Chapter Text
Things We Never Had
“Why does this sound like goodbye?”
“Because it is…”
“I love you.”
Black. Darkness.
“Goodbye, Dean.”
“Goodbye, Dean.”
“Goodbye.”
“NO!” Dean jolted awake with heavy, ragged breaths, his skin slick with cold sweat. His eyes darted around the room, looking for the monster on the wall.
A whimper caught his attention, snapping him back to reality. Miracle jumped onto the bed, whining as he pawed at Dean’s chest, then licking the hunter’s face.
“Hey, buddy,” whispered Dean, his heartbeat slowly calming. He ran his hands through the dog’s fur, soothing the animal and himself all the same. It was grounding, reminding him that it was just a nightmare.
Except, it wasn’t. It happened. Castiel was gone, lost to the Empty. Forever.
He felt tears well in his eyes, Castiel’s last words to him still echoing in his mind. He sniffed as he wiped his face, then swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. “Come on, boy. Good boy.” Grabbing his robe, he wrapped himself in it, tying it off and shivering. It was freezing, or maybe it was just him. He left his room, Miracle in tow.
Clicking on the kitchen light, he slowly made his way over to their liquor supply, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and a rocks glass. After a moment of consideration, he put the glass down. He sat at the table, uncapping the bottle and taking a hefty swig. The burn was reassuring, something that forced his mind to focus on the present, on the pain.
Sam crept down the hall, certain he’d heard movement in the bunker. He listened carefully as he made his way, and then he heard it, the unmistakable sound of rasped breathing, followed by a whimper of pain. Following the noise, he peered into the kitchen, spotting his brother, whiskey bottle in hand and head on the table, quiet cries accompanied by shaking shoulders. Sam backed away immediately, pressing his back to the wall out of sight. He listened for a moment, pain and empathy rattling in his chest. This was the fourth night this week that he’d found Dean like this in the middle of the night, drowning his agony in booze just to pretend that nothing happened the next morning.
For a while, Sam hadn’t been certain what exactly was plaguing Dean, though he had his hunch of course. It was about two weeks ago when it happened the first time, Dean waking up in the middle of the night, screaming Castiel’s name. Dean had taken off that night, stumbling back the next morning worse for wear. When Sam had tried to ask him about it, he did what he always does, brushed it off and avoided answering the question directly. After that, it was no secret what was keeping Dean up at night. Sam had hoped that things would get better, or at least even out. Instead, it was getting worse. Dean was getting worse.
The next morning, Dean slowly came into consciousness, having passed out at the kitchen table with little memory of just how much whiskey he knocked back. His bleary vision began to clear, allowing him to see that the once nearly full bottle now lay empty on its side beside his head. He let out a groan, his head throbbing something fierce. Carefully, he stood up, the world around him tilted slightly left. Miracle’s whining brought him back just enough to realize that it was in fact morning.
“You wanna go out?” he asked, managing a small smile as the dog jumped up, running to the front of the bunker. He hurried as fast he could without falling over, going to his room to quickly change. After dressing, he met Miracle at the front door, taking the leash off the hook. “Good boy! Who’s ready to go outside?” Attaching a leash to an over excited dog was never easy, though Dean could never find it in himself to mind Miracle’s energy.
Somedays, taking care of the dog was the only thing that got him out of bed.
Sam was cooking breakfast when Dean arrived back with Miracle. Dean wandered into the kitchen, forcing a grin when he met Sam’s eyes.
“Mornin’,” he said casually, going over to the fridge and taking out a beer.
Sam felt a twinge of concern. “Mornin’. You hungry?”
“Eh,” Dean shrugged, twisting the cap off of his drink and sipping it, “not really. I think I’m alright.”
“You sure? I uh, I made bacon. Figured you might want that.” Sam gestured to a plate lined with a paper towel, the grease soaking through. It pained him to make something so unhealthy, but he knew it was his chance at getting Dean to eat. Dean could never turn down any sort of fat soaked meat.
“Uh, thanks, Sammy, but I’m alright.”
Sam stopped dead in his tracks, his brows knitting as his eyes narrowed. “You, you’re turning down bacon?”
Dean shrugged again, breaking eye contact and taking another swig. He knew Sam was worried about him, which he didn’t need. He was a big boy. “Just not hungry, Sam. Might have some later, okay?” He began to walk away, needing to get out of there before Sam started to pry.
“Dean, hold on.”
Dean stopped, his head falling forward in defeat. He reluctantly turned around, forcing himself to meet his brother’s eyes. “What’s up?”
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, why?” Dean shrugged again, realizing he was doing that too much. His desperate attempt to be nonchalant was failing, his mind and body too exhausted to put on his usual mask.
Sam shrugged at him, pointing out his flaw. “Dean, come on. I know you’re not okay.”
“‘Kay, so why’d you ask?”
“Because I’m worried, alright? I know you. You, you do this stuff. You, heh, you make yourself endure your pain alone. I’m right here. You can talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about, Sam.” Dean turned, beginning to walk away.
“Is this about Cas?” Sam regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, watching as Dean’s shoulders went rigid.
Dean didn’t bother turning around. He swallowed hard, his grip on his beer threatening to shatter it. “Don’t. Alright? Just, don’t.”
“Dean–”
“I said don’t, Sam!” Dean turned around, glaring holes into Sam, unaware of the tears that were brimming in his eyes. “There’s no point! Okay? He’s gone! So just drop it!”
Sam huffed, looking at his brother apologetically. “Look, I’m sorry, I–”
“Forget it. Didn’t happen. I’m gonna go watch TV in the Dean cave. Come on, Miracle.” Dean whistled, summoning the dog. “Come on, boy.” He walked away without another word, leaving Sam there overrun with guilt.
***
Sam was finishing cleaning up in the kitchen when he heard footsteps. He went out to the main hub of the bunker, finding Dean headed for the stairs.
“Dean, where are you going?” he asked, his voice laced with worry.
“Just going for a drive, Sam,” answered Dean plainly, attempting to hide the frustration in his tone.
“With that?” Sam gestured to the whiskey bottle in Dean’s hand. “Really?”
Dean scoffed, still not turning around. He began ascending the stairs. “I’m not drinking it until I get where I’m going, relax.”
“Where are you going?”
“OUT!” Dean slammed the door shut, the lock clicking into place.
Sam huffed, shaking his head and running his hand over his face. This was getting worse by the minute.
Dean drove stone faced with no music, his entire body locked up, focused on the road and nothing else. He couldn’t let his mind wander, not yet, not until he got to where he needed to be. It was about an hour outside of town, a place he’d only ever visited once. He parked Baby on the side of the road, then getting out, bottle in hand. In the distance, across the grass field, was a windmill, gently rotating in the light breeze.
Every step was heavier than the last as he made his way, the memories of the last time he was here beginning to drown him. He approached the windmill, standing a few yards away where he’d sprinkled Castiel’s ashes years ago.
He sat down in the grass, twisting off the cap and taking a long drink, several glugs of whiskey going straight down, burning his empty stomach.
Minutes passed, bleeding into an hour or two. He drank and drank, halving the contents of the bottle before the world began to lightly fuzz. He blinked, realizing that it was tears that had made his vision blur. He sniffed hard, trying to steady himself.
“Cas,” he whispered, the word heavy like lead on his tongue. He looked up, watching the windmill spin. “Cas, I know you probably can’t hear me, but I’m gonna talk anyway, okay?” More tears welled, spilling slowly. “I can’t stop…I can’t stop thinking about what you said before you…” He cleared his throat, not bothering to wipe away the pain dripping down his face. “I just can’t stop thinking about how…how you…you,” he took a shuddering breath, cut off by his throat closing, “you…” He squeezed his eyes shut, his bottom lip trembling. “How long?” He looked up at the sky, the only place that made sense to turn his attention, despite knowing Castiel wasn’t up there. “How long did you feel that way? Huh?” He took another long drink of whiskey, desperate to numb the pain. “How long did you live in pain thinking that I… All because of your stupid deal! How could you?” His head fell to his knees, a broken sob rattling from his chest. “How could you!” He grabbed at his shoulder with his free hand, grasping where Castiel had left his hand print before vanishing.
***
Back at the bunker, Sam was drowning himself in lore, looking for something, anything to bring Castiel back. There had been ways to bring people back from the Empty before, so there had to be something, right? He tore through book after book, going through archives, opening drawers that had long since collected layers of dust.
He had to find something. He was going to lose his brother if he didn’t.
“Okay, thanks for checking,” he said as he hung up with the sixth hunter he’d spoken to that day.
More books, more lore. Nothing. Not a scrap of useful information. He ran his hands over his face, sucking in a deep breath.
What the hell happened, he wondered. Dean wouldn’t talk about it. All he’d said was that Castiel saved him by summoning the Empty to take away Billie. He refused to elaborate more. Even worse, he’d given Sam a very explicit instruction. “Don’t watch the footage from the day it happened.” The dungeon was under constant surveillance, so it was obvious that it had caught everything. Dean was firm when he told Sam not to watch it, his gaze unwavering. So far, Sam had honored that request.
Now, Sam needed to know. He felt guilty just thinking about it, but he felt as if he had no other choice. Dean was a wreck, worse than ever, worse than the other times Castiel had died, and Sam needed to understand. Grabbing the laptop, Sam went back to the date of Castiel’s death, approximating the time and rewinding the footage. Eventually, he found when Castiel and Dean ran in, watching Castiel cut his palm and put the warding on the door. He turned up the volume.
***
Dean was in between fits of crying, currently drinking more liquor as his mind began to finally slow down, though it wasn’t having the effect he craved. His thoughts were sluggish, playing in slow motion, but they were still filled with nothing but Castiel’s death, playing over and over.
“Goodbye, Dean.”
“I love you.”
“Goodbye, Dean.”
Dean let out an enraged scream, chunking the nearly empty bottle across the grass field. He put his face in his hands, more sobs rolling out of him.
“You stupid son of a bitch!” he hollered, his words rasped and broken. “How many times are you going to leave me? You don’t get to say that to me and then leave me alone! You fucking asshole!” Every word carried less anger, slowly turning into nothing but pain. He curled in on himself, hugging his knees close as his body shook with his cries. It was all he could do.
***
Sam stared at the footage, his brows knit and lips parted in shock. He watched as Dean ignored his call, instead sitting there, alone and weeping for the loss of his…
Castiel hadn’t been just a friend for a long time. That was why Dean was in so much pain. Sam shut the laptop, blowing out a breath and grabbing another book and flipping it open. He had to do something, anything. Dean wasn’t going to survive this, he knew that for sure now.
Hours ticked by with no luck. Sam was mentally exhausted, his mind swirling with worry. If he didn’t find something soon…
What if there was nothing? When Nick had attempted to bring back Lucifer, he’d needed blood. Every other person that had come back from the Empty had been brought back by Death or God.
…
Jack.
Jack, who had sworn to be hands off, who had vanished, was their last hope.
Sam shut the book, letting out a huff as he placed his arms on the desk. He looked around the room, gathering his thoughts.
“Jack,” he said softly, “look I, heh, I don’t know if you can hear this. Or, maybe you can, but you’re opting to just let prayers pass by. I don’t know. But, it doesn’t matter. I need your help. It’s…it’s Dean, or I guess Cas and Dean. Look…Dean, Dean’s not okay, Jack. I uh, I broke a promise. I watched the footage of when Cas died. Jack…Cas he…he told Dean he loved him, and then he died.” He paused, a breathy chuckle escaping. “It’s almost funny, because we knew that. Thinking back, I think everyone knew except them. I’m sure even you realized it. It had been there a long time, even if it went unsaid. But, Jack, I…I don’t think Dean will ever, ever be okay again…not without Cas. Please. I know what you said, I know, I know you said you’d be hands off, but…please, Jack. I can’t lose my brother, and I know I will if Cas stays gone.”
Quiet.
Sam waited, trying to be patient. Seconds turned into minutes, and after nearly an hour of sitting in the silence, Sam let his shoulders drop, defeat washing over him. He picked up another book, opening it and sighing. This was all he could do.
***
Dean stumbled home with little recollection of how he’d managed to get there in one piece. Sam stood from his seat, watching nervously as Dean shakily trudged down the stairs, his grip on the guard rail barely keeping him steady.
“Dean?” Sam approached slowly, his expression turning more concerned when Dean looked at him, his brother’s eyes worryingly red. “Dean, hey, are you okay?”
“M’fine,” mumbled Dean. He pushed past Sam, headed for the Dean cave.
Sam opened his mouth to speak, only to shut it. It was no use. Dean wouldn’t hear a word he said anyway. He heard Miracle’s pitter patter down the hall, followed by the door shutting. At least Dean wasn’t alone in there.
“God dammit,” he whispered. Fear rose in his chest, fear of Dean pushing himself past the point of no return. “Not like this…”
Suddenly, there was the sound of fluttering wings.
Sam whipped around, his eyes going wide.
“Jack?”
Jack smiled brightly, holding his hand up. “Hello, Sam.”
Sam took a cautious step forward, unable to hold back his grin. When Jack didn’t move, only continuing to stare happily, Sam took that as his go ahead. He pulled Jack into a hug, patting his son on the back before pulling away.
“It’s so good to see you,” he said. “What are you doing here? Are you,” he paused, glancing over his shoulder and lowering his voice, “did you hear my prayer?” Jack nodded. “S-So? Will you do it?”
“I will. I apologize for the wait. I, I had to think about it. When I first became, this,” Jack looked down at his own hand, able to see the pure energy radiating off of his skin, “I was very afraid. I tried not to show it, but deep down, I feared becoming like my grandfather. Chuck put himself in the story. He interfered, and it ruined everything. I didn’t want to be like him. But, I realized that as long as I aspire to be nothing like him, that will guide me. You and Dean and Castiel, you three taught me what I needed to know in order to be who I am. I wouldn’t be the being I am without you.” He gave Sam a smile. “And what’s the point of all of this if I can’t help my fathers?”
Sam let out a breath of relief, nodding and grinning. “Thank you, Jack.”
“I’ll return with Castiel. Wait for me here.” With that, Jack vanished.
***
Darkness.
Jack wandered, glancing around with little worry. He knew the Empty couldn’t harm him, not anymore.
“You,” sneered a voice.
Jack turned around, met with furious eyes. The Empty still wore Meg’s face, sitting in it’s chair, it’s lips pulled back with rage.
“What are you doing here?” it asked, it’s voice twisting Meg’s, overrun with sheer anger. “Get out!”
“I will leave,” said Jack calmly. “I’m here for Castiel.”
The Empty burst into laughter. “No. NO!” It stood from it’s chair, marching up to Jack. “No! He’s mine! We had a deal! He’s not going anywhere!” A large glob of black sludge appeared on the ground, the inky substance moving, covering something. “He’s mine. He’s sleeping, as he should be!”
Jack looked at the Empty, his expression relaxed, unbothered. “I’m taking him home.”
“No, you’re not. I don’t care if you’re the new God or whatever. I’m tired of you beings coming into my territory and doing whatever you want! I was promised sleep! I WANT TO SLEEP!”
Jack smiled, taking a step closer. “Let me be clear. I’m taking Castiel home. Or, I can wake up every single demon and angel you have here.” His eyes flashed yellow, making the Empty back away. “And then you will never go back to sleep. You’ll be awake for the rest of eternity. Your choice.”
The Empty’s face twisted, letting out a scream of rage. Jack didn’t budge. It screamed again, outstretching it’s arm, it’s anger only growing when Jack remained unmoving. It let it’s arm drop, letting out one more outburst of upset.
The sludge peeled away, revealing Castiel lying on the ground. Jack went to him, pressing his first two fingers to his father’s forehead.
Castiel awoke with a sharp breath, scrambling as overwhelming consciousness washed over him. He looked up, his eyes going wide when he saw his son. He got to his feet, looking at Jack with confusion, tilting his head.
“Jack?”
“Hello, Castiel,” said Jack gently. “It’s okay. It’s me. I’m here to take you home.”
“Home?” Castiel turned to face the Empty, a chill of fear crawling up his spine. “But, our deal–”
“Is null and void when your son is the new God,” growled the Empty.
Castiel looked at Jack again, now only more confused and bewildered. “New God? What? What happened?”
“I’ll explain it all to you,” said Jack with a small smile. “But, first, we need to get you home. There’s someone who needs to see you.”
***
Sam knocked on the door to the Dean cave. After a few moments with no response, he decided to push it open away, spotting Dean passed out in his chair, Dr. Sexy M.D. playing idly on the TV.
“Dean?” whispered Sam, careful not to startle his brother and end up getting shot.
Dean mumbled something half asleep, his eyes slowly peeling open. He turned his head, seeing Sam and letting out a groan. “What? What is it?”
“Hey, um, it’s kind of important. Can you come out?”
Dean nodded, too exhausted to bother asking why. He followed Sam, barely registering his own steps as they made their way. Sam led them out to the hub, turning around and waiting for Dean to catch up.
Dean rounded the corner, lifting his head to see what all the fuss was about.
Time stopped. Dean sucked in a sharp gasp, his heart thudding violently against his ribs.
“Cas?” he asked in a barely there voice, the word trembling.
Castiel smiled softly. “Hello, Dean.”