And here it is, the final chapter. It's a little too long but... I think you'll like that. *wink*
Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, and/or added this story to their favourites! I couldn't have done it without you, and I feel so happy and humbled that you all like this story so much. I hope you will like this ending as well.
I love you all x3

Part 5

you say it was a great love, one for the ages

Being on Earth all of a sudden is a brutal change. The light make their eyes burn with tears, and their ears fill with sounds – the rumble of water in the pipes, the soft sound of Cas's trenchcoat against Dean's shirt.

Castiel looks around, cautiously. He blinks once, twice, and as his eyes get used to seeing light he can see where they are: in the Bunker. He sees the books scattered on the floor, the remnants of what he assumes is the ritual that brought him back, and open boxes of artefacts. The room looks like it was ravaged by a hurricane. Castiel feels humbled again, and something appears to be stuck in his throat, and his eyes prickle. By simply looking at this room, he can feel Dean's state of urgency and distress.

It dawns on him, then: he is home. He is home, because Dean came for him. Because Dean refused to let him go. Stubborn and loving man that he is.

Cas opens his mouth, but he doesn't know what to say. "Thank you" does not encompass the gratitude, the wonder, or the absolute amazement he is feeling – nor does it correctly express how worried and upset he is that Dean put his life in danger again, for him.

Whatever words he was going to say disappear when he sees Dean's facial expression, however.

Dean – Dean can't believe. He's done it. Cas is back. Cas is back, his hand warm and alive in his. He can see his face, his beautiful face, and the confusion and surprise and joy painted on it; he can see Cas's chest move as he breathes in and breathes out; he can see the light in Cas's blue eyes. Cas is back. He is back, and he is Dean's, and Dean is breathing again.

"Cas," he lets out.

And before he can stop himself, he is hugging Cas, hard enough to bruise him, probably, but Dean doesn't care. Cas's arms close around him and keep him grounded. His voice – "Dean" – is a low, gravelly rumble near Dean's ear; it's never sounded more beautiful. (And Dean hears the words again, "I love you," and now that Cas is alive and breathing and warm in his arms, he can think they are beautiful, too.)

Dean feels Cas's hot breath on his skin, and he shakes with the feeling of it, because he doesn't have to hide now, does he? Cas loves him back; this hug is welcome, their proximity is welcome, finally, finally. It doesn't just feel good, the way their bodies slot together: it feels right. It feels like sleeping in a warm, comfy bed after having slept in broken motel beds all your life.

And because all of it is welcome, Dean can let it last. He doesn't have to rein himself in. He can keep Cas close as long as he wants, as close as he wants. He can shake against Cas's body, and feel Cas shake, too; he can anchor himself in his angel, breathe him in, rest his cheek against his angel's, and let the words out;

"Cas," he hears himself say, as in a dream. "Cas. You're back. Don't do that again. Please, Cas, please."

And Cas – Cas does not know what to think. He wonders in silence, in a way he has not since a long time. Cas has died and come back before, and Dean... has never reacted that way. Cas has been hugged, kept close, and looked at in wonder and happiness, but never with such strength and despair. Oh, he felt Dean's grief, relief and joy before... but it has never been quite like that. Dean always let him go after some time.

What has changed? he wonders. What is different? Is it because Dean knows of his love for him?

Nonetheless, Cas is weak when it comes to Dean, so he lets himself enjoy every little detail of it: Dean's arms around his shoulder, one of his hand between Cas's shoulder blades and the other on the base of Cas's skull, in his hair (this is new), the feel of his stubble on Cas's cheek, of his chest against his (Dean is breathing a lot too fast, until all of a sudden all tension leaves him, and it is as if Dean is breathing him in).

Hope is a perfidious poison in Cas's heart; but it must be a sweet kind of poison, because Cas feels alive.

They don't know how long they stay embraced, delighting in the simple joy of this hug. They let go in the end: Dean wants to see Cas's face. They have to talk, after all.

He does not step back, though. If he focuses, he can still feel Cas's light breath on his face. They are not as close to each other as they were in the Empty, but it's alright. Dean feels nervous, all of a sudden.

His mouth is dry. He doesn't know what to say. So, he settles for a mere, "Hello, Cas."

And Cas smiles. It lights up the room, and just like that, and even though he just learnt how to breathe again, all the air in Dean's lungs are stolen away.

Dean would like to say that it's new, but that would be a lie, if he's honest with himself.

"Hello, Dean," Cas answers. The note of happiness in his voice is a victory for Dean: a win against the Empty, against Death, and against God, and against the universe that is so set on destroying them. Cas is happy, but he's still there. The Empty is true to her word. Good.

And when he hears this "Hello, Dean," he knows what to say.

"Never say goodbye ever again, Cas, you hear me?" he growls. He hates himself for it as soon as the words leave his mouth. He promised himself he wouldn't be so aggressive, that he wouldn't let the angry beast inside him take over. And yet, here he is.

Cas said he was not the angry, destructive man he knows he is, that he was a loving man, and yet, right when he is supposed to do the lovin', he is being aggressive again.

He wishes he could tell Cas, "I'm not angry, I'm just desperate," but he doesn't know how to.

He doesn't know, though, that he has no need to say it. Cas has been watching this man's eyes for as long as he can remember, and he needs no words to know what Dean is not being hostile, but insistent.

"Dean – I'm sorry. I did what I had to do."

He watches as Dean swallows laboriously. Castiel often sees Dean do that, but he has no idea what this means. He has always supposed that it is what Dean does when he wants to bury certain words deep inside himself so that they never get out in the open.

"I – I know that, Cas," Dean says. His voice is low, almost a whisper. It is broken, too. "I'd have done the same thing. Hell, I've done the same thing. You know that." His laugh is all but gleeful. "You're not truly a Winchester until you've made a deal and sacrificed yourself for those you – for your family."

Cas nods, smiling. He tries not to feel disappointed. It is not the fact that Dean has just let him know that he was family – nothing romantic – because he knows that, he has always done, and he is done hoping when he knows being is much better. He is sad, though, to see that Dean cannot bring himself to say the words, and he wonders why it is so. Is it that Dean cannot accept that he is loved, and that he is worthy of this love? Or is it that Dean wants to ignore the truth that hangs between them, the truth that Cas blurted out once he was sure there would be no consequences?

Cas does not wish to keep hiding, however. He will not attempt a thing, and he will not expect more of Dean – but if Dean cannot accept his romantic love, it will be a problem.

And how can Cas convince Dean that is worthy of love if he cannot mention his own feelings?

Sometimes, in his hearts of hearts, Cas hates John Winchester for what he did to his sons. And ever since Cas has known the horrible truth, he hates God too, the puppeteer who made it his mission in life to make sure Dean will never find happiness. Sometimes, Cas thinks the curse the Empty placed on him is lighter than the fate God sentenced Dean to.

But Cas cannot say all these things to Dean, so he smiles, and he deflects it. "I thought I was already family before I made the deal," he says lightly.

"You were! You are," Dean exclaims quickly. "I meant – I mean – Cas, never die again. Never sacrifice yourself again. Please."

"I cannot promise you that," Cas says softly. "With everything going on – with God –"

But Dean insists, "Please." His eyes are greener than ever, and shining with tears. Cas has seen Dean cry more today than he has before. He remembers what Sam said to him once, that his loss was always too much for Dean, that Dean always fell into an auto-destructive spiral when Cas died. He has never truly grasped what Sam really meant, until now.

So Cas does the best he can. "I'll try my best, Dean, I promise."

It seems to be enough for Dean. "Thank you," he says, just as softly.

Then, it looks as if he is about to say something, and Cas wants to delay the fatal moment just a little, so that he can enjoy it. So he ask, "Did you made a deal with the Empty?"

He can always count on himself for asking the very thing he doesn't want to know, only to keep Dean's "no" from coming.

Dean licks his lips, nervously. "Well – maybe..."

"So I can't make deals, but you can?"

Dean rolls his eyes. Good thing that Cas's tone is fond. How come I haven't heard it before, how fond it always is?

"It's different," Dean pleads.

"I don't see how. I saved Jack –"

"Well, I don't think Jack made you a love confession just before dying, did he?"

Dean bits his lip, hard. Wow. Where does that come from? He winces, ashamed of himself. His heart misses a beat. What if he completely misunderstood the situation? Cas has said "I love you" before, but it never meant –

But Cas makes this little crooked, bashful smile of his, and Dean thinks "oh," and how stupid and blind has he been all this years? And he feels warm all over, and jittery, and his stomach does weird things.

Dean doesn't feel ready to talk about this.

"Well, I – I summoned the Empty. I used a spell Rowena translated, and, um, I negotiated. Sort of?"

"What is the counterpart?"

"God?" Dean answers.

Cas's eyes go round and wide. "God?"

"God."

"That's – unexpected."

"Well, I told her I wasn't sure she could get him, but, y'know, she's our ally now."

"No other counterpart?"

"Listen, I'm sorry to tell you that, Cas, but she doesn't seem to like you that much. She was pretty impatient to let you go once I told her Chuck would attack her. You know, because she had you, and because Chuck is a control freak, and all that jazz."

Cas looks unconvinced, though. "It seems to easy. There must be a price."

"Well. Maybe I also told her that she'd never sleep again if she kept you, because I'd – well, I'd do anything to yet you back. I mean, we. Me and Sam and Jack."

Dean wants to slap himself. Why can't he just be honest? Truthful? Why can't he say the one thing he swore he'd say, the one thing Cas needs and wants?

Cas looks him right in the eye, open and honest and moved. "Thank you, Dean. I'm grateful. Beyond words. You shouldn't have –"

"Of course I should have," Dean insists, fighting with himself to keep his voice level. "Cas, you're – you're important. You – I'd never – I couldn't let you there. You know that, right?"

"I know," Cas answers. He is smiling, and he looks genuinely happy, and if Dean were the type to facepalm he'd do it right now. He feels like a bumbling idiot. Because no, Cas doesn't know. He has no idea what Dean means.

Dean wishes he had the words. If only he could say it. Cas, I couldn't abandon you. You're the best thing that has ever happened to me.

Cas, me too. Me too.

It can't be that hard. Yet it is.

"And, hum, the curse is lifted too. You know, your Angel curse. There's no – you can be happy, no problem." Dean feels ridiculous and lame, oh, so lame.

Cas simply frowns. "I do not believe this curse is angelic in nature, Dean."

"No, I mean, the Angel curse, like with Angel in Buffy, one moment of happiness and boom, he's gone –" Dean feels his cheeks and he stops, cursing himself. Does Cas know that Angel's happiness was, basically, making love with the woman he loved? How much does Cas know about pop culture, again?

Why does he even feel embarrassed? It'd be in his interest if Cas understood –

"Thank you, Dean," Cas says again.

Well. Conclusion: no, Cas doesn't know.

"I mean it," Cas adds. His eyes are warm, sincere, and loving. Dean is burning in the inside under their gaze. "What you did for me – I have no words, Dean."

I love you, Dean wants to answer, but the words won't get out of his mouth.

"And I am... thankful that you thought of the curse, too," Cas adds. The words seem harder to come for him, and Dean wonders why. He hates the sudden discomfort he can feel between them. What is going on? "But I would like to tell you – my happiness does not – I can be happy without –"

Cas cuts himself, visibly upset that his words are failing him. Dean can relate.

"My happiness does not depend on you," Cas says abruptly.

And oh, wow, this one was brutal.

"Well, of course," Dean says. "It'd be pretty horrible if it did – I mean, I want to be happy for other reasons, right? Because – well, you said it, goods things do happen, and I want to be happy – y'know, in general?" He's babbling, oh fuck, he's babbling. He just wants to say that Cas's happiness should not rely on one man, or on this man loving him back; that Cas deserves all the happiness in the world; that he hates that Cas is so depressed, so self-hating that he cannot find happiness in the little things of life –

"It's not what I mean," Cas insists. "You do not have to – er – return my feelings. I am grateful for what you did, and – it's enough for me, Dean. I don't expect anything, and I will never force my feelings on you, I promise you."

Dean can't breathe. It's like his heart has stopped beating. Because Cas said it, once again. Cas has feelings for him. It's a certain thing, now. Cas loves him, and happiness is just here, within his – their – reach. They can have that, they can live it; Dean's dreams can come true; if only he could say the words...

"Cas –" he starts. He hates how broken his voice sounds. He would like to say the three little words, but there is a dam in his chest that blocks everything that shouldn't get out.

Dean knows that if he manages to wreak this dam, everything will pour out like a raging river, in a thunderous roar that will break and rebuild everything. But he's been containing things for so long...

"I don't deserve you," he says instead.

Cas's expressions hardens, then softens. "I told you, Dean. You're not the man you see. The mirror our enemies hold in front of you – it's a lie. Don't believe it. You are a man of good. I have known that ever since I held your soul in my hand, and it's never stopped being true. This life – it has a toll on you but it doesn't change who you are at heart."

"You deserve better," Dean insists. "I'm a mess. I'm broken."

"You're not," Cas says. "I may be so, but not you."

"You're not broken. Cas, you're – you're the best thing that has ever happened to me."

He's almost there. Almost. If only, if only.

Cas smiles. "Dean –"

"Cas, stop."

Dean knows, right there and then, that he has to say it. For himself, and for Cas. Because they can have that, if only he stopped being so – himself.

Dean is not a man of words, never has been. He is a man of action.

In the Empty, they only had touch... It was easier to express himself... With words, he's lost. He's never managed it.

Now that they're back, now that Dean has things to say, he doesn't know how to. The words are heavy in his chest, but he can't get them out. Silence is safer. Silence is what he knows best.

How come that he is only able to speak the words when Cas is lost?

Now that Cas is back Dean doesn't think he deserves this. Cas, this beautiful, unique, splendid being, deserves so much better than Dean. How could he be in love with Dean?

And he hates that he always has a good reason not to speak. Before, it was because he thought Cas would never love him back (how could he? Who would?). And now? What is the reason? That Cas deserves better? Hell, yeah – but it's also what Cas wants, and Dean knows they'd be good for each other – they'd repair each other, they'd be happy, he just knows it.

Now – now, he has to admit to himself, that maybe it was all pretences, that maybe there are just things that he never was able to... that he kept some things hidden, because... He doesn't know why.

He remembers all the times when Cas smiled and he wanted to lean in and discover what his smile tastes like. All the times when he could just have burrowed his head on the crook of Cas's neck, when they were watching movies. All the words he could have said, all the time, almost always bursting out of his chest at every moment, at every thing Cas did. How easy it would have been to tell him, or to kiss him, or to ask him on a date, or to embrace him. He recalls all the times he almost did – all the times he opened his mouth, or leant in, or rehearsed a speech in his head, or thought about it, or promised himself he would. But he never did. Something always came up, or – or Dean just never dared.

Dean is terrified, once he recalls just how many times he almost did it – terrified at all the effort he put into never doing it, and into forgetting he's even thought it.

And then he realises – yes, terrified is the right word. It's been the right word all along.

He knows that Cas is watching him curiously, and he wonders what Cas thinks.

He doesn't know that Cas is aware that Dean is battling with himself. What Cas does not know, though, is what Dean is currently fighting with. He has seen this type of inner fight in Dean before – often, actually. He has come to recognise it. It usually happens when Dean is torn between singing along to a Taylor Swift song, or pretending he hates it; or when Dean knows something about anything remotely intellectual, but doesn't dare say it. But what war could be raging inside Dean's heart right now? Cas is confused.

He watches as Dean opens his mouth, closes it, swallows painfully. He watches his fists close, and he sees Dean making his decision.

Dean gets closer, ever so slowly. He is terrified, terrified beyond words, but he has to do it, he wants to do it. If he can't say it – he can show it. He can do it.

Dean grasps Castiel's arms and brings him close. Castiel sees Dean's face get closer, closer, closer, until their breaths are mixing and they are living on each other's air, and it feels even more intimate than what happened in the Empty, and all of a sudden, Cas understands, he understands what it was Dean has been trying to say – oh...

And Dean's lips are on Castiel's.

His kiss is soft, hesitant, barely a touch of lips at all. A ghost of a kiss. Dean kisses him like a moth that is attracted to the flame, but is afraid that it will burn its wings. The fire that sparks from that kiss, though, is but the warmth of home and the firework of passion. It burns, but it does not destroy. It doesn't kill; it revives.

The kiss is soon over, and Dean is looking at him with wide, frightened eyes. And Cas – Cas just smiles, more widely than ever. His blood sings in his veins. Dean loves him too.

Oh, how stupid he's been!

"Dean," he sighs.

And Dean – Dean is broken, and he didn't know there could be a good kind of broken. He feels like he's been torn open and wrecked, and rebuilt. It feels so right.

So much time spent thinking it was wrong, oh so wrong to think of Cas like that, and forbidding himself to even acknowledge it, and he never once suspected that it'd be so good, so right, so pure. It doesn't feel disgusting or shameful, or even frightening, all of a sudden. It seems – it is – normal. Fitting. And long overdue.

The dam doesn't really have a reason to exist, does it? Here, in Cas's arms, he is safe, he can be himself, because Cas loves him. He knows him like no one else knows (the good, the bad, and the hidden), and he loves him, and it's Cas. It's like a haven (or a heaven, maybe).

So he can say it. He can be as brave and sincere as Cas, because – because he has no reason not to.

So he rests his forehead on Cas's, and he says it, soft and true, against his lips.

"Cas – I love you too."

Cas's eyes scan Dean's face, incredulous. Is it – true? Did this kiss really happen? But yes – Dean is watching him with intent, and it is love in his eyes, and Cas feels stupid. Now that he looks back on it – Dean loves him. It seems so blatant, now.

"Dean –" He can't help smiling. "Dean..." He sighs.

He was wrong; he could be happier than he was simply saying it.

And Dean's mouth meets his, once again.

(Later, in half an hour, Sam and Jack will barge in into the Bunker, convinced that Dean and Cas haven't answered their phones because something happened. (They're right, of course.) They'll come, expected to find two dead bodies, and instead they'll find a room scattered with books, and Dean and Castiel kissing, kissing, kissing in the middle of it as if they can't stop.

Of course, Sam will think, "About damn time," and Jack will wonder how Cas managed to have what would make him the happiest being on Earth without the Empty coming in and stealing him. But they'll nothing of that, and they'll ask, "What happened?"

And Dean and Cas will step away from one another, and Cas will expect Dean to hide, perhaps, and Dean will contemplate it for one seconds or two, because it's still so new to him, this honesty thing; but he'll decide that, what the hell, the world's ending anyway, and there's no point in hiding it, he's tired of hiding it. So he'll beam and say, "It's a long story."

And Sam will ask, "And Billie?" And they'll him then, about the deal, and how Cas sacrificed himself to save Dean, and how Dean came to rescue him.

And Sam and Jack will conclude that Cas's happy moment was that Dean finally declared, or kissed him, and they'll be bewildered when Cas answers, "No, that was later."

And Dean will never tell Sam and Jack what really happened, because first, it'll be too funny just watching them be so confused, but also because, tragic and beautiful as this moment was, it was Dean's and Cas's alone, and Dean will want to keep it hidden, not because he'll be ashamed, but because he'll treasure it.)

Their second kiss is soft, too, but it is more a kiss than the previous one. They press their lips together, and slot their bodies together as well. Cas's arms find their way around Dean's shoulders, and Dean keeps Cas's face between his hands, caressing his cheeks.

The third one is more tentative. They explore each other, unhurriedly. They test the waters, move their lips against one another's. They discover each other's special taste, and they know they're ruined for any other taste in the world.

The fourth one has tongue and teeth. Dean licks Cas lips, and Cas bits Dean's playfully. They have difficulty finding their breaths again, but they can't stop. It's just all so good.

The fifth one is similar, but their hands start moving. Dean tangles his fingers in Cas's hear, caresses his neck. Cas's hands are all over Dean, on his chest, over his heart, on his clavicles, on his waist. The hands are a discovery, and they know they'll never tire of it – they want more, more, more hands, everywhere, they want each other everywhere they can take him.

The sixth kiss is more of a trail of kisses. Dean peppers kisses all over Cas's face – his cheeks, his jaws, his forehead, his neck. Cas laughs and throws his head back in pleasure as Dean tastes his skin and finds a sweet, sensitive little place he bits playfully.

The seventh one is a revelation. Their tongues slide against each other, they play and caress. They explore the other's mouth, tasting each other in a brand new way, worshipping each other with passion.

Then... then things become blurry, and they stop counting. The kisses become playful, more assertive, more daring, more everything. Dean's hands leave Cas's face to embrace his waist under the trench coat and caress his ribs. Cas leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses on Dean's neck, and tastes Dean's sighs. The kisses they trade become passionate, until they can't breathe anymore. But they don't stop. Their lips separate for the smallest time before they kiss again. They whisper each other's name on each other's lips. They smile into their kisses. They press their bodies together, closer, closer, closer. They devour each other.

And Dean knows, at this moment, that maybe everything won't be perfect. It'll take him time to ease into this new truth, to live it fully. But they'll do it. They'll manage this, together. They'll defeat Chuck, and then they'll be free, and then he'll be fully Cas's and Cas will be fully his, and they'll be happy.

He has faith.

(A few years down the road, Dean will wake up in their bed. They will be in the dark, cuddling, because they always find each other even in the dark. And Dean will not be able to see Cas's face, but by that point he will now every detail of it, and if you asked him he could map Cas's entire body from memory alone, as he promised himself he would, that day, in the Empty.

Then the sun will rise, and Cas's face will be revealed to him in all its beauty. And as Cas wakes up, Dean will stroke the grey hairs on his temples, and he'll think he has never been happier. He'll think that Cas was right, that good things do happen; that happiness is in being indeed; and that he, Dean, was right to have faith in that, in them, in Cas.

Cas will wake up, slowly, and Dean will relish it, as always.

And Cas will raise his head and look Dean in the eye, and Dean's breath will be taken away, as always, by the sheer fact that the most wonderful being in the universe loves him. He'll realise, as always, how lucky he is, and that all the work they put in this relationship was so worth it.

"Hello, Dean," Cas will say. Happiness will shine in his eyes.

And Dean will not be able to keep the words buried inside his heart; in fact, he will not even try to, because there is no need, there never was.

"Have I ever told you that I love you?" he'll say.

And Cas will smile. He will lace his fingers with Dean's (and Dean will admire the matching silver bands on their fingers), and he will say, "Only a thousand times."

"So many?" Dean will laugh.

"I think it's more," Cas will add, "but I've stopped counting."

And Dean's heart will leap in his chest; he'll steal Cas's lips; and he'll say the Words again.)

THE END

"I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell;
I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth.
I would know him in death, at the end of the world."

The Song of Achilles, Madeline Miller