Chapter Text
He sat frozen in the same spot on the dungeon floor for what felt like days but was probably just a few hours. Sam called a few times, but now his phone lay scattered in pieces across the floor. He didn't know what to say, he was still trying to process what happened. He knows he should find a burner to check on Sam and Jack, and let them know he was okay. Are you though? He thinks to himself as he tries to muster up the willpower to move. You'd think he'd have this fried thing down by now, considering the number of people he's lost in his life. This was different though, he'd never felt pain like this before it all happened so quickly, yet in slow motion at the same time. He finally heard the 3 words he'd always dreamt of, and within seconds it was over, Cas was gone, and Dean was alone. He should have said it back, he WANTED to say it back, but he just froze.
He was suddenly brought back to after his mom died. He barely talked for almost 2 years; the few words he did say were almost always to Sammy. He didn't say a word to John, and he isn't sure his father ever noticed. Bobby did though, a few years later after the shtriga. "Selective mutism" is what the doctor said when Bobby took him. It took Bobby only a few hours to notice Dean not talking, and within days he was in the living room of a hunter that had the daytime job of a child psychiatrist. Apparently, it's fairly common for kids who experience trauma, and Dean experienced a lot of trauma in his first few short years. It was during that appointment that Dean felt something he hadn't since that night, the night his mom died; he felt safe and heard. He felt more heard and safer with a stranger despite not talking to him than he did with his own father. A wave of grief washed over him; he wanted him back, he wanted his dad. Bobby would know what to say to get him off this damn floor.
He finally managed to pick himself up, now he just had to make it to his room. One foot in front of the other he thought to himself. It's not rocket science dumbass came a voice that sounded an awful lot like John Winchester. That wasn't unusual though, he heard his father's voice often when he died something wrong. What was different this time though was the voice that followed You are the most caring man on earth. This both brought tears to his eyes and snapped him out of the fog enough to start moving. When he got to his room and started moving towards his desk, something caught his eye. When he turned to see what it was his heart stopped, eyes filling instantly.
On his left jacket sleeve sat a bloody handprint, right about where the handprint still sits from all those years when he saved him for the first time; his handprint. It only he had known what would become of their "profound bond." His right hand slowly drifted up to his left shoulder, coming to rest right on top of the handprint, tears spilling over as he finally loses the battle. A loud sob escapes through the empty bunker as he falls to his knees.
He tried to let himself just feel the pain; without holding back since the bunker was empty. However, his head quickly filled with a familiar voice. Real men don't cry, so wipe them tears before I give you something to cry about, boy. As if a switch flipped the tears stopped; face stoic and body rigid like the good little soldier. Daddy's blunt little instrument. Dean winced at the words, stinging just as much as the first time, maybe even more considering the work he's out in to try and be more. Once again though that loving and soft voice spoke over Johns: you are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know.
The feeling that followed was bittersweet. No one had ever said anything so…raw to him before. He had never felt such pure love before, not even from Sam. The pride, love, adoration, and, maybe most importantly, the understanding he felt in those few seconds after he heard those 3 words fall from Cas' lips was something he had never even dreamt of. The "sweet" part was short-lived as the "bitter" part came quickly. Cas was fine, Jack, Sam, and everyone they know could be gone; and Dean felt empty.
After a few minutes, he collected himself, grabbed a burner, and sent Sam an "on the way" text, asking for his location as he grabbed his keys from the desk. When he heard his text tone go off, he knew Sam was okay so he took one last look in the mirror, eyes focusing on his left shoulder, and he walked out the door. He's in Baby within a few minutes, taking a second to just take a breath inside the first home he ever really had.
After about 5 hours or so Dean pulls over, heart heavy as he's unable to think of anything else. He takes a second to breathe in the familiar scent of gasoline, leather, and coffee; all reminding him of home. He turns off the engine and takes a breath before speaking his first words since it happened.
"Cas…I don't even know if you can hear me, but I might as well try. You told me you loved me, that you saw parts of me that I've always been afraid didn't exist; that if they did exist, I thought they were lost after Hell, and especially after the mark. You told me you loved me and it made you so happy that the…that…that it came for you, and it dragged you away from me. Loving me was a death sentence, and for that, I am so sorry."
He sat for a few minutes collecting himself before turning Baby back on and hitting the road again. He turns in AC/DC and tries not to think about all he's lost, he's got to focus on what's next. Ganking God so he can break into the empty to rescue his best friend and tell him that he loves him.
After a few hours in the car, Sam and Jack come into view. He lets out a sigh of relief when he sees the kid is okay, but that relief is soon overtaken by panic. They were going to have questions, questions he couldn't answer. He tried to steady his breathing as he brings Baby to a stop and puts her in park. He takes a deep breath, puts on his best game face, and gets out of the car.