Chapter Text
----EPILOGUE. 10 years later.----
It had been two years since Dean got released from Purgatory. The world had changed in more ways than Dean could count. Phones had no buttons, cars were electric, the internet was everywhere, and people gave a crap about the environment. It was a lot to get his head around. In some ways he had been glad he got early release, three more years in there and he’d swear he would have come out and time machines were going to be a thing.
It took time getting used to these massive changes. It also took time getting used to the small ones. The lack of schedule had been difficult, no one to tell him when he had to eat, sleep or work. Even deciding what to wear every day, his own clothes, clothes that belonged to him and not the state. He refused to wear orange for obvious reasons. He also didn’t have to watch his back, look over his shoulder or worry about the fact he couldn’t clearly see the exit. It took him a month to go grocery shopping. The aisles blocked his view. It freaked him out too much.
Even having more than half a small room to call his own had been strange. Sammy had been released a couple of years earlier. He found a place to live in Lebanon Kansas, worked at the local motel doing maintenance and took night classes at the local college. Dean joined him once he was allowed leave the halfway house. He got a job at a bar called the Roadhouse. Eventually they salvaged enough for a two-bedroom place. It was decent enough. It was theirs and that was what had mattered. A penthouse suite in comparison to Purgatory.
They kept their heads down, kept their noses clean.
He ran his thumb over his ring finger. The constant reminder of Cas. The tiny tattoo he etched into his finger the night before Dean got released.
“Incase you forget me.”
“I’ll never forget you Cas.”
He looked at the tattoo, the circle half-filled in black, half left bare to show that Dean ran with the Bratva. Sam had the same one, given to him from Gabriel the night before Sam left.
“It means you are in the circle of thieves.”
Dean didn’t see it like that. He saw it as Cas’ mark on his skin.
He wanted to say that the following years in Purgatory with Cas had been beautiful, that they loved each other unconditionally and everything was swell like in one of those romance novels. They found love in a hopeless place. It had been hard, brutal at times. Riots after riots rampaged the place. Chuck nowhere to be found, hiding out in his office as his inmates rained havoc on the place. He had been surprised they survived it. The slashes and gashes on Dean’s body, not even Cas’ protection could have saved him from the drug addicts. It took Sam and Dean sitting the Russians down to tell them to stop making the Angel Grace for things to calm down.
Cas and Gabriel initially refused. They fought relentlessly about it for months. The two sets of brothers coming to blows more than once. Dean ran his tongue over a chip in his tooth. Another reminder of Cas on him. Only once their grand plan worked did they stop making it. It took nearly two years, failed attempt after failed attempt to get one of their own out of a cage in Hell. The rioting in Purgatory being used to distract everyone enough for Lucifer to escape.
To then be killed by the Pakhan.
It made no sense.
That resulted in more fighting. Dean adopted the silent treatment more than once to show Cas how done he had been with his bullshit Bratva and the rules attached to it. That earned him the chipped tooth. He gave Cas one too. They called it even and fucked in the storeroom of the kitchen.
Most of their fights ended in that way. One stubborn man loving another. It shouldn’t have worked. Some of the time it didn’t, most of the time it did. Towards the end of Dean’s sentence, they had found a rhythm and then he got released. It ruined both of them, more than they’d like to admit to each other. Inseparable for almost 8 years and Cas had another year on his sentence to do before even being eligible for early parole.
“Don’t do anything reckless for one year, can you that for me Cas?”
“I will, I promise.”
“Hey Dean?” his brother called out.
He snapped himself back to the present, sitting on their sofa, beer in hand, feet on the coffee table. He clocked the time, coming up to 10pm. Late again. “Yeah?”
“I’m calling it a night.” His brother stretched in front of him. The lurch grew more inches over the years, filled out more, hair behind his ears instead of over his face. He can still see his little brother in there sometimes. The years hadn’t been kind to them. Purgatory weathered them more than they liked to admit at times.
They took turns having nightmares. Sam waking Dean from the riots. Dean waking Sam from Gordon or Alastair. Pulling each other from their flashbacks, bad memories, whatever you wanted to call it. Their time in there followed them around as much as they tried to leave it behind. Dean found it hard to sleep on his own, only getting four hours or so most of the time, as if his body wouldn’t let him sleep unless pressed against the Russian’s body.
“Here’s hoping for a quiet night eh?” Dean lifted his beer to his brother.
“I’m not betting on you being quiet.” Sam replied.
He checked his phone. No messages. It grated at him more than he liked to admit. He took a sip of his beer, ignoring his brother’s jibe. “You working tomorrow?”
“Yeah, in for 6am.” His brother padded down the hall towards his bedroom. When he heard the faint sound of the door close, he opened up his phone, sending a text message.
you planning on showing up anytime today?
The chances of getting a response were slim. He knew that. Dean grabbed another beer, lowering the tv down enough not to disturb Sam. He settled into the cushions, trying and failing to relax. Two years and he still had to consciously will it to happen. At least when he was on his own anyway.
He wasn’t supposed to be on his own tonight, though it looked that way. 11pm. Still nothing.
Dean grew restless, pulling at the label of his beer and channel hopping, not really taking anything in, just flashes of images. A thousand channels and nothing on, nothing that he wanted. He knew what he wanted. Unfortunately, what he wanted was late.
Close to midnight Dean turned in, walking to the bedroom with tired sunken eyes. He’d try to sleep. Dean slipped off his clothes, climbed in under the duvet and started to drift off when he heard the door to the bedroom open Dean doesn’t stir. He's annoyed, pissed off and sleepy frustrated which was the worst kind, wanting to shout but no energy too.
He heard footsteps go to the other side of the bed and the removing of fabric. The bed dipped, covers lifted and cold air escaped from the warmth Dean had created. It caused a shiver to run down his spine. The empty cold space quickly replaced with a hot body, bare chest to Dean’s clothed back. The faint smell of smoke roamed his nose.
A hand went around his stomach, pulling him closer. The tension in his shoulders relaxed almost immediately but he was still pissed.
“What time do you call this then?”
The Russian kissed the nape of his neck. “I missed you too lev.”
With a huff Dean turned around, letting his leg drape over Cas' and hand wrap around his stomach. Cas let out a sigh, like he had been holding his breath for a while. Dean didn't ask, he never did. If Cas wanted to talk he would, most of the time he didn't. The Bratva came first, always and Dean had to accept that. What he got was these moments, few and far between when Cas would come to him for one night, sometimes two if he was lucky. This was the deal he got when he decided to fall in love with someone from the Russian mafia.
And sure, sometimes Dean did want more and sometimes Cas would piss him off so much he didnt want to see that smug Russian face for a month. This was their love and Dean wouldn't have it any other way because the night that he fell was the night that Dean finally accepted who he was and he's been alright about everything else ever since.
fin.