winjennster:

It’s quiet now.

Michael successfully put the kibosh on Dean’s last attempt to escape, so it’s quiet now all the damn time. Dean quit screaming a while ago. He’s been sitting in a corner of the bunker kitchen, on the floor with his back against the wall. Spread around him are memories, lots of memories, in the form of photographs.

Dean’s face is dry now, but the tear tracks remain, even if he can’t seem them. He knows they’re there. Some part of him knows he needs to just accept his fate and pray that Sam and Cas will get him out. It’s worse like this, however, and he feels like he’s going to lose his mind before they do. Before, it was easier. Michael created scenes, realities, let Dean think he was out even a time or two, but after the d’jinn incident, Dean’s pretty good at seeing holes in made up reality. He figured it out every time.

Some of those scenarios though – they’ve stuck with them. One of the memories on the floor is from one such fantasy. He and Cas, standing at the front of a church – Dean lifts the picture and holds it close to his heart. He wants that. He wants it so bad he can taste it.

The bunker trembles mightily and he shoots to his feet, heart pounding in his chest. The voice is soft and comes to him from far away.

“Dean…”

It’s almost a whisper, a soft susurrus of words not quite formed. Maybe he’s just imagining it.

“I’m coming for you,” he hears clearly. “Michael cannot have you.”

“Cas,” he chokes out, the words clogging his throat. He wants to scream for the angel, beg him to free him from this prison Michael has created in his mind.

And suddenly, there he is, appearing from thin air.

Dean blinks, afraid to speak. Michael has done this before, let him believe that Cas and Sam were there to pull him out. He was disappointed – shattered – every time.

“Dean.” Cas smiles and reaches his hand out but Dean just shrinks back against the wall.

This can’t be real. It can’t be. Michael is so deep in his head he’s pulling out every stop to keep Dean quiet and docile and Jesus Fuckin’ Christ, it’s working.

Tears stream down Dean’s face as Cas steps closer and the look of concern, that fucking head tilt –

“No,” Dean whispers, clamping his eyes shut and turning to face the corner. He pushes himself into the wall as far as he can go, wishing so hard the wall would just open, just swallow him up. He can’t do this. He can’t do this anymore, it’s too much and Michael already broke him once. How many more times does he have to go through this, the abuse, the mind games, it is too much, it’s too fucking –

“Dean.” Cas’s voice is gentle, like he’s talking to a frightened animal.

Maybe he is, with the horribly embarrassing noises that fall from Dean’s mouth without his permission.

“Dean. I’m real. I’m really here. Please look at me.”

He can’t. Dean shakes his head, refuses to turn around.

“Oh Dean. I’m so sorry.”

He feels Cas step closer and a low whine slips out of his throat. Dean can hear the sound of papers shuffling behind him and knows Cas is looking through the pictures. Whipping around, he quickly kneels near Cas, hiding the pictures as best he can. “Don’t,” he rasps, pulling them away and trying to shove them out of sight.

Cas lifts a snapshot of the floor, looking at it closely.

“Don’t – please. He’s just – he makes these worlds and they play out like movies, at least until I figure it out -” Dean makes a grab for the photo and the other one – the wedding picture – falls from his hands.

Cas picks it up, too. He studies both closer and God, can Dean just die? Like right now, just take him, let it be over. The things he feels for Cas are so raw, so edged with misery because he knows – he knows that Cas would never want him like that, Dean knows it, and if this is the real Cas, if it’s really his friend. Ugh. Cas knows. Cas knows and he’ll never look at Dean the same again.

A fresh wave of tears stream down his face.

He shuffles away from the pile of pictures, scooting on his ass until his back is against the wall again, and then, then Dean just sort of collapses in on himself. He draws his knees up as tight as they’ll go and buries his face in his hands.

Fuck, what a loser he is. Can’t even hold it together in his own mind against a version of his best friend who probably isn’t even there to begin with.

“Dean? This – these pictures – it’s alright. You haven’t done anything wrong, I promise you. But I want to,” Cas’s voice comes nearer and a hand lands on Dean’s shoulder, “I want to take you home. Sam’s waiting and Rowena isn’t sure how long she can keep Michael contained. It’s taking all the power she and Max Banes have to control him and they’re both growing weary. Once you help me shove him out, Sam and I have a container that will hold his grace indefinitely, but we have to get him out first. Please, Dean,” Cas begs, “please look at me.”

It takes everything Dean has to raise his head, but he does, painfully and embarrassingly aware of his wet face. He looks at this version of Cas and for the first time –

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas smiles, his blue eyes sparkling, “it’s me. Really me.”

Something breaks in Dean and he forgets how embarrassed he is that Cas has seen what those pictures of memories – the real ones and the Michael-produced – hold. He throws himself into Cas’s arms and clings to him.

“You have to be real, I can’t do this anymore.”

“I’m real, I promise. And while we really don’t have the time to discuss these photos you were trying to hide from me, I assure you there is nothing off putting about them. Lucifer tormented me with much the same. Sometimes I thought…” Cas trails off for a moment and tugs Dean a little closer. “I know how you feel,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Dean’s temple. “Oh, Dean. I feel the same way. I have for quite some time – maybe even since the first time I pulled you from Perdition.” Cas tilts Dean’s head up and smiles at him. “Ten years ago today, in fact.”

And then he full on kisses Dean on the lips.

It’s probably the best kiss Dean’s ever had.

When they breathlessly separate, Cas pulls back and smiles at Dean again. “It’s time to go.”

“Ok.” Dean lets Cas help him to his feet and looks down at their joined hands. “Thank you, Cas,” he murmurs.

Cas squeezes his hand. “I always come when you call.”