Title: "Tell the World I'm Coming Home"
Pairing: Cas/Dean
TV Show: Supernatural
Word Count: ~2,000
Rating: T
A/N: I love WWII!AUs for this pairing, oh my lord. So this is my take on one side of the war, which-I can never write anything fluff, can I?
Enjoy!
x x x x x x x x x x x
They met at a bar one night. "I'm Dean," one said; "Cas," said the other. They hit it off almost immediately—almost, because Cas was reserved and Dean was afraid of commitment. But he'd give it a shot, even if they had to hide.
x x x
In the summer of 1941, they put their names into the register and hoped they would never be called into action. And every day they pulled the names, they were safe. One by one, their secret lied in the backs of alleyways and in the secure location of their own homes, where the neighbors didn't question whether two men were "just friends" or something more—and they wanted it kept that way.
When the bombing of Pearl Harbor happened, when the draft started getting heavier and heavier by the number, they prayed the fighting wouldn't hit home. One wasn't devout on faith, but the other begged, pleaded, please, please, oh God, wanted him kept safe and sound, away from the gunfire and Hell overseas.
But one was called up by the military. You have 24 hours to report to this base at this time. If you refuse to show, the government will hunt you down. And the one that prayed cursed God for what He had done. "Cas, it's only a two-year commitment," just a two-year commitment. He wanted it to be no commitment at all.
So Castiel started praying again, this time for his own number to be called. Dean, Dean, Dean—he wanted to be by his side until death did them part, and while he offered to volunteer, Dean refused to hear it. "No, Cas, you're not going over there with me."
"Why are you allowed, then?"
"D'you think I want to go?"
And that was it. They had 24 hours until Dean was to arrive at the military base nearby, and they didn't want to waste any time together. So when it was time to go, when they prayed together—God, please, yes, please, oh God—they would be okay for the time at hand. "Don't think about how long it will be, Cas. I'll be back."
"You will write, won't you? I—I wish to know you are still alive over there."
"I'll tell you all about Europe when I get there."
And in the quiet stills of the night, Cas snuck away, and Dean was gone.
x x x
Cas missed Dean every single day. The same could be said about the soldier in the making.
x x x
Dean hated flying for a reason, and one reason was seeing the water underneath his feet so many miles up, and wondering how long it would take death to kill him if the plane was shot down at that exact moment in time. He closed his eyes and leaned against the steel frame of the plane, hearing nothing but the engines roaring outside. Was he afraid? Sure he was—everyone was. But it was his job to serve and protect, and he'd do his job accordingly. So he gripped his gun and waited to land.
x x x
Cas would drive past the suburban house every day to see if any lights were on. Sometimes, they were, but the outline of the person inside was not the man he was looking for. Other times, the dark silence reminded him of the crimson war being fought overseas, keeping them apart. The neighbors would see him once in a while and ask why he was around, and he'd smile and say: "Oh, just making sure my friend's house is still there. He's a soldier." And they would smile and nod, saying what a good man he was, both of them.
And he'd drive on.
x x x
The letters started. Dean had to scramble for a goddamn pen, but he found one.
And he sent a letter whenever he could.
Landed in jolly ole England today. Women here are ugly. So are the men. Hope you're doing fine without me. Better not be screwing Sam, though.
Sending me to France. Some big battle is gonna go down because of territory. Better pray for me, Cas. I know you can.
The battle wasn't long. I'm fine. Don't worry. Hope you're okay.
We're being shipped out again. The guys here are nice, met a few that are pretty cool. All have wives back home. I made you a housewife.
Cas stashed them in the middle drawer of his dresser, under Dean's socks. It had been months since he left, but they were a reminder of Dean coming home.
He looked over at a calendar near his bed; almost a year left.
x x x
Dean hated war. It was frightening and terrible and people he knew were dying, including some of the guys he liked talking to at night for comfort about home. Ash—god, he got into some heavy fire on the frontline, and he was shot three times in the chest. Down for the count, sputtering out blood, crying out for someone to help, God, help me. So when he finally had a chance to rest at night from the battles, he'd look up at the clear night skies and wonder if Cas was ever looking up there with him—then he'd remember the time-zones and frown.
It was a good topic in another letter under the moonlight. He didn't just write to Cas—while the majority of his letters were to him, some did go to his family. He was sure Sam was at least worried about him.
Two men in his life worried about him—what more could he ask for?
x x x
I hate beans. Never cook me beans for dinner, Cas.
Shot a guy today. He kind of looked like you. I almost went to check and make sure.
We got new guys in today. Men who signed up on a whim, to make their country proud. I wish I could go home, see you, hang with Sam. Counting down the days.
x x x
Cas woke up one night, startled at a nightmare he had of Dean covered in blood, a gun to his side, screaming in agony. He looked to the empty side of the bed and wondered how long they had left before he'd come home, and if he was actually coming home after being deployed for almost two years. The room felt cold; he laid back down and tucked himself into the blankets. And when he closed his eyes, he prayed for God to keep him safe, bring him home, please, God.
x x x
Dean heard gunfire all the time, heard it nonstop. In the distance, next to him, all over the place. It never stopped. It even haunted his dreams, when Cas would be held hostage by a Nazi and shot in the head for no reason, when Cas would be running to Dean because of their reunion home and he'd be shot by a Nazi on American soil, when Cas—Dean sunk into the trench further, hearing the gunfire whizz by him, hearing the mortars go off and the men around screaming for help. He could hear people next to him screaming "Medic! Medic!" and the dirt was getting warmer as he sat there, but he didn't know who was dying. He felt sorry for the families that would hear the news.
x x x
Cas always read the newspaper. Always. He needed to know what was going on at all times over there, as much as he could. The letters, they were great, and Dean was alive, but how much longer was the war going to last? How much longer were they going to be stuck over there? How many more had to die?
x x x
The letters stopped after Dean talked about going deeper into France.
Cas hoped it was because of many letters in the post office.
So he waited a week.
Then another.
Then another.
Finally, he heard a knock at the door—the mailman, he thought, rushing to the door and opening it—he found a familiar face standing there. "Sam," he said. Sam was holding a piece of paper.
x x x
Dean figured he was face-to-face with the sun, because goddamn, it was bright. He could hear people around shouting orders, hear the gunfire sort of muffled, and—wow, it was warm. Hadn't it just snowed? People stood over him, still shouting orders, pointing their fingers in every direction. The enemies, he thought—they must be all over the place. What do they want me to do? "Relax, Dean, just relax," he heard a voice tell him. "Stand down, soldier," it said. Cas, where was Cas? He was there somewhere, he had to be—he was just there. It was getting harder to breathe without him around, he—
Dean pulled the man down next to him and whispered into his ear: "Tell Cas—tell him…" he started to cough; he must have been getting sick, he told himself, feeling something drip out. More men started ordering others, and the man tried to tell him to relax, everything is going to be okay. Dean shook his head. "Tell him I'm—I'm here." His heart started to jump in his chest, just at the thought of Cas coming back. Tears fell from his eyes, pain spread—he was going to see Cas again. He was—he was going to go home—Cas.
x x x
Cas rode in the backseat with Sam next to him. He held something metal in his hands, anxious to get to the airfield. John and Mary—good friends, of course he was friends with all the Winchesters, even if Sam was the only one to know and approve of their relationship—were in the front, sitting in silence. They were just as anxious to see Dean again. Mary looked nice in a dress of hers, and John looked like a government official. Cas just wore some work slacks, something nice. So did Sam—nothing fancy for those two. Dean wouldn't have liked that. They'd be coming off anyway, oh fuck, oh, yes, come on—
Cas looked out the window of the car to see the planes landing. One of them held Dean. So when they parked and gained access to the planes winding down, they knew who he was the moment he came out of the planes. Mary broke down instantly, with John by her side to help her stand; Sam stood by Cas when Dean was in front of them, and Cas placed a hand over his chest. The metal in his hands started to imprint into the skin of his palm.
x x x
Cas started to undress when he got to the bedroom, taking off the shoes, then the socks—he looked into the drawer and pushed aside Dean's socks, looking down at the letters. And with each one he reread, each one he passed, the silent scribble of affection made his heart burst.
x x x
Gunfire shot off into the distance; he flinched. He was home, Cas thought. He was home, he was home, he was home…
x x x
A bouquet of flowers was bought a few months later at some flower shop down the street from him. Cas thanked the girl behind the counter, and continued on his way. Dean would like them—they were blue and yellow, surprisingly Dean's favorite colors. "Your eyes are blue, and blue is an awesome color," he said to him one day, didn't matter when. Dean would see them and be totally amazed at how fantastic Cas was to him. So Cas parked the car, and as much as he dreaded the cold wind outside, he walked out into the grass and found a brand new stone resting underneath an apple tree.
Cas held the flowers to his chest. "Hello, Dean," he whispered; the wind picked up. When he fell to his knees, clutching the stems of the flowers, he started to cry. He didn't have to read the stone to know what was there.
Dean was Home.