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Dean stood by the window, staring out at the moonlit trees and dark blue, velvet sky, Kelly's, Cas' and Mary's pyre by the water. The spruce waved softly in the wind. The kid watched him for a while, his gaze infuriatingly curious—Innocent. As if he even had the right to feel innocent right now.
Dean tensed as Jack moved, his shoulders only easing once the boy's footsteps had faded out to another room.
Feeling better, Dean looked to his right. Cas was standing peacefully next to him. Dean didn't flinch—he'd seen too much in his lifetime to flinch.
Angels don't become ghosts, he said quietly, more to himself than anything, which he supposed made sense if he thought about it. He was alone.
Cas turned to look at him, eyes squinting, head tilting idiosyncratically. It made something deep inside Dean ache. He turned away from the scrutinising gaze, unable to bear it.
You know what I am, Cas' rough voice echoed through Dean's head.
Dean huffed a humourless laugh. Yeah. Yeah, maybe I do.
You don't seem very surprised... I am dead, after all. And there it was, said startlingly plainly, as though stating the simplest fact. As though it wasn't a truth turning Dean's world upside down; tearing him apart.
I guess you're a phantom, then, Dean countered, knowing it didn't make sense—though, really, not knowing anything at all.
It was Cas' turn to huff. He seemed lighter, though, more at ease with the whole goddamn thing.
Maybe that made sense. He wasn't corporeal, after all. Didn't have the weight of the world sinking him into the ground, squeezing a tightening grip over his frayed and tearing lungs, letting him suffocate under its hold.
The guy never had to breathe anyway.
Maybe he never really was alive to begin with.
Dean felt stupid with guilt.
Dean shook himself from his thoughts. He didn't glance back at the other man, just stood with soldier-like rigidity, balancing the world, longing for it all to be over.
I wanna join you, man, he said finally, voice gruff with emotion.
Cas took his hand, urgent, pleading. You can't, he said. (Dean almost felt it.) Dean, you have to stay.
Dean sighed, dropped his head, shoulders hung with exhaustion.
Please, Cas. I'm so tired. He leaned forward against the glass. Felt its sting on his face and arms.
I'm so tired. I'm so tired. His breath fogged the glass.
Cas let go of his hand, wrapped his arm around Dean's waist.
Just for today, then, he whispered. Just for today... we can be phantoms together.
Dean pulled himself back from the wall. He turned his head to look at the angel.
Ok, he said, voice hoarse, managing the smallest of smiles. Ok.
Cas smiled, removing his arm and taking a hold of Dean's hand again. His phantom eyes glittered blue in the moonlight, and Dean could of sworn he really saw them there. They were shining.
He couldn't help but wonder if his were shining back.
Tonight, Cas whispered. I will take your hand; take away your pain.
But tomorrow, he continued, voice angelic as grace. Tomorrow, you will come back to life.
Tomorrow... he said, his eyes glittering with awe and tears. They caught the moonlight; made of stardust.
Tomorrow, Dean Winchester, you will be a hero again.