Five Years Later

Chapter Twenty-One: The Decision

Cas,

I'm dying.

Not because of you, but my senses have been weakened by this last year of living with the heartbreak you left behind. No, Cas, I'm actually dying. I'm sick. I can feel every part of my body slowly waning, pulling away from my control like the tides of the ocean. It's a lovely picture and a terrible truth. I hope my suffering will end, Cas, and I can die. I want to die. Maybe you're dead too, and we can finally be together in Heaven. That's my wishful thinking. Honestly, I'll get up there, if they even let me into Heaven with all the shit I've done, and I'll have to wait for you, just like I always do.

I don't know why I'm dying. The will of someone to die is not singularly powerful enough to destroy them. I was trying to fight through it, only to end up like this. I am nauseous, dizzy, faint, feverish, coughing every five seconds, my throat is on fire, and my head is pulsating with terrible pain. It hurts. Everything hurts. I got sick three weeks ago and it's worse than ever before. I don't know what to think or what to do.

Katharine thought I might have been bitten, but I was thoroughly examined multiple times by her and everyone else in the bunker, which while a mortifying experience, was conclusive. There was no bite, but I did have a healing scratch they believed temporarily to be one. When asked how I got the wound, I couldn't reply. I don't remember how. It might have been a walker, for all I know.

About a month ago, I was out with Bobby and the others trying to trace down supplies and food. A group of walkers came up on us and we almost lost Charlie, but she made it. One of the walkers nearly bit me. Its teeth were so close to my neck, Cas. I thought it had me for sure, but what scares me the most is that I didn't mind. I would have let it take me out if it wasn't for Bobby. He saved me. Did it scratch me with its teeth? I don't know. I remember I was bleeding, but I thought it was from the fall. Will I become a walker? Who knows.

At this point, I want my suffering to be over. Is that too much to ask for? This is my last sheet of paper, Cas. I have written you one letter for the last five years and I have never heard back from you. Hell, I wouldn't know you were still alive if I hadn't seen you last year at the gathering. I am not sure if you are alive, or if you care about me anymore, or if you love me. I don't know anything. I'm kept in the dark from whatever information the others find out, which is probably for the best, but I had a feeling they are trying to find you in order to give me some satisfaction in my dying days. That emphasis on the word 'had' is not unintentional. I overheard them in the dining room the other day, Cas. They said we are planning to leave for the east coast. We can't keep up with Negan's demands and the bunker is slowly but surely running out of oxygen, ever since the vents stopped working. It's been five years and everything is falling apart.

See, Cas, the thing is, I can't convince myself that there's not something between us no matter how hard I try. It's terrifying, not knowing, but I want closure more than anything, even if that means I die trying to find it. What if I just went to the Saviors base and broke in? Maybe you'd be guarding the gate. They know when I come now, and it's always the same person I meet. His name is Logan. He's a grade A asshole, but he does the job. At least, I hope he does. What if you're not getting these letters and you think I hate you? Is it too much to ask for, just to know that there is still something between us? Perhaps that will give me something to live for, and I don't have to be like this anymore, in this state of not knowing and wishing I were dead rather than facing the truth. I want the truth, Cas. I have to know.

That's it. I'm going to run away.

Wait. Shit. No, I can't. I have Joanna to look after, and Katharine. Plus, I'm sick. There's no guarantee I could even make it into the Impala, much less drive it to where you are. I am having Charlie deliver this next letter, I think. I shouldn't do it. It'll be a suicide mission at this point. There's nothing more I can do.

Goddamnit Cas.

Will I never know if you love me?

Please, if you're reading this, send me a letter. Let me know what you're feeling. If you hate me, say so. If you love me, just... just say it. Put a dying man's mind at ease.

I love you, Cas.

I hope you love me too.

Dean Winchester

***

Now came the dreaded question.

Cas spent several minutes attempting to compose himself. The letters, stained now with his tears, lay strewn across the cell floor. Their weathered envelopes glared back at him from the shadows, their harsh addresses carved into the paper. Winchester. Novak. Cas couldn't decide what to do about any of it. Did he leave Negan? Did he stay? Whatever gave him a purpose, something to get him through the grief that followed losing Dean. If Dean suffered for those five years to that extent, while Cas chose to learn how to hate instead of choosing to love, perhaps Cas owed it to Dean to try.

I'm doing this for you and me Cas.

Cas gathered up the first letter, turning over the pale and yellowed envelope in his hand. Tears streamed down his face involuntarily, and he could feel himself sobbing, but couldn't process it to the extent that he knew how to calm himself.

I wouldn't have changed it, Cas. Not any of it, for one moment.

Dean's words swirled around Cas' mind and haunted him to no end. He didn't know how to make it stop, but he almost didn't want to, for fear that if they did, he would forget. He wanted to remember, even if it brought pain, because all forgetting did was make him hateful. Dean wouldn't have wanted Cas to revert back to his old ways with Negan... he would have wanted him to do well for himself.

Don't you ever believe for one second, for a single heartbeat, that I wanted to leave you, because it wouldn't be true. I love you more than I have loved anyone in my entire life.

Dean gave his life for Cas to be free. Cas couldn't throw that gift away, despite how much he wanted to. He stared into the darkness, the shadows closing in on the edges of his vision, and wished more than anything that Dean would return to him. He didn't want the 'freedom' that Dean's death brought—if anything, the loss was acting as a chain that dragged him down to the depths of nothingness and left him empty.

I love you, Cas. And I wouldn't have changed any of it, not for the world. You stood by me through everything and I will be forever grateful for how much you have changed me in my life. All I ask of you is to remember what we had when I am gone. No more forgetting, no more excuses. Keep standing by me.

I love you.

Cas could never do homage to Dean's memory, but he could at least give it a concerted effort. He would try, for no more than five years, but he would give it his best shot. He owed it to Dean. He would have to remind himself of that every time it felt like more trouble than it was worth.