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Another came in to do bed stretches with Cas and Dean excused himself, walking into the hall. He saw Tessa leaning against the nurse's station, examining some medication, and pushing her hair back. She was extremely beautiful, he thought. Even if she was tired she never showed it - and her smile always made her glow.
She looked up as he approached, smiling a little and jotting something on her clipboard.
"He doing his exercises?"
"Mhmm," Dean said. "He doesn't like when I watch. It makes him feel weird."
Tessa laughed lightly, shaking her head.
"Why do you like him so much?" Dean asked, and Tessa shrugged.
"I think you can tell me the answer to that, but, I guess it was because he was lonely. None of the nurses really - they didn't really talk to him. What he has, it's getting a kind of stigma and, well, people don't know what's happening here. You hear about these boys dying and they live a certain way and people get scared."
"Yeah," Dean rasped. "I know."
Tessa shrugged again.
"He just wanted someone to talk to, mostly about you."
Tessa gave him a look.
Dean smiled vaguely and fiddled with a pen on the counter.
"What's happening to him?"
"A fungus, or a tumor...we don't..." she paused, weighing her words. "Dr. Ether doesn't really know. It could be anything and at this point. He doesn't think it's worth pursuing. Any more in-depth testing could seriously stress his system."
"It's been barely two weeks," Dean said. "He was supposed to have more -."
Tessa seamed her mouth shut, trying to remain professional.
"These things just happen," she consoled as best she could, "but regardless of the timing, he's going to need you. Now more than ever. He's starting to become delirious, and his memory is coming in and out. When we were in there..."
She stopped, covering her mouth, forcing herself not to cry.
"Tessa you have to tell me."
"Dr. Ether asked him what the last thing he remembered was, and he said he had dropped you off at the base."
Sweat broke out on Dean's face, making it damp.
"That was over ten years ago."
"It's inconsistent. One minute he seems able to remember, the next, he isn't. We just don't know. Dean, you have to be able to handle it."
Dean's fingernails bit into his palms.
"I just want it to be over," he found himself saying, and then immediately he was ashamed of it.
Tessa nodded.
"That's totally natural," she whispered, "If you want, I can give you some tips...just to, make it easier for him?"
"I would really like that," Dean rasped.
They spent the next twenty minutes discussing it, Dean listening closely as she explained what was happening to Cas' body, how soon he wouldn't be sleeping as much, and eating less. She talked about the anxiety his breathing placed on him, about how important it was to keep him from overexciting himself.
By the end of it Dean felt like if anything, he could do something. He wasn't totally powerless. He could help Cas. He could do the right thing.
"Tessa?" he said suddenly as she walked away. She turned over her shoulder and Dean licked his lips for a moment before saying it, "Do you have any way to get a hold of a projector?"
Cas didn't know what was happening when they brought up the small table and set the projector on it. Dean didn't know why he had brought the reels along. Something had just told him that he should.
When that day comes, I'll thank you...
He sat up, watching as Tessa placed his glasses gently on his face, laughing when he blinked blearily in confusion. Sam and Jess were there as well, sitting side by side, Sam's arm around Jess's shoulder. A friend was watching the , they said, when Cas asked, patiently answering the question over and over as Cas asked it again and again.
"What...are you doing?" he breathed, watching Dean click one of the reels into place. He glanced at Cas as Tessa took her place by the wall, turning the lights off. They had taken the pictures off the wall and as Dean started up the projector, adjusting the lens, he leaned towards Cas' bed.
"Taking you to the beach," he replied.
Cas' face took on a look of total surprise and he stared at the wall. Dean knew he hadn't breathed for a moment because he couldn't hear it - that telltale swollen sound.
The projector picked up, and suddenly, they were at the beach.
Dean wasn't watching the wall though, he was watching Cas.
The shadows played over his face, gleaming off his glasses, and his eyes were wide and childlike as he watched the scene unfold. Jess gasped when Cas came into view on the wall, his hair thick and shiny, his whole body glowing in the sun under his windbreaker. The camera panned down the empty beach, looking at the water, and then up to look at the gulls.
The scenes changed. Dean was standing beside a pool, pointing to a sea urchin and Cas, holding the camera looked at it and then at Dean's face. Dean grinned, and said something he couldn't remember saying.
"That's you," Cas whispered, and Dean felt for his hand on the blanket, taking it. It wasn't as warm as usual, and the grip Cas had was weakly if barely there at all.
"That's me," he ascertained, and Sam glanced back at them, his smile watery, even in the dark.
They wandered over the beach, sat down on the blanket, and Cas read a paperback, trying to shove Dean away when he bothered him. Dean recorded Cas taking pictures with his Polaroid, the sun and the cliffs. Dean held the camera out as he kissed him and Jessica covered her mouth with her hands. Dean stared at Cas, watching the tears roll down his face, his chest rising and falling, his eyes fixed on the water. On Dean. On the beach. Dean knew, without a doubt, that he didn't remember most of it. His face was full of some strange, beautiful expression, eyes darting around, eating everything up.
The reel ended and Dean fed in the next one, and it was much the same for a while. Just the two of them joking around, but then the scene became far more familiar.
Cas stood and walked a little ways from the camera before turning around. He smiled, and it was so clear what he was saying.
I love you.
Cas marveled, his whole body tingling. He knew that. He had been there. He remembered the feeling, the way it had felt to look at Dean and say it. Like a he would always carry. A heart within his heart. He was looking at Dean, not the camera. I love you. He'd waved and laughed and smiled, but it wasn't as important as what he'd said. I love you. He'd shouted it.
I love you.
"That's me," he whispered. It was him. That was him. I love you. Him. He felt Dean squeeze his hand.
"That's you."
"That's us," Cas breathed, and Dean looked away for a moment to compose himself. "That's us."
It was them.
The waves silently slid in and out, and when Dean looked at them he could almost hear the sound they made every time Cas took another breath. Cas tossed a shell to the sea and the tide it away.
Three days later he was unable to form sentences. Whether it was his mind or his capacity to breathe, Dean would never know.
He complained about his vision as well, and Tessa told him they'd do what they could. He seemed to understand and didn't mention it again.
Dean talked to him the whole day; told him about a house on an island. A white picket fence. Two old people bickering on a front porch. Filled the endless silences with his own voice, recounting stories, telling him about anything he could think of.
Cas looked at him for a long time, breathing slowly, his skeletal arms awkwardly resting against his sides. He stared out at Dean and smiled, his eyes blue and twinkling. Dean had to wonder how much he could actually see at the time. It didn't matter, he reminded himself. Anything was always going to be better than nothing. Even if he didn't know what Dean was talking about, Cas looked happy, and that was enough. He ran out of words at some point, and Cas had moved for the first time in hours to reach out and brush his cool hand over Dean's sleeve. Dean covered the chilled fingers with his own.
"You know that medallion I had?" Dean said. "It was...it was supposed to keep me from changing. It was supposed to keep me who I was."
Cas' fingers twitched, eyes trained on the far wall.
"I guess I figured that out too late," Dean whispered, brushing his hand under his eyes. "I'm so sorry I couldn't be who you needed me to be, Cas."
Cas said something he couldn't make out, the last syllable the trailing "...x" sound of the tide pulling in over rocks.
Cas died on a Thursday.
It was sunny.
Late afternoon.
Beautiful California weather.
The time leading up was quiet. His glassy eyes sat sunken in his head, half open, his body limp on the bed. He made sound sometimes, or raised a hand to rake at his gown, over his chest. At some point during that night Tessa had come in to check his IV. Dean had lifted his eyes long enough to watch her touch Cas' hand, and he knew when she turned away she was wiping her face.
"Can I lie with him?" Dean said, breaking the rattling sound of Cas' breathing. Tessa nodded, still pretending to read something. Dean pushed the chair back and pulled the rail down. He eased himself into the bed, pulling Cas onto his shoulder.
"Mind his head," Tessa started, but she had to cut herself off. Dean pulled the blanket over Cas' lap, resting his cheek on Cas' dry, brittle, hair. Cas breathed, like waves crashing. Tessa ducked her head, touching the end of the bed, her white hands blending into the sheets in the dark.
"It won't be too much longer," she said brokenly, and Dean didn't say anything, but folded his hand over Cas', rubbing the papery skin with his thumb. Tessa stood at the end of the bed for a long time, and she wiped her eye with her fingertips. "I'm so sorry." Her voice was teetering, about to shatter. The professional edge had long since gone.
Dean shook his head, listening to her footsteps disappear down the hall.
In the emptiness that followed, Dean found his mouth open but no words would come out. He stroked Cas' thin shoulder, all the way down to the sharp stab of his elbow. His fingers shook where they rested on his skin.
"It's alright," he said to the stillness. Another wave broke when Cas breathed. "It's alright. You can let go, I know - I know you're holding on, because you're worried. You're too stubborn, Cas, and I know you're holding on for me, but I'm going to do the right thing this time. I'm not - I'm not going to make you wait on me again."
Cas choked and Dean shifted him, and it seemed like something fluttered in Cas, some recognition that had been lost for hours. He watched TV 'til morning, Cas still leaning against him, until, at last, he kicked his leg restlessly, his breathing increasing to an impossible rate with the fluid that had built up in his chest.
Dean knew.
"It's ok," Dean assured him. "You know. You know I love you. You know I do, so it's ok. It's ok to let you go now."
He shook his head again, trying to clear the tears away but they wouldn't stop. Tessa had said that hearing was the last thing to go. Just keep talking to him. He could be anxious, or scared.
"Don't be scared," Dean blurted, "you're doing so good, Cas. You're doing so good." He racked his brain for something, anything, and suddenly he remembered Cas' face looking up at him.
"So why is it your favorite song?"
Cas' hand padded over his chin. Dean never lost track of his eyes, even when Cas looked at his own hand, shy. He nudged at Dean's mouth with his index finger, moving so his palm was cupping his jaw. Dean grinned against Cas' skin, unable to keep his smile contained. The blue eyed boy across from him was so beautiful, and he didn't know it. He practically shone; his soul glittered with something blue and white and Dean wanted to wrap himself in it. Something like God's grace, something like the blue and green smudginess of sea shells or glass bottles.
"I just - I like songs about love," he breathed a laugh, and Dean wrapped that laugh around his finger like a lace ribbon. Songs about love he hadn't cared about before, but now, he wouldn't have said anything but that. He wanted another smile, he wanted another dreamy look in Cas' eyes, so he'd sang along. He had wanted him to fall more in love, because nothing was going to hurt anymore if that happened. He had convinced himself, young, and stupid. This boy was going to make this world turn and stars would fall like rain.
Dean had heard it before, hadn't he? On the radio. Somewhere. Somewhere before, but at that moment Cas was looking at him and Dean had never loved him like he did sitting across the table, watching him drift away, listening. The one he hummed as he traced Dean's arm when the fell asleep, the one he played 'til he ruined the record.
"Remember?" he hushed. "You remember that? In that little apartment? You know I still - I still can't remember where I heard that song. I just sort of knew the words though." Cas breathed harshly again and Dean adjusted his sweater a little, smoothing it down with his palm. He watched his own hand and couldn't bring himself to do it again for a moment.
"Wise men say," he began, "only fools rush in..." He slid his hand to Cas' lap, closing it around Cas' cold fingers.
"But I can't help-" Cas jerked, gasping, hand scrambling at nothing. His eyes were wide and unseeing, and his legs twitched. Dean stared at the wall, holding him tightly, "I-I can't help, falling in love, with you."
There was a terrible sound. He sucked in air and it churned in his chest, the noise thick and wet, and when he exhaled it hissed, like waves crashing against rocks, like the tide slithering back towards the sea.
Whenever you're scared...
Cas stopped breathing entirely.
He could feel Cas' heart beat once, and then the grand pause. Another beat. He raised the camera to his eye, staring through the view finder - . The framed pictures on the wall were blurring together, spilling out of their borders and mingling on the dull wallpaper, a watercolor mess. Cas didn't move. Cas turned towards the camera, smiling - He had to be brave. He had to be brave - he had to be brave like he couldn't before. He watched his mouth uncurl - He promised he'd take care of him. It was like watching flowers open in slow motion - That'd he'd always take care of him. He took a breath - His boy. Eyes on the camera - His boy.
I love you.
Dean was trying to remember what to say.
"It's ok," his voice cracked. "It's ok - like a river flows, surely to the sea," he sang, and the monitor was screaming, and Dean had to sing louder so Cas could hear him, bending his face as close as he could, pressing it against his temple, hoping the words would go straight into him. "Darling so it goes, some things are meant to be ..."
Further up the beach, laughing now, glinting like diamonds, the light bouncing off and returning to his eyes, the glare of the sun off of his glasses, making him shine, making his soul shine -
"So take my hand," he sang, and his voice was falling apart, he could barely hear himself over the wail of the machinery, "take my whole life too..." His fingers remained in the hollows of his cheeks, thumb brushing over his lips.
- he'd cupped his hands and shouted -
The noise peaked, and Dean was silent, unable to continue, tears falling into Cas' hair. His cheek was pressed into Dean's shoulder, eyes staring blankly past Dean's chest, shining out from his colorless face, two half-moons peering out from under his dark lashes.
I love you.
Crash.
I love you -
Crash.
I love -
Dean sat stone still. He wondered if the flat-line was something he was just making up. He wondered if it was something his mind had just conjured because that's what you always saw in movies. He couldn't remember the last part of the song. He couldn't hear anything but the monitor, still going, the noise passing through him and everywhere. He didn't move. Didn't flinch, didn't breathe. He simply waited there, waited for some tremble that would wake him up, but it never came.
He was vaguely aware of Tessa's shadow as she came into the room, the doctor following. Tessa went to the monitor and read something out, looking at her watch. She turned it off and the room was pitched into silence. Dean stared at the same spot on the wall, his arms still around Cas' body, his cheek still leaned into his hair.
Tessa came over to him and put her hand on his shoulder.
"Dean?"
He moved his head towards the sound of her voice, but his eyes didn't move from the wall.
She squeezed her hand on his arm
"Dean, we need you to get up now."
He nodded, slowly letting go of Cas and letting him sink into the pillows, the last warmth of his body pressed into Dean's arms. Dean stood, Tessa helping him, and once he was standing he turned.
He looked at Cas' face, and he felt his body start to fall apart.
"Oh god," he rasped. Tessa took him in her arms, trying to lead him out of the room, but Dean couldn't move.
"Come on Dean, shhh..." Tessa attempted but Dean didn't really hear it. He was watching them gently roll Cas to a more stable position. They slipped the IV out of his arm and removed the tape. A nurse unfolded a clean white sheet and began to drape it over him.
He couldn't move. He - he couldn't -
"No, I love him," he said weakly. "I love him." He pushed back against Tessa, his legs shaking. "You don't - you don't understand," he tried again, but no one was listening. "That's - that's my baby," he whimpered, "please, that's my baby."
"God, Jesus," Dean, wept, his knees buckling under him. "I love him -"
"Tessa sunk to the floor with him as Dean sobbed into her shoulder, gripping her arms so hard he could feel his thumbs pop. He screamed into her and she wrapped her arms around his back, one hand moving to the back of his head. Her cap came unpinned and fell to the floor.
"Dean, shhh, you have to get a hold of yourself!" she continued, and Dean sobbed again. She stopped talking after that."Shh," she hushed, rocking them as the doctor and nurses left. Dean heaved for air, and everything was silent.
The reel clicked and stuttered.
Cas' shell sank to the bottom of the ocean.
Sam walked down the hall and stopped when he saw the back of Dean's head in a chair in the lobby. He was flipping through a magazine, turning the pages listlessly without really reading. Sam came up behind him, sitting down in a chair beside him.
"I didn't bother calling back. I left as soon as I got the message - How is he?" he asked, tucking his long legs under the chair.
Dean didn't say anything, continuing to turn the pages, staring at the happy people and the loud advertisements for toothpaste and eye drops.
"He's fine, I guess," he said after a long moment, still not looking up.
"Can I go see him?" Sam continued and Dean shrugged.
"Probably not," he whispered. "He died over an hour ago."
Sam was about to stand, but he found his hands were glued to the arms of the chair.
"What?" he choked.
"He went into cardiac arrest about an hour ago, maybe longer. I don't really remember."
Sam looked at Dean's face, trying to gauge his reaction. He looked calm. He turned a page, glancing at the text.
"Dean?"
"What."
"...I - how are you doing?"
"I'm fine."
"Seriously, I mean -."
Dean finally lifted his eyes and then went back to looking at the magazine.
"We need to get his suit."
"We can worry about that later," Sam hushed, touching his arm. Dean jerked it away, the magazine falling to the floor. He stared at the ruffled pages, his heart speeding up.
"We need to get it - the one he wore to his sister's wedding. We've gotta get his suit."
He stood up and walked towards the elevators, Sam jogging after him, grabbing his arm.
"Dean, you need to think about yourself for just two seconds!" he pleaded. "You haven't left the hospital in weeks!"
"It doesn't matter!" Dean shouted, and the nurses at the station snapped their heads up. "None of it matters!"
"Dean -."
Dean wrestled out of Sam's grip, wiping his face, getting in the elevator. He punched the button repeatedly, and when it finally opened on the main floor he tore out of it. He got on his motorcycle and drove to the address that Balthazar had given him on their way back from the restaurant.
Dean wiped his eyes again, starting the bike up and tearing down the road. He knew he was speeding, but he hoped someone would stop him. Maybe he could make a fuss; maybe they'd shoot him. Maybe a bus would hit him if he ran the light. But it was quiet.
The world was quiet.
It just kept going, time kept going, and it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that the world got to keep turning without Cas. It wasn't right. He'd only gotten a month. Barely a month.
He was crying so hard he couldn't see, so he pulled off at a small park. He pulled into the nearest parking space and tore his helmet off, leaning against the handles of his bike. He cried in the worst way; he didn't make a sound, his mouth open and vocal chords strained, but there wasn't enough air to carry anything.
"Are you alright?"
He looked up, still sobbing, trying to mop at his face. A black woman was gazing at him evenly. He shook his head, and the woman came forward to touch his arm.
"I asked are you alright?"
He shook his head.
"I'm lost!" he cried desperately, holding out the slip. She took it from him, shuffling closer. She was wearing a little uniform and her name tag said 'Olivia', and as she scanned the piece of paper she nodded, patting his arm again.
"Oh, honey, you're not far off!" she smiled, her curly hair bobbing in the light breeze. "You just follow this road right here, and make a right. This street should be right there. Just follow it right on down!"
Dean nodded, and he caught sight of her bracelet - a yellow snake touching its own tail. He looked back up at her face and she fished a handkerchief out of her bag, handing it to him.
"You ain't lost," she mumbled, and he took it, her fingers curling over it. He noticed small columbine flowers embroidered into it as he brought it to his face, wiping harshly at his skin.
"You be careful, alright honey?" she said, and Dean thanked her, swallowing the lump in his throat down as he held the handkerchief out to her. The woman insisted he keep it and then continued on her way, shuffling in the growing twilight down the sidewalk into a little neighborhood.
Dean followed her directions and soon he was stopped in front of a small apartment complex. He walked up the stairs to the second floor and to the door that matched the number on the card, slipping the key into the lock and opening the door with his shoulder.
It was quiet and dark. It was bigger than the apartment they'd shared in Sacramento, and the furniture was better. It was comfortable and slightly modern, no doubt more of Balthazar's influence than Cas'. He wandered in, turning the light on. The kitchen was neat; there were clean glasses in the sink. A bowl. There was a dark wood kitchen table and a small sideboard against the back wall of the living room. He walked past it and saw pictures of Cas with Balthazar. Photographs of Balthazar's family. Cas with a little terrier dog. Cas with people Dean didn't know.
Dean wiped his nose on his sleeve and walked past, stumbling into the back, into the bedroom. The clock ticked on the wall and there was a book on one of the nightstands and a little potted plant that needed to be watered. Dean continued moving into the closet, not dwelling on the bed.
He stood in front of the closet and opened the mirrored sliding doors, revealing what had to be Cas' things; the other side was empty.
He reached out and touched a shirt. A sweater. Felt the fabric under his fingers. He pulled the hangers aside, looking, and as he did, he caught sight of something he had missed coming in reflected in the mirror. In the corner of the living room, just visible through the bedroom door was Cas' turntable.
Dean let his hands fall to his sides and he turned around, walking back into the living room. He looked at the old thing, still in perfect condition, and bent down to wipe dust off of the corner with his finger, lifting the case cover up to reveal the record inside.
He saw the album and he shook his head, and without any more thought he turned it on, the needle picking up right where it had left off.
"Love me tender, love me sweet, never let me go..."
Elvis swelled into the empty apartment and Dean stood, the last rays of the sun casting blue shadows on the white walls.
"...you have made, my life complete, and I love you so..."
Dean's mouth screwed up as he listened.
"I can dig Elvis," he murmured to the empty apartment. With the words still drifting on behind him, he returned to the closet, pushing clothes aside. Cas' suit was all the way at the back, and Dean had to push by all his clothes to get to it, and as he reached to pull it out, his foot knocked against something that rattled.
Testing again, Dean frowned. He pulled the suit out and laid it carefully on the bed, going back to bend down. He set a pair of Cas' shoes aside and reached around them to the back corner, his hand touching something smooth and slightly sharp. A corner of a shoe box.
Dean grabbed it and pulled it out, a flurry of dust coming with it.
"Love me tender, love me long, take me to your heart..."
The floor creaked as he sat back, pulling the box closer to him. It was heavy, and whatever was in it bumped around unevenly.
"For it's there that I belong, and we'll never part..."
He remembered Cas' sudden last word and his fingers danced over the lid's edge. Taking the flat of his hand he smoothed his palm across the top, the dust coming off to reveal the word 'Dean' written in neat script.
"Love me tender, love me long, tell me you are mine..."
Dean shook the dust off of his hand and carefully lifted the lid off, setting it aside.
His heart beat into his throat as he stared down at the pieces of paper folded up in it, mingled with what he could tell were photographs. Polaroids.
Dean carefully lifted the top piece of paper and held it in his hands. It was actually two pieces of paper folded together, and from the back he could see the blue pen blurred into Cas' cursive handwriting.
He unfolded it gently, and what he had suspected was confirmed.
March 1980
Dear Dean,
Dean wanted to fold it back up, but it had bloomed in his hands. His fingers shook as he held it open, unable to stop reading.
I was thinking about shells today. I saw a woman with a shirt that had them, and I remembered the beach, and you, and this box. I went back and read through all the letters, and for the first time, in a long time, I wasn't sad about it - not in the same way.
I've been so tired lately. I'm so tired of being angry, and sad, because that wasn't the point. I'm sad because I'll never get to tell you certain things again. I'm sad about that, but I'm not sad like I was when you left. I think I held onto that too long. I confused it with loving you, and those aren't the same. Being sad about the things I miss isn't loving you. It never was. Loving you was so much bigger than that. .
I don't think I can stop loving you. I think it's a part of me now, and it's never leaving. It makes me who I am, and I used to think this crippled me, but I don't think it does anymore. Loving you has given you back to me. I've missed you. The old you. You never really came home, and I understand that now, and I know it wasn't your fault or mine or anyone's. It was just circumstances we couldn't avoid, but I've realized that just because we ended the way we did doesn't define what we were before.
To have those memories back is such a precious thing. To have that part of you back with me - it's unimaginable. I was thinking about shells, and I was thinking about that day at the beach and I can remember sitting on the blanket looking at the water, and you asked me what I was thinking.
I was thinking about how afraid I was that I was never going to love you as much as I did then. That the moment was going to get washed out, that I would never be able to experience what it was like to know that I loved you as much as I did again...
Cas' words seemed to drop off the page before starting again.
I'm sorry that things didn't work out the way we wanted them to. I'm sorry - I'm sorry we weren't as equipped to deal with the hand we got. The fact that we didn't get to do the little plans hurts more than the big ones, sometimes. It wouldn't have mattered about a house or the island. Sometimes I stop myself at work and realize I'm never going to sit in Van's noodle house with you, and I don't know exactly - I'm so terrible at letters, Dean. I'm glad you never had to read them when you were in Vietnam, they were all so terrible and boring and wordy.
I think -
I think that, the point of it all, is that the moment at the beach? I had never really understood who I was until then. That's who I am. That person, and there, right there, next to me, that was you. That's who you are.
It's so wonderful to know that I didn't lose you. That we were always right where we were supposed to be the whole time. This whole time I thought I'd lost you, and there you were...
Memories are good that way. I can remember us, and I can keep living. I can keep going and always know right where to find you when I miss you.
I miss you all the time.
I want you to realize this someday. All of that about us. You don't - you don't have to be guilty, and I know you are, and I understand why everything happened the way it did. It just happened. We just - it just happened, Dean, and it's alright. I'm alright.
I'll be okay.
Once, you told me it didn't seem right to say goodbye. Not really.
I thought I'd have to - I thought I'd have to let go of everything I loved about you, but I don't, and you were right, and wouldn't you be pleased with yourself to know.
The truth of it has never been clearer to me, my darling.
And you are, always, my darling.
Yours,
Cas
Dean read past this, to the very bottom, where Cas' handwriting had changed slightly.
He read it and let the letter rest on his leg.
"See you then"