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Dean wishes Castiel wasn’t here to witness Michael possessing him.
He’s not enough of an idiot to believe that Michael will just let him go when all is said and done, but that foolish wick of hope still burns within him. He’s holding out for a happiness that he knows he’ll never have. It’s a breath away; it’s a million light years away. It’s so close and so far away.
“Cas,” Dean says, the undercurrent of a plea concentrated into that single syllable. He starts ten different sentences in his head, but settles on one word: “Please.”
“There—there has to be some other way,” Castiel utters, sounding as helpless as Dean feels.
He shakes his head. “Come on, man. You know there isn’t. We don’t have time to come up with some big plan. We have to act now, you know that! There’s no way I’m lettin’ Lucifer gut Sam and Jack when I have a chance to make it right. Tell me you understand why I’m doing this.”
Castiel’s response is wordless. He steps forward, his hands coming to rest on either side of Dean’s face. They only ever touch like this when the end is looming over them. There’s something about trepidation that makes them daring enough to step on that invisible line, but not to cross. To dip their toes in the water, but never to enter.
A storm rages beneath Dean’s ribs. He stops breathing altogether when Cas’s thumbs skim over his jaw to tip his face downwards, and he thinks, This is it. After years of keeping that warm longing restrained in his chest, even as it blossomed into something uncontainable, Cas is going to kiss him. They’ll have a memory—fleeting as a blink, but a memory nonetheless—to sustain them.
Then Dean feels the softness of Castiel’s mouth against his forehead, and relief and disappointment start a war inside him. Despite everything, his lips part to make way for the air Castiel’s kiss punches out of him.
He shudders when Cas pulls away. Closes his eyes so he can’t see all that he’s leaving behind.
“Yes,” he breathes.
He hears the thud of Michael’s previous vessel, all blood and bone, hitting the floor. Then Michael’s light laps at Dean’s eyelids.
When the light fills him, warmth spreads through his bones, unknotting the tension in his shoulders.
He keeps his eyes closed.
Castiel doesn’t know it, but he’s the first stop of Dean’s farewell tour.
The morning after Death gives Dean instructions to build and ward the Ma’lak Box, Dean knocks on the door of Castiel’s room.
“Come in,” Cas calls.
Dean swings the door open, eyes meeting the familiar sight of the bed—made neatly and collecting dust. He catches sight of Castiel sitting at his desk, surrounded by books. Daylight has just barely broken, yet Cas is already immersed in lore. He’s probably been at it all night.
“Hey Cas,” says Dean.
At the sound of his voice, Castiel turns around in his chair to look at him. “Dean,” he says tentatively. “Good morning. How are you feeling?”
Dean takes a beat too long to answer because he can’t decide how.
“I’m, uh… I’m feelin’ real good, what with an archangel banging on my noggin and all.” As he lets out a dry laugh, he watches Cas’s face fall. Guilt begins to creep up on him, so he does what he always does: he buries it. Like the bones of the once-loved. Like the ashes of the forgotten. Slapping on a forced smile, he adds, “Another day at the office.”
Castiel grimaces. “No, it’s not.” A pause. “Dean, you have one of the most powerful beings in all of existence trapped inside your head, with only an imaginary door between him and chaos.”
Dean stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Gee, Cas, don’t sugarcoat it or anything.”
Cas frowns and averts his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I didn’t intend to add to your worries. But I do believe we’ll find a way. There has to be something.”
The hope in Castiel’s voice brings a small smile to Dean’s lips.
“Okay, Cas,” he murmurs. He doesn’t tell him that he’s already found a way. He doesn’t tell him that this is goodbye.
“Good.”
When Dean looks at him, he can feel the colour of Cas’s eyes piercing through him, reaching past the façade that Dean’s been wearing his entire life. He fears if he stays there with Cas for too long, he might just confess all of his heart’s desires.
Dean tears his gaze away and clears his throat loudly. “So I just wanted to let you know that I’m gonna be headin’ over to Donna’s cabin to see Mom. Thought I should pay her a visit. It’s been a while since I’ve spent any time alone with her, y’know?”
Castiel keeps staring at him. “I understand the sentiment.”
If he had time, Dean would spend hours dwelling on that sentence. But he doesn’t.
“Thank you for always trying.” Instead of backing towards the doorway, he walks up to where Cas is sitting. Closer than he should. Watches Cas’s head tilt upwards and his eyes widen. “Bye. Love you,” Dean rushes, and because this is the only chance he’ll ever get, he takes Cas’s face in his hands and seals their mouths together.
It’s too quick, too firm; it doesn’t even feel like a kiss. It feels like when Dean calls him “buddy” and claps him on the back.
Dean sweeps from the room, feeling as though he just leapt off a cliff.
Castiel doesn’t call after him.
Half an hour into the drive home from Minnesota after Donatello’s revival, Zeppelin’s Whole Lotta Love comes on the radio, and Dean wants to sink right through the seats.
He stiffens and tries not to look at Castiel in the rear view mirror. He focuses instead on other things, like the dull ache in his jaw from where Sam punched him.
But Dean always knows when Castiel’s staring at him because it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He has often wondered if it’s due to something beyond their plane of existence; if it has to do with things Dean’s senses can’t perceive, like his soul and Cas’s grace reaching out for one another.
He can’t help the momentary glance in the mirror. When his suspicions are confirmed, Dean’s stomach lurches with nerves.
He white-knuckles the steering wheel the entire duration of the song, cursing himself for adding it to the mixtape he gave Castiel, for kissing him, for… all of it.
At some point, Sam falls asleep and leaves the two of them alone with another Zeppelin song.
Dean pretends not to notice.
Dean sleeps in for once. Ten whole hours.
At eleven in the morning, after having showered and gotten dressed, he pads down the hallway towards the war room when he hears low voices. Assuming Sam and Castiel must be talking about his Michael situation, he plasters himself against the wall and tries to listen in.
“… doesn’t usually sleep in this late,” says Sam. “Everything’s taking a toll on him and I don’t know how I can help, you know?”
“I wish there was something I could do to,” Cas replies.
A thick pause fills the air before Sam speaks again.
“Cas, buddy… you gotta know Dean’s in love with you, right? I mean… things have been kind of messed up, but I think lately, he’s been trying to say as much in his own way.”
Dean feels like his lungs are collapsing. Goosebumps crawl up his arms. He wants to disappear.
“I’m waiting for him,” Castiel murmurs. “He isn’t ready. He might never be. And that’s okay. I’ll always be right here, waiting for him.”
Dean emerges from the shadows and regrets it as soon as he does it. His eyes settle on his brother and best friend sitting at the map table. He can feel his face and ears burning, but manages to blurt out gruffly, “Are you two done your damn tea party yet?”
Sam huffs out a loud sigh and drags a hand down his face.
Cas, on the other hand, looks concerned. “Dean—”
“Cas, can I talk to you?”
It’s not so much a request as an order. When he sees Castiel nod, he turns on his heel and doesn’t stop until he reaches his bedroom.
Cas enters hesitantly and closes the door behind him.
“You heard,” he points out.
Dean’s heart is in his throat when he gives Cas a sheepish nod. “Uh… buddy, about what Sam said, it’s not—”
“I hate when you call me that.”
Taken aback, Dean stops talking and narrows his eyes. “Sam just did the same thing and you didn’t say anythin’ to him,” he reasons, shifting nervously on his feet.
“No,” says Cas, taking a step towards him. “I hate when you call me ‘buddy’. Or ‘man’. Or your friend. And I especially loathe when you call me your brother. I don’t want to be your brother, Dean.”
“Oh,” Dean responds, dumbstruck. His tongue darts out to wet his lips.
Castiel moves forward again, and he doesn’t stop until he has Dean backed against the wall.
Dean can’t help himself—he threads his fingers into Castiel’s hair and inhales the scent of him.
“You kissed me,” Cas recalls, lips brushing against Dean’s ear as they move. “You kissed me and you were going to leave me right afterwards. You were going to go through with that idiotic, suicidal plan and that’s the memory you were going to leave me with.”
The proximity starts a spark of arousal in Dean. “Because I just… I couldn’t say goodbye to you.”
“Because I’m nothing to you?” the angel asks, but he sounds like he already knows the answer.
“Because you’re everything to me,” Dean tells him. “You don’t even know how much you mean to me ’cause I’m a fucking coward and I never told you.”
Castiel shakes his head, hands skimming Dean’s sides. “Do you think I haven’t known this whole time? That I haven’t been able to hear your pulse quicken when I enter a room? Do you think I can’t hear it now? Do you think,” he says, “when you touch yourself, and gasp my name, I haven’t heard those moans of pleasure like a prayer?”
“C-Cas,” Dean pants. He’s already breathless and they haven’t even done anything, but having Castiel this close makes him want like never before.
“I love you,” Cas whispers.
Everything welling up inside Dean bursts; he kisses Castiel for the second time, but this time Cas is ready for it. This time, Dean parts Cas’s lips with a roll of his jaw. This time, Dean presses against him until the friction of their clothed dicks makes him groan into Cas’s mouth.
This time, Dean comes with Cas’s hand stroking him through the orgasm.
And so it goes.
Once the first brick is pulled away, the entire wall comes crumbling down.
Every time they kiss, Dean tells himself, Just one more time. When they lick into each other’s mouths, when Dean trails bites down Cas’s neck, when Cas sucks bruises onto Dean’s collarbone—it’s always just one more.
Sometimes Castiel steps into his space, as if he wants to see just how much Dean can take.
Dean breaks every time.
I want you inside me, Dean always wants to tell him, but it comes out as, This is the last time we’re doin’ this.
It’s never the last time.
Dean knows that neither of them is happy. Now that they’ve had a taste, desperation has its hold on them.
And they bleed themselves dry like they’re addicted to it.
The night Castiel doesn’t try to touch him, Dean knows there’s something wrong.
They’re in Castiel’s room, and for once, the sheets are rumpled.
“There’s something I never told you,” Cas begins. Dread is already curling inside Dean’s gut when Cas continues. “I made a deal. For Jack.”
“What did you do?” Dean demands, clenching his fists tight enough to make his palms bleed. “What did you do, you sonuvabitch?”
He doesn’t look guilty; he just looks helpless. “The Empty was going to take him. I couldn’t let it, Dean. I couldn’t. There was nothing else to do. It wasn’t just about him dying, it was about him being taken from his Heaven, to a place of nothingness. I had to, there was no other choice to be made.”
A horrible, dry laugh escapes Dean. “So you’re gonna leave me again, is that it? All this talk of us finding a way to save me, it was all just lies.”
“We will find a way to save you,” Cas assures, and he just doesn’t get it. “I won’t be taken by the Empty before you’re safe because I won’t be truly happy until then—”
“Then I don’t wanna be saved,” Dean snaps.
Castiel exhales as if he needs to. As if he’s human.
“Dean, I love you.”
He has that wild look in his eyes that says I would pull the stars down for you. Dean wants to hold that light in Castiel’s eyes against his bones and never let it go.
“Don’t—” Dean breaks off, closes his eyes, and sucks in a sharp breath. “Don’t do that. You can’t—you don’t.”
“Yes,” Castiel insists. It’s just like before—they’re standing close, but not touching. “I do. I love you with every fibre. I love you so much it consumes me. And I know you love me too.”
“I hate you,” Dean says. His hand twitches and he has to force himself not to reach for Cas. “I fucking hate you. I hate you so much.”
“I know, Dean,” Castiel murmurs gently, like he knows what Dean really means. “I understand.”
“No,” Dean grits out with a shake of his head, tears welling, threatening to spill over. “You don’t. You’ll never know how much I…”
He can never finish the thought, so Castiel does it for him.
“I’ve told you before,” Cas says. As he speaks, his warm breath fans over Dean’s face. “I know. I can feel it.”
Dean collapses against him, his head fitting into the crook of Cas’s neck. He grabs fistfuls of Cas’s trench coat as if it’s enough to keep him here. “What am I s’posed to do?”
“We’ll find something,” Cas says. “Don’t push me away.”
“I love you,” Dean manages, pulling back to look at Castiel, whose eyes are brimming with tears. “I wanna be with you. Stay.”
They know nothing of what’s to come, but that night, Dean asks Castiel to fuck him, and they hold each other for hours afterwards without saying a word.
Bleeding, they walk headfirst into the dark.