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Dean knows this has to be a dream. This cannot be real life, because real life doesn’t have trees with roots as tall as him. Real life doesn’t have thick fog layered over everything, so he can feel it slipping along the ridges of his knuckles but it still somehow parts so he can see where he steps. This is not real life, because his thoughts are never this clear, his head is never not screaming at him, his hands are never not itching for a fight.
“This is a dream.” He says it out loud, to ground himself.
“You’re half right.” And that’s Cas’ voice. That’s Cas and his bulky coat cutting through the low-hanging clouds. That’s Cas looking healthier than he has in months, the bags under his eyes still present but not nearly as deep. “You are asleep right now, as am I, but this conversation is real.”
“You couldn’t just talk to me in the morning like a normal person?”
“There’s something I want to show you, something that can’t be shown on your mortal plane. And I’m afraid,” He pauses. “I’m afraid I don’t have much time left.”
“Cas, we talked about this –“
“I’m dying, Dean.” The words hang heavy in the air between them, cut through the mist and land in the too soft grass. “In a few months I will be dead or completely human, unable to show you what I need to. So please, let me have this.”
There’s a tension running through the space, something strung out and desperate pulling from Cas’ chest that pulls Dean closer, like a wire tied tight round both their hearts. The forest seems to revolve around Cas, it tenses with his shoulders, the shake of the leaves follow the movement of his hands. He’s illuminated, he’s made whole.
Dean can’t compare. But he can still step forward, take Cas’ hands in his own in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture. “Show me what you want to, Cas.”
“I need you to close your eyes.” Dean does. He lets Cas’ voice wash over him, low and soothing. “It’s going to feel like I’ve let go of your hands but I promise I haven’t. I’ll let you know when you can open your eyes.”
An abrupt rush of air blows past them, ruffling Dean’s hair and cooling his cheeks. His hands suddenly feel very empty and he’s about to clench them into fists just to get rid of that black hole feeling when a sense of something akin to peace works it’s way up from the base of his spine.
“Hello, Dean.” It’s Cas’ voice, but it’s different. Softer than usual, but amplified as if there were thousands of voices in support of those two simple words. “You can open your eyes now.”
When he does blink his eyes open, it’s clear that Cas is no longer standing right in front of him. Instead, he inhabits the space around him. He exists in the cracked bark of the trees, in every pebble that was carelessly cast out by an ocean that has long since dried up. He is everywhere at once, manifesting in the environment as well as in the massive wings holding the cloud layer at bay.
“Jesus Christ.”
“Not quite.” Cas’ voice sounds from near the back of his head again. Dean can hear his smile.
“This is –“ Dean’s not sure he can take it all in, isn’t even sure where he’s supposed to direct his conversation. He can make out some kind of head, too high above him to really understand what he’s seeing. One moment it’s a zebra, the next he sees a monkey. Everything’s starting to go a little fuzzy so he focuses on the wing closest to his head, the intricacies of each individual feather. He lets out a breath, reverent. “This is you.”
“I understand this is very big, Dean.” His voice isn’t coming from the animals, more from the air around Dean. “I can return to my vessel if this is too much.”
“No, no, it’s fine. I just,” Dean winces at the eagerness in his voice. He takes a step back, tries not to stumble when his legs seem a little weaker than he’s used to. “I need time to adjust. Woah.”
“Here.” Something swoops down from the side and Dean does his best not to flinch too obviously. It’s a hand. It’s a human hand and it’s as big as him and it must be attached to Cas’ current all-encompassing form somehow but it’s still a hand. “You can sit.”
It’s a little awkward climbing up, but once Dean is sitting cross-legged in Cas’ giant palm, everything seems to even out. The head is still phasing through animals and the wings are still shimmering through all the shades of the lower color spectrum but nothing is blurry and Dean can finally focus on Cas.
Cas is beautiful.
As soon as the thought is formed in Dean’s mind, the lighting of the forest abruptly changes, bathing everything in rose colored light. Dean grins. “Aw shucks, Cas, are you angel-blushing?”
The lighting reverts to its original state just as suddenly. “No.”
“It’s true.” Dean drops the teasing tone. “This, everything, you are gorgeous.”
“Thank you, Dean.”
Dean traces along a crease in Cas’ palm, a line almost as tall as he is. The wind sounds like a sigh. The sway of the leaves seems almost fragile. “Cas?”
“I’m afraid I can’t hold this form for as long as I thought I could.” Cas’ hand moves close to the ground again and Dean clambers off. His feet touch the grass and the world goes fuzzy again, like he’s viewing everything through glasses of the wrong prescription. “Could you close your eyes again?”
Dean nods and waits while the breeze passes over him again, feels Cas’ hands rest solidly in his again. Cas starts speaking as soon as he opens his eyes.
“I’m sorry if it was too much. I just needed you to see before it was too late.”
Dean marvels at the thought that he would ever be upset over seeing something as incredible as Cas’ true form.
“Hey,” He lifts his hand to cup the side of Cas’ face, rubs the pad of his thumb across the sharp cut of Cas’ cheekbone. “I love you.”
Cas meets his gaze and Dean can almost see that greatness reflected in the blue of his eyes, the power of his wings in the light they bring. He squeezes Dean’s hand, rests his forehead against Dean’s so he can hear him when he whispers, “I love you, too.”
The clouds swing low around them, the trees stand proud, and Dean thinks that maybe, when things have settled down, maybe he can give Cas a garden.