Part 3

quiet my fears with the touch of your hands

Dean doesn't know what he expected but... probably not that.

There is no pit, no fire, no angels or demons sleeping through their nightmares and regrets, only... nothing. Pure pitch black – not the black of Baby, but the black of void, the black you see when you close your eyes. It is not a colour, but an absence. He should have known; this thing is called the Empty, after all.

His heart sinks. He was right; he can't leave Cas here. If Cas found happiness in this place, then maybe Dean would reconsider – if Cas was truly happy, he'd respect his choice, maybe, if he chose to be selfless, for once – but this? Cas doesn't deserve that. No one deserves that.

And to think that this is the fate Chuck designed for all his angels – and for all the demons, too... His own children... It makes Dean sick.

No, he won't leave Cas in here. No matter what it costs, he'll bring Cas back. Cas is happiness and life; this obscurity, this absence, that's not a world for him.

Speaking of obscurity –

He holds his fingers in front of his eyes, but he doesn't see them.

Panic surges through him. How can he find Cas if he can't see him?

"Cas?" he calls, but he hears nothing. Not even his own voice. "Cas? CAS!" he screams, shouts, yells, but there is no sound.

The careful step he takes on the ground doesn't make noise either. He doesn't know where to go. He's lost. Even more lost than when Cas left him.

He can still feel things, though. He feels the material of his shirt on his skin. He can touch his cheek and feel his fingers. There's that.

His heart is beating faster with panic. He can't find Cas. Where is Cas? He's blind, he's deaf, there's no way he can bring Cas back. He doesn't even see the rift he's just crossed. It should be behind him; it's not. There is nothing, no way out.

It's a trap; of fucking course it's a trap. Why would the Empty agree to give Cas back? She hates Cas. She is a cosmic being; never trust any of them. It's all a game to them. He thought he had convinced her but he hasn't, or she wants to play solo, he doesn't know. Perhaps she obeys Chuck. What does he know?

He can't win with cosmic beings, he should have learned that by now. Stupid, stupid.

He'll never get Cas back. Despair sinks its claws in him. If he had waited a little, perhaps he'd have found another solution, a real one. But now, as it is, Cas will remain in the Empty, and Dean is just as prisoner as Cas is. The Empty, 1, Dean and Cas, 0.

But perhaps she didn't lie? She likes deals, after all. And she seems stricter about them than a crossroads demon. Perhaps she's having fun, but there's a way to get Cas back. After all, she's not here, taunting him, telling him "ha! I played you"... so maybe there's hope?

Of course there isn't. But he has to try. For Cas.

He takes a prudent step. Then a second one. He tries to circle the area where he landed. Nothing.

What to do, then? Walk and hope?

He shouldn't get too far off the rift, though. If he does, how will he bring Cas back through it? But if he stays, he won't find Cas. He has to keep going.

He can pray, though. Cas. Cas, it's me. It's Dean. Wake up. Please wake up. I'm here. Come to me, please, Cas, come to me. We'll get out of here.

He takes a deep breath, and starts walking. He tries to count his steps, but he soon loses count.

This whole place reeks of despair. Despair, misery, regret. It fits Dean's mood enough that he didn't notice it immediately, but now it's the only thing he can feel.

Cas, Cas, Cas, he keeps chanting in his head.

It feels like he's been walking forever.

Cas, Cas, Cas, his heart chants as well.

And suddenly, he bumps into something.

He stops, startled. Raises a hand in front of him, for the second time.

It's a person.

He can feel the shape of a shoulder under his hand.

"Cas?" he calls, but of course, he doesn't hear his own voice.

His heart is beating faster than ever. Has he found Cas? Can it be that easy?

He trails his hand on an arm. The material he touches feels like Cas's trench-coat.

It's Cas.

Except that he can't be sure.

What if it's just wishful thinking?

What if it isn't Cas, but a trap set by the Empty?

The Empty herself? Another angel? A demon? He could be touching Lucifer, for all he knows.

He can't leave with that person without being sure it is Cas. He can't leave Cas behind.

He keeps touching, trailing his hand downwards. He feels a hand; he catches it, squeezes it. The hand is warm, and squeezes back.

He can't know; he's never held Cas's hand before. He's always been too afraid that it would make him a sentimental girl; too afraid that Cas would know, or that he, Dean, wouldn't be able to keep his love to himself if he indulged in it.

The person laces their fingers together. It must be Cas. Of course it is Cas. No one else would do such a thing, and with such tenderness, too. The hand is masculine; soft, but strong. Dean has always loved Cas's hands; the hands that have healed him, and restored him to life, and given him hope; big, strong, soft-looking hands he has dreamed of feeling everywhere on his skin.

Soon, he promises himself. Soon, they'll do that. It's something that can happen, now.

He raises another hand. He feels a chest – yeah, a masculine one – and he can feel a heart beating. It beats fast. He has never been so close to Cas; he can't know if it's his heart.

So he keeps touching, higher and higher. He touches a face. Caresses it, hoping that he isn't caressing Lucifer or Crowley or Gabriel or anyone that isn't Cas. This nose; these lips; these eyebrows; they feel like Cas. Like the map Dean sometimes draws of Cas's face and body at night, when he lets himself think and dream and hope. But a fantasy isn't the real thing. He doesn't know Cas's body. If he had let himself feel, if he'd gotten his head out of his ass sooner, he'd be able to trace all the lines of Cas's face by memory alone, he'd know the texture of his skin, he'd know where to trail kisses to make Cas laugh or relax or throw his head back in pleasure. He doesn't.

When they get back, he'll have to remedy that problem.

The hair feels like Cas's, too. Unruly and soft to the touch.

Dean comes back to the person's face. How can he know? How can he be sure this is Cas? If he brings someone else back, his chance is over, and Cas will stay trapped here; they'll never be together, Cas will never be happy. He can't bear that thought.

A part of him screams that this is Cas, that the Empty is cruel but honest, that his heart can't be wrong. The other part is terrified because he has no proof, because he's probably been played, because he needs Cas and he can't be sure, and he hates himself for not being sure.

The person moves, suddenly. Dean feels oh-so-soft fingers on his face, brushing on his jaw, on his cheek, on his nose, on his brow.

This is Cas. It must be Cas. Only Cas would make sure this is Dean. Only Cas would touch him like that – like a lover.

Cas knows him, knows his body. He rebuilt it once.

And only Cas's touch would make him feel like that – like a firework is exploding in him. Only Cas can make his skin tingle, his stomach clench and his heart flip in his chest, his breathing short and his blood hot in his veins – and only Cas can make all that feel good, and right, and beautiful. Only Cas can make Dean long for more, can make him feel like he belongs.

Dean closes his eyes as the fingers brush over his lips again, soft as a kiss. "Cas," he whispers.

The hand lingers there for a moment. Then it is gone, and Dean feels cold – but there it is again, touching his left shoulder.

Right where Cas gripped him tight and raised him from perdition.

Right where Cas shoved him away from death.

This is Cas. Only Cas would know. No one else knows. Dean knows the feeling of Cas's hand there. It can only be Cas.

His heart is screaming "This is Cas" and he needs to believe it. His heart is the only thing not even God can control.

It is Cas.

Dean sighs, and his body sags in relief.

He is no longer lost.

Cas gets one step closer, almost embracing him, but not quite – because Cas doesn't think Dean loves him. I love you, Cas. I do. Now it's my turn to grip you tight, and raise you from your perdition.

He wishes Cas would hug him, and kiss him – but it's not for now. It's for when they're in the real world again.

He can smell Cas's smell, now, though – ozone and honey, a strange combination that Dean has always found incredibly attractive. It smells like home, like a promise. In his dreams, where he is braver than he really is, Dean often burrows his head in the crook of Cas's neck and breathes Cas in. Little did he know it was something that he could have – that it was his for the taking.

The hand he is holding moves. Cas's fingers are spelling something on his skin. D-E-A-N. And Dean feels alive again.

Dean smiles, and answers. C-A-S.

Then he adds, C-O-M-E. H-O-M.E.

Cas's body tenses, Dean can feel it. So he squeezes Cas's hand, hard. Trust me, Cas.

Finally, Cas relents. Dean takes a step backward, and Cas follows. They are still holding hands, and it is anchoring Dean more than anything else has ever done.

He has found Cas. So is that the Empty big plan? Perhaps she planned for more agonising doubt. But Dean is sure.

Or, well, as sure as he can be.

There's still a lingering doubt. Maybe it's not Cas. Maybe he's being played. Maybe the Empty, or someone else, knows enough about Cas and Dean to portray Cas. And maybe Dean just isn't worthy of Cas's love; perhaps he doesn't love Cas enough to be sure; perhaps he's mistaken, because he is as bad a lover as he is a friend.

Dean bits his lip, hard.

This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith.

He can hear Cas's words – one of the first things Cas had uttered in front of him, back when Dean didn't yet know how important, how essential Cas would be for him.

He has to believe. He has to have faith in Cas. The person he's holding hands with – no one else could touch him like that.

He is right. He has to be right.

The walk takes forever. Cas strokes his thumb on Dean's hand, and it soothes Dean.

Will they walk forever? Are they trapped here?

Has the Empty let them reunite only to keep them here forever – together, but kept separate nevertheless?

Walk. Just walk. Have faith, and walk. Trust Cas.

So they walk, and walk.

And finally, Dean feels like he's stumbling through something – and he sees light again.

Next chapter: Castiel's POV! :)