Chapter Text
"Don't do this, Cas."
Inky black tendrils burst from the wall. The Empty is coming.
"Cas..."
"Goodbye, Dean."
Cas grabs Dean's shoulder, shoves him to the floor. He's smiling even as the Empty curls around him like a snake.
No, this can't be how it ends, this can't be how it ends, no, NO-
The Empty disappears again, taking Cas with it. The banging on the door stops. The silence is deafening and cruel.
Dean doesn't move, doesn't speak - hell, he's not even sure he's breathing. His shoulder burns for the first time in over a decade.
His phone rings, but all he can do is sit there, staring at the spot where Cas should still be.
This can't be how it ends...
~
Dean wakes to the sound of his alarm and a dull throb in his temple. He rubs his eyes and tells himself he's imagining how misty they feel.
Blindly reaching for his phone, he turns off the alarm and stares blearily at the screen for a few seconds. If he had it his way, he'd just go back to sleep, but he is so damn sick of the latest track in the greatest hits of his nightmares. What's the point of drowning in whiskey if everything still hurts?
Mind - reluctantly - made up, he braces through the headache and sits up to swing his legs over the bed. Rubbing his temple, he stands and stumbles past the bottles on the floor to leave the room.
A quick trip to the bathroom where he refuses to look in the mirror - hangovers ain't pretty and he already feels like shit - then it's off to the kitchen. He's half-expecting Sam to be there, probably just getting back from a run, but then he remembers; banshee case in...was it Montana? Yeah.
Eileen actually found the case after jumping in to help them browse for one the other night. Sam got all excited since they haven't dealt with a banshee in years, and Dean got to watch the lovebirds nerd out together. He wanted to do his brotherly duty and milk the situation, but Sammy's been so damn happy to have his girl back, and they deserve their moment.
It's part of the reason he offered to stay and hold down the fort while Sam and Eileen took the case. He even let them bring the dog, since Miracle could use a nice roadtrip. It means there's a bizarre emptiness now as he goes to make some coffee, but oh, well.
"Gotta call 'em later," Dean mutters as he fusses with the machine, the grit in his voice almost making his headache flare up some more. He clears his throat and leans against the counter while the coffee brews.
He's not stupid, he knows Sam must be worried; for all that he was definitely thrilled to have some time alone with Eileen, he still threw out a dozen 'are you sure's before they left, with the damn Bambi eyes and everything. And yeah, okay, maybe Dean's had a...rough time, but he's still a grown man. He can handle being alone for a few days - might even do him some good.
Not like he's in perfect hunting form anyway, as hard as that pill is to swallow. Running on empty has been his default for nearly two months; he'd never forgive himself if he put Sam or Eileen in danger because he's too hungover and sleep-deprived to function. So here he is, and here he'll stay.
At some point during all the brooding, he realizes the coffee's done now. He pours a mug and, after taking a beat to consider if he's in any shape to cook just yet, goes to sit at the table and stare at the wall.
It's really been almost two months, now, hasn't it? Just keeps getting weirder to think about. They actually beat Chuck, and now their kid has been God for two months - oh, he should try and send a prayer later, 'cause they haven't talked in a while. Must be busy upstairs, though, Dean figures.
Two whole months...Might be a new record for time spent since Cas-
Nope, not going there.
Before what's left of that same old nightmare can come back for him, Dean drains his coffee, finally pops some aspirin for the headache, and sets himself to frying up some eggs. Can't go wrong with eggs.
///
It's hard to figure out what to do after breakfast. Dean looks through his movie collection, even goes as far as checking if there's any cool books in the library, but for once, he's not all that interested in mindless viewing. So he turns to old reliable; pops back into his room to change, grabs some tools, and heads down to the garage to work himself sore. At least it'll be productive.
With his phone propped up on some boxes screaming Bon Jovi tunes, Dean checks on Baby first. Of course, she's perfect, but he still gives her a little tune-up just to keep it that way, then he turns his attention to all the other cars that are basically just decorations at this point.
Except the one near the back under a sheet. He doesn't even look at that one.
Even if nobody's gonna make use of these cars anytime soon, it's still something to do, so Dean picks one at random and gets to work. Really, he's just dealing with wear-and-tear, the fact the thing hasn't been touched in years, but there's something nostalgic about it. Mechanics has always been in his blood.
It's while he's tightening a bolt that his mind starts to wander again. He tries to remember if there's any chores that need to be done, even if it's kind of ridiculous to call them chores.
Sam mentioned the idea of cleaning up the dungeon again not long before he left, like he does every couple of weeks. And like he does every couple of weeks, Dean shut that down nice and quick. He's not touching that damn place with a ten-foot pole.
Sam only knows the basics of what went on down there, what little Dean could finally cough up with the help of some liquid courage around a month ago. He knows the Empty came, and he knows it left with Cas. And that's it.
He doesn't know how Cas bared the equivalent of his soul, said only true happiness would make the Empty take him and then said...well, everything else. He doesn't know how long Dean sat there, numb to the tears in his eyes with those words still playing in his head.
"I cared about the whole world because of you."
"You changed me, Dean."
"I lo-"
Dean tightens his jaw, cutting the memory off even if he has the whole script memorized. The wound hasn't closed by any means, but digging his fingers in makes this whole thing pointless.
He doesn't blame Sam for trying to...ease him back into things, sort of. This is their home, including the dungeon - with what they do, it's a super important part of their home, really - so he can't avoid it forever. He gets that, but so long as Sam doesn't know it isn't as simple as 'this is where Cas died', neither of them are budging.
Of course it isn't that simple. Dean has watched Cas die far too many times - hell, once was too many. As much as it's always going to hurt, as much as he'll drink and rage against the universe, he can take it. His specialty is to get back up and keep moving, even if he has to drag himself along.
Now, though...there's the 'everything else' to consider. The 'happiness isn't in the having, it's in the being' talk. Jury's still out on what the hell that means.
There's no way that Cas's true happiness was telling Dean he lo-
Nope, still not going there.
Bastard left Dean with some massive shoes to fill, for sure. What does one do knowing you're the reason an angel learned how to feel? It's like getting an award for a competition you never entered.
"You don't think you deserve to be saved," Cas had said when they first met. 'Cause apparently even then, as a soldier of Heaven that would threaten Dean with tossing him back in the pit if he didn't learn some respect only a couple weeks later, the guy could read Dean like a book. And here he goes doubting it again anyway; guess some things never change.
That was part of Cas's whole point, though, in the end, wasn't it? 'Most caring man on earth', 'most selfless, loving human being', all that jazz. That'd be the reason he said he lo-
Dean checks the car's faulty engine light and moves to sit down on a box, wrench still in his hand. He's already drifting enough from the work, might as well man up and let himself feel this again.
"I love you."
Part of Dean is convinced that if he even says those words to Sam, he'll break out in hives. And Cas looked him straight in the eyes and said those words, right before a shadow demon came to drag him off to eternal darkness. That makes them pretty damn important, even by Dean's less-than-decent standards.
Cas is family. He's Dean's best friend. They've fought, bickered, tried to kill each other, even, more times than Dean can count. But that's what makes him family. And this is the kind of family where you don't have to announce how you feel.
So that bears the question;
What in the unholy fuck was he talking about?
For all that Sam can tend to wax poetic sometimes, he's never told Dean how important and good he is, not just to him, but to the world. So if it's not something Sam would tell him, then it has to mean something different for Cas. Cas has always been different.
...Maybe he did mean-
'Meow!'
Dean lurches at the noise, dropping the wrench in his hand. "What the-?"
He watches as a small black blur scampers out from somewhere between all the cars - and yep, that's a cat, batting a paw at the wrench like it's a toy and rubbing its face on his shoe.
What? Where? How?
Not sure what else to do, Dean snaps his fingers above the cat's head. "Uh, hey."
The cat looks up at him with sharp yellow eyes that feel like they can see straight through him. It's honestly a little unnerving - but then the cat meows again, a squeaky little noise, and rubs its face against his jeans next.
"Alright, I'm not a scratching post. Calm down." Dean lightly coaxes the cat away and points to a spot a few inches in front of him. "Uh, sit?"
For a second, he thinks maybe asking a cat to listen is pointless, but sure enough, the little fuzzball steps back and sits down, all nice and proper. Now that it isn't moving, Dean can see it's not all that big, probably just enough to hold in both of his hands.
"You're still a baby, aren't you?" He asks, and the cat - kitten? - meows and flicks its tail. Dean could swear its head twitches in what almost looks like a nod.
"Great. Guess you must've snuck in here last time the door was open." Dean glances over toward the garage door. "Don't know where you could've come from, but probably doesn't matter all that much."
He leans over to pick up the wrench, pointing when the kitten's ears perk up. "Not a toy." He returns the wrench to the tool-box. "What am I supposed to do, send you back outside? Is this your sales pitch for free room and board?"
'Meow!'
"Well, I'm a dog person. So even if the dog's not home right now, I think you're outta luck, buddy."
The kitten actually narrows its eyes, and with some impressive parkour skills, it hops up on the row of boxes where Dean left his phone. And Dean hasn't met many cats in his life, but he has an idea of what it's planning.
"Oh, don't do it-"
The kitten smacks Dean's phone with its paw, and he's almost surprised with how fast he gets up and swipes it before it can hit the ground. Guess his reflexes are actually still pretty sharp, but that's not important right now.
"I see your game," he says, pausing the music he's mostly tuned out at this point. "And I'd rather not have to tell people a cat broke all my stuff, so looks like you're comin' with me after all."
'Me-ow!'
"Alright, you don't have to sound so smug." Dean shoves his phone in his pocket, and his hands aren't really dirty, but he pats them on his jeans anyway. "Let's head inside and I'll look up how to take care of a cat."
He closes the hood of the car he was working on, and the kitten jumps down to follow him to the door, trotting inside once he opens it. Dean shakes his head and turns off the light on his own way out, following the fuzzball before it gets lost.
So fixing up the cars didn't work out; looks like he found a way to keep busy after all. Anything's better than being alone with his thoughts.