Archive of Our Own ^beta

Dean felt like a part of him died the day that Castiel died.

That day in the dungeon of the bunker, surrounded by the cold iron and the suffocating silence, he could still hear the echo of Castiel’s voice. It was a voice that, in the end, had spoken truths Dean had been too afraid to face. It had said words that made Dean's heart clench with emotions that were too raw, too real. Now, that voice was silent, like a star that had burned out, leaving nothing but a dark void in its place.

Dean clenched his fists, knuckles whitening as the memories surged. The piercing blue eyes that always seemed to see right through him, the way Castiel tilted his head in confusion, the moments of unexpected warmth that Dean had learned to depend on. The guilt was a living thing inside him, gnawing at his insides. He had been helpless as Castiel fell, his last smile both a comfort and a knife twisted in Dean’s chest.

He stared at the spot on the wall, where The Empty had broken through, as if it held the answers he sought. It didn't. The bunker, once a fortress of protection, now felt more like a tomb. A prison.

“Cas,” Dean whispered, the sound breaking the silence like a prayer or a plea. He wished he could go back, to say the words he had left unspoken. But wishes were useless here in the dark, where shadows were the only things that kept him company.

Picking up the nearly empty bottle of whiskey, Dean took another deep pull from the bottle. The burn of the whiskey was almost a comfort now, a familiar sting that dulled the sharper edges of his grief. It was never enough to wash away the memories, though. No amount of alcohol could erase the image of Castiel’s final moment—the light in his eyes as he spoke, the flicker of peace before The Empty swallowed him whole.

Dean closed his eyes, feeling the ache seep deeper into his chest. He had faced death countless times. He had lost friends, family, and even himself along the way. But losing Cas was different.

The whiskey didn’t offer the answers, and neither did the empty walls that seemed to close in on him with each passing second. The silence pressed down, so thick it was suffocating. He wanted to scream, to punch the wall until his knuckles bled, until the pain was something he could touch, something that wasn’t tangled in his chest and clawing at his heart. But he couldn’t. The fight had left him. In its place was only exhaustion—a bone-deep weariness that seeped into his very soul. 

Dean’s gaze fell to the photograph in his lap. He had taken it during one of their cases—Cas, standing on the edge of a ravine, staring out at the vast sea of trees below. The sunlight had been just right that day, breaking through the clouds and casting a halo-like glow around Castiel’s face. It made him look almost otherworldly—ethereal. Dean could remember it so vividly: the way the breeze tousled Castiel’s dark hair, the thoughtful expression that suggested he was somewhere far away in his mind, contemplating things Dean would never understand.

That moment had been so simple, so perfect in its quietness. It was rare for them to have pauses like that, moments where the world wasn’t ending and the weight on their shoulders lifted, even if only for a heartbeat. Dean had snapped the photo as a joke at first, telling Cas he looked like he was posing for a magazine cover. Castiel hadn’t laughed, but he had turned and met Dean’s eyes with that intense stare, a soft smile barely curving his lips.

He reached out, his fingers brushing over Castiel’s face, the memory of that day sharp and bittersweet.

A shudder ran through him, and for a moment, he let himself feel it all: the guilt, the loneliness, the regret. Because that’s all he had left now. A hollow ache and a wish that could never be fulfilled.

Outside, the wind howled against the bunker, but Dean didn’t move. He simply sat there, eyes fixed on the past, drinking in the dark. “Cas,” he brokenly whispered again, tears falling silently down his cheeks as he buried his head in his hands and sobbed. 

“Come back. Please come back.”

💙💚

Come back. Please come back .

The voice shattered through the blackness that shrouded Castiel’s mind. He opened his eyes, and for a moment, there was nothing but an endless void stretching in all directions. It was cold, silent, and suffocating, as if he were trapped beneath an ocean of shadows. The memory of his final moments flooded back—the sacrifice, the blinding light, the yawning maw of The Empty swallowing him whole. Here, time had no meaning; it could have been hours, days, or centuries.

But then, that voice reached him, cutting through the silence like a lifeline. Dean.

It resonated with raw, unfiltered grief, a sound so familiar that it sent a tremor through Castiel. He struggled to move, to find some anchor in the darkness. The void seemed to pulse around him, resisting. The Empty wasn’t just a place; it was a prison, a sentient force that reveled in his suffering. A force that whispered lies and smothered hope.

Yet, hope was what stirred now inside Castiel; it was fragile but present. He focused on that voice, repeating the words over and over again. Come back. Please come back.

Castiel felt a warmth spreading through the numbness of his body—memories surfaced of the sunlight in Dean’s eyes, the quiet moments between battles, the unspoken understanding that had always bound them. It hurt to hold on—to fight against the suffocating weight of The Empty—but Castiel had defied impossible odds before, and if there was a sliver of hope that he could reach that voice, he would.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered, the word falling from his lips like an invocation, a vow. The darkness around him quivered, as if aware of his defiance, and for the first time, it pushed back with an almost desperate ferocity.

Pain lanced through him, sharper than any blade, but he gritted his teeth and reached out, trying to find a path, a way out. The memories flooded his mind, carrying him further from the grasp of The Empty. He focussed on the memory of the first time Dean had looked at him as more than just an angel, the first time he realized he was home.

The dark cracked around him, splintering like a fragile shell. He could see a sliver of light, faint but unmistakable. The voice called to him again, stronger, filled with desperation and something deeper that Castiel didn’t dare name.

With the last remnants of his strength, he surged toward it, letting the light envelop him as the shadows screamed their fury. The world tilted, a rush of sensation and noise replacing the suffocating silence, until—

Castiel’s eyes snapped open to the dim light of the bunker, the hum of machinery, and the sound of ragged breathing that wasn’t his own. Dean sat on the floor before him, eyes wide with disbelief, hands trembling on his knees as if he were afraid to move.

They just stared at each other. Castiel could see that Dean was a shell of his former self—his hair was longer, unkempt, and shadows carved deep hollows beneath his eyes. His cheeks were covered in a ragged beard, streaked with patches of gray that hadn’t been there before. 

He could tell that the man had lost weight; his clothes hung more loosely, the familiar flannel now baggy around his shoulders, as if it belonged to someone else. Dean looked worn, and the sight twisted something deep inside Castiel, a pang of guilt mingled with an overwhelming sense of sorrow.

“Cas?” Dean’s voice broke on the single syllable, a mix of disbelief, hope, and fear. He didn’t dare move, as if the slightest motion would shatter the fragile reality before him. His hands trembled against his knees, gripping the fabric so tightly that his knuckles were white.

“Dean,” Castiel said, his voice low and rough, yet filled with a gentle certainty. It felt strange and beautiful to speak, to feel words resonate through him once more. He wanted to reach out, to touch Dean and ground them both in this impossible moment, but the hesitation in Dean’s eyes made him pause.

They stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity, the silence charged with everything they had left unsaid. The hum of the bunker and the distant drip of a leaky pipe were the only sounds breaking the tension. Finally, Dean’s expression cracked, and tears welled in his eyes, spilling down his cheeks unchecked. He looked so vulnerable, so human, that Castiel’s own eyes stung with unshed tears.

Dean’s hands finally released their iron grip on his knees. He stood up and reached out tentatively, fingers brushing against Castiel’s sleeve as if to reassure himself that this was real. The contact broke whatever dam had been holding him back, and in one sudden motion, he surged forward, wrapping his arms around Castiel and pulling him close.

The embrace was fierce, desperate, and full of a kind of unspoken apology that neither of them knew how to voice. Castiel closed his eyes and let himself sink into the moment, feeling the warmth of Dean’s body, the stuttering beat of his heart. It was grounding, real, and it chased away the last tendrils of The Empty’s cold grasp.

Castiel held him tightly, feeling the tremors that wracked Dean’s body as he sobbed into the crook of his neck. The tears fell onto Castiel’s skin, trickling down his neck as he felt Dean’s fingers dig into his back, pulling him closer with a desperation that was so unlike the hunter.

“Cas,” Dean repeated, his voice was barely more than a broken whisper, muffled and raw.

Castiel brought his hand to the back of Dean’s head, his fingers caressing his hair with a touch so gentle it seemed almost reverent. He could feel the tension that still coiled in Dean’s muscles, but in that moment, Castiel’s only thought was to anchor Dean, to remind him that he was here, solid and real. That he was back.

Dean’s breath hitched as Castiel’s touch sent a ripple of comfort through him, a balm for the raw, jagged edges of his emotions. Slowly, the hunter’s grip on Castiel’s back loosened, shifting from desperate to something warmer, softer, though no less intense. His thumb traced small, soothing circles where it rested, and he let the silence settle over them, comfortable but heavy laden with something that he knew they had to talk about. 

Dean leaned into Castiel’s touch, eyes squeezing shut as if savoring the rare peace. His breaths gradually evened out, no longer choked by sobs but still deep, shaky. He turned his head slightly, letting his forehead rest against Castiel’s, and their eyes met.

Castiel could feel Dean’s breath against his skin, warm and ragged, mingling with the slight tremble that still ran through the hunter, and Castiel moved his hand from the back of Dean’s head to his cheek. He gently wiped away the stray tears, his thumb brushing softly against the stubble that lined Dean’s jaw. The hunter leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as Castiel continued to gently stroke his thumb across his cheekbone. 

“Dean,” Castiel whispered, speaking for the first time since his arrival.

Opening his eyes, Dean looked at Castiel, his green eyes glistening with a fresh load of unspilled tears, as if the dam holding them back was just waiting for the right moment to break. It was a gaze filled with a mix of hope and trepidation, and Castiel felt the weight of it settle heavily between them.

Dean shifted his head hesitantly, his face coming closer to Castiel’s. Castiel closed the gap, his lips tenderly meeting Dean’s. He expected the hunter to pull away, to retreat into the walls he had built around himself, but instead, Dean leaned in closer, deepening the kiss with a need that had been pent up for far too long. It was a soft, tentative connection at first, a question posed in the quiet space between them, but it quickly evolved into something more urgent.

Dean's hands found their way to Castiel's shoulders, fingers digging in as if grounding himself in this reality. The warmth radiating from Castiel was intoxicating, melting away the lingering fears and doubts that had plagued him. He felt alive, anchored in the moment, with everything that had once seemed impossible fading into the background.

“Dean, are you—Cas?” Sam’s voice cut through the intimate moment like a sudden chill, breaking the spell that had enveloped the two of them. 

The younger Winchester looked at them with wide eyes before stepping closer, and Dean stepped back. Castiel suddenly missed the warmth of the man, the reassuring presence that had enveloped him just moments before. It was as if the air had shifted, the intimacy of the moment evaporating with Sam’s unexpected arrival.

“Is it really you?” Sam asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and relief as he took in the scene before him. His eyes darted from Dean to Castiel, seeking confirmation of the impossible.

Castiel looked over to where he was now standing, his hands settled deep in his pockets. “Yeah, Sam, it’s him,” Dean said, and Castiel could tell that the man was trying to keep his voice steady. “Cas is back. He... he came back.” He looked over at Castiel then looked at his brother. “I’m just gonna—”

“Dean,” Sam started, but Castiel watched as Dean hurriedly left the dungeon, never once looking back. The door shut with a quiet finality, leaving an echo that felt almost heavy in the air.

Sam turned back to Castiel, concern etched on his face. “Look, man, I’m sorry for interrupting, but he comes down here every day,” Sam said, running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit Castiel had come to recognize. “He’s been in a really dark place since... well, since you...” 

Castiel could see the unspoken grief in Sam’s eyes, that silent weight of everything left unsaid. Castiel swallowed, feeling the ache settle heavily in his own chest. He didn’t need Sam to finish that sentence. He knew all too well what had happened—what he had left behind when he died.

“He’s been lost, Cas,” Sam continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve tried to help, but it’s like he’s just... been stuck in this loop of grief and guilt. I didn’t know how to reach him, and then you just—” He paused, taking a deep breath. “You just appeared?”

“Yes,” Castiel lied, not telling Sam that it was, in fact, Dean’s voice that had woken him from the eternal slumber. The truth of that moment still felt raw and fragile, a private treasure he wasn't yet ready to share with Sam. He wanted Dean to be the first to know that it was him who had called him back from the abyss, that it was Dean’s desperation and longing that had pulled him from the darkness. 

Sam hummed as he looked over at the whiskey bottles that were piled against the wall before looking back at Castiel with a skeptical look on his face. “The Empty doesn’t just kick people out, Cas.” 

“It’s done it to me before,” Castiel replied. “But this time, it feels different.” He looked toward the door. “I need to find Dean.” 

“Oh, sure man, we can catch up later.” Sam replied and Castiel made his way toward the door. 

“Cas?” Sam said. Castiel turned back, sensing the weight of Sam’s gaze on him.

“Yeah?” he prompted, and Sam smiled. 

“It’s good to have you back.” 

Castiel felt a warmth spread through him at Sam's words, a flicker of hope igniting in the heavy atmosphere. "Thank you, Sam," he replied, his voice low but sincere. "It’s good to be back."

He could see the relief in Sam's eyes, the worry that had been etched there for so long starting to ease. With a final nod, Castiel stepped through the door and into the dimly lit hallway. 

💙💚

Dean slammed his bedroom door shut and leaned back against it. He brought his fingers to his lips, softly touching them. He could still feel the tingle of where Castiel’s lips had pressed against his, a sensation that lingered like an echo he couldn’t shake. He replayed the moment in his mind, trying to convince himself that Castiel was really back and the kiss had actually happened.

But Dean couldn’t help the doubts that crept in, the nagging voice telling him this was just another dream or some cruel trick of his mind. How many times had he wished for this? How many times had he closed his eyes and hoped, only to be let down by an empty room and silence where Cas’s voice should have been?

He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe, to anchor himself in the now. Castiel had been there. Really there, standing in front of him, looking at him with that intensity that only Cas could. It was more than just a reunion—it had felt like coming home. And then without a word, Cas had leaned in, closing the distance between them. Dean could still feel the way that the angel’s lips brushed against his own with a gentleness that had stunned him. 

Dean let out a shaky breath, dropping his hand and pushing away from the door. He felt a rush of emotions welling up, feelings he hadn’t dared to acknowledge until now. It was real. Cas was back, and that kiss was real. 

It possibly could have been more, if Sam hadn’t walked in and ruined the moment.

His brother had seen him and Castiel kissing, and the look on Sam's face was one Dean wouldn't soon forget—wide eyes, mouth slightly open, a mix of shock and something Dean couldn’t quite place. For a second, Dean’s heart plummeted, feeling caught and vulnerable in a way he’d never been before. He left before Sam could really say anything, but he didn’t need to hear whatever questions or well-meaning comments Sam might have. 

Right now, Dean just needed space, a moment to make sense of everything he was feeling. 

Dean dropped down onto the edge of his bed, his hands gripping the edge as he tried to wrap his head around it all, when there was a knock at his door.

“Dean?” he heard Castiel call softly Dean's breath hitched at the sound of Castiel’s voice. He took a second to steady himself, then cleared his throat. 

“Yeah, come in, Cas.”

The door opened slowly, and there was Castiel, standing in the doorway with that same quiet intensity in his gaze. He stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him, his eyes never leaving Dean’s face. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

Dean forced a small, shaky smile. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” he said, though even he could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “Just... you know….” He let out a short laugh, but it sounded hollow, and he quickly looked away, not trusting himself to meet Cas’s eyes. “You’re back, Cas.”

He could feel the nervousness coming off the angel in waves. Bypassing the massive elephant in the room, Dean took a deep breath. “So, The Empty kicked you out again?” 

Castiel hesitated, his blue eyes flickering with something like relief mixed with trepidation. “Yes,” he said softly, as though unsure how to answer. “I was… brought back. I don’t fully understand why. Or how.”

Moving through the room, Castiel took a step closer towards the bed, undeterred by Dean’s deflection. “I lied. I understand how,” he said softly, his voice carrying a depth of emotion Dean had only ever heard in the quietest of moments. “I heard your prayer, Dean.”

Dean’s heart clenched at those words, his grip tightening on the bed’s edge. He forced himself to look up, meeting Castiel's eyes despite the knot of emotion twisting in his chest. A thousand thoughts spun in his mind, things he wanted to say, things he was terrified to say. His throat felt tight, his voice rough when he finally spoke.

“You heard it, huh?” he whispered, his gaze searching Castiel’s face, looking for... something. Anything that would explain why, after all this time, Cas was standing here again, saying the one thing he never expected to hear.

Castiel nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement, but his eyes never wavered. 

“So, what now?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Castiel took another step closer, his gaze never leaving Dean’s face. “I should have asked to kiss you. But I...” He hesitated, glancing down briefly before meeting Dean’s gaze again. “I’m sorry.”

Dean felt a pang of something—guilt, maybe, or regret—that Cas would even think he needed to apologize. It wasn’t like Cas to hesitate, to question himself. But here he was, looking at Dean with that rare vulnerability, the kind that Cas only ever showed when he was baring his soul.

“Cas, don’t... don’t apologize,” Dean said, his voice coming out rougher than he’d intended. He forced himself to look up, to meet Cas’s eyes. “I didn’t stop you, did I? Didn’t exactly push you away.”

“No, you didn’t,” he replied, a faint, almost hesitant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth before it disappeared from his face. “But I know how important your boundaries are. I shouldn't have exploited it for my selfish reasons.”

Dean’s chest tightened at Cas’s words, a flash of frustration and tenderness stirring up all at once. Cas was standing there, almost ashamed, as if showing Dean how he felt had somehow crossed a line. And that just didn’t sit right with him. 

“Cas, listen to me,” Dean said, his voice low but firm. “You didn’t ‘exploit’ anything. I wanted to kiss you, I was just too scared. But Cas…” He hesitated, feeling the weight of what he was about to say. “I love you. More than anyone.” 

Dean could feel the heat in his face, embarrassed by the vulnerability that came with the words he’d finally let slip. The confession hung in the air, raw and unpolished, but so real it almost hurt. He hadn’t planned on saying it—not now, not like this—but it was out there, and there was no taking it back.

Castiel’s eyes widened, and for a brief moment, he looked as if he couldn’t quite process what Dean had just said. Then, slowly, a look of awe softened his expression, that quiet, intense gaze now brimming with a warmth Dean had never quite seen before.

“You—You love me?” 

Dean felt his heart race as Cas’s wide-eyed gaze locked onto him, surprise and vulnerability written all over his face. He hadn’t planned on saying it, hadn’t even fully admitted it to himself until the words slipped out. But now, seeing Cas standing there, his expression open and raw, Dean knew he couldn’t take it back. And, for once, he didn’t want to.

“Yeah,” Dean said softly, his voice steady, as if saying it aloud made it real in a way that finally felt right. “I love you, Cas.” He let out a shaky breath, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Probably should’ve said it a long time ago. But then you up and died on me, man.”

Castiel took a tentative step forward, closing the last bit of distance between them, his hand reaching out but stopping just shy of Dean’s cheek, as if seeking permission.“Dean…” The angel’s voice was barely a whisper, but there was something in it—something like hope, like he was holding onto this moment as if it were a lifeline.

Dean swallowed, his hands itching to reach out, to pull him closer, to make up for all the times he’d pushed him away or stayed silent out of fear or pride. But this wasn’t like any of those times; this was different. He’d laid himself bare, left the door open, and Cas… Cas hadn’t turned away.

“I didn’t think I’d get to hear you say that,” Cas murmured, his voice a little stronger now, each word filled with a quiet intensity that was so uniquely his.

Dean let out a small, breathless laugh, his gaze never leaving Cas’s. “Guess we’re both full of surprises.”

Wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist, Dean pulled him down, causing him to fall back onto the bed with Castiel on top of him. They landed together in a tangle of limbs, a momentary shock flashing in Cas’s eyes before it softened into something warmer before he bent down and kissed Dean. 

Castiel’s hands found their way into Dean’s hair, fingers threading through the short strands, holding him close as if he were afraid this might vanish like a dream. Dean responded with equal fervor, his arms wrapping around the angel, pulling him down so there was no space left between them, no room for doubt or hesitation.

The kiss deepened, growing more intense, more desperate, years of longing and silent confessions surfacing all at once. Dean’s heart pounded against his chest, each beat echoing the thrill and relief flooding through him. This time, there was nothing holding him back—no walls, no excuses, no fear. Just the two of them, in this moment, like it was the only thing that had ever mattered.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, their foreheads resting together as they tried to catch their breath. Dean looked up at Cas, eyes bright, his face open and raw in a way he’d never let himself be before.

“Damn, Cas,” Dean murmured with a soft, incredulous laugh, “Those lips are sinful.”

Cas’s mouth curved into a small, amused smile, a spark of mischief glinting in his eyes as he looked down at Dean. “Then it’s a good thing I don’t answer to Heaven anymore,” he replied, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down Dean’s spine.

Dean let out a breathless chuckle, his fingers still gripping Castiel’s back, unwilling to let go. “Can’t argue with that,” he said, his own grin softening into something warmer, something unguarded and unafraid. “Guess I don’t have to feel bad about being a little… sinful.”

Castiel tilted his head, eyes filled with a gentle understanding. “You don’t,” he said softly, his hand moving to cup the side of Dean’s face, thumb tracing a line along his jaw. “Not with me.”

Dean’s chest tightened at that, at the sincerity in the angel’s gaze, the quiet promise that went beyond words. He leaned into the touch, feeling something in him finally settle, like he’d found the one piece he’d been missing all this time.

For a moment, they just stayed there, their breaths mingling in the quiet, the weight of all the years and battles and sacrifices easing, leaving only the two of them, connected in a way that felt inevitable and endless.

Dean let out a sigh, his smile growing softer. “Well, in that case… you mind sticking around, angel? Got a lot of time to make up for.”

Castiel’s gaze softened even more, his fingers gently tracing the line of Dean’s cheek as he nodded, his voice low and certain. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”