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They roll into Lebanon around four in the afternoon, just as the winter sun starts inching toward the horizon. Sam fumbles with the tupperware on his way to the kitchen and Dean decides to be the ass that laughs at him rather than help.
Once their actual homemade meal is safely stored in the fridge, Sam turns to Dean. “I’m gonna call Jody.”
“Dude, we left six hours ago.”
Sam just waves him off as he dials.
Dean rolls his eyes and heads off, fully intending to crash in his room for a late afternoon nap (god, when did he get so old?). He starts a little when he sees Cas poring over a book, still startled by the sight of his broad shoulders clearly visible under his white dress shirt. It’s weird that Dean’s been daydreaming about Cas without that coat for years, but actually seeing him without it takes some getting used to.
He drops his bag onto one of the empty chairs. “Hey, Cas.”
Some of the tension in Cas’ shoulders smooths itself out. “Hello, Dean.” It sounds forced and Dean winces a bit. He’s been a shit friend lately, he knows it, and apparently Cas does too.
He tries for casual. “Where’s your car?”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t see it outside when we pulled in.”
Something in Cas’ expression shifts, a minor movement that Dean only catches because he’s known Cas for years, tried to commit his expressions to memory in case he lost them for almost as long. “I parked a few blocks away.” Another shift. “It’s a recognizable car. Besides, the walk is nice.”
“Okay.” Dean pulls out the chair next to Cas. “I tried calling you. A few times.”
“I know.” Cas flips a page in his book. Dean flounders without the familiar eye contact. “I’ve been busy.”
“Cas.” He tentatively reaches out and sets his hand on Cas’ bare wrist. It’s colder than he was expecting. “We just got back from a hunt with Claire.”
“Oh.” He finally closes the book. “Was she any good?”
Dean squints at him. “What?”
“You said she was hunting. Did she do well?”
The chair squeals against the floor as Dean suddenly stands up. “You’re not Cas.” He has his gun trained on the guy’s chest but his hands still tremble with how wrong it feels.
Not-Cas tilts his head and, damn it, that’s very Cas. “What?”
“Cas would be worried about Claire. He wouldn’t ask if she was hunting well. He’d ask if she got hurt, if she was okay.” This speech would be so much better if he could get his damn hands to stop shaking. “Who are you?”
It’s like someone hit a factory reset button and Cas’ face is wiped clean. All the warmth is just gone. “You don’t recognize me?” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. The temperature of the room noticeably drops a few degrees. “Sam and I were such good friends.”
“Lucifer.”
“You finally figured it out, thank god.” His smile tugs at the corners of his mouth all wrong. Stretches his face almost grotesquely, a mockery of everything Cas stands for. “I was getting tired of pretending to be in love with you.”
Dean wants to scream but it gets lost, tangled up somewhere between his stomach and his throat, tied tight through his ribs and choking the air from his lungs.
“He was in love with me?” The words are pulled from his throat, a cracked whisper.
“Oh, of course.” Lucifer smirks. “He’s screaming right now. It’s pathetic, really.” He runs a hand over his own sleeve, fiddles with the buttons at the cuff. “Thinking a mere seraph could fight off an archangel. All in the name of love.”
He steps forward and Dean finds himself unable to move, his gun clattering to the floor. With any luck, Sam will hear it and come running, but as the seconds pass, it seems more and more unlikely. Lucifer reaches up to caress his cheek. Logically, Dean knows that Cas’ touch is warm. That his hands are lightly calloused from doing human work, from living as a half-angel for so long. But this feels slimy, wrong. He tries to jerk away but Lucifer is powerful, even after years in the cage.
Without warning, Lucifer laughs. “Oh, he doesn’t like that!” He rakes his hand through Dean’s hair and Dean resists the urge to spit on him. He’d rather Sam not find him as a bloody pulp on the library floor.
Lucifer is still sneering, too close to Dean’s face. “He doesn’t want me touching his precious human. I wonder what would happen if I…” He trails off as he traces around Dean’s eye with the tip of his nail. Dean’s forgetting how to breathe. Lucifer blinks, as if collecting himself. “But I have other things to do. Be seeing you, Dean.”
He snaps his fingers and Dean can breathe and move again. He lunges forward, but the space is already empty. He’s alone. And Cas is gone.
Dean scrubs a hand over his eyes and chokes back a laugh. Nothing like finding out your longstanding lovesick pining would be well received at the same time you find out the guy you’re pining for is literally possessed by Satan. He presses the heels of his palms hard into the table and fights back tears. He can let it out in his room after he’s told Sam.
Sam.
He can hear him laughing from the kitchen, still on the phone with Jody. He sounds happy. Dean doesn’t want the phone call to end. He can’t be the one to tell Sam that Lucifer is topside again. He can’t be the one to watch the light fade from his brother’s eyes. He can’t do it again.
The Not-Cas voice echoes in the room. “I was getting tired of pretending to be in love with you.” In love. Sam doesn’t need to know that part. No one needs to know that part.
Dean’s arms are shaking from how he’s hunched over them, but it feels like there’s a physical weight on his shoulders. It’s holding him down. Lucifer laughs at him in Cas’ voice.
In the kitchen, Sam’s saying goodbye.