deancas, coda, 15.11
They’ve only just finished for the night, Sam and Jack to bed, when a heavy presence collides with Cas, and Cas thinks, Maybe it’s the Empty, and Cas thinks, Maybe it’s time for me to go at last.
But it’s not the Empty.
It’s Dean.
It’s Dean who falls into him, buries his head into the crook of Cas’ neck, and maybe because Cas isn’t expecting it, he stumbles and hits the wall.
Cas is expecting joy. Cas is expecting everything but the grief that ebbs off Dean in waves, everything but the miserable way Dean clings to him, desperate in a way that only prayers ever are. It’s a stark contrast to the steady man in the kitchen, but maybe because it is just the two of them, Dean—Dean lets himself go.
So not knowing what else to do, Cas wraps his arms around him and holds him.
“What’s wrong?” he says, and for a long moment, Dean says nothing.
But then, just as Cas is beginning to think the silence will reign over them, just when the night seems to grow a little darker, “I’m afraid we’re gonna lose him again, Cas,” Dean croaks. “We can’t let the kid fight Chuck—w-we can’t.”
Cas swallows. There’s an odd lump in his throat.
“We have to.”
At that, Dean shakes.
It’s quiet in the hallway. Somewhere down its end, Sam will already be fast asleep and Jack will be curled up under a Batman blanket that Dean had sworn he had bought by mistake.
“You should sleep, Dean,” he tells him. “You’ve had a long drive back.”
Dean grasps his coat as if begging him to stay.
They end up settling on the floor, on stone cold tiles, under flickering fluorescent lights, Dean’s face crushed to his chest and Cas holds him, hums and rocks him, an ancient Enochian tune rumbling in his throat.
He sings all night long, or almost, only once interrupted by Dean’s voice.
“I love you,” Dean says and the tune falters and Cas’ heart skips a beat. “I need you to know that.”
It’s sudden, Cas thinks, but maybe it’s something that couldn’t be held back any longer.
