Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Four Months Later

There are still a few weeks of summer left and the weather seems determined to make the most of them. From its perch in the sky, the sun casts heat over the wooded area hidden off the main road. There's no evidence left of the rain from the evening before, all lingering puddles of water having been burned off before noon. There's not a cloud in the sky to offer relief from the sunshine and even the wind is lazy with its sporadic, half-hearted gusts.

The animals that used to frequent this copse of woods are gone now, some combination of the heat and the ground-shaking event that took place before daylight. Any trees that critters might have called home or used for cover have been leveled. There's not much left outside of flattened grass. There's not much life around, either, aside from the buzzing cicadas and a handful of singing birds who've taken perch in the few trees left.

There's certainly no one around for miles when a man appears in the clearing and promptly falls to his knees. He's dressed casually - just jeans and a t-shirt - but he looks out of place and somewhat worse for wear. His hair sticks up at odd angles and his hands shake as he presses them to his thighs. There's sweat on his brow and the back of his neck and the breath that shudders out of him trembles like so many blades of grass in a storm. He doesn't say a word, just keeps his eyes glued to the crude cross someone planted in the ground months ago.

It feels like hours that the man kneels there, an element of the strange passage of time that nature has. There's not a single sign of what he might be waiting for until the earth in front of him starts to shift and move. The man perks up, rising up onto his knees, eyes trained on the shifting dirt. A few moments later the ground gives way, first to fingertips and then to two hands that push up and out. The man reaches out to grip those grasping fingers and pulls, rising to his feet so he can lift a body from the widening hole in the earth. This man, the one who emerges covered in dirt, inhales loud and ragged.

The other man reaches out and swipes his fingers over muddy lips and a dusty nose. When he speaks it's just one word but his voice is a low rasp that holds too much in its depths for any one person or thing to be able to decipher.

"Dean."

The other man coughs and opens his eyes. They glimmer in the sunlight, green as moss and completely unguarded. There's something like adoration in that gaze when it falls on the man in front of him, and no small amount of pure, unfathomable love etched into every one of his features.

"Cas. You found me."

Cas smiles at that.

"Well," he says, "It was my turn to take care of you."