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Dean winced as the needle dragged over his skin. He was sitting in a chair in a tattoo parlor, watching as a young girl with more visible tattoos than skin carefully worked on the inside of his left wrist, just above where his watch band would sit when he put it back on. The girl, Phoebe, glanced up at him and gave him a smile. "Doing alright?" She asked kindly and Dean nodded. "Yeah, it's cool to watch. I couldn't really see with my first one since it was on my chest, so it's neat to see the process," he explains. She wiped his skin gently with a paper towel and looked back down as she talked. "Yeah, I find it soothing. I just lose myself in the vibration and let the ink flow," she said, Dean humming in agreement. "Yeah, that's kinda what I'm doing too," he said quietly. After a few moments of silence, Phoebe spoke up again. "So, out of curiosity, why a honey bee?" She asked, her dark eyebrows knitting with curiosity. Dean feels the vice grip around his heart tighten a bit as he takes a breath. "It's uh, for a…friend I lost. He loved bees. Even wanted to keep bees someday, but…" Dean trailed off avoiding the sympathetic look on Phoebe's face. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Well, it's a great way to remember him," she said, giving him another wipe before sitting up straight. "Well, looks like you're all done!" She said happily, allowing Dean to lift his arm and admire the ink. It was a fine-line tattoo, so that the details of the bee could be seen more clearly. Dean loved it. "Thanks, Phoebe, it's perfect," he said, trying to hide the way his voice cracked and his eyes misted over. He tipped her well after he paid the shop minimum and thanked her again, Phoebe giving him a soft smile as he turned to go. Before he got out the door, though, he caught a glimpse of one of the portfolios by the couch in the waiting area. It was filled with flash sheets, covered in all kinds of beautiful designs. Florals, traditional, sailor style, cartoon, and hyper-realistic. He saw as he checked the cover that it was his artist Phoebe's portfolio and he smiled as he turned back toward the desk. "Hey, Phoebe?" He asked, holding out her book at the counter. She smiled and nodded, waiting for his question. "What would you say if I asked you to help design a sleeve for me?" He asked. Phoebe's face lit up as they started flipping through her book.
This was how the next six months progressed for Dean. He would go about his life, cleaning up at the bunker, cooking dinner for him and Sam, and he would go every three weeks to the little shop in town where Phoebe worked, and she would lay on the stencil for that session. The frequent sessions had been a lot, and Dean was now accustomed to his left arm just itching constantly as things healed. Along with the bee, he'd gotten a vine of huckleberry that wrapped up his arm all the way to his shoulder, a little cowboy hat, a broken halo, the outline of a man in a trench coat, Enochian lettering of Cas's name, and two little wings, all over his upper and lower arm. As his sessions went by he found it easier to talk to Phoebe, and he told her about Cas. It was in one session that Phoebe had looked at him with a sad smile and said, "you really loved him, didn't you?" that he finally acknowledged who Cas had truly been to him in front of someone else. After Cas had been taken by the Empty, Dean had realized as he sat in the bunker replaying the footage of Cas's last moments, that he was grieving not just for a friend, but for a lost love. It came down on him like a pile of bricks and he didn't remember much after that except a bottle of whiskey being opened. He came to in his bed, Sam sitting in the desk chair watching Dean closely. His whole body ached, and he shook with tremors. Sam had glared at him from the chair as he spoke.
"Dean, I found you passed out on the kitchen floor in a pool of your own puke. What the fuck were you thinking?" He'd asked, and Dean had sighed shakily as he reached for the water Sam held out. After getting his bearings, it all came pouring out. Everything Cas had said, what had really happened, and how he felt about all of it. By the end of it all, both of them were crying as Dean let his head fall to his chest, unable to look his brother in the eye anymore. To his surprise, the bed dipped slightly and Dean felt himself get wrapped up in a hug, Sam's big hands fisting in his shirt. "I'm sorry, Dean," Sam whispered, and Dean simply allowed it all to happen, too exhausted both physically and emotionally to fight.
Six months later, Dean had left the whiskey alone, opting for the occasional beer instead, and Sam had helped him work on getting the Bunker in shape for its eventual next generation of hunters. Dean was glad to be looking for a new place, somewhere with windows and a yard and no bad memories of black goo and reapers. And of course, he was getting tattoos. He'd always wanted tattoos, just never had enough spare cash to waste on them. The anti-possession tattoo had been a necessity of the job, and he and Sam hadn't really cared about the quality of them, so long as they were accurate to the image. Now though, he was doing this for him. Well, mostly for Cas, but for himself too. The reminders helped him remember happy moments with Cas, not just the bad ones.
Today's session was going to be a special one for Dean. He'd finally perfected the handprint, stenciled from the arm of the ruined jacket he kept carefully folded in the back of his closet, and he handed it to Phoebe so she could turn it into a transfer sheet. Phoebe, now accustomed to Dean's stories of the mystical Castiel, looked at it with a hint of awe. "Is this from memory Dean? This is really good," she praised, and he waved her off. "Not all of it. Some of it was stenciled from a handprint he…left. The rest is from memory," he explained. She nodded approvingly. "Sweet. You've got a talent Dean," she complimented and Dean had to focus on not blushing, unaccustomed to the kind words. He and Phoebe had gotten to know each other well in the last few months, what with Dean sitting in her chair for hours at a time, and she knew not to push it as she went back to the special printer. "Alright, help me with the positioning," She gestured, bringing him over to the full-length mirror by her chair. He explained carefully where to angle the handprint, and when he was satisfied with it, gave her a thumbs-up. "Alright Dean, ready?" she asked, dipping her needle into one of the red pots of ink she had laid out. Dean had specified that he wanted this tattoo in full color, done like her more photo-realistic styles. "Like a scar," he'd explained, hoping she wouldn't ask too many questions. "Let her rip," he said, settling back into the cushiony chair. Buzzing filled the air and the familiar stinging soon lulled him into a sense of calm as he chatted with her.
He drove back to the Bunker bopping lightly along with one of his tapes, thinking about what to make for dinner as he put Baby in park in the garage. Walking down the creaky stairs, he called out. "Sammy! 'M home! How do burgers sound for dinner-" he stopped abruptly as he stared at the three people at the map table. Sam, standing up to grab him by the shoulder, looking pale and shaken. Jack, looking calm and reassured. And then, his eyes landed on blue, and he crumbled to the floor. "No. No. Not again. Not this dream again. I can't do this, no, I can't keep doing this," he said, voice broken as Sam did his best to catch Dean's weight and keep him from landing hard on the floor. "Dean, Dean, hey, look at me," Sam's voice broke through the tears and pain keeping everything around him hazy. Dean found his brother's face. "Dean, it's real. It's them, it's Jack and Cas, I promise. I checked, quite a few times. It's really them," Sam said, wincing as Dean's hand gripped his arm vice-like. Jack stood next, walking over to Dean and kneeling at his level. "It's true, Dean. I know you were tricked before, but it really is us," Jack soothed, voice somehow so serene. "Jack?" Dean asked, voice hoarse. Jack nodded, holding out their hand for Dean. Dean took it and he felt the brief warmth of grace linger on his hand as he stood, pulling Jack into a fierce hug. "It's so good to see you, kid," Dean said, patting Jack's back. Jack gave him a smile as he pulled back. "You too, Dean. I'm sorry I've been away for so long. I was working on, well, getting Castiel back. I didn't know if my plan would work, so I kept it to myself. I apologize for worrying you," They said, gesturing to Cas who was still rooted to his chair. Dean turned to look the angel in the eyes for the first time in over six months, and Cas's face broke out in a tearful grin. "Hello, Dean," he said, finally standing as Dean stepped closer to him. "Cas," Dean breathed, reaching out tentatively. His hand landed on Cas's shoulder, gently at first, almost as if he was worried the mirage would vanish when he touched Cas, then it tightened as Cas was yanked into Dean's arms, finding himself hugged by the hunter. "You're real," Dean whispered, face buried in Cas's neck. Cas nodded. "I'm indeed real, Dean," he said with a little laugh and Dean managed a chuckle. Cas moved to pull away but Dean held on, keeping Cas's warmth only inches from him. "I love you," Dean blurted out, surprising everyone in the room. Cas's mouth fell open for a solid ten seconds, his brain trying to process what Dean had said. Instead of responding with words, Cas simply tugged them closer together and pressed Dean's lips to his own in an insistent kiss.
Dean felt like he'd come up for air for the first time in six months. The bone-deep ache in his chest melted away as Cas held him and they kissed, reveling in the closeness they had longed for and almost never gotten. It was only when Sam coughed quietly that they broke apart, Dean still staring with wonder into Cas's eyes. "Welcome home," he said, chuckling as he cradled Cas's face in his hand and wiped his tears gently. Cas laughed with him, eyes crinkling with his wide smile. "I'm glad to be home," Cas said.
Later that evening, as they lay in Dean's bed, Cas traced every one of Dean's tattoos with his fingers, listening to Dean recount each one's meaning to him, and he laid his hand over the saniderm of the fresh handprint tattoo. "Felt like a piece of me was missing without it," Dean explained, grimacing a bit at the pressure from Cas's real hand. Cas nodded in understanding. "But I'm back," Cas said softly, a smile gentle and kind on his face. Dean matched it before leaning in to kiss his angel.
"So's my missing piece," Dean said.