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“Why does that something always seem to be you?”
Dean regretted it the moment it left his mouth but he couldn’t take it back. Couldn’t apologize, couldn't put the words back where they should have stayed. Silence tore the room to shreds, each of them reeling in the wake of the dagger. He’d gone too far this time. This time, there was no turning back.
“You used to trust me. Give me the benefit of the doubt. Now you can barely look at me.”
Dean wanted to yell, wanted to scream, to fight to do something because this, this was so much worse. He’d died more times than he could count, quite literally been to hell and back, and this, this was unfathomable. A special kind of torture Alastair would’ve paid good money to use. Cas wasn’t wrong but he was and Dean wanted to explain it. Ramble until the words made sense, talk himself in circles until he was on the brink of consciousness. But nothing came out.
“My powers are failing and- I’ve tried to talk to you over and over and you don’t want to hear it. You don’t care. I’m… dead to you. You still blame me for Mary.”
No. He blamed himself. It wasn’t Cas’ fault. It was never Cas’ fault. Any of it. He’d been Dean’s scapegoat for so long now, and he didn’t even realize how much it was hurting him. Cas had just, always been there. In a life where each year feels like your last, moments seem eternal in a way he couldn’t remember a time Cas wasn’t there. Putting up with Dean’s bullshit for far longer than he should’ve. Forgiven Dean far more times than he deserved. He was always just there, despite Dean’s best efforts to push him away. He stayed silent. Couldn’t comprehend how to translate thoughts into words into actions that would mean anything. Everything would just be empty gestures and apologies way too late.
“Well I don’t think there’s anything left to say,” Cas said.
Castiel was strong. He was a soldier of heaven, but at that moment, there was a crack. A fissure, or maybe a canyon between them, something that ran so deep into Castiel’s very being he wasn’t sure it could be repaired. So, he turned away.
“Where you goin?” Dean asked. Castiel couldn’t leave. He wouldn’t leave, would he? After all this time, all this bullshit they’d been through together, he wouldn’t leave now. After a decade of Dean pushing and testing him, he’d finally gone too far.
“Jack’s dead. Chuck’s gone. You and Sam have each other.”
No. Dean thought.
“I think it’s time for me to move on.” And Castiel walked away.
Dean stayed in his wake, silently screaming a prayer. Please don’t leave me. Not you too.
But Cas couldn’t hear him. Not that night. Not anymore. And Dean had never been more alone than in that moment.
As the door to the bunker closed tears bit at the corners of his eyes and against his better judgment he let them. Cas was gone. Cas was really truly gone. Dean knew it, he knew it would end this way, knew this was going to happen. But there was no satisfaction in being right. Not this time.
The realization was empty and simultaneously a shot to the chest. Everyone he ever loved left him. Left him lost and alone and abandoned. Everyone he loved. Everyone he ever loved. Fuck.
He gripped the edge of the table and stared deeper into the empty space in front of him. The space Cas had so recently occupied. It was empty now. That was when the real regret found him. A million different responses, different truths, different outcomes sprouted from that space. It was all too much and wholly overwhelming and he couldn’t take it. He didn’t know what to do. It was too late. There wasn’t anything he could do. Even if he apologized now it would be too little too late. Cas had made up his mind. Dean didn’t deserve his forgiveness.
He didn’t know, but he should have. He should have heard Cas’ cries for help and screams of pain written on his face and the space between his words. Maybe he did, and maybe he ignored them but now he couldn’t remember why.
He couldn’t let Cas leave. Not like this. Not without knowing, not without explanation. He wasn’t sure why this time was different but it was. He couldn’t let Cas go thinking he was nothing, thinking he didn’t matter.
He pushed himself off the table and adrenaline shoved him up the stairs. He wouldn’t ask for forgiveness. He knew it was too late for that. Cas would still go, and Dean didn’t think he’d ever recover but he’d make his peace. A rush of cool air assaulted him as he pulled open the bunker door. The night was peaceful, blissfully ignorant and unfairly peaceful. It mocked him.
“Cas!” He screamed, having finally found his voice.
He searched, looking for the familiar trench coat, swirling violently in the wind but it was nowhere to be found and he felt his heart shatter.
Dean Winchester was no stranger to pain. Not in any regard. He’d been killed, he’d been tortured, he’d experienced unimaginable grief and loss and regret. The sensation of his heart being torn from his chest and his lungs collapsing, ribs crumpling inwards and bones and joints failing him wasn’t new. But this was… something else.
“Cas!” He yelled again. The voice that left his throat didn’t feel like his own. It was strangled and broken and far too high. But he didn’t care anymore, not really. Not when his knees were breaking on the concrete and the sky above him was somehow so etherily vast and empty.
He hung his head. He was so tired. He was so tired of all this pain, this constant fighting. He was so tired of hurting everyone he loved. Pushing them away, feeling worthless and empty and broken and unloveable. He was so unbelievably tired.
“Cas…” He said again. It was more of a coda, an echo, or maybe a goodbye.
“Dean?” He opened his eyes.
Cas. Cas had come back. He’d come back with his old trench coat. He’d come with his hair a mess and tie askew, just like he did in that old barn. There was more gray on his head than there was before, and a deeper maturity to his stance. But he was still the same angel that dragged Dean from hell, and Dean was still the same idiot that got himself sent there in the first place.
His head tilted as he inspected the pathetic puddle that was Dean. And after everything Dean did, after everything Dean said, Cas was concerned. Cas was concerned about him. Through all the hurt and all the pain, Castiel was worried about Dean.
An involuntary sob broke loose from his throat. This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t the plan at all. He wasn’t going to beg at Cas’ feet, or throw himself some pathetic pity-party.
“I’m so sorry,” He sputtered. “I- I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it. I just, I need you to know that. Before you go-”
He hated himself. He hated how he couldn’t make anything coherent out of himself and he hated that he was a spluttering mess and he hated that he was something to pity. A relationship to preserve out of pity.
“Before you go,” He tried again, gaining a slight molecule of decency. He tried to stand up, to even the playing field, to look Cas in those ridiculous, blue eyes. “I need you to know-”
The impatience, the coldness, the fear and the pain all played across Castiel’s face like a teleprompter. And Dean hated himself for putting it there.
“I’m-I’m not asking you to stay, I promise,” He took a breath. “You just can’t leave thinking that you’re worthless. Or that you don’t matter to me. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it. And you don’t have to believe me. I wouldn’t blame you if you killed me right here, right now. I’d deserve it. Just know, I didn’t mean it. I never did. I was never mad at you and I shouldn’t have said those things, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you I was just so fucking angry and maybe that’s always been my problem. You feel too deeply and I don't feel enough, huh?” The comparison was crass and empty. “Look, I- I wouldn’t ever forgive myself if I didn’t tell you. If you didn’t at least know. And I know you don’t see me the same way I see you but…”
Cas just tilted his head further, but this time it was different. It wasn’t curiosity or innocence. It was a guarded confusion.
Dean stomped down the tears, stomped down the insecurity and doubt. It didn’t matter. Not anymore. If Cas rejected it, he was already going to leave. There wasn’t a relationship left to ruin.
“Fuck Cas!” He yelled, far more hostile than he’d meant to. He just, he didn’t know how to do this shit. But then Cas flinched. His eyes darted away and Dean wasn’t sure how it was possible but the knife twisted deeper. He did this to him. He’s the reason Cas flinches. Dean doesn’t think he’ll ever recover from that.
“Shit, fuck I’m so sorry. That’s not- god I always seem to end up hurting you. Hurting everyone. I don’t mean to but fuck. I can’t stop hurting everyone I love-”
Time froze. There it was. He said it. Blood drained from his face and his breath died in his throat.
Cas noticed. Cas always noticed. His eyes opened wide and his mouth parted so ever slightly. Dean hated himself for noticing his lips.
“You…” Cas started, then trailed off, unsure.
Cas was always good at hiding his emotions. But Dean had learned to read him. He saw anger, confusion, and grief play across his features and Dean almost wished he hadn’t said anything at all. That he let Cas walk out, walk away. Let him think that Dean hated him. That would at least free him from further pain by Dean’s hand. But he hadn’t.
Dean hung his head. He wanted to say it. To say it for real. Three little words but his mouth couldn’t form them. He couldn’t. He could never be what Cas needed. This was proof of that. Dean loved him, but he couldn’t expect Cas to love him back.
“Dean,” Cas said, his voice was harsh, but not unkind.
Dean looked up, and saw Cas had moved closer to him. Not quite close enough to touch, but close enough to stay.
“Do you mean that?” He asked.
Dean went silent for a moment, then choked out some sort of defensive sutter.
“No,” Cas commanded, his voice authoritative and almost cold. “Did you mean that?”
Dean took a breath. He wanted to explain. The whole point of coming out here was to explain. But all he could do was give a slight nod.
Cas’ posture tightened, Dean could see the thoughts working through his mind and Dean wanted to run. To take it back, to fight, to scream or something. But his body wouldn’t move. His mind raced and his body wouldn’t move.
Cas apparently came to a decision about whatever he seemed to be mulling over, and he took another step closer. Dean fought the reflex to step back. Cas’ eyes went soft, almost forgiving. Painful and vulnerable and so deeply uncomfortable.
“Dean,” He said again, but this time his voice was soft. Like warm caramel or freshly baked pastries. Soothing.
Dean forced himself to meet Cas’ eyes.The deep blue wasn’t visible in the dark cover of the night, but the way his head tilted, and eyebrows creased were omnipresent. It was just, Cas. And he was there. Practically naked with his vulnerability and fear painted on his features.
Cas’ hand came up to sit on Dean’s cheek. He didn’t realize he’d been crying. He didn’t want to, didn’t allow it to happen but apparently it had. Cas’ thumb brushed aside a stray tear and against his better judgment Dean leaned into it. He leaned into the touch, into the comfort and his mind settled. He forgot why he was there, what he’d said, all he’d done, the pain he caused because there was only that moment. He lived in only that moment.
“I love you too,” Castiel whispered, gravely words reaching Dean’s ears and causing explosions in his chest.
He didn’t believe it. He couldn’t let himself believe it. He had the urge to shatter this new softness between them, to run, to drink until he couldn’t stand or break anything within reach. But he didn’t. He leaned further into Cas’ touch and didn’t realize he was falling until Cas had caught him, held him steady in his arms and sheltered Dean’s face from the unending night sky with his shoulder. Dean let himself stay that way, he breathed in the warmth, the smell of Cas and his stupid fucking trench coat. For the first time in maybe his whole life, Dean let himself be. He let himself believe, for once, it could be okay. That they could be okay.