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Hell Or High Water
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It's not until Cas is gone that Dean feels the pain. With silence ringing in his ears and his heart thudding against his ribs, the edges of his vision begin to fade. Panic is setting in. It's cold and hot and shaking and searing and Dean can feel it gripping him from the inside. His fingertips scrape against the concrete floor, his back pressed against the wall as he desperately tries to ground himself.
I love you.
The words echo in his head, over and over, louder and louder, until it's all Dean can hear. It's not the first time Cas has said it, but this was so different from before.
The back of Dean's head is buzzing so badly that it takes him a minute to realize that his cell phone is vibrating in his pocket. He fumbles to pull it out with numb fingers and sees Sam's name on the screen.
He can't answer it. If he answers, he'll have to tell Sam what just happened and that will make it all real. And it's not real – it can't be. Nothing is real right now, not even the concrete underneath him. Dean lets the phone clatter to the floor and cradles his head in his hands and he cries.
I love you.
The last time Cas died, burning out of his vessel with an angel blade sticking out from his chest, it was over in an instant. They didn't get to say goodbye. Cas didn't even have time to realize what happened. Somehow, this is so much worse.
Suddenly Dean is hyperventilating, gasping for air until his hands tingle with oxygen. Cas is gone. And Dean cannot reconcile that – or anything Cas said in the moments before – with the life he was living up until a few minutes ago.
I love you.
Why didn't he just say it back? Even if he doesn't feel the same way, he knew what was happening and what Cas wanted to hear before the end. Guilt claws at Dean's skull. Cas sacrificed himself and Dean couldn't even say it back just to say it. He froze. He did nothing. He let Cas die.
Somewhere in the haze of all of this is the knowledge that he couldn't have won against the Empty or Billie, let alone both of them, but all Dean can think is that it's his fault for not acting quickly enough. Or decisively enough. Or violently enough. He's lost Cas so many times before; how could he have let it happen again?
Dean cries until he can't any more, and then sits there for even longer. Minutes and hours tick by, but Dean can't bring himself to move, to go forward from this spot. He's not willing to entertain even the idea that his life no longer has Castiel in it. His phone rings over and over, vibrating and skidding across the floor. Missed calls pile up on the screen.
Eventually, Sam and Jack return and find Dean, and the onslaught of questions begins. Questions that Dean can't even begin to answer, that choke him from the deepest recesses of his chest. Jack is distraught – "What do you mean, he's gone?!" – and Sam doesn't understand, knowing something is missing from Dean's story.
I love you.
The reality of Cas's death is starting to sink in, and Dean finds himself at the table in the library with no memory of walking there. Sam must have dragged him there, out of the dungeon where Cas disappeared – died – was killed. Dean blinks and there's a cold beer on the table in front of him, but he can't touch it when all he feels is nausea. Sam is sitting next to him, a strong hand solidly on Dean's shoulder, but Dean can't hear anything he's saying. Or maybe he's not saying anything. Dean doesn't know one way or the other. He feels lost in a way that he's never felt before, even on his worst days.
I love you.
"I love you, too."
The confession jumps from Dean's chest, barely a whisper said to nobody in particular, a deathly delayed response. He feels a shock ripple through his body as he realizes that it's true. Sam looks at him askance.
By the time Dean is present enough for Sam to explain that everybody is gone, Dean's not even surprised. Everybody is too many losses for Dean to wrap his head around, and it still feels comparatively minor.
Jack has disappeared into the bunker archives, frantically tearing through every text the Men of Letters ever compiled, but Dean doesn't believe he'll find anything. Sam remains in the library, combing through the books there in search of a straw to grasp while staying close enough to keep an eye on Dean. In the evening it's quiet. The ringing has finally faded from Dean's ears and the only thing he can hear is Sam turning a page every few minutes.
He watches Sam methodically sift through the texts, mouthing words to himself as he reads, and feels a surge of anger. Sam lost Eileen, too. And Donna. And Charlie. And everybody else. But he's not even taking a second to sit and feel the pain. He's ignoring it, and that pisses Dean off.
Without thinking, he stands up and walks out, heading up the stairs and out of the bunker, and ignores Sam calling his name.
The heavy bunker door slams shut behind him and the cool night air fills his lungs. He pauses halfway up the steps to the road, his hand gripping the railing tightly. The stars glitter indifferently overhead, the half-bare trees creak in the breeze, and the world actually feels empty.
Almost immediately, the anger falls away from Dean's shoulders. He knows Sam is trying to find a solution, which is a lot more helpful than what Dean's doing. There's no reason to be angry, except at Cas for dying and at himself for letting it happen.
Dean climbs the rest of the steps and, lacking anywhere else to sit, he sinks onto the slope of grass a few feet away from the door. The bunker edifice looms behind him, solid and dark and unapproachable. Dean breathes deeply, intentionally.
The bunker door opens again and Sam steps out, looking around for a moment in concern before spotting Dean on the slope. He takes a step forward but doesn't come too close, seeming unsure of whether his decision to come after Dean was a wise one.
"Are you okay?" Sam asks.
"I just needed a minute." It's the first thing he's actually said out loud in hours. He rests his elbows on his knees, feeling gooseflesh course over his skin in the chill.
Sam lets out a long breath, then comes over and sits beside him. "Dean, what happened?"
"I told you, the Empty took him."
"You said that, but it doesn't make sense. Why would the Empty take him? Right then, at that moment? And doesn't the Empty have to be summoned?"
Every question feels like a stab in Dean's stomach, and his jaw clenches. He looks away from Sam, down the road into the darkness. He can feel his body wanting to cry – the ache in the back of his throat and the burning in his eyes – but he's tapped out.
Sam waits, and without looking at him Dean has no idea if Sam feels guilty for pressing. After a few minutes, Sam asks again, "What happened?" The question is gentler this time. It hurts more.
I love you.
Dean keeps his gaze on the shadows. "He told me he loved me."
Sam makes a noise of acknowledgement in his throat, but says nothing, waiting for Dean to continue. Dean turns around, confused by Sam's lack of response. Sam is watching him sympathetically, expecting more details, and there's no trace of surprise on his face.
"You knew?"
At this, Sam does look surprised. "You didn't?"
Dean lets out a long breath, trying to stave off the ache in his chest, and looks back up at the sky. "I guess not."
Sam is quiet again, digesting this new information. Dean can practically hear the gears in Sam's head spinning away. He's struggling to figure out how to put his thoughts into words, and all Dean wants is for Sam to either hurry up and say what he has to say or go back inside and leave Dean in the dark.
Finally, Sam speaks. He rubs his palms on his jeans nervously, not knowing how to talk about this with Dean. Or he thinks Dean isn't ready to talk about it (he's right). Every word is hesitant, stammered.
"Look, Dean… I know you're trying to sort through a lot right now. Whether you – whether you feel the same way or not, or if you don't know yet, that's… that's okay. But I know what Cas means to you, and I know you don't want to leave him in the Empty." Sam clears his throat and he puts a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Come back inside. Help us find a way to get him back."
Dean feels cold suddenly – not on his skin but inside, all the way down to his core. "You know there's no way to get him back," he says. "Billie's gone too. Chuck's the only one left and even if he wanted to help, he doesn't have sway with the Empty."
Sam doesn't seem bothered by the obstacles, and shrugs instead. "When has that ever stopped us?"
Drawing one final deep breath of the crisp night air, Dean nods at last. Sam is right. And Cas didn't just say I love you – he also said I've got you. Had it been Dean pulled into the Empty, he knows Cas would tear through whole dimensions to get Dean back. Billie is gone, which means that Death isn't coming after them. And God is already after them, so what's one more cosmic battle added to the pile?
He cracks a tiny, lopsided smile. "You know, Billie called me 'human disorder incarnate'."
Sam snorts. "That's accurate."
They do eventually find something – or rather, more than one thing. It takes a day and a half with no sleep, no showers, and very little food. Dean feels more than a little useless, barely able to concentrate on the books. His mind keeps wandering back to the dungeon, back to Cas strong-arming him out of the way and back to Cas's face as the Empty pulled him into the black. So unsurprisingly, Sam and Jack are the ones who find the solution.
Two spells, buried deep in the dusty, decaying archives of the Men of Letters tomes. Jack has the brilliant idea of researching Dreamwalker lore, since Kaia was the one to open the portal to the Bad Place, and he finds a spell that will temporarily give him the ability to Dreamwalk like she did. Sam finds an ancient ritual in Enochian for turning a person into an archangel Sword, a true vessel, therefore amplifying the archangel's power. Jack is almost vibrating with relief and excitement as he says they now have a real shot at retrieving Castiel.
A glimmer of hope surges in Dean's stomach, but he tries desperately to tamp it down. He can't forget the risks, nor can he ignore all the reasons this plan may not work. They want to give Jack Dreamwalker abilities, but Dean knows all too well that that kind of magic – even temporary magic – comes with a price. Not to mention, Dreamwalking is meant for peering into other worlds, but the Empty isn't a world and Dean can't quite let go of the idea that the spell wouldn't be able to reach that far.
Jack shakes his head. "I've reached into the Empty myself before. I'm sure I can do it."
And as for giving Jack his own Sword, there's no precedent. Jack is not an archangel. There is no rulebook for nephilims, or for turning the body a nephilim already has into a Sword. The ritual could go smoothly and this time tomorrow Cas might be back like nothing had happened, sipping beer at the table in the library. Or it could have unforeseen consequences, and Jack could explode from the sheer amount of power he'll be taking in, combining archangel grace with a true vessel, Dreamwalking, and the powers he already has. Jack is arguably the most powerful creature on the planet, but Dean's not sure that's enough to handle it, and he keeps imagining Jack burning up like an overloaded circuit.
In any case, Dean knows that if Jack dies, he won't be able to cope with that loss. Not along with everything else. So he supposes it's good that God is after them, because if it doesn't work they'll all die anyway.
This dangerous cocktail of spells is a Hail Mary, and Dean knows it, but he's willing to try anything. He begins collecting the ingredients for Sam.
By the time they're ready to begin the spells, Dean and Sam have been awake for at least forty-eight hours. Sam forces Jack to sleep, insisting he needs to be at full strength to do this, and Dean doesn't disagree. So while they wait for Jack to rest and recharge, Dean and Sam remain in the library. Dean is relieved when Sam doesn't press for any more information about Cas's final minutes. Instead, Sam only suggests that Dean get some sleep too.
Dean refuses. "No, I won't be able to sleep. Might as well stay here."
Sam doesn't argue, giving Dean the leeway he needs, and says, "I'll stay with you, then."
They both end up dozing, however, slouching with their heads resting on their arms on the library table. It's not deep or restful, but it does help.
Eventually, Jack comes back into the library and wakes them up, announcing that he's ready. Sam stands, digging the heel of his hand into his eyes and yanking his hair away from his face. Dean senses a newfound wave of dread swirling in the pit of his stomach; he's suddenly sure this plan won't work.
They perform the Enochian ritual first. Sam takes a spare cauldron that Rowena gave him as a joke for his last birthday and, over a fire outside the bunker entrance, melts down an angel blade and the only archangel blade they have. Adding a handful of other things – various herbs and roots with supposedly magical properties – Sam recites something in Enochian that Dean doesn't understand. The sun is setting, the sky overhead streaked with pink and orange.
As Jack slices the palm of his hand and lets his blood drip into the boiling vat, Dean paces.
With the addition of Jack's blood, the cauldron spits and sparks and makes the three of them flinch. "Your turn, Jack," Sam says, though he's eyeing the cauldron to make sure it doesn't do anything else unexpected.
Jack swallows and steps up, clearing his throat before he too says something in Enochian. It's shorter than Sam's long-winded chanting, and after only a few words the mixture in the cauldron turns a frightening shade of gold. Sam ladles a few scoops into a mug from the kitchen, careful not to burn himself, and hands it to Jack.
There's only a moment of hesitation before Jack tilts his head back and swallows the mug's contents in one swig. He makes a face, gritting his teeth as it works its way down his esophagus.
"You okay?" Dean asks, praying to anything other than God that this doesn't kill Jack.
"Yes," Jack says with a wince and steam coming out of his mouth. "It doesn't hurt."
Only a moment later, Jack lets out an agonized yell and his body convulses, blinding golden light bursting from his eyes and nose and mouth.
"Jack!" Sam shouts. He and Dean grab Jack before he can fall to the ground, but they can do nothing except hope that Jack survives.
The pain only seems to last a few moments, however. The light fades and leaves Jack breathing hard with his eyes still glowing amber. The cut on his hand is already gone.
Dean grips Jack's upper arm. "Still with us?" His voice is clipped and shaking, betraying how scared he really is.
Jack nods, still catching his breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. I think it worked."
Sam sighs in relief and pulls Jack to his feet, giving him a quick, clapping hug around the shoulders. "Do you need some time before we do the other spell?"
Jack shakes his head, the glow finally fading from his eyes. "No. No, the sooner the better."
They head back into the bunker, since the second spell doesn't require the use of an open fire. While Sam and Jack are getting ready, Dean sneaks into the kitchen and downs two shots of whiskey. His hand is shaking as he holds the glass. He stands there for a minute to allow time for the alcohol to circulate before he returns to join Sam and Jack in the library.
Sam gives him a look, like he knows what Dean was just doing. Rather than lecture Dean about his drinking, Sam merely hands the spell book to Jack.
They have the ingredients in a burn-proof bowl this time, on the end of the library table, and this time Jack won't have to eat them. Which is kind of a pity, because this particular concoction seems much more edible. Yarrow root, dried blackberry leaves, pure unprocessed honey, sprigs of greenbriar and sage and rosemary, and just a few grams of ground peyote.
"Really?" Dean asks about the peyote. "He's going to be stoned?"
Sam scratches the back of his neck. "It's supposed to open up his mind, I guess."
"Dean, relax," Jack says, in an oddly parental tone.
There's no incantations to be said for this spell; instead, according to Sam, it's a nonverbal intention that's supposed to make it work. Jack closes his eyes, looking for a moment as though he's praying, and then he lights the bowl himself.
It's strongly fragrant, and abruptly the air in the library is heavily perfumed, sweet and herbal. In any other context, it would make Dean hungry. Now, it makes him sick.
Jack leans over the bowl and slowly inhales the smoke, taking it deep into his lungs. When he opens his eyes, they're bright gold again. He straightens, and as he exhales the veins around his eyes begin to glow, spreading outwards until there's a virtual spider web of light stretched over his face.
Sam is watching Jack with more than a little worry. "How do you feel?"
Jack turns slowly to look back at Sam, the glowing veins spreading further down his neck, and a half-vacant smile crosses his mouth. "Like I can do anything," he replies softly.
"Well, that's a good sign," Sam says, though he doesn't look relieved.
Jack circles around Sam and approaches the wall of the library, a blank brick space lacking in shelves or wall decor. The glow in his veins is now shining through his clothing, lighting up his back, flowing down to his fingertips. He clenches his fists, raises his arms…
…and he rips the air apart.
A roaring, gaping black hole appears in the wall, and Dean nearly vomits from the pulse of sheer energy that blasts through the room. Unearthly howls of pain pour out of the wound as the Empty screams from the deepest recess of the cosmos. The bunker shakes, dust falling from the ceiling.
And then it's over as quickly as it began. Jack reaches into the void and vanishes, the black hole collapsing after him. The library goes silent, leaving Sam and Dean's ears ringing. The only thing left is a silken thread of light hovering over the brick wall where the hole had been, a rift between the Earth and the Empty beyond.
Dean stares at the portal, and it takes everything in him to not take a running leap and follow after Jack. But he knows that there's no way in this or any other dimension that the Empty would ever let him back out.
"What now?" he asks instead.
Sam walks unsteadily over to the library table and sits, like he doesn't trust himself to remain upright. "Now we wait."
The first thing Castiel sees when he wakes is a pair of glowing yellow eyes, and he jumps when he realizes that Jack is standing in front of him. "I wasn't aware I could dream in the Empty," Cas says to himself, more shocked that he's experiencing some semblance of consciousness rather than at the sight of Jack being here with him.
"You're not dreaming," says Jack. "I'm here to take you home."
Cas is confused, not sure he believes Jack. The last thing he remembers is being in the dungeon with Dean before the Empty claimed him, but for all Cas knows it might have been a few minutes ago, or thousands of years may have already passed in the blink of an eye.
What convinces him that he is, in fact, awake is not Jack, but rather the black surrounding them. Castiel can feel the Empty pressing against every molecule in his body, ancient fury washing over him and making it hard to breathe. He can sense billions upon billions upon billions of souls in every direction, pressing up close and yet still lightyears away. It's all terrifyingly real.
The realization that the Winchesters had again figured out some way around the natural barriers between dimensions, between life and death, slams into Cas with tangible force. He shakes his head, feeling his heart about to break. "Oh, Jack," he says. "What have you done?"
Jack reaches out, grabs Cas's hand. "You know we couldn't leave you here."
When Jack starts to pull Cas along with him, Cas yanks his hand away. "Jack, you have to leave. Before the Empty finds you. I made a deal, and I accept the consequences. Go!"
Before Jack can argue, a body materializes behind him, oozing out of the black and taking shape until a second Castiel is standing there with a sinister, trembling grin.
"You have got to be KIDDING me!" the Empty squeals in Cas's own distorted voice. "Ohh, I am so, so tired of dealing with you, Castiel. You are a filthy anomaly." The maniacal smile drips away. "You broke your promise."
Cas shakes his head, desperate to get Jack out of here before the Empty claims him too. "No! No, I didn't. I went with you willingly. I was prepared for forever. I didn't ask to be rescued."
The body changes then, turning black and amorphous for a moment before taking Duma's face. "Two days and forever are hardly the same thing," it snarls, its voice now high-pitched and tinkling.
"Please," Cas begs, stepping forward to put himself between the Empty and Jack. "I'll tell them to leave me here. I'll hold up my end of the deal, I swear."
"Cas, no—" Jack tries to protest.
The Empty screeches, the sound piercing through them like the noise of a sun exploding. Its form shifts again, brown hair melting into yellow until Claire's face appears. Her eyes are sparkling like distant stars, cold and unfeeling and ready to burn him to a crisp.
"No," the Empty seethes through clicking teeth. "I've decided. I want nothing to do with you ever again. I already have Death and you are the only one keeping me awake. I give up." Its voice drops to a shaking, furious whisper. "Like an infection, I will cut you out."
Cas shakes his head again, unwilling to back down from his oath. Whatever the Empty means, it has to be worse than his current punishment. "If you send me back to Earth, I will still come back to you eventually," Cas pleads, hoping to convince the Empty to keep him. "When I die, millenia from now, I will come back."
The Empty looms closer, Claire's face flickering against the black underneath. "No, you will not," it hisses. "There is only one way to ensure I never have to hear from you again. I'll force you to go somewhere else."
Cas blanches. "Hell?" he asks. It's the only thing he can think of that's worse – nearly endless pain and torture rather than an eternity of nothingness – but Hell will only delay his return to the Empty, not prevent it.
The Empty morphs again, and Dean suddenly appears where Claire had been standing a second ago. Cas jerks backward a step in shock.
"Even if you go to Hell, you'll still come back." Dean's voice oozes out of the Empty, a rumbling, starving snarl, and it's the worst thing Cas has ever heard. "You are a cockroach. I need to cut off your head."
Jack moves to defend Cas, but in less than an instant the Empty swings its arm up and slices into Cas's neck. Blood sprays, and Cas doesn't even have time to gasp.
"NO!" Jack shrieks, grabbing Cas's arm and trying to pull him away.
The Empty has a savage, unhinged smile plastered across Dean's face as it reaches for Cas's bleeding neck and pulls his grace out through his throat. Cas's mouth opens wide as he tries to scream, feeling the grace being ripped from every cell in his vessel. It burns, from his skin down to the very atoms that make him. He suddenly realizes that he's dying – really, truly dying in the human sense. Jack catches him before he falls, crying his name and trying to keep him awake.
Holding Cas's grace glowing in its hand, a lantern against the blackness, the Empty crushes it into nothingness. The angelic glow disappears and dust pours from the Empty's palm.
With one last horrible smile, Dean's face finally disappears and Meg takes his place. The Empty laughs in Meg's voice now, musically, somehow melodic and screeching at the same time. "Finally," it squeaks, practically dancing from foot to foot. "Peace! I will have peace."
Jack is desperately trying to keep him upright, but Cas sags against him. He can feel blood – plain, non-angelic blood – pouring down his front. He feels tired. He's ready to go back to sleep.
"You see, without your grace, you're just an ape." Meg's face taunts him, but he doesn't care anymore. "A human. And when humans die, they don't wake up. They don't come here."
Jack doesn't wait for the Empty to keep talking and instead drags Cas away. With one of Cas's arms looped over his shoulders, Jack half-carries him all the way to the portal. Cas has no idea how far they've gone, if it's been seconds or minutes or even hours by the time they reach the rift, but they burst through the portal and the black rolls away into light.
The last thing Cas can hear is the Empty's wailing, screeching peals of laughter echoing after them as the portal closes. A different kind of blackness rushes up from below, ushered in by the blood flowing freely out of Cas's wound, and Cas sinks into unconsciousness.
Dean and Sam wait in the library for what seems like an absolute eternity. The minutes tick by, until Dean is sure it's been hours. Sam drums his fingers nervously on the table, and Dean can't stop his leg from bouncing incessantly on the floor.
Finally, Dean slaps his hand lightly on the tabletop and announces he's getting a drink from the kitchen. He stands and asks if Sam wants one too.
"Really, Dean?" Sam sighs. "You really think now is the time?"
Dean rolls his eyes. "If now isn't the time, I don't know when is," he snaps.
Sam opens his mouth to retort – probably some judgemental comment about Dean being an alcoholic – but before he can say anything the rift flickers and hisses, making noise for the first time since Jack left. Dean tenses, alcohol forgotten, and Sam lurches to his feet.
A blinding flash of light erupts from the rift, and suddenly Jack and Cas burst out of nothingness, falling hard onto the bunker floor. The rift fizzles and dies behind them.
"Cas!" Dean shouts, lunging for the two of them, but Jack immediately throws up his hand and yells for Dean to stop. Sam grabs Dean's arm.
It's only then that Dean sees that Cas is bleeding – profusely bleeding. There's a huge gash in his throat and a red puddle already forming underneath him. His coat and shirt are stained red nearly down to his waist. He gasps for air once, twice, and then his eyes roll back in his head and his body goes limp.
"NO!" Dean yells, once again launching toward where Jack is now crouched over Castiel.
Sam stops him, forcibly grabbing Dean around the shoulders. "Dean! Wait!"
Jack is concentrating, his hands once again beginning to glow along the veins and in the fingertips. He places his index and middle fingers in the center of Cas's forehead, and his other palm over the gaping wound. Light pours from Jack's hands, washing over Cas's head and neck.
Dean watches with his heart in his throat and nausea tugging at his gut.
Jack grits his teeth and closes his eyes, bowing his head. His palm presses down on Cas's bloody neck and finally, little tendrils of light stretch from Jack's hands into Castiel's skin, coursing over the wound like vines. The light seeps into Cas's body and disappears.
At last, Jack sits back on his heels and draws his hands away. The gash in Castiel's throat is gone, but the blood still stains his clothes and the floor beneath him. And it's so much blood. Cas doesn't move.
Dean swallows, not even daring to breathe as the three of them wait.
Nothing happens.
After a much-too-long silence, Jack tugs his hands through his hair, tears leaving tracks down his face. "I'm sorry," he says, his voice breaking. "The Empty got him before I could—" He chokes, unable to finish the sentence.
Dean steps back, turning away from the sight of Castiel in a pool of quickly-drying blood. Fury surges in his veins. Another battle lost. He seizes a chair from the library table and throws it against the wall, where it splits and hits the ground with a deafening clatter.
"Dean—" Sam starts, about to try and comfort his brother, but he's cut off.
Castiel convulses on the floor, gasping for air with a hoarse yell. The three of them jump as Cas is wracked by coughs, turning over onto his side and hacking onto the floor.
Dean doesn't stop to think and pushes straight past Sam, dropping to his knees. He's got a hand on either side of Castiel's head, cupping his face as Cas tries to catch his breath. "Cas, you're okay," Dean says. "You're okay. You're home."
"Dean," Cas rasps before dissolving into another cough.
Dean doesn't even notice Jack and Sam smiling in relief that Cas is alive, and simply pulls Cas into a hug. When he draws back, Cas smiles at him, and Dean can barely believe how lucky they've just been. Dean leans forward again and presses his forehead to Cas's, his hand on the back of Cas's neck. It's only a few inches, but it feels like the greatest distance Dean has ever crossed.
The next day, once they've all had a good sleep, Dean finds himself in the kitchen eating breakfast by himself. For once, he's not loading up on bacon and greasy foods, instead having only a cheese omelet and black coffee. He can't explain it, but for the first time in a long while, he feels like he's not going to die soon.
A rustling behind him makes him turn around to see Cas standing in the doorway. He's wearing only a too-big t-shirt and sweatpants, rumpled from sleep. Dean has to work to suppress a snort but manages to instead offer Cas some coffee.
"Thank you," says Cas, pouring himself a mug. "Remind me to thank Sam for lending me these sleep clothes."
"Yeah, your other ones were a little bloody," Dean remarks as Cas sits across from him at the breakfast table.
Cas sleepily takes a long sip of his coffee, rubbing his fingers at the new bags under his eyes. "I'm not used to having to sleep," he grumbles.
"Well, it has been a while since you had to do that."
Cas watches him over the rim of his coffee cup. "How are you doing?"
Dean clears his throat, chewing his eggs for a little too long. He forces a shrug. "Chuck's still after us, but other than that, I'm good," he says, falsely light. "Just glad to have you back, man."
Cas waits for a moment to see if Dean will add anything else, then gently states, "We should talk, Dean."
Sighing, Dean nods, knowing there's no point in ignoring it. "Yeah. Yeah, we should."
Dean does insist on finishing his eggs and coffee, but once he's done and Cas has changed into some more appropriate clothing, they head for the door. Sam is unsurprisingly sitting at the library table with a book, searching for anything that might help defend them against Chuck. He looks up when Dean and Cas walk through.
"I'll meet you up there," Dean says, and Cas nods and continues up the stairs and out of the bunker.
Sam looks at Dean, trying and failing to hide a grin. "What are you two up to?"
"We're just going for a drive, okay?" Dean retorts flatly, annoyed.
"Uh-huh."
Dean can't quite make eye contact with Sam. "Yeah, we… we need to talk. Figure out some stuff."
Sam leans back in his chair, not even trying to hide his grin anymore. "Oh, is that what kids are calling it these days?"
Dean glares at Sam, wholly unamused.
"Too soon?" Sam asks.
Rather than snarking back, Dean only rolls his eyes and goes to follow Cas up to the entrance.
"Make good choices!" Sam calls as Dean reaches the landing.
"Shut the hell up!" Dean lets the door slam shut behind him before Sam can shout anything else.
Cas is standing by the Impala, his face turned toward the sky with his eyes closed. He's breathing deeply, taking in the fresh air and sunshine.
"You really miss Earth that much after only two days?" Dean asks as he unlocks the car and gets in.
Cas climbs into the passenger seat. "Well, I didn't think I would see Earth again," he replies, a little too casually. "Where are we going?"
Dean pulls the car onto the road. "Does it matter?"
Cas looks over at him and cracks a smile. "No, it doesn't."