Dean finds out that five months on earth is one year in Purgatory.
He smiles and embraces his brother, ready to get back to normal.
Every time Dean kills a monster he expects ten more to rush towards him. But the monsters don't come in hordes on earth, and every time, he's disappointed.
Cas doesn't quite know what to do with himself. Dean and Sam help him find an appartment, set him up to live a semi-human life while he figures it out. He's got wounds and scars that Dean can't see, that keep Cas on the ground. But he and Dean are healed, and the hunter feels good about having him as a friend.
Every weapon Dean wields feels wrong in his hands. The only things that could hurt the souls of purgatory were Castiel and the angel blade. Even though Dean doesn't use the blade anymore, he hasn't given it back to Cas yet.
The first time Dean makes Sam laugh after he gets back, he basks in the sound. He smiles just knowing his brother is riding shotgun. They fall back into a rhythm that feels like home.
Their first time fighting side-by-side again, Dean gets too close to Sam, as if his brother had the reach of someone several inches shorter. Sam clips his shoulder with a knife, and Dean doesn't tell him how guilty he feels about it.
Dean sighs contentedly when he lies down in an actual bed at night, savours bacon cheeseburgers, makes eyes at pretty waitresses, and does The Job. He tries to go back to normal.
He remembers how precious sleep was when he never had enough of it, remembers the twangy, irritated mood that comes with hunger, and tells himself that there's no way he could miss those things.
Dean feels like going out at night and just finding something to kill, has to keep reminding himself that he can't, because monsters don't roam around at will on earth.
Dean resents salt-and-burns. They bore him.
Sam and Dean find a nest of ghouls in an old mausoleum. They make a plan of attack. Sam says they both need sleep, that they should go in the morning, and Dean agrees. He lies in the dark, listens till Sam's breathing becomes slow and even, and then leaves.
Dean strolls into the nest with a shout of "Dinnertime, you filthy freaks!" Six ghouls come at him at once.
It's like poetry, like a dancing fire, like an avalanche. Dean dodges and strikes and kills and feels alive. It's over too soon. His skin is humming, his nerves are buzzing, and it's not enough. He thinks, Cas.
Dean gets in his car and burns rubber, trying not to examine how he feels like he's found something he'd lost, trying to just enjoy the satisfaction.
He knocks on Cas' door for three whole minutes before the angel actually answers, hair sticking up, bleary-eyed, in a thrift-store Nirvana t-shirt and sweat pants.
"Dean. Is something wrong?"
Dean sidles through the door, all sly smile and bedroom eyes. "What, I can't drop in on my best friend?"
Cas closes and locks the door, turns to blink at Dean tiredly, says something about the time of night and how he needs sleep these days. Dean isn't really listening.
He takes Cas by the shoulders and pins him against the wall. The angel's eyes go wide, and Dean knows full well that this was a part of Purgatory they'd agreed to leave behind (or was it just him?). Dean leans in close until his breath is ghosting over Cas' lips, and he hears Cas inhale sharply in anticipation.
"Did you miss me?" Dean purrs.
Cas' lips quirk up, just a little, and he nods.
