Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean drove. Alone in the Impala. A one-lane, paved country road. Middle of nowheresville, USA. Earth.

Sam was at the bunker but Dean couldn't go back. He had checked there once, and that was enough. He couldn't look at those halls, couldn't exist in that space, not without...

He couldn't even think about it. Even with the bunker full of hunters again, it felt as empty as it had...

Dean shook his head, trying not to let his mind wander. He turned up the music, loud enough that Sammy would have complained if he was here. Cas would have...

He didn't know what Cas would do. But Cas wasn't here. He wasn't in the bunker. He wasn't hiding at Jody's. He wasn't anywhere Dean could think of to look. He wouldn't let himself think that Cas was gone.

Dean pulled off the road and parked on the shoulder, got out, and leaned against the Impala. He sighed and bent his head.

"Jack..." His voice broke, and his eyes welled up with tears. "Jack, thanks for, y'know, returning everyone from the rapture situation, but I think you missed one, kiddo."

The tears were falling now. "I need Cas. I lo... he's family, Jack. I know you're all about this 'hands off' bullshit, but..."

Dean trailed off as he thought about how many times he'd asked Jack for this. There was never a response. Nothing. Ever. He slumped down next to the car and put his face in his hands. He was getting real tired of this. 

He wiped his face with his sleeves and got back in the car. He needed a distraction. Anything. He picked up his phone and called Sam.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, hey Sam--"

"You haven't called for months, and all I get is 'yeah, hey Sam'?" Sam sounded incredulous, and Dean could almost picture the face he was making.

"Yeah I know, I just... I just needed some space, you know?"

"I get that, but you couldn't let us know that you were alive? Dean, I had to get Charlie to hack your phone's location so we knew it was still moving."

Dean winced. This wasn't the conversation he'd wanted to get into right now.

"I'm alright Sammy, you can stop worrying"

Dean heard Sam huff and give up on this line of questioning. "Ok, what are you calling for anyway?"

"I need a distraction. Any hunts near..." Dean looked outside as if the roadside would give him a hint on where exactly he was. Somewhere near Idaho, probably? He shrugged and continued, "Wherever I am. You hacked my phone, you figure it out."

"You've been just wandering all over America without knowing where you are, but I'm not supposed to worry about you?" Sam smartassed.

"Sam, I can't right now," Dean said, his voice unsteady.

"Ok, I just pulled up your phone's location and..." Sam failed to stifle a laugh.

"What? Talk to me, Sammy."

"Closest town is, get this: Winchester, Idaho"

"You're kidding me," Dean grinned. It felt wrong on his face.

"Seriously. Wow, this place is small, there's really not a lot to go on here..." Sam trailed off for a while. "Ok, here's something: Winchester man declared dead after animal attack. It's not much to go on, but we've gone on less. I'll text you the link to the article."

"Thanks, Sammy"

"You really wanna go this alone? I can send someone to--"

"I'm fine, really, I'll be fine," Dean lied.

"Dean..." Sam huffed again, "just be careful, ok?"

"Alright, yeah. I got this." Dean hung up and sighed. "I sure fucking hope I got this..."

Dean didn't mean to drive past the bunker, but he'd honestly forgotten where he was. Instinct took over, and all at once he saw it again. The large power station loomed above the doorway. The Impala screeched to a halt as soon as he saw it, even though his foot was pinned to the gas pedal.

The sky went dark, and he was in the library, on top of Cas, angel blade lodged in a book next to his head. Dean regretted having missed, that he hadn't plunged the blade deep into Cas. It was the Mark, he told himself, the Mark made him feel that. But wasn't the Mark gone?

Suddenly he was in the storage room with the devil's trap, and Cas said those words again.

"I love you"

Dean couldn't respond. He tried, but the words got stuck in his throat and he choked on them. He tried to sign something to Cas but his hands were covered in mittens. He didn't even have mittens.

Cas opened his mouth again, and started singing a familiar song, but it wasn't his voice, and it sounded a lot like...

"Robert Plant?" Dean mumbled sleepily into his pillow. He blinked and realized he was hearing his phone alarm, set to play random Led Zeppelin songs, going off. He ran a hand over his face and tried to forget his dream. Nightmare. Whatever.

Last night, he'd driven into town looking for somewhere to stay, and found that there was exactly one place. It was way classier than the crap motels he was used to. The Winchester Lake Lodge was kinda like a cozy bed & breakfast, but they also rented out small log cabins.

Dean sighed and got up to take a shower. Last night he'd just collapsed on the bed in the cabin as soon as he got in, and he was still gross from traveling.

In the shower, Dean mentally reviewed the facts from the article. It had been rather short. The victim, Stephan Shain, was 71 years old, and had been living alone in Winchester for a few months since his girlfriend died. He grimaced. This case was supposed to distract him. He found himself thinking about how lonely the vic must have felt, like his own home was too big and empty. Like there was a hole torn in his life that could never be filled. Dean shook his head and pushed his fist against the tile wall of the shower, the pressure against his knuckles grounding him. The shower washed away the evidence of his tears.

An hour later, having driven to the county sheriff's office, Dean smiled insincerely at the coroner.

"Hi, I'm Agent Hughes, with the US Wildlife Service, I'd like to examine the body of Stephan Shain."

"Sure thing, Agent." The coroner walked over and slid out the slab with Stephan Shain on it. Dean winced slightly as she pulled back the sheet, revealing the deep gouges and ripped clothing on the old man's torso. "Yeah, gross, isn't he? Those aren't the cause of death though." She gestured, and he looked closer at the victim's throat, which had a more subtle pattern of gouges than his torso did.

"Whoa, what's this?"

"It's almost a throat clamp, but instead of compressing the windpipe like wolves generally do, whatever it was just pierced into it. The blood effectively drowned him."

"Whatever it was? So, not bear or wolf?" Dean raised his eyebrows.

"I dunno, but I'm pretty sure it can't be. The teeth marks don't match bear, and this thing's jaw is way bigger than any wolf I've ever seen."

"Where was the body found?"

"On the side of the road, apparently on his way home from church."

"Alright, anything else?" he asked.

"Well, we ran a routine tox scan, and we found something interesting," she said, handing him a paper. Dean stared at it, pretending he understood any of it. This was the sort of academic bullshit he'd usually rely on Sam for.

"Ok, what am I looking for?"

"His stress hormones were all off the charts! If the animal hadn't killed him, he would have died of fear."

Chapter Text

Dean sighed as he collapsed back on the bed, his clothes damp from the rain that'd started on his way back to the cabin. Behind closed eyes, images flashed. The hellhound that’d dragged him to hell. Every time they'd faced hellhounds since. He tried not to think of the pain of their claws and teeth digging into him. Failed. A dog barked and growled in the distance and he shuddered. He pretended he was over his fear, but he still felt it, roiling in his gut. Well, at least this case was an open and shut crossroad deal. Probably. But the sooner he was done with this case, the sooner he could move on to another distraction.

He forced himself to sit up and call Sam.

"Hey Sammy"

"Dean? Did you want me to send someone after all?"

"No way, I got this case in the bag. Just a crossroad deal, you know, hellhounds, nothing to worry about. Where to next?"

"Whoa, hang on. Remember that one case, must have been more than a decade ago, the one with the crossroad demon who stuck around, kept handing out deals for a while? You should probably stick around for a bit, make sure." Sam said.

Dean thought that he'd rather deal with yet another apocalypse than do anything involving hellhounds. He was about to say something to deflect again when Sam spoke up.

"Or, I could send some people there to check it out for you, if you really wanna bail." Sam sassed.

"No no, I got this. Asshole."

"If you say so," Sam said, further cementing Dean's need to do this on his own. "I'm gonna try to get in contact with Rowena anyways, in case this is a demon gone rogue."

"Weird that now, demon gone rogue means they're doing bad things. Remember when demons were evil?" Dean laughed and it came out more hysterical than he meant it to.

"Dean... I wish you would talk to me about…" Sam sighed, "I won't pressure you about it. Just remember, you can talk to me whenever, ok?"

"Yeah, and then we'll cry into our pints of ice cream and watch Steel Magnolias, is that it? Sam, I'm awesome." Dean felt like a wild animal pushed into a corner, and his words tasted bitter.

Sam sighed. "Alright well, be careful."

"You be careful," Dean shot back lamely as he hung up. Thunder rumbled.

He needed a drink.

After at least half the bottle, Dean had the lovely idea of taking his whiskey for a walk in the pouring rain. Taking occasional gulps from the bottle, he stumbled down the road.

"Cas..." The name jumped to his lips, knocked loose by the alcohol in his system. He stopped, stock still in the middle of the road. "Cas, where are you, man?"

His shoulders shook, and he let out a sob, his tears mingling with the rain. "Cas, I- I miss you," Dean whispered. He took another large gulp of whiskey but it didn't help, so he chased it with another. His vision swam and he sat down heavily. His pants were drenched anyways. Did it really matter if he got mud on them too?

"Cas, why? Why'd you have t' do it? Left me all alone here, buddy..." He mumbled, his words coming out slurred with booze and emotion.

" Cas... " Dean sighed the name, holding onto it like it was everything. It was the only thing keeping him here. That solid rock foundation felt more like limestone getting washed away by the torrential rain, but it was all he could do to hang on to it still.

"Dammit, I love you, Cas!" All at once he was yelling, emotions too big to hold back anymore. "I love you too , you asshole! Why'd you have to go an- and sacrifice yourself for me? I'm not worth that. I'm- I'm not worth you. Why would you ever..." Dean faltered, and took another drink. "Why would you ever think you couldn't have me?" he whispered, hoarse and low, saturated in sorrow.

Lights swept across him but he closed his eyes and continued his useless prayer to Cas. "You've had me for years, all you had to do was tell me, you idiot..."

Dean shook his head, distracting himself from the rumbling sound that was growing louder. "No, fuck, I'm the idiot. Shit, why did I never--"

Squeal. Crunch. The car flung Dean down the road before he even realized what was happening. He groaned and tried to move but nothing seemed to work.

"Are you alright?! I- I didn't see you..."

Dean was hallucinating. That was the only explanation. That voice, the dark hair on the figure he could just barely see. His vision blurred and wavered, then finally gave out as pain blossomed across his entire body.

And as he slipped into unconsciousness, he heard the hallucination's concerned yell, "Dean? Dean!"

Dean was back in that alley. Cas had him up against the wall, punching him, over and over. He was so full of pain, he couldn't fight back, didn't want to anyways. But in the next moment, he realized each punch was subtracting pain, not adding it, and he groaned. Cas was smiling and crying at the same time, and the punches softened into gentle caresses. Dean closed his eyes and leaned into Cas’ hand as it cupped his cheek, but then the hand was gone.

He opened his eyes and he was in the bunker again. It was dark and empty, and a phone was ringing somewhere. He walked towards it to answer it, but it didn't seem to get any closer. Dean started running. The phone never got any closer but the sound began to change. Then it was behind him and he was running from the howls of hellhounds. His footfalls echoed through the vast labyrinth of the bunker. Did it always have this many hallways? He couldn't remember. He came around another bend and slipped and fell, and the hounds were on him instantly and--

Dean shuddered awake and looked around frantically. He was in a white bed, in a white room, and everything was clean. A hospital. No hellhounds. He took a deep breath (making a face at the disinfectant smell) and let it out, then started checking himself over. The first thing he noticed was the cast on his left leg.

"Aw, hell..." It was gonna be a pain in the ass to finish up this hunt with a broken leg, with no backup. Deep in the back of his mind, he thought if only Cas were here... but he ignored that. Thankfully it seemed he'd just gotten a broken leg, and nothing else. Actually, he felt better than he had in years, physically at least. He tried to remember what had happened last night, but everything was fuzzy after he’d started drinking.

The next thing he noticed was that he couldn’t find his phone. He couldn’t call for help, and he couldn’t use the GPS. Dean pulled himself up and onto his feet. First priority: crutches, but for now he'd just rely on the structural integrity of the cast to hobble out of here. Second priority: getting out of Dodge. He could drive with one leg. He'd probably have to steal a car to get back to the cabin. Third priority: figuring out where he was so that he could find the damn cabin.

He opened the door, only to come face to face with a shorter dark-haired man wearing scrubs, with a name badge that said "Mark Fletcher, RN" on it.

"You're not supposed to be moving around with that leg, sir," the nurse said exasperatedly.

"Suppose I'll need crutches then. So uh, where would I find some of those, eh Mark?" Dean said, giving the classic wink and grin. Behind his smile, cold panic gripped him. Clean walls, clean smell, too much, too clean. Gotta get out.

"Just, uh, sit- sit down for a second and I'll get them," Mark said. Dean sat down and tried not to show how fucking terrified he was. He took a deep breath and let it out, slow and shaky.

Seconds later, Mark returned with the crutches, and Dean pulled himself up with them.

"How's that?" The nurse asked, concern apparent on his face. Good, just the distraction Dean needed. He swept one of the crutches at Mark’s legs, knocking him to the ground.

"Pretty good, thanks buddy!" Dean called back as he hobbled away at top speed on the crutches.

Dean got outside the hospital (St. Mary's, coincidentally enough) before he realized that this hospital would be the nearest one to Winchester, unless he’d wandered entirely too far last night. So a stolen car would be found sooner rather than later. He scanned the parking lot for likely cars anyways. Wait, was that...? He moved closer. No fucking way.

The Impala. He would recognize his Baby anywhere. What the fuck had happened last night?! He leaned up against her and checked his pockets. Good, he did have the keys. Wait, if he had the keys... Had he driven the car here somehow, and forgotten? Had someone else driven his Baby? Dean looked at the car and frowned. If someone else had put a fucking scratch on her... He shook his head. He didn't need to get distracted going down that road right now.

After inspecting the Impala for any sign of damage (and finding none), he got himself situated in the car. Dean found his phone in the driver-side footwell and had to embarrassingly contort himself to pick it up. This cast was already a goddamn pain in the ass. He felt slightly disappointed that Sam hadn't called him, but he pushed that down. Sam didn’t need to worry about this right now. Dean could handle this, needed to handle this on his own.

Back at the cabin, Dean flipped through the local news on his phone. It had taken a few hours to drive back to the cabin safely, and he felt itchy and restless, even after changing into fresh clothes. He scrolled past articles, just barely skimming the titles, then scrolled back up and tapped on one.

"’Winchester woman second victim in local animal attacks', huh? Guess this ain't over after all," Dean mumbled to himself, frowning at the article.

WINCHESTER, ID- Madelyn Roberts died of an animal attack inside her own home yesterday night after having dinner with her sister, who survived the attack. Police found no signs of forced entry. Forensics have linked this to the recent death of Stephan Shain, a similar animal attack. Local Park Ranger Jamie Elinor had this to say: “This is what happens when people think they can just adopt a wild animal. I’ve seen this kind of thing way too often.”  Roberts' sister Margeret has yet to comment on the tragedy she witnessed.

Chapter Text

Dean was drunk again. That was the first thought that went through Castiel's head upon hearing Dean once more. He sighed. Dean only prayed to Castiel when he was drunk now, which was distressingly often.

Castiel's bright blue eyes roved over book titles, looking for any out of place. But he couldn't focus, not with Dean's very soul crying out to him, so he waved down his supervisor, Helen.

"Headaches again, Castiel? You should really get those checked out," the kindly old woman said.

"Yes, ma'am," Castiel said dryly, but Helen didn't seem to notice the tone, and she dismissed him.

He walked out of the library a few moments later, a big black umbrella keeping him dry from the rain, and got into his car. When Jack had rescued him from the Empty, he'd given Castiel a few things to ease him into an unobtrusive life on Earth. Castiel had wanted to go straight back to the bunker, but he knew that he and Dean could never work out, and it was better to just... not. So he'd requested this: Life as an unassuming librarian, sorting out books. A reliable car. A comfortable house.

He started his green Toyota Camry and began driving home.

--Dammit, I love you, Cas!--

The prayer broke through his concentration and he swerved slightly, back wheels skidding off of a road slick with rain. Castiel's heart was hammering in a way that felt far too mortal for an angel's vessel. Did Dean just say that? How could he even...? He tried to regain control of his vehicle, and just about wrestled it into not swerving anymore when he saw something, square between the headlights. Was that a person? He slammed on the brakes, but it was too late, much too late...

Castiel exited the car and heard a low groan from the person on the ground.

"Are you alright?! I- I didn't see you..." he said defensively, but the person (the man?) on the ground just seemed to go limp. Wait, those clothes, that voice... oh, fuck.

"Dean? Dean!" Castiel yelled uselessly and rushed towards him. Dean was bleeding everywhere, and his soul was fading fast. Castiel reached out and pulled on the last tiny strands of his grace, mending the body that he knew so well. The body he had remade when he'd brought Dean back from Hell. Flesh and bone and skin knitted itself back together and realigned itself, until there was but one injury left. Castiel's pulse roared in his ears. His fully human pulse. He pulled out his phone and called 911.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"I just--" His voice broke, and then he was crying, unable to fill his lungs without sobs ripping the air back out.

"Sir, please take a deep breath and tell me where you are so we can send help."

Castiel should know how to breathe, he really should. He's been human before, and even angels can pull air into their vessel's lungs and push the air back out. Why was this so hard suddenly?

"Sir, we are tracing your call, please stay on the line even if you are unable to speak."

He tried again to fill his lungs with air, but it wheezed back out with a shaky sob. He put his hand on Dean's chest and felt his easy breaths. Ok, Castiel could follow along. He sucked in air as Dean's chest expanded, and he exhaled as Dean did. Their breaths settled into a rhythm and slowly, Castiel calmed down. Dean was going to be safe.

"Sir? We've traced your call." Castiel flinched and almost dropped his phone. Oh, right, the emergency services.

"I-- Ambulance. He needs an ambulance."

"Thank you sir, they'll be there as soon as possible. Can you tell me what happened?"

"I didn't see him. I didn't-- I was driving home, and he was in the middle of the road, and I tried to stop, but--" Castiel's voice still shook, but he was breathing normally again at least.

"Ok, thank you. Could you tell me your name?"

"Cas- Castiel Serif," Castiel said, rattling off the legal name he'd come up with.

"Do you know the injured man?"

"... No, I don't," he lied. It was likely that Dean was currently using an alias, and thus it would be less than advantageous for Castiel to give a different alias now. Even worse to give Dean's real name, considering he still had a criminal record. And was legally dead.

"Ok, Castiel, can you stay on the line please?"

"Yes, of course." He would do anything to just stay here with Dean. Castiel reached out again and put his hand on Dean's cheek, felt the rough stubble. He knew Dean would probably have pulled away if he was awake, but he couldn't bring himself to pull away. Not now.

He sat there for several minutes before he started hearing the sirens, and then he jerked his hand back and stood up, looking around. Just in time. The ambulance turned onto the road and parked right behind Castiel's car, emergency workers piling out.

"You Castiel?" a gruff-looking man asked.

"That would be me, yes."

"Alright, you can hang up the phone now, we got this."

Castiel disconnected the call and stood off to the side, watching them get a stretcher out of the ambulance and check Dean's condition. The rain soaked into his coat as he stood there and focused on breathing. Was Dean always that pale? Had Castiel healed him enough? What if he got worse?

"Your friend looks like he's going to be fine. Come sit down for a second." the gruff man said. He placed a blanket around Castiel's shoulders and suddenly Castiel realized he'd been shivering for a while now. He let himself be directed towards the open back of the ambulance and sat down.

"Oh, good." Castiel gave a relieved sigh, then caught himself. "I mean, he's not... he's a stranger, as I said over the phone."

"Ok then, whatever. He'll be fine. I'm Gavin, by the way," the man said, extending his hand to Castiel.

"Cas." He tried to extend his own hand, but he was shaking too hard, and only succeeded in knocking the blanket off of one shoulder. Gavin pulled it back up for him.

"Yeah, I know," said Gavin. Castiel looked sharply at him but then remembered that he'd given his name over the phone. He rubbed his face, thinking about Dean waking up in a hospital. Dean hated hospitals. And he'd have no way to get back without stealing a car. Stealing a car would mean he'd have to leave sooner. Castiel got up, determined. He was going to bring Dean his Baby, one way or another.

When Dean hobbled into the sheriff's office on crutches, the receptionist did a double-take.

"Oh, what happened?" she asked with concern.

"Fell down some stairs. We talked on the phone, I wanted a few moments to ask Margaret Roberts some questions? The witness of the animal attacks. I'm Agent Hughes?" Dean anxiously fiddled with his crutches, still full of nervous energy for some reason. Being in the hospital had really gotten him rattled apparently.

"Oh yes, sorry. She's just down the hall, second door on the left."

"Thanks," Dean said and he started moving down the hall.

"No prob!" the receptionist called after him.

Dean reached the second door on the left and hesitated. Was his fake ID really going to be enough to fool them? Who was he fooling with this bullshit anyways?

That train of thought was quickly interrupted by his phone ringing. Sam.

"Hey Sammy," Dean answered, trying to sound like he had his shit together.

"Dean? You sound like shit, what happened?" And of course Sam saw right through it.

"Me? No, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be fine?! Cas--," Dean stopped and took a shaky breath, "Jack went to play God, I have to deal with this stupid hellhound case, and now my leg is broken." Goddamn it, he hadn't meant to say that.

"You broke your leg?! What the hell happened?"

"Hell if I know. So, what are you calling about anyways?" Dean put extra effort into making his voice sound casual but it just sounded even more fake.

"Dean..."

"I have no goddamn idea, ok? Can we get to the fucking point?"

"Rowena said it's not a hellhound. They're all accounted for. How do you not know--" Sam's question was interrupted by Dean hanging up and silencing his phone. He didn't need Sam calling back and distracting the witness.

So, it wasn't a hellhound. Or Rowena was lying, which was always a possibility. Dean shook his head and opened the door.

"I'm Agent Peter Hughes with the US Wildlife Service, you must be Margaret Roberts," Dean said, extending his hand to the young blond woman sitting on the other side of the table.

"That's me," she said, shaking his hand. "I already gave my statement."

"Uh, yeah, I just need to ask you a few questions, get the paperwork squared away." Dean sat down and pulled out his notepad.

Margaret nodded, wiping her eyes with a tissue and sniffling a bit.

"What exactly did you see?"

"It was a dog. A huge dog. It was just... on Maddy, attacking her."

"You- You saw it? Did you see how it got in the house?"

"No, it was just there. I- I can't remember, but I think it came from behind me."

"Where were you when it attacked?"

"I was standing in front of her. She was trying to tell me something but she couldn't seem to catch her breath."

"She was scared?"

"Terrified. She kept looking over my shoulder, and then right before it attacked, she pushed me to the ground."

"And you weren't attacked by the dog afterwards?"

"No, it- it just vanished."

"Do you know if your sister had any enemies, anyone who would wish her harm?"

"W-what? What kind of monster would want to hurt a grieving widow like that?"

"She was grieving?"

"Yes, her husband passed away just a week ago. I was in town to help with funeral planning." Margaret let out a sob and dabbed at her eyes with another tissue.

"Did you smell sulfur, or rotten eggs?" Dean looked down at his notepad and started doodling nervously.

"What? No, nothing like that."

"Did you feel cold?"

"Yes, actually. I remember that it was suddenly cold while I was trying to talk to Maddy."

Dean looked up from his notes, suddenly focused. "What exactly did the dog look like?"

"It was kinda... I don't know how to say this without sounding crazy, but it was wispy around the edges, and its fur was black. Like the night sky. Oh, kinda like- actually, exactly like that one." She pointed at his notepad.

Dean looked down at his notes and saw that every single thing he'd drawn had been a dog. Various sizes and shapes of dog, but every single one was dark and wispy. The one Margaret had pointed to was a massive hound, lean and muscular, with its neck at an odd angle.

And then it barked at him.

Chapter Text

Dean limped past the cars lining the street outside the library. He rested on his crutches next to a Camry with a Coexist sticker and caught his breath. The community library was only a few blocks from the cabin, and Dean was used to walking places, but crutches were more tiring than he expected and he hadn't slept well.

A black dog. Dammit, he should have figured that out sooner. The nightmares, the omens, the fear. Hell, his phone's alarm had played the song Black Dog that first morning in town, practically broadcasting what he was up against. He didn't have much time left now.

He thought over what he knew about black dogs. There were a few varieties of black dog. Hellhounds were sometimes called black dogs, even though that wasn't really accurate. There were monsters known as black dogs too. But most rare were the ghost dogs. Vengeful spirits, still trying to save their owners from beyond the grave. Unfortunately, they weren't generally very good at figuring out who the killer had been. They could be dealt with in the normal way (salt and burn) or by bringing them to their owner's grave.

In this case, the dog was targeting people who were grieving a lost romantic interest. Great. Of course it had latched on to him. He sighed and got back on his way.

The library was rather small, and empty of people. Dean frowned at the counter in confusion, as he could have sworn there had been someone there just a second ago. He shook his head. Probably seeing things, again. He found the newspaper archive without too much trouble, and sat down to start scanning through it.

"Find everything ok?"

Dean's hand automatically snapped to the gun in his waistband, but he forced himself to let his arm fall to his side as he looked up at the kindly old woman looking at him.

"Not yet. You know anything about a dog being killed around here? Would have been a very large dog, some kind of hound?" Dean asked. A thrill of fear washed through him-- what if she thought he was suspicious? Did she know he was a hunter? --but Dean ignored it with difficulty.

"Now, why would you ask such a strange thing as that?" the woman asked and smiled sweetly (menacingly?) at him.

"I-- ahh... well... my friend? He, um, he lives around here, he told me this story about a ghost dog and I, uh, I wanted to know if there was even a dog that could be this ghost?" Dean said, the lies echoing in his ears. He cringed, waiting for her to disbelieve him.

"This is why you have no friends, Dean Winchester," the woman growled, her face turning doglike, "You lie and you lie, and then you wonder why they all leave."

Dean flinched back, almost falling out of his chair, his heart pounding in his ears. "W-what?"

"I said, do you mean Earl? He was an irish wolfhound, a real big dog. He used to be well known 'round these parts, 'til he got killed along with his owner just a few months back. That Dylan Everhart was a real piece of work... but Earl was just the sweetest dog." She smiled.

"What else do you remember?" Dean asked. He had to hold it together, had to survive this. He crossed his arms to keep his hands from shaking.

Castiel slunk out the back door of the library. A coward. That's what he was. A coward and a traitor and a sneak. He leaned up against the wall and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Dean never deserved someone like Castiel. Too much of a coward to say he loved Dean until he was about to die. Too much of a coward to face Dean's reaction.

Too much of a coward to face Dean after he'd almost... he'd almost killed him. He'd been able to "stow his crap" for long enough to bring the Impala to the hospital for Dean, but his emotions were overwhelming today. He couldn't face the prospect of talking to Dean like this. Already, his breath came in shuddering gasps, and tears threatened to spill over. Castiel closed his eyes and tried to steady his breathing.

Suddenly he heard a woman scream. Helen. He sprinted back into the library on instinct alone, and saw Helen backing away from a large spectral hound. A dog that was on top of someone. Dean! Without even stopping to think, Cas picked up a pig statuette made of iron, swung it at the black dog, forcing it to vanish.

"Dean, are you ok?" Cas asked frantically, staying alert in case the spirit returned.

"You're dead. Am I dead?" Dean replied, then coughed painfully. His shirt was torn open and blood-splattered, but his wounds weren't deep. "No, this ain't like any afterlife I've been to. Fuck. Cas, is this real?"

"This is real, Dean," Cas replied. "Was this what you were hunting here?"

"Yeah, black dog. It's targeting people who've lost a lo- who've lost someone uh, someone close," Dean said.

"T-that was a ghost!" Helen yelled. "Ghosts are real?!"

"Yes, ghosts are real. I don't think it's coming back right away." Cas said, all business, then turned to Dean and his expression softened. "Dean, I'm so sorry," Cas set down the iron pig and hurried over to Dean's side, pulling him up into a sitting position in a hug.

"Were you here this whole time?! I've been searching everywhere for anything, any sign that you were alive. I'd given up hope and that was it, that was all I could hold on to. You. You son of a bitch, I was so... I was lost. Without you." A single tear streaked down Dean's beautiful face and he wrapped his arms tight around Cas.

"I... I'm sorry." Cas released the hug and got Dean's crutches for him. "I have no excuse but cowardice, Dean. When I told you... what I told you, I never thought I'd have to face you afterwards. So I put it off. I tried to live a simple life, without you. I'm sorry about not finding you after Jack brought me back. But I'm even more sorry about last night. That should never have happened and I sincerely apologize."

"Ghosts are real," the librarian repeated, still in shock.

"Yes, they're real," Dean said, slightly exasperated. Then he looked at Cas. "Cas, you were there last night? I'm all Memento about it, what even happened?"

"I'm not surprised you don't remember, considering--"

"Ghosts are real, and you two are having some kind of a..." Helen waved her hands around, searching for a phrase, "soap opera moment?!" She paused, and something seemed to click into place. "Is this a prank?!"

Cas stared at her, then looked at Dean, who was looking back at him. They both stood and started talking at the same time.

"I promise you it's not--"

"Look, lady, I don't even know you--"

"You know what? I don't even care," she said, and drew herself up to her full height of 5'5" (shorter than both of them, but somehow it didn’t diminish the effect). "Castiel Serif, you take your boyfriend and your ghost-dog, prank… thing, and get the HELL out of my library!"

Chapter Text

Dean was grinning. His chest stung, his leg ached, and he'd just lost access to a major lead in the case, but none of that mattered. Cas was here. Alive. Not dead, not gone forever. Here. Close enough to touch. Dean's hand itched to close around his. He clenched his fist. Yeah, he'd missed this.

Dean looked over at Cas, just to bask in his presence. He was wearing a white button-down with a dark blue vest over it, and blue jeans. The vest was undone and the shirt slightly unbuttoned. His hair was a bit longer than it'd been last time Dean saw him, and it looked... hot. Damn. He looked good.

But Cas didn’t look happy, and Dean frowned. Did Cas even feel the same as he had when he'd d-- when he'd left? He looked Cas up and down and narrowed his eyes when he noticed something.

"You're human," he started, then didn't know what else to say.

"Yes." Cas walked faster, outpacing Dean's crutches.

"Have you been human the whole time you were gone?"

"No."

"When-- ?"

"Last night."

"So you've been hearing my prayers this entire time , and ignoring me."

Cas stopped and turned to face Dean, his eyes showing his fear and grief. "Do you remember how hostile, how resentful your prayers started out, when you even started praying again? I didn't want to face you after what I'd said, but your prayers only reinforced the fact that I couldn't come back. You deserve better. Better than me."

Dean snorted. "I don't know if that's possible, Cas."

"Why not? You're an attractive man, Dean, and you have many qualities that are desirable in a mate."

Dean blushed and looked down. "That's not what I meant." He took a breath and looked up, locking eyes with Cas. "I meant that I don't think there is anyone better than you, for me."

Cas squinted and tilted his head, and Dean's heart clenched. He swallowed and looked away, then looked back at Cas.

"Dean..." Cas sighed and shook his head. "I wish we could deal with all of this now, but we need to find that dog's bones before anyone else gets hurt."

"You're right. Dammit, but you’re right. ...You got a ride? I walked here."

"Yes, just up ahead. You walked here on crutches?" Cas resumed walking, and cast a brief worried glance at Dean.

Dean followed, frowning. "Hey, that was the fake-ass ghost fear from the ghost dog, not me."

Cas hummed an acknowledgement (which only sounded slightly sarcastic) and turned towards the green Camry that Dean had noticed earlier.

"Yeah, of course this is your car," Dean chuckled.

Cas frowned deeply and opened the passenger side door for Dean. "Do you have an issue with my vehicle? I was told it was 'reliable.'" He did the air quotes.

"That's not--, " Dean said as he set himself down in the car and Cas walked around to get in the driver's side. "I just meant that it suits you. More than the Continental, I mean."

"Thank you, Dean." Cas smiled. "What's the 'intel' on the case so far?" Air quotes again.

Dean smiled and told Cas everything he'd learned so far as Cas drove them to his house. "...So she told me about this dog she knew about, Earl, and--"

"Earl?" Cas looked at Dean. "That makes sense. I haven’t met Earl personally, but the apparition was similar to descriptions I've heard."

"I still don't get where the missing loved one thing fits here. How the fuck do you know about this dog anyways? D'you know where he's buried too?"

"I don't recall, but I know who to ask," Cas replied. He parked the car and looked at Dean. "You should probably stay in the car."

Dean looked down at his bloodied chest and grimaced. "Yeah, you're probably right."

Castiel knocked on his neighbor's door and waited. Impatiently, he turned and looked towards the car, Dean barely visible in the tinted window. Cas' chest ached and he longed to walk back to the car and... do something. He wasn't sure where it would go, but it started with kissing. He cleared his throat and looked away as his body started physically reacting to his thoughts. A prominent erection would not be helpful here.

"Oh, hello there Cas," the elderly Mr. Everhart said as he answered the door, "I wasn't expecting you today..."

"I'm sorry to bother you, Mr. Everhart. This may be a strange question,  but do you remember where Earl was buried? I... wanted to pay respects. I never met him, but seeing how well loved he was by the town, I thought it was high time that I did so."

Mr. Everhart's face fell slightly in grief then twisted into a grim attempt at a smile. "We had him cremated, actually. Come in, come in, we've got the urn up on the mantelpiece." He moved to let Cas in.

Cas hesitated, then stepped inside when it became clear that he had to keep up the ruse. "Was Dylan also cremated?" he asked, trying to sound casual. The moment he said it, he flashed back briefly to seeing Jack's eyes burnt out of his skull, and knew he'd made a mistake. He winced.

"What the hell is this, Castiel? You tryin' to hurt me? First you bring up my son's dog, now my son?" As the old man spoke, his voice became thick with unshed tears. “I know you never liked the guy, you don’t have to pretend for my sake. Just don’t, ok?”

"I'm sorry, I... I'll just go. I'm sorry to have disturbed you." And Cas walked back out of his neighbor's house as fast as he could.

When he got back to the car, he saw that Dean was patching himself up with the first aid kit that Cas kept in the glove box. He looked up at the former angel and asked, "Any luck?"

"The dog was cremated. I tried to get the location of his owner's grave so that we could 'gank' the ghost that way, but... sometimes I forget how complicated human interaction can be," Cas said.

"Ah well, how many graveyards can there even be around here? I haven't seen one in town, at least. Yeah, the hard part is gonna be getting the dog chasing us again."

"Would a sister be close enough of a loss to lure the dog? You mentioned meeting Madelyn's sister."

Dean shook his head. "No, uh... they have to..." He blushed and looked away. "It's gotta be romantic, or something."

Cas smiled despite himself. Every reminder of how Dean felt made his chest thrum with sheer adoration, and made his stomach roil with anxiety. Sure, Dean loved him now, but... what about when Cas told him that he was the one who'd almost killed him last night? Would he still then love Cas? He didn't dare to hope.

"If only I still thought you were dead..." said Dean grimly, "then I could lure the dog." He laughed hollowly but it didn't reach his eyes.

"I no longer have the ability to remove memories as an angel, but there might be a spell for it."

"No way. One 'fun' amnesia moment was enough for a lifetime."

Cas frowned. "When was that?"

"Few years back. You were trying to find Jack's mom at the time," Dean said. "This isn't helping, we need to find someone the dog already has eyes on."

Cas squinted out the window, as if just by looking intently enough at someone could let him know the dog was stalking them. He examined each face he saw for signs of grief, but... even if someone was grieving, there was no guarantee that they were grieving a romantic partner. After all, Mr. Everhart was still around, even this long after losing his son.

"Cas?"

Dean's voice was the most tender, the most soft, the most utterly vulnerable that Cas had ever heard. He turned to look at Dean, whose expression matched his tone so perfectly that he almost wept. He tilted his head.

"Uh... we're not findin' any more leads out here right now, how'd you like to, uh... blow off some steam?"

Cas had known Dean for many years. Of course he knew what this meant. But Cas also enjoyed Dean's reactions, so he said, "Intercourse?"

Dean laughed and said, "Sure, intercourse. Making love. Wild monkey sex. Whatever you wanna call it, man. Cas, I have been wanting this for literal years. " Then he frowned. "I mean, if you're interested. I understand if you're not. If it's, uh, just romantic? I did some research a few years back, cause I thought, well maybe you might want the romance of... us, but not the sex? And that's ok, that’s fine. If we can be together without fuckin', that's just as good--"

"I'm the one who ran you over."

"What?"

Cas took a deep breath, tears at the corners of his eyes. "Yesterday. I still had my grace, and I heard your prayer. I was driving home and I lost control of my car. And you were in the street. You almost died, and it was my fault. Again."

"... But you also healed me, didn't you? I only have the broken leg, and you're human now."

"Yes, but I caused your injuries in the first place, Dean."

"You said I was in the middle of the street, right? Anyone could have run me over." Cas started shaking his head, but Dean reached out his hand slowly, carefully putting it on Cas' shoulder, steadying him. " No one else could have saved me. I'm not talkin' angel powers here, Cas. No one else could save me, from me. You wanna know what I've been doing since you've been gone? Driving around aimlessly and then drinking til I pass out. Cas, I need you in my life. I need you safe, by my side. Hell, I'm lost without you." He paused for a moment. "So, do you wanna fuck or…?"

Cas kissed him.

Castiel had kissed before. He'd kissed Meg, who had tasted of ashes and blood. He'd kissed April, the reaper. He'd kissed Daphne (when he hadn't remembered being Castiel), and he'd kissed the Queen of the Djinn. Sometimes, when he wasn't busy, and Dean didn't call for him, he'd gone home with men who didn't look enough like Dean, and he'd kissed them too.

None of those could compare, of course. With no one else could he feel this desperate passion, with no one else would his vessel-- his body thrum with such excitement. With no one else. Love just... felt different, and it settled into his bones and felt right.

He pulled back and just looked at Dean. "Beautiful."

Dean flushed pink and looked away, clearing his throat. "Yeah... Fuck, can't believe I passed up on that for what, 14 years?"

"13, give or take a few months."

This time, Dean leaned forward and kissed Cas, who moaned into the kiss involuntarily. He reached for Dean, unsure of where to put his hands, but certain that he wanted to touch, wanted to feel Dean. Needed him. The center console pressed uncomfortably into his torso as he leaned into Dean, and he made a noise of complaint.

Dean broke the kiss this time, laughing. "We should probably get back to the cabin. This car ain't exactly spacious."

Chapter Text

He was back at the bunker again, but something had changed in the atmosphere, it was less heavy somehow. Cas walked past him, and Dean followed, only just keeping up. "Cas, wait up, man," he said, breaking into a run. Cas didn't turn around, and kept moving faster than Dean, even though he was still walking. "Cas? Where are you going?" Dean asked, desperately wishing Cas would turn around or at least acknowledge Dean.

After a while of running after Cas through the labyrinth of the bunker, Dean was finally able to reach out and touch Cas' shoulder. The other man slowly turned around and Dean stumbled back. "You're not Cas..."

Jimmy smiled. "Dean, I'm glad that he makes you happy. Tell him that you both have my blessing."

Dean woke abruptly to loud knocking on the cabin door, and nearly fell out of bed in a heap of blankets. Cas sighed and began disentangling himself from the bedsheets and Dean.

"I'll get it," Cas said, putting his pants back on. Dean smiled lazily up at him, then closed his eyes and began to drift back into sleep. Vaguely, he heard Cas open the door, and...

"Cas? You're alive?!" Sam's voice rang out.

In the next moment, Dean was blearily blinking up at a very concerned Cas from the floor, having actually fallen from the bed this time.

"Dean, we should have the hospital look at that leg again," Cas said, frowning down at Dean. "It was unwise to put so much strain on it by walking around everywhere yesterday."

Sam failed to stifle a snicker, and Dean gave him a withering glare that Sam entirely missed because he was facing away from Dean.

"I, uh... I dunno that going back to that hospital would be a good idea. Kinda tripped a nurse with my crutches on my way out."

" A hospital, then," said Cas, handing Dean his pants and helping him get them on over the cast.

"If you insist."

"I do insist." Cas helped Dean up into one of the chairs, and handed him his shirt, which he put on.

"Alrighty then."

Sam cleared his throat, finally turning around now that Dean was clothed. "So, um--"

"Yeah, me and Cas. Can we move on?"

"I guess this means Deastiel is canon then?" Sam said, grinning smugly.

Cas tilted his head. "What is Deastiel?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "First off, it's Destiel. Second, you know that whole 'books about us' thing creeps me the fuck out." His expression softened as he turned to Cas. "It's... it's us. Fans of the books thought we'd make a good couple, so they made a couple nickname for us. Dean plus Castiel equals Destiel, basically. Like Brangelina."

Cas' eyes lit up with understanding. "I see..."

"And people write fanfiction of it. Of us. I mean, I guess they don't know that we're real people, but its just fucking creepy."

"And how would you know they're writing fanfic about you two?" Sam interjected.

"I can infer, jackass. That school play might have just had subtext with us, that just means there's probably dozens of fanfictions written about us. Probably," Dean said. Sam did NOT need to know about Dean specifically looking up Destiel fic for sexy reasons. "It's not important, when the hell did you get here, Sam?"

"Well, when I last heard from you, you'd broken your leg and honestly, you sounded like you had ghost sickness again. Then you hung up on me and wouldn't answer your phone. Eileen and I got on a flight out here as soon as we could after that."

"Any leads on the black dog then?"

"We took care of it."

Dean looked surprised. "You took care of it? Already? How?"

"Yeah. We led him to his owner's grave, and he moved on."

"Led him? With who as bait? This thing was going after people grieving dead... romantic interests." Dean lowered his voice and leaned toward Sam. "Eileen's still ok, right?"

"Dean, do you know how many 'romantic interests' I've lost? The grief never really goes away, I had to learn to live with it."

"Huh." Dean turned that over in his head, considering it fully. He didn't think he'd ever be able to live with grief like that. "I'm sorry," he said finally, not sure what else to say.

They sat there in silence for a bit, until there was another knock at the door. Sam got up and let Eileen in.

"We should probably head out soon," she said, smiling at Sam. She nodded at Dean and Cas as she entered the cabin, then looked back at Sam. She signed something Dean didn't recognize, bringing her fists together as if in prayer, and shaking them, her expression questioning. Sam nodded. Eileen smiled and signed, "At last!"

Dean sighed as he figured out what she'd asked. "Yeah I finally got my head out of my ass, alright? I'm--" He paused, struggling to get the next word out. "I'm bisexual. And I love Cas. And I'm not gonna hide that part of me anymore."

He nervously looked at Sam and Eileen, almost expecting ridicule or disgust. But they were gently smiling back, and Sam even looked almost proud. "Dean, we're just glad you're happy, and not dead," Sam said.

Over the years, Dean had thought about coming out many times, had run through the conversation in his mind over and over and over. But he had never considered this possibility. Acceptance. He had no idea how to respond to that, so instead he cleared his throat and said, "Anyway, let's get moving."

It took 3 days to drive back to the bunker, and Dean rode shotgun in the Camry with Cas, having given Sam the keys to the Impala. He said it was because Sam was too tall to fit in the Camry, but really, he wanted more time with Cas. After all this time without him, he didn't want to let Cas out of his sight ever again, for fear that he would go away again.

Finally, they pulled into the bunker's garage and Dean took a deep breath and opened the door. Then he hesitated. He was almost nervous, being back here with Cas. 'Almost,' hell, he was anxious as fuck. The last time he'd been here with Cas, the guy had died. It was entirely reasonable to be anxious, actually.

Something touched his hand and he flinched back. Cas looked concerned, and Dean realized that Cas had been trying to hold his hand. "Sorry," he mumbled, blushing and reaching for Cas' hand.

"Dean, we can sit here for as long as you need. You don't need to apologize for having emotions. I'm staying with you no matter what," Cas said.

It was exactly what Dean needed to hear, and he leaned over the console to kiss Cas. Cas turned his face at the last second, and Dean's lips made contact with his cheek instead.

"Dean, I was wondering something. You find me attractive?"

"Yeah? Of course. I feel like I've made that pretty obvious, Cas, over the past several days at least."

"Did you find Jimmy attractive?"

"God no."

Cas tilted his head. "But we look the same."

"Not really. I mean, yeah, your body is the same, but you don't look the same other than that. You... you move different, and talk different. I love you, Cas. I don't love Jimmy."

Cas smiled and he was beautiful. "I love you too, Dean."

"I, uh... I actually had a dream that Jimmy gave us his blessing. In the dream, he wanted me to tell you, but I kinda forgot until now."

Cas leaned in and kissed Dean, gentle but no less passionate for it. "Thank you for telling me now."

"Ok, let's get out of this car, my legs are gonna cramp up," Dean said, giving himself an excuse to get moving. And they both finally left the car and entered the bunker proper.