Five Years Later

Chapter Seven: The Spill

The days progressed into a week in which Dean had no more interaction with Cas. His life was turned upside down, but for the better. He began to sleep in the rooms set aside for Negan's soldiers, and was allowed to eat with the other men. He was no longer a prisoner, and he had already set long term goals for himself about how to move up in rank. He began sucking up to Negan at every opportunity, killing anyone he needed to and torturing however many souls he was told until he got to a point where Negan began to trust him.

While on the outside Dean might have looked put together, he had to try all the harder to maintain the façade because of the tumult within his heart and mind. He was throwing himself into the work for Negan to distract himself for trying to decipher how he was feeling. On one hand, he was assured that Cas hated him. There was no other viable explanation for how cold the angel had been behaving. They had passed each other in the hall multiple times since their interaction in the prison and Cas didn't do so much as cast him a sideways glance.

Dean was lost as he lay there in the bottom of the bunk bed he shared with one other soldier, in a room he lived in with many more. He was no longer empty, which seemed to be an improvement, given his circumstances, but being lost was nearly worse. He didn't know who to turn to or what to say to them if he could. He was trying to sort through the memories and make sense of them, while still keeping up with the present.

He had been with Katharine, it was true, but he didn't love her. He had finally made sense of that one fact, and it was a relief within it. He did, however, love Joanna in his own way. He had helped to raise her and she was like his own. He could feel the longing he had to have her back in his arms battling with the urge he had to tell Cas everything and make him understand. As for Cas – he didn't know where he stood, which was the same conclusion he had been coming to since he had been stuck in that prison cell all of those weeks ago.

Did he love him still? Had he moved on? Based on the wrenching in Dean's heart every time Cas passed him in the hall or brushed by him with indignant ignorance, he believed that he must still love the angel. The fear that now surfaced was that the feeling was not mutual and that Cas had long since moved on, based on what Dean had been seeing lately. If Cas still loved him, wouldn't he have said something by now?

What was love, anyway? If it was that feeling that Dean remembered having while he and Cas had been lying side by side on the rooftop, watching the clouds together, then that couldn't be what he had for Joanna. It had to be something more, something deeper, and that's when Dean decided it had to be a choice. He chose to love Joanna, just as he refused to do the same for Katharine. He could move on from Cas eventually. It would be painful—worse than anything he had experienced. This was coming from a man who had been to hell and back—literally. But if he chose, he could keep going. He could choose to love Cas no matter if it was reciprocated or not.

Dean lay there on his bed, the bustling of the room fading to a dull murmur around him as he drifted off to sleep, dreaming of what it would be like if Cas could choose to love him again.

***

When he woke up the next morning, he could hardly get out of bed. There was a massive weight on his chest that threatened to crush him, causing him to lie there with no hope of turning over or sitting up. Agony pulsed through each one of his veins and he felt like he was on fire, flames flickering against his skin from the inside.

"Dean Winchester?"

It was Negan. Following his inquiry was the sound of the bat dragging across the floor, the barbed wire that was wound around it snagging against the carpet.

"Dean, it's me."

No, it wasn't Negan. Dean was practically delirious. He tried to tilt his head so he could see who was addressing him, but it was no use—there was no way he would be able to move until whatever weight was on his chest could be removed. There was nothing physically there, but he had no idea what else it could be.