"So have you sent your application yet?" Dean asks to a still a barely awake Sam.
"Excuse me?" Sam scratches his eyes with his palms before he stretches his arms behind his back.
"To Stanford, or whatever university is gonna accept a senior citizen like yourself. I don't know, man. I figured now that things have settled a little you might want to go back to school, finish your degree."
"Actually, I'm not that into law anymore, let alone becoming a lawyer. Besides I've got my hands kinda full here – he gestures vaguely to their surroundings, – with all the hunters and the coven. I think Eileen would kill me if I started freaking out about exams too."
"Look at you, you are practically a businessman." Dean comments, sitting in front of his brother at the kitchen table.
"Oh, shut up. – Sam shakes his head, then asks– Is there something you wanna tell me?"
"Well, yeah. I was thinking about going to college. I know it's insane, especially coming from me, but... I like learning stuff and the thought of sitting in a class full of people that don't know me, listening to some entitled motherfucker talk about books and dead people for a whole hour seems... calming, I guess."
"Dean, that's great."
And Dean knows Sam isn't just talking about him getting an education, but mostly about him starting to live again, which, from how Dean sees it, is absolutely an overstatement.
He needs a routine, though, a schedule, something to be able to drag himself out of bed at least half the times. While getting a real job still seems far too overwhelming, with timetables and paychecks, bosses and strict rules, he figures college might be exactly the solution he was looking for.
He can handle stress, hell, he has handled much worse. Besides, the thought of feeling something, anything, other than the same old echoing sadness, seems more than appealing.
Cas has been gone for seven months now and Dean has no problem admitting that life has been unbearable ever since.
Nothing's changed, he still carries the impossible weight of being alive and the burning wound of his absence everywhere he goes.
At first, after Chuck, Dean buried himself in hunting, almost getting himself killed a few times, secretly disappointed whenever he came back on the other side, but then he broke his knee and was forced to stop, stay home for a few weeks. It was no surprise to him that a few days spent inside the bunker were enough for him to spiral out of the control he had been barely able to keep ever since Cas had been taken from him.
He went through them all, the stages of grief, in random orders, some of those cyclically reappearing, pushing him to the edge more than once.
"I think this could help you, give you, huh, a purpose."
Which, admittedly, is a funny word for someone who has wrestled his whole life with the urge to obliterate himself from existence in order to escape the constant state of necessity he was in, maybe to access a contingency which Chuck always made sure to make as unreachable as possible to him.
Once left with contingency, with broken knees that took months to heal and a world that kept spinning without his help, where his sweat, tears and blood were just his own, Dean realized he didn't know how to be alive.
"I don't know, don't get your hopes up. I might still drop out after a semester or something. But I was wondering if you could read my personal statement, check if it's too corny or too dry." Dean shifts uncomfortably on his chair, he hates feeling like a hypocrite, especially when it comes to Sam. He feels a shiver crawling down his spine when the thought of Chuck resurfaces in his mind; him who practically dragged Sam out of college twenty years before is now asking for his brother's help with his own college application. Seems like the sort of sick trick Chuck would enjoy.
"Dean? You okay?" he hears Sam's voice muffled as he tries to ground himself as quickly as he can, before he extinguishes Sam's enthusiasm completely, revealing how little he has recovered.
"Sorry, what did you say?" he manages to ask.
"Uh, I was saying that I'm not really familiar with the current application process, so maybe you should ask Patience or Claire, she went to college for a few months."
"Not gonna happen."
Sam sighs, finishing the last of his cereals. "Of course I'll read it. For what are you applying?"
"Philosophy. Please don't laugh. Besides, I don't think I can get any crazier than this, right? At least this way I'll be able to quote Schopenhauer or Kierkegaard during my breakdowns."
Dean jokes around it because it's been almost a month since the last time, when Sam and him had a screaming match about the laundry and Dean ended up unable to control his tears even when they both stopped yelling, crying for what felt like at least two hours before he could completely ground himself and stop shaking. So he figures it's been long enough to make stupid jokes about it.
"That would be interesting." Sam comments, showing Dean a sincere smile.
Dean is pleased to realize that he was right, attending classes is more relaxing than almost anything he can think of. He enjoys sitting still and taking notes as the voice of his professors resonates in the room. It can't be less than two hundred students, some of which are far older than Dean. Chatting with some of his course mates he has found out that a lot of people decide to take up Philosophy only when they have a stable career or are retired, which is at least encouraging.
It feels nice to be alone in a crowd, something he hasn't experienced in years. A calm place in plain sight, where the silent gaze of everyone around him keeps his head above the water.
Pain, however, crushes his body in small electric waves when he is least expecting it, like when a professor tells a funny story or a joke he particularly enjoys, or maybe when he meets someone new, and it takes him a few horrible seconds to realize he won't be able to call Cas on the drive to the bunker or tell him about it back home, that what awaits him, instead, is the silence of his car and Sam and Eileen's happiness, suffocating chuckles whenever he crosses the room they're in like a wandering ghost through the halls of the place he has come to hate.
Some days he can't push himself to return home; he does, though, aware that walking into a bar in the state he is in is simply not an option. But Jody is. She offered him shelter more times than he can count ever since Cas died, and Dean knows he can drive all the way to Sioux Falls and he'll always find a hot plate and a cheap romcom waiting for him.
When he reaches Jody's driveway, he sees that Claire's car is parked outside and his heart skips a beat. They haven't been around each other much since Cas, which frankly isn't Claire's fault, it wasn't an easy thing to be around Dean those first months. He sends her a text every once in a while, although she hardly answers back, and, if she's home when he visits, she always makes sure to never be in the kitchen alone with him. Dean wishes he could fix it, he really does, if not just for himself, at least for Cas. He would hate all the resentment hanging in the air.
Jody welcomes him with a big hug, holding his face in her hands for a moment. "Come inside", she says so softly it almost sounds like a whisper.
The evening unfolds pleasantly, Jody serves chicken and roast potatoes, and they all tell stories about their high school days as they eat the strawberries Alex bought from an old lady at the town's market. And Dean almost forgets to check if his hands are shaking.
It's only when they have all gone to bed that Dean stumbles across Claire in the hallway, sitting on the carpet, her back against the wall and her face half-lit by the light of her phone.
"What are you doing down there?" he instinctively asks, before he remembers they no longer use that tone with each other.
Claire seems caught off guard too, her phone almost falling from her hands.
"Kaia falls asleep more quickly when she's alone, so when she's particularly tired I sit here for a while, so that I can know when to get in. Sleeping is kind of a struggle for her, you know, and we've just returned from a case." she delivers her answer rather coldly, but it's still more words than those they have exchanged in the last seven months.
Dean nods, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, "How did it go?"
"Just a couple of vamps, pretty helpless, I almost felt bad when I killed them. They were drinking human blood and kidnapping people, though, so I guess they had to be taken out."
Dean contemplates sitting down next to her, but he doesn't want to take advantage of the vague sense of normalcy Claire is offering him.
"So,– he begins, unsure on how to end his sentence – how is it going between you two?" he gestures Kaia, only a portion of her legs visible from the half-closed door.
Claire seems to ponder the question for a seconds, then she jerks her head in Dean's direction.
"I'm not sure hearing me talk about our relationship will help her sleep. – But thanks for asking." She adds, displaying a courtesy smile.
Claire used to open up with him quite a lot once, Dean isn't sure how they got so close in such a short amount of time, perhaps it was the troubled youth and parental trauma, or it had something to do with how intensively they both experience emotions. Or maybe Dean was just the second best thing next the man who was wearing her father's body and who, in a way, became her father as well. In any case, that familiarity is gone now; as they avoid eye-contact for longer than a moment, Dean knows Claire can barely hold herself together in his presence.
"Right, I'm sorry." Disappointment causes a sting at the back of his neck, but he tries to keep as much of a neutral expression as he can manage.
"It's okay." She answers, but to Dean it still sounds like something along the lines of you should be, which is mostly what he deserves to hear.
It takes him a few more deep breaths than he originally planned to get the words out, "What we had before was nice, I thought maybe we could try to fix this, if you can forgive me."
"It's not about forgiveness. – her voice cracks, frustration slipping through – I can forgive and still look at you and see him, just like when I looked at him and used to see Jimmy, it's just a fucked-up chain of loss and endless mourning. There's not much we can do about that."
Dean doesn't say anything, because she is right, it is all a fucking cycle of loss and mourning.
"There's one thing, maybe." She adds, truly looking at him for the first time.
"What?"
"Work a case with me."
"A case? With you?"
"Yes, let's hit the road, eat cheap burgers and sleep in a crappy motel. It's my main regret, not getting to work on a case together back when things were good. Let's do this now, I've already found a case in Fargo. If it goes badly, we can keep ignoring each other or maybe, if it goes well, we can fix this." She mocks him, ending the sentence with a lower tone.
"Claire, I can't – I'm not hunting anymore, plus I have classes."
"Oh come on, smartass. You will catch up, besides, it's Friday, we can get this done in two days, by Monday you'll be back to your depressing misogynistic philosophers."
"What about Kaia?" He tries.
"She won't mind a few days out; I was thinking to go on my own anyway. Hunting drains her, I think she does it mostly to spend time together, but I'm not sure it will last if I keep dragging her around the country. So, are you in?"
Dean thinks about his last case: the broken knee and the blood soaking the wooden floor, the breakdown it triggered. He also thinks of Cas, the two of them wandering around a town they barely knew, trying to find the perfect gift for Claire and ending up settling for a stuffed animal Cas was sure she was going to hate. He'd want him to say yes.
"Sure."
Dean and Claire leave early the next morning, with a bag full of sandwiches and snacks for the journey, Jody waving goodbye from the driveway.
"Look at this, – Claire comments, her face almost inside the bag resting on her thighs – she doesn't treat me so well when I'm on my own, or with Kaia."
Dean laughs, "So, Fargo. What do we know about this case?" he asks, and he might be willingly shifting the subject because thinking too much about why Jody seemed so worried wouldn't do him any good.
"Two people died: one two days ago, one yesterday. They found them in their home, their bodies completely destroyed, in a way that seems humanly impossible, or at least that's what the articles said. It's not much, but I think it's enough."
"It's vague, – he sighs, his chest heavier than he hoped – but with our luck it could be a reincarnation of Lucifer."
"Isn't he already walking among us?"
Claire is joking, Dean takes a bit too long to get it, though. "Kidding. How is he? Still at Bobby's?"
"Yeah," Dean hates how defeated he sounds when he says, "ours isn't he only relationship I ruined."
"Sorry to hear that."
"With him, well, I fucked up cosmically, which unfortunately isn't an overstatement."
With Jack, it feels like he is always trying to fix whatever is broken between them, whatever he has broken. Jack, on his side, is so painfully forgiving that it makes Dean's head spin whenever he thinks of all the ways he has hurt him.
It was Sam's idea, while Dean was maybe at his lowest, to send Jack away for a while, so that he could spend time with someone he trusted, someone who could give him love and stability until things got better, or –
"And Sam doesn't want him back?" Claire asks after a while.
"He goes there a lot, on Sundays and stuff, sometimes with Eileen. But I know he misses him, I do too. This is a better solution for Jack, though, at least for now."
There is another silence, which this time Dean isn't sure Claire is going to fill.
"You never think about moving out? Get your own place?"
I would kill myself if I did, he isn't able to stop the thought from surfacing in his mind, but he manages to answer, "I guess, eventually. That place is a graveyard, but I'm just – not ready yet."
Claire leaves it at that, going back to staring outside the window.
They arrive for lunch, which they eat in their motel room, the TV on just to fill the silence as they search through police reports on the deaths.
"Got something?" Dean asks when he hears Claire mumble something to herself from the other side of the room.
"I think. Both vics were in a dark place. The woman had just lost her son in a car accident and the boy was bullied pretty harshly at school. They also lived on the same street."
"So, are they saying it was suicide?"
"Not really, because they can't think of something that could leave the bodies in such a state. They were almost evaporated."
"Evaporated?" Dean asks, with his heart beating in his throat.
"Yeah, so they say."
He almost makes the chair fall on its back for how quickly he stands up.
"Hold on, what's going on? Are we done here yet?"
"I have to check something out."
"I'm coming with." Claire says, then closes her laptop shut and puts it in her bag.
"Are we going as FBI? They still have doubts when they see me."
Dean almost doesn't hear what she says, but then he forces himself to rerun the question in his head and give a proper answer to it.
"I'll go as FBI. Maybe you could try to say you are a friend of the boy, Jacob, talk to his parents and see if he – if he was suicidal. I'll wait for you on the scene."
"Wait!" Claire yells, following him down the hallway. "You forgot your keys."
"I'll walk, you take the car if you want." He turns around almost immediately, but he still has the time to see the annoyed look on Claire's face turn into a worried frown, one he knows very well.
If it is what he thinks it is, he needs all the fresh air he can get.
When Claire finds him, Dean is breathing heavenly outside the woman's house, his shaking hands buried in his pockets.
"What was that?" she asks, annoyance back in the cracks on her face.
"What was what?"
"You storming out of the motel, not answering my texts, walking? Dean, what's going on?"
"I know what we're up against, and it's not nice."
"So?"
"They are called Rit Zien, they are a special brand of angel. Their mission is healing the wounded and putting those who can't be saved out of their misery."
"Is that a thing?"
"Yeah, but not for humans. When the angels fell, though, we came across one, he was disoriented, vengeful, unable to understand the depth of human emotions, and so he took down whoever expressed a death wish, no matter how fleeting or shallow."
It goes well, he doesn't stutter or run out of breath before he finishes the sentence, hell, he even manages not to mention Cas. It's still painful, but at least he had the time to rehearsal before Claire arrived.
"And how can you be sure this is not something else? Besides, the angels fell ages ago, why would this one start messing around now?"
He takes his phone out and shows her a picture of the pink substance smeared all over the tapestry in the woman's living room.
"This is – quite distinctive."
"God, gross."
"I thought… I thought they were all gone, I was told the one we killed was the last one." Dean is aware he's putting a small stitch on a big, bleeding wound, using passive forms and vague sentences won't help him, nor Claire, but it makes things easier at least for now.
"Well, he probably counted wrong. How do we take them down? Regular angel blade?"
Dean thinks about the one he keeps under his pillow instead of the gun, it is stupid actually, the gun is more effective and quicker, but it is more for comfort than for protection. A reminder of something Cas touched, hid close to his chest, sometimes Dean takes it and it feels warm, almost as if his finger had just been there.
"Yeah, nothing too fancy. We must act quickly, though, or they will strike again. How did it go with Jacob's parents? Did they tell you something useful?"
Claire shrugs. "They were shattered, of course. They thought the situation at school was improving and said Jacob talked about how things were getting better in general at dinner the night before he died."
"See, it's the angel going psycho again. Kid didn't wanna kill himself."
"Or he was lying."
"Why would he?"
"Don't we all?" Claire snaps, her jaw clenched as she looks away.
Ever since Dean arrived at Jody's the night before, Claire has been particularly patient with him, so it feels odd to hear resentment in her answer, but he tries to ignore it.
Anger is something familiar to both of them, so neither gets scared when control slips a little. They both have changed through the years, and even Claire, who used to be one of the angriest teenagers Dean had ever met, has lost her edges, softened by the unconditional love that has been given to her, by Jody, Cas, Kaia and all of them. Resentment is something else, something harder to get rid of, Dean knows it because often when he looks at Claire, he can't help but see himself. The only way is to explode, unleash all the bitterness that has been building up and hope the person on the receiving end is willing to take the hit. Except Dean is not at all equipped for that. So he tries to change the subject.
"Where did you park?"
"I walked." She answers coldly.
"Why? It's a long way from the motel."
"Tell me about it."
"Why didn't you take the car?" he insists.
"Dean, you barely let Sam drive it. You were clearly out of it when you said I could take it, so I thought it'd be wiser not to."
It's sad to admit that, but nowadays Dean can barely bring himself to care about the car, which is a huge red flag he is determined to ignore.
"Well, I'd have taken the risk of you smashing it against Mr. Smith's flowerbed, if it meant not having to walk for 4 miles."
"We could take the bus" Claire suggests, pointing at a bus stop nearby.
"No way, I haven't taken a bus in ten years."
They end up squeezed on the backseat of a bus that looks older than Dean, but luckily it doesn't smell like he remembered it and his legs are thankful for the act of mercy.
"So how do we find nurse Ratched?"
Dean smiles at the reference.
"I think we should let them find us, it's not the safest way but it will save us time. All we have to do is express a pretty genuine death wish, which shouldn't be too hard."
"Dude..." Claire comments, her brows frowned as she shakes her head softly.
"I think we could take them by surprise, I'll let them find me alone and then you'll come and stab them, or the other way around if you prefer."
Claire seems to consider Dean's offer for a long time, then she whispers, "Seems scary either way. But I'd rather not play the damsel in distress."
"Fine, I'll be the damsel in distress."
She shows him a smile, almost as if she can't help it, then she takes her phone from her pocket.
Once they get back to their motel room, they both decide to eat some of Jody's lunch leftovers before they enact their plan, which is actually rather simple, consisting of Claire hiding in the hallway while Dean focuses on how miserable his life is. They are in the middle of a heated discussion over a question on Who Wants to Be Millionaire when the door is thrown open.
Dean feels as if flames replaced his blood underneath his skin when he sees it's not just another Rit Zien, it is exactly the same vessel who tried to kill Castiel years before, the same one Dean saw die in front of his eyes.
"How-?" Claire mumbles, suddenly on her feet, the angel blade in her hands.
"I sense so much pain in this room, lurking from the walls."
Dean involuntarily backs off, his shoulders pressed against the window. "How did you get out? I saw you die; how did you get out of the Empty?" he doesn't care about fighting, not anymore, his mind rushes him to one place and one place only.
Over the months Dean has fallen in pretty much every trap that was ever set for him, from Lucifer himself to an insignificant demon making fun of him out of pure spite. It is more or less a conscious decision at that point; better to be deceived, trapped and beaten than to risk walking away on Cas, or on the solution he has been so desperate to find, after all what is the worst that could happen? Getting himself killed?
The angel walks towards him, throwing Claire against the wall as soon as she attempts to attack him with the blade.
"Poor, poor Dean. Your misery is so loud I feel compelled to disobey my orders and just – unburden you, wouldn't it be nice?"
The angel is close enough to touch his face, gently, almost like a caress.
"What orders?"
"To stay out of trouble. Orders of the Empty."
"It doesn't seem like you're doing too much of a good job at that."
"Oh, but I wanted to get your attention. Who else if not Dean Winchester and his gang of preschoolers to help me get to the boy?"
"The boy?" Claire asks, blood is running down her chin, but she quickly wipes it away with the back of her hand.
"The Empty is loud because of him, so loud it has started to vomit out some of us with the promise not to draw in your attention. You know, to make it quieter. I guess this is good enough for most of the angels and demons who wander the Earth idly, without a purpose, but it's torture for me, even louder than the Empty – all this suffering."
"Angels have been cast out of the Empty?" Dean can barely form a sentence with the little air he has left in his lungs.
"Not yours, I'm afraid."
"You wanna go back to the Empty? I can kill you right away." Dean swallows the sour taste of frustration.
"I wanna go back to Heaven. I serve Heaven."
"What's stopping you?"
"Oh, you don't know? When little Jackie distributed God's energy all over the universe, he created such an imbalance that Heaven was forced to shut its gates in order to prevent itself from crumbling to pieces. No angels get in, no angels get out. Now, as I said, most of my fellow angels were almost reassured to know they were free from their obligations towards Heaven, following the steps of you boyfriend, I assume. But I, and others like me, want to go back. The boy is the only one who can do something, but I haven't been able to find him."
"Moving, - Dean comments dryly, disappointment settling on his stomach – now, tell me. Why should I help you? You must know nothing's for free around here."
"Castiel, it's not hard for me to know you miss him terribly, the both of you. As I said, he's not back on Earth, but he isn't in the Empty either. From what I heard, when the Empty took him, there was almost no grace left and he had developed a soul, similar to that of humans. So, I guess, he could be in Hell, but you have contacts down there, don't you? I believe you'd know. The Empty must have given him a one-way ticket to Heaven, you open the gates and maybe Jack will be able to get him back."
It's more information than Dean can process, and his legs feel so weak that, if he didn't have the wall to lean on, he would fall on his knees.
The scene in front of him unfolds quickly as he stares at it numbly. The angel's eyes and mouth pour out rays of violent white light, while the end of a blade comes through his stomach. "Thank you." Claire whispers at his ear, before the body collapses at Dean's feet.
"What did you do?" he asks, still unable to untangle himself from a thick fog of disbelief.
"He was of no use. He'd already told us everything we needed to know and he was a killer."
Dean nods, bile suddenly in his mouth.
"You okay? I think we should go to Bobby's. Maybe he was telling the truth, maybe we can get Cas back."
Dean almost doesn't notice that it's the first time he hears his name on Claire's lips since he died.
He's in Heaven, his mind a hollow cave, with the same words echoing over and over.
"We should sleep for a few hours first." He hears himself say, "We'd arrive there in the middle of the night."
"But there's no time! – she objects, anger cracking her voice – This could be our only chance."
"Heaven will still be there tomorrow."
He can hardly believe himself. He has been desperate to find Cas, hold him tight and beg for his forgiveness; hell, he has pictured it more times than he can count, in a thousand different scenarios. Heaven, peace and blissfulness, though, has never even been an option. Is it even a rescue if he's taking him away from the gentle light of his resting place, only to drag him back on the battlefield? And for what? His ribs hurt at the thought of Cas laying his eyes on the graveyard he has built around him, the barren soil and rotten flesh.
"Please, kid. Give me five hours. Go get some sleep, watch a movie. I'll take care of the body and be back by sunrise."
"If you don't come back. – her throat seems tight, despite the fierce look on her face – If you kill yourself to join him and you leave me here, I swear to God, or whatever, that I'll make sure Rowena drags your ass to hell and tortures you for all of eternity." Her message isn't delivered as she probably intended, tears chocking her halfway through it, but it still rips a whole in Dean's chest. "No, of course not. I'd never do that to you."
He waits for Claire by the car in the empty parking lot outside the motel. The morning sun gently hitting his face doesn't do much for his aching chest or the cold he feels within his bones, but it's still nice to know he lived to see another day. Claire's words have followed him throughout the whole night; he guesses that's how parents must feel when their children point out they've been drinking a lot lately or that they heard them crying in the bathroom.
He stares at his phone one last time before he decides to click on Sam's unread messages.
6:30 PM Still at Jody's?
8:15 PMLeft you some pasta in the fridge if you plan to come home tonight
9:03 PMI know you need space, but if you're alright please answer this text so that I know nothing happened to you
10:27 PM Jody told me about the case, please be safe and don't hesitate to call if you need anything
He thinks of Sam going for a run, eating dinner, brushing his teeth, kissing Eileen goodnight, all with the thought of his brother lying lifeless in a ditch. His first instinct would be to smash his phone on the concrete, feel it break in a thousand little pieces as he steps on it, instead, he settles for a short text, promising to call on the way back, when hopefully he will have more answers.
Claire seems relieved to find him by the car, breathing, and even happier that Dean has bought breakfast.
They drive in silence for a while, the open road as a secret judge for all the things they are both deliberately leaving unspoken, like Claire's foolish hope and Dean's dread at the thought of Jack urging him to leave Cas alone in the bliss of his own Heaven, as it happened with Mary.
"Some music?" he asks, the third time he catches Claire's failed attempt to fall asleep.
She shrugs, shifting the jacket she's been using as a pillow higher against the window. "If you want, not a huge fan of classic rock, but go ahead."
"Then let's play something else, something you like. Sam somehow managed to add a USB port on a car which is older than me."
Claire gives him a crooked smile, throwing the jacket on the backseat. "You really want to win me back, huh?"
"Oh, shut up, if you don't make me listen to some new music, then who's gonna do that?"
He finds himself rolling down the window as soon as the thought of Cas and his weird fixation with pop music hits him. He inhales sharply against the early morning air. Hell, he used to let him play Lizzo in that car.
"Angry-sad or sad-sad?"
"Heart-wrenching." He says, closing his eyes for a moment. He can do it, whatever they are heading towards, he'll handle it. Claire is smiling to her phone as the first chords of the song start playing.
She ends up talking over the song, which, from what he gathers, is called Hardline by Julien Baker. There is a warmth Dean hasn't experienced in a long time when he watches Claire's hands move around while she excitedly tells him about Julien's life story and how much she relates to her.
"You'd be surprised to know how much growing up with two awfully religious parents, and grandma, does to your brain." She says, halfway through the third song on the album, "I have this guilt following me around everywhere. I don't finish my burger and I think about those who have nothing to eat. I don't stop at a crosswalk and a voice inside my head tells me I'm not working hard enough to earn my spot in Heaven. I kiss Kaia and –"
"Shit, why am I telling you all this? Sorry."
Dean is actually more than grateful for the distraction Claire is providing him from his own loops, besides, knowing she still trusts him enough to confide in him like that lifts a huge weight from his chest.
"Oh please, don't apologize. Not to sound like Jody, but you can talk to me about anything."
"Yeah, – she chuckles, playing with the cable attached to her phone – I get that a lot."
"Our lives are hard enough; you shouldn't have to carry all this extra guilt. But, as an old man, I assure you, all the trauma and learned behavior you see as your landscape right now, will eventually fade away and be nothing but a distant shadow."
"Really?" Claire asks, so softly that Dean has to grip the wheel tighter. She's just a kid, he keeps thinking, and she deserves a break. He has to fight the urge to stop the car and head back to Sioux Falls to save her the disappointment and the heartbreak.
"Yes, you'll see."
No one talks for a long time, the songs playing like hymns in a cathedral with doors open wide. Dean buries himself in lyrics that seem to be talking to him directly, almost more painful than his own thoughts.
He turns around to see Claire leaning against the window, her face hidden by her hair and a hand pinching the bridge of her nose.
"You alright?"
"Yeah." But her voice shakes as she says that. Her fingers now busy trying to stop tears from running down her cheeks.
"What is it?" he asks, his eyes back on the road.
"I don't know." she mumbles.
"Do you want me to take you home? You don't have to come along if you don't want to."
"No, no! – she sighs in frustration – I mean, maybe… No." she grips his arm and Dean gets to see her eyes watery and red. "I wanna be there."
"We can stop for a while, I don't know, eat something?" he tries, feeling a bit like a cheater, he's the one who wants to slow down.
"I'm good."
"Claire…"
"Don't Claire-me! – she almost yells, taking a deep breath that doesn't seem to calm her at all – Don't try to act like I am the problem here, the one who's seconds away from falling apart."
She's just angry, she doesn't know, Dean has to tell himself, his tone imperative in his head, but he still gets the feeling Claire is reading right through him.
"Say something!" she says through gritted teeth.
"What do you want me to say?" he's terrified by how flatly he delivers his answer.
"Jesus, Dean. You've been gone for months, but even now that you're right next to me you're still not here!"
Dean has never swallowed blades, but he is sure that is exactly how it feels. "This isn't easy for me." He eventually says and hates how condescending he sounds.
"And it is for me? Dude, I keep losing my dad, over and over, and whenever I start to resign at the thought that I'll never see that body again, those arms, that fucking coat, he comes back, and then he's gone again. But you know what? That's not even the worst part. The worst part is –" she stops, and Dean finds himself holding his breath. At least he had it coming.
"The worst part is you. Because if it goes wrong, all this was for nothing. You'll fade away again, stop visiting, stop calling or texting, and the cycle will just go on. I don't deserve this." Her words are drenched in bitterness and genuine, unfiltered hurt.
"No, you don't. – he sighs, struggling to find anything to say that comes even close to reassurance – We'll be fine. However this thing goes, you'll have me." He settles for a half-lie, because they won't be fine, but he'll be there. Damn, if he'll try to.
"I believe you." She tells him with a smile, wiping away tears with the back of her hand. "Now shut up and listen to my sad little gay songs."
They both laugh soundly, but Dean is glad when Claire rests her head on his shoulder, unable to see the tears gathering in his eyes.
Bobby was everything to Dean, more of a father than his own father, if he had to be honest with himself. Losing him had been one of the most devastating experiences of his life, happening in such a dark time that Dean can barely remember any of it, just a hazed picture of the main events, like looking through a dirty magnifying glass. When they met a Bobby that looked almost exactly like the one he loved so dearly, Dean thought he could pretend the man in front of him was the same one who raised him and guided him through the million different stages of his troubled youth. Of course, it wasn't the same man, and when Mary died, without strings, shared traumas or silly anecdotes, to keep them together, they naturally drifted apart. He can't say the same for Jack, who Bobby seems to love like the son he has lost, or like a grandson, regardless, Dean is thankful Jack can have a safe haven just like Sam and him had growing up.
Bobby's house is a nice cabin near the woods, but, from what Dean can tell from the boxes piled up outside his door, close enough to civilization to allow him to get pizza every now and then.
Dean asked Claire to text Jack on their way there, just to warn him of their visit, but without adding too much context.
When they ring the bell, the door opens almost immediately to a smiling Jack, "Dean! Claire!" he merrily greets them, opening his arms to squeeze both into a hug.
The last time they saw each other, Dean hadn't left the bunker in a month and slept two hours per night at best. He had waved Jack goodbye from ten feet away, too exhausted to stand on his own legs without leaning against a wall, or to speak, to be fair; while Sam hugged him tight and promised to go see him every weekend.
"Nice to see you, kid." Dean says, and he means it, he really does.
"Bobby will be here soon. He left for the supermarket as soon as you texted me, I think he wants to make one of his special recipes." Jack seems so delighted that it breaks Dean's heart, and, for a moment, he considers keeping quiet about what he knows and just give the kids a nice Sunday all together, saving them any more suffering. But Claire knows too, and she would never let Dean get away with his cowardice.
"Actually, - he begins, struggling to find the right words – can we come in?"
"Of course! Here give me your jackets."
Claire gives him a pained look as they enter the living room. "He looks so happy." She whispers at Dean's ear while Jack fixes their jackets on the coat hanger.
"I know." He answers, more to himself than to Claire, who is already chatting with Jack on the other side of the room.
"Jack there's something we need to talk about." He tries again, sitting down on the couch and gesturing for the kids to do the same. He wishes Cas was there, shoulder to shoulder, maybe a hand placed against his back to comfort and encourage him. Of course that's impossible, if it was the case he wouldn't be in that position in the first place. But if there's even the smallest chance for Cas' hand to rest on his back one more time, he must take it, for all of them.
Dean explains all he knows, as Jack sits in front of him, wide-eyed and with arched brows that painfully remind him of Cas. Once he finishes there is no foolish enthusiasm or fear staring back at him, but a solemn look that makes Dean's skin crawl.
"I can go to Heaven, I think." Jack explains, calmy. "If it's still how it used to be I can easily get inside, but even if they added fortifications, Duma taught me how to access it without going through the gates, it's taxing, but I haven't used my powers in months so I should be strong enough."
"And if you're not?" Claire asks, the pen she's been playing with since Dean started talking falling from her hands.
"I will be sent back. And we will have to try and find another way. But I should make it, I have to." Jack's voice cracks a little on his last words, the mask of serene bravery he has been wearing slipping for a second. You're asking him again to put his life at risk.
"This isn't your responsibility, kid. If you don't feel like doing it, that's absolutely okay. Cas is probably somewhere better now." Dean hates how rehearsed his words sound, almost as if he was reading from a poorly-written script.
Jack nods deeply, "He made a deal so that I could live, and I intend to repay him by offering him the choice to get back here. It's the least I can do."
It all happens in a moment, Jack stands and with an unflustered smile on his lips says, "I shouldn't be gone for long, but in case I'm not here when Bobby comes back, tell him to save me some lunch."
"Hold on!" Dean stops him, his lungs burning inside his ribcage. "If you find him and he decides to stay there, could you please tell him –" that I will be close behind, the thought crosses his mind just for a second, before he remembers Claire's words back at the motel and their conversation in the car. That's not what he wants to tell him, not what has been keeping him awake like a restless dog in a cage for the last seven months. "Could you tell him that I do too?"
He can't and won't say it, not like that, but at the same time he is far too wearied to care about what Jack and Claire may come up with, if they haven't already.
Jack nods once again, "I will." He says before he disappears.
If Dean wasn't busy fighting the urge to lock himself in the bathroom to crawl on the floor and scream, or cry, or both, he would probably fall asleep. His body functioning on anxiety and several cups of coffee alone after more than 24 hours without sleep.
Claire, on the other hand, shows a composure Dean admittedly didn't expect from her. She paces around the living room, looking at pictures hanged on the walls and making little comments about them. In a few Dean spots Mary, smiling brightly, as beautiful as ever, and his heart aches at all the things he has lost. She then proceeds to braid her hair, humming some of her indie tunes, which is nice because it distracts him for a while.
"How do you manage to do that without looking?"
Claire shrugs, taking a hair tie from her wrist. "My grandma used to keep her hair in a beautiful crown braid, she was the one to teach me at first. Then, I mean, I've watched tons of YouTube videos. Mirrors don't help much."
"You should let your hair grow out." She adds with a casual tone.
Dean has been cutting his hair every few weeks since he was a child, a mechanical gesture he enacts mostly without thinking. But during the last few months, when he could hardly leave his bed, let alone reach the sink and fix his appearance, his hair had grown quite a bit, his beard too, to the point where he could barely recognize the image staring back at him in the mirror. He doesn't tell that to Claire, though. "Maybe I should."
When Bobby walks through the door he looks at Dean as if he were a ghost, and Dean has a few ideas on why he is so surprised to see him. Sam is probably still cautious about Dean's recovery, which is both a relief and a shame. Bobby handles the news fairly well, although Dean and Claire have to explain the plan so many times that it eventually loses even the vague consistency it might have had when they first came up with it.
"Alright, alright. – Bobby declares, raising both his hands – I hoped it would make more sense the third time I heard it, but it doesn't. So I guess I'm making lunch for five, just in case." He shrugs, disappearing inside the kitchen.
It's not much, but it's enough for Dean's throat to tighten, he is feeling everything all at once and at that point he has unlearnt how to suppress it. But he knows that if he starts crying, he won't stop, hell, he could have Cas, alive and well, standing in front of him and he wouldn't be able to collect himself.
He digs his nails a little deeper into the skin of his forearm and takes deep shuddering breaths, maybe closing his eyes will help.
"You heard that?" Claire's voice reaches Dean from the state of suspension he has managed to reach and snaps him right out of it. He turns around to see her standing in the doorstep, about to leave and get to the backyard. "He's here!"
Dean figures there's no point in trying to prepare himself, he won't be ready either way. Finding Jack standing in the middle of the garden, with a content smile on his lips, though, almost makes Dean's legs too mellow to sustain him. He isn't here.
"You didn't find him?" Claire asks, her voice a whisper.
Jack looks behind him, the smile on his lips wavering for a second.
"I did find him."
"And? – Claire presses on – He wanted to stay?"
"Oh no, he should be here in a second. I had to slow down the fall, you know, not to hurt him."
Dean's mind refuses to process any of the information he is receiving, holding his breath until the world goes blurry. And then he is here, a gleam of blinding light, and a body lying among the weeds and wildflowers.
They all stand in awe, watching as Cas gets back on his feet, his fingers hesitantly touching his face, looking up at the sun, shining proudly against his skin, and then at them, his family.
"Claire!" he says, his voice a bit softer than Dean remembered it, but still Cas'.
The two hug tightly, Claire almost throws herself into his open arms. "I missed you so much." He hears her cry against the fabric of Cas' coat. "I did too, more than you can imagine."
When he says that, Cas opens his eyes just to meet Dean's, who is staring at the scene with sheer happiness rushing through him, causing his heart to burn in his chest in anticipation.
Before Dean can stop them, tears are rolling down his cheeks, not just tears, but sobs too, violently shaking his chest. If it's all another cruel dream, he can't be bothered to care.
Cas has to walk all the way to where Dean is standing, as he seems suddenly unable to move, barely breathing every once in a while.
"Dean…" Cas says and it's that simple, familiar sound that gently carries Dean out of the fog that has been suffocating him ever since Jack left hours before.
"You came back."
"Of course." Cas answers earnestly, cupping his face with a warm hand. Dean leans into the touch, pressing a small kiss against his palm, a simple act of love that comes to him naturally, before his mind can rationalize it. Warmth spreads through his body in little waves as they both exhale, all the hurt fading into a landscape far bigger and varied than the one Dean used to be able to see.
When he opens his eyes again, Dean is grateful for the touch of their skins, tangled in a tender embrace, reassuring him that this is, in fact, real.
Cas' hand shifts on Dean's shoulder and it's so exhilarating that Dean lets out a small chuckle; it's still stings a bit, his subconscious painfully conscious of the months of despair behind him, but for once sadness doesn't leave a stain.
"Thank you." He murmurs, so quietly he almost doesn't hear his own words leaving his mouth.
He catches Jack and Claire standing a few feet away under an oak tree, Claire is resting her head against Jack's shoulder and they both look exhausted, but there's a distinguished satisfaction in their smiles, which almost makes Dean tear up again. They've got their dad back.
"So, is anyone gonna come eat my lasagna or what?" Bobby appears on the doorstep with a tea towel in his hands and a grin on his lips. "Welcome home, kid."
Cas shakes his hand, but Bobby drags him into a quick hug. "From what I was able to pick up from Dean and Claire's rumbles you should be human now, right?"
Cas seems to consider it for a few seconds and eventually nods, "I seem to be. Especially, since I detect a certain growl in my stomach caused by the delicious smell coming from your kitchen."
"We made it," Claire says, lightly nudging Dean, which is what he has been thinking for the last ten minutes, but it still hits him with inexorable strength that if it wasn't for Claire, they would never have gotten Cas back. "but stop crying now, or he's gonna think I kept you locked in a basement for the last seven months."
"Which isn't too far from where I've been." Dean comments, drying his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.
When they leave Bobby's house the sun is already starting to go down. Jack decides to come home with them, but not before he has made Bobby promise multiple times that he's going to be fine on his own and that he will call whenever he feels lonely. They thank Bobby for the food and the hospitality, and the old man watches them drive away from the kitchen window.
Cas is sitting next to Dean on the passenger seat and the kids are bickering over Henry Cavill's wig in The Witcher, which Dean thinks isn't too bad, but he usually picks Claire's side on silly arguments, so he keeps his opinion to himself. He sometimes turns around to look at Cas, who smiles delightfully whenever he notices Dean's eyes on him.
"So, first song after the latest resurrection. What do you choose?" Claire asks, her head appearing from the backseat.
Dean catches the two exchange a roguish grin and seconds later Smile by Avril Lavigne starts playing at a ridiculously high volume.
"Oh, for real?" Dean asks with fake annoyance, but nobody is listening to him. This is their song, they once had a road trip all together to visit Garth, and Jack asked them to play it about twenty times in a row, so now they all know the lyrics by heart.
Dean hesitates, but then he meets Cas' gaze, encouraging and loving, "Oh, fuck it." he shrugs, joining the slightly out of tune choir as they all sing at the top of their lungs.
It's been a while since every day and everything has felt this right, it's just a silly song, really, and yet he can't remember the last time his heart has been this full, or the last time love has felt this easy and natural, not tears against the pillow and closed door, smashed mirrors and bloody knuckles, but a sunny day and the sound of his family laughing inside the car. Nothing has ever felt more holy than that.
When they reach Jody's house it's almost midnight, but a trembling light comes from the TV in the living room and Dean can make out the outline of someone sitting on the couch.
A single knock is enough and in a second Jody is at the door, a big smile on her lips.
"I can't believe my eyes!" she says, pulling Cas into a hug, "We all missed you so much."
And Dean knows Jody, more than anyone, maybe even more than Sam, is the one who had to fill the gaps left by Cas and mend the bruises caused by his absence, both on Claire and on Dean. So, yes. She definitely missed him.
"Jackie, Patience is at a friend's house, so you can sleep in her room. I asked Alex to stay in my room tonight, so there's her room too, but she has a single bed, so I'm afraid one will have to take the couch." She explains, almost apologizing.
"That's perfect, thank you, Jody." Dean says.
"Alright, goodnight. Jack if you follow me, I'll give you some towels. – Claire," Jody gestures Claire to follow her upstairs in a failed attempt to be smooth.
When they are left alone for the first time, it's with a crippling sensation at the end of his stomach that Dean realizes there is a million things left unsaid hanging in the air just above their head, yet exhaustion eventually has the best of him. In the morning, he tells himself, in the morning everything will seem less overwhelming.
But "how have you been holding up?" Cas asks, with the usual heartbreaking sincerity.
Dean chuckles, trying to buy himself time. "It's been — it's been hard, man. It's taking a lot to get myself back on my feet."
Cas opens his mouth, as to speak again, but Dean interrupts him. "You should take the bed. I won't let your first night of sleep in years be on a couch."
"No, Dean. You haven't slept in two days, you should rest, be comfortable."
Dean reaches for Cas' arm, it's spontaneous and intimate, but it's just another reminder of how ambivalent Dean must seem in Cas' eyes.
"I'm not asking, Cas. The bed is yours, besides, as you said I'm so tired I'd sleep soundly even on the floor." Which is a lie, the more exhausted he is, the harder it gets to fall asleep, but there's no need for Cas to know that.
"You still struggle with sleep?" Again, Dean would want to caress his face or let Cas hold him into his arms until that longing stopped preying on his chest. Instead, he just lets his arm fall against his side.
"Oh it got worse, but no need to worry about that now."
Cas nods, staring at his feet for a while. "I guess I'll take the bed, then. If you change your mind, you can always-"
"What? Come knocking at your door and be like, look, Cas I thought this over and I've decided I want the bed, get out."
They both laugh, shaking their heads and Dean is hit again with the bubbling feeling that they are together, again.
"I think I should buy some new clothes." Cas says, looking down at the coat.
"Hold on, I'll give you something to sleep." Dean says instinctively, opening his bag and starting to look for something clean. "Here," he hands Cas a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.
"Thank you." There's something in the way Cas holds Dean's clothes, like a part of Dean was trapped inside the fabric.
"Goodnight." Cas says, as he turns around and heads towards the stairs, leaving Dean standing alone in the living room.
"Goodnight, Cas." And it's too late, he probably can't hear him anymore, but it's the priceless sensation of having his name in his mouth without any hurt or regret overcoming him.
Dean does end up falling asleep almost as soon as his body touches the couch and wakes up only to the creaking sound of the wooden stairs. He assumes it's someone who came downstairs to drink a glass of water, so he doesn't move, pretending to be sleeping. "Dean?"
It's Cas, his voice so low Dean barely hears it.
"Yeah?"
"You really should take the bed; I can't sleep anyway." Dean eventually opens his eyes, and it takes him a while to focus Cas, standing in the half-light of the living room, he really should make up his mind and buy a decent pair of glasses.
"So you came downstairs to wake me up and tell me?"
Cas shrugs, and Dean sees how different, how terribly human he looks, in a t-shirt slightly too big for him and disheveled hair.
"What's up? What's keeping you awake?" Dean signs him to come sit next to him on the couch. He sits up a bit, curling up his legs enough to leave some space to Cas, who hesitantly joins him.
"So?" Dean presses on. Stretching to share his blanket with Cas.
"Nothing. I guess I wasn't expecting to come back this time."
"Did you want to?"
"Of course. – Cas is quick to answer, almost too quick, and Dean's sleep-deprived brain is already starting to loop, but then he adds – The relationships I formed on Earth on the last twelve years are what matters the most to me. My Heaven was empty, just faded memories, a pale sense of contentment, more than actual joy. A repetitive sequence rolling for eternity. For all that matters, there are no clocks in Heaven; I could have been gone for fifty years."
"When we found out where you were I wasn't sure reaching out was the right choice. – Dean explains, suddenly feeling heavy again, the air sour and thick – One thing was saving you from the Empty, another dragging you out of Heaven. But the kids insisted, and it was my fault that they'd lost you in the first place, so the least I could do was try to make things right."
"It wasn't your fault, though."
Dean shrugs, unable to unleash a certain tightness to his chest. It can't possibly be that the rush of happiness from getting Cas back didn't even last a whole day, he can't be that bad. "Wait, you remember what happened, right?"
Which could sound like a ridiculous question, of course he remembers his best friend confessing his love for him seconds before dying, but it wouldn't be the first time Dean's mind reacted altering his memories or erasing them completely.
"Yes, the dungeon has cameras. – he watched the tapes over and over, until he couldn't any longer, sick of the same pitiful display of his mistakes presenting itself on his screen like a recurring dream, he felt nauseous even thinking about it – I know exactly what happened."
"When I say that I wasn't expecting to come back, I mean that I never thought there would be a later for us. So please, don't feel like you owe me anything, it was never my intention to make things weird or tense between us."
Dean is glad when a chuckle comes almost naturally to him. "Things have always been weird and tense between us, in a way."
Cas smiles too, "Just, don't worry about me, okay? Because I know you will, in your unhealthy, manly, self-blaming way."
There's a cut in the web wrapped around Dean's lungs and the gust of fresh air blinds him for a second. "Well, - Cas begins, conclusively, patting the blanket and starting to get up – I should let you sleep."
"Stay." Dean hates how needy he sounds as he says that, and hates to be the reason for Cas' grieved half-smile.
"I'm only going upstairs, – unless you changed your mind about the bed."
"I don't care about the freaking bed, Cas. Stay here, I – I need to say something."
Cas returns to his place on the couch, only a bit closer to Dean.
Dean read once that in confession, through the verbalization of one's desires, which in part are precisely to confess, people tend to seek both to affirm the self and to disengage from it, because confession means making those desires more real and at the same time give a sense of closure to them. Dean sees what the author meant now, because to make his desires public through language means in a way acting on them, not swallowing down at the bottom of his wretched stomach. He also read about a type of self-inflected psychological punishment, a dark guilt that preexists the action and leads to the confession, one he has felt for years, even right then, sitting in front of Cas' frowned brows and piercing blue eyes. He has envisioned the judgment he would be subjected to a million times already, but that feeling will always live within his bones, he knows that now, so he might as well suck it up and dare to defy his senseless boundaries.
"You deserve better than a hushed little speech in Jody's living room in the middle of the night, but I can't go another hour with you thinking I don't feel the same way. I know you believe I don't owe you anything, but I owe you everything. And I certainly owe you this. I owe you the truth, even if it terrifies me. Because I am fucking sick of mourning you and piling up regrets, when all I want is for us to be together. I've been praying for it for longer than I'm proud to admit and I don't know if you ever heard me, but I'm telling you now. I think we should try this."
Dean leans forward, holding both of Cas' hands in his own from above the blanket, a new sense of courage grounding him firmly to the moment. "Unless your time in Heaven made you reevaluate your priorities and heightened your standards, rightly so, may I add."
Cas' cheeks are flushed, the first lights of day illuminating a portion of his face. "Not really." he says, looking down at their joined hands.
"There's something else."
"You don't have to say it." Cas reassures him, rubbing his thumb gently against Dean's skin.
"Yes, I do. You deserve to hear it, because it's true."
Pressing his lips on Cas' skin, kissing his hands like a lover, holds the beamish magic of novelty and the cathartic feeling of agency. He is alive; inside his chest there's a beating heart, despite it all.
"You are loved, Cas. I, for one, love you like I've never loved anyone before. And it's so much not enough, so inadequate. Man, I don't even know what you see in me, but I love you."
It's not the words Dean crafted for the moment, rehearsed in his head a million times, bitter regret spilt all over them, lying flat on his back in his bed at night. It's far from perfect; his hands shake when he cups Cas' face and, when their lips meet, it is not fireworks sparkling gleefully in the summer sky, but a flood, Dean's brain short-circuiting to the point of panic. He catches himself exhale, though, the whole solar system finally not falling on him. He'll never feel empty again, he thinks, relaxing into Cas' touch.
He rests his head on Cas' chest, who is rhythmically stroking his hair, inducing him somewhere between sleep and wakefulness.
"This is the best day of my life." Dean says with his eyes closed and his mind clouded.
"I don't believe you." Cas teases him fondly.
"Then don't."
When Dean wakes up, it takes him a while to remember where he is, until he opens his eyes to Jody's living room now fully illuminated, and it takes him longer to figure out his head is on Cas' lap. Cas who came back to him, whole and healthy, filled with love and compassion, and who is still asleep in what feels like a particularly uncomfortable position.
For once, the future unfolds pleasantly in Dean's mind, with no ditches or blood on the wall on the last page, nor bathroom sinks and smashed mirrors in the middle, just a road with a big white flag flattering in the distance. Fuck hunting, Sam will cover that, but Dean is far too tired of breaking his bones and stitching his wounds. God, he really wants to bake some bread. Or see the ocean again, drive Jack to a Doctor Who convention, go to Paris, maybe take Cas to the Louvre and point at every weird renaissance painting he can find and tell him it's them. Mostly, he wants to be around.
Once he sits up, Dean picks up the blanket that probably fell on the floor at some point during the night and carefully places it over Cas. Then he walks to the kitchen, where he finds Jody, leaning against the counter, a mug in one hand and her phone in the other. When she sees Dean, she gives him a big, pleased smile. "Good morning."
"Morning," Dean answers, his head hurting a little from the few hours of sleep he managed to score, "what are you smiling about?" he asks, when he notices the grin is still there, on Jody's lips.
Jody shrugs, "I have a good feeling, you know? Like the worst is behind us."
Dean couldn't agree more, nothing, no small accident or half-tragedy, compared to the enormity of the suffering he has endured in the last ten years would ever be able to compete.
"Are you going to work?"
"No, I took a day off. Donna should be here in a bit, I talked with Sam last night and we thought we might drive the kids back to Lebanon, Cas too if he wants, so you won't have to skip any lessons."
Dean has to fight off the sting of annoyance that he often experiences when someone seems to be making decisions for him, and instead make an effort to appreciate how awfully thoughtful everyone around him seems to be.
"Oh there's no need, skipping a couple of lessons won't be a step closer to dropping out."
"No, I know. But, see, I also thought you two might want a bit of – intimacy."
When Dean started to appear at Jody's door, his eyes burning from the sleepless night and his lungs tight from breathing the same sour air, he could barely mention Cas, let alone open up about what they had, or almost had. Still, Jody was patient, trying to replace the talks they didn't have with distraction and comfort, until Dean couldn't hold it in anymore and he told her everything.
"Donna is coming over, I don't want you two to waste all the time you have together listening to My Chemical Romance or to them arguing over videogames, you probably want some intimacy too."
Jody laughs softly, "Here," she says, handing him a steaming cup of coffee, "but, darling, Donna didn't come back from the dead after seven months, I have seen her only last week."
"Besides, Sam said we could stay over for a couple of nights. Thought maybe we could have a little reunion."
The worst is definitely behind them, "yeah, of course we can."
Jody gently places a hand on Dean's shoulder, "This is your chance to finally be happy, truly happy." She says, proceeding to press a soft kiss against his hair.
They don't talk much on the drive back, Dean could fill a whole library with all the things he wants to tell Cas, but there is something hanging in the air, dancing to the notes of Cas' favorite tape, playing softly in the background. A sense of reassurance, penetrating deep underneath Dean's skin. They can talk about everything later, on their way to the Bunker, in Dean's room after dinner, at the kitchen table the next morning. Suddenly, it feels almost exciting to be alive.
"So, how does the future look like?" Dean asks, turning around enough to meet Cas' eyes from the passenger seat.
He is wearing the shirt Dean gave him the previous night and an old cardigan Claire insisted he took. "It looks better on you anyway. I look too soft in it, people get the wrong idea", was what she said, but Dean didn't miss a certain urgency in Claire's words, a silent plead for him to take a part of her heart and store it somewhere safe, somewhere she can always return to.
"Uneventful, I hope." Cas answers with a little smile. Their fingers interwind slowly, until Dean feels his chest revel at the new intimacy they have reached and all its marvelous possibilities.
"I think we should buy a house. For the two of us, – Dean specifies – and the kids too, if they want."
Dean can't be sure, but Cas' eyes gleam with a brightness that, deprived of his angelic powers, only tears could cause. "That would be nice."
Cas' presence on earth is contingent, just like everyone else's in a godless world, and yet, for once, Dean doesn't feel like they are running out of time. It is their choice to be there, their choice to persevere. There are no clocks in Heaven, but there aren't on Earth either, just patience, love and compassion, as they learn how to forgive themselves and get to know who they are when they lay down their swords.