I Feel Right At Home In This Stunning Monochrome

It was the middle of August when Dean woke up like he did every morning and stretched. His back popped as he twisted from side to side, smiling at the empty space in his bed where Cas slept. He was probably out doing yoga and starting up his computer. He'd been working on his thesis like it was a full-time job lately. Dean didn't completely understand it, but he was proud of his nerdy little choir boy. For so many reasons.

He took a deep breath in the August heat. The air hung around his shoulders heavy and hot, but something chilled him. Something was deeply, fundamentally wrong.

There was no smell of coffee brewing from the kitchen.

One of two things happened every morning since Cas moved in with him. Either Cas was in his bed when he awoke, or there was coffee waiting for him. This morning he had neither.

A knot of knowing tightened in his gut as he ran out to the main room in just his boxers. Garth lifted his head from the dog bed. Big, sad eyes looked at him from under shaggy eyebrows.

On the table was the book Bobby had given him and on top of it sat the keys to Cas's truck.

"Fuck," Dean swayed. The air rushed out of the room and he grabbed hold of the closest kitchen chair to keep from dropping to his knees with the weight of what this probably meant.

"No," he ran to Cas's room. If he had left in the night, Dean would have heard him. His suitcase alone would have woken Dean up as it bounced over the wood floor when dragged outside. But no. Cas's room was just as he'd left it. All of his things, at least those that hadn't worked their way into Dean's room, were still in their place. The only things missing were Cas's laptop and bag, his phone, and the man himself.

"Motherfucker."

Dean sat on the twin bed and dragged a hand over his face, his scruff a little long. It was time for a shave. The mundaneness of that thought struck him as funny. Like he should give a shit about shaving when the only thing that had ever felt right in his entire life was gone. He'd lived his entire existence for other people. Taking care of Sam had turned him into mother and father before he was even in the double digits, and then, working for Bobby, they both knew his restoration work was Bobby's only hope at retirement. And he never regretted it, never asked for anything in return.

All he wanted was Cas.

After sitting in stoic silence for longer than he knew, his limbs heavy with numb realization, he went to his room and grabbed his phone, pulling on pants so he could let Garth out.

He pressed the speed dial number for Cas-2. Sam was still 1.

Straight to Voicemail.

You've reached my voicemail. Leave a message with your voice.

Dean smiled at Cas's weird-ass sense of humor and the tears spilled at the monotone bass of Cas's greeting. "Where the fuck are you? What the fuck? You just leave? Get up in the middle of the night and fucking leave your keys? What's wrong with you. Get your ass back here so I can kiss you and yell at you some more!"

Dean left five more voicemails, each more desperate than the last, before giving up.

He sat on the porch swing for hours. No coffee, no food, just Garth bouncing around in the yard and the sun traveling across the sky.

In the afternoon, Sam's car pulled into the driveway.

Dean couldn't stand to look at him. Sam generally didn't stop by. Sometimes on their mom's birthday or after something upsetting happened at work, but even then, he almost always texted first. Dean liked being alone and Sam, of anyone, understood that he needed it after spending so much of his life at the whim of other people's needs. His brother would only show up like this for one reason. Because he knew.

"That fucker called you, didn't he?" Dean said before Sam had even closed his car door. His voice ragged from unshed tears and desperation. He wanted to be mad. He wanted to rage and fill his broken heart with fury, but all he felt was so profoundly alone.

His brother came and sat next to him and pulled him into a hug.

"He didn't say goodbye, or leave a note, or anything, but he fucking called you." Dean couldn't stand how petulant he sounded, but fuck, the wrenching in his chest was agonizing.

"I'm so sorry, Dean." Sam pulled him tighter and held him as he let his sobs break free. Shaking in his little brother's arms felt so wrong, but he fell apart against him, unable to hold back his agony. He'd never let Sammy be the strong one. He'd always kept it together, even through their Dad leaving and Lisa kicking him out and sending Sammy off to college. Dean had always been the strong one, but this time, he was out of strength. He was stripped bare, broken down to his fundamentals, and with his heart laid out on display, there was nothing left to hold up his pride.

As soon as he could, Dean pulled back and stood up, his hands frantically running through his hair and over his thighs and then flexing into fists as he stared at Sam. "Tell me why he left."

Sam gave him puppy eyes and Dean wanted to punch him.

"Tell me why he left or get the fuck off my land," Dean growled, his pain morphing into anger. That was an emotion he understood. He'd been angry at his Dad his whole life. He'd kicked and screamed his way into adulthood and fought Bobby, sometimes physically, so often until he was too exhausted to keep fighting. He'd learned better ways, but now, with his pain so raw, it was all he knew how to do.

"You know I can't, Dean. I'd get fired."

"Fuck your job. You can get another."

"Not in law. If I break confidentiality, I'll never go to law school or work at another law firm. I'm sorry. But I brought you the newspaper." Sam stood up and set the paper down on the porch swing. He stepped inside without invitation, something he'd never needed before but which pissed Dean off even more now.

The fucking paper? The fuck did he need a paper for?

Dean looked down and staring back up at him was Castiel's strong jawline and soulful eyes. He could almost see the blue despite the black and white image. It was a candid shot of Cas at the pulpit in his church, a soft smile on his face. He wore his black button down shirt, offsetting his skin and bright eyes. Dean took a sudden inhale, surprised at how Cas looked out of the paper as if he could see him. They'd been together only yesterday.

Dean's chest hollowed out, gutted at the sight of how beautiful Cas was.

The headline in bold read: GAY MINISTER SAVES LGTBQ YOUTH

Dean blinked.

No one had told him about this. He guessed no one had asked Cas for permission to write this either. Now that Max was living at Claire's house and had a restraining order against her parents, Michael and Gordon, Dean thought they were done with this. The police had gotten involved and a federal investigation was underway into Gordon and the torture center he called a Christian Reaffirmation Center. Dean and Cas had both given statements. Now it was all in someone else's hands except for the occasional calls Cas got from Max and Claire. Jody was keeping an eye on Michael and Sam's office was handling the legal aspect. But the threat was past and other than the trauma Max was sure to carry, everything was alright.

Dean had even started to let himself believe Cas might not leave. That the man might care enough to stay with him passed September. It had been naive. Everyone leaves. He knows that deep down, but he'd let himself relax, and that was his fault. He had been down this path before. Eventually, everyone leaves.

Dean picked up the paper and didn't know if he wanted to punch it or kiss the stupid smile off Cas's face. He just clutched it to his chest and went inside to find his brother trying (and failing) to make coffee.

"Just get me a beer." Dean collapsed onto the couch, still holding the paper with a death grip.

Sam sat next to him and handed him a beer. "That's a nationally syndicated paper: online distribution, television connections. Anyone anywhere could see any story written there. Anyone."

Dean nods and drinks half his beer in one gulp.

"He went home. He went back to that horrible place. He chose them."

Sam hmmed sadly.

"Because he has responsibilities, obligations…" Dean lowered his head to the back of the couch, letting the tears flow freely down his face, into his ears. "What could be so important?"

Sam sighed and settled back into the couch next to his brother, offering up solidarity and support even if he couldn't say anything. They sat like that for two more beers, barely speaking, until Sam set an oversized hand on Dean's knee.

"I have to go, Dean. I'm sorry. But, listen, I can tell you I'm still working on this. I'm still working on Cas's case."

"With Mary's House." Dean nodded. Sam was a good man. He wouldn't let Michael get away with his bullshit, especially not after what happened with Claire and Max. He was glad that, if nothing else, Cas was leaving behind a safe place for kids like them.

"We had more than one issue we were working on, not just Mary's House," Sam finally said, refusing to meet Dean's eyes. "I promise, I'm still working on it."

Dean didn't look up, just listened as Sam closed the door behind him and started his car.

He slept on the couch that night, beer bottles on the coffee table and Garth curled up on the floor next to him, snoring softly.

Months passed as summer heat and moisture turned into autumn dryness. The air had a chill that snuck into Dean's bones, making him feel old despite not yet being 30. He stopped attending movie night and other than going to Bobby's shop to work alone in the garage; he barely left the house. Sam came over at least once a week, but they barely spoke. The only thing Dean wanted to hear about was the one thing Sam couldn't say.

The only person he regularly talked to was Cas, whose phone was never on but whose voicemail still accepted calls. That was the number he called in the middle of the night when he couldn't sleep. That was the number he called when he sat for hours in his workshop, unable to see the art in the grain of wood under his hands. That was the number he called and cried to when there were no words left to say.

A few weeks later, when the church board fired Michael, Dean was sure Cas would call him back after hearing the news. The man's involvement with Gordon, in addition to his treatment of Castiel, was a nail in his coffin. The church sat without a minister. Dean thought that maybe if he wasn't enough for Cas to stay for, the church might be.

Cas never called.

Thanksgiving came and went with nothing but an angry voicemail from Bobby. Dean deleted it without finishing. He never heard Bobby telling him he was loved and that they were there for him whenever he was ready.

Benny stopped by a few times until even he'd had enough. "Come on, Chief, let's get you outta here. This cabin's startin' ta smell like wet dog and sweaty man, and not in the fun way." he chuckled, but Dean just shrugged.

"It's no good wallowin' like this, cher. If Castiel cared like you say he do, then he wouldn't be wantin' this for you." Benny sat on the couch, ignoring the pile of plates on the coffee table and the empty beer and whiskey bottles on the floor. "

"I know, Benny. I just can't. There's no light at the end of this tunnel and I'm so tired. I don't know how to keep putting one foot in front of the other and pretend like it's all okay. He's gone and he didn't say a fucking thing and I'm so mad. I'm just so angry and I can't get over it. I try to bury it like I have with everything else in my fucked up life, but it just hurts too much."

"Brother, that's all fine, feel those feelin's, but this ain't no way to live. You got peoples who love yas, but you've lost your joie de vivre and man, I ain't got no advice on how to get through this kinda heartache, but you gotta find somethin', somethin' worth fightin' for."

Dean nodded, sniffing and rolling his shoulders. "Yeah, yeah,"

"How's about you get a shower and I'll start doin' some dishes before you get bugs in this here cabin, they probly gnawing on the wood tryin' ta get in for some of these delicious leftovers." Benny stood and started straightening like it wasn't a big deal like it was the most obvious thing anyone could do.

Dean laid a hand on his shoulder on his way back to the bathroom. "Thanks, man, I… Thanks for being here." He clapped Benny twice and then disappeared down the hall.

Dean shaved and took his time in the shower, not letting himself feel guilty about Benny cleaning up after him, even though a part of him definitely was. But he knew the man well enough to know he wouldn't be doing it if he didn't want to. And if the roles were reversed, he'd be more than willing to do the same for him, without a second thought. When he came out into the living room, the ceiling fans were all switched on, bringing a chill to the air that reminded Dean just how long Cas had been gone.

He pulled on jeans and a comfortable shirt, returning to his living room just as Benny was rewinding the vacuum cord up.

"You didn't have to do that."

"Just passin' the vacuum, airin' the camp out for ya." Benny shrugged and then pulled on his jacket.

Dean tried to keep his face from falling at the idea of his friend leaving. More than anything, he didn't want to be alone.

"Come on then, Chief, I'm going to Harvelle's, me. You gonna come along, let me buy you a drink then?"

Dean sighed, resigned to turning him down, but fuck it. If he was going to be miserable, he might as well be miserable and with Benny. He slipped on his boots and shrugged his fall jacket on, slipping his phone in his pocket. Just in case it rang.

Autumn turned to winter, and there was still no word. Sam remained resolute in saying simply that he was working on it. Dean eventually stopped asking and tried a little harder, returning to the occasional movie night, which, other than Charlie, everyone accepted without comment. She, however, insisted on sitting on his lap as if he was going to disappear in front of her eyes all night and wouldn't let him leave until he promised to come have lunch with her the next week., He even stopped by for dinner at Bobby's once or twice.

He went through the motions, doing the things living people do, but he felt like a zombie, frozen from the inside out. He called Cas less, but at night he'd wander into his room and lay on the twin bed, wishing he wasn't alone.

In January, Sam called him with a strange request.

"He doesn't even live here anymore," Dean protested into the phone.

"Just, trust me. Can you put the electric bill in his name? Then, when you get it in the mail, save the envelope and the bill and bring them into the office. Oh, and I need you to look in his desk and get a copy of one of his paystubs. Please."

"I don't see what difference whose name is on the electric bill makes if I'm still paying for it."

"I can't…"

"You can't explain," Dean sighed, so used to hearing it he hardly even reacted anymore, except for the blunted ache in his chest that hurt so bad he had to rub at it to remind himself it wasn't real.

"Dean…" Sam scolded, and Dean could almost see him shaking his head.

"I know. I'll call today. I don't get what the point is since he's gone, but I trust you."

"Thank you. I promise…"

"You're working on it. I know that too." Dean hated the dejected sound of his voice. He sounded as tired as he felt. The pain he felt, the constant weight he carried had been with him now longer than Cas himself had, but he couldn't shake it. Not that he really tried. Somehow, having that pain was a reminder of Cas, and if he couldn't have the man himself, he'd take the hurt.

In February, he was properly nesting in his cabin, watching Netflix, a fire in the fireplace, when his phone rang. He didn't jump to answer it anymore. His instant belief that it would be Cas died out months ago. But his heart still fluttered and behind his eyes, pinpricks of tears betrayed his hope.

"This is Dean," he answered, not recognizing the number.

"Dean, it's me, Sam."

"Where are you? The number was…"

"-at the courthouse, shut up and listen, I'm heading your way. I need you to start packing."

"What? We going on a road trip? A little brotherly bonding while your wife is practically ready to burst with a baby?"

"No, I'm not going, but you are."

"-where?"
"-To Massachusetts"

"Sam?" Dean's breath stuttered out of him and he stumbled back to sit down. "What's going on?"

"I got what we needed, Dean. But Cas's phone is turned off and I can't get a message to him. I don't know if something's happened to him but I have to get to him before the courts mail anything out. We have to move fast. I need you to drive out there. He can't fly. I need you to bring him home."