My Submission for the 2018 DeanCas Mixtape Festival!
My song prompt was “Bring it on Home” by Led Zeppelin
But also with a little bit of “Bring it on Home To Me” by Sam Cooke
They weren’t talking about it.
They weren’t talking about a lot of things but, specifically, they weren’t talking about Michael. About Dean being trapped, about getting Dean back, about the sacrifices and suffering involved in both.
No, they were Not Talking About It. Dean was going to hold off on talking about anything for a while. He was happy just being there. Just existing, curled up on a mattress with Cas.
Dean looked down at him, the messy mop of his hair against Dean’s chest all he could make out. They’d spent a fair amount of time looking at each other, assuring Dean that, yes, he was really back and assuring Cas that, yes, Dean was really okay.
The five of them – Dean, Cas, Sam, Jack, and Mary – had talked late into the night that first day. They’d huddled around the kitchen table, someone’s hand always on Dean’s shoulder, someone else pushing food at him, someone someone else either asking him if he was okay or filling him in on something he’d missed while he’d been Michael. They worked so hard to welcome him home while also trying to pretend everything was normal. Dean really appreciated all of them for that.
But this is what he needed. Cas in his arms. Quiet in the air. Being able to feel his hands as he ran them over Cas’s back and through his hair. Being able to control his mouth as he tilted it forward, resting it gently against Cas’s head.
Not quite a kiss. But close.
He didn’t talk about the place in his head Michael would send him to keep him quiet. He didn’t tell Cas about the beach or their toes in the sand or their linked fingers or their quiet affection. Maybe he would, someday. When the thought of the sand wasn’t like broken glass in his heart. When the thought of the contentment didn’t make him want to cry.
This was fine for now. Cas knew the important parts.
He was picking at the folds in Dean’s shirt over his stomach. There had been a time when Cas could just lay with Dean and breathe, content in knowing they were both there and safe and relatively happy. These human ticks he’d picked up made Dean smile even as they made him sad. He sometimes still heard the voice of that other Cas in his head. The one from Zachariah’s Croatoan future.
So, you’re human. Dean had said. Well, welcome to the club.
Thanks. That empty Castiel had responded, eyes so hollow Dean couldn’t see a whisper of his Cas in them. Except I used to belong to a much better club.
Cas probably didn’t feel that way now. Dean didn’t ask.
“Do you know how hard it is to listen to a mixtape?” Cas asked suddenly, voice slightly muffled by Dean’s t-shirt.
“The mixtape you gave me. It’s drastically out of date. Finding something to play it on has been… very trying.”
Dean huffed a laugh, his hand coming up to run over Cas’s hair in a wordless apology.
“It was different when I had the Lincoln–”
Cas smacked him absently and Dean huffed another laugh.
“The Lincoln had a tape deck,” Cas continued as if Dean hadn’t interrupted. “The truck doesn’t.”
Dean frowned, bringing his hand back down to Cas’s shoulder. “The Impala has a tape deck.”
Cas squirmed, curling into himself. Just a little. He ducked his head a little further into Dean’s chest, muffling his voice even further.
Dean could still hear him though.
“It seemed a bit too personal to listen to the tape with Sam there.”
Dean understood that. Not that Dean would ever admit it: the mixtape had been a rather personal gift.
“So how’d ya manage?” Dean asked.
Cas unsquirmed, uncurling and lifting his face so Dean could see his wry smile. “I purchased myself a walkman from the internet. Using your credit card, of course.”
Dean laughed again. “Of course.”
Cas settled back onto Dean’s chest, but he still spoke. “It was important for me to feel close to you. While you were gone.” Dean hummed, the hand that wasn’t holding Cas twitching involuntarily at his side. “I listened to the mixtape a lot. One song in particular.”
“Yeah?” Dean asked, gruffly. “Which one was that?”
Cas hummed a bit of the opening bass. Dean could practically hear the harmonica over it.
“Bring it On Home” was one of Zepp’s lower energy jams. It started out a little bluesey, a little sultry. It picked up toward the middle, but Robert Plant crooning out how he would ‘Bring it on home, bring it on home to you’ to close out the song didn’t leave anyone in doubt over the sincerity.
“It was comforting,” Cas said, hands picking at Dean’s sleeve now. “To listen to these words about coming home, knowing you’d given them to me. It made me feel like I could believe you would come home. Come home to me.”
Dean’s breath caught, his hand stuttering on the slow circles he’d been making on Cas’s back.
They were very close to it. Very close to saying the unspoken thing between them.
Cas continued. “But the language isn’t quite right.”
Dean’s hand stopped completely. “What?”
Cas sat up, Dean reaching for him reflexively. Cas watched Dean’s hand fall back to his lap with the softest, most exasperated look Dean had seen.
“I know they’re your favorite, Dean, but Led Zeppelin aren’t exactly known for their heartfelt sentimentality.”
Dean snorted, sitting further up the bed himself. He was a little hurt Cas would pull away from him and then immediately start shitting on his favorite band. “Well yeah but who wants that?”
Cas rolled his eyes. “Being heartfelt doesn’t have to be bad, Dean.
Dean huffed, crossing his arms. Cas sighed and reached for the nightstand where they’d put both of their phones for the night.
“I was surprised you didn’t have this record when I looked through your collection,” Cas said, scrolling through his phone. “I guess it was a bit late for the bunker but I was sure your mother would have a copy.” Cas looked up at Dean, mournfully. “She told me it probably hadn’t survived the fire.”
Dean grimaced, shifting uncomfortably. Alive again his mother may be, but that fire would always be one of the darkest marks on Dean’s memory.
“But this song…” Cas trailed off, looking back at his phone, tapping it until a soft piano started filtering through the speakers.
Dean tilted his head back against the headboard, shutting his eyes to just listen.
The song was old enough that Dean could hear the ways it had been redone. He could hear the history in it, the waves it made on the music scene. It had the familiarity of a song he’d heard before but he just couldn’t place where.
It was also old in a way that made you listen to the lyrics. That made the lyrics not feel forced or cheesy or contrived. This was recorded before clichés were invented. Every word felt true and honest.
Dean understood what Cas meant. Dean could finish the sentence for him.
‘But this song cuts to the heart of me.’
‘But this song speaks to the part of me that feels helpless.’
‘But this song understands what it feels like to be the one left behind.’
Dean heard all of those things. He’d been the one that had been left behind, too.
“ I tried to treat you right
But you stayed out, stayed out at night
But I forgive you, bring it to me
It’s something Dean always wanted to say. He hadn’t realized it was something he also needed to hear.
His eyes were still closed, head tilting forward, when he felt Cas take up residence against his chest again. He curled both arms around him, burying his face firmly in Cas’s hair.
Cas clutched him back. He understood. And he knew Dean understood. Words would have just gotten in the way.
Cas did seem to have some words, though.
“We can trade songs, sometimes,” he said against Dean’s collarbone. His hand clutched firmly around Dean’s shoulder, his weight settled pleasantly on Dean’s ribs. “You were just Led Zeppelin and I was Sam Cooke. I can’t imagine I’ll want to leave any time soon but, who knows. I may need to. And then I’ll bring it on home to you.”
Dean chuckled, pulling Cas even further into his chest. “That sounds great, Cas.”
They didn’t need to talk about it. Dean leaned down and kissed Cas on the top of the head. A real kiss this time. And, when Cas looked up at him, Dean kissed him on the mouth. Cas kissed him back. It was soft and sweet and simple.
They didn’t talk about what this meant. They didn’t talk about what they meant to each other.
