Chapter Text
Dean's nightmares always stay the same—full of monsters, thick darkness, and blood.
Though, he's past being tormented by them every night. But whenever they creep back in, he wakes up in a sweat and his heart is beating so fast as if it wanted to jump right out of his chest. Tonight, the nightmare showed him his all too familiar worst fear once again.
Losing the people he loves. Watching the people he loves die.
Apart from the glow of the street light next to the motel, it's dark in room 18. Dean swallows with a click, willing his heart to calm down, but he isn't even fully awake yet. His thoughts are stumbling dozily over one another, all while the last images of his nightmare still cling inside of his eyelids. Blindly, Dean reaches his hand out, expecting the soft fabric of a well-worn t-shirt, but there's nothing besides the empty bedsheet next to him.
His pulse speeds up instantly, and not even a second passes before he sits straight in bed. That heavy feeling is resting on his chest again, the heavy feeling he was able to shake more frequently in the last weeks. He folds back the blanket and cringes when his bare feet touch the cold floor. Still sleepily, he puts on his shoes and gets up.
Dean's heartbeat starts to slow down when he sees the trenchcoat over the back of one of the chairs, the material so familiar to the touch of his hands. He doesn't see the car keys anywhere, and he's sure he put them on the table, so he knows where he'll find Castiel.
They are somewhere on the West Coast, in another random town. Dean didn't bother memorizing its name. There's another star-studded night sky above him, and the parking lot in front of the motel is almost empty except for a blue Prius, an old silver Mercedes, and Dean's beloved Impala.
Cas is sitting in the driver's seat of the Impala, and relief rushes through Dean's body. As he walks towards the car, flashes of memories resurface, memories of a time when he thought he'd lost Castiel for good. He opens the passenger door and gets in, and Dean reminds himself that Castiel is right there, turning his head and looking at him, a little startled and with tired blue eyes.
Cas is right here with him.
“What you're doing here?” Dean asks quietly.
“I didn't want to wake you,” Cas says, fiddling with a sleeve of the dark Henley shirt he's wearing. It's one of Dean's. Cas got into the habit of not differentiating between Dean's and his clothes surprisingly quickly. There wasn't one second where Dean minded it at all. And he also doesn't mind right now.
“You didn't wake me. I had a nightmare, woke up alone, and came looking for you.”
Castiel is quiet for a moment. “I had a nightmare, too.”
“You could have woken me up, you know?” Dean reminds him, and Cas gives him one of those sweet smiles where the corners of his mouth barely lift and it's all in his eyes.
“I know. But I thought you were sleeping well. What were you dreaming about?”
Dean swallows. “Losing.”
Understanding appears in Castiel's eyes, and he nods. Losing. They both know far too well everything that's tied to that one word. Losing one fight. Losing the goddamn war. Losing their friends and their family. Losing each other. That's the reason why Dean doesn't need to ask what Castiel's nightmare was about.
Castiel reaches his hand out and combs his fingers through Dean's hair, and Dean leans into the touch.
“Do you want to go back to bed with me?” he asks, his fingers closing around Castiel's wrist when Cas wants to pull his hand away.
Cas watches Dean pressing one, two, three kisses to the palm of his hand. “Of course.”
Back inside their motel room, Castiel puts the car keys on the table again, and Dean puts his hands on Castiel's waist from behind, tugging at his long-sleeved shirt. Cas turns around to him and raises his arms, letting Dean take off the shirt and kiss him gently. The feeling of Dean's lips against his lips isn't something unfamiliar anymore, but it still catches Cas off guard every single time.
Is he ever going to get used to all of this? To Dean right by his side, even though that's where he always belonged? But they're only—finally—allowing themselves to be together like this.
Dean gets out of his shirt as well, throws both shirts in a corner, and climbs back into bed, sighing when he's lying on his side, with Cas in his arms again, soft skin against soft skin. By now, they have memorized the other's physical scars, and fuck, these scars are always going to be right there as well. But the pain behind their scars, caused by memories of wars, hunts, apocalypses, wounds, and fears—it already doesn't hurt like it used to. And Castiel may not know if he'll ever truly comprehend everything that happened, everything that had to happen for them to end up like this.
Here. Together. In love.
But he's learning to enjoy every moment in this new life as it comes his way, and that's what matters.
Dean isn't sure either if he'll ever fathom it, but these days he's trying not to think about it too hard. They are here. They are together. They are in love. Besides his brother and their friends, he doesn't care about much else right now. And the best thing might even be that they don't need to care about much else right now. There isn't another end-of-the-world-scenario around the corner. There isn't another apocalypse waiting for them to take care of all its misery. As far as possible, their lives are normal.
Castiel and Dean drift off quickly, the sound of the other breathing the most delicate melody to fall asleep to, not scared to close their eyes again, and content with the closeness of their bodies.
SIX MONTHS EARLIER
“We did it,” Sam says, a strange look on his face. A mixture of disbelief and ease. “We beat Chuck. We beat God.”
Slowly, Dean nods. They're standing in the war room in the bunker, and they just came back home. Jack left to be the new God and only he knows what he's going to do next. And Dean knows what he's supposed to feel, but he can't find what he's seeing on his brother's face inside of him. They defeated the mightiest threat they've ever faced, and Dean is still hopeless. Lifeless. Empty. At that one word, his heart convulses. He thinks he's going to break into a thousand pieces if he doesn't get the words out immediately.
He wants to tell Sam about Castiel, about the things Cas said to him before he died to save him, although he has no idea how. The words already get tangled up in his brain just thinking about it, and his chest fills with the sensation of longing—for something he won't find, even if he searched the entire fucking planet. For someone who's out of reach. And it might not be the first time that that happened, but this time, it feels definite. Dean keeps trying to breathe even, but how could he when he's faced with a pain that's forevermore?
All of a sudden, realization flashes over Sam's face, and the tiniest hopeful smile comes to his face. “I have to find Eileen.”
For a moment, Dean just stares at Sam, and then it takes all he has left not to crumble right in front of his brother.
Eileen. Of course. She has to be back. Everyone has to be back.
No. Not everyone.
Sam grabs the straps of his bag that he put on the table, determined to get to her.
“You can take the car, Sammy,” Dean hears himself say. He's reacting by default, holding the keys out for Sam to take. “Go find her.”
“Thanks, Dean. You should get in touch with everybody else, and I'll call as soon as I found Eileen,” Sam says and smiles before he hurries up the stairs and out of the bunker.
Dean is able to keep up the facade until Sam shuts the door. Then, he collapses.