A/N:
Not me remembering I still have this account after coming back from the dead in the wake of the spn finale.

I've written a bunch of stuff that I didn't bother cross-posting on here at the time, but the creative juices have been flowing since the plague struck and the show ended and I figured what the hell, I can at least share what I've come up with since November in case someone's interested.

If you follow me on ao3, there's nothing new for you here, and if you don't follow me on ao3 I'm sorry you've only had my 2014 teenage angst fueled body of work at your disposal. I'd say I'm sorry but hey, we were all 17 once.

"So, get this."

Dean didn't bother looking up from his phone. He'd heard that sentence a hundred times over. It meant out there somewhere was a case, someone needing their help, and they'd be on the open road in no time. A little google search here, some quick calls there and off they went. Only this time their family business wasn't hunting things. It was finding people. For a long time they'd both been adrift, trying to come up with a new purpose now that Jack was in charge of things and actual monsters were few and far between. For Dean this had more often than not been finding out how early was too early in a day to pour yourself a glass of whiskey and re-watch Game of Thrones. The answer was of course never. In the meantime Sam had put his energy into coming up with a business model that would allow them to use their respective skills in a less salt'n'burn and more investigative way.

As private detectives.

Which Dean hadn't expected to sound lame until he'd said it out loud the first time. The fact that their first 'case' had been finding a lost dog didn't add much dignity but it had paid the bills so that's where they were at. Honest citizens. Ish.

Hopefully whatever Sam had dug up this time would turn out a bit more intriguing, he thought as the highway stretched on endlessly just like it always had. It was just short of six months now since they'd escaped Chuck's stronghold. For a long time it had seemed impossible that things would ever feel normal again, yet here they were. It was still the same road they found themselves on, heading towards what may or may not be a case. Though, normal was perhaps not he most fitting term. After all, as much as they pretended, nothing was normal after losing so much. But it was ordinary. No more threats to the universe, no more omnipresent, clairvoyant and vengeful entities out to destroy everything in their path. For decades, all that had taken up their dreams had been some goddamn downtime. Now, peace had never felt more restless, though judging by Sam's even breaths coming from the passenger seat there was a big chance Dean was alone with this unease. He couldn't remember the last time he slept through the night without a good old-fashioned nightcap. On the upside, it meant he had gotten so used to the exhaustion that he got them where they needed to be in record time. It felt like they had barely left Kansas when he realized they were already halfway across South Dakota. With the realization came a sudden bout of energy; if he'd made it this far he might as well push on. If that mantra extended beyond simple driving fatigue it remained his sweet little secret as the Impala sped through the night.

. . .

It was dark. So very dark that it seemed like more than just pure lack of light. It was a lack of everything. No up, no down, just endless nothingness that seemed to engulf him, enter him, trying to tear him apart from inside. It was like breathing molasses. He tried to say something but no sound made it past his lips. The vacuum kept it all. A feeling of pure terror swept through him, unlike anything he'd ever felt. He had no control over anything in this place, whatever it was. The fact that he had no idea how he ended up there to begin with didn't help either. He tried to struggle against the blackness surrounding him but it had too strong a hold on him. He opened his mouth to scream but again it had no effect, if anything it made the complete lack of sound in the place even more noticeable. But even with his screams staying silent he could feel his throat getting raw from the effort alone. It felt like falling into an endless void and at the same time like he was being buried alive. Whatever was happening, this wasn't the way it was supposed to end. Not after everything he had risked and lost. He couldn't just be swallowed up, yet with every struggling breath tearing itself though his lungs his determination to fight against the darkness weakened. Maybe he had to accept it. Maybe it was for the best. As soon as he thought those thoughts he knew the fight had been lost. He closed his eyes, knowing whatever was to come was far from being peaceful but too exhausted to care.

Slowly, he allowed himself to sink deeper and deeper into an infinite sea of despair.

Dean woke up in a cold sweat, almost shocked when he looked around to find himself in the same generic motel room he had gone to bed in. He'd been having the same dream for months now and it still stressed him to no end each time. He'd had vivid nightmares all those years ago after his time in literal Hell but somehow this felt more real than any of them. This was especially strange when considering the fact that he rarely dreamed at all. He'd learned a long time ago what the best remedy for unwanted subconscious adventures was, and the half-empty bottle on his nightstand was testimony to that. He shook his head as if to get rid of what remained of the vivid dream before dragging himself off the shoddy mattress, noticing grimly how much he missed his memory foam back home. Another quick if more attentive scan of the room revealed that he was alone, with Sam's bed already made. A swear escaped him under his breath, thinking he had overslept but as he searched for his phone in the pockets of yesterday's pants it became clear to him that the light pouring in through the poor excuses of curtains covering the window gave away that it was early morning. The suspicion was confirmed as his phone screen greeted him with the time of 6:53 a.m. together with a message from his brother informing him he was on a run and would bring breakfast. Dean rubbed tiredly at his eyes and seriously considered the option to catch a few more minutes of sleep but thought the better of it. If Sam was out it meant now was his best chance to get a hot shower.

For how sub-par the rest of their room was, Dean had no complaints about the water pressure. As he stood under the steady assault of the stream washing over him while steam rose around him soothingly he felt himself relax enough to revisit his strange nightmare. He couldn't quite put his finger on what exactly felt so off about it, apart from the obvious. Something about the whole sensation of being swallowed by the darkness had felt too tangible, almost like he could have carried it back to the real world. Which of course made no sense at all. Dean scrubbed cheap motel soap over his body as if that would help to wash away the memory. Naturally it didn't and before he could do anything else to make sense of the night's events he heard the door to their room open and close with a soft creaking sound. A moment later his brother's muffled voice could be heard from beyond the bathroom.

"You better not be using all the hot water again."

"First come, first served," Dean hollered back.

For a moment he was tempted to stay in the shower until the water turned cold out of principle but he wasn't really in the mood for that kind of prank. Instead he rinsed himself off and stepped out of the shower. The towel he had left on the hook on the wall had gotten slightly damp from the steam which made toweling himself off not the most pleasant experience but he decided to ignore that. When he emerged from the bathroom with the towel around his waist, he found Sam already hunched over his laptop. He was wearing his workout clothes and distractedly shoving spoonfuls of some granola mix into his mouth while his eyes scanned over whatever was on the screen in front of him. When Sam had set up a website advertising them as private eyes of all things it had sounded a lot better in theory than what the job ended up entailing but it seemed to make Sam content. And who was he to take that newfound sense of normalcy away from his brother after they'd been through so much in the past decade and then some. Two lifetimes of suffering weren't going to be fixed by distractions like a missing person case here or there, but at least some families could get the closure they needed. Oddly enough, people seemed to have a harder time accepting someone just couldn't stand to be around a messy situation than they had believing a monster had gotten a hold of them. Dean would never quite understand that.

Their latest job as far as Sam had found out on the drive when he hadn't been drooling in the passenger seat, looked pretty cut and dry. College girl cleared out her closet and up and left. Family was worried sick, yadda yadda. From the single phone conversation Dean had had the misfortune of witnessing with the overbearing mother he was already firmly on the girl's side. Nonetheless, it wasn't really his job to pick sides any more. He was getting paid to find the girl and your average sorority sis was rarely more elusive than a shifter, which is why it made little sense for his brother to be this engrossed in the details. After working out at ungodly hours in the morning, no less.

Dean scoffed as he reached for a fresh set of clothes in his duffel bag. "Aren't you getting a little old to keep up those workouts?"

Sam didn't miss a beat. "Aren't you a little old not to keep in shape? There may not be many more monsters but your diet can still kill you, Dean."

An offended huff escaped him as he involuntarily spared a glance to the soft pouch of his stomach. Maybe he had been letting himself go a bit. He quickly put on a shirt. "Please tell me you didn't bring back a breakfast salad if that's even thing," he whined.

"I'm not your dietitian" Sam replied with a tinge of annoyance before grabbing the paper bag that presumably held Dean's breakfast and tossing it at him without looking up from his computer even once. Dean caught the bag with ease, happy when a look inside revealed a regular breakfast sandwich. He pulled it out and took a slightly too big bite out if before plopping down in the chair across from his brother. For a while they ate in silence but he noticed Sam casting him a glance every once in a while. He didn't think anything of it at first, believing Sam was probably going to make a comment about his obnoxious way of eating or something along those lines but when Sam instead leaned back in his chair to openly stare at him he knew something was definitely up.

"Do I have egg on my face or something?" he rubbed the back of his left hand across his cheek.

"Are you gonna tell me what's going on or is this one of the times where we pretend nothing's happening?"

"I've no idea what you're talking about," Dean said honestly, though it did come out sounding somewhat defensive.

Despite his eye-roll, Sam's expression when he looked back to meet Dean's confused gaze was sympathetic. "Have you been having nightmares?"

Oh. That. Dean swallowed a bite of his food before setting it aside with a sigh. "That obvious?"

The shrug his brother gave was answer enough even without his next words. "I know you. Also, you talk in your sleep."

That ruined any chances of plausible deniability on Dean's part. He pursed his lips in an effort to come up with an excuse to leave the table, or better yet the room as a whole. The Impala was parked just outside, he could be back on the highway in under five minutes and never continue this conversation. Sam didn't push for an answer right away, just kept on looking at him while sipping on his reusable coffee cup from time to time. Regardless of the way his fight or flight response was acting up- with emphasis on the flight part- he remained firmly seated.

"It's the Empty."

Sam almost choked on his coffee. "What?"

"In my dream. I think. Or what I imagine it to be like, anyway."

Clearly his brother had not expected him to be so forthcoming judging by the complete surprise on his face. It would have been comical at some point but the whole thing still made Dean uncomfortable enough for any potential humor to be lost.

"And… does it do anything, do you see anything?"

"No, Sam, it's fucking empty. That's the point." The annoyance wasn't necessarily meant for his brother but Dean didn't quite know how to accurately describe the sensation of being repeatedly consumed by a cosmic entity in his sleep. "Anyway, it's not important. It's just a dream."

He'd hoped that would be the end of this conversation but Sam's eyes were still burning with questions that Dean had a feeling he really didn't want to answer. He was right.

"Is he there too?"

They had both taken to avoiding saying his name but it was painfully clear who his brother was referring to. The thought alone was enough to make a lump form in his throat so even if he had wanted to answer, he couldn't. Instead he gave a single shake of his head, effectively shutting down any further attempts of keeping the conversation going.

. . .

It turned out their case was even less of one than initially thought. Sam had managed to track the missing girl's phone to a location not far out of town and if Dean had to bet on it, he'd put his money on finding her with a secret boyfriend. He was about to voice this suspicion when he caught Sam staring at the lock screen of his phone. It was a picture of Eileen. For a long time after the events that saved the world, Dean had admittedly been more preoccupied with his own grief- by which he meant aggressively ignoring it- than he had following up with how Sam was doing. Eileen may have been brought back with everyone else, courtesy of the new Sheriff Upstairs, but losing her had made a noticeable impression on Sam. Over all his brother had seemed to keep it together as well as could be expected but if he was honest with himself that's what he'd been wanting to see. In fact, Sam clearly struggled whenever Eileen wasn't around even if it was just for a damn grocery run. He'd set up their whole pseudo business in an effort to distract himself and Dean had welcomed that very same distraction with open arms. It was an unspoken agreement between the two of them not to bring that up.

When Sam realized he'd been caught staring, he quickly unlocked his phone and cleared his throat awkwardly. "We're not far from the location" he said, voice slightly too strained to sound entirely normal. Dean nodded his acknowledgment and sped up the car ever so slightly. He wanted to be better for his brother, especially since Sam was irritatingly supportive when it came to his... situation. And maybe one of these days he'd be able to get over himself and be the support Sam needed, but today wasn't that day. Not after he had suffered through that dreaded nightmare again.

In the distance the empty roadside grew slightly more lively with more buildings appearing in the distance. "Guess it's the Diner?" Dean mused. Sam was non-responsive until they were parked in front of the small roadside establishment.

"I'll go in first, you wait in case she tries to run."

This way of splitting tasks had proven itself necessary after they'd had to chase after more people than Dean would have liked. And yes, maybe Sam had a valid point about Dean's lack of exercise in the past few months. While Sam disappeared inside the diner, Dean positioned himself strategically close to the door, pretending to be looking at his phone.

The plan paid off a few minutes later when a redhead matching the picture the parents had provided came rushing past Dean, a carrier bag haphazardly thrown over her shoulder. Dean let her get a few steps head start before darting after her and grabbing her arm. "Katie, save us both some trouble and slow down."

"Let go of me or I'll scream," the girl threatened in an agitated whisper.

"My name's Dean Winchester. That guy over there is my brother Sam," He motioned toward the brother in question who was jogging toward them.

"I don't give a shit if you're the fucking tooth fairy." the girl shrieked, making true on her threat. "Let go of me!"

"Okay lady, l'm not happy with this arrangement either but the more you whine the longer this is gonna take."

He could very dearly feel Sam's glare drilling a hole in the back of his head and he was sure he was going to have to sit through the 'we need to talk about using respectful language, Dean' speech before the day was over. To prove him right, Sam motioned for Dean to release the girl's arm, positioning himself in a way that ensured she wouldn't easily be able to escape them.

"As I tried to explain," Sam said in his soothing voice. "Your family is worried about you after you just took off. They didn't want to get the police involved. We promised to get you home safely."

"Do you think I'm dumb or something? 'Don't go anywhere with strange men' is, like, the first thing they teach in kindergarten." The girl looked skeptically back and forth between her two captors. Suddenly her expression changed to one of realization. "Wait. How old did my parents tell you I was if you thought this was gonna fly?"

The question caught Dean off-guard. Thinking back to the phone call, he actually couldn't remember having gotten specific information past 'college-age'. Judging by the urgency in the mother's request they'd assumed her to be a freshman. As a consequence an eloquent "Umm" was all the answer he could come up with. The girl surprised him again by huffing out an exasperated laugh.

"That's so typical." She crossed her arms, now looking smugly up at them. "Regardless of how much my mom enjoys treating me like a twelve-year-old, I'm happy to inform you that I'm well past legal drinking age. You can't really make me go anywhere with you."

Well, that was just awkward. Dean took a moment to process this information. He may have already done a lot of messed up things in his life but he was at least determined to not add human trafficking to the list. Sam seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

"Alright. You're right." he conceded, raising his hands in a surrendering gesture. "Still, can we talk about this? Just so we hear your side of the story?"

It must have been their lucky day, Dean thought as her shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Sounds like you're not gonna get off my back otherwise. So fine. You have until I'm done eating the lunch I was gonna have before you ambushed me. Your treat."

Dean didn't hide his impressed smile at her negotiation skills. "Atta girl."

Judging by Sam's offended huff the comment would add another five minutes to the lecture.

. . .

Katie stuffed one of the few remaining french fries from the basket in front of her into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. She had turned out to be a much more pleasant conversationalist with some food in front of her. Not being held hostage probably didn't hurt either. Either way, she had been more than happy to share a handful of anecdotes to illustrate the extent of her mother's controlling behavior over the years and her attempts to escape it. The way she talked about her experience made Dean squirm in his chair. The guilt tripping, feeling like nothing was ever gonna be good enough, the forced sense of loyalty… It all hit a little too close to home, to put it mildly. Even if he hadn't already been in her camp before even meeting her, he definitely was now. He wished he'd had someone to have his back when he'd needed it at that age.

"So what's your plan? Where are you headed?" The question was no longer meant for interrogation purposes. None of this would ever get back to the girl's parents if he could help it.

"Boston," she said.

"And what's in Boston? Ivy League? A boyfriend maybe?"

"No boyfriend."

Dean had seen the look on the girl's face before. "A girlfriend then." It wasn't a question but Katie's blush gave him an answer anyway. "Let me guess, mommy dearest wasn't a fan of that either."

"Understatement." She chewed on her bottom lip before meeting Dean's eyes pleadingly. "Please, I can't have my parents continue to control my life. I love them but I cannot stand to be around them. This is my only chance to be… happy."

"Your girlfriend. She know you're coming?"

Katie blushed an even deeper shade of red. "I- uh. I haven't really told her how I feel. She asked me to leave with her last year when she moved. I wasn't strong enough back then but I realized I've been an idiot. There I was with that wonderful girl right in front of me wanting to run away together and I just stood there, not saying anything."

For the second time that day his flight instinct was making itself known. This was so not what he had signed up for. Their little investigative stunts were supposed to distract him from shit like this not directly confront him with it. His eyes scanned the room, forming an exit strategy. He hadn't realized how rigid he'd gone until a soft touch to his hand made him uncurl the fist he had formed. When he looked at Katie she removed her hand from his. "You alright?"

He could have easily lied. Flashed a slightly too bright smile and assured her that of course he was, why wouldn't he be. But what was the point, really. Their job was to help people and this was his chance. He swallowed hard. "I recently lost someone very important to me. This person… they told me a lot of things I didn't know what do with. I didn't say anything. And now it doesn't really matter what I would have said because they're gone. He's gone." It took all of Dean's effort to ignore the poignant look Sam was sending his way. "What I'm trying to say is, don't end up like me."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Katie told him earnestly, her hand back on top of his. "But I don't think that it doesn't matter what you would have said. Your… friend. Wherever he went, he might still hear you. Somehow. He'll know."

Dean was so envious of the hope in her voice, he was almost tempted to ruin it by breaking the news on what sort of hellish afterlife they were dealing with here but he thought the better of it. It wasn't her he was angry at. Instead he said: "Thanks, kid."

For a long moment they shared a look of understanding before the vibration of a phone broke the silence. Dean snatched the device in question from Katie's hand once she'd dug it out of her pocket. The notification was a reminder of an upcoming bus departure. "Guess you better get going."

"Does that mean you're not gonna tell my family you found me?"

"We'll be sorry to inform them that you covered your tracks by planting your phone here. When we arrived you were long gone, isn't that right, Sam?"

"Ugh. Right. Yeah," Sam agreed after having been silent throughout most of this conversation. "And seriously. Get a new phone."

"Noted," Katie said, suddenly back to being energetic. "And thank you guys for understanding- but for the record? You suck at your job."

Dean allowed himself a chuckle. "Yeah well. Let's say we had a recent career change."

"You might wanna consider changing it again." The girl rose from her chair. "Thanks for the food."

That was all the goodbye they got as she dashed out of the diner once more, bag still barely thrown over her shoulder.

. . .

"You sure you don't wanna, y'know, talk about it?"

Dean suppressed the innate urge to snap at his brother and instead closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. They were back at the bunker, treating themselves to some beers after a painfully awkward drive home, not made better by their scorned client blowing up their work phone with furious voicemails. All day Sam had been looking at him with an unsettling amount of concern. It had gotten bad enough that Dean had made him drive the damn car just so he'd be forced to look on the road instead. When he opened his eyes again now he avoided Sam's gaze. "No offense, but talkin's not gonna do the trick. Not this time."

"You can't know that," Sam pushed on. "Look. I know it's hard, losing Cas. I miss him too- But Dean, at least you got to say goodbye."

At the mere mention of the name they had so gingerly avoided Dean's head whipped around to shoot a burning glare at his brother. "No. No, he got to say goodbye. I didn't get to fucking say anything." For a moment silence stretched between them so thickly it seemed to create a solid wall. And Dean could have left it at that and ended the conversation there but he'd been carrying the pain with him for so many months now. He spoke before he could change his mind. "He deserved to hear something back."

"You can't blame yourself, Dean."

"He's dead because of us. Because of me. And he had that… that whole speech ready and all I could do was stand there like a fucking idiot."

"I'm sure Cas didn't expect a grand gesture."

"That's kind of the point, Sam. He didn't. But he would've deserved it. Deserved something. And I couldn't give him that, not even when he was giving everything he had right in front of me."

"Why does it feel like there's something you're not telling me?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Dean."

He wasn't ready to share, had thought he'd take the memory of those moments to the grave with him but there had been so much build-up, so much frustration that the words broke free as if he had no control over them at all.

"He said he loves me, alright? He fucking drops that on me and the next moment he's gone."

The information clearly didn't compute right away. "Love as in-"

"I don't know, Sam!"

"Okay, alright. Calm down. You're right doesn't matter. I'm sorry."

During the new silence that stretched between them he stubbornly drank from his beer, hoping that the ambush was over but also knowing his brother better than that. He was just so tired. Of the secrets and the feelings.

Sam studied his face carefully as if he was intentionally weighing his next words. "Would you have said it back? If there had been time?"

"I- uh." Dean frowned, feeling a throbbing nervousness in the pit of his stomach. "I don't know if I feel... that way. But it's Cas, for fuck's sake. I would've liked to say something, anything, to let him know I care." His name felt weirdly foreign as he said it. Like it had gotten further away from him the longer he'd refrained from even thinking it.

"He knows you care."

"Yeah well. Couldn't have hurt for him to hear it anyway."

"Dean… I'm gonna say this once, and then I'll never mention anything again unless you want me to, but you and Cas… You've been a constant. No matter what happened to us, you two have always found your way back to each other. Now I won't tell you how you feel or what this could mean, but I'm asking you to think about it. For this once, think about if it could mean something to you. If you feel you owe him something? This is it."

With that Sam grabbed his empty bottle and got up to walk off, leaving Dean stunned. For a long time he remained sitting at the table, tracing the wood pattern with his eyes as he waited for his mind to un-blank. In a way he wanted to be mad at Sam for having said all those things but he knew that anger would be misplaced. After all, Sam hadn't brought up anything Dean didn't already know. He knew Cas had been his weakness, and so had most of their enemies. They had been used as leverage to get the other to do whatever was needed for longer than he cared to admit. He could never bear the thought of Cas getting hurt any more than when it came to Sam but that was because they were the only ones of his family that he had been able to save throughout he years. Over and over again. Until now. It was still so unreal that this time was different and it was just him and Sam left. For so many years that had been his biggest goal in life, saving his little brother and the two of them facing the world together no matter what. He'd held onto that so fiercely that maybe somewhere along the way he had missed the fact that the goal posts had been moved. Now that he found himself right there at the bunker with his brother alive and no more apocalyptic threats looming over their heads, he felt no relief. Just emptiness. Like in all those years he had fought so hard to have a life that he ended up forgetting to live it altogether. Thinking back, he could vividly remember so many regrets and the times he had felt like he'd let down the people he cared about, yet he had to put a disappointing amount of effort into finding the happy memories he knew were sprinkled in there somewhere. Not lastly the moments of contentment he had allowed himself ever since they'd found the bunker years ago. The fact that they had a place to come home to from a hunt that was only theirs, a place where they could provide shelter to their friends and those who needed it.

Looking around the room he tried hard to conjure a pleasant feeling but only when his eyes landed on the iron staircase leading down from the bunker's entrance did he realize what was keeping him from letting go. The fact that Cas would never walk down those steps as he dropped by to check on them or whine at them in a feeble effort to mask the fact that he cared. Dean would never again roll his eyes at a pseudo lecture he was forced to listen to after making a deal that Cas would have taken in a heartbeat as well. He'd never again share a victory bottle of whiskey with the only person who could hold their liquor better than him even if that was cheating. He'd never get to feel his stomach drop as he realized it was an angel he was bitching at when a glare told him that he was on thin ice. The fact that all of this came to his mind at once forced the realization out of him that maybe Sam was right. He owed it to Cas to examine the reasons why it was that the damn angel had such a hold on seemingly every fiber of his being. He just wasn't sure he'd survive the answer once he found it.

. . .

Sam looked paler than Dean could ever remember, including the times he'd had to witness his brother's lifeless body. He also looked so very small. Of course Sam still towered over him, but he somehow looked shrunken in his frame and like he didn't quite know what to do with his limbs. It tugged at Dean's heart in a way he hadn't thought possible after everything that had numbed him up to this point.

"Sammy," he said, voice breaking miserably. For a long moment they stood there facing each other before the relief of their reunion got the better of them and they darted toward one another to collide in a desperate embrace. For the first time since he was left alone in the dungeon, Dean felt like he could breathe. The feeling was short lived once Sam stepped away to scan the empty space behind Dean.

"Where's Cas?"

Dean didn't know what to do, couldn't bring himself to put into words what had happened. He could feel the emptiness at his back beckoning for him, taunting him. Slowly, Sam faded away. In his place was a shadow. It grew both taller and wider before his eyes, expanding rapidly until it took up his entire field of vision, swallowing everything in its wake. He tried to run but his legs wouldn't obey him, rooting him to the spot until the darkness reached him. At first it seemed to almost tentatively curl around his feet, swallowing the ground he stood on. Then it crept up along his legs, swirled around them, forming a vortex of blackness that was inescapable. When it reached his neck it seemed to take all the air with it, stealing every last breath from his lips. All he was left with was fear so paralyzing it made him wish he was dead. It was a wish the darkness seemed eager to fulfill as its hold seemed to tighten around his neck the moment the thought manifested itself. Death wasn't going to be painless, nor would it be quick, he knew that but anything seemed better than existing right now. Just as he felt his consciousness slip further away from him, a single word uttered by a voice he thought he'd never hear again dragged him back to the surface.

"Dean."

He startled awake violently enough to draw a whine from the creature who'd been loyally snuggled up at the foot of his mattress. In an instant he found himself with a shaggy armful of dog, a wet snout pushing against his cheek. It was good too because the dream had taken an even more unsettling turn this time, which he hadn't thought possible. In his chest his heart was still hammering from the experience, only very slowly calmed by the contagious enthusiasm of man's best friend. He had fallen asleep on top of the covers, all the lights in the room still on. While the former had been unplanned, the latter was unfortunately on purpose. Usually he dealt with the nightmares better at home in the familiarity of his own room but it was Sam's turn to spend the weekend at Eileen's and though Dean would rather give Baby a tacky paint job than admit it he struggled with being alone in the bunker ever since the dreams had escalated. The two lovebirds deserved some alone time. He wasn't going to burden them with his newly acquired but pointless fear of the dark. He'd lived through several apocalyptic events, he'd make it through two days alone in a secure bunker. Knowing there was no way of falling back asleep he gave Miracle one last squeeze for good measure before getting out of bed. The dog whimpered his protest but followed him at his heel nonetheless. Dean didn't know how he'd made it all these years without twenty-something pounds of radiating positivity around his ankles, but he was grateful to have it now. While they were on the job Eileen gladly took on the role of dog-sitting rather than joining them and Dean found himself missing the newest member of their mismatched family almost as soon as they pulled out of her driveway. When they were home the dog rarely left his side which he liked to think made his brother jealous. After all, Sam had always been the self-proclaimed dog person out of the two of them, always talking about wanting to take in the strays they'd come across when they were still kids and waiting for Dad to come pick them up in whichever Midwestern dump he'd left them in. To his brother's chagrin, Miracle turned out to be the polar opposite of the loyal sporting companion of his dreams and had instead adapted perfectly to Dean's more sedentary idea of time off. This in turn resulted in an almost constant commentary courtesy of Sam whenever Miracle was lazily lounging around the bunker – "Has he been outside at all today?", obnoxiously begging for food scraps – "Dean, you're gonna give him a heart attack if you keep feeding him that crap" – or pointedly ignoring Sam's commands while religiously following Dean's, which didn't even get a verbal comment but rather an annoyed huff. As he watched Miracle greedily inhale a bowl of kibble, he found himself smiling. While Sam had gotten the girl, the dog had chosen him and in one of the biggest plot-twists of his life, he was content with that. Not lastly because it gave him a sense of security he was sure he'd go insane without these days.

The thought made him absentmindedly reach up to his neck, reminded of the choke-hold he'd helplessly experienced in the dream. He had felt the ghost of soreness ever since he woke up but had dismissed it, blaming the fact that he'd barely allowed himself to process anything before fleeing his bedroom. Now that he was definitely more awake and decidedly felt like an idiot for how afraid he'd been he'd expect the phantom feeling to disappear as well. He looked around himself in search of a reflective surface. While the bunker was home to a great many things, mirrors clearly hadn't made the cut in the planning phase beyond the bathrooms. Usually this was not a problem as Dean liked to achieve an effortless style, the less effort the better. How his walking L'Oréal commercial of a brother dealt with it wasn't his concern. He didn't know what compelled him but before he could examine his actions too closely he was already stalking down the corridor to the shower room, leaving Miracle, who was still fully captivated by his food bowl, behind. It felt demeaning to give into his anxieties like that, he thought as he was faintly aware of the way his heartbeat sped up once he reached his destination but with no one there to bear witness he didn't find the strength within himself to fight the compulsion. It took him a full minute of standing at one of the sinks with both hands braced on either side of it before he actually dared to look up at his reflection.

He'd expected to feel relief, maybe laugh at himself for allowing paranoia to take over. Instead he felt a wave of nausea wash over him when he caught sight of the angry red line wrapping around his throat. He instinctively recoiled from it, one hand coming up to touch the irritated skin. Frantically he tried to remember if he'd done anything the previous day that would have left an imprint like this but as much as he tried his mind came up blank. The alternative, namely that somehow the trauma from his dream had decided to physically manifest itself, was not something he was happy to consider. It would be pretty low on his list of Weird Shit To Happen but it came with further implications. Implications he couldn't fucking deal with right now. He turned on the faucet and cupped his hands under the water, ignoring how freezing cold it was. Once he splashed the water in his face he felt his sanity return. This was ridiculous. He was being ridiculous. He was sleep deprived and lonely and grieving the loss of a… friend. No wonder his mind wasn't in the most stable place. It would get better in time. Faint barking from somewhere down the hall signaled that Miracle had concluded his feast and was now looking for him. This Dean could deal with. Someone needing him.

He practically fled the room, leaving his scared reflection behind.

. . .

The rest of the weekend passed more or less uneventfully, which was mostly due to the fact that Dean avoided all mirrors and absolutely refused to even think about falling asleep unless it was induced by a nice bottle of whatever was available. The alcohol didn't so much lull him to sleep as it knocked him out cold. It wasn't pleasant or particularly restful especially when considering the guaranteed hangover in the morning but it got the job done. Before Sam got back he made sure to get rid of all the evidence. It was more out of courtesy than a serious effort to hide his vice. Sam knew him better than anyone, he wasn't going to be fooled by a lack of visible bottles in the common areas of the bunker. Especially when he found Dean sitting in the library mid-afternoon with a cup of coffee and a family pack of aspirin in front of him.

"You look like shit," he assessed flatly once he dropped his bag by the table and scratched Miracle, who had come to meet him, behind the ears.

Dean exhaled in what should have been a laugh but lacked the commitment. "Well, not all of us are glowing with the aftermath of getting laid but I wasn't gonna say anything."

Sam pulled a face but otherwise dismissed the comment, cutting straight to business. "Is it the dreams again?"

"Yeah." No point in denying it. He took a long gulp from his cup, the liquid doing nothing other than giving him an excuse not to look at his brother. It wasn't Sam's problem to deal with.

"Maybe you should think about getting help."

"What, like a shrink?" This time a laugh did escape him but it was a bitter sound devoid of humor. It wasn't that he thought therapy couldn't be good for some people, in fact he respected everyone who had the balls to actively seek out help. He just wasn't one of those people. His medical team was comprised exclusively of Jim Beam and Dr Sexy. Since his brother was not a big supporter of that particular combination, he was willing to hammer the point home once and for all.

"Dude, I'm not trying to be an ass but think about it for a second. Say I go see someone and they ask me a bunch of questions – what am I gonna tell 'em? That every time I close my eyes it feels like I lose control? That every night I feel like I'm being suffocated by the infinite age-less void that consumed my best friend in front of me? That I hear him calling out to me but I can't do shit to save him? C'mon, Sam. You know as well as I do that all that would get me is an all-inclusive stay in a padded cell with a complimentary straight jacket."

Sam's brow furrowed in response to the uncharacteristic candor that clearly rang through the verbal outburst. He seemed to consider his next words carefully, in no way deterred by the presented reasoning. "First of all, the chances of you ending up in a nineteenth century sanatorium for having nightmares are neglectable." He sent Dean a pointed look, drawing the hint of an honest smile from him. "And secondly – you never told me you were hearing his voice."

"It's a new development," Dean offered reluctantly, deciding at the last minute to pull the collar of his shirt aside to reveal the fading red mark around his neck. "Together with this."

Sam's eyebrows rose about halfway to his hairline as he clearly struggled to process what he was seeing. Dean expected a question or something but he was unprepared for the way his brother's eyes glazed over with what looked like tears. Only then did it occur to him that while it was clear to him what had happened, all Sam was seeing was a mark around the neck of his clearly depressed, completely hungover brother after a weekend alone. Didn't take a genius to realize what conclusion that left to draw.

"Jesus, Sammy. No." Dean was up and around the table in a heartbeat, a firm hand on his shoulder forcing his brother to look him in the eyes so there was no misunderstanding. "I would never fucking do that to you, you hear me? After everything. After Cas made sure I get to have this. No way I'm opting out."

The only answer Sam could muster was a stiff nod, clearly relieved but shaken. The mere fact that his brother could even believe Dean would- well. It broke his damn heart. He thought he'd been keeping it together, that even while Sam knew he was struggling he didn't worry too much after seeing how Dean was working, joking and generally trying to be his best self under the circumstances. Obviously he'd done a piss-poor job if all along Sam had practically been waiting for him to snap.

"I'm sorry," he said, surprised by the way his own voice broke under the weight of the words.

Sam's jaw muscles tightened while he still fought for his composure but he nodded in what Dean hoped was understanding. He remained hunched over his brother for a very long time, refusing to let go of his shoulder and taking the reassurance of his presence away. What finally broke the tension was Miracle tossing a squeaky toy at their feet in a demand for attention. It did the trick. Sam let out a deep breath and patted Dean's hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry too. It's just- things have been rough. For all of us. At least I got Eileen back, I can't imagine what I'd do if I hadn't, so… You scared me."

"If you hadn't gotten her back, you'd find a way to move on. Like with Jess."

Even after all these years her name still brought a pained grimace to Sam's face and Dean regretted saying it almost as soon as the words were out. To his surprise his brother nodded. "Fine, maybe you're right. But are you moving on?"

"No."

"That's what I thought." Sam patted his hand one last time before getting up from where he was resting against the table. "C'mon." He picked up the dog toy, squeezing it to beckon for Miracle – and by extension also Dean- to follow.

"Where are you going?"

"We're gonna find a way to get Cas back."

. . .

"Dean." The voice was far away but persistent. He struggled against the darkness to get closer to it but it was like treading water. No air in his lungs, his muscles sore with the effort of keeping him afloat. The longer he fought the thick mass constricting his body, the more he forgot about why he was resisting. His consciousness kept slipping away from him, only called back with every pleading iteration of his name. The more he heard it the more foreign it felt but it was never quite drowned out by the void like everything else, always hovering somewhere just out of reach. "Dean. Please." The new word brought the voice ten times closer, made it sound so much more clear. He knew that voice. It belonged to someone strong. Someone who had hope. It provided him with enough strength to throw his arms out against his restraints, screaming with his effort though it was a raw sound swallowed by the void before it could reach far. He wanted to be better for the voice though he couldn't say why any more. He was so tired. He wanted this to be over. The darkness welcomed him back.

"Dean." The voice was far away again. "Please…."

"Dean!"

He gulped in a big breath of air as his eyes flew open. A hand on his shoulder grounded him in reality. He was not alone this time. "Sam?"

"Hey, yeah. I'm here."

He squeezed his eyes shut for a second in an attempt to calm his racing heartbeat before feeling sure enough that he wouldn't pass right out if he got up. What he wasn't prepared for was the pain in his wrists once he did pull himself upright. A quick examination revealed that they looked worse than his neck had. Bruises were already forming all the way around them and some patches were bleeding. He'd unfortunately been shackled often enough to be familiar with those injuries. "Fuck. What happened this time?"

"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I wouldn't believe it," Sam said almost excitedly. "It was like you were strapped down but there was nothing physically here. The more you struggled the more it, whatever it is, hurt you. Should I have woken you up sooner?"

Dean waved his hand dismissively, ignoring the pain it caused his wrist. "We said we were gonna do this. I'm fine."

The look Sam gave him very clearly stated that No, he clearly was not fine but whatever. It had been several days, or rather nights, since they had started observations while Dean slept. It was a long shot but Sam, once he'd learned the actual cause of Dean's ill-placed initial injury, had made the valid point that if the dreams could hurt him like this, maybe they weren't dreams at all. Maybe it was some sort of portal, something that wasn't supposed to be open and clearly wanted to keep Dean out. If they knew anything about the Empty it was that it didn't like disturbances of any kind. The more he struggled against it, the harder it fought him. As ridiculous as it sounded, he had collected a whole gallery of bruises to support the theory. Believing that something fishy was up wasn't the part he struggled with accepting though. It was Sam's eagerness to try and prove that Cas had anything to do with it. The worst part was he wanted more than anything for it to be true, he just couldn't allow himself to hope. If this wannabe sleep paralysis demon wasn't gonna finish the job, hope was a hot contender to end him for good.

It was by no means made easier now that the dreams or visions or whatever they actually were had decided to talk to him. Physical pain he could deal with no problem but hearing Cas' voice every night, pleading with him to- What? Come and get him? Leave him alone? It was fucking torture. For months he'd gone without hearing him. The last time he did it hadn't even been him, for crying out loud. Just Lucifer playing him like a damn fiddle for some laughs. And so much had happened afterwards that it had been too easy to ignore it. But now, with all this going on and Sam asking him if it could mean something… it was overwhelming. Because of-fucking-course it meant something. Cas meant everything. Every frown, every head-tilt, every smile crinkling his stupid blue eyes around the edges, every time he fucking cared way too much and took way too little for himself and let Dean trample all over him because he just believed in him that much – Dean was an idiot for never seeing it for what it had been. For thinking angels felt differently, if at all. For not allowing himself to let his guard down and just feel for himself what they had built over the years. Cas had told him in no uncertain terms – when nothing else had felt real They were.

So yeah, Cas was everything.

And losing him felt even worse now that he knew that.

"Do you think you could talk to him?" Sam's voice startled him out of what was otherwise on a good road to becoming a full-blown anxiety attack.

"We don't know if it's him," he argued automatically.

"Humor me."

Dean sighed. "I'm not sure. I think I'm trying? Whenever I yell, it's like it gets mad at me which… that's probably exactly what's happening."

Sam took a moment to think. "So pray to him."

"Excuse me?"

"Why not? If he's still an angel, he should be able to hear you."

As much as he wanted to argue, it was a solid idea. He couldn't guarantee that he'd remember it the next time he was asleep and battling the void but for now it was the only real plan they had. Though the details could be figured out at a later point he decided once he witnessed the yawn escaping his brother. They had taken to resting in shifts, with Sam sleeping during the day so he could stay awake at night to make sure Dean didn't accidentally get Freddy Kruger-ed in his sleep. And here they thought their lives would be less complicated without Chuck fucking with them.

. . .

While Sam got his admittedly deserved beauty sleep, Dean took Miracle out for a walk. For how lazy the dog could be most days, he sure loved the park. Plus, it was a nice distraction to do something normal for a change. In the past couple of weeks he'd gotten so caught up in the fear and self-pity surrounding his night terrors he'd completely neglected the routine he'd built in the months before. And he'd had a good thing going, too. Walks in the morning, maybe flirt a bit with the ladies at the dog park when they were fawning over how sweet and well-behaved his 'fur baby' was. If it was a Wednesday he liked to pay the market a visit and get some fresh produce to keep Sam on his toes about the state of his sodium levels. On weekends he'd pay the drive-in cinema a visit, sometimes together with Sam and Eileen, other times it was just him and his dog. It could have been a good life but it always felt stale in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on. It brought him contentment, peace of mind even… but if he was completely honest with himself he hadn't been happy. And it suddenly dawned on him that maybe, just maybe he would have been if he could have shared all these experiences, these first instances of his very own slice of unfiltered Americana, with the one person who deserved it more than anyone else. Cas had been sorely missing the entire time, sure, but now with his newfound confidence in what the angel meant to him, he ached with the missed opportunities. He'd never made a big secret of his occasional fondness for kitsch but he was almost embarrassed at the new heights it was reaching. He wanted to take Cas to a country fair and make him taste very kind of pie until their stomachs ached. He wanted to take him through the national parks and gaze at the Grand Canyon together, even if there was a good chance the guy had been around for its formation. He wanted to have Cas drive his damn car for no other reason than to watch him do it. He wanted backyard barbecues with Sam and Eileen and be the cool uncle if they chose to have kids, or just the annoying but lovable brother-in-law if they didn't. He wanted to go on hunts and make the world a safer place but come home at the end of the day and sit on the couch with his dog and a grumpy Angel of the fucking Lord and goddamnit so much for not allowing himself to hope.

Dean became suddenly very aware of his surroundings as the world came rushing back to him. He was still standing in the park, holding a stick that was intended for Miracle to fetch. Poor boy was giving him a tortured look while waiting patiently for the throw that had never come. He tossed the piece of wood with all his might, cracking a smile at the way the dog took off after it with a victory yelp. It was such a pure uncomplicated form of joy that it was contagious. He couldn't help it, couldn't hold back, and finally after what felt like an eternity he let out a carefree laugh.

He was gonna fucking get Cas back just so he could witness the look on that dog's face when he triumphantly carried his stick and it was gonna be so worth it.

. . .

He was supposed to do something but the darkness was keeping the oxygen from reaching his brain. He couldn't remember. Everything hurt. He had no purpose. Nothing did. He should just let go and allow the pain to consume him. Let the void eat him from the inside until there was nothing left of him. It would be for the better. A little bit of pain now, an eternity of peace and quiet afterwards.

"Dean."

That voice. He knew that voice. It reminded him of something. Betrayal. Fear. Loss. Yes, all of these things. The voice brought bad things, things he didn't want. The darkness twisted more tightly around him. He needed it all to stop, if only it would let him disappear...

"Dean, please..."

Why couldn't the voice let go? There was no Dean, he was nothing, he wanted to vanish. The darkness understood that, encouraged it with every tug at his limbs.

"Dean, please… let me go."

And he wanted to so badly. Letting go sounded easy, like he'd finally be allowed into the infinite emptiness eating away at him until he was one with it.

But he knew he couldn't let go. He remembered now. The voice meant so much more.

Sacrifice. Hope. Love.

Light.

"Cas."

The darkness broke away, obliterated by a flash of blinding hot brightness. With it disappeared the haze in his mind. Now he didn't know how this place worked exactly but he sure wasn't going to waste any time.

"Cas. Castiel if you're there. If you can hear me- I wanna get you out of here, man."

A wonderfully familiar figure manifested itself right before his eyes, trench coat and all. He would have sobbed with the relief he felt but he couldn't let emotion take over now.

Cas seemed to be under no such restrictions, staring at him with open wonder. "It's really you."

"Yes, it's me, and we can talk about the whys and hows once I get you home with me but we're running out if time here."

Out of the corner of his eye he could already see the Empty creeping back toward them, furious, ready to rip them apart molecule by molecule and scatter them throughout its endless space. Cas noticed it too. Then he disappeared.

If Dean thought he'd known panic before, it was nothing compared to the utterly numbing terror he felt now.

"Damn it, Cas, don't play the hero now. Please... come home with me."

"I had to get something."

This time Dean did sob. It was all getting too much, between Cas zapping in and out of existence, the narcoleptic disembodied concept of nothingness ready to make good on its threats and Dean battling all of his emotions – let's just say crying was the least of his problems right now.

"You son of a bitch," Dean complained between heaving breaths, wiping angrily at his eyes. "Can we fucking go now?"

"We're not really here, Dean. I cannot leave with you." Cas grabbed his hand, carefully placing what looked like a faintly glowing crystal in his palm. "It's a key, of sorts," he explained, still firmly holding onto his hand, grounding them both in the moment. "I have only heard rumors on how it works, if it does at all. Find the spell. Maybe… maybe Sam can open the portal."

The darkness had almost reached them.

"Go now," Cas ordered. "If it gets you, you won't survive it."

"Will you?"

"I might."

It wasn't the answer he wanted but it was all he got before Cas let go of his hand and pushed him away.

Dean almost immediately found himself sat upright in bed, Sam's hand on his chest as if to stop him from toppling over. "Did it work?"

The words wouldn't come to him, so he just nodded. His cheeks were wet from tears he didn't dare wipe away as if they would take the memory of Cas with them once they disappeared. They bore testimony to what he had accomplished. Actually, so did the crystal still resting in his hand. He marveled at it for a second before his brain kicked back into action.

"I found him, Sam, but he's still stuck there."

"Is he okay?"

"I don't know. Empty wasn't happy with either of us just now." He held up the glowing piece of rock. "He gave me this. Said there's some kind of spell to open a portal. We might be able to get him through there."

"Alright." Sam looked at him with pure determination. "We'll find it."

Dean had never been more eager to spend time in the archives.

. . .

Unfortunately when you had so much knowledge at your disposal, finding something incredibly specific was a pain in the ass. They spent the whole day digging through boxes upon boxes of scrolls and handwritten notes commenting on said scrolls but nothing was even Empty-adjacent in its information. By the time midnight rolled around Sam had diminished the bunker's caffeine household and was simultaneously vibrating and falling asleep. Miracle was softly snoring at their feet, having long surrendered himself to his fate of being ignored for the day. Dean vowed to make up for it once their family was one angel richer again. He kept staring at the crystal as if it would give him an answer once he just wanted it badly enough. He twisted it in his hand so he could view it from all angles, held it up against the light on the ceiling to look fro hidden symbols, he even carefully knocked it against the table once for good measure. Nothing helped.

He was ready to call it a night, nudging his brother awake so at least he could go to bed. Dean wasn't planning on sleeping. In a cabinet somewhere was still a bottle of Winchester with his name on it. Hah. It would at least keep the panic at bay for a couple of hours. He supported some of Sam's weight as they stumbled toward the door, whistling for Miracle once the light was switched off. Now in the semi-darkness with only the light from the hallway coming in the crystal seemed like it was glowing even brighter, almost pulsating with pink bursts of light.

That was definitely new though.

"Sam," he said carefully, shaking his brother maybe a bit harder than strictly necessary.

A muffled "hrrmph" was all the answer he got before Sam actually caught sight of the glow as well. "Holy shit, when did it start doing that?"

"When I turned off the lights, I guess?"

Watching Sam's expression change from confusion, to hope to understanding was a sight to behold. The younger man snatched the crystal from his hand and took a couple of steps back into the room. The crystal's glow grew faint. "We're idiots," Sam stated happily.

"Um, speak for yourself."

"No! Dean the crystal is telling us where to find the spell. See?" Sam almost tripped over his own legs getting back to the doorway. The crystal grew brighter with every step he took, almost shaking when Sam held it up to the shelf closest to the door. He carefully moved it along each row of boxes, trying to find what it was reacting to.

"What's in those?" Dean asked, suddenly equally excited.

"It's Rowena's things," Sam explained just as the crystal started shaking enough for him to barely keep it in his hands.

"We're idiots," Dean agreed.

. . .

The spell didn't actually call for any ingredients beyond the crystal and the blood of someone who had been to the Empty. Dean didn't now if 'been there in my nightmares' counted but it was all they had. They set up a large copper bowl in the center of the devil's trap in the dungeon, a room Dean had religiously avoided since this whole mess started. The spell scroll didn't mention anything of the sort but Sam had come up with the theory that maybe the closer they were to the spot where the Empty had broken through last time, the better their chances were to open a portal now. Dean was beyond coherent thoughts at this point.

"Just tell me when to cut my hand open."

Sam was stress-reading though the scroll for the umpteenth time, not rewarding him with a look. "I'd be much more comfortable with this if you were a bit less eager to mutilate yourself."

"It's for Cas," Dean argued stubbornly.

It got him an eye-roll but with the hint of a smile. "Alright. Once I start with the chant you make the cut and make sure to catch the blood in the bowl. I don't know what's going to happen but when I reach the right section, I'll toss the crystal in. Then we hope for the best."

"Sounds like it can go all kinds of wrong."

"It's all we got, Dean."

"Let's do it."

He positioned himself close to the bowl, waiting for Sam to begin the ritual. His brother took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders and sent him a nervous smile, barely a twitch at the corner of his mouth. Then he started chanting, the words from the scroll rolling off his tongue more awkwardly than the Latin he was used to. With all the confidence he could muster, Dean cut into the flesh of his arm until the blood ran freely. Once the first drops fell into the bowl the air grew thick with the familiar electricity of magic. Sam's chanting stocked but he regained his composure fast and continued in an even steadier voice than before, fueled by determination. It felt like time lost its meaning or at the very least stopped for the time being, every word from Sam's lips charging the room. The closer he got to the bottom of the scroll, the more effort it seemed to take. Dean began to feel dizzy from both the blood-loss and the suffocating power taking up what felt like all the air in the room. He was actually dangerously close to passing out when Sam yelled what must have been the final words of the spell and threw the crystal into the copper bowl. A bright flash of pink blinded them as time seemed to start back up and the air came rushing back into the room. Dean was thrown backwards with the sheer force of it.

Then it was over.

When Dean came to he knew he couldn't have been out for more than a couple of seconds. He blinked a couple of times, then had the clarity of mind to apply pressure to the wound on his arm. He might have made the cut a bit deeper than necessary. The room seemed perfectly pristine, no sign of the explosion he had clearly felt. The first thing he actually saw was Sam who was resting his weight against the closest solid surface, smiling but he not looking at Dean. He almost didn't dare to follow his brother's gaze.

Almost.

Right there, in the center of the devil's trap, was Cas. Barely a foot from where he'd been taken from him months ago. He looked a bit worse for wear but he was definitely alive and in one piece. When he looked up at Dean the softest smile stretched over his face. He'd seen it before but it was still enough to steal Dean's breath all over again. Then the bastard had the audacity to speak.

"Hello, Dean." And he'd heard that sentence a million times but never like this. Not this evenly, like nothing was being held back. It was so different, yet it felt like home.

"It's good to have you back, Cas," Sam said, still clearly exhausted. Dean felt a slight pinch of guilt at having forgotten his brother was there at all from the moment he'd laid eyes on the angel. Instead of answering Sam, Cas walked over to him and went straight for a hug. It was short and sweet and Dean felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest at seeing his family reunited. Maybe there were some more tears, he couldn't be sure. When Cas and Sam parted, his brother patted the angel's shoulder affectionately before sending a pointed look at Dean over his head. "I'm going to get some fucking sleep now."

And just like that he was alone with Cas.

It wasn't clear who moved toward the other first but they somehow collided in a fierce embrace completely unlike the one he'd just witnessed. They clung to each other for dear life, swearing wordlessly never to let go. Dean only pulled back slightly when it was physically painful not to be looking at Cas now that he had him back. He cradled Cas' face with the utmost care, as if one wrong move would make him disappear again. There were definitely tears now but he wasn't alone with that predicament and he also didn't care if he was. This is what Cas deserved. The knowledge that someone cared for him like this, so deeply and truly that it moved them to tears to just hold him close. He touched his forehead to Cas', bringing their faces close enough for their noses to brush together. "You had some nerve leaving me with a speech like that," Dean whispered.

It drew the breath of a laugh from Cas. "I saw an opportunity to save you and I took it."

"Couldn't even let me get a damn word in?"

"I didn't think there was anything you had to say."

Dean shook his head slowly, never letting go of Cas' face. Finally, he uttered what was probably the single most liberating phrase of his life.

"I love you, you idiot."

And this time Cas didn't get to say it back because suddenly Dean was kissing him. It was raw and honest, with tears mingling on their joined lips and leaving a trail of salt while each breath they stole from each other seemed sweeter than the last. Cas was smiling into the kiss, pouring every ounce of love he had into it so clearly and openly, it made Dean weak in the knees. Or maybe that was still the blood-loss, he couldn't be completely sure. Either way, Cas' hands came up to finally touch him back, pulling him closer in a gesture that was nothing short of worship. Blasphemy be damned. Dean hesitated for maybe half a second- Was it still blasphemy if you actually raised the new God yourself? Did that make it more blasphemous? The question was quickly shelved for a more appropriate time in favor of snaking a hand inside a ragged trench coat to make sure a certain angel didn't even think about taking a step back. There would be no doubt in who Cas belonged with if he had any say in it, and if this kiss was any indication, Dean was sure he could never belong to anyone else in return. It had always been Cas from the very start and it would be Cas to the very end.

After all, he was everything.

And that's what they both damn well deserved.