Chapter Text
They find the spell in a book buried deep in the Men of Letters’ library.
“I should go with you,” Sam says.
“No, Sammy. No sense in both of us getting stuck there. Besides, maybe you can help maintain the spell. Make it last longer.”
“Maybe,” Sam agrees doubtfully.
“We got everything we need?” Dean grabs his gun and his machete; they’re useless toys against the Empty, but they make him feel safer.
“Yeah. Just gotta work the spell. Dean, are you sure—“
“Of course I’m sure, Sammy.”
“I just, we could try praying to Jack again—“
“Jack told us the deal, Sammy. He’s out. Now, I’m not leaving Cas alone in there for a second longer than I have to.”
Sam swallows. “Right. You’re right.” And he begins to compile the components for the spell and to read the latin. It’s a long one; Dean is sure he couldn’t have done it himself. It takes over an hour, without breaks, without misreads. Sam speaks it clearly on the first try.
A rift in time and space opens in the bunker kitchen.
“You’ve got a minute and a half,” says Sam hoarsely. “Good luck.”
Dean is already plunging forward.
Most beings sleeping in the Empty dream memories of their greatest regrets. But Castiel has paid penance already, many times over, for his sins, until his regret for them shrank into nothingness. Now his only regrets are the things he never could’ve had. They are bittersweet, a mixture of fantasy and loss. It’s not bad, exactly, but it is lonely.
It’s a shout that wakes him. He’s groggy, confused. It takes him a moment to recognize the noise he’s hearing as his own name. He looks up and there’s Dean Winchester, smiling at him. Impossible.
“Dean?”
“Cas. Come on, I’m breaking you out.”
“Is this real?” Cas stares at Dean’s smile, at his outstretched hand. He looks real, but it’s so similar to his dreams.
“'Course it is, Cas. Come on. We don’t have time. We’re gonna have to run for it.”
Good things do happen. Cas steps forward. Dean is only one more step away.
“Why are you so LOUD,” complains a voice from all around them. Cas blinks. There he is— another Castiel, this one angry, standing with a hand on Dean’s shoulder. The Empty tightens its grip on Dean and his face suddenly contorts in pain. The veins in his neck turn black.
“Dean. Let go of him!”
“I don’t think so,” says the Empty in Cas’s own voice. “He’s another one of them. Another one who doesn’t play by the rules.” Dean gasps and patterns of black pulse beneath his skin.
“You said he’s loud,” says Cas desperately. “If he bothers you, just throw him out.”
“Oh, no. I know what’s going on in there.” The Empty grimaces and gestures toward Dean. “—That flurry of pitiful little emotions. If I let him go, he’ll just try to come back again. When will you people learn that you can’t just walk in and out of this place?”
Cas can only stare helplessly. Behind Dean is a point of light, a rift, where they must’ve been running to. As Cas watches, it winks out. They’re trapped here. Dean is going to die after all.
It’s all Dean can do just to breathe, much less speak. It feels like he’s been stabbed through the chest. He has to force his lungs open and closed like a bellows, and each breath feels like it rips a new tear in his throat. All that time he’d spent over the last few weeks thinking about words, agonizing over them; well, he’s finally face-to-face with Cas and they’re useless to him now. All he can do is stare.
The Empty flexes, and with a roil of pain Dean is sent back, back, twelve years back, to a barn in nowheresville, Ohio.
Sparks are flying. There’s a being that he doesn’t yet trust telling him to have faith, that good things do happen. Dean smiles despite himself. This is where it changed, he thinks. Chuck’s plan. None of them knew it yet. Dean watches himself, defiant, defensive. Unwilling to believe. Castiel stares at him, realization in his eyes. He examines Dean closely, speaks quietly, “You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”
“Fuckin’ hypocrite,” Dean mutters under his breath. He’s surprised to find he has a voice here, in his memories.
The memory of Cas keeps talking, tells him he has a great and divine purpose. They were so young. So stupid. They really believed all of Chuck’s lies.
“I’ve figured it out, Cas,” Dean says, his voice ringing clear with practiced words, “the truth.” But the memory can’t hear him.
There’s a wave of pain and Dean’s consciousness is brought back to the Empty. He can feel it, crawling up his back, into his lungs. He can’t get enough air. He can’t feel his feet at all.
“SHUT UP!” It’s shouting, in Cas’s voice. “SHUT UP, SHUT UP!” Dean doesn’t bother to look. He stares straight forward, at the real Cas. His Cas. Dean can only mouth Cas’s name, reach a hand out to him. Cas is crying. Fucking hell, Cas is crying.
“You idiot,” says Cas, and grabs Dean’s arm. They hold on to each other. They both know there’s no escape. The Empty is covering Dean’s legs and it’s rolling down his scalp and it’s turning his blood black. This is it, they think, staring into each other’s eyes. If only he could speak. Too little, too late.
Pain stabs Dean through the heart and he’s sent back again, into himself.
Dean remembers discovering something greater, but not daring to have faith in it. He remembers praying for the first time, out of necessity, trusting Cas at last, walking with him through a rainy street. He remembers laughing together. Touching. Telling himself he can’t have this. He remembers facing down the apocalypse together, Cas leaving, something never quite feeling right after. He remembers Cas coming back, only to lie to them. That betrayal had hurt worse than Hell. It had hurt worse than this. At least they’re together now.
Dean grips Cas’s arm. Cas is gripping him back. The world is black. He can’t see. He’s gasping for air. How the hell is he supposed to tell him without words, without sound?
Dean remembers forgiving Cas. The lake. The grief. He remembers Cas returned, insane but still kind, useless but gloriously present. He remembers Cas leaving him that first night in Purgatory. Fighting to find him. He remembers praying. Praying every night. Praying every spare moment.
“STOP IT!” The Empty shrieks, but Dean has it now, he thinks he’s figured it out, and he reaches his other hand out to Cas, grabs on to him, and starts to pray.
Pain is pulsing through his eyes, through his lungs, through his memories and his feelings, and where there isn’t pain there is nothing at all, and so Dean doesn’t have words to pray with, not now, but maybe he has enough. He’s clinging to Cas’s arms and he’s praying with feeling, only feeling, and so much of that feeling now is pain, but so much is love, too.
“Dean.”
The feelings are too much, and other memories are coming to him quickly now, of being apart again and again and again and each time just as painful, but he also remembers being together, raising a son together, feeling affection, anger, forgiveness; he remembers Cas telling him he is good and they are real and finally believing him. He remembers Cas saying ‘I love you.’
There’s a wailing surrounding them, beating at his ear drums. It’s ripping him apart. He’s dripping with Empty, suffocating in it. Half his body is numb and the other half is ripping out of him. He can feel sleep coming. He’s so tired.
“Dean, don’t stop.”
Dean gasps a shuddering breath and tries to do as he’s told. The Empty takes, and Dean gives. Feelings pour out of him. He regrets. He remembers.
Cas is gone again, for the last time. It hurts just as much as it did every single time before it. Jack is gone, too. They’re free now, finally free, but what does that mean, without Cas? What purpose did he have, without Cas there to love?
The pain of losing Cas is overwhelming, so much worse than the Empty. Dean lets himself feel it, lets pain soak and rake through him in large sobs. The wailing is inside his head, his throat, his chest, his stomach. He feels like he’s about to explode. He prays.
The Empty takes him.
All is quiet.
Dean sleeps.
He remembers a dream, or maybe he dreams a memory. He’s sitting on a small dock on a lake that doesn’t exist. It’s a sunny day. The fish aren’t biting, but birds are chirping. All is peaceful. Cas is standing beside him, streaks of tears down his face.
That isn’t right, he thinks.
It’s my Cas, he realizes, not a memory. His Cas, who’s clinging to him even now, who he made cry a minute ago. Dean stands, takes Cas’s hands.
Dean speaks.
There’s an unholy scream and light erupts around them. They are thrown to their knees and back to reality, still clinging to each other. Dean can’t see through the bright light; he’s coughing up slime, crying thick tears of ooze. His throat, his entire body feels as though it’s been drained and then sliced into jerky. Cas lets go of his arms and Dean realizes they were almost dead with lack of circulation. He forces his own shaking fingers apart, feebly tries to rub life back into Cas, but collapses to the floor instead, still coughing.
“Dean. Just breathe.”
Cas, Dean wants to say, Cas, Cas, Cas.
Cas’s hand cradles Dean’s face and Dean can feel familiar warmth passing through him, stitching him up, refilling him where he’s empty.
“Cas,” Dean whispers.
“Shh,” says Cas. “Just rest. Sam! Are you here, Sam?”
Dean blinks in confusion before realizing they’re in the bunker, but not where he’d left. They’re in a hallway somewhere; Dean’s face is resting on cold grey tile. Sam comes around the corner.
“Cas! Dean! Is he alright?”
“He will be. Would you get him some water? I’m going to take him to bed.”
“Yeah. Got it.”
“Thank you, Sam.”
Cas’s arms engulf him and Dean’s in the air. He’s so tired he doesn’t protest. Cas’s neck is soft and warm.
Dean falls asleep before they reach the bedroom. Cas cradles him gently and lays him on the bed. He removes Dean’s shoes and then, sitting on the mattress, one by one finds Dean’s weapons, cellphone, and wallet and places them on the nightstand. Cas brushes a bit of muck from Dean’s forehead and considers kissing him there. Sam enters with the water.
“Hey. It’s good to have you back, Cas.”
“Thank you, Sam.”
“How is he?”
“Tired, but well.”
“And… are you doing okay? I mean, you’re back in one piece?”
“I’m sublime.”
“Wh—What happened in there? The spell we used ran out of time. I thought— I thought you both were trapped there forever.”
“So did I,” Cas admits. “But your brother—“ A proud smile breaks out on Cas’s face. “the Empty— he filled it.”
“What?”
“We should let him rest.”
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Sam leaves the room first and Cas takes the opportunity to give the kiss he’d been thinking about. He covers Dean with a blanket. He looks peaceful. Cas can’t stop smiling. It’s hard not to smile, when he knows he is loved by Dean Winchester.