#destielfic

https://archiveofourown.org/works/71722846/chapters/189218891

Rating: Explicit

Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: M/M

Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005)

Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester

Additional Tags: Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Episode AU: s15e19 Inherit the Earth (Supernatural), Soft, Retirement, Kidfic, Family Fluff, Family Feels, Apple Pie Life (Supernatural), Established Relationship, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Family Shenanigans, Fluff, Therapy, Recreational Drug Use, Medicinal Drug Use, Weed User Dean Winchester, Weed User Castiel (Supernatural), Semi-Public Sex, Gardens & Gardening (the second is the huff and puff type), Hand Jobs, Grinding, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced childhood hunger, Light Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Fluff and Angst, Depression, Loneliness, Suicidal Thoughts, Suptober 2025 (Supernatural), Angelic Grace Sex (Supernatural), Angelic Grace-Powered Orgasms (Supernatural), Angelic Grace as Lube (Supernatural), Anal Sex, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, Stanford Era Dean, Dean Winchester Gets Therapy

Chapter summary:

"The next few days are rough." 

I’m a day late (because I am injured but found a way to draw that doesn’t cause agony, yay!), but here’s Captain Highliner Dean and Sushi!Cas (as styled in Mal’s fab FOOW) because I LIVE for merAUs, even though I’m in the minority.

You can read a tiny tiny ficlet that goes with it if you like Castch of the Day :D (Warning for strong language.) 

Title: The Angel Next Door (and the Zombie Squirrel) Author: FriendofCarlotta (@friendofcarlotta) Artist: jollyrolls (@jollyrolls) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Tags: Modern AU, Angel Cas, Fluff and Crack, Romantic Comedy, Dead Squirrel (or is it?) Word count: 9,264 Featured characters: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester Featured relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester Summary: Dean’s life is fine. He might get a little lonely sometimes, but that’s to be expected when you’re a single guy in your forties. But then a new neighbor moves in next door — an extremely hot, blue-eyed neighbor who seems to be some kind of magnet for bizarre and miraculous events. (Listen, that squirrel was dead. Dean’s sure of it.)

Will Dean solve the mystery of the man next door?

For @justcastiel 2k' celebration

Following the prompts: blood - trueform - grace - religion - trueform - holy water - knee

Pillars of Salt ~ 18.5k words. Explicit.

Summary: Dean is an exorcist following a serie of ritual murders that lead him to a cursed town. People in Mount Chase doesn't trust anyone but how could they when every once in a while someone appear murdered like a martyr from the Bible? And there is an abandoned church where few dare to approach...

Link to AO3.

summary: Dean discovers Spotify and, more specifically, the playlists about him. And Cas.

complete, 4.5k, ao3

for @apathetichristmascracker for the @spnvalentines gift exchange!

-

Dean’s midway through cooking a greasy breakfast when Sam comes back from his run, sweating, grinning and talking very loudly on the phone.

“ - dude, it totally suits you! It’s amazing. I don’t know how they managed it. It’s…almost biblical.”

There’s a rumbling crackle on the other end of the phone but Dean can’t quite work out who it is.

Who the hell would Sam be calling dude at nine in the morning on a sunny Thursday? He supposes it could be another hunter. Sam is better at keeping in touch with people they’ve met on the road.

Wait, does Sam have a friend he doesn’t know about? Huh. Look at the kid go.

Dean’s sitting down with his bacon, eggs and toast and just taking a swig of coffee by the time Sam hangs up the phone and plops down in the seat opposite him.

Dean waits, fork paused, to hear Sam’s explanation.

He just glugs his green smoothie and sweats some more. “Man, it’s warm out there already today.”

“Yeah.” Dean narrows his eyes, chewing his bacon with a clenched jaw.

“Oh!” Sam takes an obnoxiously long drink before continuing. “Cas said he’ll be back this evening.”

“What?”

Sam blinks into the suddenly tense mood. He half waves his phone at him. “Cas. He’ll be back today.” He meets Dean’s hard stare blankly. “What? Why are you glaring?”

“I’m not.” Dean says quickly, trying and failing to take the clipped tone out of his voice. “Just…didn’t think you and Cas had…you know…buddy calls.”

Sam snorts. “Buddy calls? What, you thought he only called you to check in?”

“No.” Yes.

When Dean entered the kitchen the next morning, he found another door on the advent calendar was open.

This time it was a window to the left of the front door: inside the cubby sat a spool of thread. Carefully, Dean wedged his fingers into the tiny space and managed to get hold of it, taking it out and dropping it into the palm of his hand. Not thread, he realised, examining it closely. Ribbon, like the kind of ribbon used to decorate presents. It was wide and a deep, rich green.

Dean tucked the spool back into its little hidey-hole and poured himself a cup of coffee. It was too early to contemplate the meaning of the creepy advent calendar. First, coffee. Then, take Miracle for his morning walk. Only then would Dean be able to focus on anything.

He vaguely hoped that he wasn’t going to get attacked by any rogue ribbon today.

He enjoyed taking Miracle for walks. Miracle enjoyed the exercise, diving into snow drifts and chasing after the odd squirrel or rabbit that dared to show its face, always racing back to Dean’s side before barreling off again, and Dean enjoyed the solitude. The woods surrounding the Bunker were quiet, far enough from the town centre that Dean didn’t have to worry about coming across other people, but the knowledge that they were there, that there were people down in the town and people waiting for him in the Bunker comforted him. The illusion of being the only person around was nice, especially when your space was often unavoidably full, but Dean didn’t want a repeat of the reality.

He stomped through the snow after Miracle, occasionally picking up a stick and lobbing it over the dog’s head, watching as Miracle bounded after it, and sighed.

A crack echoed through the cold air, the sound as loud as a gunshot, and Dean reacted instinctively, hand flying to the small of his back, pulling out the gun that he had automatically shoved there before leaving the Bunker and taking aim, scanning the woods. There came a crashing sound, and Dean whipped around in the direction he thought the sound had come from, gun steady in his hands, only to see a large snow-covered branch on the ground, the thin twigs still bouncing up and down in reaction to their fall.

“Shit,” Dean swore, laughing at himself. The branch had broken under the weight of the snow piled on top of it. That was all.

“I’m getting too old for this, Miracle,” he called to the dog, tucking the gun away.  When there was no immediate response, no fluffy ears appearing from behind the bank of Snow that Miracle was hiding behind, no blur of fur racing towards him, Dean frowned.

“Miracle?” he called. “Here, boy!”

Nothing.

“MIRACLE?” Dean yelled, startling a flock of birds out of the tree they had settled in after the falling branch had scared them. “MIRACLE!”

He turned in a circle, eyes scanning the woods desperately. No, no, this couldn’t be happening, he couldn’t lose…

“MIRACLE!”

But Miracle didn’t return.

-------------------------------------

“He’ll be fine, Dean,” Sam said reassuringly. “We’ll find him.”

“He hasn’t been here that long, he won’t know the way home,” Dean fretted anxiously. “And the road, he doesn’t have any road sense, what it—“

“I sent a group out to look for him,” Sam said soothingly. “And I’ll go into town myself, put out the word in case anyone sees him. Don’t worry, Dean.” He reached out and laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean shrugged him off, pushing to his feet and stalking out to the library, ignoring Sam’s anxious “Dean!” and headed resolutely to the garage.

He had to find Miracle. It was his fault the dog was gone, he was supposed to take care of him, and he hadn’t even noticed he was gone. He’d been right under Dean’s nose and Dean hadn’t seen him, hadn’t cared enough to pay attention, if only he’d pulled his head out of his ass long enough—

Dean spent the rest of the day driving around the surrounds of Lebanon, calling Miracle’s name out the window of the Impala. He hailed every car he saw, pulled up to every person and asked them if they’d seen Miracle, gave out one of his non-emergency numbers and made them promise to call him if they saw anything. Maybe he should’ve made flyers to give out, too, Dean though. Shit, he didn’t even have a photo of Miracle. What kind of person doesn’t even have a decent photo of their dog? He should’ve taken a photo, should’ve taken so many photos, his wallet should have been filled with photos of Miracle, and Sam and Mom and Jack and….

When Dean’s vision started to blur, he pulled the Impala off the road and put her into park, punching at the steering wheel in frustration.

“Dammit, Cas,” he choked, his voice breaking.

Because it wasn’t about the fucking dog at all, was it? The dog was just the final straw on a giant fucking pile of everyone that Dean had lost. Mom, Dad, Sam, Bobby, Cas, Charlie, Cas (again), Mom (again), Jack…everyone that Dean had loved and had to say goodbye to. He’d barely been able to drag himself up off the dungeon floor after Cas had…and now Miracle. The bestest boy in the whole world who needed a home and someone to take care of him and who wouldn’t let Dean out of his sight and watched over Dean while he slept and while the dog would never, could never replace…anybody, he gave Dean a reason to get up in the morning, a structure to his day.

Something to focus on so he didn’t think about…other things.

But once again, he’d let someone he…cared about slip through his fingers.

Dean wasn’t sure how long he’d sat in the car, alternatively crying and cursing, swearing he was sorry, pleading for Cas to forgive him, begging for Miracle to come back, but by the time he had run out of steam and tears, the woods around him were dark, he was shivering from the cold and the screen of his phone was filled with missed call notifications.

Scrubbing at his cheeks with the heels of his hands, Dean took a deep breath and started the Impala up, carefully turning her around and steering her back towards the Bunker.

Baby carefully tucked away in the garage, Dean slowly made his way up the stairs and along the long hallways towards his room. He knew he should head to the War Room, find Sam and check in, but he looked a mess and wanted to splash some water on his face before he had to face other people. But one of the younger refugees—Todd? Tom?—was walking down the hall and before Dean could duck into the bathroom called out an excited “Dean!” so loudly that Dean knew he would have no chance of pretending he hadn’t seen or heard him.

“Hey, Dean’s back!” Tim called over his shoulder, hurrying forward to grab Dean by the arm. “C’mon, we’ve been waiting for you, you gotta see this!”

Confused, and a little amused at Tad’s audacity to grab him, Dean allowed the young man to drag Dean towards the War Room, where he could hear excited voices chattering and—was that a bark?

Dean broke into a run, skidding slightly as he turned sharply at the door to the War Room and then came to a shocked halt.

Sitting up on the Map Table, a jaunty green ribbon tied around his neck, was Miracle, fur fluffed like he’d just been washed and blow dried, tail sweeping back and forth behind him with happiness at all the attention.

“Miracle,” Dean croaked, falling to his knees as the dog barked and leapt off the table, racing across the floor and launching himself into Dean’s arms.

“Oh, boy, I missed you! Where were you? Missed you so much, you stupid dog, don’t you ever run away like that again, you hear me?” Dean buried his face into the fur of Miracle’s neck, hugging the wriggling dog tightly, not fighting the tears that started flowing again.

He looked up at the touch of a hand on his shoulder and saw Sam crouched down next to him. “Where was he?” Dean demanded, and Sam shook his head.

“No idea. One of the teams came back and found him sitting at Bunker door with the ribbon around his neck. No note, nobody with him. But there’s this.”

Sam tugged at the ribbon, lifting it up to show Dean the brown leather collar that had been fastened around Miracle’s neck. Hanging from the collar was a silver tag, and when Dean reached for the tag and flipped it over, he found that it had been inscribed, My name is Miracle! If you find me, please call Dean Campbell 555-0165.

“He didn’t have a collar, oh my God, Sam, we didn’t get him a collar,” Dean realised, and pulled the dog back against his chest. Miracle wriggled in his arms and licked at Dean’s face.

“He has one now,” Sam said, stating the fucking obvious.

“It’s cats that have nine lives, not dogs,” Dean murmured to Miracle. “One of these days you’re gonna run out of luck.”

Miracle whined in agreement.

“Okay. You hungry? You want some food? Yeah? Food?” Dean said letting go of Miracle, who danced at the mention of the ‘food’, and stood up. “C’mon, boy, let’s get you some food.”

“Dean.”

The sharpness in Sam’s voice stopped him in his tracks, and Dean sighed and turned to face his brother. “Yeah, I know.”

“Where were you?” Sam asked, sounding upset. “Dean, you can’t do that, you can’t just disappear and---and not answer your phone and—“

Dean took a closer look at Sam, and then closed the distance between them, wrapping his brother in a tight hug. Because everyone that Dean had lost? Sam had lost them too, and more, and Dean should’ve thought about that before he disappeared without a trace.

“I’m sorry, Sammy,” he muttered, and felt Sam’s chest hitch as though he was holding back tears of his own. “I just…I couldn’t just leave him out there, I had to find him, had to—“

“I know,” Sam said, his voice choked up.

An impatient bark from Miracle—the word ‘food’ had been said and yet no food had been forthcoming, Dean guessed—broke them apart, and Dean chuckled.

“Yeah, yeah, c’mon then,” he told Miracle, heading for  the door.

“Dean?”

Dean looked through the door at Sam, still standing where Dean had left him.

“Yeah, Sam?”

“You good?” Sam asked, face screwed up in worry.

Dean looked down at the expectant Miracle at his feet, jaunty green ribbon gleaming in the artificial light, and back up to Sam.

“I will be,” he said, and led Miracle towards the kitchen.

~

Come back tomorrow for Day Four: Shopping

“Dean?” The sound of Sam’s voice brought Dean out of his thought.

“Mm-what?” Dean replied.

“We’ll find him, Dean. Everything's going to be okay and go back to normal. At least our normal.” Sam reinsured his brother once again that everything was going to work out.

“Sam, we have been driving for hours. We can’t catch up with him because he hasn’t stopped since we have been driving. How in the hell are we going to find him? Tell me, Sam. What's your plan?!” Dean raised his voice at his brother, showing his frustration of the whole situation.

“Okay. You need to calm down. We won’t get anywhere if you keep acting like this.” Sam told his brother.

“You-your right. I’m sorry. I just feel so stupid. I should have seen this coming.” Dean pulled over the car and got out. “You can drive, I’m not in the mood.” Dean said, voice full of sorrow.

Sam got into the driver seat. He looked at his brother with sad eyes. He knew Dean was in pain and the only thing he could do to help was to find Cas, which was getting harder and harder every minute. Sam picked their conversation back up.

“Dean, you don’t have to apologize. You’re going through a lot. It took you how many years to finally admit your feelings toward Cas then this happens. It’s not fair.” Sam said.

“Damn right.” Dean said in agreement and frustration. “Listen I don’t want to talk about it unless we have a lead, okay?”

“Oka-no. No, no, no, no! Damn it!” Sam said aggressively tapping his phone screen with his finger.

“What’s wrong?!” Dean replied, quickly sitting up from the passenger seat.

“Cas, he-he turned off his phone, or it died, something. We have no way of tracking him anymore.” Sam knew this would frustrated Dean even more.

Dean ran his hands through his hair, tears returning to his eyes.

---

It was night time now and Sam and Dean had been driving for hours. They had soon arrived at a hotel to get some sleep.

“One room, two beds.” Sam said to the women who was running the front desk. She handed him the key card to the door and they made there way to their room.

“I’m going to take a shower. Might help clear my head.” Dean said.

Sam only replied with a small smile and a slight nod of the head.

Sam had heard the water off the shower turn on. With his brother occupied, he decided he would try, once again, to contact Cas.

“Cas, I don't know if you can here me, but if you can, call me. Dean-Dean is a wreck right now and the only thing that will help him is-is you coming home, where you belong.” Sam waited a few seconds. When nothing happened, he slammed his hands on the thighs of his legs to show his disappointment, following with a sigh.

Sam threw himself into his back on one of the beds. After a few minutes of laying there, his phone suddenly rang. He picked it up, not recognizing the number that was calling.

“Hello?” he said.

“Sam?” He immediately recognizing the voice on the other end.

“Cas! Where the hell are you?” He said, having no patience. He rose from the bed and went outside of the hotel room.

“Sam, I’m not telling you that. I’m sorry but I can’t.” Cas said, pain in his voice.

“You won't tell me where your at, fine. But at least talk to Dean, he's not in a good place.” Sam Informed him.

“No. Sam, I can't bring myself to talk to him. This is my fault.” Cas said.

“Cas, that's not true. This is not the fault.” Sam reassured him. “Listen just give me a town? We will drive non stop. Cas, Dean needs you. He-he really does love you.” Sam said, smiling because he knew his brother was happy with Cas.

Cas hesitated before speaking.

“I have to go. Tell Dean again that I'm sorry and that I love him.” Cas said with his voice breaking halfway through and quickly hung up the phone.

“Cas, wai-“ It was to late. He had already hung up the call.

Sam went back into the hotel room. A few minutes after returning from outside, he heard the sound of glass breaking.

“Dean? You okay?” Sam said, knocking on the bathroom door. Dean quickly opened it, revealing his bloody knuckles. “Woah. What did you do?”

“Punched the mirror. Very stress reliving.” Dean said

“Uh-okay?!” Sam said, worried for his brother.

Dean walked over to his bag to get out his medical supplies to wrap up his hand.

“You heard from him?” Dean suddenly asked as he pulling out small shards of glass from his knuckles.

Sam hesitate as he didn’t know if he should tell Dean.

“Yeah, actually. He just called.” Sam finally spoke.

“What? And you didn’t let me talk to him?” Dean raised his voice. “What the hell, Sam?”

“Dean?” Sam said.

Dean realized what Sam was saying without him actually having to say anything. “He didn’t want to talk to me” Dean replied with an annoyed, yet hurt sounding chuckle.

“Dean-“ Sam tried to speak but was interrupted by Dean.

“It’s fine Sam. Really.” Dean said as he finished cleaning up his hand and walked out of the hotel room.

Sam got up to follow him out but decided he would give him space.

---

Dean was sitting in the Impala thinking about Cas as he cranked up the engine to go for a drive.

By now it was almost 10 o’clock and he had been driving for about an hour when he heard his phone ring.

“What is it, Sam?” Dean spoke into the phone.

“Dean, where are you?” Sam said in a panic.

“About 15 minutes from the hotel, why what’s going on?” Dean said, now in a panic himself.

“Dean, just get back here as quick as possible.” Dean was scared at this point, not knowing what to expect when he returned.

---

When Dean arrived back at the hotel, he found Sam waiting outside of the door of their hotel room.

“Sam, what’s wrong? Why couldn’t you tell me over the phone?” Dena said, getting out of the car.

“Dean, I need you to not totally flip out when you walk in here.” Sam said holding up his hand.

Sam opened the door, to reveal Cas sitting on the bed.

Dean just stood in the doorway, limp and unable to move.

“Sam? Give us a minute” Dean said.

Sam shut the door and remained outside.

“Explain now!” Dean snapped at Cas.

“Dean, I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just run off like that. When I called Sam and he told me how this- how I was affecting you with this, I made the decision to find you guys.” Cas told him. “But that’s not the only reason I came back” he informed Dean.

“What is the other reason?” Dean asked him.

“The other angels, the ones who are trying to keep us apart…they found you and-and they were th-this close t-t-to-“ Cas couldn’t even get out the words as they hurt him to much to say. He said this starting to cry.

“Hey, calm down, Cas. I’m fine” Dean told him, looking in his eyes.

“Then what happened to your hand?” he asked as he noticed the bandage that had blood peaking through.

“Uh, I may or may not have punched the mirror out of frustration.” Dean and Cas both laughed.

“I can fix it” Cas said has he held out his hand and put it over Dean’s. Dean unwrapped his hand and opened and closed his fist.

“Thanks” Dean said.

Cas returned with a warm smile.

“So, are you staying, or are you going to run away again?” Dean asked him, afraid of an answer.

“I’m staying. You don’t have to worry about me just up and leave again. If this battle is going to happen, it’s going to happen with us together.” Cas said, small tears still in his eyes

Dean had a sigh of relief when Cas said those words. “Cas.” Dean replied.

Cas looked up from his hands as Dean placed his lips on his. Dean slowly and slightly fell on top of Cas on the bed.

“Dean, your brother could walk in at any moment.” Cas told him, following with a laugh.

“Let him” he said not caring.

“Dean?” Cas once again said.

Dean planted his face into Cas’s right shoulder, now laughing himself. They both laid their continually . Dean feel into his back where they both continued laughing.

“I’m glad you're back Cas. Don’t ever leave like that again” Dean slipped out through his laughter.

“Cas had managed to pull himself together and stop laughing. “ I’m not going anywhere” Cas said, assuring Dean once again that he was here to stay.

“We should go get Sam and-“ Dean was interrupted by Sam quickly throwing open the door and running into the room.

“What's going on?” Dean said.

“Angels, they found us” Sam Informed both Cas and Dean, who both stood there, looking at each other once last time.

(on ao3)

The bunker was still, Sam and Eileen were...somewhere, and currently they didn’t have any visitors. No guests, no wayward hunters, or any friends stopping by to catch their breath. Not even family. It was, for once, just Dean, his broken leg, and a case of beer that was mostly empties now. 

“Happy fuckin’ birthday to me,” the words weren’t slurred, even though he felt the weight and warmth of alcohol resting heavy on his tongue. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d acknowledged his own birthday, but in the solitude of the bunker it felt right to at least say the words aloud.

The hovered above him as he contemplated beer four - five, maybe - and wondered if it was time to hit the harder stuff. An uncomfortable lump had begun to form somewhere above his heart. He pushed out of the chair, half-drunk off the now warm beers Dean heaved himself upward and swayed on his feet for a beat. The main room of the bunk swum before his eyes before he shut them, steadying himself.

He felt stale, sore, and exhausted. Which meant that it was definitely time to switch to something harder. The path to his room was familiar and before he knew it tired hands pulled drawers open until the glass of an unfinished bottle of bourbon he’d opened the other night was welcome against his palm. 

Not bothering to find a glass he took the bottle to his bed, the cap flicked off to the side with a quiet clatter. The cool of the liquor was crystalline after a haze of lukewarm beers. One hand holding the bottle steady he adjusted his pillow behind him and settled down, eyes staring unseeingly straight ahead.

This was kind of pathetic, even for him, wasn’t it? Getting drunk, alone, on your birthday. Another small pull of the bourbon quieted those thoughts, even if it didn’t fully dull the ache of too many questions he never let himself ponder. The bunker was too quiet, though, and Dean wasn’t sure even if he put music on and cranked it as loud as it could go it would drum out the thunder in his head.

How old was he? 

Did he count the years in hell, or not? Does he count the one in purgatory? How about the hundred days he lived and died - were those a part of this life? He ran his free, rough hewn, hand - was this even his original hand - over his face. His breath in soft tatters. Birthdays in the past had been busy, world’s were ending, people were dying, but now here he was. Still. Everything was...okay. It was, there was no crisis at hand. Just busywork, clean up jobs, every day tasks that called people away.

Hell he wasn’t even sure if Sam and Eileen were even on a hunt, maybe they’d just taken a weekend away to breathe. It had to be nice, having someone to breathe with. Having a life with someone.

All Dean had was a life unworthy of any fanfare. Unworthy of a text from Jack or Sam or....

The lump was back this time decidedly higher, threatened to cut off his air and made the backs of his eyes burn.

More bourbon, definitely...definitely more bourbon.

But even the bright burn of warming liquor didn’t stop the way the room was beginning to melt. Or the warm trails that had begun to fall down his face. Was it even his face? He’d only been born to be a fucking meatsuit for an angel. Fucking angels, fucking destiny and fate and - 

The sob that ripped out of him breaks the silence, and for a long time there is only unsteady, heaving, gasping breaths. They fill up the room, and go on for long enough that the bourbon is on his bedside table and both hands are holding his face. It is his, no matter who’s inhabited it, how many times it has died, this is his. He is his. 

He only belongs to himself.

He’s always belonged to himself, an island of one. Everyone always leaves, Sam included. Hell Sam’s got a life of his own, and is happy. He’s got the hunter network running as nicely as Baby’s engine. And Dean? 

Dean’s got a splotchy face long after his tears slow to a stop. He’s in the midst of taking a shuddering, wet breath, when off in the distance there’s the sound of a door shutting. 

Every muscle in his body tenses, his hand half reached under his pillow for the gun stashed there, before he can rationalize to his foggy brain it’s just some hunter, probably. He listens, ears straining, as distantly familiar footsteps draw nearer. The tears have dried on his face, the skin stiff and uncomfortable, but he barely dares to breathe let alone move.

A shadow pauses before his door, as it stealing itself, before the sound of a doorknob and 

“Oh,” Cas’ face slowly comes into focus. 

Cas’ face...Dean stands too quickly and mostly falls off of his bed. He catches himself with one arm, staring wide-eyed as Cas comes closer. As Cas’ warm, familiar, hands rest on his shoulder. As Cas’ impossibly blue eyes look over his face with concern. “Dean,” and that’s definitely Cas’ voice. Deep and rough like tires over gravel and Dean can feel the threat of tears returning as he shakes his head.

Because it can’t be Cas. 

“You’re dead,” the words take far too much effort to form. The not-Cas-Cas’ face crumples, softens, looks at him in that makes the tears come out harder. “Christ I need to stop drinking,” he pulls shaking hands to press into his eyes, willing whatever drunken vision away. But the warm weight of a second hand comes to cup his face, and the sound of fabric crinkling and knees resting on concrete are enough to tell him the not-Cas-Cas isn’t going away anywhere soon.

The soft motion of a thumb across his cheek is enough to ease some of the tension away, and maybe he can just pretend. No one else is around, he can be allowed this? A drunken dream, too good to be true, and lets his head rest heavier on the palm there. His hands falling from his eyes to rest between his legs. 

“You could’ve had me,” the words are so quiet, “I wish you would’ve.” How many times has he admitted these words in his dreams? In prayers that went unanswered? “Too fucking chicken shit to ever do anything, too afraid I’d fuck it up,” the words spill out of him faster and faster. “One good thing, the one good thing this life gave to me was you, but I know me, I fuck everything up. I don’t know how to keep people, only how to push ‘em away and I couldn’t....”

Couldn’t lose Cas like that, in a permanent way, but he did anyways. In the end silence wasn’t salvation, it was just as damning as any words could’ve been. 

“Dean,” and that’s enough to draw his eyes back open. And there’s Cas, as he should be, weary, wary, with that softest trace of hope. “I-I knew,” but the words halt and he can see the way the muscles in this vision of Cas clench. The way blue eyes shift around for a moment, searching for the right words to say. In his dream Cas would surge forward and cover him in kisses. Sloppy and sappy and feeling like everything he’d wanted.

This Cas seems uncertain, “I could feel the way you felt, but you’re so-so complex. I didn’t wish to assume, didn’t want to...hope.” Each words feels like it’s been pulled, painfully, from some deep place. “Dean, please,” and the hand on his cheek tilting his face upwards. “Look at me,” blue eyes pleading as much as the words.

Taking in a steadying breath Dean does, and all he sees is Cas. The open longing and desperation on his face. “Jack,” the words drift over Dean like warm waves, “brought me back from the empty. I wasn’t right, but your prayers...they helped. Jack, Mary, Charlie even they helped me. I would have come back sooner, but -”

Whatever further words Cas might’ve said were muffled as Dean surged forward, arms wrapping around the familiar expanse of the angels back. Hands soothed down his back, a face pressing into his hair, and surely there are words being spoken but Dean can’t hear them. All he can hear is the thud of two pulses, their bodies melded together as close as they can be. A warmth, completely unrelated to the alcohol, surges through his body. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Cas’ voice finally breaks through, “I used my grace to sober you. I wanted you to see this wasn’t,” but again words are interrupted. This time by a suddenly, blisteringly, sober Dean leaning and pressing his lips against Cas’ stupid, eternally, chapped ones.

The sag of relief brings Cas somehow closer to him, and they sit there, Cas knelt between Dean’s knees, kissing until they’re out of breath. Until Cas leans back to press his forehead against Dean’s, both of their breathing uneven and eyes shut. Dean lets his hands slowly drag down from shoulder blade to hips and shifts to rest his head upon one of Cas’ shoulders.

The hand that begins to comb through his hair, soothing away any doubt, any fear. “They kept telling me I could go back when I was ready,” the words break the silence, but Dean doesn’t move and neither does Cas. The only motion is the hand through his hair, “and I never knew.... I didn’t know how to tell when I was ready, but then I remembered.” The hand in his hair pulls slightly, just enough to shift Dean back so Cas can look him full in his face again. 

“January 24th, 1979,” the smile on Cas’ face is sun-bright and warms Dean right to his core. “I was given a gift I didn’t fully understand that day, and I figured it would only be fair if...if I returned the gesture.” Cas’ lips are warm against his forehead, lingering for a beat too long before pulling away again. “Happy birthday, Dean, I hope this is the first of many you’ll let me celebrate with you.”