Sam watched Dean intently as he held onto something he thought was long lost, the last picture of the group before Lucifer; Bobby, Sam, Dean, Jo, Ellen, and - worst of all – Castiel.
It had been three days. Three long, agonizing days since purgatory's inmates, the Leviathans, had claimed the life of Castiel. Sam missed the angel but moved on, as he had not been too close to the man, and continued searching for his next hunt, ready to take out whatever emotions he had of his death out of the monsters that were unlucky enough to cross their path.
"I'm going out," he told his brother, trying to curl up his lip in a sad attempt of a smile. "Want me to bring you some pie?"
Dean didn't answer. He continued staring at the cracked motel room wall, fingers gripping onto the photograph like it was his life support.
"I'll bring some pie… And a bacon cheeseburger?" Again, he was answered with silence. "I won't be long. Be back soon." He unfurled his long legs from around the chair legs and stood to his full, enormous height, walking out the door with a single sad look back.
Dean couldn't look up at Sam. If he did, the tears in his green eyes would show and Sammy would know the depth of his grieving, and he couldn't have that.
Looking down at the photograph, clenched tightly in his grip, was beginning to crease beneath his fingertips, but still showed him something he thought he could never see again. After the incident with the devil and Jo and Ellen's death, Bobby had thrown this photo into his fireplace, and they had watched it singe to ashes. Yet, here it was.
He wouldn't tell Sam where he had found it. Sam would find a million logical reasons for why it was there, but Dean knew he needed this secret. If the photograph had appeared in Castiel's' trench-coat pocket, when before it had been empty, then it gave him hope that the Angel wasn't dead.
But the Angel was dead. He had watched the Leviathans take control of his body and walk him into that lake... Cas's heavy tan trench-coat lay beside him at the bottom of the bed but he couldn't bring himself to look at it. He only had eyes for the paper in his hands.
Stroking a thumb over the tainted picture, a low sigh escaped his chapped, dry lips. He missed his Angel; he missed his Cas. He stared absently at the figure standing off to the side, his arms hanging limply by his sides and his gaze blank as per usual. He black hair was spiked in all directions and his piercing blue eyes staring out through the photo, like he was really looking at Dean.
"C'mon, Cas!" Dean roared to the air, slamming the picture onto the hard bed he was previously sat on as he jumped to his feet and began pacing in a rage. "You can't be dead, you dick! You're a friggin' Angel! You! Can! Not! Leave! Me!"
Silence fell. The air was thick and heavy as his first tears fell. The quiet was broken, though, as he fell to his knees, sobbing. He chest ached with the loss he felt, grief and anguish and, most of all, regret. Castiel, as innocent and naïve as he had been, was the best friend Dean had always wanted. Maybe more. And he had never even told him.
He turned and picked up the photo again, ripping it into as small a pieces as he could, and flung them across the room. He watched them drift to the floor a few feet from him and went to fall on the bed but was stopped dead in his tracks.
The photograph was still on the bed.
Spinning, his tear stained eyes sought out the shreds of the previous one but found nothing. The photo was in his hands again, searching for a sign of the tearing but again found nothing. But Cas… His hand, which once hung limply by his side was raised up and was pressed against his chest, with his pinkie finger and thumb hidden from view. Three…
Dean growled. His angel was not one for eccentric games like this. This was just like something Zachariah would do, but he was dead. Another dick Angel? "This isn't funny!" he screamed to the ceiling, hoping whomever was torturing him was listening in. "Can't you see…"
Three. Suddenly, it seemed clear. Three chances to keep the photo. A part of him – the insignificant part which craved love, resented pain and liked chick-flick moments – wanted him to treasure it, thankful he was given another chance. But the Dean he was – the strong, heartless man who held vengeance and revenge close to his heart – couldn't stand the reminder. With shaking hands, he tore it up again.
"Dean," a soft yet husky voice called to him. No. He couldn't listen. Cas was dead!
When the tatters hit the ground and another photograph appeared on the bed, this time with Castiel holding two fingers up, he ripped it again, watching the soft bits of paper float on the air, before settling on the floor.
"Dean, please…"the voice spoke again, this time stronger, more insistent. Almost… pleading with him.
"You're not my Cas," Dean cried, picking up the final photo, stopping a moment to take in Castiels beautiful face, nearly hidden by his raised hand, clearly showing a single finger up in warning.
"You can't go back if you do, Dean…"
"Bite me," he groaned, tearing it in half. He nearly chuckled at his words – how he wished Cas could. Castiel was more than a friend to Dean. Although he would never admit it out loud, he loved Castiel. More than he had ever loved Cassie Robinson – his first love – or Dr. Sexy MD, or beer, classic rock, bacon cheeseburgers, Lisa Braeden, sex, his baby – the Impala – pie… None of it compared to how he felt for Castiel. He loved him, as much as he loved his family, but not in the same platonic sense.
He loved Castiel. And now he was dead.
The final photo fell to the ground, ruined and unrepairable. The dick Angels couldn't mess with him anymore.
More tears fell and he slowly fell to the dirty floor, curling up into foetal position and letting more tears run. Within a minute his toned skin was soaked, red and blotchy. His shirt was tear stained and clung to his skin as he quickly dehydrated himself, running out of any more water to cry with.
As he lay there, arms curled around his knees, dry-crying, he closed his eyes and drifted to sleep.
Sam walked in an hour later, grumpy and angry. Nowhere nearby sold bacon cheeseburgers and the only pie that any shop he visited sold was beyond disgusting, even by Deans standards.
Carrying a bag containing a six pack of beer and something he never thought he would buy – the DVD box set to that crappy TV show Dean admitted liking when Gabriel… well, it didn't matter. He hoped it would bring him out of this depression, even if it was only a little bit.
He opened the door and stumbled, nearly falling over his unconscious brother. "Dean, what the hell?"
When he got no answer, he stepped over the man and dropped the bag on his bed, and walked to the bathroom, getting ready to take a long, hot shower.
Dean awoke to the sound of running water, and the presence of a hand on his shoulder. "Back off, Sammy. Not right now." His mind was foggy, and his eyes dry. As he slowly gained consciousness fully, he groaned to himself, listening to the soft pitter-patter of the shower and… Sam's singing?
Whoa! If Sam was in the shower, then who-
Dean spun around quickly, gripping onto the wrist of whomever was holding onto his shoulder, and raised his fist to punch them.
He was stopped by two piercing blue eyes staring deeply into his. "I warned you, Dean," the roughened up man said before him. His nose was bloody, deep rings hung below his beautiful eyes and the thick set of stubble chaffed his hand as Dean couldn't help but place his palm on the mans cheek. "You cannot come back from this."
Dean was speechless. The man in the dark suit placed a hand on Deans waist and pulled the unsteady man to his feet, not removing his hand when they were both still. Dean kept his hand on his face, holding on as if their touch was the only thing keeping them there.
"Dean... I missed you."
"Cas…" The hunter was still with shock. His mind become numb and his body frozen. His angel was back. "But you were…"
"Dead. Yes." Castiel turned his amazing blue eyes to Deans green ones, his smile not only on his lips but in his eyes too. "So were you. I brought you back… And you brought me back."
"How…"
"Emotions are powerful, Dean." A silent shudder ran through him as the angel whispered his name. "Some emotions can do incredible things. Faith can mean hope is born. Trust in another can help to one day return them. More so when it is…Love even more so."
"So I…"
"You brought me back. You love me," Castiel smiled, raising his other hand to place it, like the other man had on his own body, against Deans wet cheek. "Don't you?"
Dean could not answer. He was still recovering from Cas's return, let alone him asking about his true feelings. "Cas-"
"Dean… I just need to hear you say it." Those eyes were begging with him, pleading for his answer. "I need to hear that you feel it too; that you feel the same way."
The same way? His brain was working again, his body unfrozen. He lifted his other hand and pushed it through Cas's black hair, clinging onto it and pulling him closer so they were inches apart. "You first," he ordered.
"I… I, Castiel, Angel of the Lord, Angel of Thursday, love you, Dean Winchester. I love you." Dean shuddered again as Cas's warm breath brushed his lips and he lost all control. He yanked Cas towards him and crushed their lips against each other.
Castiel was still for a moment, then wrapped both his arms around Dean, pulling him as close as he could with their clothes on. "Dean," he groaned, forcing the other mans mouth open and deepening the kiss. "I missed you." He pulled Dean harder against him. "So, so much!"
Dean returned the favour and kissed him back with as much furvour as the angel.
When they were both sated for the moment after many minutes of liplocking, they rested their foreheads together and just listened to each others heavy breathing.
Castiel chuckled heartily, and Dean could not help but raise Cas's chin so he would look at him. "What?"
"I guess I have my answer," his Angel answered. "I love you."
The hunter looked away sheepishly, his gaze landing on the trenchcoat at the bottom of his bed, grinning sweetly at his angels soft, innocent words. "I love you too, Cas."