Five Years Later

Chapter Twenty: The Letters [3 & 4]

Cas' eyes were filled with tears. He wished that he had been able to read these letters when they had first arrived—they would have changed everything. He would have never hated Dean, had he been able to read these. Perhaps that's why Negan never let him.

He opened the third one.

***

Dear Cas,

It hurts like hell to miss you.

How long has it been? 3 years, I think. They didn't have a letter from you to me last year, and I doubt they will when I bring this one. They tried to shoot me last time for being at the gate, but I begged them to give the letter to you and promised them I was unarmed. I had a knife in my shoe, but they don't need to know that. It was for the walkers, not them. I like to think that one of these days, I'll march in there with one of the letters, having gained their trust, and slaughter whoever it takes to get to you.

You probably think I hate you, if you haven't gotten the letters. That's how I'm feeling right now... wondering whether or not you love me, begging for closure, and having to pretend like everything is fine. I am watching Joanna grow up every day and wishing she was ours. Even if you do come back, I don't know what I would do about Katharine and Joanna. I couldn't leave Katharine without making a scene, and I certainly couldn't bring Joanna with me, but I love her so much. Cas, she's practically my daughter now. I'm not as shitty a father as mine was. Katharine seems to think I'm doing a good job.

I think about what's going to happen when you find me every day. I wonder how I'm going to escape without causing trouble, if you show up at the bunker door tomorrow night. I would grab my suitcase—it's packed in the closet for when you come—and run out that door. I might look back, Cas, and I'm afraid of it. I might try to bring Joanna with me, but I can't. I know I can't. She's not really my daughter, and even if she was, I couldn't tear her away from Katharine like that. Neither of them would forgive me. Hell, I'd never forgive myself.

It's getting darker outside, and the nights are cold. I stand out there sometimes on the roof where we used to lay, staring up at the stars and wondering if you can see them too. I know that sounds cheesy as hell, but it makes me happy. Well, not happy. That's a relative term. Peaceful. Content. There's one star that's brighter than all the rest and I hope you look at that star sometimes and wonder about me like I wonder about you.

You probably don't, if I'm honest with myself. You could be dead, for all I know. It's been so many years. Have you forgotten me? Sorry, ignore that. I didn't mean to write it. I hope everything is well with you. I still pray for you every night. I kneel by the bed when Katharine has long since fallen asleep and Joanna is resting beside her, eyes closed in peaceful slumber. I slip out from under the covers and kneel there, whispering words to a God who may not even hear me, but I still pray. Sometimes I pray to you, Cas. I don't know if you hear me, but I hope you do. I sing our song sometimes, during the prayers. It's stupid, I know, but I hope that wherever you are, you can hear it and remember how much I love you.

Okay, Cas. I'll see you soon.

I love you.

With love,

Dean Winchester

***

Were Dean's prayers the echoes that had rang in Cas' head as he spent those years imprisoned, believing that he was going mad with all of the voices in his mind? Cas wept for this, wishing he had realized it was Dean so that he would have never gone down that road with Negan, wishing he could take back every life he cut away for a chance to be with the Saviors. Shakily, he opened the fourth letter.

***

Cas,

I saw you today, and all it did was reaffirm what a damn coward I am.

You came with Negan's group to get supplies. You looked terrible. Your eyes were sunken into your head with hunger and you were hateful. You didn't talk to Bobby or any of the others, and from what they said, you didn't ask after me. You brandished a hatchet in one fist and a dagger in the other—Charlie says you threatened her.

You didn't seem happy to see any of us. I can't blame you. We left you for dead four years ago. I'm surprised to see you made it this far, but Cas—Negan's group? Really? You gave in to them? I've been pissed at myself this whole time and all of a sudden, there's you and Negan traipsing through camp, looking like it wouldn't take a second thought for you to slice into someone who used to be your friend.

I hid, Cas. I went into the bunker and I watched from a crack in the door while you were standing outside bartering for how much food we were going to give to the Saviors this month. I guess you're officially on their side.

I'm sorry for being frustrated with you a moment ago—you must forgive me. I am overwhelmed. I don't know what to say or do and I'm pissed, Cas. I didn't go see you. It wouldn't have been that difficult, to walk out of that door and smile at you. If you had smiled back, I would know, and my mind wouldn't be spinning right now.

That's stupid. I sound like some heartsick teenager. Besides, let's be honest. You wouldn't have smiled at me. It hurts like a dagger being stabbed repeatedly into my heart, shredding me apart with every swing, but it's true. You don't love me anymore. You might not love anyone.

I don't look at the stars. I stopped as soon as I saw you. There's no way you care about the stars, or me for that matter. I stopped praying. God wasn't listening, and neither were you. I cried unpacking the suitcase I had stored in the closet, the clothes reminding me of you. I had packed the ones I knew you loved best. I burned them last night in the fireplace, each and every one. The ashes floated away, scattering up the chimney, broken just like we are.

Goodbye, Cas.

I hope someday you come back to me, but not like this.

Dean Winchester