Archive of Our Own ^beta

The air in Purgatory is thin, and the taste of it is dry and cold, almost akin to mountain air on Earth, but with a familiar acrid, fleshy undertone, as if the dirt itself were bleeding, diffuse into the air, air absorbing blood the way that blood in a body seeks to absorb air, the place itself a great reverse-lung.

It’s not the dirt that bleeds, though, it is monsters, and it is Castiel who bleeds them.

Just like the last time he was here, his blade cleaves through the fastest of those monsters foolish enough to chase him— and again, just like the last time, he does so with Dean Winchester’s prayer sounding in his mind.

Forgiving him.

Seeking him.

Loving him—in whatever way Dean Loved him.

They’d spent a year in this same way before, Castiel running to keep the danger away and Dean giving chase regardless, pursuing Castiel and danger alike, and every night Dean’s voice had sounded in Castiel’s mind, Desperate and Determined, telling him they were going to get out of there.

I Hope you can hear me.

Of course I Forgive you.

The best part of Castiel’s bloody work is that it gives him little time to think about Dean’s words, to extrapolate them into a Hope for something that would only lead to his own death. He can focus on the smell in the air, the plants in the brush, the footsteps behind him. Castiel follows his nose until a rare bloom emerges before him, then he ends the monsters who see him pick it up, and hides in the brush as the rest pass by.

Leaving his hiding place, Castiel circles back to the rendezvous point, heart racing as he waits for Dean, Hoping that prayer hadn’t been his swan song, choosing to have faith that Dean, as always, was alive— that Dean, as before, would find him.

He does.

They have less than three minutes.

“We should hurry,” Castiel tells him.

“I need to say something,” says Dean. His gaze is intense, and beautiful, and forbidden.

“You don't have to say it.” Please don’t say it. “I heard your prayer.”

A hand grabs him firmly by the arm. Dean’s gaze does not lessen in any of its extreme qualities. “No. No, there’s more I gotta say.”

Against his better judgement, counting the seconds, Castiel lets Dean turn him, lets Dean look at him, lets Dean speak (forbidden, forbidden, forbidden). Hopefully it is a triviality. Hopefully Dean will call him ‘brother’ and they can move on.

“I—it’s—“ Dean sighs. “I’ve spent too long, looking for you in Purgatory. Why don’t you ever just stay put?”

“I told you, they were after me—“

“—No, that’s not what I meant. I—there’s something I gotta say to you.”

“There’s no time, Dean,” Castiel reminds him gently. A minute forty.

“I—what I was trying to say, was, if something happened to you, I couldn’t handle it. Not again.” Dean is exhausted from Purgatory, his breathing fast and heavy, but his eyes are wide and Sincere. “You’re—you’re it, Cas. You’re more than my best friend; you’re the most important person in my life. You’re the reason I keep going, through all this crap, and, and I never treated you right, but that’s gonna change. Right now. And I know it's too late, I know it's the end of the world, but you deserve it. You deserve to know. 'Cause after all this time, I think I’m— I’m finally ready to say how I Feel—“

“—Stop it.” It comes out harsher than intended. Castiel’s heart hammers in his chest (forbidden, forbidden). If Dean was about to say what Castiel Wanted him to say—to allow Dean to speak meant death.

Dean doesn’t know this. He pursues. “Cas, I’m trying to tell you—“ Ten seconds. Castiel has to shut him up.

“—I made a deal,” Castiel confesses hurriedly, unable to think of anything to say but the truth. “I didn’t tell you, I— We have to go, now.”

They return to the bunker storage room victorious, Purgatory flower in hand and Dean’s mood significantly worsened, judging by the set of his brow and tension in his jaw.

“A deal, huh?”

“Yes.”

Dean doesn’t Like this. Of course Dean doesn’t Like this. “And when were you going to tell me?”

“It wasn’t your burden to bear.”

“What am I doing now, then, huh?” Dean demands, index finger pointing downward. He continues to gesticulate as he speaks. “I thought we were done with this. With the lies, and the deals, and the bullshit. How many times have we been down this road, huh, Cas? When has it ever worked out well for us? And—and now you tell me? Why now?”

Of course Dean wouldn’t get effectively distracted. Of course Dean would pinpoint the crucial detail. “The deal,” Castiel explains carefully, “was to save Jack. In exchange for his life, the Empty would have mine. But, as an added psychological torture, it said it wouldn’t come take me, until. Until I felt Happy.”

“Happy?” Dean frowns in thought. “You saved Jack…. This would’ve been what, last year?”

Castiel nods.

“You’re telling me, this whole year, you’ve never been Happy once?”

“No, not never. But also, not truly. The Empty knows that… there’s something I Want. Something I can’t have.”

“What can’t you have? What do you Want, Cas?”

Castiel had been certain, when he’d made the deal, that the Empty would never have him. Now, looking into Dean’s eyes, he’s not so sure. “Please, don’t.”

Dean steps closer, so Castiel steps back. They continue this way until Dean has Cas cornered in the storage room against the curseboxes. “Jack’s alive. That doesn’t make you Happy?”

“Of course it does.”

“But this… other thing you Want. If you get it, you’ll be even Happier than when we got Jack back, Happy enough that the Empty will take you?”

Castiel has revealed too much. He stares Resolutely at the floor, Shame pulsing through him.

Dean pursues. “In Purgatory. Why’d you cut me off?”

“There wasn’t time,” Castiel whispers. He can feel tears burn his eyes.

“There’s time now.” It’s death, pure and simple, and Dean’s playing with it. Of course he is. His eyes are so close, Concerned and analytical, reading Castiel’s reaction to his every word. “Should I keep going?”

“Please stop. Please, Dean.”

Dean’s thumb, warm and gentle, wipes a tear from Castiel’s cheek.

Castiel rips Dean’s hand from his face. “Don’t.”

“You should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want to burden you.”

“Yeah? Great job.” Finally, Dean pulls away. With a metallic clang, he punches a filing cabinet. He shakes his fist and does it again.

“Dean.”

Dean yells, Fury contorting his features, “The hell am I supposed to do, Cas?”

“Nothing.”

“You— you— I can’t with you. Nothing? You’re not allowed to be Happy? And I’m supposed to be Okay with that?”

“The world is ending, Dean. Nobody’s Happy.”

“We have to do something—“

“—Stop it,” Castiel interrupts, injecting the words with grace so that every particle in the room trembles. Castiel has to be Furious in response to Dean’s Caring, because any other Emotion could send him tumbling into darkness. “Don’t even try, Dean. Don’t you understand? There’s nothing you can do. Anything you try could make it worse. Just— Just stop.”

Castiel can’t read the emotions that cross Dean’s face— there’s too many, overlapping in quick succession. Eventually, Dean leaves the room without a word, Purgatory flower in hand. The pursuit ends.

*

That’s that, for a while. Dean doesn’t bring it up again. Castiel is haunted by their trip to Purgatory, by the words Dean may or may not have been on the cusp of saying. Castiel tells himself it had probably been another brotherhood speech, in the end, Castiel’s own feckless optimism leading him to confess unnecessarily to the deal. Still, the memory of Dean’s grip on his arm is strong, the unnameable Emotion in his eyes. The warmth of his thumb on Castiel’s cheek. As much as Castiel tells himself otherwise, he believes now that Dean Loves him. Thank God, he cannot confirm it. Thank God, Dean will not act on it. Thank God, they are both miserable. Now, as they go about their lives in the bunker, Dean barely meets Castiel’s eye. They only interact when necessary. They hardly speak. They never touch.

Thank God.

What crap.

*

Death is knocking on the door. Dean is collapsing, his heart giving out. Castiel has warded the door, but it won’t last. There’s no way out, nothing stronger than Death— except maybe one thing.

Dean’s curled over in pain. Castiel has to get him up.

Castiel lifts him, wraps Dean’s arm around his shoulders. “Dean, listen to me.”

From under heavy lids, Dean meets Castiel’s gaze.

“I need you to kiss me.”

Dean’s panting. His eyes widen, then he shakes his head.

“I can’t do it,” Castiel says. It wouldn’t mean anything, coming from him. “It has to be you. Dean. Dean.”

Dean’s eyelids flutter. He glances at Castiel’s mouth.

“Trust me.”

Dean’s hand stops gripping at his own chest, and grips Castiel’s instead. He leans their foreheads together. This was it. Castiel closes his eyes. He Revels in their closeness.

Dean’s voice is low and weak. “No.”

“Dean.”

“Not killing you. Not today.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“You gotta live.”

Death knocks.

“Without Joy?”

“Not killing you.”

“Dean. I’ll die anyway. She’ll kill us both. I’m going no matter what. Only one of us can get out of here. Only you. You can do it, Dean. Save yourself. Save the world.”

Dean pushes on Cas’s chest, as if he has the strength to push him away. Castiel keeps them together, keeps their foreheads touching. Dean pushes again, slightly harder. Castiel knows that sacrificing someone else is anathema to Dean’s being, that what he is asking is perhaps the most difficult thing he could possibly ask of him. Love fills Castiel’s breast with every weak push of Dean’s arms.

“I Want it,” confesses Castiel. “I Want to know, before the end. To experience what it’s like, to be Loved in that way.”

Dean is crying.

“I know you don’t think you can do this. I know you think of yourself as a foot soldier, as cannon fodder, but you’re not. You matter. You’re— Dean, you Care more deeply than any other human I’ve known. You changed me. Because you Cared, I Cared. Because you Loved, I Loved. I Love all of humanity because of you. I Love you most of all. You are my Happiness. Please, Dean. Let something good come of this deal. Let me save you.”

Dean hides his face in Castiel’s neck, as if to keep his lips out of reach. He shakes his head, spreading tears across Castiel’s skin. His fingers ball in Cas’s coat. “I should’ve. I should’ve.”

But what Dean feels he should have done, he doesn’t say. “Please,” Castiel asks. “Please, Dean.”

“‘M Sorry,” says Dean, muffled in Castiel’s coat. He lifts his head, leaning it once again against Castiels’s forehead. His cheeks are flushed with tears, his eyes inflamed, but he is still beautiful. Still Dean Winchester. “For everything. I’m Sorry for all of it.”

“I’m not.”

Death bursts through the door.

“I’m gonna get you back.”

Castiel smiles as Dean’s hand cradles his cheek and then presses their lips together, soft, gentle, Loving. A sigh of Relief escapes Castiel. He opens his mouth and sucks Dean deeper. He was going to be okay. Everything was going to be okay.

Dean Winchester is saved.

Castiel is Happy.

*

The Empty is disorienting, in time as well as in truth, dreams and memories mingling together, merging, changing. Castiel isn’t sure how long he’s been asleep when he wakes surrounded by blackness, a man shining with warm light above him, shaking him by the shoulder.

“Cas. We gotta run. Move your ass, come on.”

They emerge in the dungeon, right where he’d left, although now Sam is there, standing over a table of components, and there’s a smell of smoke and magic in the air. Dean wraps Castiel in his arms. Sam smiles.

Castiel wraps his arms around Dean. He leans into Dean, and Dean leans back. They end up rocking slowly together.

That was a nice perk of being brought back to life; he was allowed to hug Dean for longer periods of time, even if Sam was watching.

“Welcome back,” says Sam.

“Thank you.” Castiel loosens his grip slightly, anticipating Dean ending the hug, but he doesn’t.

He just holds him.

“It’s good to be back,” Castiel says, a little more softly, aware that Dean’s ear is quite close to his mouth.

Dean breathes in a shuddering breath, and Castiel realizes he’s crying.

“Dean?”

Dean sniffs.

“I’m Sorry. I’m so Sorry.”

“I’ll, uh, give you guys a minute,” says Sam, patting Dean awkwardly on the back and then making his exit.

The hug continues: their longest yet, Castiel is sure, although he hadn’t counted the seconds.

“Don’t you dare do that again,” Dean says.

“I had to save Jack,” Castiel says. “And you,” he adds, not sure which sin he’s supposed to atone for.

“Well, Jack’s God now, Billie’s dead, and Chuck’s powerless, so you have no excuses anymore.”

“That’s good. How long was I gone?”

“Five months.”

So many. “I’m Sorry.”

Dean huffs a laugh into Castiel’s ear. “Since when do you apologize?”

Castiel bristles a little. “I apologize when appropriate.”

“For your celestial crimes and shit? After killing Billie the first time, you were the one yelling at us.” Dean keeps his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, but parts far enough to make eye contact, the tears mostly gone now, eyes ringed in red and just as inflamed as they’d been in Castiel’s most recent memory of him. Still beautiful.

“I don’t Regret my actions, but I know that must have been… incredibly difficult for you. I didn’t Want to hurt you.”

Dean breaks eye contact and swallows. He leans in and they rest their heads together again. “Yeah. You never do.”

“I’m Sorry.” Dean had been holding him for five minutes, at least, and their faces were so close, not for the first time. Braver than he’d ever been, Castiel asks, “Can I kiss you?”

“That depends. Will it kill you again?”

“Probably not.”

Dean shies away, looking down and to the left, grip loosening a little more.

“It’s alright, Dean. You won’t hurt me.”

“I just Want you alive,” says Dean, his voice strained.

“Oh.” Castiel lets go of Dean’s waist. “I’m Sorry. I thought—“

“—No—“ Dean pulls Castiel closer again. “I. Sorry. I’m fucking this up. I. I don’t just Want you alive, I Want you Happy. I mean, if this is what makes you Happy, then— I mean. You deserve to be Happy.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re— God, Cas, you know you’re not cannon fodder either, right? I mean. Every time you die, I— I can’t seem to keep going anymore. That’s what I was trying to tell you, in Purgatory. I spent a goddamned year chasing you, and it’s not because I’m a saint. It’s because I couldn’t imagine living without you, even back then. I can’t remember how to live without you anymore. I can’t even try. I—“

“—Dean, you deserve—“

“—No. No. It’s my turn. You deserve. You deserve to be saved. To live. To be Happy. To Love, if that’s what makes you Happy. I didn’t know, Cas. That you felt that way, and I was scared, and I didn’t Feel Worthy of— of you, or Happiness, or anything good—and I should’ve— I should’ve told you a long time ago. Way before you made that deal. You deserved to know.”

“Know what?” Castiel dares ask only because Dean’s hand is now cradling his cheek.

Dean’s eyes are soft. “I Love you, Cas. I have for a long time. And if what you meant by Love is— is what I mean, then. That’s. Good.”

Castiel covers Dean’s hand with his own. He cannot manage more than a whisper. “What do you mean?”

Dean’s thumb brushes Castiel’s hand as if to grip it. “Everything, I guess.”

“Me, too.”

“Good.”

“Please can I kiss you?”

“If you fucking die on me again I’ll—“

Castiel kisses him. Dean is stiff at first, rigid. Castiel kisses gently around his lips, his smile lines, his cheek, until Dean’s hand rotates from his cheek to the back of Castiel’s head and pulls him closer; their mouths open to each other, and, oh.

Oh, Love was glorious. Dean kisses Eagerly, then Desperately, clinging to Castiel the whole time, and as Joy floods Castiel’s body, death does not follow. Instead, the Joy grows, more and more Rapturous, until he’s laughing into Dean’s mouth, voicing Dean’s name, feeling Dean’s touch, and none of it is forbidden. Not anymore.