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In the end, it’s Jack and Rowena who team up to save Castiel from the Empty. She’s always had a soft spot for the kid, wouldn’t say no if he asked for a favor, even for this.
Jack adamantly doesn’t involve Dean or Sam in the task, though. Doesn’t even tell them about it. Just asks them to rest. To live. To stay out of any frays. He calls it a forced vacation; Sam suggests the beach, but Dean says no.
Sam unplugs the WiFi and reroutes calls to Garth. Tries to make Dean happy with pie festivals and cold beer under the stars but the faraway, desperately sad look in his eyes turns hollow as the days go by.
On particularly difficult days, when Dean can barely get out of bed, Sam calls Eileen, and they pile in with him. And just be. Eileen never minds the tear stains Dean leaves on her blouse; she never lets go of Sam’s hand the entire time.
...
A month after they lose Cas, but save the world, Jack appears in the bunker, looking tired, but ever the radiant new capital G God that he is. He finds Sam in the library, startles him from the book he’s reading.
“Jack!” Sam jumps up, anthology thumping to the floor. He immediately engulfs the kid in a relief-filled embrace.
“Hi, Sam. How are you?”
“Good, good.” Sam sniffs, trying not to tear up at just how good it feels to have Jack close again. “What, um, what are you doing here?”
“I need to see Dean. Where is he?”
“The garage, I think. He was tinkering with the car earlier. I suppose he’s still down there. Wait - is everything okay?” Sam is suddenly gripped with fear. He’ll probably never shake the feeling that something is always going to go wrong.
Jack places a comforting hand on Sam’s shoulder, easing Sam’s anxiety with a bright grin. “Better than okay, Sam.”
Sam lets out a relieved rush of air. “Okay,” he jerks his head towards the stairs. “Let’s go find Dean.”
...
Dean doesn’t really need to be working on the Impala. But it’s Thursday, and Thursdays aren’t so hard when he has something to do with his hands. He’s cleaned, taken apart, put back together the guts of the car so many times in the past month, he’s sure Baby’d actually become sentient and yell at him if he popped her open today, so he’s settled into the passenger seat with a little bit of cleaner on an old rag, intent on scrubbing away the grit, grime, blood, and guts of the past from her dashboard.
Earlier , he’d found the cassette of Zeppelin tracks he’d made for Cas under the seat, had to sit with his head down between his knees for a solid twenty minutes, coaching himself through deep breaths like Eileen taught him. When he finally felt like he wasn’t going to shatter into a million pieces, he wiped the errant tears from his face with the sleeve of his shirt and slid the tape into the deck and let his hand rest on the speaker for a moment, feeling the opening riff of “Ramble On” fill the space around him.
He’d sighed, closed his eyes, and let the familiarity of his senses wash over and ground him. The lucidity of what he could see - black leather, ugly beige carpet under his feet, his box of tapes (with a couple of fakes and Fed badges thrown in haphazardly), the red and black rag sitting on the dash - cut from an old plaid shirt that had seen one too many fights, the tree-shaped air freshener that had long since lost its new-car scent.
What he could feel - the warmth of his old, well-worn forest green henley, the heavy boots on his feet - laces pulled tight, the oily residue of the interior cleaner on his fingertips, the soft leather seat cushion underneath him.
What he could hear - the rumble of Baby’s idling engine, the faint hum of the air intake in the bunker’s garage, Robert Plant’s voice fading out of the speakers, I can’t find my bluebird / I listen to my bluebird sing but I / I can’t find my bluebird / I keep ramblin’ baby .
What he could smell - gasoline, and years and year’s worth of memories.
And what he could taste - the black coffee he drank that morning from the mug still sitting half-empty on the kitchen counter.
He gets back to work .
...
Dean’s been wiping the interior into a gleaming shine for half an hour when he hears the door to the garage swing open.
He doesn’t look up, until --
“Dean.”
He freezes, heart stuttering. That’s not Sammy’s voice. He’s out of the car, sprinting towards Jack, towards his son , before he can even take another breath.
Jack meets him at the bottom of the stairs; meets him in the cradle of his welcoming, open arms. He cups the back of Jack's head with a firm hand, looks up at Sammy with a question on his tongue that never leaves; a few tears escape and roll down his cheek without permission.
“I’ve missed you, kid.”
“I’ve missed you, too, Dean.”
He reluctantly lets go, but not before ruffling his hair a bit, for old time’s sake. The gesture makes Jack grin up at him.
“So, what brings you by? Not that you need a reason. You’re always welcome here, kid. Just - everything is okay, right? Is there - do you need our help with something?”
“No, Dean, everything’s fine, don’t worry.” Jack puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and, like Sam, it quells the rising tide of Dean’s anxiety.
Jack continues, “I actually have some good news for you, and I wanted to see you, of course. I missed you both. Can we go somewhere more comfortable? I’ve so much to tell you.”
“How about the library?” Sam asks, and they all agree. Dean needs to cut off the car and close her up, lest he run down her battery. Jack and Sam are settled into cozy armchairs when Dean joins them a few minutes later. Jack is grinning brightly, but not saying a word.
“Alright kid, out with it!” Dean says gruffly, taking a seat next to Sam.
“ We saved Dad. We saved Castiel .”
This time Dean’s heart really does stop beating, or at least that’s what it feels like. He can’t breathe, jaw slack as he stares at the kid, praying he didn’t hallucinate the words that just came out of his mouth.
Sam recovers from the shock quicker, demanding all the details from Jack, who is practically bouncing out of his chair as he regales them of his and Rowena’s adventure. Dean is only barely registering anything Jack is saying because all he can think is Cas is okay, Cas loves him, he is alive and he is okay and Dean loves him back .
When Dean finally speaks, his voice cracks in desperation but he can’t even begin to care. “Where is he?”
“In heaven, resting. The Empty was cruel to him. Time is different there, you know, so to him he was there for a very long time. But I restored his true Grace, and that is helping him heal quickly. It shouldn’t be long until he is back to his old self.”
Dean lets out a shuddering breath and smiles, “that’s good. I’m. Thank you. Jack, I’m so proud of you.” His voice is heavy with emotion; he means every word.
Jack lights up like a Christmas tree.
They’re all silent for a moment, and Dean finds he can’t stop the flow of tears any longer. This time, though, they are tears of relief, joy. He uses his sleeve to wipe them away. Sam reaches over and squeezes his shoulder, then stands.
“Be right back,” he says, leaving Jack and Dean alone.
“Pray to him.” Jack says as soon as Sam is gone.
“What?”
“Dean, I know what happened when the Empty took him. The Empty showed me. It mocked him with it for ages. It didn’t just break his mind and body, it broke his heart, too. That’s something that Grace can’t heal. Only you. And, forgive me if I’m wrong, but you love him, don’t you?”
Dean lets out a borderline-hysterical laugh through his tears. Of course Jack knows. He wonders how long he’s known. The time for hiding is long, long over.
“Yeah, I do,” he says, strongly, bravely.
Jack’s answering grin is like looking into the sun. “Then pray to him. He can hear you. When he’s well, he’ll come to you. You just have to ask.”
“I will,” Dean breathes, “I promise.”
Sam returns then, with a glass of water and a box of tissues for a grateful Dean.
“Tell us what else is new, Jack,” Sam prompts. “What’s going on in Heaven?”
Jack settles back into his seat. “Well, I’ve been discussing design plans with an awesome guy named Bobby Singer.”
And as Jack excitedly updates them on his plans for a new, better Heaven, Dean sends out a quick prayer to his Angel.
“Get well soon, buddy.”
...
Jack hadn’t given him a time frame; Dean doesn’t know for sure when Cas will be well enough to leave Heaven. So Dean lets the days pass easily into a few weeks, always, always sending a prayer up letting Cas know he’s thinking about him.
Then one Sunday dawns bright and new and warm and Deans knows. Today is the day.
...
He spends the majority of the day with Sammy helping Eileen move into a small house in town. She wanted to be closer to them, yet didn’t seem too keen on living in the bunker. Dean figures it won’t be long before Sam is spending more nights in the white bungalow with blue shutters than he does at the bunker. That thought doesn’t bother him nearly as much as it might have before he learned Cas was okay.
They order pizza for dinner and drink cheap beer on the back patio as the sun begins its descent. Sam offers to stay the night and help Eileen ward the house from the evils they know, habits veteran hunters will never be able to let go of. They don’t talk about it.
Dean says his goodbyes and points Baby in the direction of the bunker, but he doesn’t park her in the garage. Instead, he drives up a mostly dirt and grass path to a spot he discovered years ago, up on a hill and surrounded by evergreens, shielded from any prying eyes. From this position, he can make out the lights of downtown Lebanon, but they’re not bright enough to obscure the beauty of the night sky in all its glory.
The moon is full tonight, beams of light bouncing off the hood of the car, illuminating its interior in a white-gold shimmer.
Dean takes a deep breath and prays aloud, voice shaky but resolve strong.
“Cas. Castiel. I hope you’re healed up okay. I want - I want to see you. Will you come to me?”
Dean doesn’t have to wait another second before the familiar sound of wings beating through the air fills the car. He closes his eyes with a blissful smile.
“Hello, Dean.”
Cas’s deep, gravelly cadence fills the silence of the car, fills Dean’s heart with hope. It’s all he needs.
Dean looks up but doesn’t turn around, instead catching the sparkling blue of Cas’s eyes in the rearview mirror. Cas is sitting in the back seat, center of the bench. He looks better than he’s ever seen him, yet so beautifully familiar in his dark suit, crisp white button-down, and that stupid trenchcoat. The moonlight reflects off the deep blue silk of his necktie. Dean huffs in amusement. “What are you doing back there?”
“Habit, I guess.” Castiel holds Dean’s gaze in the rearview mirror.
They’re both silent for a few moments, then Cas scoots forward on the bench, his face so close Dean can feel his heated breaths on the back of his neck.
Calmly, Dean turns so that he’s practically sideways in the seat, to face Cas, neck straining with the angle, but he doesn’t care.
He breathes out and in, once, twice, swallows thickly. “Cas, you know - you have to know I love you, too. I did then. I do now.”
Dean’s heart is beating out of his chest with nerves when Cas doesn’t respond, simply studies Dean’s face, tilting his head to the side a bit. Dean feels like his eyes are trying to bore a hole into his soul; maybe they are.
Dean lets out a shaky breath when Cas reaches a hand towards his face. He runs the backs of his knuckles over the apple of Dean’s cheek, opens his hand until Dean’s face is cupped in his large, warm palm. Cas smiles blindingly, gracefully and Dean is brave again.
He leans closer, eyes flicking down to stare at Cas’s plush, inviting mouth, his tongue darts out to wet his lips; he’s leaning closer before he realizes it, but so is Cas. Their lips finally brush softly, in a whisper of a kiss that feels like coming home.
Cas presses in again, his other hand laying claim to Dean’s other cheek, so that he has Dean’s face cradled gently, reverently in his palms. Between one breath and the next, the kiss deepens. Cas licks into the heat of Dean’s mouth, and Dean feels his cock begin to harden in his unforgiving blue jeans as they fall further and further into the embrace.
Dean shifts in his seat again, rising up on one knee without breaking the fierce contact of their mouths. When Dean does pull away, just far enough to take in a lungful of oxygen, Cas smiles up at him, radiantly.
“I can fly us to the bunker --”
Dean reaches for Cas’s necktie, pulling at it to loosen the knot, his chest heaving, heart beating out the rhythm their lips just created. He bites his bottom lip and shakes his head.
“I want you here. Now. No more waiting.”
Whatever preamble Dean has left, lingering inhibitions or insecurities, is left in the front seat. Cas is gripping and grabbing and pulling and dragging him over the seat; Dean is doing his best to keep up while also not letting Cas’s lips move too far away from his for one goddamn second because he cannot get enough of the way Cas feels like lightning on his tongue, a bright, white-hot spark to every nerve ending in his body.
There’s an awkward moment, where Dean’s boot gets entangled in the seatbelt, and then they’re both laughing, Dean sprawled on top of Cas, one leg still in the front seat. Cas peppers kisses in between giggles across Dean’s face, while Dean grumbles for help. With a Graceful wave of his hand, Cas rids Dean of his clunky boots, and Dean finally straddles Cas’s hips. He swoops down for a deep, thrilling kiss that sends shockwaves of pleasure rippling him.
Cas sits up with a long, drawn-out moan, pushes at Dean’s jacket.
“So many - mmm - layers,” he groans, pawing at the plaid shirt Dean has on underneath his jacket.
“You - you, too,” Dean counters, dragging the trenchcoat down Cas’s shoulders, wishing he could just rip it to shreds. “Can’t you just - like with the - shoes?” Dean says between bruising kisses.
“Want to take my time with you,” Cas whispers, like it's a secret.
Dean pulls back to look at Cas’s lust-blown eyes, cupping his face in his hands. “Sweetheart,” he breathes. “We will have all the time in the world.” He kisses him then, soft, slow, fervent.
“Right now, though,” he says when he releases Cas’s mouth, slick and shining, eyes intense and searching. “I’m not going to be able to think straight - not going to be able to think about anything else - until I’ve made you come.”
In the blink of an eye, they’re both blissfully naked, heated skin pressed so close. Dean lays Cas down on the seat, draping his body on top of Cas’s, taking both of Cas’s hands in his own to twine their fingers together, resting them above their heads. Maybe they’re both a bit too tall, too broad, for Baby’s backseat. But also, maybe Dean’s wanted Cas here for longer than he’ll care to admit. Maybe, he’ll pin him to the seat until he’s erased every memory of anyone else and replaced it with Cas, Cas, Cas .
He leans back in for another kiss, burning desire simmering low and hot in his belly. They’re both hard now, pressed flush together, and Dean lifts up slightly and rocks his hips forward slowly, the first drag of their leaking cocks together drawing deep, guttural moans.
Dean’s world shifts and narrows to their syzygy. The push and pull of their eager bodies, the give and the take. The sweat-slick slide of skin on skin, Dean’s arms quivering as they hold him up, his swollen lips sucking kisses into Cas’s jawline, down his neck, desperate pants and moans and curses and blasphemies rolling off Cas’s tongue.
Chasing pleasure, eyes wild, heart reckless, Dean brings one arm with both his and Cas’s entwined hands to reach between them, releasing Cas’s hand only to take his cock with surety, strokes even, slick enough from their sweat and pre-cum. Cas follows his lead, jacking Dean to the same rhythm of his hips. Dean is on the edge faster than he wants to be, unable to hold on any longer, whispering desperately, brokenly, “so close, Cas, so close, I love you.”
“Come for me, Dean,” Cas begs, low and deep.
Dean spills over his hand, burying his cry in Cas’s neck, and Cas holds him through the aftershocks, whispering praises and I love yous and pressing kisses to every part of Dean his mouth can reach.
Running his hand through his own come, Dean grasps Cas’s cock in a tight fist, swiping his thumb over the head after every couple of strokes. Cas gasps into Dean’s mouth as he claims it once more with bruising, biting, enthralling passion.
It’s not long before Cas is tightening his hold on Dean, body tensing. Dean knows he’s close.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he says, pulling back to watch the beauty of Cas in the throes of pleasure, unbridled and erotic. “Let go, Cas. Let me see you.”
Seeing Cas come is nothing short of miraculous; it takes Dean’s breath away. Cas arches his back and lets the orgasm wash over him, chanting Dean’s name like a prayer. Dean has been to heaven and hell and back, has seen things that would break even the strongest man, but nothing will ever, ever compare to this moment. The feeling of Cas trembling, shaking apart, panting beneath him, the physical evidence of their climax sticky and slippery on their skin, Cas’s arms pulling him close, his head pillowed on Cas’s chest, every inch of them touching, head to toe.
Cas runs one hand up and down the smooth skin of Dean’s back as they both remember how to breathe again. He reaches down and pulls his trenchcoat from the floor of the Impala, spreading it over their entwined bodies as the sweat on their skin cools in the chilly night air.
Dean presses warm, lingering kisses into Cas’s chest. For a second, Dean thinks this might be a dream; he surreptitiously counts his fingers; his senses ground him, pulling him back from panic’s razor edge, where he never wants to be again.
And then he can’t believe he actually gets to have this. Though he knows getting Cas back won’t fix everything going on in his head - the anxiety and depression and PTSD from the life he’s had to lead - he sees light now, brightness where before there had just been endless gray. He’s ready to live again. To heal and move on. To have what he never thought he could before: a future. The happiness that bubbles up in his chest is near painful, but not unwelcome.
He starts to hum the first song that comes to mind. It’s probably a visceral reaction to the mind-blowing orgasm, the backseat of Baby, his bliss-out, fucked-out brain. He hums and drifts towards unconsciousness.
“Dean?” Cas’s voice brings him back from the edge of sleep.
“Hm?”
“What song was that? That you were humming.”
Fully awake now, Dean huffs a laugh into Cas’s chest. “Oh it’s - uh. Don’t judge me, okay, it’s a thing, with the car, and the sex and - oh god-“ he looks up to see Cas staring down at him with his classic head-tilt-eye-squint confusion and Dean’s heart stutters because he fucking loves this gorgeous man. And he just has to kiss him, so he does.
“You didn’t answer the question,” Cas gripes when Dean pulls away, even though he’s smiling.
Dean sighs. “Night Moves. It’s Night Moves. Bob Seger. I’ll explain another time just - just please never tell Sammy.”
More squinting, but Cas agrees. “So, is that our song?”
“No!” Dean yelps. “God no, Cas, definitely not. No way.”
“Well you were humming it after we had sex, Dean, what am I supposed to think.”
“Sorry, sorry. It was just the first song that - it’s just - nevermind. No, we will have a much, much better song. I promise.”
“Like what?”
Dean grins, “Something from Zepp, probably. Yeah?”
“Something from my mixtape,” Cas smiles back.
Dean thinks for a moment, then shifts suddenly so he’s kneeling above Cas, surprising him, his voice rough, a little out of tune, but singing anyway, “ All I need from you, is all your love! All you gotta give to me is all your love!”
Cas’s eyes sparkle in amusement, “That one’s my favorite.” He leans in for a kiss that Dean is more than happy to give to him, now, tomorrow, forever.
He breaks the kiss with a smile and a soft sigh.
“Ready to go home, Cas?”
“Dean,” Cas whispers, his blue eyes sparkling again with unshed tears, “my home is you.”