When Rowena came to and was coherent a few hours later, the first thing she said was a clipped, "You boys owe me." Her Scottish accent was even more pronounced than usual.
Dean glanced away from the road towards the backseat. "Good to see you too, Rowena."
"I certainly hope you appreciate the trouble I've been going through for this."
Dean nodded. "We do." More than Rowena probably realized.
"Well," she said, "I'll be needing to get back to Hell. Make sure things are still in order."
"Of course," Sam said quickly. "We got what we needed, so whenever you're ready—"
"Whenever Hell is in order," Dean corrected.
"Dean—" Sam started, but Dean cut him off again.
"Look, Rowena, you have no idea how much I appreciate how you're helping. I really do. But the thing is, Cas has been there for months, and I'm not leaving him in there any longer. If you need time to make sure the place isn't going to collapse, fine, but then we're doing that spell."
The finality of his words left the Impala silent for a few moments, then—
"Gabriel was right. You two are perfect for each other."
Dean almost swerved off the road. "Gabriel? What? Don't tell me the asshat faked his death again—"
"Oh, no, he's dead, to the best of my knowledge," Rowena said nonchalantly, "but during our budding friendship, he did mention that he 'shipped' you and our dear Castiel. He was very adamant that you two would make quite the power couple. I thought it would never work because of your commitment issues—"
Dean was having a hard time processing.
"—but it appears I was wrong," Rowena finished.
"Hold on," Sam said. "You and Gabriel talked about this?"
"Don't act so surprised," Rowena said.
"Without me?"
Dean turned to gape at Sam.
What. The. Fuck.
"The point I was trying to make was that once Hell is in order, I'll be outside your little bunker as soon as possible," Rowena said, waving Sam off.
"Good," Dean managed.
A car horn honked loudly from behind them.
"The road, Dean!" Sam reminded him.
Jack was, without a doubt, Cas' kid, but he had evidently spent too much time around Dean, because once they got back, the first thing he said was, "I'm sorry."
Sam had turned to look at him. "Why?"
"They got the jump on us," Jack said. "If I had been paying more attention, then I could have stopped them, and they wouldn't have the key."
"Hey," Dean said. "This isn't your fault, Jack. You did the best you could, right?"
"It wasn't enough. I should have done better," Jack argued. "I'm— I'm supposed to be God, and I should do better. I should have seen them, but—"
"Wait a minute, kid. You're not supposed to be 'God' or whatever. You're supposed to be you, because God sucked," Dean said. "You're way better than that. And you— and Sam— did what you could. That's the important part, okay?"
Jack didn't respond right away.
"You'd better get that into your head, because the number one Winchester rule is 'no chick flick moments,' and I'm not repeating that pep talk. Got it?"
Slowly, Jack nodded. "Thank you."
Dean brushed him off. "Yeah, well, c'mon. We've gotta be ready for when Rowena comes."
Sam had watched the exchange curiously, and was giving Dean an odd look.
"What?" Dean said. "Need a picture?"
Sam shook his head. "Nope."
Dean eyed him suspiciously for a bit, then moved on. He had more important things to focus on.
Like how Cas was going to maybe (hopefully) be home soon.
He might not want to come home with you, a corner of Dean's mind whispered. He might hate you. He might rather stay dead than be human with you.
Dean shoved those thoughts away. No, Cas was coming home. And if he didn't—
Just thinking about Cas wanting nothing to do with him made Dean feel like he was about to shatter again, break into a thousand more pieces.
If he didn't, Dean wouldn't force him.
He would crumble.
At least he would be able to see Cas again.
And then whenever he was gone for good, he'd be able to see Cas when he relived his greatest hits up in Heaven.
Before they had left, Dean had set out everything they would need for the spell. The flower from Purgatory— thankfully, they hadn't used the whole thing— was sitting in the library, next to the bone of a lesser saint. On his bed, Dean's Top 13 Zepp TRAXXX was already in his portable cassette player. Anything else they needed, besides his and Jack's blood, would be brought by Rowena.
Dean settled into the excruciating process of waiting.
Pace the bunker. Watch the clock. Spend a few hours at the gun range. Try to watch something. Pace again. Stare at his phone. Wash Baby. Watch the clock some more. More pacing. Sleep for a few unrestful hours. Repeat.
It was three days.
The first day was bad.
Eileen came the second day, and while it was good to see her, Dean was far too distracted to be distracted by her. Sam wasn't.
The third day was even worse.
Three days of agonizing over everything— if it would work, what he was going to say to Cas, if Cas was going to come home— and Rowena called.
Dean nearly fell out of his chair fumbling to get to his phone when he heard it buzz.
"I hope you're ready," she said. "I'm outside now."
Dean didn't even bother to hang up; instead, knocking over his chair in the process, he sprinted from the War Room table up the stairs and threw open the door.
Rowena smiled coyly. "Well, shall we get this over with?"
Dean nodded wordlessly, stepping to the side to let her in. He shut and locked the door behind her.
This was happening. Finally, they were doing it.
He was getting Cas back.
It took a few swallows before Dean found his voice. "Ingredients are in the library," he offered, voice tight. "I'm going to grab Sam and Jack and Eileen and, uh, the mixtape."
For some reason, Rowena looked… amused? "Run along, lover boy. I can set up on my own."
As Dean left her behind, he began to pray.
I'm coming, Cas. By the end of the day, you'll be home. I promised, and I'm coming. I'm sorry it took so long. But I'm coming. I'm coming I'm coming I'm coming I'm coming I'm coming I'm coming I'm coming I'm coming—
Cas
End of the day
Home
Promised
Coming
I'm sorry
Coming
Coming
Coming
Cas
End of the day
Promised
Coming
Coming
Coming
Coming
Coming
Coming
The words filtered through Cas' dreams, breaking through his unconsciousness. They resonated, loud and forceful.
These words were like the ones before. They brought hope and comfort. They made something bright and alive flare in his chest. He gravitated toward them with every ounce of his being.
Cas began to wake
Then he remembered.
These words were hope and comfort and love, but they brought pain and despair.
"He'll hurt you," something whispered in Cas' ear. "You'll regret it, Castiel. Sleep."
It hurt, it physically hurt, to pull himself away from them and back into the depths of the nothingness he had become accustomed to. He did it anyway.
Cas slept.
Dean had grabbed the others first before heading to his room.
His stomach was simultaneously in knots and occupied by a swarm of butterflies; he felt almost sick but was somehow the happiest he'd been in months. He was excited— hell, he was fucking giddy— at the prospect of seeing Cas again. Seeing Cas again and knowing he had a chance. Being able to tackle Cas in a hug and never let him go, never pull back except far enough to capture his lips with his own. But he was also downright terrified. What if it didn't work? What if it did work? What if he couldn't find him? What if he did find him? What if Cas didn't want him? What if Cas had finally realized what a mess Dean was?
Everything was riding on this. He couldn't screw this up like he did with everything else. He couldn't.
Dean pushed open the door to his room, the first time he'd been in there since before they had left to deal with Darius.
He froze.
There was a familiar jacket, draped over his chair. And on its shoulder, a crisp handprint of dry blood lingered.
Dean could still feel Cas' hand on his shoulder. Usually, Cas touching him meant warmth and comfort. Dean would have to restrain himself from leaning into it. He stole pleasure from those moments. But that time—
Cas' hand had been cold and distant, because it was the last time he would touch him.
No, not the last time. Not if things worked.
Dean tore his gaze away from the jacket and walked purposefully to the bed and grabbed the cassette player. After opening it to make sure the mixtape was inside, he made his way to the door, not looking back. Vaguely, he noticed Cas' mixtape wasn't sitting on the bed. Any other time, he would have torn apart the bunker to find it— it was all he had left of Cas— but if all went well….
He hesitated in the doorway.
Dean didn't know why, but he grabbed the jacket off the chair and shrugged it on.
Through the layers of fabric, the handprint burned.
Sam stared when Dean joined everyone in the library. Dean ignored him.
"Took you awhile, dear," Rowena said. On one of the library tables, she had begun setting up the spell; a large but shallow bowl sat in its center, a collection of herbs and other ingredients lumped together, the bone sitting elegantly on top. Various Enochian sigils had been painted in blood on the table's corners.
Jack passed him a knife, hand wrapped in an old shirt.
Without thinking twice, Dean cut the skin across his hand, watching as the blood quickly beaded up and leaked from the wound.
He could remember Cas doing the same thing— slicing open his hand to draw a sigil to keep Billie away.
"In the bowl," Rowena instructed.
Dean held his bleeding hand over the bowl, watching as the blood dripped down.
After a minute, Rowena pressed a piece of paper into his other hand. "Paint this on the floor, then stand in it."
He took a moment to examine the sigil, then set to painting it. It was unfamiliar; circular but not without sharp angles and lines on the inside. Something powerful and ancient.
Fuck, he hoped this worked.
When he had recreated the sigil as best he could, Dean made to step inside it, but was stopped by Sam grabbing his arm.
Sam offered him an angel blade. "You'll need this," he said, somber.
Dean grabbed it, then pulled him into a hug. "We'll be back soon," he promised.
"You'd better be, or I'll have to kick your ass," Sam said. He was trying to joke, but unable to force the levitivity.
"Like you could," Dean said. "Bitch."
"Jerk."
They pulled apart, and Sam stepped back.
"Be careful," Eileen said.
"You know me," Dean said, then added more seriously, "Take care of him."
Eileen nodded. "I will."
"Good." He turned to Jack to say something, but found the kid's arms around him.
Dean stopped, unable to react at first, then slowly hugged back.
"Bring him home," Jack said, almost too quietly for Dean to hear. "And come home, too."
The words got caught in his throat. Dean nodded.
Rowena cleared her throat. "As touching as this is, we have to finish the spell."
Jack moved away.
Dean stepped inside the sigil, careful not to smear any of the lines he had painstaking copied.
"Jack, over here. When I finish the incantation, I need you to add your blood to the bowl." Rowena gestured for him to stand next to her.
Jack pulled the t-shirt from his hand, which was still red with fresh blood.
Rowena turned to Dean. "The best of luck, Dean. Samuel, back up a wee bit."
Sam took a few steps back, stopping beside Eileen.
Eileen hooked her hand through his.
Rowena began.
"Nihil liberum est caritas de interitiónibus eórum."
Dean took a breath and gripped the angel blade.
"Eum praeter creationem absentiam luminis."
The sigils on the table and beneath him began to glow red.
"Libera ex se ad hanc societatem civium indigentiam unum!"
I'm coming, Cas, I'm coming—
"Testor inane potestas Orpheo mittere velit!"
Jack held his hand above the bowl and a few drops of blood fell.
A liquid-like black mass began to rise up from the sigil Dean was standing on, cold and devoid as it wrapped around him like ribbons. He met Sam's eyes and nodded.
Then it swallowed him, and Dean was gone.
It was dark.
It was cold.
It was empty.
No, it was the Empty. Absent of light, of heat.
There was presence, too.
Cas was here. Somewhere, his angel was here.
Despite its smooth appearance, the tendrils of nothingness felt more like bugs crawling over his skin as they relinquished Dean. He took a few experimental steps forward.
From every direction, he could feel something pressing in on him. Something heavy and powerful and angry.
Dean pulled the portable cassette player from his pocket, never letting go of the angel blade. He pressed play.
Leaves are falling all around
It's time I was on my way
Thanks to you I'm much obliged
For such a pleasant stay
But now it's time for me to go
The autumn moon lights my way
For now I smell the rain
And with it pain
And it's headed my way
Ramble On. The first track. His favorite song. The lyrics fell out, small against the silence of the Empty.
Dean picked a direction and started walking. "Cas? Cas!"
Rowena had never specified how the music would help him find Cas. All he knew was that the Empty didn't like it, and would lead him to wherever he needed to go. Wherever Cas was.
In every direction, there was nothing but nothing. Endless nothing.
Dean felt a flicker of despair. What if he never found Cas? What if he really had seen Cas for the last time?
Dean turned up the volume as loud as it went.
Ramble on
And now's the time, the time is now
To sing my song
I'm goin' 'round the world, I got to find my girl
On my way
I've been this way ten years to the day
Ramble on
Gotta find the queen of all my dreams
He hummed along under his breath. The number of times he and Cas had been driving in the Impala and he had glanced over at Cas, taking in the way the light played across his face. Basking in Cas' fond smile when he offered to break his "driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole" rule for him. Grinning himself when Cas pulled the mixtape out of the pocket of his trench coat and offered it over. Too many to count, but not nearly enough.
Dean kept walking.
In every direction, the emptiness spanned, unbroken, farther than he could see. Hopeless was the first word that came to mind. How was he going to find Cas in this? There had been no change in the music, no indication that he was going the right or wrong way. He was just wandering aimlessly, desperately hoping that he would stumble upon Cas. What if—
Dean forced that thought out of his head. He had come this far. Cas had to be there. He just had to. Dean cast his thoughts around hurriedly, the words I have to find him playing on repeat in his head.
What was he going to say when he found him? He had thought about it, of course. Agonized over it. Dean had considered everything— starting right off with "I love you, too" to stumbling over apologies to promising to talk with Cas once they got out. He had considered forgetting about words, instead just wrapping his arms around Cas and melting into him, or threading his fingers through his hair then leaning in to kiss him. Holding him. Dean would give anything to just touch him, even if it was only just a brief brush of fingers against Cas' arm.
The track changed.
Ah-ah, ah!
Ah-ah, ah!
We come from the land of the ice and snow
From the midnight sun where the hot springs flow
Dean kept walking. "Cas! Castiel!"
It hasn't even been two songs, he reminded himself. This would take time. He had waited for months, he could wait a little bit longer.
The hammer of the gods
Will drive our ships to new lands
To fight the horde, sing and cry
Valhalla, I am coming
On we sweep with threshing oar
Our only goal will be the western shore
By the time the song had ended, Dean changed directions, veering off suddenly to his left. He had to be going the wrong way. His steps quickened.
Cas had to be here somewhere. Cas was here. Dean just had to find him.
Oh, let the sun beat down upon my face
And stars fill my dream
I'm a traveler of both time and space
To be where I have been
To sit with elders of the gentle race
This world has seldom seen
They talk of days for which they sit and wait
All will be revealed
This music, usually loud and bold, was almost being silenced by the deafening amount of absence surrounding him.
From the houses of the holy,
We can watch the white doves go
From the door comes Satan's daughter,
And it only goes to show. You know.
There's an angel on my shoulder,
In my hand a sword of gold
Let me wander in your garden.
And the seeds of love I'll sow.
You know.
"Cas? Cas, can you hear me? Cas!"
He shouted until his voice was raw, as song after song passed.
Hey, I felt the coldness of my winter
I never thought it would ever go
I cursed the gloom that set upon us, 'pon us, 'pon us, 'pon us
But I know that I love you so
Oh, but I know
That I love you so
Song.
So if you wake up with the sunrise
And all your dreams are still as new
And happiness is what you need so bad
Girl, the answer lies with you, yeah
After.
Well it's been ten years and maybe more
Since I first set eyes on you
The best years of my life gone by
Here I am alone and blue
Song.
Dammit, where was he? Why wasn't this working?
"Cas, where the hell are you?" Dean muttered.
The words were closer. A melody had slipped through his shell, accompanied by the rumbling of a voice.
Cas knew that voice.
Cas knew that voice better than he knew most things. And it was close.
He tried to find the source of it. If he could find it, he could get to it, get to him. He meant everything.
"Remember last time," the voice hissed. "You don't want to get hurt, do you?"
That wasn't him. It sounded like him, but it was colder, darker, thicker.
"Exactly," the voice said. "You think I'm worth something? I am pain, Castiel. Save yourself. Sleep."
This voice didn't sound close like his voice did. This voice resonated around him, consuming and heavy. His voice was barely there, barely a whisper.
"Sleep," the voice repeated, and Cas listened.
Dean's voice was hoarse. He had gone through the mixtape once.
There was still no sign of Cas.
He had to be doing something wrong. Cas was here, somewhere. Dean had to find him. Dammit, he could fix this. He had to fix this. He had to find Cas.
It was devoid of any sound again; even his footfalls were silent. Dean restarted the tape. A thought crossed his mind, and there was a flare of panic.
Shit. What was he going to do if the mixtape hadn't been it?
He hadn't even thought about it; he'd just assumed that the mixtape would be it. It was the only cassette Cas owned. His other music had come from an old iPod Dean had given him. What if that was what he needed?
Dean patted down his pockets, as though expecting to find it. He hadn't brought anything with him besides his player, the mixtape, and the angel blade. But there, in his inside pocket, was a hard, rectangular lump. Carefully, he pulled it out.
Cas' Top 13 Taylor Swift Tracks
He stopped.
That was it.
He couldn't explain how he knew, but that was the key to finding Cas.
As quickly as he could, Dean stopped the other tape and exchanged it for Cas', willing his hands to stop shaking.
He remembered all too well the songs he had heard. The pain he had caused.
For Cas, Dean reminded himself. Before he could think about it any more, he pressed play.
There was an unearthly bellow from the Empty's depths as the bright and lively beat began. It was familiar. It filled the space around him. The Empty seemed almost less desolate, just hearing it. The nothingness seemed to shrink back more and more as the song went on.
Yeah. This was it.
He had to find Cas with Cas.
I stay out too late
Got nothing in my brain
That's what people say
That's what people say
Dean really hoped it would be.
He kept walking.
Eventually, the last note of the song faded, and the sound was gone.
A soft melody drifted out from the player, and Dean listened.
There'll be happiness after you
But there was happiness because of you
Both of these things can be true
There is happiness
Beneath the blood and bruise
Cas, leaving the bunker, waiting for Dean to stop him. Wishing Dean would ask him to say, and trying to move on when he didn't.
But I knew you
Dancin' in your Levi's
Drunk under a streetlight
Cas, watching Dean laugh outside a bar, not understanding what Dean found so funny, but half smiling at him anyway. Chest inexplicably warm knowing he had been the one to make Dean laugh.
We gather here, we line up
Weepin' in a sunlit room, and
If I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes too
Cas, his body burning on a pyre while Dean watched, feeling the world crumble out from beneath him.
How's one to know?
I'd meet you where the spirit meets the bones
In a faith forgotten land
In from the snow
Your touch brought forth an incandescent glow
Tarnished but so grand
Cas, pulling him out of Hell, claiming part of his soul. Rebuilding him from the ground up, putting so much care into this one, insignificant human.
Life was a willow and it bent right to your wind
Head on the pillow, I could feel you sneaking in
As if you were a mythical thing
Like you were a trophy or a champion ring
And there was one prize I'd cheat to win
Cas, letting Dean get past his unwavering exterior. Letting Dean get to know him and getting to know Dean in return. Not realizing what those consequences were until it was too late to turn back.
And you understand now why they lost their minds and fought the wars
And why I've spent my whole life tryin' to put it into words
Cas, falling for Dean. Never realizing that he wasn't the only one.
Put your lips close to mine
As long as they don't touch
Out of focus, eye to eye
'Til the gravity's too much
Cas, always standing too close, but never close enough.
So you were never a saint
And I've loved in shades of wrong
We learn to live with the pain
Mosaic broken hearts
Cas, loving him despite everything. With everything.
I bet
It never ever occurred to you
That I can't say "Hello" to you
And risk another goodbye
Cas leaving and wanting—
You took a Polaroid of us
Then discovered
The rest of the world was black and white
But we were in screaming color
Cas knowing what was real—
Saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts
Flashbacks waking me up
I get drunk, but it's not enough
'Cause the morning comes and you're not my baby
Cas hurting—
I've been having a hard time adjusting
I had the shiniest wheels, now they're rusting
I didn't know if you'd care if I came back
Cas.
Everything.
It was all just Cas.
Dean couldn't remember when everything had become Cas, couldn't place when Cas had become everything. Cas just was. And now—
The music filled the space as tears streamed down Dean's face. He wiped them away furiously, but they kept coming.
Even after everything he had done, after all the times he had hurt Cas, Cas had come back, time and time again. When it came down to it, Cas had sacrificed himself for Dean. Dean had been Cas' happiness. And Cas— Cas deserved better, but for some reason he wanted Dean. For some reason, he loved Dean. If Dean hadn't believed it before, he did now. That mixtape had been full of memories and pain and heartbreak and faith and love and had been so incredibly Cas. Cas loved him.
"I love you, too," Dean whispered aloud.
At some point, he had stopped walking. Now, he was standing dumbly, clutching the player.
The last notes of the song faded, and the track stopped. It was silent. Empty.
Cas was still nowhere to be seen.
Dean made to rewind the cassette when movement caught the corner of his eye. He whirled around toward it, slipping the angel blade from where he had stowed it in his pocket. Slowly, he began to advance.
A black mass was bubbling up from the ground, taking the form of an unconscious figure, lying down in what appeared to be an uncomfortable position. The dark nothingness peeled away from the figure. Its back was turned to Dean, but it had a familiar head of messy hair and a telltale tan trench coat. The most beautiful thing Dean had ever seen.
"Cas," he breathed.
Cas was here.
He found Cas.
Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas Cas—
Cas was on the ground. That was the first thing he noticed.
It was different than being asleep and drifting, untethered through regrets. This felt present and here. Almost as though—
Cas jerked up suddenly into a sitting position.
He was awake again.
Before he had any time to try and process what that meant, there was a hand on his shoulder and someone kneeling next to him.
"'Morning, Sunshine." The voice wavered slightly, but wasn't weak. It was—
Cas turned to look at him.
Dean's eyes were red as though he'd been crying, but bright and hopeful. The smattering of freckles across his face was familiar. His jacket was dirty, and there was a bloody handprint on one shoulder. This. This was Dean.
Then Cas remembered everything else. Every "Dean" that had come through, pretending to rescue him.
Cas turned away from him and pulled from his touch.
"Cas?" This Dean sounded worried. Hesitant. None of the other Deans had sounded quite like that.
"We had a deal," Cas said, not responding. "I sleep, you don't torture me. That was our deal."
"Cas, what? It's me!"
Cas shook his head. "No. You can't be Dean."
He felt like Dean. Cas knew him better than he did anything else. Knew the feel of his soul and the presence of his mind. This Dean felt like that. It wasn't him, though. It couldn't be. Even if the mantra repeating in his head was now coursing with Dean Dean Dean Dean Dean.
"But I am!" the Dean protested, almost desperately. "It's me, Cas, I swear. I'm here to get you out—"
He finally turned to look at him, and the grief-stricken expression on the Dean's face wrenched his gut. "You can't be."
The hurt on the Dean's face didn't disappear, but something in him hardened, and there was a determined glint to his eyes. "How do I prove it?" he asked.
Cas blinked. None of the other Deans had tried that either.
That didn't mean anything. The Empty was just getting creative.
"You don't have to," Cas said. "I know—" He broke off, then continued, "I know the truth."
The Dean seemed to struggle with something as he digested that. Then—
Suddenly, his lips were on Cas'. Something hot flared somewhere in the pit of Cas' stomach and in his very core at the contact. If this was his Dean, he would press back, give him everything he could. Give himself what he wanted.
Instead, he sat, stiff as the Dean pulled away.
Green eyes met his, searching for something.
"You're getting better," Cas said, willing his voice not to waver. He wouldn't give it the satisfaction. "You seem to have forgotten, though, that it was one-sided."
After all, that was, in a way, one of the last things Dean had ever said to him. "Don't do this." Don't love me, don't ruin this.
The Dean shook his head. "It was never one-sided," he said.
"Yes, it was," Cas said. "The last thing he told me was that he didn't want—" he gestured vaguely. "—this."
"I didn't want to lose you!" the Dean interrupted. "I couldn't— I'm not good with words, you've gotta know that by now. I meant don't do this to me, don't tell me that you love me then leave. I didn't even think angels could feel like that, and— dammit, even if I loved you so much it hurt not to be able to lean over and kiss you or hold your hand or tell you, I'd rather have you as a friend than not at all! And when you left, I couldn't— I can't lose you, Cas."
Cas looked away. "Why would he even want me?"
"Because— because—" The Dean stumbled over his words slightly. "Why wouldn't I? I— Cas, you've saved mine and Sam's asses more times than we can count. Whenever we— I— need you, you're there. You always pull through. You— there's this thing you do where you tilt your head to the side and squint when you're trying to figure something out, and it's fucking adorable. Even though you can't really eat 'em anymore, you love peanut butter and jelly. When you brushed your teeth, you'd squirt the toothpaste directly in your mouth."
Cas turned slowly to him as his words grew more confident.
"You love bees. One time, you told me that if angels got to retire, you'd want to have a hive of your own," the Dean said. "Sometimes you make coffee in the morning, even if you don't have any. You put everyone else first. You don't get pop culture or personal space. You rebelled against all of Heaven to do the right thing. You've made messes and hurt people, but always for the right reasons. You've left me, but you've always come back. Cas, you pulled me out of Hell, you— you reminded me that we get to make our own choices. Every time I've been at rock bottom, you've done what you could to help. You think you're the only one that fell?" He shook his head. "You changed me too, Cas, and I love you. I can't think of a single reason why I wouldn't want you."
And then Cas saw it. The pulsing light around Dean's core, bright and vibrant and—
The other Deans didn't have that. They didn't have souls. Even if they did, there was no way they would be anywhere near as beautiful as the real Dean's. So maybe—
It couldn't be. It just couldn't. Dean didn't feel like that, he didn't— he had said it, Cas was family.
But—
"Dean?"