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Castiel thought he had found peace.
In that great void of nothingness existed the Empty and countless deceased higher beings, and him. It was where he belonged when all things that ended did, in fact, end.
Just as humans were bound for heaven - sometimes swayed on their travels to hell - for an eternity of rest and solace. It was due payment for their struggles through their earthbound lifetimes, for each thrum of pain and each heartbreak, and an extension of what they felt in some limited moments, in those perfect first kisses and meetings of newborns. Souls deserved their solace in a place of no pain, no sharp contrast to the ever-present serenity.
Surely, Castiel had found something akin to that feeling in the Empty, where he had felt no pain. In that absence, there had been no joy to replace it, no stillness of being. There had been just that - an absence of everything, every emotion and every aspect of life that Castiel had learned to enjoy.
It had persisted for so long yet such a short span of time.
Castiel remembered not a moment spent there but also each gradual crawl of some form of time. And he wondered now if that was how the Empty chose to punish his insolence, an eternity of its nothing - no memories to keep him occupied, no fictional life, no rest, only his essence hanging in a barren abyss.
It was peace in its own way. No thoughts of his final words, no regrets, nothing of his life left lingering - no mark of his long life.
He was making a mark now. The black goo that covered his body was dripping, falling from his body to the Persian carpet, leaving an unnaturally dark, damp spot in its centre. And the black goo was rolling off his very body, nothing adhesive to its form. It pooled at his feet.
Then, it was sucked into an open gaping chasm of darkness that hovered in the air, much like the one that took Castiel in the first place. He had been spat out and the goo was already withdrawing quickly until it was gone at last and the chasm made a bizarrely pissed off expression from its non-existent face. In the moment beyond that, it sealed itself and vanished into the fabric of this dimension.
Stood here, Castiel didn’t know what to make of the moment. The last of his memory was the broken expression of Dean before the Empty had taken him, then there had been the Empty - all but a blink in his lifetime - and now, now he was stood on the precipice of the unknown once again.
Something grasped his shoulder, squeezing tight. Something human and solid. He was turned toward the light of humanity and he caught a glimpse of Dean - Dean was here and he was grinning - before a chest barreled into his. Castiel was almost knocked off his feet, in a way he shouldn’t have been, no human was stronger than he was- he should be.
But then Dean’s breath was grazing his neck, warm skin tucked over his shoulder, and there was a body pressed against his, so hot so close.
And Dean was shaking, that grin fading against Castiel until he could no longer feel the subtle press of teeth and instead came a dampness.
The wet tears sank into his skin and found the gap between his shirt and his chest, slinking between them to curl into his collarbone, as Dean gripped his back tighter, squeezing and squeezing.
“I don’t understand,” Castiel said, his voice rumbling across Dean’s hair— hair that seemed unwashed and unkept but which still smelt fresh, the sensation filling Castiel’s senses as he inhaled. And he breathed.
He took deep breaths, his own arms twitching around Dean. The lungs he had abused and maintained in his enduring vessel, they lifted and fell with each bout of oxygen and each ejection of carbon dioxide, and they continued, like they never dared to stop.
“Dean—”
“Never do that again,” Dean demanded, his voice to Castiel’s body rather than his face - ignoring what Castiel had said, which was not entirely unfair since Castiel had given him little chance to say his own piece in the moments before the Empty materialised. “Do you hear me, Cas? Never again.”
“I hear you.”
“Good.” Dean’s grip loosened, arms circling an inch wider around Castiel, and those tears shifted to quieter sniffles. “That’s— good.”
Good was enough with Dean, who never seemed to expect much more from the world - only that it be good and full of just enough monsters to keep his hands busy. His human hands— Castiel could feel his own, the jittering in them, the same sensation that he had felt a few years ago, back when he could feel so much more— in a way different to being able to see the whole universe and its many dimensions.
He pushed the words out of his mouth, the air from his mouth fanning Dean’s locks. “I think, I think I might be— in fact, I’m quite certain that I’m—”
“Dean? DEAN?” Came Sam’s voice from the other side of the door, a bellow of fear. An interruption that Castiel could bear, when it came to the fear of one brother for another. He could never condemn the Winchesters for desperately checking for a sign of life of their only family.
Besides, it was enough for Dean to break away, for those strong, shaking arms of his to withdraw from Castiel’s torso— and surely, that was a good thing— Dean wasn’t one for such shows of emotion, the embarrassment would flood in soon, and Castiel didn’t want to be his scapegoat. Dean’s eyes were wiped with the sleeve of an unwashed flannel shirt, aggressively, leaving no sign except his short sniffs for oxygen.
“In here!” Dean shouted, his voice gruff and unnaturally low.
Doors were slammed and footsteps jogged closer and closer. Dean lifted a hand to grip Castiel’s bicep as Sam shouldered the door open. He stood there, towering in the bright doorway, a small gape to his jaw.
“It worked? Oh god, it worked.” Sam said, a smile breaking out as he lumbered forward and tugged Castiel into a fleeting hug. It was rough but still brimming with emotion— relief. Dean had hugged differently, as he always did things differently with Castiel. “Welcome back, Cas.”
Castiel nodded numbly, his head rocking on command, while everything else in his body lit ablaze - especially the spot where Dean had returned his hand, perfectly splayed across Castiel’s arm to reach every nerve in the catchment area. The feeling bleed through to where his heart should be, but beyond it, to this echo in his chest where something sang and something ached and something was raw.
He knew what this meant, to be swallowed by emotion.
“I’m human.” He said, blinking at the ground when those simple syllables didn’t open a rip in the fabric of the world and suck him back into nothingness. “I can’t feel my grace but I can feel everything else and it's so loud— I can feel the sway of the world and I can hear the birds in the trees and I— there’s a buzzing in my ears and I—”
“Alright,” Dean was saying as he walked them backwards, an arm looping around Castiel’s back— and he could feel that so vividly that the world felt like it could explode. “Let’s get you sat down, hmm? Sam, fetch some water and some of those candy bars you have secretly stashed in the car.”
“I don’t–! Whatever, yes, fine. I’ll be right back,” Sam said somewhere in the distance. Near, but drifting.
Castiel was sitting on something soft now, it sank under his weight, its atoms shifting downward to accommodate his earthly weight but Dean’s atoms were unyielding and constant. The heat they radiated seeped through his coat and into his very core.
“We’ll figure this out, you and me. Have you got that, Cas?” Dean told him, “We’ll sort this – this newfound humanity – out together. Just us, here, until you’re ready.”
A strange chill slid down Castiel’s body as he tried to move, tried to gesture a simple acknowledgement, and it rippled to every corner of his body – inescapable. Dean just tugged this malleable body of Castiel’s against his chest and they sank deeper into the sofa, taut arms around a shivering body. A contrast to a mere minute ago.
“I’ve got you, Cas,” Dean said into the top of Castiel’s head. “This time — well, good luck putting up with me because — I am never letting you leave again. You’re— you’re not— Cas, you’re not allowed to leave again.”
Castiel found enough strength, to tip his chin up and shift Dean’s words closer to his forehead than the back of his head, and he nodded.
“I never want to leave again. I would, to save you,” Castiel told him and Dean inhaled sharply at that, “But I’m tired of dying - I want to live, with or without Chuck pulling the strings.”
“Without,” Dean uttered, he held Castiel a little tighter, “Chuck is gone and now that you’re back, I think… I think I might be able to start living again. Because you see, the thing is, we beat Chuck and that was great, because this weight just lifted off my chest – all his meddling ended – and of all the things I could see in this free world, you – you were the only thing worth seeing, for me.”
“Dean, you don’t have to—”
–indulge me, give me hope, love me back. Castiel wanted to say, but Dean had a reluctantly determined sparkle in his eye.
“I do, man. Because it’s all I could think this last couple o’ months– we got Eileen back and Donna and Jody and Charlie, and they’re doing great and they’ve swung by– but you, you’re the one stuck on my mind. You and your self-sacrificing little agenda that meant I had to listen to you say all that before you adios’ed your way out of my life,”
Dean was frowning, this pained little expression tugging a crease into his brow, and Castiel didn’t care about his frail, human body anymore. He just wanted to reach up and press that divot away, and take back his reckless confession.
“You killed me, Cas. You ripped out my heart and took it with you to the Empty. I just— I didn’t care about anything once Chuck was gone– nothing ‘cept getting your stupid face back so I could— could show you a piece of my mind and— and—”
Castiel’s chest ached more than ever before, something digging deeper and deeper. Something to do with Dean and that emotion that already scorched the earth when Castiel was an angel but erupted in the rebirth of his humanity.
“And?” He pushed, tempting a fate that no longer existed - hoping to find a path and a truth to all that longing he used to feel, that used to radiate from Dean. Hoping it was the answer he had desired, no matter how much he convinced himself - an age-old creature of the lord, created at the dawn of time - that he needed no answer.
On this cliff’s edge, a word away from his demise, he wavered. He tried not to, but his limbs had a mind of their own, in this human state, and he clung to Dean for support, waiting for his saviour to cut him loose and send him tumbling.
Dean appeared to be wavering on his own dilemma, his jaw loosened and ready to speak but no words arriving to bridge the gap between the two men. Until finally,
“I didn’t think I could– was capable of… this. Men have always— they’ve always been the more… complicated… sex. But I know Sam’s caught me before — before I caught myself – jus’ looking, you know? And I’ve never really faced it head-on, I’ve always ran, but I couldn’t run from you. You were always there, looking– well, looking like that and I think it built up all these years, and I know now that I…”
Castiel’s heart squeezed, waiting, praying to a god that no longer existed. He looked up at Dean and the glow he emitted, the shine of his soul pouring through his beauty, and Castiel nodded, prompting it on. Giving him the courage that Castiel couldn’t find until his deathbed.
“The thing is, I love you, Cas. In--In that way,” Dean said, a small unease in the uttering of his words. “I’m in love with you, and man, there’s nothing else that terrifies me more.”
Castiel could feel the shudders that consumed his body, a combination of sheer emotion and cold. But he smiled, beyond the reminder of his human form – he smiled as though he could conquer planets with the wave of his weak wrists. And he gripped Dean’s shirt, his thumbs rolling over the buttons and the slits. Castiel pulled Dean a fraction closer.
“And I would take you in any form, I think, and— maybe not a pot-bellied redneck, actually, I draw the line at hillbilly tattoos — but it’s because you’re you. ‘Though I am quite attached to this particular… vessel.” Dean curled a hand around Castiel’s cheek and it burned searing hot. “I don’t know how I’d cope if you weren’t… here. Angel or not, either is fine with me so long as you stick around.”
“Dean. Thank you.” Castiel said, relief bleeding into his words. Relief that Dean found the words to give an answer to the declaration of feelings, relief that Dean had said it in his own way – unforced, and honest, and true to himself. Castiel had never truly understood, but Dean liked to show his thoughts through actions — he had buried his words so deep that they seemed lost. But Castiel knew now, and he knew that his own words had been true, more than ever. He smiled crookedly. “I love you too.”
His mouth was dry and his body was lost to fatigue, but when Dean leant forward, doubt in his eyes, to meet Castiel in the middle, nothing mattered. Their lips pressed together, moving slowly and tenderly. Castiel reached for Dean’s heartbeat, felt it through his chest and his mouth.
Castiel found that peace he had hoped for – in the gentle kiss of Dean Winchester, in the soft, fragile press of lips, in the first kiss.
And Dean was smiling in a small way, when he pulled away, hovering close by as he ran his fingers through Castiel’s hair. The electric touch ironing every last worry away, steaming over it with that joy he had only seen in movies - the joy that humans get.
Suddenly, Sam was shoving his way back through the door, water and chocolate clutched in his oversized hands, and crowding back into Castiel’s space. He was unscrewing the bottle and guiding it to Castiel’s mouth, and tearing open the plastic wrapping of some candy bar and passing it to Dean to hold.
The water slid down Castiel’s throat and sparked yet another feeling of life. It rushed to awake him, to steady him in arms that already held him tight and secure.
Sam leant back when Castiel finished the bottle and his eyes took in everything about the two of them, scanning with that hunter gaze of his. A mildly amused smirk overtook his concern.
“I wasn’t interrupting anything, was I?” Sam asked as he tucked the water bottle away.
Dean started laughing – this wonderful thing – taking Castiel on the ride with him, as his chest shook and his hands squeezed at Castiel’s hips. It was strong and fierce, this laugh, vibrating through his back. It was good, and human, and Dean was happy— he was happy.
“Nothin’ we can’t pick back up later, Sammy.” He said, the laugh rolling away through the building.
Dean’s touch didn’t falter. He held Castiel close, guided him through his first bites as a new human. He helped Castiel to the car, an arm snaking around his back, settling him in the front seat.
And he let go, to reverse Baby out of a parking space in an area that Castiel didn’t recognise. Then, they were flying, down the highway, the window cracked open – just so, the wind catching Castiel’s hair – and Dean’s hand found his hand on the seat. He interlocked their fingers and squeezed.
Dean smiled — in a happy way, a tint of sadness in the shadows. But that sadness would fade, Castiel knew, because he wasn’t going anywhere. At least, for now, they were here - Sam lounged in the back seat - and Dean loved Castiel and they would pick things back up later.
There would be time for answers later too. Time for Castiel to ask questions and make up for lost time, for him to call upon Jack and be asked if he would like his grace returned. There would be decisions and patience.
There would be Dean, at his side, in their bed, holding his hand — sometimes struggling with this unbearable pain and stigma crammed into his head — and he would be there, grace or no grace. Castiel could find his forever-lasting peace in that.
Besides, being with Dean did a lot more than just bring him solace. It fulfilled this soul he seemed to have found — in the having, not just the being.
That was part of living, too.