#widower dean

sam’s cornered him in the kitchen, where dean went for more whiskey, because alcohol is the only thing that drowns out the constant drumbeat of you could have had me, you idiot, you could have had me, running through his head.

and sam is saying “i know how you feel, dean, but—” and it’s suddenly too much. something in dean just snaps.

he turns, only halfway facing sam. “you know how i feel? you knew jess for a year and a half, sam. i had cas for twelve. and from what i remember, you didn’t want to talk to me about her back then either. so leave it.”

sam, who was about to say “we both lost a friend, i cared about cas too, and he wouldn’t want us to stop living our lives”, just freezes, mouth open in shock.

it was night when you died, my firefly.

The most he could get himself to say was, "Why does this sound like a goodbye?" Because his mind was still in denial. Then, "Don't do this, Cas," sounded so strained like it took effort to say that much, to bargain with Cas through his grief.

Then Cas was gone in a blink, and he couldn't even pick up the phone for Sam. He just sat there thinking of all he wasn't able to say.

Later, he doesn't say much more about it to Sam than "he saved me" because he's doing what he's always done: pushing it down. He doesn't have time to deal with this mountain of pain. He has a world to save.

Nothing new there, pretty typical for Sam. Especially when Dean is grieving. But there’s something different about it this time, and whatever it is has Sam distantly hovering around his older brother wherever he finds him in the bunker.

‘Cause the thing is, Dean’s practically drifting through space. It had been what Sam had expected for the first few weeks: witnessing his brother work through every bottle they had on the premises, occasionally overhearing muffled sounds of sadness from Dean’s room, and the rapid flip-flopping of his demeanor. One minute, a slack smile from the relaxant of alcohol in his system, to the next minute, anger flashing in his eyes and biting into his tone of voice. This was maybe a little (a lot) more drunk than Dean normally got to drown his grief, but it still fell into what Sam came to expect after so many years.

But something’s different now. Something’s worse.

Dean doesn’t cry anymore, but he also doesn’t smile either, or even scowl. He can’t remember how to cry. After being locked in his room for 52 hours straight, only emerging for the restroom, he finally reappeared looking like a complete wreck. The puffy redness across his face indicating that all he’d done for the last two days was breakdown. Since then, Dean can’t remember how to feel anything. It’s like a cord got pulled inside him and now he just—drifts, with a slack expression and nothing behind his eyes.

The windows were fully open, the breeze was soft and warm, but Dean couldn’t feel it. The sky was clear, and birds were singing in the distance, but Dean didn't hear them. He doesn't even remember how he got to the car. He's also not quite sure where he's going. Far away, he supposes. Right now, he wants to get as far away as possible. The problem is that no matter how hard he tries, he can't really escape himself. He can't get away from the hole that grows ever wider in his chest when he remembers that Cas's trench coat is folded inside the glove box. He can't escape this pain, this emptiness, this immense sense of absence that chokes his throat, that makes him want to lock himself away somewhere and never come out again. This sadness is so deep that it doesn't even let him shed his tears.

Dean doesn't register how much time passes until he finally parks the car. He finds himself in front of a meadow of overgrown grass. There's a small, abandoned windmill in the distance, its blades almost completely ruined by the passage of time.

Instinctively, with movements memorized by years of incessant repetition, Dean opens the trunk. He stops there for a moment, his eyes focused solely on the small cloth bag resting at its side. With something akin to reverence, he takes it in his hands, bringing it close to his chest, as if by doing so he will fill the emptiness in his heart again.

As he begins to walk through the grass, he notices that there are also small, colorful flowers hidden in the turf. He registers various shades; most are yellow, others white, but there are some blue ones. Blue like the sky above him, blue like Cas's eyes.

Hey folks! I'm looking for post-finale fix-it fics where Dean buys a house somewhere, identifies himself as a widower, and fixes it up even though Cas is gone, and in the process of fixing it up Cas is brought back.

I feel that I've read at least a few of these, and I was sure that bookmarked them in AO3, but I'm not finding one. I remember that there's a scene near the end where Dean has to introduce Cas to the neighbors after they've been seeing Dean in mourning the majority of the story. I think the cover they came up with was that Cas was in the military, and that's why Dean thought he was dead, I'm not sure?