Chapter Text
"Cas?"
Dean's stomach clenched unpleasantly, rising apprehension drowning the excitement he'd been feeling just moments before at the prospect of seeing Cas again. It had been almost a year of jumping through hoops, and there had been times when Dean had given up hope entirely. But now the moment had come, and Dean felt like there was a good chance he was going to embarrass himself by vomiting into the conveniently placed ice bucket in front of him.
"Cas? Can you hear me?" Maybe if he shouted loudly enough, the angel would hear him and come running? The simplest solutions were often the best.
The motel room he'd appeared in was very familiar, but then Dean had stayed in so many rooms just like this that he'd passed the point where he could even tell them apart. It checked all the usual boxes—dingy wallpaper, stained carpet, yellowing Bible sitting ignored in the nightstand, and the tiny television set in the corner that was the saving grace of places like this. In the center of the cramped space stood one single bed. He knew at a glance that it was hard and uncomfortable—the beds in these places always were.
It had been immediately obvious that Cas wasn't anywhere in the sparse, shabby room, because it wasn't like there was anywhere to hide in these places. In two long strides Dean was at the door, his hand reaching for the handle. If Cas wasn't here then he'd find him, track him down, wherever he was. He preferred quick and easy, but if this took some time and work, that was fine too. He was done sitting on his hands like a chump.
His fingers had barely closed around the cold metal of the door handle when a sudden noise from the other side made him instinctively jump backward. The door flew open with so much force that the sound of it hitting the wall echoed down the empty hallway.
"What the fuck?" Dean managed to regain his balance and glared accusingly at the figure framed in the doorway. "You almost hit me in the face!"
"I'm sorry." The annoyed voice was beautifully, painfully familiar, and Dean's gaze rested on the face he had literally moved heaven and earth to see again, close enough to touch. "Maybe if you'd bothered to help me with the bags instead of charging up here like an excitable child on Christmas morning, you wouldn't have nearly been hit by the door!"
It had been so long—so fucking long. The things they had gone through to get to him… and now here he was, so much more real than any one of the images Dean had conjured up in his mind when he had been feeling lost and in need of familiar comfort.
Cas stared at Dean expectantly, the muscle in his cheek twitching in vexation. Knowing he should say something, do something, anything, Dean found himself hit with an unexpected paralysis. After months of imagining this moment, of playing it in his mind to lift himself up whenever his thoughts became dark, he was finally faced with the opportunity to say all the things he had imagined. Instead he found he was gaping impotently at Cas.
Why was he so nervous? It was Cas—just Cas. One little confession of love shouldn't really change anything, should it? They could talk it out, share a beer—or even better, both bury the memory of it entirely in a boatload of bourbon. Then they could go back to normal again. Maybe they could even go on a few cases together to re-cement their friendship? Nothing heavy, nothing really dangerous—Dean was done with risking his life now. They'd all earned the right to lay down their arms.
"Excuse me," Cas prompted through gritted teeth, taking a half step forward, bringing himself so close to Dean that his breath could be felt on Dean's jaw.
"Cas," Dean said—the single word questioning, hopeful, fearful. "This is… this is really you, right?"
"Who else would it be?" Cas demanded, his eyes narrowed. "We've been driving together for the past five hours!"
"You're really here," Dean murmured, grinning stupidly as he took in Cas' face. It was surprisingly detailed and perfect, right down to the cracked lips and the stubble of his five o'clock shadow. "It's so good to see you, man."
"Are you kidding?" Cas just looked more annoyed. "Is this some sort of joke I don't understand?"
"What?" Dean looked at Cas in confusion, barely daring to blink in case he disappeared from in front of him again. Would it be all right if he hugged him? They'd hugged before the confession, hadn't they? Hugging was a friend thing. Could he even touch Cas in here?
Dean reached out one finger and poked Cas hard in the middle of his chest. He definitely seemed to hold the usual amount of body heat, and his chest felt firm under Dean's fingertip. Perhaps too firm? Maybe Dean should have poked Cas more in their day to day lives, then he'd have enough of a frame of reference.
Cas sighed the sigh of a man who was all too familiar with his friend's unique brand of insanity. "Stop messing around, Dean. I need to get into our room." He shifted the luggage in his hands, trying to relieve the discomfort of the bulging, over-filled bags as the handles dug into his fingers.
"Our room?" Dean questioned, daring to tear his eyes away from Cas' face to quickly glance at the single bed behind him. He supposed they wouldn't be here long enough for it to matter. Besides, Cas didn't sleep unless he was injured or exhausted, and the grumpy looking angel in the doorway didn't look to be either of these things.
Cas' forehead had wrinkled in a frown and his lips pursed in annoyance. "Are you going to be a dick about this again? I already apologized for forgetting to book earlier. We'll make do with a single—it's better than sleeping in that car."
"I'll have you know that Baby is a dream to sleep in!" Dean defended automatically. "You could do much worse than having her soft leather to lay your head on!"
"Great," Cas agreed readily. "Then you can sleep in Baby in the parking lot, and I'll have this room. Now if you'll just let me into it, I'm hot and sweaty and I need to freshen up!"
Dean frowned, for the first time taking in the faded black jeans, worn and soft-looking. Instead of his usual oversized, crisp white shirt, he wore a dark blue, long-sleeved henley, with every one of the buttons undone to show the chest hair through the V of skin it bared. Dean stared at him, wide-eyed, struggling to take it in. Where was that trench coat? Where had his holy accountant gone?
"Shit, you're not Hippy-Orgy-Cas, are you?" Dean peered warily over Cas' shoulder and down the corridor, half expecting a gaggle of women to leap out of one of the other rooms, ready to drag Cas off for a good time.
"Did you hit your head?" Cas peered at Dean, screwing up his face. "What's wrong with you?"
No, he definitely wasn't anywhere near being that chilled out and stoned—this Cas was a grumpy fuck. This Cas might actually benefit from some 'Scooby Snacks,' if such a thing existed here.
"Maybe there are lots of you here?" Dean pondered out loud. "Like a Cas for every occasion? You're Pissed-off Motel Cas!"
Obviously done with Dean's shit, Cas took a breath and then determinedly barged straight past Dean, using the heavy duffles as highly effective battering rams.
Once they were both in the room, the door swung shut behind them with an annoying, high-pitched squeak. Dean watched as Cas stacked the bags in the closest corner—a motel room space-saving trick Dean had taught Cas himself, years ago. Was this Cas real? How was he meant to rescue him if he didn't know if this was even the real him?
"First you insist on driving the scenic route," Cas grumbled, digging through one of the bags. "Which took us nearly two hours out of our way!"
He pulled out a clean, neatly folded pair of jeans and a black Led Zeppelin T-shirt that Dean was almost entirely sure belonged to him.
"I think that's m—”
"Then," Cas carried on, not looking up from the bag he was mauling, elbow deep in it, trying to find something right at the bottom. "You leave me arguing with the manager about our room, and wait until my back is turned before running off! Which meant I had to carry both bags!"
"What kind of angel can't carry a couple of bags?" Dean muttered defensively. "Sure, you're happy to throw me around, no problem—but ask you to carry a couple of little bags…"
Dean trailed off and stared at Cas, confused by the perplexed look on his face.
"I mean, what is the point of having you on our team if I can't take advantage of the perks?" Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"You're different."
"What? No, I'm not."
Cas looked him up and down with a frown, his sudden complete, undivided attention making Dean feel uneasy. It made him feel like Cas was seeing through him, reading him that little bit too well.
"You know I haven't been an angel for years," Cas' bright blue eyes fixed on Dean's face. "Remember my first job at the Gas-N-Sip? That was what, seven or eight years ago now?"
Oh yeah, there was that familiar twist of guilt in his stomach. Dean's gaze dropped to the stained, ugly gray carpet in an attempt to avoid Cas' gaze. "Don't remind me," he muttered, pretending to intently study one particular stain and absently musing on how much it looked like a platypus.
"I thought we were over all that now?" Cas pulled at his collar, exposing more inexplicably tanned skin. Where did the guy go half-naked to get tanned?! Cas grabbed at the material, yanking it away from his overheated skin, and Dean felt his cheeks heating up, his face turning instantly red.
"Jesus Christ." Dean spun away from Cas, striding over to the window to pull hard on the handle. The window didn't move at all, sealed shut with layer upon layer of yellowing paint. In places it had cracked with age, but however much Dean tried to pry it open, it refused to budge.
"It's stuck," Cas informed him needlessly. He pulled out a bottle of body wash from the duffle with a triumphant flourish and gathered his clothes into his arms.
"Yeah, thanks." Dean shook his head. What could he say? Could he just blurt it out? This isn't real, buddy. It's all in your head. Wake up and you can go back to your sweat-free, shower-free, angelic life!
Or maybe: Button up your shirt, man! You're freakin' half-naked here! You're not on a date now!
"I swear it's actually hotter in here than it is outside," Cas complained. He seemed to have lost interest in Dean again, more interested in cooling himself down than working out why his friend had temporary amnesia. If Dean had been wanting a tip-off that this wasn't his Cas, then this was it. His Cas would never have let something like that go so easily. He'd be there threatening Dean with holy water and a demon blade right now.
The potential imposter, who looked so very much like Cas, kicked off his boots and walked into the cramped bathroom. He dropped his armful of belongings onto the closed toilet seat and then turned the faucet. Letting his fingers dance under the stream, he splashed water on his face with a contented sigh.
"The manager said the air conditioning is broken, but there's an ice machine just outside. I honestly don't see how that's going to help, unless we could fill the bath with ice and get in."
"Yeah, that's not gonna work." Dean pointed out, gesturing behind Cas.
Cas turned and eyed the dingy little shower, his nose wrinkling in dissatisfaction. "No bath. Great."
"You prefer showers anyway," Dean found himself pointing out, bemused that he was having this conversation at all.
"Only when the water pressure is decent," Cas argued. "It's always awful in these places."
Dean couldn't argue with that. He wasn't here to argue with that. He was letting the hot, sweaty Cas substitute distract him.
"Look, I'm not here to talk about water pressure. I need to talk to the main guy… el jefe, the head honcho, the nerdy dude with wings who is in charge of this whole shebang."
For a brief second, Cas seemed to freeze in what Dean could have sworn was recognition. Then, as if nothing had been said at all, he unfroze, continuing to let the cold water run over his hands and wrists, turning them from back to front to cool both sides.
"I'm going to hop into the shower," he informed Dean, his response measured, his back still turned to him. "Maybe you could do some research on our case? The laptop is in there somewhere."
Cas finally turned then, grasping the bottom of his shirt with one hand, as if preparing to yank it up over his head, and pushing the bathroom door closed with the other.
Panicked at Cas disappearing from sight, Dean reacted on instinct, shoving his booted foot into the doorway, so that the door bounced back open to reveal Cas, his shirt pulled up to his neck, blinking at Dean.
"I'm trying to undress to shower. Would you please go away and entertain yourself for a bit? I'll deal with your insanity once I'm feeling like a human being again."
"That's just it." Dean pushed his way into the cramped area, edging Cas backwards until his back hit the opaque acrylic door of the shower stall, and he could move no further. "You're not a human being!"
Above them the bathroom lights flickered, but Dean paid them no mind—nothing ever worked like it should in places like this, motels were all the same. Except it wasn't actually a motel, was it? It was all a figment of Cas' imagination, a construct of his damaged mind, a survival mechanism.
The thought made Dean pause for a moment in wonder at how convincing it all was, how detailed. He could feel the heat of the air prickling his skin, hear the sound of water hitting the porcelain of the sink and the sound of Cas' uneven breaths as he stared uncertainly back at him. It was uncannily perfect.
"Dean. I'm hot, I'm tired, and I don't have the energy to play games right now." Cas' exasperated voice cut through Dean's musings and jerked him back to the present. "You go and dig through some local online newspapers, I'll shower, and we'll talk in ten. Okay?"
Dean shook his head. It wasn't okay—none of this was okay. This was the world Cas had retreated into to keep himself sane in The Empty? A shitty motel room with broken A/C and mildew in the bathroom?
Time for Cas will have been different, Sam had warned. It's been a year for you and me, but it will have been lifetimes for Cas. He might not be the same guy we knew—he might not be sane.
"Look, I get it," Dean tried changing tack. "I wouldn't have been able to cope there either. But you're not in The Empty anymore—”
Dean stopped speaking and looked up at the faulty ceiling light again. The flickering was becoming more insistent, and the unease grew inside Dean. Maybe this just meant he was getting through to Cas? Perhaps this was the real him, and he was starting to understand.
"I'm here to drag your stubborn, angelic ass out of here," Dean explained. For a long second, the light blinked out entirely, and Dean was left standing in the darkness. Then the light flickered back on again.
"I'm having this shower," Cas informed him mulishly. "Whether you're here or not." He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it by his feet. The smell of deodorant, sweat, and fading cologne filled Dean's senses, raw and so real that Dean's stomach clenched with a feeling he refused to identify.
Standing in nothing but his jeans and socks, so close to Dean that he could feel the heat radiating from his body, Cas purposely put his hand on the button of his fly and looked Dean in the eye, the challenge obvious. Dean swore under his breath.
"Cas." Dean's voice came out an octave lower than usual, more a growl than actual speech. He coughed, clearing his throat and tried again. "Cas…" Better—definitely better. "I'm here to rescue you."
"I don't need rescuing," Cas raised an eyebrow, popped the button and threw Dean a defiant look. "We're here on a case to rescue other people. Maybe you should take a nap? You might be more yourself after some sleep."
The timing between the flickers had changed, and there was more dark than light now. Dizzy from it, Dean turned his head and looked into the bedroom, hoping that staring into the sunlight filled room might ground him a little.
"What the hell?" That room was flashing too, flickering in and out of existence, making Dean feel like the world around them was being played on an old-timey movie reel. The problem wasn't the bathroom light.
Turning back towards Cas, Dean reached out unsteadily, grasping his shoulder. It felt like he wasn't quite holding on to reality anymore, that at any moment he would be back in the bunker with Sam, Rowena and Crowley. And then what? What if when he went back into Cas' mind he couldn't find him again?
"You've got to snap out of this. Come back with me, man."
"Dean?" There was recognition now—Cas' eyes were wide with understanding. Cas pulled himself free of Dean's grasp, looking at him like he was something to be feared for the first time since they'd met. It made Dean's heart hurt for what he must have been through, trapped in The Empty for all this time. Then without warning, the motel room was enveloped in darkness.
"Yeah, man. It's really me." Dean used his most calming, soothing tone.
Just moments ago, Cas had been close enough to touch, but now he seemed to be moving further away without trying, without taking a single step. Dean reached his arms out as far as they would stretch, trying to feel the walls, the sink, anything at all that had once been within reach, but his fingers grasped nothing but air.
Needing to be sure they weren't about to be separated, he took a step closer, but there was nothing for him to step on, and he felt no force around him. He could move his body in this vacuum, but however much he tried, he couldn't propel himself.
"Cas, reach out—grab my hand!" Dean thrust his hand toward Cas, feeling the pop of his knuckles as he reached as far as he could go.
Cas blinked, like he didn't understand, and Dean managed a slight lean in the antigravity of it all, his fingertips skimming over Cas' bare chest. Cas sucked in a breath, his lips parting in a muted gasp, and Dean froze.
For one long moment there was nothing but him and Cas, swallowed up by the darkness. No sound but their breathing, no movement, nothing but them, suspended in nothingness.
Then with a distinct pop, Cas was gone too.