Sam left Dean alone in his room to finish organizing, he missed Cas too and he prayed so hard right then for Cas to come back, that they had a home for him and that they would figure everything out.
Dean was just lying down a track on the old record player, the sound of Led Zepplin came out soft and slightly fuzzy. But Dean liked it better that way, like a whisper of a dream, not completely all there.
“Dean” Was he dreaming already, that gruff voice didn’t belong to his brother, maybe his imagination was creating his own song, coming from the cracked vintage speakers.
“Dean” the voice was more gentle now, fading away maybe. He didn’t look around to check. Just watched the vinyl spin under the needle, lost, almost hypnotized by it.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, over the ghost of hand print he had left. It would never go away, never heal entirely. But he wouldn’t wish it too. He laid his hand over the same spot expecting to feel nothing but air. This was his imagination after all.
But something felt a lot more solid and warm there then it ought to. The skin of his palm didn’t meet the light fabric of his gray henley like he though it would, instead he felt smooth skin against his own. Knuckles of a hand fitting into the groves under his own hand.
“Cas?” He was starting to doubt himself, what he was feeling felt even more real than being caught in his own mind from a Djinn. He couldn’t deny anymore the slow breaths he heard behind him or the feel of a pulse against his skin under his hand that was not his own.
He screwed his eyes shut not daring to look, not wanting this to end if there was any possible semblance that this wasn’t real. He turned around, let his hands feel for him. All in a matter of seconds he felt stiff fabric under his fingers and then a body. He let himself do what he normally would not and he hugged the figure, arms closing around shoulders, his hands digging into a back. He buried his face in shoulder, sighing.
“Cas” He breathed in, cheek pressed to a warm neck. And sure enough Dean felt a strong pulse there too. Maybe this was real, maybe he could have this and leaving one side of the room blank wasn’t foolish after all. He was interrupted mid-thought then, thinking about what Cas could possibly have to make the room his own.
“Dean, what are you doing?” the voice was accusatory but happy, rumbling against his body, making Dean chuckle at the oddity of the sensation. He finally decided that he would let himself have this.
“I’m nesting Cas.”