Of Loss and Love

by saudades_girl

Summary:

“You saved me,” Cas says.

Dean wants to crawl inside that low rumble of a voice and curl up there forever. Delirious, he says, “Yes.”

Then Cas says, “You kissed me.”

Dean swallows. “And?”

Cas kisses him. Something burns at the hem of Dean’s shirt and his eyelashes flutter darker and it’s much, much later when he realizes he’d felt a spark from the lightbulbs blowing out.

*

Dean barely talks since Cas died. Even once they save him, it's too damn hard. In which fucked up coping styles leave both Cas and Dean convinced the other doesn't really love them. Cas thinks Dean is offering to sleep with him out of the goodness of his heart, or so Cas won't leave. Dean is trying to be less of a dick and ends up crying all the time. Cas just wants Dean to let him be the big spoon. They get to heal and be in love.

Notes:

I've spent the months since November 5th in a Tumblr hole desperately trying not to rewatch Supernatural or write more fanfic. Both missions have failed. ILY all.

Chapter 1: Prologue

Notes:

Complete: chapters will be posted biweekly.

It goes like this:

Your whole life, you were made to serve. Be a good soldier for Dad, take care of Sammy, do the job. Suffer with your mouth shut.

  And when you were at your ugliest, your most broken, someone saved you. Someone – something – so much larger than you, you had to bite at your cheek to stop from kneeling.

  An angel. Good things do happen.

  But they don’t.

  Because he lays it on the line and he rebels, for you, and wipes the blood he put at your mouth away before you can tell him what he already knows, that you’re not worth it. And you dance around each other for years, until you’re on your knees and you say it. I love you. I need you.

  And he vanishes, just like every other good thing you tried to have as your own. 

  And you lose him over and over again and you never learn how to tell him what he is to you, because you told him once and he left. Half of the time he’s a lighthouse, a beacon in the dark, strong enough for you to wreck yourself on. ‘I always come when you call.’ But half the time he’s in the wind, your calls go to voicemail, and you can’t ask him to stay.

  You just can’t.

 Y ou nestle your hand over the print he left on your shoulder sometimes, and skim your fingers over the ribs you know he carved into. It makes you feel warm.

  And even though you know he can’t care, wasn’t built to care that way, would probably break or fall even further if he could, it gets to you. You get mad, and you lash out, and you regret it, but you don’t apologise.

  You can’t.

  And then you were crossing the room to say, 'I know it doesn't matter but I love you, I've always loved you, I'm so sorry,' but you can't speak and he dies for you. And you can’t get him back. And you were wrong.

  He loves you, he said loves you, you still can’t believe it, he’s gone. You fought for the whole world and all of a sudden, you have nothing.

 

Dean crumples up the piece of paper, scrawls, ‘so it goes’ a la Vonnegut on its raggedy surface, and tosses it in the bin.