of his hands against his hips, pulling him closer, and the hard length of Benny pressing against his thigh. He closed his eyes as Benny’s hand moved toward his belt.
Benny’s grip was firm around his shaft. His thumb rubbed the head, teasingly, before he started to work up and down Dean’s length. Dean couldn’t resist the touch, his hips involuntarily thrusting forward into the motion of it. Benny chuckled and placed messy kisses along Dean’s jaw, tightening his grip and stroking faster as Dean thrust helplessly into Benny’s hand. It’d been so long for Dean that he was done for quickly.
Cas, he thought, and swallowed the prayer down, his last thought before he had let go completely, shuddering as he came into Benny’s hand.
Dean had been transfixed as Benny then loosened his own belt and took himself in hand, his come and Benny’s precome slicking the way as Benny worked himself off. He made quick work of it, groaning his own release. He stilled, one hand steading on Dean’s hip, and they had just breathed together for a moment.
Then Benny had fixed his belt back, winked at Dean, and said, “There now, more relaxed?”
Dean nodded and felt the ghost of a smile cross his lips, but it was gone just as quickly. Still, he felt calmer than he had in a long time.
“Sometimes the fight ain’t enough,” Benny drawled, “Come on now, we can still go a ways before dark.”
Dean had been content to follow Benny, a new habit he didn’t plan on examining too deeply.
-
It had been a matter of convenience, at first, to Benny. The portal had been a rumor that he’d heard for years, but with no human around to explore it, it stayed in the back of his mind. From the moment he laid eyes on Dean, though, he was intrigued. He was different from the hunters he had encountered back on earth, who would kill first and ask questions never. Maybe it was just the circumstances, but as time went on and they fought side-by-side, he felt an unexpected bond growing between them.
Dean had agreed to his plan – so long as they found the angel and took him along. Fine. He’d waited long enough, and while he thought the idea was a damn foolish one – an angel being a beacon for danger, bringing every fanged creature in the forest gunning for them – if that was what it would take, he’d find the feathered thing that Dean was so attached to.
“You just do what you need to do,” Benny had said, one evening, with his eyes locked on the darkening distance in front of him. “I’ve got your back.”
And he could tell that Dean had started to believe him.
Benny hadn’t brought up Dean’s prayers again, but he watched him sometimes. He knew Dean could feel his eyes on him - he wasn’t subtle about it. He would have thought that might leave the hunter feeling exposed, vulnerable, but it seemed to give him a sense of relief.
Sometimes, Benny had given him extra space. He turned away and did exactly what he promised, watched Dean’s back. Protected him so he could settle into the nightly ritual despite the ever-present danger around them.
Benny kept watch, back to Dean, while Dean talked to the sky – to Cas.
“Cas,” Benny heard Dean start, voice just above a whisper. “I don’t know if you can hear me. I should probably give up at this point, but you know I won’t. I won’t. Not if there’s a chance that you’re still out there. If you can hear me, know that I’m not leaving here without you. I’m going to find you and bring you home.”
Dean talked well into the night, until he was hoarse from it. He had curled up at the foot of the nearest tree and Benny heard him whisper one last promise: “I’ll see you soon, Cas.”
And so it went for several more weeks.
-
Before Dean had gone through the rift, Rowena had walked him through the spellwork he would need to do. It required two actions to be performed, and then the incantation. “An offering,” Rowena had said, “and an act of atonement. After that, recite the incantation to seal the spell.”
What that meant, Dean wasn’t sure. Rowena hadn’t been able to offer him much guidance either. She could only say that the actions should be related to the place and that the magic would decide their worth.
“It’s old magic, dearie,” Rowena had said gently, “It’s unpredictable, at best. I can’t offer you any assurances and I won’t lie to you about the odds of success. But this is the best chance I know of for you to get your angel back.”
He’d taken it.
Now, though, the longshot felt out of reach. What offering, what atonement, could be worthy of what he was asking for in return?
Still on the ground, head pounding, unable to process the flood of memories that he received, he does the only thing he can think to do: he prays.
And in the silence, another, older memory comes to mind: I don’t know what to call it, he had said, awestruck, after spending an entire case mocking Sam for his faith. Angels? God? Not in their line of work. But then he saw something – something that couldn’t be explained away. And Sam had asked him, What? Dean, what did you see?
Dean hadn’t had the words for it at first. He searched for the right way to describe what he’d seen.
In that moment, he’d said: God’s will.
He’d thought that was a spark of faith - just the smallest flicker. A new idea for him at that time in his life. But he had no idea back then what faith was. He would, though.
-
Things had been better with Benny there by his side, but only just. Things had been bearable. And that’s all he had needed to keep moving. One foot in front of the other.
It all became routine between the two of them. Comfortable, or as much as such a thing like comfort existed in a place like that. Dean felt no need to look at it too closely – any port in a storm, and all that, though he knew deep down that Benny was more than any port. He had become the one safe harbor in a storm that wouldn’t stop raging around him. Not from the beasts that had kept coming to kill them nor the desperation he felt when he thought about Cas, out there alone.
He shook his head to clear it.
The only real quiet moments were in the middle of a kill or afterwards, when Benny would take his time looking him over – part care, part predator evaluating his prey, Dean had thought. Either way, Dean hadn’t much minded it. Even come to expect it – it had become their ritual.
When Benny had found a gash from the fight on Dean’s arm, he brought it up to his mouth, pressing his lips against it, eyes up on Dean’s as he had licked away the blood, sucking gently. The pressure had hurt, but good, and Dean brought his hand up to Benny’s head, fingers tangled in his hair, holding him in place. Benny had groaned into it then, winked up at Dean, and kept going.
It was Dean’s turn to let out a moan. He tightened his grip in Benny’s hair.
Finally, after what had felt like an agonizingly long time, Benny pulled back. In a swift motion, he had pressed Dean’s back against the nearby tree. He kissed him roughly and Dean had tasted the metallic tang of his own blood in his mouth.
Dean deepened the kiss, tongue pressing against Benny’s lips and he parted them, allowing Dean’s exploration.
Not breaking the kiss, Benny had grabbed both of Dean’s hands and pushed them up above his head against the tree. Dean’s hips pressed forward, and he let out a strangled noise.
“You sure do like being manhandled, huh?” Benny chuckled.
“Don’t you have better things to do with that mouth of yours than run it?” Dean said, not bothering to deny it, but bearing his neck to Benny.
Benny took the hint and began planting kisses and gentle bites, not hard enough to break skin, along Dean’s neck and jaw. He followed each bite with a gentle flick of his tongue. While he did this, he pressed the length of himself against Dean, Dean hard against him. He rocked forward and bit down gently where Dean’s neck met his shoulder.
Dean had shuddered against him, letting out a strained moan, and pressed his hips forward, seeking even more friction against Benny, finding the right positioning and rhythm to their movements.
“You keep that up, I’m gonna –” he started to say, words choked out.
“I know you are,” Benny had chuckled again, and rolled his hips against Dean teasingly. He could feel Dean twitch beneath him at the contact and groaned as he moved against him. “Want you just like this.”
“Keep doing what you’re doing and you can have me however you like, man,” Dean had gasped then, breathless and more than a little desperate for release.
With that, Benny kissed Dean roughly again, and focused on the motion of their hips meeting. He held Dean firmly in place as he thrusted against him, picking up the pace as Dean dropped his head back against the tree, close. “Benny, I’m –” he choked out, his only warning.
Dean let out a groan as he came, shuddering against Benny before stilling, spent, Benny’s hands still holding him in place with his hands above his head. Benny pressed kisses to Dean’s neck. Dean shivered, extra sensitive in the wake of his climax.
“Made me come in my pants like a damn teenager,” Dean had muttered.
Benny shot him a cocky smile and eased Dean’s hands down, placing his own hands on either side of Dean’s hips, supporting him.
Dean had to just stand and breathe for a moment. But then his hands had moved to undo Benny’s belt. Using spit and the precome already dripping from the tip, Dean took Benny’s cock in his hand and started the steady rhythm that he’d come to know Benny liked. Benny’s hips thrust forward, fucking into Dean’s hand. Benny was pressing kisses and bites in turn, rougher than before, along Dean’s neck.
Dean had brought his other hand up to Benny’s jaw, pulling him up and turning his head so that their eyes met.
It wasn’t something Dean had given much thought. But he had eyes, and he’d seen the way Benny’s would flick down when they talked. And in the moment, being taken over completely sounded like paradise. Dean knew that there would be the possibility that Benny could himself lose control, could drink too much from him; there was nothing Dean could do in the moment to stop him. But to give up control was the best kind of release for Dean and this was giving the ultimate control, and he wanted to surrender to it completely.
“Just go on and do it. I know you want to,” Dean had said, tilting his head up, bearing his neck to Benny again in submission. “And don’t tell me you haven’t been thinking about it.”
“Dean –” Benny started, but Dean had cut him off.
“Wouldn’t be offering if I didn’t want you to,” Dean said softly.
Benny had let out a strangled noise and nodded once. He brought his hand up, running his fingers lightly across the length of Dean’s throat. He leaned down again and pressed his lips down on the pulse point. He was as gentle as he could be as he sunk his fangs into the flesh below.
Dean had felt an immediate and dizzying headrush but threaded his hand in Benny’s hair and pressed him down, holding him in place as he drank from him.
Dean took Benny back in his other hand, thumb swirling over the head of his cock, fingers wrapped firmly, picking back up the rhythm where he left off. Between the feeling of Benny drinking from him, and the steady motion as he worked his hand up and down the length of Benny’s cock, he had been utterly lost to the sensations. Through a haze, he could hear Benny moaning and could feel the vibration of the sound pulse against his skin under Benny’s mouth.
It hadn’t been long before Benny let out a curse, a final thrust, and spilled over Dean’s hands. Benny pulled Dean into a rough kiss.
Dean felt and tasted his own blood on his lips, sticky and metallic.
They had been comfortably silent as they cleaned up in the nearby stream. Dean thought to himself then: It doesn’t have to mean something, but it doesn’t mean nothing.
As he followed Benny through the forest afterwards, a word had come to mind, fleeting and unbidden, gone so quick he hadn’t been sure if he caught it – was the word devotion or desolation? But the forest had been thrumming with action and there had been no time for further thoughts. In those moments of instinct and action, a part of Dean hoped that they would never actually make it out. Because it had become the only place he fully understood.
By evening, despite the pleasure and relief, the events of the day had come to feel like some kind of transgression against the memory of – the belief in – Cas. Dean could think two words to pray that night: I’m sorry.
-
Once they caught up with Cas, Benny was short with him, always provoking the angel. Part protectiveness of Dean, he would’ve admitted. But he had also been well aware that this thing, whatever it was he and Dean had, was nothing compared to what Dean felt for Cas.
He had thought he understood how Dean felt about the angel from seeing how he dealt with his loss, but nothing compared to the look of sheer love and wretched devotion that washed over Dean’s face the moment they had found Cas, crouched there by the stream.
After pulling Cas tight into his arms, Dean had cast a glance at Benny, breaking him out of his own moment. Benny’s thoughts, watching the two of them embrace, had been on Andrea, his love in a previous life. A life beyond their current harsh, gray eternity.
It had been that image that Benny kept in mind as he agreed to let Cas travel with them.
Not that Dean would ever have let anything, anyone, stop Cas from coming along.
But Benny understood that. And, in his own way, he believed that it was for the best, if it meant that they escaped.
As far as he had been concerned, his time in Purgatory had been long enough and his punishment more than sufficient for his deeds on earth before. If they survived the jump, he thought, he’d consider that a sign of absolution.
-
Once topside, though, Benny had known early on that he was wrong to leave Purgatory. That he had been dreaming of a life that didn’t exist anymore. There was too much here on earth: choices, noises, regrets, desires.
What he hadn’t known was that he was the only one of the three who remembered Purgatory for what it was: not good, not bad, just the simple reality of what had existed. Purgatory, to Benny, had been a physical representation of the present moment. Always a present moment. No past, no future, just the moment in front of him. For Benny, the purity of Purgatory was in the lack of choices – only reaction to that present moment. See, want, take, do. No past regrets to repent. No future to plan or sacrifice.
After Dean had cut off contact, Benny was more lost than he could remember being. He’d gone into it all with eyes open, but it still hurt when it came to an end. He had let himself get used to having a partner, having each other's back in Purgatory and then he was truly on his own again.
The longer he was back on earth, the more he wanted the simplicity back. He would rather an eternity of the present moment than constant difficulty in making peace with the past and doubting the right path for the future. He had known the paths in Purgatory well. They were always the same.
And when the opportunity presented itself, he took it. Consequences be damned.
-
“Well, if it isn’t Benny’s pet,” the vampire snarls at Dean, approaching him from his right side. He clocks another to his left. They’d come up to him while he was still disoriented from the effects of the first half of the spell. He barely had time to get to his feet as they approached.
“And it’s some random vampire,” Dean says lightly, though he tenses at his friend’s name.
“Heard you got out with that bastard,” it taunts. “Couldn’t stay away?”
Dean says nothing, lifts his blade. Twirls it once, eyeing the other vamp.
“He should have stayed gone,” the second says. “And so should you.”
The vampire lunges at him.
“I ripped his face off, you know. You should have seen –” but the words are lost as Dean’s blade slices clean through his neck, his head landing several feet away.
“Well, come on,” he taunts the other. “Haven’t got all day.”
What he does have is an idea, or the fledgling of one. An offering that’s revealed itself in this place. An atonement he knows he owes.
He finishes off the second vampire, the second of Benny’s killers, and gathers their heads. He sets down his bag containing his supplies for the second part of the spellwork.
Then, he kneels down and begins to pray aloud.
“I’m sorry, Benny,” Dean begins, head lowered. “You deserved better. I used to think that it was me and Sam and the rest of the world – well, the rest of the world was disposable.”
He pauses and tries to collect his thoughts.
“Watching everyone I know disappear – the whole world – because of me, because of the goddamn stubborn belief that Sam and I – us surviving was all that mattered.” He laughs, but it’s hollow. “It shouldn’t take a rapture to knock sense into someone, I get that.”
“What I’m trying to say is that I should have been better to you. I should have been there for you. I never should have turned my back on you. And I damn sure should have brought you back topside after you saved Sam.”
“You saved me more than once. You saved Cas. And I failed you.”
“I’m sorry, man. I’m sorry, Benny.” He closes his eyes for a moment, then says his benediction: “Thank you. I just – thank you.”
“Okay. Okay,” he says, grounding himself.
It’s not profound, he knows, and it’s well overdue. But it’s true - pure. Now, it’s up to the magic to decide if his actions are worthy of what he is asking in return.
-
There are no words to describe the pain of being ripped from your happiest moment and thrown into a sea of your worst. Drowning is instant and infinite.
The Empty is surprisingly full. Full of regrets, full of despair, full of desperation to escape, but there is no escape – there is only more Empty.
In the Empty, Cas sees echoes in the nothing around him. He knows that they are the Shadow’s doing, but that doesn’t make them any less painful, because they were once real: the hurt look on Dean’s face when he learned of his betrayal, that he was working with Crowley. The fear in his eyes as he tells him to bow down and profess his love to him, the new God. The devastation at what he does to Sam’s mind.
And the Shadow comes to him in different forms. Acting out scenes that could have – maybe even should have – been: He sees Sam, mind splitting with the breaking of the wall between him and Lucifer. He’s in so much pain that he can only manage a single word: “Why?”
But Cas can’t answer. He opens his mouth, but no sound comes out.
Kelly Kline comes to him and tells him how he failed her. How he failed Jack. “I trusted you, Castiel,” she says. “Jack – Jack trusted you like a father.”
But Cas is defiant still. While every vision pains him, he squares up against the Shadow and says, “I told you before. I’m already saved. You can keep me here and you can control what I see and hear, but you can’t control what I think. What I feel. What you do to me – it will hurt, I know that. But remember this: I summoned you. I made my choice. So, go ahead.”
In response, the Shadow sends him memories of Dean.
First, the Shadow comes as Naomi. Again, and again, she shows him how he killed Dean. Over and over. Hundreds of times. But he knows that was not real. He may have experienced the pain of the actions, but he had stopped short when it came to the real Dean. The Dean who needed him.
But then the Shadow-as-Naomi shows him memories he doesn’t recall. Tells him that he can have these stolen memories back, but they’ll come with a price.
Some of the memories are small. He would never have known to miss them. Little things that he said or did in the moments Naomi would pull him up to Heaven to report out.
But some are beyond anything he could have imagined. Part of him wants to believe the Shadow has sent fake memories. But another part of him, a quiet but firm intuition, says that these are real. And that they could change everything.
-
Every thought, every feeling had been etched on Dean’s face, and he hadn’t been able to control it, Cas could tell just by looking at him. He had just pulled Cas tight to him and held onto him like a lifeline. The vulnerability overwhelmed Cas.
Cas had been hesitant to return the hug. A part of him, a painful part that ached with regret, didn’t believe then that he deserved it – that comfort, that indulgence.
But then Dean had broken into a grin and swiped his hand across Cas' cheek, granting himself that freedom in the moment, and Cas had been unable to resist leaning into the touch, if only for a moment, though his face remained troubled.
After everything he’d done? He had to make up for it somehow. He would make up for it. But that meant keeping his distance from Dean. Keeping him safe. That was all that mattered.
Still, beside that coursing river, held tight in Dean’s arms, for the first time since arriving in Purgatory he felt awash in something close to divinity. He wanted to sink into it, dive into its depth. The feeling of being held by the one he loved was overwhelming. Anna had been right: it did get worse. And he knew then that he would gladly drown in it.
He knew too that Dean would drown with him if he did, and that he could never allow to happen.
-
“Cas, hold on a minute,” Dean had said after an hour or so of walking, waving Benny to scout on ahead. Cas turned to face him, keeping his face neutral as best he could.
Dean moved toward him, lifting his hand up to cradle Cas’ face, his thumb stoking against Cas’ cheek.
Expression still neutral, Cas hadn’t been able to help but lean into the touch. His eyes softened and he gave Dean a pleading look. For what, he wasn’t sure he could articulate if he tried.
“I thought you were lost for good,” Dean had said softly.
“I know,” Cas whispered.
He didn’t believe that he deserved this – having Dean’s attention, affection. But he would take it anyway. He’d take this one moment of salvation.
“I prayed myself hoarse, man,” Dean continued.
“I know that, too,” Cas looked down as he replied, “I meant it when I said I heard every word, Dean. But the thought of bringing more harm your way? I had to –”
Cas looked at Dean with that piercing blue gaze. He knew they were both remembering a memory echoing from the past: You don’t think you deserve to be saved.
Dean let out an exasperated sigh and said, “Enough, Cas. I said I’ll take my chances. You’re coming with us and that’s that.”
“Dean, if anything happens to you, I –” Cas started, brows furrowed, but Dean cut him off.
“When you ran off – Cas, you took everything with you. My hope, my – you have no idea. You really don’t – do you?” Dean said, letting out a frustrated noise.
“You seem to have done alright with Benny,” Cas said, fixing Dean with a level gaze.
“Don’t – don’t make this about Benny. Benny’s the reason I’m standing in front of you, man. Without him I’d be dead. I felt dead already, but he kept me moving. To get to you.”
Dean had run a shaking hand through his hair, swallowed, and continued.
“The only reason I kept putting one foot in front of another was to get to you. I didn’t get it before, but I do now. Without you, there’s no me.” He laughed, but it was humorless and hollow. “And that’s fucked, I know that, and more pressure to put on you than you deserve, but it’s the truth. It’s the truth for once. So, please – please, Cas, I’m begging you. If I mean anything to you – come with us. Come with me.
“I need you to come with me, Cas,” Dean had repeated. “Please.”
Cas closed his eyes, trying to fight the emotions battling their way to the surface. How could he say no to Dean telling him he needed him. Openly begging him - showing a vulnerability that he so rarely allowed anyone to see. But a small part of him had hurt, still, at being a need to Dean and not a want. He pushed that aside. He opened his eyes again, and he simply said, “Okay, Dean.”
Cas heard Dean’s silent prayer: Thank you.
-
The whole time Cas was in Purgatory, he had meditated. He reflected. While Purgatory was a place of instinct and openness for Dean, for Cas, it was a place of repentance. He had sat there quietly by the river, as often as he could manage while on the run. He simply observed the way the water flowed over the stones, and thought about how, over time, the stones were changed almost completely by the water – smoothed over and made anew. He wished for that for himself.
Still, no matter how many times he washed in the river, he never felt the stain wash off. He closed his eyes and saw blood, charred wings, and thick black slime that overwhelmed him. What punishment was more fitting for his sins than this feeling? For what he had done to Sam. What he had tried to do to the world. Had done to Heaven. The way he had betrayed Dean’s trust. Those were acts that could not be forgotten, forgiven. They would not wash off.
Purgatory was where he would do his penance and he had made peace with that. He would purify himself in this wasteland. He had decided that he would stay in Purgatory.
But he had to get Dean out.
-
Cas hadn’t been used to seeing Dean so unguarded and open. It had been as if Dean felt safer to be himself in Purgatory than he ever was on earth. There was no hesitation in his actions and the place left little time to get caught up in overthinking.
One night, Dean had told Cas that he felt like Purgatory was the one real place he’d ever been. That it felt pure to him. It had been late in the day, after fending off yet another attack, and they were going through the ritual of washing off, as best they could, in the cool water of the river.
Cas understood. Purification was what he longed for, to atone for all he had done.
“Cas,” Dean had told him when he voiced this one night in hushed tones as they stood beside the trees nearest the river’s edge, eyes on the gentle flow of the water in front of them, “you have to let go of all that crap.”
Cas blinked and shot him a look of frustration. “Dean, it’s not that simple –”
“No, Cas, it really is. I get you. You’ve done bad. Who hasn’t? I’m sorry – but we need you back in the game. Where’s the guy who rebelled against Heaven, took on archangels?”
“Dean,” Cas said, with an edge of warning to his voice. “You really don’t want to see that side of me right now.”
“No, you know what, I really do. And I think you need it, too.” Dean continued, pushing him with his words, stepping closer into his space as he spoke.
Cas snapped, shoving Dean against the tree beside him, knocking the wind out of him.
“Is this what you want?” he growled, holding Dean in place. Dean shifted below his weight.
“Well, it is an improvement to the Walking Dead routine,” Dean quipped, shooting him a cocky smirk.
“Dean, do you really not understand why I need to – what I did –” Cas shook his head as he struggled to put into words the enormity of his actions.
“If you don’t know by now that you’re forgiven for everything – that I will always forgive you – I don’t know what to tell you. But if you’ll let me,” Dean said, shifting beneath Cas’ arm, eyes searching to catch Cas’ gaze, “I could try to show you.”
He searched Cas’ face for any hesitation, but Cas simply removed his arm from Dean’s chest, ignoring the voice in the back of his mind telling him he was unworthy of this, whatever this was – taking it despite it, and gently cupped Dean’s face, fingers tracing gently along his jaw.
Dean’s eyes closed at the contact and he let out a shuddering breath. “Cas?” he asked.
Cas understood intuitively that Dean needed his help here. That he was out of his depth. He tried to reassure him, saying, “It’s okay, Dean. Whatever you need, it’s yours.”
But Dean shook his head, “Not need. Not like that, I mean. Want – Cas – I want –” he started, but words failed him again. He swallowed. “You. I want you.” Another swallow, eyes closed. “I want to show you how much I want you.”
Cas inhaled sharply at the words Dean had used. Want. The word he so rarely allowed himself to even think. “Whatever you want, Dean,” he said, slowly, voice a deep rumble, “it’s yours.”
Dean swallowed roughly and nodded. Then he closed the gap between his lips and Cas’. He brought his hand up to the back of Cas’ head, pulling him in. Gently, parted Cas’ lips with his tongue, deepening the kiss. He bit down lightly on Cas’ bottom lip, dragging his teeth across it, then sucking on it. Cas let out a moan and tightened his hand on Dean’s jaw.
Dean pulled back, smiling slightly at Cas’ groan from the loss of contact, and, green eyes locked on blue the whole time, he sank down to his knees in front of Cas.
Cas was mesmerized at the action. He watched, lips parting slightly in awe, and moved his hand so that he could run the pad of his thumb across Dean’s bottom lip. Dean brought his hand up to Cas’ and pressed a soft kiss to Cas’ thumb. Then, eyes still on Cas’, he dragged his tongue along the length of it. Cas raised an eyebrow at Dean, to which Dean responded by taking Cas’ thumb into his mouth, lips taut and tongue working the length of it. Dean’s hand guided two more fingers into his mouth. Cas’ eyes closed and he groaned again.
Letting go of Cas’ hand, Dean reached out to undo the drawstring on Cas’ pants. Cas’ eyes shot open and breath hitched as Dean removed his length and took it into his hand, gently rubbing over the head of his cock, already leaking precome. Then he worked his hand up and down, firm and sure.
Cas slowly pulled his fingers from Dean’s mouth, rubbing his thumb across Dean’s bottom lips again, shiny with saliva.
With eyes fixed on Cas, Dean began to move his head forward. Cas’ vision went bright white as Dean took him into his mouth, tongue moving in maddening ways, lips tight around him. His hand worked the base while he set the pace with his mouth. Cas’ hand moved to Dean’s hair, fingers tangling in it. He couldn’t control his hips from thrusting forward, fucking Dean’s mouth, chasing the tight, wet heaven. Dean’s hand moved up to his hip to help steady him, and he rubbed little circles there, but still he took Cas down deeper, humming contentedly. Cas shuddered at the vibration, the warmth, the profane sight of Dean kneeling below him.
Cas’ head rolled back as his hips stuttered forward, unable to control himself any longer. All he could get out was “Dean,” as he came, sparks shooting behind his eyes. He ran his hands instinctively through Dean’s hair. Dean’s lips stayed around the length of him, taking down his release, eyes cast upwards to watch Cas the entire time. Dean had thought that was the most angelic he’d ever looked.
Through heavily lidded eyes and a clouded mind, Cas looked at Dean on his knees in front of him, and he thought that this was what prayer truly was.
-
The second time they had gone to Purgatory, Dean had dropped to his knees, choking on his words, “I hope you can hear me, man.”
Dean spoke aloud, but there were words he couldn’t figure out how to say. He thought them anyway.
The words struck Cas and he sunk down at the base of the tree, hit with the waves of longing and desperation coming from Dean. If I can’t have all of him, at least have this, Cas thought. Whatever this is. And it can be enough. He hadn’t dared to hope that Dean’s thoughts were meant in the way Cas wished they were. He couldn’t. His heart would have burst, and then broken. The Empty would have come. What he wanted – it was something that he understood he would never have.
He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes, banishing the tears that had threatened. Getting Dean back home safe was all that mattered then. So he’d swallowed his own feelings down and did what he’d done for so long now: pretend.
When Dean made his way to him, wrapped him in his arms, sheer relief written on his face, Cas’ resolve almost failed. Almost.
Dean started to tell him what he hadn’t been able to say aloud, moments before, and Cas almost let him. Almost.
“You don’t have to say it,” he heard himself saying, “I heard your prayer.”
In the moment, the prayer felt more like damnation.
-
Dean pulls the few ingredients and candles from his jacket pocket, pulls his lighter from his back pocket, and lays them out on the ground, his makeshift altar. He begins to recite the next part of the spell that Rowena told him to perform after the offering and atonement. With the vampires’ heads laid out in front of him, he lights the candles and continues his reading.
He takes out his knife, slicing a deep gash into his hand. His blood drips onto the pile of ingredients below, sealing the spell. He wraps a handkerchief around his hand, chest tightening with a familiar ache as he recalls the electric spark of Cas healing him, which he had always done - even when they were fighting.
Dean waits in silence. The air around him is full of sparks that drift off in the breeze.
He doesn’t know what he expected, but minutes tick by and the nothing that comes after breaks him open. He lets out a dry, heaving sob.
“No. No, no, no,” he whispers, looking at his watch. But his time is up. For the second time, he’ll be leaving Purgatory without Cas. He fights back the temptation to stay here, because what difference is Purgatory from the nothingness he’s been living in?
You said you’d always come when I call, but that was a lie. It’s always been a lie, Cas. And I’m trying to be better about getting so angry, but I am – I’m angry. You always leave. I asked you, Cas – I asked you to stay. But you left anyway. And I’m left here – without you – again, knowing that loving me was what got you killed. And Sam just expects me to keep moving forward. Again. And I – I just can’t. Cas, please – I don’t know how to do it this time.
He should have known that nothing he could offer would be worthy of Cas.
He closes his eyes and raises his voice to the sky one final time and repeats aloud his only remaining prayer: “I love you, too, Cas.”
The words spark and float away on the breeze.
-
Dean makes his way back to the rift and arrives back in the bunker in a daze. He avoids Sam’s and Rowena’s pitying looks and shuts himself in his room. Laying on his bed, he thinks back to when he asked Cas to wipe Lisa and Ben’s memories and wishes someone would make that choice for him. Take all of these memories back. No matter how good a memory, they pale in comparison to the reality, and without Cas, he’d rather have the blank slate than the facsimile.
But he knows that’s not an option, so he offers his most treasured memories up to the sky:
I miss things I never thought I would, Cas. Do you remember driving that day when the tape deck was broken? We just talked. And I know now – I know what you had done. But I didn’t then. I just knew that having you beside me, driving, talking about not a damn thing – that was all I needed. All I wanted.
I still have a copy of that photo of us in the cowboy getups. Still can’t believe you wore that hat. Think we found it at a Gas-N-Sip? One of the happiest days of my life.
And then, he continues, I think I should probably just give up after today. But I don’t know how to let you go.
Don’t think I could even if I tried.
Finally, the tiny piece of hope that he had held onto throughout the day shatters. And he breaks down with it. He crumbles onto the floor of his room. The tears he had thought he had finished crying wrack his body. He curls up into himself like a wounded animal and lets out heaving sobs.
At some point during the night, he passes out from exhaustion.
-
The Empty isn’t nothingness. It’s everything: every regret, every mistake, every single moment of despair. The Shadow taunts Cas ceaselessly with them, a litany of desolation and shame.
And then there are the memories that were stolen. Cas doesn’t have time to process what they mean. Recontextualize the last seven years. The Shadow wouldn’t let him even if he tried.
“Oh yes,” the Shadow says, “you see now. I saw more than you knew the first time you came to visit. More than you could know.
“And I know what you’re thinking now, too. That I’ve planted some false memory to torment you. That’s the grand surprise. I don’t need to! There’s enough hidden up there in your pretty little head to do the job just fine for me.”
The Shadow steps closer to Cas, who looks up at it from his place still on the ground. It continues, “So tell me again. Do you really think you ever mattered beyond what you could do for the Winchesters? What they needed from you?”
The words strike Cas, but he refuses to let the Shadow see how the memories, and its words, have affected him. He knew that Naomi wiped memories from him. But if Dean remembered everything, and nothing had changed, wasn’t that an answer in and of itself? Cas feels the hope he hadn’t known he was holding onto begin to slip away. Doubt, that first emotion he had ever felt, begins to creep in.
“You thought – yes, you thought somehow,” the Shadow laughs, “that if you toed the line just close enough, that you could have the life you wanted with him.
“Remember, I’ve seen all your little wants and wishes. I know you better than you know yourself. You know why? Because I have perspective. You think they’re mourning you? The powerless angel? What good are you to them? You served your purpose. You were always the sacrificial lamb.
“Or do you think that love will save you?” it continues. “Oh – you do. What a pathetic little creature you are.
“Do you know how long you’ve been here? No one is saving you. You think you’re awake because of some divine intervention? You’re awake because I want you to be. Because if I have to be, then you will be. You’ve been a little thorn in my side and now I get to return the favor.”
Suddenly, Cas is knocked to his hands and knees by a searing pain in his skull, sparks shooting behind his eyes. He thinks that this must just be another punishment from the Shadow, but then he hears it shrieking.
It demands to know what power dares to show itself in his domain.
Cas wants to hope that, somehow, he is saved. But the pain coursing through him warns him of a different fate.
Then he hears it: the answer in the form of a prayer, echoing across the Empty. And his hope renewed.
I love you, too.
-
It’s an ordinary Thursday that brings Dean to his knees.
At least, it’s ordinary until every light in the library sparks out, glass flying. Dean covers his face with his arm in protection. The red back up lights come on, the power for the whole bunker having been tripped.
Dean searches for the cause and there, on the floor where the rift had been opened just the day before, he finds Cas. Dean immediately drops to the ground beside him, searching for signs of life. Cas is breathing.
Cas’ eyes flutter open, and he squints up at Dean. “Dean?”
“You’re alive,” Dean whispers, one hand coming to rest on Cas’ chest, the other reaching up to gently cup his face.
Cas’ eyes close and he leans into the touch. “Seems like,” he says.
“You’re real,” Dean says. He repeats, reassuring himself, “You’re real.”
Cas hums his assent.
“Cas, I need to say something –” Dean starts.
“Dean, it’s okay. I heard –” Cas begins to respond.
“No, Cas,” Dean stops him. “Please – please. Let me say it this time. I need to say it. And I need you to let me.”
Cas nods, eyes opening at Dean’s pleading voice.
“I didn’t know. I didn’t know you could feel the same.” Dean runs his hand through his hair in frustration. “That sounds stupid now. I know that. I get so wrapped up in myself and - and I’m sorry, Cas. I’m just so sorry. I didn’t see – didn’t fully appreciate – everything you did. Not until it was too late. I never do. And then I never say anything when you come back. If you knew -”
He pauses and breathes, then continues, “But I see now. And I have to say it.”
Cas’ gaze is fixed on him, eyes soft.
“Cas, I had to go back to Purgatory,” Dean continues. “I did – there was a spell. I’ll tell you all about it later, but there’s things – there’s things I didn’t know. Things I didn’t remember. Cas, I hope you can forgive me. If I’d have known – I wouldn’t have – these past seven years – I –”
He’s at a loss for words, so Cas does what he does, and gives him the help he needs by giving him his own words.
“Dean, the Shadow showed me things about Purgatory – our first time there. And I – I didn’t remember it fully either. Naomi – she must have – it doesn’t matter. The point is: it wouldn’t have changed anything, for me.” He brings his hand to rest on top of Dean’s on his chest. “I would have loved you the same as I have since I first held your soul. Dean, nothing would have changed.”
“I didn’t know. I thought I remembered it all when you showed me,” Dean says, still looking stricken. “All that time, we wasted –”
“Not wasted,” Cas stops him. “Not a single moment of time with you has ever been wasted.”
-
The Shadow is restless, angry at being thwarted again.
Jack had been trying to get passage to the Empty but hadn’t been able to find a way before Dean went through the rift to perform his spell. Now, though, his message by way of the new Death to grant him passage in the Empty has been accepted.
Going is a risk – Jack has limited power there – but he wants this settled. For good.
So, he gives the Shadow what it wants: quiet. Sleep. Boundless eternity of nothingness. But only if it promises that Cas, Dean, Sam – it will never bother them again.
It’s the last time Jack uses his powers to intervene.
-
This is real, Dean repeats to himself. You’re real.
And it is. The next day, Dean wakes up to find his arm flung across Cas’ chest. His face pressed against his shoulder.
He has a brief moment of panic, where he considers pulling back. But the previous night floods his memory and he finds himself pulling Cas closer toward him instead.
“Tell me again,” he says, voice thick from sleep.
“I love you,” Cas says, stirring beside him and knowing exactly what he’s asking. He leans over and presses him back onto the bed behind him. “You are the best person I will ever know.”
Dean looks up at him in a daze and the only thing he can focus on is the sight of Cas and the beautiful words coming out of his mouth. He’s overwhelmed by emotion and struggles to breathe.
“What’s wrong?” Cas asks softly, running his hand gently down Dean’s jaw, “You still don’t believe you deserve to be loved?”
Dean looks up at Cas like he still doesn’t believe he won’t just disappear again. He exhales a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and says, “One time I might not have. But if it’s you – I believe in you, Cas. And if you can believe in me, I guess I have to, too.”
Dean has fought and killed gods. All but destroyed the God. He was raised from the pits of Hell to serve as a vessel of Heaven. Surrounded by the profane and the holy his whole life, he found faith in Cas. And from that, he was able to begin to believe in himself.
“You are good,” Cas continues, punctuating each word with kisses to Dean’s chest and shoulders, “and kind,” another kiss, “and loving.” He is happy to give Dean what he needs to hear.
Dean flushes from the contact and the praise – he’s not sure from which more, and he isn’t going to examine that now. He just presses his face into Cas’ neck and breathes, taking in the warmth of being held, being loved, like this. This - this he can have. The thought overwhelms him.
“Don’t leave me again, Cas,” Dean whispers, asking for exactly what he wants. He speaks softly, lips brushing against Cas’ shoulder with each word. “You mean too much to me. To the world. You’re the reason that we won, you know. Never would have been able to with you – without what you did. For me.”
“And you’ve given so much. Given everything. Again and again.” Dean continues, “Cas, I never said – I should have said every day how much I wanted you here by my side. How much you mean to me.”
Cas finds release of a tension he hadn’t known he was still holding in hearing those words - the absolution he’d been seeking. Allowing himself to receive the love he’s given so freely, with no expectations, echoed back to him. Dean wants to have him. He can have Dean. Has him.
He can’t help the grin on his face and presses another kiss to Dean’s jaw.
“Stay with me here, please,” Dean whispers, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes to catch the tears that have started falling. “I want you to stay here. Please stay.”
Here, in the sanctuary of Cas’ embrace, Dean can be as vulnerable as he needs - wants - to be.
“I’m right here. I’m staying right here, Dean,” Cas murmurs, planting a kiss to Dean’s forehead, then his lips. “As long as you want.” He lays down beside Dean and draws him close, facing him, wrapping his arms around him.
“I love you,” Dean says aloud.
Thank you, Dean prays silently.
Cas can’t hear him this time, the last traces of his angelic grace are all but gone, but he knows what Dean is praying all the same. He answers it with another kiss and holds Dean tighter to him.
-
Some stories take a while to get to where they’re meant to go. They build over time and take on a life of their own. Notes scratched out in the margins later to be revived and brought to life under the right circumstances. Memories come and go and come back again, brought forth when they are needed most.
Some stories can take what feels like an eternity to get to their ultimate revelation.
And some stories – some stories take faith.