TW: Dean copes via drinking again (but it's not as bad as before).

Dean hated to admit it, but Sam may have had a point.

The case wasn't anything remarkable. Just a simple vampire nest. Three people had gone missing over the past week, two of which had turned up dead outside a diner, devoid of blood. Open and shut.

Dean spent plenty of time— almost all the time he wasn't actively working on the case— continuing to read and reread. He still went to the morgue and questioned the restaurant owners. Still beheaded two vamps.

It was almost therapeutic feeling their heads separate from their bodies, then hearing the satisfying thump of them hitting the tiled floor. Mostly, it just felt good to be able to do something for a change. Dean wasn't just sitting around, praying for a miracle that seemed less and less like it was coming, instead he was solving the problem.

He wished that he knew how to solve the real problem.

He wished that he knew how to get Cas back.

On the drive back to Kansas, he finished going through the books, again. At this point, there wasn't much point in pretending he was going to find something he had missed. There just wasn't anything there. Fuck the Men of Letters for not having the information they needed.

No, Dean thought. Fuck me. It was his fault Castiel was dead; if Cas had been there, they wouldn't be having this problem. Dean had decided it was a good idea to go after Death without a plan, knowing that Cas was coming with. Dean had led them into a trap. Dean was the reason Cas had come with, not Death. Dean was Cas' happiness, the reason Cas was dead.

"Pull over," he said.

Sam glanced at him through the rearview mirror. "Huh?"

"Pull over," Dean repeated. "I'm driving."

Sam seemed surprised, but he pulled to the side of the road to switch with Dean.

Ignoring the doubt that was swirling through his mind, Dean drove.

The Empty had gotten creative. Cas supposed that wiping his memory then forcing him to kill Dean and relive his biggest mistakes was only entertaining for so long. Now, it was enjoying making Dean hurt him.

He knew it wasn't Dean; not only was he aware he was in the Empty, but the biggest tell was that he couldn't see the Deans' souls. Souls were impossible to replicate. Even so, even knowing it wasn't really Dean tearing into him, it still hurt.

The last thing the Empty had shown him had been especially painful; right after the Fall, Dean, throwing words at Cas like knives, each one hitting their target exactly.

You know we only keep you around because you're useful, right? A little bit of angel mojo gives us a leg up. Without that, you're nothing.

Why would we let you stay here? You're a burden.

They weren't true, Cas told himself, but they still hurt. Even with his grace, he'd often wondered if he was nothing more than dead weight for the Winchesters to lug around with them.

Cas forced those thoughts away, and instead focused on his surroundings. By now, he would have expected them to change, yet they were still the dark abyss of the Empty's neutral form. He waited for the world to ripple and for shapes to rise from the ground, but nothing happened.

Had it stopped? Was the Empty giving up? Or— there was a flutter of hope in Cas' chest— was someone—

"Cas? Cas!"

Cas whirled around. That sounded like—

In the distance, there was a hazy figure approaching. As he got closer, Cas froze.

Dean was running towards him, face splitting into a grin.

Dean had come back.

Dean had come back for him.

All of a sudden, Dean's arms were around him and Cas was breathing in Dean's scent.

Cas' thoughts were racing. Dean was here, he came back, he had been looking for him, he was really here holding Cas.

"Dean," was all Cas managed to get out.

Dean held him even more tightly, threading his fingers through Cas' hair. "Cas. You're here," he breathed out.

They stood like that for a while. Cas didn't know how long, he didn't care how long, Dean was here.

Eventually, Dean did pull back. He was still close enough that Cas could count his freckles if he wanted to. Cas could pick out the kaleidoscope of greens in his eyes. He had hoped, but hadn't quite let himself believe that he'd be that close to him again. And then—

Suddenly, Dean was leaning towards him again, and his lips were on Cas'.

Cas' brain short circuited. Dean was kissing him.

Dean was here, and he was kissing him.

Cas kissed back.

This time when Dean pulled away, it was hesitant, but he was grinning infectiously. "I love you, too."

"You— you do?" Cas was almost breathless.

"'Course. Have for years."

Cas took him in, from the galaxy of freckles scattered across his face to the evergreen of his eyes to the wide smile fixed across his face. Soon enough, Cas' smile mirrored his.

"C'mon," Dean said. "Let's get you out of here and back to the bunker. Then we'll talk, yeah?"

Cas nodded. "Of course."

Dean grabbed Cas' hand and started off in the direction he had come from. "This way."

Cas followed. "What did I miss?" he asked. "Is Chuck—?"

"Yeah, we got him," Dean said, not turning to look back at him. "Kinda started another apocalypse, but Sammy's working on that with the kid."

"Are they alright?"

Dean waved him off. "Jack had to cut out his grace to take down Chuck, so he's adapting. But other than that, everyone is fine. Here we are."

Cas examined the space in front of them, which was identical to the rest of the Empty. "Is there a portal we have to open?"

Dean turned back to face him and laughed coldly. "Really, Castiel? You thought you were getting out? You thought Dean was here to save you?"

Then it hit him. This being didn't have a soul. Cas had been so caught up in the thought that Dean had come for him that—

He stiffened and stepped back. "Get out of him."

"He isn't coming for you," the Empty continued vengefully, ignoring his comment. "No one is coming for you. You know why? Because you're more trouble than you're worth, and they know it."

Cas shook his head. "I'm awake. I didn't wake myself up. Someone wants me awake."

There had been a voice. Dean's. Distorted and warped by the Empty, but he had heard it. Come home, just come home. He had heard it.

"You forget that I have seen inside your head. I know Dean Winchester and those other people you call family," the Empty hissed. "You are nothing to them. So why bother fighting me? It's pointless, Castiel. Give up. Sleep."

"No." He had to believe someone was coming. If not Dean, then Jack, or Sam—

"You would do yourself a favor," the Empty said. "When you finally realize all your hope was for nothing, it will break you."

Castiel didn't respond. Couldn't.

"Save yourself, Castiel, or don't." The Empty smiled grotesquely with Dean's face. "I don't care. I'll win in the end. And when it comes time to see you break, I'll be here to say 'I told you so.'" It sank into the ground, dissolving into darkness.

"Someone is coming," Cas said to himself. "Someone is coming."

It didn't matter how many times he repeated himself. The Empty had done what it came to do.

For the first time since he met Dean, Cas had begun to doubt. And for the second time in a long time, Cas began to pray.

You probably can't hear me. I don't think humans can receive prayers. But if you get this, Dean… I'm here. I don't know if you're coming, but I'm here. However long it is, I'll wait here.

Dark, inky pillars began to rise around him, and Cas found some sort of comfort in the knowledge that this time, the illusion wouldn't be one of his rescue.

The familiar walls of the bunker solidified around him as Cas braced himself for whatever torment came next.

Dean woke up, Cas' voice resonating around in his head.

Can't hear me

Think humans can

Dean

I'm here

You're coming

Wait here

None of it made any sense. It was almost like it was coming from a badly tuned radio, without the static.

Dean wanted to believe it was Cas. Maybe he had found a way to contact him from the Empty. More likely, though, it was just Dean's imagination. Cas had never spoken with him via telepathy. As far as Dean knew, that wasn't possible, or it would have come up.

But it had happened before, hadn't it? Please, Cas' voice had begged him. Like then, Cas' handprint had flared with heat slightly, nothing more than a prickle. And now it was happening again. So maybe—

Dean shoved the thought away. Good things didn't happen, not to him. Being able to communicate with Cas was a good thing.

Yeah. Cas wasn't here. He wasn't talking to Dean. Dean was just going crazy.

It was too early in the morning for this. Too early to hear Cas whispering in his head, too early for all the feelings that came with it. Too early for all of it.

Dean didn't think twice before finding a large bottle of brandy and pouring himself a drink.

Fuck it all. It had been two and a half months. Two and a half months, and all they had was a Greek myth and a whole bunch of useless crap.

Sure, when Dean had started looking, he hadn't expected Cas to be home within the day, or even the week. He knew it was going to take time. But it had been two and a half months since the handprint appeared, and their best lead was a failed breakout that no one seemed to remember, and it was being investigated by Rowena, who wasn't calling them. Cas still wasn't here, and it didn't look like he'd be here anytime soon.

If he came back, at least.

Dean tipped his head back and swallowed the last of his drink, barely noticing how the alcohol burned his throat. He poured himself another glass.

He shouldn't be drinking. He shouldn't be trying to get blackout drunk. He should be trying to help Cas, looking for leads. Calling Rowena to demand she tell him what she had found.

But Cas' voice was in his head and it was all Dean's fault and he'd been looking for weeks and there wasn't anything for him to find.

"I'm trying, Cas," he muttered to the empty kitchen. "I'm fucking trying. Just hang in there."

Dean took another long drink. Then another.

He didn't finish the bottle. Just drank enough that the world was fuzzy around the edges. Enough that he couldn't hear Cas talking to him. Just barely enough to provide the thinnest layer of numbness. A shield against his feelings. Against the pain. Against everything.

The hangover tomorrow would not be fun.

Dean was clumsily capping the unfinished bottle of whiskey when Sam walked in.

"We've talked about this." There was an edge to his voice, both tired and hard. "You can't ignore your problems by drinking, Dean. You need a healthy outlet."

"Didn't drink the whole bottle, Sammy," Dean mumbled. "Jus' enough."

"But it's not healthy! A healthy outlet would be something like… I dunno. Writing. Or talking to someone."

"'M not seeing a shrink," Dean said.

"You don't have to see a shrink," Sam said. "You can talk to me. Or Jody. Donna. Charlie. You have friends, Dean."

"'M not talking either."

"Why not?" Sam said impatiently.

"'Cause. Can't."

"That's not an answer."

"Sure it is."

The kitchen was quiet, except for Sam's loud exhale.

"Y'know," Dean said after a minute, "Cas was awesome. Like, he was really awesome. Didn't deserve to die. Shouldn't have done it. He deserved better."

Sam didn't interrupt.

"For some reason, he thought I was good. 'M not. 'M poison, Sammy. Everyone who gets close to me suffers. Cas shoulda known not to come by me. Shoulda gotten away when he had the chance. Found someone worth it."

Sam watched him almost hopefully. Waiting.

Dean didn't offer anything else. He was far enough from sober that his tongue was a little loose, but even drunk off his ass, Dean knew better than to talk with Sam about Cas. At least, not to talk about what had happened to him and how Dean felt about him.

What they felt about each other.

That was a secret; it was Dean's secret. It had taken forever for him to admit that he had fallen head over heels for his angel, and once he had, he had buried it. Deep enough that he didn't think it would ever see the light of day. Tucked close to his chest, somewhere only he had access to. Somewhere only he knew about, somewhere made known only when Cas did something endearing like that ridiculous head tilt, or when he smiled at something Dean said, or did something that was just so incredibly Cas. It made his heart skip a beat and warmth flare in his core.

It was such a secret, buried so deep, that even when the time had come for Dean to speak his truth, he couldn't get the words out.

I love you was something he kept tucked away.

Not something he would share with Sam.

Not yet, at least.

When he was sure Cas would be back, maybe then Dean could admit it. But now, saying that out loud, drowning in uncertainty, he would break. Shatter again into a thousand pieces, only this time, there would be no hope for reassembly.

"What do you mean by 'someone worth it?'" Sam asked cautiously.

Dean didn't give him an answer.

The next day, while Dean was dealing with his hangover, Jack went back to Heaven.

"I'll keep looking," he promised diligently. "Will— will you tell me? If you find anything?"

"Of course," Sam told him. "We'll let you know right away if we do."

Jack nodded. "Thank you. I wish… I wish I could do more." He sounded guilty.

"I know, kid," Dean said. "You're trying, though. If— when Cas gets back, that's going to be all he cares about."

"I miss him."

"We all do."

It fucking hurt how much Dean missed him.

"We'll figure it out," Sam assured them.

Jack was gone a few minutes later.

There was nothing Dean could do.

He hated it.

There was nothing more to find in the books. No leads for him to follow. No spell to prepare. Nothing.

All he could do was sit around, empty. Desperate.

He hated it.

Dean was staring at the corner of the library table. He ran his fingers absentmindedly over the ridges that had been made when he, Sam, and his mom had carved in their initials. There were names missing. Jack. Cas. Kevin and Charlie should have had their names on there. Bobby, too.

When Jack got back, Dean was going to help him carve his name there, next to the rest of the Winchesters'. And if they pulled this off, when Cas came back, Dean would have Cas do the same.

Sam was sitting across from him, doing something on his laptop, when there was a loud ring from his pocket. He pulled out his phone, and upon seeing the caller ID, fumbled to answer. "Rowena?"

Dean's gaze snapped up from the table. "Rowena?"

Sam put the call on speaker.

"—took some digging and a lot of persuasion, but I've found the information we need," Rowena said.

"So you can do the spell and get us into the Empty?" Sam said, eyes bright.

"Not quite," Rowena said. "I can only send one person into the Empty. Our dear angel's happiness."

They were silent.

Sam turned to glance at Dean. "You were there when he died," he said. "Do you know what that means?"

Dean nodded mutely.

Sam gave him a look that said, very clearly, we're going to talk about this later.

"Dean knows," he said. "Okay. What else?"

"The ingredients are complex. I have some of them. I suspect your bunker may have some more. There may be some that we have to procure," Rowena said. "Other than that, the spell is quite straightforward. But…." She paused. "You'll need music."

"Music?" Sam asked.

"Yes, music. Something that was important to Castiel. Both linked to his happiness and authentic. For Eurydice, it was Orpheus playing his lyre. For Castiel, it could be anything."

It took Dean all of ten seconds to figure out what they needed.

Everywhere they drove, Cas had brought it with him. On the rare occasion Dean would forgo his "driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole" rule and let Cas pick, he would insert it into the tape deck. Dean had spent hours, making it for him.

"The mixtape," Dean breathed.

Sam didn't hear him. "I've got no idea. We can figure that out, though. How obscure are the ingredients? Do you have a list of what you need us to find?"

"Indeed I do, Samuel. Do you have a pen?" Rowena said.

Sam grabbed a pen and a notebook from across the table. "Go ahead."

"The most obscure ingredient is blood from someone who's been there," Rowena said.

"We can ask Jack," Sam said. "How much?"

"Enough to paint some sigils and to activate the spell. Shouldn't hurt him badly."

"Okay. What else?"

"Seeds from a flower from Purgatory."

"We have some of those."

"Blood from Castiel's happiness."

Dean cleared his throat. "Taken care of." He pointedly ignored the look Sam was giving him.

Rowena continued.

"The bone of a lesser saint."

Sam grimaced. "No."

"Get on that then, boys. I'll worry about the rest of it."

"How soon can we do it?" Dean asked.

"It will take some preparation, but I expect you can have your angel back by the end of the month," Rowena said. She sounded almost smug.

By the end of the month.

Cas could be home by the end of the month.

If this worked, Cas would be home by the end of the month.

Something was expanding in Dean's chest.

Cas is coming home.

Something that felt a lot like—

He was going to get Cas back.

Hope.

For the first time since before that day, Dean let himself picture it— really picture it.

He would cup Cas' face with his hands and tell him, "That thing you said you couldn't have? It's yours, Cas, it always has been." Then, Dean would lean in and kiss him, and Cas would kiss back, and against his lips, Dean would say, "I love you, too." Maybe Cas would smile at him— the wide, gummy one he didn't often show— and Dean would smile back.

Maybe eventually, Cas would move into Dean's room. It would be their room. Cas would move that picture of the two of them at the Grand Canyon from his desk to Dean's nightstand. His trench coat would hang over a chair in the corner of the room. They would share a bed, get to wake up next to each other. Maybe do more than just sleep. Cas would listen to Dean grumble about mornings and sit with him while he drank his coffee.

They'd go for long drives in Baby, not just to hunt, but for fun. Just the two of them and the road. Maybe Dean would make Cas another mixtape with those pop songs he liked, Taylor Swift and all, and they'd listen to that. There was probably somewhere else Cas wanted to go; they'd go there. Get a motel for a few nights and do whatever they wanted.

They could do couple-y stuff, like holding hands and cuddling. Dean would take Cas out on a date. He'd get Cas to wear a cowboy hat again, and in turn, Cas would probably make him do something just as ridiculous. Do things like they were anyone else, do something just for them.

It sounded luxurious and impossible. For years, it had been nothing but a dream that Dean kept to himself. But now….

Now, it could happen. It didn't seem so much like a dream anymore.

For the first time, Dean saw a future.

He was dragged back into the present by Rowena's voice.

"Call me when you have everything," she was saying. "I should be prepared by then."

"Thanks," Sam said.

"Talk to you later, Samuel, Dean." There was a click, and she was gone.

Sam turned to Dean right away. "We need to talk," he said seriously.

"If you want to talk to someone, call Eileen. I have something I need to do." Dean stood and made towards the door.

"I've been trying not to push you too much, but Dean, you have to tell me what happened," Sam said, following him.

"Later. Right now, I'm going looking for our Empty repellent."

"Do you know what you're looking for?" Sam asked.

"Yeah."

"Want to share with the class?"

Dean kept walking, but he glanced over his shoulder back at Sam. "The mixtape I made Cas. He, uh, he brought it along on hunts a lot."

"Okay. It's great you have an idea of what to look for. But the blood from Cas' happiness?" Sam said frustratedly. "How do you plan on getting that? We don't even know what Cas' happiness was."

"I do," Dean said quietly. They were standing outside Cas' door now. He stopped and turned to face Sam. "You've just— you've gotta trust me on this one, okay, Sam?"

Dean could see the gears in his brother's head turning as some of the pieces fell into place.

"He told you, didn't he?" Sam realized. "Before he died…. Did it have something to do with his deal? Or…." His eyes widened. "Did—"

"Start looking for that bone," Dean interrupted, "and let Jack know that Rowena found something. I'll take care of the music." Without giving Sam a chance to say anything else, he turned the doorknob and slipped inside the room.

"Cas!"

This was the forty first Dean that had come to "rescue" him.

At first, the Empty had toyed with Cas, dragging him through scenario after scenario, both in the Empty and out, but it had quickly decided that this was its favorite way to torture him.

The forty first Dean grinned at him. "Was starting to think I wouldn't find you."

Cas turned away from him.

These Deans were so lifelike, so almost that is was unsettling. Cas had only been able to find two differences between these Deans and the real Dean.

One— he couldn't see their souls. With his fading grace as of late, Dean's was the only one he had been able to see. Battered and bruised and bright and beautiful. Cas would never tire of seeing it. But these Deans didn't have any. They were simply shells, carrying none of the real Dean's radiance.

The second was that these Deans were here. The real Dean— his Dean— wasn't.

"Cas? Buddy, what's wrong?" the Dean drew closer.

This wasn't the real Dean. His Dean. Cas was beginning to doubt whether he would ever come. Doubting whether he had ever been planning to come in the first place.

It wouldn't be easy, Cas argued with himself. Maybe they just need more time. And there was Dean's voice. You heard Dean's voice.

Maybe they don't care. Maybe they've forgotten about you, was the response. Maybe they remember, but Dean never wants to see you again after what you said.

There was a hand on his arm, pulling him around. The Dean's grin had faded and been replaced with worry and urgency. "You gonna answer me?"

"You're not him," Cas said.

"What do you mean? It's me, Cas!" The Dean protested.

"No, it's not." Cas' voice was hard. "Go away."

The Dean stared at him incredulously. "Go away?" he repeated.

Cas didn't respond.

The Dean shook his head. "I'm getting you out. C'mon."

When he tried to pull Cas along, Cas stayed put.

"Cas? Let's go." The Dean only tried a few more times to get Cas to come with him before dissolving into inky blackness.

Was anyone even coming? Or was Cas putting himself through all of this pain for nothing?

Cas shoved those thoughts aside. And then—

Hey, Cas

Found something

Coming, I promise

Don't care how much

I'll do it

I'm coming

Soon

The words resonated, the voice speaking them warped by the Empty.

Dean, his mind supplied. Dean is coming.

Cas wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe that Dean was coming, that he cared about Cas enough to go looking for him. But—

It hit him out of nowhere: what if Dean's not-quite-right voice wasn't Dean, but the Empty? What if it was just another part of this illusion, another thing made to torture him?

What if Dean wasn't coming, and all along, Cas had just been kidding himself?

Something about the voice coming from the Empty didn't quite add up, though. Dean's voice had been what woke him up. The Empty had been trying to get him to sleep, so why would it wake him up in the first place? So maybe it was Dean?

But the Empty had had a point. Dean might never want to see him again after what he had said. If Dean had come for him, how were they supposed to just go back to being friends? Had Dean just decided that was too much work? Realized Cas wasn't worth it?

Cas could hear his name being called in the distance.

Dean number forty two.

Cas' resolve was beginning to wane, but he steeled himself for his next encounter.