This was all getting too mushy for Dean. "How long you gonna be laid up?"
"I'm not sure. This isn't exactly a common occurrence."
Cas' eyelids drifted, like he was having trouble keeping them open. Dean moved Cas' hand from his shoulder and checked his pulse; it was stronger it had been outside the barn but still miles from healthy. "Well, I'll be happy when you don't look like crap anymore."
Castiel stared at him for a long time. Twice he started to say something, then seemed to reconsider it, saying instead, "You need to rest as well, Dean."
Dean scoffed at that. "Why? Just died and came back to life. That's an average day at the office for me lately." He didn't want to admit that he was afraid to close his eyes, that this would all turn out to be part of that first dream. He didn't know what would be worse, waking up having dreamt the whole rescue and knowing now it was too late or the whole thing being all in his head, that there had never been a fight to rescue him from in the first place. Which made him feel like a dick, wanting a friend to get hurt that bad, but he couldn't go back to the sniping and bitching. Hell, being able to call Cas a friend again without having to put quotes around the word was worth the whole soul thing. "I'm good right here."
Dean saw Castiel rub his chest again. "What's that feel like? You know, the whole soul thing. It hurt?"
"No, Dean. Your soul is the only part of me that doesn't hurt right now." His lips twitched up for a moment. "I don't think I grasped before just how difficult you find it to stand still." He looked at Dean, exhaustion lining his face and something very close to an apology in his eyes. "We'll be hunted, you know. The both of us."
"Ooh, angels are pissed at me. Like that's anything new."
Castiel shook his head. "Dean, you killed six angels. In Heaven. With my sword. Their wrath will be...."
"Biblical?"
Cas didn't seem to appreciate the joke. "I'm not sure we've given the Winchester Gospel the ending you'd hoped for."
"Yeah, well. We'll worry about that when Chuck writes it." He grinned. "Then we'll wreck it until he writes a better one."
"You'll need something, then." At Dean's confused look he gestured toward his coat. "If you would?" Dean handed it over and Castiel pulled out that silver sword. "I won't be in any shape to use it for some time," he said, handing it to Dean. "You've earned it. And you'll need it."
Dean tested the balance of the sword. It didn't hum this time and his handprint didn't burn, but it still felt right in his hand. "How'd you know I killed six? After the first two you were mostly out cold."
"I know everything you've done, Dean," he said, his hand back against his chest. "As if I'd done it."
Dean had to look away. Everything was a pretty big word when it came to what he'd done in his life. He listened to Castiel's breathing slowly deepen, his own eyes getting heavy. His back ached from sitting on the floor and the empty bed on the other side of the room was starting to call his name.
Instead he checked Cas' pulse once more. He remembered doing that compulsively in Heaven, how his pulse was weaker every time he checked until he could barely feel it. Remembered watching Cas fight for breath like he was underwater and not being able to do a damn thing. Castiel's eyes were closed now, his face still turned toward Dean. "Cas? You still up?"
There was no answer and Dean pulled the blanket up over his shoulders; Castiel sighed and shifted under the covers, practically snuggling into the warmth. Dean cracked a grin and had the stray thought that he wished the beds were bigger. Castiel's hand twitched toward him and Dean took it without thinking.
So, apparently they had the wrath of Heaven coming down on them.
Dean twirled the sword in his hand once, watching the blade catch the light. He still knew how to use it. He settled back against the wall, squeezing Cas' hand once as he stared at the motel door.
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Re: Embers 2/2 (Dean/Cas, ...And Into the Fire coda)
Date: 2011-09-25 07:31 am (UTC)"I'm not sure. This isn't exactly a common occurrence."
Cas' eyelids drifted, like he was having trouble keeping them open. Dean moved Cas' hand from his shoulder and checked his pulse; it was stronger it had been outside the barn but still miles from healthy. "Well, I'll be happy when you don't look like crap anymore."
Castiel stared at him for a long time. Twice he started to say something, then seemed to reconsider it, saying instead, "You need to rest as well, Dean."
Dean scoffed at that. "Why? Just died and came back to life. That's an average day at the office for me lately." He didn't want to admit that he was afraid to close his eyes, that this would all turn out to be part of that first dream. He didn't know what would be worse, waking up having dreamt the whole rescue and knowing now it was too late or the whole thing being all in his head, that there had never been a fight to rescue him from in the first place. Which made him feel like a dick, wanting a friend to get hurt that bad, but he couldn't go back to the sniping and bitching. Hell, being able to call Cas a friend again without having to put quotes around the word was worth the whole soul thing. "I'm good right here."
Dean saw Castiel rub his chest again. "What's that feel like? You know, the whole soul thing. It hurt?"
"No, Dean. Your soul is the only part of me that doesn't hurt right now." His lips twitched up for a moment. "I don't think I grasped before just how difficult you find it to stand still." He looked at Dean, exhaustion lining his face and something very close to an apology in his eyes. "We'll be hunted, you know. The both of us."
"Ooh, angels are pissed at me. Like that's anything new."
Castiel shook his head. "Dean, you killed six angels. In Heaven. With my sword. Their wrath will be...."
"Biblical?"
Cas didn't seem to appreciate the joke. "I'm not sure we've given the Winchester Gospel the ending you'd hoped for."
"Yeah, well. We'll worry about that when Chuck writes it." He grinned. "Then we'll wreck it until he writes a better one."
"You'll need something, then." At Dean's confused look he gestured toward his coat. "If you would?" Dean handed it over and Castiel pulled out that silver sword. "I won't be in any shape to use it for some time," he said, handing it to Dean. "You've earned it. And you'll need it."
Dean tested the balance of the sword. It didn't hum this time and his handprint didn't burn, but it still felt right in his hand. "How'd you know I killed six? After the first two you were mostly out cold."
"I know everything you've done, Dean," he said, his hand back against his chest. "As if I'd done it."
Dean had to look away. Everything was a pretty big word when it came to what he'd done in his life. He listened to Castiel's breathing slowly deepen, his own eyes getting heavy. His back ached from sitting on the floor and the empty bed on the other side of the room was starting to call his name.
Instead he checked Cas' pulse once more. He remembered doing that compulsively in Heaven, how his pulse was weaker every time he checked until he could barely feel it. Remembered watching Cas fight for breath like he was underwater and not being able to do a damn thing. Castiel's eyes were closed now, his face still turned toward Dean. "Cas? You still up?"
There was no answer and Dean pulled the blanket up over his shoulders; Castiel sighed and shifted under the covers, practically snuggling into the warmth. Dean cracked a grin and had the stray thought that he wished the beds were bigger. Castiel's hand twitched toward him and Dean took it without thinking.
So, apparently they had the wrath of Heaven coming down on them.
Dean twirled the sword in his hand once, watching the blade catch the light. He still knew how to use it. He settled back against the wall, squeezing Cas' hand once as he stared at the motel door.
Let them come.