One Last Thing
12x12 coda almost a week late (oops)
When they get back to the bunker, Dean is surprised to see Mom head toward the room they’d assigned to her all those months ago. He assumed she’d leave as soon as they were safely back underground. He’s still staring down the hallway after her when he hears Cas sigh.
He turns to find him slumped in a kitchen chair, his hands in his lap and his coat closed enough to cover the blood and black…goo on his shirt. He’s staring down at the table with a crease between his brow.
“You OK?” Dean asks gruffly as he takes a tentative seat perpendicular to him.
Dean balks at the honesty but doesn’t say anything. He leans forward and folds his hands on top of the table. Somewhere in the direction of Sam’s room, a door opens and closes.
“I shouldn’t be alive,” Cas continues, still staring at the table. “I would’ve never…”
Suddenly Cas’ eyes pop up and past Dean as Sam enters the kitchen.
None of them say anything as Sam grabs a cold cup of coffee. Dean and Cas look at each other. When Sam leaves, Cas’ eyes find the table again.
“I wouldn’t’ve…said what I said,” Cas continues, hesitance clear in his tone, “If I had known…”
A couple of seconds pass before it clicks for Dean. “That you weren’t actually gonna die?”
Cas nods minutely.
Dean leans back, runs a hand up through his hair and then drops it to his knee. “Look, man, you know I ain’t good at this. But you are family, so…what you said…it’s not–it doesn’t–you’re not trying to take it back, are you?” What the fuck–that’s not what he meant to say at all.
“No, of course not.” For some reason, Cas sounds angry. “It’s just that I–nothing.” He quickly turns his head to the side, the way he used to do when Dean had hurt his feelings.
“Cas,” Dean says softly. He waits until Cas looks at him. “I was scared to death when I saw that…what that spear did to you. I can’t lose you, man. So, uh, tell me. Whatever’s on your mind, spit it out.” It’s too harsh, too casual, but anything else wouldn’t be Dean.
“I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
Cas squints at him. “It was a declaration made because I thought it was the last chance I would get to tell you. I couldn’t die without telling you that I…that.”
Dean leans forward again and wipes his hand over his mouth. “You, uh, you didn’t make me uncomfortable. You know I’m not–I’m not very good at the whole, uh, love thing, but I know it’s there. I know we’re–you know, we’re good.”
Cas squints harder and leans forward so they’re only inches apart. “You knew I was in love with you?”
“That’s not–you didn’t–that’s not what you said, man. You didn’t say that.”
That’s his “quit being a dense idiot, Dean” voice.
Dean huffs a nervous laugh and stares at the table. “Yeah, uh, this would be a hell of a lot easier if you had died.”
Now Cas is laughing, too. “We are terrible at this.”
Dean lifts his eyes shyly. Cas is studying him.
“Do you remember…” Dean stops and sucks in a breath. He shouldn’t be talking about this. “That day in the cemetery, when we all thought I was gonna die.”
Cas nods once but doesn’t say anything.
“I wanted to, uh, say something.” Dean smiles and scratches the back of his head. “Actually, I didn’t. I wanted to–to kiss you.” He winces in embarrassment.
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
Dean looks sharply over at him.
“If you waited until you were on the brink of death to kiss me, I would’ve killed you myself.”
“You waited until your deathbed to tell me you lo–”
Cas cuts Dean’s argument off with a kiss. It’s just a tentative press of lips, but Dean still lets out a needy, embarrassing whimper as it happens. When Cas pulls away, Dean mumbles, “Nuh-uh,” and grabs him by the cheek to pull him back in. His hip is digging into the edge of the table, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.
It’s sloppy and too fast and Cas is breathing heavy and whispering, “I love you,” over and over right against Dean’s mouth and it’s all too much and not nearly enough.
Later, in the pitch black of his room, lying breathless next to an angel, Dean tells Cas that he loves him, too.