Part 3: The Ghost
But your ghost,/The ghost of you/It keeps me awake
Dean couldn't sleep.
He rarely could, these days. And when he could his dreams were no better than being awake. They weren't dreams of Hell, surprisingly-those had all ceased a while back. Occasionally one would still surface, but they were so few and far between that it didn't really worry Dean.
No, what worried Dean was that he was dreaming of a ghost. Castiel featured in his dreams, every night without fail. The scene differed, the outcome was always different-everything was different. The only thing that never changed was the blue-eyed angel that had somehow once again returned to his hunter.
Currently, Dean was glaring at the wall as Sam's soft snores assaulted his ears from the other bed. The glowing lights of the digital alarm informed him that it was 2:37 in the morning, and Dean knew he should at least try to sleep because he got reckless and stupid when he didn't rest enough and Sam would bitch at him.
But Dean didn't want to dream.
Dean's body and mind rarely listened to him, anymore. Against his will, his eyes slid closed.
And he dreamed.
Dean was sitting on a bed in some random-ass crappy hotel, polishing his guns. He wasn't sure where Sam was-maybe out on a supply run?-and he wasn't particularly concerned about it.
He was brooding, thinking of Castiel. He rarely thought of much else. Stupid bastard left and took Dean's heart with him, so Dean's recent depression and preoccupation was hardly shocking.
A familiar rustle of feathers had Dean's head snapping up, his hand freezing as a painful hope ripped through him.
The hope bloomed into relief as he found himself, impossibly, staring into those familiar blue eyes.
"Cas," he whispered, voice hoarse.
"Hello Dean," Castiel replied.
And that was it. No offered explanation. No apology for his actions. Just 'hello Dean'. Like everything was okay. Dean thought of the weeks of hurt he had gone through because of this stupid angel, and anger lit in him, burning in his chest, devouring the small bubble of happiness that had been trying to grow there.
"'Hello Dean'?" he mocked, glaring, as he rose to his feet. "That all you have to say?"
Cas blinked, looking confused. "I-what else would you have me say?" he asked, head tilting in that infuriatingly endearing way he always did. He had no right to look so innocent and puppyish, damn it.
Dean barked a harsh laugh. "Oh, I don't know, maybe where the hell you've been? An apology for vanishing? An explanation for what the hell happened?" he demanded, and he was even more furious when he felt the familiar warning prickle in his eyes. He'd cried enough over this son of a bitch already, he would not shed a single tear more.
The angel in question at least had the decency to duck his head and look abashed. "I...hadn't realized you would care so much. My apologies," he murmured.
And that just broke something inside Dean. Wild emotions-rage, despair, love, affection, exasperation-burst from the wall he'd shoved them behind, and Dean was drowning in feelings as he grabbed the lapels of that stupid trench coat, yanking the angel forward and grabbing his chin, forcing him to look up into Dean's menacing glare.
"You stupid son of a bitch," he growled, his voice almost ragged, grip on Castiel painfully tight but there was no protest or struggle, "You are part of my family. Of course I cared. I prayed to you, man...every day. I thought I'd lost you, and you thought I wouldn't care?" he demanded, and damn it all, he was crying again. Cas looked at him with those unfathomable blue eyes.
"It would seem I was mistaken," he replied. Dean snorted and blinked hard, releasing Castiel to cuff him gently-enough to know that while Dean was irritated with him, he was also forgiven-and scrubbing at his face before drawing the angel into a tight hug.
"I missed you, man," Dean mumbled, burying his face in Cas' hair and breathing in the familiar, intoxicating scent of stars and ozone and Cas, his arms wrapped tight around the angel's torso. Castiel stood stiff and awkward at first, but after a few moments he relaxed and his arms rose slowly to return the embrace.
Dean sighed and felt the pain of the last several weeks soothed-not erased, but greatly diminished by the knowledge that his angel was here, that he hadn't left as Dean had feared.
"Thanks for coming back," Dean said, and he wanted to say so much more. He had said more, during his prayers in those weeks, all the feelings and secrets he'd kept escaping his lips without inhibition when there was no one to hear them. Now, though, Dean didn't think he had the courage to repeat those three words. Not when Cas could actually hear him, not when they might scare him off and Dean had just gotten him back.
He wanted more from Cas, so much more. But he'd thought he'd never have even this much again, so for now, he let it be enough, and he held tightly to his angel.
Dean awoke to the familiar feeling of tears on his face, his chest aching dully. Swearing under his breath, Dean scrubbed at his face and sat up. Stupid fucking subconscious.
He'd dreamt of their reunions a dozen times now. It always went differently. Sometimes it was like that, irritation but mostly forgiveness and relief to have him back. Sometimes it was just happiness and hugs. Sometimes it was embarrassingly sweet and emotional and Dean could hardly belief his subconscious thought that up, even though the feelings were definitely there. And sometimes it was anger, rage at being left behind.
It was always different, but always left him alone and aching at the end when he woke. He was tired of it. Tired of the dreams, tired of the ghost that plagued them, haunting him and refusing to let him be at peace. How could he be at peace when his loss was shoved in his face every freaking night?
Scrubbing his face again, Dean groaned. He was just...so tired. But he refused to sleep, because it would only mean more dreams that would make him ache and cry and he was sick of it. So he rolled out of bed, careful not to wake Sam as he slipped out the door. He wasn't sure where he was going, just knew he couldn't stay there.
As he walked, Dean cast a weary glance at the sky. He missed his angel best friend. He loved Castiel and he had never even told him-would never be able to, now. It sucked and pissed Dean off. He sighed.
"Cas, man," he found himself murmuring, "where the hell are you? We need you...please, come back."
Praying was an exercise in futility, he'd proved it to himself through the lack of answers over the last several weeks. But even just the familiarity of the action was a bit soothing, and Dean found he could breathe easier.
So Dean kept walking and prayed to a ghost, because he was at a loss as to what else to do.
[A/N: Okay so here's another one I'm finally updating after forever. This is technically the last chapter, but I'm going to post an epilogue after this with Cas coming back. It won't be like it was canonically, sorry. But it'll be real. A bit of angst/drama, and then some fluff to soothe the feels. And that'll be the end of it. So, yeah. Keep an eye out!]