Work Text:
And I can't let go of
Someone I wanted the most
I'm still on fire
I'm writing letters to ghosts
If I was stronger
You would be holding me close
"Letters to Ghosts" by Lucie Silvas
The bunker was silent. Three am when everyone you knew and loved were dead and gone had that kind of effect on a place. At least, Dean assumed it was three in the morning. He hadn't bothered to charge his phone in days so the battery was long since dead. The old analog clock on the wall read three and that was farther than Dean cared to know for certain.
Sam must be in bed or out. Jack was still an ever ticking time bomb. They both teetered on spending too much time around Dean and avoiding him entirely. Dean knew his brother was worried about him but Sam had the good sense not to comment on that worry. There was nothing to say.
Dean blinked.
His feet had carried him into the kitchen. There was a void in his stomach gnawing absently on his insides. Whether that meant he was hungry or nauseous he didn’t really care anymore.
He blinked again and found himself staring at the coffee pot as it filled. The smell of warm coffee hung heavy in the air like phantom perfume. A rattling breath seized hold of Dean’s lungs and he squeezed his eyes shut as he gripped the counter in front of him.
“Hello, Dean,” an impossible voice said from somewhere behind him.
Dean’s breath hitched as his eyes opened. He studied his white knuckle grip on the counter and willed himself not to turn around. If he didn’t turn around he could pretend it was real. That Cas was really there waiting impatiently for his turn with the pot of coffee. As long as he didn’t turn around Dean wouldn’t have to face the ice cold reality of losing him all over again.
“Dean?” The figment of Cas’s voice asked.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean said softly back. It was impossible not to respond.
Dean let out a long breath. It billowed out in front of him in a cloud. A high pitched keening sound slipped from his lips and it felt like his ribs were cracking open.
Movement on his left had him turning his head just in time to see a ghostly hand settle on his shoulder.
“Cas.” Dean’s voice cracked as he spoke. The only thing keeping him from collapsing in grief right then was that stupid countertop. Cold spread through his body from his shoulder and his back as Cas came closer. It felt wrong. So wrong. Cas had always run warmer than a human thanks to his grace. To feel his touch run so cold hurt on too many levels to keep track of. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’ve no need to apologize, Dean,” Cas said.
“I—I should’ve…” Dean’s vision blurred as his words failed him. He didn’t know what he’d intended to say. That he should have told Cas how he loved him before Lucifer ran him through? How he should have checked in with Crowley sooner to make sure Lucifer was really back in the cage they’d tried to send him to? Looked harder for a way to kill the devil before he could get his greasy mitts on Cas again?
“Dean,” Cas said. Dean closed his eyes and wished his angel was warm again. “Look at me. Please.”
It was impossible for Dean not to comply with Cas’s request. He turned, trailing his fingers along the edge of the countertop for some sense of stability as Cas’s ghostly form took shape in front of him. Dean grabbed hold of the counter behind him as his knees threatened to give out once he was facing fully forward. This was his fault.
“You can’t blame yourself, Dean,” Cas said as he reached out to touch Dean’s shoulder once more.
“Cas, we—.” Dean licked his lips and shook his head. “I burned you. You’re gone and I… Dammit, Cas I did this to you.”
Dean’s eyes burned hot as Cas reached up to cup Dean’s cheeks. The chilly touch on his skin further confirmed that this was his own worst nightmare come to life before his eyes. Dean stared into Cas’s blue eyes, faded as they were in this form.
“I’m so sorry,” Dean said. “I couldn’t let you go. I knew better but I couldn’t…”
“I know, Dean,” Cas said.
The mixtape Dean had pulled from Cas’s pocket after he’d carried Cas’s lifeless body to that stupid kitchen table hung like an albatross in the pocket of Dean’s robe. You’d think after Bobby’s flask that Dean would have known not to bring home a souvenir from a funeral pyre. He couldn’t deny that there was a part of him—and not a small one—that held on to fragments of hope that he would get to see Cas again. Even as the smoke had crawled so deep into Dean’s lungs it felt like all he’d ever taste was ash, he’d hoped.
“I miss you,” Dean said.
Cas’s lips spread into a sad smile.
“You’ll be okay,” Cas said.
Dean shook his head, shuddering at the cold crawling over his bones. “I don’t want to be okay. I want…”
He let go of the counter and wrapped his arms around Cas’s incorporeal body. Cas’s fingers slid to the back of Dean’s head and neck, curling into his hair and the collar of his robe as Dean leaned forward to press his forehead against Cas’s.
Clinging to a ghost was a bizarre, indescribable sensation. Dean could feel the fabric of the ugly trench coat Cas had worn on the funeral pyre beneath his fingers but he was also aware that his hands were holding nothing but dead air in front of him. The cold wasn’t bothering Dean as much anymore. Whether that was because his body was going as numb as his nerves or something else he didn’t really care.
With his eyes closed Dean could almost pretend that he’d worked up the stones to pull Cas this close when Cas was still alive. When they were both alive enough to feel it.
“You have to take better care of yourself, Dean,” Cas said.
Dean turned so his nose was brushing against Cas’s. His throat clicked as he struggled to find his voice again.
“I don’t know if I can do this without you,” Dean said softly.
They stood there wrapped in memories and each other until Dean’s body couldn’t resist the urge to shiver anymore. It felt like the marrow in his bones was set to vibrate as Cas cupped Dean’s face again and stepped away. Tears burned rivers down Dean’s cheeks as he stared into Cas’s sad, faded blue eyes.
Cas opened his mouth like he was going to speak then looked over Dean’s shoulder. Cas’s eyes shifted like he was watching something that wasn’t in the room with them. He straightened his posture and lifted his chin. For a moment, Dean swore he could see Cas’s wings lifting high and wide behind him. Cas met Dean’s eyes again.
“I’m trying, Dean,” Cas said. “You just have to hold on a little while longer.”
Dean shook his head.
“I’ve got to burn the tape, Cas,” Dean said. The words felt like he was digging the bits of his shattered heart out of his chest with blunt fingernails. “I can’t let you stay lost here like this. You deserve better. You deserve to move on, Cas.”
Cas’s grip on Dean’s cheeks tightened and his gaze grew more determined.
“No Dean,” Cas said. “That won’t be necessary.”
“Cas,” Dean said, shaking his head and willing himself to pull out of Cas’s grip. “You know what’ll happen if I keep you tied here like this. I can’t do that to you. I lo—.”
“No,” Cas said with all the holy vengeance he used to keep on tap years ago when they’d first met. It was like hearing a ghost of a ghost in that determined voice. “It was a gift and I intend to keep it.”
If Dean was a stronger man he would have lit the tape up and watched the angel he loved burn up for the second time. If he was a smarter man he might have been scared when facing down Cas’s angelic determination. If Dean were a better hunter he’d have left the tape to burn with the body instead of making a sentimental mistake.
“Okay,” Dean said because he was none of the things he should have been. His grief would make him sloppy and get him killed soon enough anyway then Sam could rid the world of their ghosts. Dean only hoped he’d be reunited with Cas once all the ash settled.
“I will find a way back to you, Dean,” Cas said. Dean’s knees grew weaker as Cas’s voice gained a strength he hadn’t heard in the angel in years. “Be here when I do.”
“I gotta leave the bunker someday, Cas,” Dean said in a fragile attempt at a joke. “That’s what Sam keeps yammering on about anyway.”
“You know that’s not what I meant, Dean,” Cas said. His thumb traced along the curve of Dean’s cheek swiping at Dean’s tears. “I know it hurts.”
“Cas,” Dean whispered. ‘Hurts’ didn’t begin to cover the all encompassing black hole ache that had swallowed him whole when he watched Cas’s wings ash out on that beach.
“I need you to live for me, Dean,” Cas said.
Dean blinked hard and only realized he was shaking his head when Cas’s fingers tightened to hold him still.
“I will not let you die, Dean Winchester,” Cas said. “I will find you. I will find my way back to you but you need to hold on.”
This was one of those moments—if Cas were still alive and not a ghost or hallucination like he was at the moment—that Dean’s lips would positively ache with the urge to close the distance between them and claim Cas’s mouth in a kiss. He idly wondered if this is what grief induced madness felt like. If it was it figured that his brain still wouldn’t let him lean forward or to say the three little words he should have shouted from the rooftops when Cas was still alive to hear them.
Even in his madness Dean was still a coward.
“Will you live for me?” Cas asked.
Dean closed his eyes and pressed his lips together. If anyone was stubborn enough to come back from a death like that, it was his angel.
He nodded.
His heart hammered in his ears as Cas’s smile spread wide enough to see the angel’s gums.
“Hurry it up, will ya?” Dean said with a shuddering smile. “It’s too fucking quiet here without you.”
Cas rolled his eyes in an overly dramatic way that had Dean laughing for the first time in weeks. Maybe even months.
“Of course, Dean,” Cas said. “Returning from the dead shouldn’t take very long.”
Dean’s cheeks ached from smiling. If this was madness he’d take it over the desperate pain of grief any day.
“I really want to kiss you,” Dean said. He blinked, stunned at his own candor.
Cas’s sarcastic irritation melted into a smile that Dean could only call loving. Cas’s right hand curled against Dean’s cheek and he traced along Dean’s bottom lip with his thumb.
“How about a raincheck?” Cas asked quietly.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Dean said. Everything in him felt rubbed raw and exposed. “Don’t take too long or I’ll have to come after you myself.”
“Of course,” Cas said. “Get some sleep, Dean. I’ll see you as soon as I can.”
“Okay,” Dean said, for lack of better words.
Cas studied Dean’s features and traced over Dean’s lips with his thumb one more time before stepping out of Dean’s hold. Dean grabbed hold of the counter behind him again as he became aware of the coldness in his bones once more. Cas gestured next to Dean.
“Your coffee is getting cold,” Cas said.
Dean turned to look at the pot now sitting there full and ready. Maybe the coffee would help warm him up. Dean turned back to Cas to offer him coffee out of habit when he realized the kitchen was empty again. His shoulders slumped. He reached into the pocket of his dead guy robe and ran a finger over the edge of the mixtape he’d taken from Cas’s body.
“I’ll wait for you, Cas,” Dean whispered.
###
When Dean first caught sight of Cas standing there in front of him whole and gloriously alive once more it felt like the universe ground to a halt around them. There was no sound save for Dean’s heartbeat in his ears. For the first time that he could remember it didn’t matter to him who else was in the room with them all he saw was Cas.
Crossing the room and gathering Cas into a tight hug felt as natural as breathing. He still smelled the same in Dean’s arms. Tears fell unbidden down Dean’s cheeks as Cas returned the hug and they sunk into each other.
“Took you long enough,” Dean said in a watery voice against Cas’s shoulder. He didn’t have to pull back to know Cas was rolling his eyes at Dean’s impatience. “Damn, I missed you.”
“I missed you too, Dean,” Cas said.
Dean finally pulled back far enough that he could get a long look at those blue eyes he’d missed like an amputated limb. The skin around Cas’s eyes folded as the angel smiled back him. Dean’s breath hitched in his chest.
“I’d like to redeem that raincheck now,” Cas said in a quiet voice.
Dean paused for a heartbeat. Just long enough to remember what the hell Cas was talking about. When he remembered he could feel the ache in the corners of his mouth from smiling so wide before he grabbed the back of Cas’s head and pulled their mouths together.
Kissing Cas felt as natural as breathing. Regret at not doing this sooner threatened to taint the moment but Dean shrugged the feeling off as he finally got acquainted with those chapped lips that drove him wild.