Chapter Text
“Lucifer’s gone.”
The words spill out in the familiar gravel and Dean has maybe never been more relieved in his life. The devil is gone; maybe even dead (he can hope). Sam’s torturer, Castiel’s captor, Dean’s (don’t think about it don’t talk about it don’t remember it) is gone. Cas is back.
It’s over.
Right?
He tells himself it’s over, that now he can let it go. Like it never happened. It wasn’t Cas; it was Lucifer. They can just go back to the way things were. Like it never happened.
He almost fools himself.
If not for Chuck, if not for the immediacy of how entirely fucked they all are, he might wonder whether it’s another trick. Whether it’s another play. Lucifer is always working an angle; nobody knows this better than Dean.
But Chuck would know instantly, and he accepts without question that Castiel is the only resident of the man formerly known as Jimmy Novak.
So it’s real.
So it’s over.
Right?
It’s just the three of them. Team Free Will, reunited. For all of five minutes, but still.
There’s no time for it, not really, but something has to be said. Cas looks at them—at him—with wounded eyes, steps tentatively, won’t come too close.
Sam’s the one to speak, of course. It ought to be Dean, would be Dean if things had been different. If—but things aren’t different, so Sam’s the one to speak.
“How are you, Cas?” His voice is gentle, face open and compassionate. He shoots a glance at Dean, wordlessly telling him that he ought to speak up, that Cas needs to hear from him. It’s true, but Dean can’t find the words, isn’t sure whether any exist. And Sam knows. He knows enough. When Dean shakes his head just slightly, Sam doesn’t push it.
Cas is silent for a moment, shoulders hunched. His voice is too quiet when it tumbles out. “I was just so stupid.”
“No, Cas,” Sam says, “it wasn’t stupid. You were right. You were right to let Lucifer ride shotgun. And I wouldn’t have done it. Hell, I had the option and I turned it down. And Dean—“ he cuts off, knowing that’s treading into dangerous territory, and all three of them pretend that didn’t happen.
“It didn’t work,” Cas says, staring at the floor, staring at his hands, and this time Dean manages to speak, grates out words he knows are true but that he still doesn’t quite believe.
“But it was our best shot,” he tells Cas, still not quite looking at him. “You stepped up.”
“I was just trying to help,” Cas says, voice nearly cracking. For maybe the first time since Lucifer was evicted, he looks directly at Dean, his eyes pleading for understanding. For forgiveness.
Dean doesn’t know how to give him either.
Sam takes over again. “You do help, Cas,” he says, and Dean nods once, hard. It’s true. He does help. They do need him. He has to know that. “You’re always there, you know. You’re the best friend we’ve ever had. You’re our family, Cas.”
Cas’s voice is unsteady and small. “Thank you.” The words clearly mean a lot to him. They would mean so much more if they came from Dean. They ought to come from Dean. Maybe in another universe they would, those words and more. A universe in which Dean doesn’t remember what it feels like to have Cas-but-not-Cas inside him. A universe in which he can’t still hear the echo of cruel laughter while he feels Lucifer’s seed dripping down his thighs.
This isn’t that universe.
Dean doesn’t speak.
There will be time, he tells himself, when this is all over. There will be time for us to talk. We just have to get through this. We just have to save the world. Again. There will be time.
There won’t be time, because Dean is not carrying the bomb, Dean is the bomb.
This is it.
Some part of him, some small and cowardly part is almost relieved, because now he doesn’t have to face it. Now he doesn’t have to figure out how to fix it. Now he doesn’t have to struggle to go back to the way things were before.
He turns from Chuck and Cas is there, and he is holding on by a thread. Dean can see it. This is it, so when Cas reaches for him, Dean gathers him in, wraps his arms tightly around him. “Okay,” he says. “Okay, alright,” and he hopes it conveys everything he can’t say. That even though it’s not okay, maybe someday it would’ve been. That despite everything, Dean still—
He draws back, because he doesn’t know how to handle the fact that he wants to clutch Cas even tighter and shove him away at the same time. That the familiar arms around him for the first time since (don’t think about it don’t talk about it don’t remember it) somehow make his skin crawl at the same time that they make him feel whole.
“I could go with you,” Cas says, and Dean really looks at him, locks eyes with him.
“No, I gotta do this alone,” Dean tells him. Cas nods once, steps back. Their eyes linger on each other.
Dean wishes there was more time. Not much, just a little. Just enough to find better words. Just a few.
There’s not, and he doesn’t know how to give Cas forgiveness, so instead he gives him something better. He gives him Sam. He entrusts Cas with his little brother. He doesn’t need to say it; Cas would do it regardless, would look out for Sam forever. Dean says it anyway, and Cas knows what it means. Knows that for Dean, there’s no greater expression of faith.
Cas understands.
Dean says goodbye.
He walks away.
It’s over.
Right?