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The drive home from the old barn is quiet.
Dean glances over to the passenger side where Cas is slumped against the window, sound asleep.
Dean grips the wheel tighter and presses the accelerator harder. He wishes for the distraction of music to stop the swirling thoughts he’s spent months pushing aside, but he’s unwilling to risk waking the sleeping mostly-human beside him.
Mostly-human. He didn’t ask Sam for any details. This spell - it will bring him back? and Yes, but Dean - was enough for him.
Sam had told him that while remnants of Cas’ fading grace might remain, he would be mostly-human. And mostly-humans snore like buzzsaws after a long night of being raised from the Empty.
---
The first thing Cas does when they arrive is mumble “shower” and slouch into the bunker. At least he can walk on his own.
In the scenes Dean had tried not to play out in his mind of how the night would go, his friend - this guy, this angel, who loved him enough to give up his life for him - had pulled him into his arms and held him tightly, not letting go. There are other scenes that Dean had tried even harder not to think about. A few of these thoughts that he didn’t have recalled the sparks of their first meeting.
In the end, Cas had fallen out of the blackness and face down onto the barn floor.
Stricken, Dean’s immediate thought was that the spell had gone wrong. That he’d brought back Cas’ body only. (He wouldn’t call it his vessel - it hadn’t been a vessel in years – he was wholly Cas.)
But Cas was breathing. Shallow breaths, barely perceptible, but breathing. So, Dean could breathe, as well.
His hand had trailed down from Cas’ neck where he’d checked his pulse and rested on his chest.
Dean isn’t sure how long they sat there. Cas was out of it when he came to. He had blinked open his eyes slowly, as if keeping them open was a struggle, and simply rumbled, “Dean.”
Dean had shivered, and not solely because the night air was crisp.
“Come on, bud. Let’s get you home.”
He’d pulled Cas to his feet, shouldering most of his weight. Cas’ eyes had closed again the second Dean had helped situate him in the passenger seat of the Impala.
Now, back at the bunker, in the early light of the morning, Dean tries to recall if Cas had looked directly at him once since he returned.
---
Dean waits in the library, thinking Cas will come looking for him after his shower. He knows that his friend has to be exhausted - coming back from the dead will do that. But they have a lot to catch up on. A lot to talk about. A lot that Dean has to figure out quickly what he wants to say.
It’s not that there hadn’t been time to think about it before.
It’s just that Dean never allowed himself to go there in his mind. Cas was gone, but he’d get him back. He always got him back. Had to get him back.
As for everything else? Buried away in the old memory box.
He’d slugged Sam hard the last time he asked what happened with Cas the night he died.
The first time, Dean had said the bare minimum: “He saved me. Cas is gone.”
The second time, Dean had threatened to break Sam’s nose if he asked what happened again. He knew as the words came out that he had no right, not really - that Sam had lost a friend, too - but he couldn’t stop himself from saying it all the same.
“We have to find a way to bring him back. Anything,” Dean had told him. They were in the library, pouring over yet another stack of books.
“Dean, I’m trying,” Sam started, gesturing to the spellbook in front of him. “But understanding the circumstances might help lead me to the right spell -“
“Understand this – he died to save me. It’s my fault he’s gone,” Dean had said.
“Dean –“
“No, I’m not talking about this again, man. I mean it - you ask me again and I’ll break your nose. Just find a way to get him back.”
Dean had stormed out of the room then, slamming the door to room. He had put on his headphones and pressed play, his favorite tape already in his cassette player, as it had been every night since he lost Cas. He had fallen asleep sitting up in bed, trails from angry tears staining his cheeks.
The third time - the last time - Sam had found Dean passed out, face down on the kitchen floor. Bottles, more than he cared to count, littered the space around him. The sleeve of Dean’s flannel shirt and the floor beneath his arm was caked with vomit.
After the fact, when he was slightly sobered up, Dean knew that Sam had been worried that Dean had drank himself to death finally.
His brother had shaken him awake, shouting his name, and pulled him up as he came to.
Sam had said, “Dean, we have to talk - since Cas -“ and Dean had had just enough strength to pull back his fist and bring it crashing against his brother’s face.
“Don’t,” was all Dean had said. “Don’t.”
---
Sam found the spell three days later. They hadn’t talked since that morning in the kitchen.
They didn’t talk this morning either, not really. Wordlessly, Sam pushed the paper across the kitchen table to Dean.
He had paused only to say, “Supplies are in the map room.” With that, he turned around and walked out.
The bruise on his brother’s left cheek was an ugly, mottled purple. Dean had put that there without a thought. No - with one thought making its way through his still-drunken mind: I can’t think about losing him or I’ll give up. But he couldn’t say that, so he’d thrown the punch instead.
Dean had caught up with Sam in the hall - this spell - it will bring him back? - and once Sam had talked him through it, Dean hadn’t waited around to chat more. To think more. He’d just acted.
He had gone straight to his room, grabbing the jacket, still stained with the blood his best friend - blood he would need to perform the spell - from where it had laid since he brought it home.
He might not have allowed himself to think about losing Cas, but he made sure the visual reminder stayed in place, a shrine to his loss. He looked at every morning, looked at it every night. It would stay there until Cas was back for good. And then he could put it away.
Now, though, Dean knows that putting it away was not going to be that simple. The jacket lays on the backseat of the Impala where he left it. But now that Cas is back, he can’t simply put anything away.
He has limited time to think about that day – their last day. About what his friend had said. About what he would have said back had he had a chance.
---
Dean puts his head in his hands, pressing his worn hands against his eyes. It’s been at least an hour and no sign of Cas.
No water is running when he pokes his head into the bathroom. He walks the halls and finds that Cas’ bedroom door is shut. He can’t hear any sound of movement on the other side of the door, but he stands there for a few minutes, hand hovering near the doorknob.
Finally, he breathes out a frustrated sigh and turns away to walk to his bedroom. He tells himself that it’s okay. It’s better even. He still doesn’t know what he needs to say. He’ll sleep on it and it’ll be fine in the morning.
Dean doesn’t sleep much that night. He tosses, fighting the need to sleep and the need to get his thoughts in order. Sleep eventually wins, but his dreams are black and viscous. Empty and cold. He doesn’t need his head shrunk to tell him what that’s about.
When he wakes up the next morning, though, he’s more refreshed than he’s been in months. Not drinking to the point of passing out will do that, he guesses.
He tries to ignore the way he climbs out of bed easier. The way he rushes through his shower and walks just a bit more quickly down the hall than he has in too long.
But the kitchen is empty. The map room, empty.
---
Dean falls asleep in a chair in the library. He wakes up startled, hand shooting out to grab and hold Sam’s arm as he pulls it back from nudging his brother awake.
“How did it go?” Sam asks, ignoring his brother’s typical reaction to be woken up.
Dean isn’t in the mood to share, but with a cringing glance at the fading bruise on Sam’s face and a knot of shame tangling in his stomach, he lets go of his brother’s arm and forces himself to say, “It worked.”
“I know that,” Sam says, “I made Cas breakfast earlier this morning, after my run. But he didn’t really say much. What happened?”
Dean flinches at the words that had angered him so much just days before. He looks down at the floor.
“Dean?” Sam prompts.
Dean swallows roughly and looks up, “You saw him? This morning?”
Sam tilts his head at Dean as if considering what to say, then slowly, as if choosing his words carefully, says, “Yeah. Like I said, he didn’t say much. But he ate. Went back to his room. Dean, is everything okay?”
With a frustrated exhale, Dean shakes his head. “No, I don’t think it is, Sam.”
“Did he – he came back. He was quiet, but it was Cas.” Sam says the words like facts, but the question is implied.
“Yes, he’s Cas,” Dean says, looking off into the distance of the library. “That’s not – you asked me what happened. Before.”
Sam is quiet, understanding that Dean doesn’t mean just a moment ago. He waits for him to continue.
“When he saved me.”
Dean chances a glance at Sam, who is standing perfectly still, looking down at his brother.
“I couldn’t – when he was gone, I couldn’t.” He swallows, continues. “Talking about it – I – he made a deal. Cas did. To save Jack.” Dean hears Sam draw in a quick breath at that, but he carries on before his brother can say anything, “The Empty – it told him it was going to wait. Wait until he was happy. That’s when it would take him.”
“But what does that –“ Sam breaks his silence, but Dean cuts him off.
“I’m getting there. Please – Sam, just – I couldn’t do this before. I can barely say it now.”
With a nod from Sam, Dean resumes.
“He told me all these things about how what we do – what I do is for love. How I taught him to feel and care about things. Everything. How I changed him.” Dean’s throat feels tight and his voice ragged, he can’t stop his eyes from filling up with tears. “He told me he loved me. He told me he loved me, and the Empty took him. It’s my-“
“Dean, if you say that it was your fault, I swear-“ Sam cuts himself off with a frustrated shake of his head.
The older brother looks up him, seeking the reassurance he doesn’t feel like he deserves. Sam’s face softens.
“It wasn’t your fault, Dean.”
Dean closes his eyes to keep the tears welling up from falling, his mouth forming a grim line. He nods once.
“Cas - he probably just needs time,” Sam says, “If he hasn’t - he probably just needs time to adjust to being back. But he’ll be all right. He’s Cas.”
Sam puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze.
“Just give it some time.”
Dean can’t think of anything he’d like less to do, but he doesn’t seem to have a choice in the matter.
---
The next three days pass by slowly and, all at once, in a blur.
If Dean would admit to having seen the movie, he might also concede that a comparison to Elizabeth Bennett spinning on a swing in Pride and Prejudice might be appropriate for the daze he’s been in as the days passed by.
Dean swings back and forth between frustrated and confused, and hurt and confused.
He still doesn’t know what he needs to say. Part of him thinks Cas knows this and has been avoiding him. He didn’t think he could feel worse, but that thought twists his stomach and makes him dizzy with shame.
The spinning in his head is much less cinematic that any movie scene and he would never make that comparison anyway. Watching chick flicks is one thing – comparing his life to one would be too far.
Cas’ door stays shut. If he comes out, he’s timed it perfectly to avoid Dean. Sam shoots worried glances at Dean when he thinks he isn’t looking but pulls a very convincingly reassuring smile when he catches his eye.
Dean doesn’t say a word.
---
On the fifth day, Eileen comes over for dinner. Dean makes burgers for everyone.
Cas continues to ignore him. He signs with Eileen happily and makes small talk about the weather in Topeka with Sam, who is headed there with Eileen tomorrow to check out a potential case.
When Eileen lays a hand gently on Dean’s back at the end of the night and half-smiles at him reassuringly, he wants to scream. He’s not quite sure why, so instead, he forces a half-smile in return.
Dean goes to bed early and stares at the ceiling until sleep takes him.
---
When he wakes and stumbles into the kitchen in the morning, he finds a note in Cas’ handwriting, “Out – back tomorrow. - Cas”
Hurt and frustrated and confused, Dean gives up on space and tries Cas’ cell phone. After the fifth call, he finds the phone laying on the table in the map room.
Dean throws it across the room with force, watching as it smashes into the wall, pieces of plastic scattering on the floor.
He considers grabbing the bottle of Jack from the kitchen and heading back to his room. He leaves the bottle where is it and instead goes out to the garage.
The jacket lays where he left it. The blood – Cas’ blood, his handprint – exactly as he left it. He picks it up with a reverence that he tries not to think about it.
Back in his room, he picks up his cassette player and headphones, hits play, lays the jacket on the side of his loveseat, and lies down with his face pressed into the jacket.
Dean wakes up when it’s dark, still clutching the jacket, and stumbles into his bed.
---
On the seventh day, Dean breaks his silence when Cas trudges into the kitchen, heading straight for his morning coffee – the first time their schedules have overlapped since Cas returned.
“You’ve been moping around for a week, buddy. I’ve tried to give you space, but enough’s enough. Talk to me.” Dean tilts his head toward the seat across from him at the kitchen table.
Cas inhales deeply. He’s bracing himself, but for what, Dean isn’t sure.
“I’m not moping, Dean. I’m just getting used to being human. Again,” If Cas notices Dean flinch at the memory of the last time he was human, he doesn’t acknowledge it, “And being pulled here - I just didn’t think I’d ever be back on earth again. And certainly not like this.” Cas, still holding his cup of coffee, takes the seat across from Dean.
“What do you mean? Of course we wouldn’t let you just rot away in the Empty.”
“Dean,” Cas says, and Dean knows now that the way his voice rumbles his name will never not affect him. But he can’t think about that right now, because Cas continues, “I wasn’t in the Empty anymore.”
“What?”
“Dean - I was in heaven. Jack - he made an exception. Just the one. So that I could help him.” Cas stares off, clearly recalling a memory of heaven.
“Why didn’t he - why didn’t you say? I pulled you out of heaven? Did you want - I thought -“ Dean can barely think, feeling panic rising in him at the implications of Cas’ words.
“Dean, I know. You didn’t know,” Cas says softly, but firmly.
“You’re right, I didn’t know. You were safe and I didn’t know. You didn’t tell me you were safe.” Dean slams his fist down on the kitchen table, his fear coming out as anger.
“You’re mad?” Cas asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Damn right, I am, man! You - Jack - you could have let me - us know. Months - months, we’ve been working to bring you back. I - we’ve been -“
Dean gets up from the table and begins pacing the room.
“Dean -“
“No. Cas - I can’t. I can’t believe you, man.” He turns away from Cas.
“Dean-“
“I - we need you, man,” Dean says, turning back to face Cas, “Don’t you get that?”
“Jack needed me in heaven. Now, you need me here. I don’t know what use I can be anyway like this. I tried, but I don’t have my powers anymore” Cas lets of a heavy sigh and continues, “Tell me, Dean - how did you feel about finding out that Chuck had been writing your story, making your choices for you? Where does what I chose fit in with what everyone needs from me?”
“What - you can’t be serious. You’re comparing us saving you to Chuck?” He flings the name out like a swear.
“There wasn’t supposed to be an after, Dean. I made my peace. I made my choice.” Cas fixes Dean with the piercing stare he’s become so used to.
“Well, it was a stupid choice.” Dean knows he sounds childish but can’t help the bitter words from coming out.
Cas is quiet for a moment, then sighs, getting up from the table. “It was my stupid choice to make, Dean.”
He sets his untouched cup of coffee on the counter and leaves the kitchen without another word.
Dean is left alone with his thoughts again, feeling lost and more than a little empty.
---
Dean’s not sure how long he stays in the kitchen. It was day and now it’s night.
Cas comes back into the room much later, that he knows.
And he knows now what he needs to say to him.
“I didn’t kill him, you know. Chuck,” Dean says, standing up to face his friend. “I wanted to. He deserved it. If anyone deserved it, he did. But I couldn’t – I couldn’t get your words out of my head. I wanted to be the person you saw, Cas.”
“Dean, you already-“ Cas starts, but he’s cut off.
“There are days I’m not. God, what I’ve put Sammy through in the past few months alone, you don’t even know, man.” He shakes his head, pushing that thought away and pushing forward, “I don’t deserve his forgiveness, but I’ll take it. I’ll try to be worth it. I’ll try to be the person you both think I am. But that day, Cas, I was. I was because of you.”
Cas opens his mouth, then closes it, and nods at Dean – whether in affirmation of Dean’s words or allowing him to continue, Dean isn’t sure, but he swallows and lets himself finally speak the words he’s been avoiding even thinking.
“You left. And before, you told me I didn’t stop you and you were right. You were right. But I couldn’t stop you this time. I would have given anything to stop you, Cas – you have to know that. And when I say I need you here, man, I don’t mean because of your powers. I mean I need you like I need air. Maybe more.”
Cas’ face is still stony, but his blue eyes are fixed on Dean and full of something – and Dean thinks it might be hope. He allows that thought to bolster him as he continues.
“Cas, I didn’t get a chance before. I never allowed myself the chance – there’s things I want to say. Things I need you to hear.” Cas’ face softens, and his eyes don’t leave Dean’s face. Dean would usually get flustered under the intensity of his gaze, but he briefly thinks that they’re well passed that now and moves forward to close the space between them.
“You don’t have to –“ Cas starts, but Dean looks at him with pleading eyes and he stops. They’re standing close enough to touch. Close enough that Dean can feel how rigid Cas is holding himself, how unsure he is.
And Dean never wants Cas to be unsure of him again.
“I don’t want to lose you again,” Dean says, and his face crumples at the thought. He reaches out to cradle Cas’ face in his hands, holding his gaze instead of turning away from it.
“I love you. And I’m sorry I didn’t say it before. I didn’t allow myself to even think it for so long – not until Lucifer killed you. But I didn’t think you felt the same – could feel the same. And then you told me, and I didn’t know how to say it then. And then you were gone,” Dean’s voice is rough, and his throat tightens. “You changed me, too. I think you know that. You don’t put up with my crap. You see through it all and you call me on it. You’re the bravest person I know. I’ve never believed in anything – anyone – the way I believe in you. You say you cared about the world because of me. I had faith because of you. I had faith in the world, in us, in everything we’ve done, because of you.”
Cas exhales raggedly, reaches up to pull Dean forward so their chests are flush against each other, hands in his hair, pulling him closer. He searches Dean’s face for any hesitation, finds none.
Dean closes the remaining space between them, their lips meeting. It’s a messy, frantic kiss at first, but they find their rhythm. They have the time now with nothing left unsaid.
Cas pushes him back against the wall of the kitchen, pinning Dean with one hand running through his hair and the other grasping his shoulder, where his handprint used to be. Dean lets out a moan that he’d be embarrassed about if he had the ability to think as Cas moves against him, lips and tongue working the way down his neck.
Dean leans his head back against the wall and lets out of a shuddering breath.
“So beautiful,” Cas mouths against him. Dean looks at him with glassy eyes, silently communicating supplication, desire.
Cas takes Dean’s hand and leads him down the hall to his bedroom. Dean’s mind is blank– empty of any thought other than Cas.
---
This is real.
It’s been 401 days since Cas returned. Dean imagines he might stop counting one day. But every day he wakes up and Cas is next to him, he closes his eyes and feels grateful that they got another chance, and he adds another day to his mental count.
With his hand on Cas’ chest, feeling each beat of his heart, Dean’s own feels anything but empty.