#seth200

Dean wants to take him by the shoulders and shake him and scream at him to see straight. He wants to take a swing at him for being so self-sacrificing and blind to what Dean feels. He wants to bury his face in the lapels or his trenchcoat and cling to him for dare life, begging him to stay.

Instead, he snaps, “Shut up. This isn’t goodbye okay? I’m not fucking saying goodbye to you because I will meet you here again in forty-eight hours okay?” Dean lifts his eyes and they’re immediately drawn to Cas’. They’re soft and sad and he wants nothing more than to cup his face and smooth his frown with his lips. This can’t be goodbye, because if it is, Cas would di- Cas would leave without ever knowing. 

“Dean-”

Dean snatches the beaded bracelet from his wrist. 

“Here, you’re going to look after this okay?” Dean slips it over Cas’ hand. “So you better haul your ass back here and give it back to me later because- because,” he takes a shuddering breath, his voice thick, hot pressure bluntly building behind his eyes, “because if you don’t I’m going to be fucking pissed okay.” He doesn’t realise how tightly he’s holding Cas’ wrist until Cas’ hand gently covers his own.

“Of course, Dean,” he says quietly. 

“Promise me, Cas. Promise me you will bring it back.” Promise me you’ll come back. 

Tears burn their way down his cheeks but no one mentions it. Dean pulls him into a hug and Cas squeezes him like his life depends on it, and he can’t help but think that maybe right now, it does. 

“I promise,” Cas says, almost inaudible. 

Just this once Dean allows himself to drop his head to Cas’ shoulder and breathe deeply. If this is the last time he will ever feel at home, he wants to be able to remember it in its entirety. 

All too soon Cas is pulling away. Dean’s left cold without him there.

“Thank you, Dean. It’s been an honour knowing you. It’s an honour.” Cas’ voice breaks, but before Dean can reply, he’s gone with the rustle of wings. Dean reaches into the empty space where he was just moments ago. 

Gone. 

Dean is three feet from his body when he opens the impala door and sinks into the leather seat. He is heavy, like his entire body has been stuffed with lead. 

His hands shake. 

In the space next to him lies a worn cassette tape. ‘Dean's top 13 Zepp TRA XX’.

He screams.

* * * 

The fifty-third hour scrapes past, ticking over on his phone. The screen dies as the battery loses the last of its power. It slips from his hand, landing on the car floor with a dull thud.

“Cas, please,” Dean repeats for what feels like the thousandth time, his throat rough, voice raw from praying for hours, “come home, please come home. I can’t do this without you, man. I love you, and I never got to tell you that. I love you, I love you, I have always loved you and you left before I could fucking tell you.” The words are all too familiar to his ears, like a broken record skipping back to the same track over and over. He was too much of a coward to speak his truth, and now it might never see the light of day. “Come back to me you fucking asshole, I love you!” he yells into the deafening silence of his car. He slams his hands down on the steering wheel, a fresh wave of anger washing over him. Dean tumbles out of the impala, his head pounding.

“Fuck! You selfish asshole I never got to tell you!” he screams at the dark sky. There are no stars. “You fucking promised you’d come back! You promised, you promised, you promised me!” His whole body shakes with dry sobs, his tears long since run out. “Come back to me you asshole I love you,” he chokes out.  The wet ground is no softer when his knees crash into it.

“Dean?” A voice so weak he almost misses it. 

Cas.

His head snaps up to see him leaning heavily on a tree in the treeline of the forest. Cas.

Before he knows what he is doing, Dean’s colliding with him, Cas letting out a muffled pained noise but clinging to him nonetheless.

“You’re back, you came back.” Dean didn’t dare draw away. Cas slowly became heavier in his arms as he relaxed.

“I had a promise to keep.” There’s a small smile in his voice. “Sorry I’m late, my ‘ride’ got a little damaged,” Cas let out a wet laugh, but Dean could still hear the air quotes in his words.  

It was only now Dean noticed the crusting on the back of his trenchcoat. His stomach drops.

“Oh, Cas...” He leads him back to the impala, taking most of his weight. They don’t stop touching when Cas eases himself into the passenger seat. Cas pulls something from his pocket. 

“I’m sorry, it got broken,” Cas says, as sincere as ever, as he opens his palm to show a piece of elastic and a handful of beads. A laugh bursts through Dean’s lips.

“Cas, I don’t care abt the bracelet, I-”

“I love you too,” Cas finishes. Both of Dean’s hands cover Cas’, still holding the beads, kneeling in front of him. Cas’ free hand trails along the edge of Dean’s jaw, and he’s swept up into a kiss. 

“I love you I love you I love you,” Dean says against his lips, punctuated by kisses as Cas breathes in his confession. Both their lips are chapped and dry, and it’s tinted with the metallic taste of Cas’ blood, but it is warm and it’s Cas, and for that, Dean couldn’t have wished for anything more. Reluctantly, Dean pulls back and carefully takes the beads, slipping them into the pocket of his jeans. “I’ll rethread them and you can keep it. As long as you promise to keep coming back to me, it’s all yours.”

For the sake of argument: Let’s say I love you.

You’re beautiful and charming and

everything I could’ve imagined.

Here’s your problem: You never go first.

You have desired everything in the world,

seen it and felt it beneath your palm,

and refuse to take anything

because you haven’t been told to.

But you love me,

and I know you love me

and I know you know you love me because you’ve built everything on top of it.

You hug me and watch movies with me

and you pat my shoulder and keep it there longer than what you’ve told me is

acceptable

and you ask for personal space and then you don’t move away.

I love this about you:

you’re caring and you’re caring

and I can’t stand

that you do

these things

thinking I didn’t notice.

You are the most selfless, loving human being that I will ever know.

You are my greatest sense of joy and my worst flaw.

I’m the happiest I’ve ever been and I’m dying right in front of you.

Forget about my death. Let’s say you’re a mailman.

You take what goes to others and hand it out accordingly, and if something’s wrong or absent on the envelope, you collect your scraps from love letters that never belonged to you.

But sometimes, when something really interesting happens, you come to my house and whisper to me,

“Oh, Wesson sent her a letter today, and it smelled like cologne— I bet I know what happens next.”

And then we’d watch movies you’ve all seen before and whisper really close to my ear, “Watch what happens next.”

Are you watching, love?

This is the important part of the film.

And we’d do this every Sunday, except that one time I yelled at you to get off my lawn because there was a rabid dog loose in my house

and I’m sorry I yelled at you so harshly, I’m sorry I keep getting rabid animals in my house. I think they’re attracted to you.

Je suis mourir de faim et vous est le meilleur décès des nous.

I’m sorry about that. I’m so sorry. Can you forgive me for the things I haven’t done?

Can you catch me one last time?

Forget about the death. Forget about the mailmen. Forget about my awful insatiable appetite that kills me every time I look at you.

You’re willing to starve yourself out. Unfortunately, I don’t have that much time.

For the sake of the argument, let’s say I didn’t love you.