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Sam swallows. Shifts. “Dean… Are you sure about this?” He’s scared.
“C’mon, Sammy.” Dean grins, all false bravado. “It’s happened how many times now? We always come back.”
“Now is different. Intentional.”
His jovial expression falls away, replaced instead by a sad curl of the lips. “I need this,” he whispers.
Sam nods even though he looks like he’s going to be sick. Dean doesn’t want to ask this of his little brother, but he needs to . Won’t survive without it.
Sam taps the syringe, and checks it twice for air bubbles. “You have six minutes.”
The pinch near the crook of Dean’s elbow stings, but nothingness chases it away. Nothingness chases everything away. Releases tension from his muscles. Empties his mind of thought. Brings his heartbeat to a full stop.
Dean dies. And goes where he is not alone.
He’s on a street corner, familiar but unrecognisable, and he leans on a wall to steady himself. He’s numb to it, like he isn’t touching brick at all.
Everything is dull here. In the veil, colours are flat and sounds are muted.
Everything but Cas.
He’s standing on the street, where the sidewalk ends, and he’s brilliant. The sight of him so vivid his surroundings fade away like an overexposed photograph.
“No,” he chokes, shaking his head. “No, no, too little time has passed. You shouldn’t be here—”
“Cas, It’s okay. It’s not permanent. I’m just...visiting.” Dean would close the distance between them, but he can’t bring the building with him and he doesn’t trust that he can stand without it.
“Oh.”
They stare, and he forgets to worry about the minutes. Cas died three weeks ago—too damn long ago—and he’d watch him forever to make up for lost time.
“That’s dangerous,” Cas finally says, voice rough.
“You’re doing a piss poor job of greeting me, Cas.”
Cas smiles for the first time, gummy and genuine. Dean all but goes blind. “Hello, Dean.”
“ Cas. ” His voice cracks but he leaves the broken sounds behind as he flies towards the angel, wrapping him in trembling arms.
Cas feels like fire in his grasp. He feels alive and Dean doesn’t want to remember that he’s not.
His face is buried in Cas’ neck, when Cas speaks; his rasp is a tangible thing reaching out to hold Dean further. “You’ve got a soul like space,” he says. “I’ve missed it.”
Dean laughs wetly—when did he start crying?—and leans back to look at Cas. “What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve lost myself in you in the best way.”
“I don’t have to go back,” Dean blurts. It’s been on his mind since he first got the idea to come here.
“Yes you do.”
“I could stay.”
“No.” Cas shakes his head like he’s sorry. Dean doesn’t want him to be sorry, he wants him to be back. “You can’t.”
There’s a sharp nip on Dean’s arm, and everything chases the nothingness away. It doesn’t matter how hard he holds on to Cas.
Where he wakes up, he is alone in every way that matters.