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misachanFic Title: Outrun My Gun (Art Masterpost)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
misachan
Fandom/Genre: SPN, Drama, Romance, AU
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel
Warnings: Violence, language, character death
Word Count: 7088
Summary: "The two of you are so stubborn you've made Heaven blink." Finally convinced that Sam and Dean will never say yes and accept their destinies, Heaven and Hell come up with a new plan, one that will redraw the Apocalypse and make everything run much more smoothly. All they need is Dean Winchester's soul.
Castiel was still moving. Dean could see his chest heave for air, the hand closest to Dean clutching at the ground. Dean clung to the thought that if he was moving, that meant he was alive; in that moment nothing else mattered, nothing else existed. His face turned toward Dean as the light flickered, spasming him like he'd been stabbed all over again. Dean could tell Castiel's glassy eyes couldn't quite see him; there was blood on his lips as he tried to form a word Dean couldn't make out. Dean thought it might be his name. "I'm right here, Cas," he whispered, feeling the start of something low and dark and burning echo through him. "I'm not going anywhere."
Raphael went down to one knee beside Castiel and wrenched his head back around. "Not yet, Castiel," he said, taking the tip of his sword and carving a shallow line along his jaw; the wound glowed white and Castiel's whole body jerked up, sharp, stuttering breaths giving way to a wet moan. "I'm not quite done with you yet." He positioned the point of the blade over Castiel's eye. That roiling cloud within Dean went darker still; across the street a streetlamp exploded, then another, the whole line of them going up in a shower of glass. Dean didn't notice.
Neither did Raphael. He grabbed another handful of Castiel's hair to hold his head still, anticipation lighting up his face. "Were we home I would take your wings, brother," he murmured, hovering the blade first over one eye, then the other; Dean wouldn't have thought Castiel was aware enough to realize what was coming but he made a desperate grab for Raphael's wrist, trying to push the sword away. Raphael sneered and twisted his arm back, making him gasp again in pain as he drove his knee into Castiel's wrist to pin it down. For just one fleeting instant the binding around Dean disappeared as his concentration slipped.
An instant was all Dean needed. He poured all of that darkness boiling in him out in one surge right at Raphael, pushing the archangel back – not far, not even as far as he'd pushed Castiel in that motel room, but far enough. He blinked and felt himself flicker out of existence, manifesting again between the two. He pulled Castiel's abandoned sword into his hand with barely a thought. "You're not gonna touch him again," Dean warned, fury flowing through him the way blood used to flow though his veins.
Raphael picked himself up. "And how will you stop me?"
Dean brandished the sword. "Pretty sure I'll think of something."
Raphael smiled. Dean was getting damned tired of things smiling at him like that. "Michael may want your soul but it needn't be unscathed."
"Cas was right, you do talk too much." Dean zapped himself out again, showing back up and swinging the sword at his throat, a strike Raphael dodged easily.
He answered with a grazing slash at Dean's shoulder, the pain from even that glancing a blow almost sending Dean to his knees. "Have you forgotten, Winchester?" Raphael said as Dean staggered back, trying to keep his feet. "That sword can't harm me."
Raphael was playing with him. He wasn't even trying to hide how little a threat he considered Dean, toying with him out of sadistic amusement. Dean just hoped it didn't show on his face how happy that made him.
His father had taught him all his life how to fight things stronger than him. Tougher than him. Things no human should ever be able to go toe to toe with and come out on top. John Winchester's first rule had always been make sure they underestimate you.
He charged at Raphael, surprising the archangel enough to bull rush him off his feet. Dean remembered being thirteen and scrawny, sparring against his dad and trying to take him down even though John could pick him up and throw him without blinking. He could almost hear his father's voice again, telling him that if you didn't have strength, use leverage, if you didn't have an opening, make one.
And if the thing you're fighting has a weapon, take it away. "Used to pick pockets," he said as they squared back against each other. "Wasn't proud of it, but sometimes Dad was gone longer than he'd thought and the money ran out. Sammy needed to eat." He smiled at the memory, the rush he used to get. "Got pretty good at it after a while, the whole slight of hand thing."
Raphael's brows drew together in confusion. It was the first time Dean could believe he and Castiel were brothers. "What are you rambling about?"
Dean smiled wider, glancing down at the sword in his hand and the identical one in Raphael's. "It means I have your fucking sword." Before Raphael could react Dean stabbed him full in the chest, feeling the blade slide through skin and flesh and bone. He left the sword in and stepped back as Raphael gaped at him for a moment, then dropped to his knees.
The earth shook when Raphael screamed. The sound went on forever, starting low and rising until it was as high and piercing as a siren; Dean knew that if he still had physical ears they'd be bleeding. As it was he felt his soul trying to curl in on itself, quivering behind the wall of rage that had made this happen.
Raphael fell backwards, light pouring from him until he was brighter than the sun. Then there was a sudden burst of energy and the only sound left was the crackle of enormous wings searing themselves into the ground as the archangel's eyes stared sightless and empty up into the storm clouds.
Dean had never felt power like this before. Suddenly there was no limit to what he could do, no cap. He felt like he was made of the storm rolling in above him, that dark force he'd given himself to filling every inch of him.
Something brushed against his leg. Dean looked down and the fury left him in such a flood he felt hollow; he didn't know how but Castiel had managed to drag himself over to Dean, leaving a bloody trail on the ground. His hand shook so hard against Dean's leg Dean could feel the tremor vibrating through him.
I don't want to turn into one of those things.
You won't. I promise you that.
"I'm sorry, Cas," Dean said, dropping to his knees to help Castiel lay back so he could get a look at the stab wound. "I got lost for a second." He'd never felt anything as purely as he had that rush of fury. It had almost been like a drug. He didn't wonder any more why it seemed so easy for evil spirits to go the way they did.
Castiel nodded, squeezing Dean's hand for a second as pain crowded everything else out of his eyes. He'd lost so much blood his shirt looked red but that wasn't what worried Dean; he'd lost a ton of blood against the wendigo and hadn't so much as blinked. What scared Dean was the blueish-white light bleeding from the wound, drifting like low-hanging smoke. Bright light glowed from the edges of his nails and flashed under his skin; when Castiel looked up Dean could see pinpricks of light deep in the pupils of his eyes, a slow motion version of what had happened to Raphael. Dean swallowed that fear and tore open Castiel's sodden shirt, exposing the wound; he was rougher than he'd meant to be and Castiel whimpered deep in his throat, the light pulsing brighter. "You're gonna be okay, Cas," he said, needing to convince himself as much as he did Castiel, then he set his hands and pressed against the wound as hard as he could.
Dean felt a jumbled mix of panic and pain rush through him as Castiel's eyes went wide, his body arching up; he looked up at Dean with surprise and, Dean thought, just a touch of betrayal. "Hurts," he whispered, as if he couldn't believe anything could hurt so much.
"I know it does," Dean said, keeping his voice calm, as if he knew a single thing about what it felt like to get stabbed in the chest. "I gotta put pressure on this, that's the first thing you do." Blood still seeped through his fingers and he could feel that light pressing against his hands, almost hammering against him in desperation. "Can you heal this, Cas?"
Blood trickled from the corner of Castiel's mouth. "I...I don't know." His voice was so weak it barely qualified as sound.
All Dean cared about was that wasn't a no. "All right. All right, Cas, I need you to breathe. Take a breath, as deep as you can."
Castiel shook his head. "I don't want to."
"I know you don't, Cas, but you have to. You're in shock, this is what shock is for you," Dean said. He had no idea if he was right about that, but it was all he had. "I'm betting you probably don't need to breathe any more than I do right now but your body doesn't know that. It's freaking out and you've gotta calm it the hell down. You understand?" Castiel just looked at him like he was speaking in tongues. "Listen to me. If I get hurt, my body's gotta keep me going, I don't have a choice there, but you're the opposite, you keep it going. Right now your body thinks it's dying---"
"Am dying," he whispered, as if Dean had missed that obvious fact.
"No you're not." Castiel actually flinched back. "You're not. Cas, you keep saying I've gotta trust you. I need you to trust me right now, okay? I know what I'm talking about. I know you're scared and I know it hurts but you gotta believe me. Can you do that?"
The next second felt like it lasted years. Finally he nodded and Dean felt Castiel's hand close around his arm. Even the light under his hands felt different. It took every ounce of willpower he had to not look away from Castiel's eyes; no one had come close to looking at him like that since Sam had been little and thought every word from Dean's mouth was truth from on high. He hadn't realized what he'd been doing when he'd asked for an angel's faith.
Dean didn't have the luxury of being overwhelmed. "Okay, Cas," he said, keeping his voice steady by some miracle. "We gotta keep your body going until the healing kicks in. I want you to breathe with me, as deep as you can. Ready?" Castiel didn't nod and Dean really couldn't blame him. "On three."
Castiel's chest barely moved before he started choking and coughing. His body convulsed, almost like it was trying to buck Dean off; he could feel the light surging against his hands again and pressed down as hard as he could. "Your body's panicking, Cas, you can't let it do that," he murmured, ignoring the sharp rush of pain washing through him. "You're in charge. Remember, you can't choke, you don't really need the air, you're just conning your body into thinking it's not as hurt as it is." Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, his nails digging into Dean's arm. "I'm gonna breathe and you're gonna match me."
Dean could feel how much each breath cost him, pain echoing through the light touching his hands. Even if he couldn't feel it, he would be able to hear it in the whimpering sobs Castiel couldn't quite swallow back. "I know it hurts, Cas," he murmured between breaths, the helplessness of not even being able to hold his hand, to even give him that tiny amount of comfort during this tying him in knots. Dean told himself that every second that passed without that light glowing brighter made it worth it.
"How...how long...have to do this, Dean?"
"I don't know, Cas. Until your healing kicks in. Long as that takes." That wasn't the answer Castiel wanted; he shut his eyes and when Dean saw a tear trail down his face he pretended he hadn't. "Look at me, Cas." Castiel opened his eyes at the command, the pain making his eyes so blue Dean ached. "We're in this together, you and me. I don't get tired. I'm gonna be right here the whole time, I promise." He took the risk of leaning down closer. "Hey," he whispered, "remember you said you'd fixed it so I would go where you went? That means you don't get to go anywhere I can't catch up with you. You hear me?"
Castiel nodded again, determination setting his jaw. Dean's sense of time passing had been murky ever since he'd died and never more so than now; he had no idea how long they breathed together in that lot as if the rest of the world had stopped around them. Long enough that the light failed, the blown streetlights leaving them in darkness. It didn't matter. Dean didn't need light to see anymore and he knew as long as Castiel kept looking up at him like that it didn't matter if years passed.
Finally the constant pressure against his hands began to fade, faintly enough at first that Dean thought he was imagining it. Castiel's breathing evened out, going from ragged gasps to slow and shallow; his eyes drifted closed, not rolling back but just like he was going to sleep. "Cas? Cas, don't pass out. Look at me." It was the first time his eyes didn't snap back open at Dean's word.
It would have been more frightening if his breathing hadn't stayed automatic and steady. Dean took a chance and moved one hand to the pulse point in Castiel's neck. No light bled out and while Castiel's pulse was weak it was also steady. He moved his other hand away and Castiel's pulse didn't change.
Dean gave himself permission to just sit there and shake for a second. He tousled one hand through Castiel's hair. "You did so fucking good, Cas." Dean didn't think he'd ever been so proud of anyone in his life. He wiped the blood from Castiel's face, trying to figure out their next move.
They couldn't stay there. The rain was finally starting to fall and Dean had no way to shield Castiel from it; he was already shivering from the first few drops and Dean tried not to contrast that with how Castiel had barely noticed he'd been standing in a downpour the night they met. He'd only traveled on his own once, trying to get to Sam during the wendigo fight but Sam wasn't an option now. Castiel had said Cold Oak was sealed off and he couldn't punch through that alone.
Castiel had said that Dean could go to places he felt an attachment to and Dean focused on that. His first thought was Bobby's; that was practically a second home and there was no safer place on Earth. Which of course Dean realized a second later meant that as a ghost he couldn't even get through the doors.
As Dean rifled through options he hit on a motel he and Sam had spent a Thanksgiving in years ago; it had been the first Thanksgiving dinner he'd cooked (which of course just meant heating up open faced turkey sandwiches on the motel hot plate, but Sam hadn't known any better.) The place had been practically deserted that whole week, set in a horrible location and kept open as some kind of tax dodge as far as Dean could tell. That had been Dean's best Thanksgiving since he'd been three years old.
Castiel could move them with just a hand on Dean's shoulder but Dean didn't dare try that, not with the risk he could lose Castiel mid-transit. Dean reached back to grab the two swords, tucking them into Castiel's coat pocket, then Dean sat him up carefully, watching for any signs of pain. Dean checked his pulse again but it was just as steady as if he'd never been moved. "Guess we should've squeezed in some more lessons, huh?" The rain started to pick up and Dean didn't want to waste any more time; he wrapped his arms tight around Castiel, closed his eyes and stood, thinking about that motel room until he felt the world warp around them.
***
Like the hospital, Dean was glad he couldn't actually smell the motel room when he opened his eyes. The place seemed to still be in business to Dean's relief and as badly kept as ever; Dean lay Castiel on the bed and hoped the bedspread had been laundered sometime in the past decade. "Didn't miss this time, Cas," he said, easing his coat off and arranging him in a position that looked comfortable. "Guess that means I'm getting better at this, huh?" There was no answer but Dean hadn't expected one; he finished stripping off Castiel's bloody suit jacket and what was left of his shirt, brushing the angel’s wet hair off his forehead as he realized just how limited his first aid options really were. The wound needed to be stitched, something Dean had no way of doing; even if he'd had the supplies he didn't have the dexterity. He told himself it would heal on its own but not even being able to clean a wound properly was a new level of helplessness for Dean. Castiel murmured something under his breath, his head tossing on the pillows and Dean put his hand back on his forehead. "Shh, Cas, you're okay," he said. He thought he felt the beginning of a fever starting. "You're safe."
And of course as soon as Dean said that the door started to open. Dean caught a glimpse of a couple, the man eager and the woman looking bored, just regular humans to Dean's relief. Still, they didn't need the company; Dean focused on the door and it slammed shut. When they tried to open it again Dean concentrated on holding it closed, careful not to reach back into that pit of rage. He made the door rattle for good measure and made the lights flicker, any ghost trick Dean could think of to scare them away. Dean grinned when the guy screamed first.
He kept the show up until he heard them both run up the hallway, not wanting to admit to himself how much fun that had been. Tiring, though. Dean hoped he wouldn't have to do that too often. He turned back to Castiel and found his eyes half-open, staring unfocused in Dean's direction. He grabbed for Dean's hand and Dean knew he'd been right about the fever when he felt that heat building under his skin. "Hey, Cas, it's okay," he said, keeping the worry out of his voice. "Don't worry, I'm being careful, I won't get lost again."
Castiel shook his head and turned Dean's hand over, trying to trace something onto his palm. Castiel's hand shook so hard he had to start over twice, and Dean still couldn't get a clear picture of what he was trying to do. "Cas, I'm not getting it. What're you t...?"
Castiel scowled and pulled Dean closer, pressing his fingers against Dean's temple. A complicated sigil hovered in Dean's mind, pulsing and insistent and demanding, whispering now now now in Dean's ear like it had a voice of its own. "I need to draw that?" Castiel nodded, falling back to the bed exhausted. "Where? On the door?" Castiel nodded again and Dean looked around the room for something he could possibly write with before he felt Castiel grab his hand again.
"Blood," he murmured. "Must be."
"Jesus, Cas." When only one of them had blood that didn't leave a whole lot of options. "I just got you to stop bleeding."
Castiel just gave him a helpless little shrug. "Must...be done. Not safe."
"I don't have anything to cut you with. I won't use one of the swords."
"'precaite...if you didn't." He took a deep breath, his hands clenching as he concentrated. "Try now. Look."
Dean touched the dresser and realized he was solid. He rifled through the drawers, looking for anything with an edge. He found a letter opener but it was too dull for the job and there were no glasses on the nightstands or in the bathroom. Finally Dean took a good hard look at the dingy mirror on the wall; he focused all his energy on it, picturing the exact way he wanted it to shatter until the first lines started to spiderweb across the glass. The whole thing came apart with a loud crack and Dean picked up on of the bigger shards, turning back to the bed. Castiel's face was beaded with sweat, his breathing labored again; when Dean stretched out his arm he could feel Castiel's pulse fluttering rapid and weak in his wrist. "I don't know if you've got enough blood in you for this, Cas."
He only shrugged again. "We'll find out."
Dean shook his head and crouched next to the bed. He slashed the glass shard across Castiel's wrist before he could talk himself out of it, hating himself when Castiel whimpered as the glass cut into his skin. Castiel's concentration failed and the glass fell through Dean's hand but it didn't matter, it had done the job. Dean cupped his hand under the wound to catch the blood, not letting himself think about how slow it was dripping out, nowhere near the gout he would expect from a wrist wound.
It took almost a minute to gather enough to draw the sigil. The power in the blood made his hands tingle as he carefully made his way to the door, a faint echo of the way that light had echoed through him. He drew the sigil carefully, the one in his head pulsing brighter when he drew an edge wrong and he gave a silent whisper of thanks to his father for all the years of drilling in drawing devil's traps. When he drew the last line the sigil in his head sputtered and went out, letting Dean know that if it wasn't perfect it must be good enough. When he looked down the last traces of blood were gone from his hands and he went right through the door when he tried to touch it. "Finished just in time, Cas. All out of mojo."
There was no answer. Dean zapped back to the bed and found Castiel unconscious again, the building fever Dean had felt before already sending minute shivers through him. At least the slash on his wrist had already healed; Dean told himself that if he could still heal the easy stuff then the serious wound would follow along. He kept that up until he believed it.
The sigil glowed red on the wooden door, pouring out a steady stream of power Dean could feel across the room. It didn't reassure him; if keeping out threats was as easy as some quick finger painting Dean had a feeling they would have been doing it the whole time. He put the thought out of his mind and picked up Castiel's trenchcoat from the floor; the guy liked the ratty thing, why Dean couldn't even guess, but while the suit jacket and shirt were lost causes for anything short of angel mojo the coat had made it through in relatively good shape. When he went to drape the coat over the chair Castiel's phone fell out of the pocket; Dean picked that up too, wondering where he should make the note in his dad's journal that ghosts could touch things that belonged to angels. Weirder things had come in handy.
"If you can keep this thing charged I don't get why you can't magic more minutes onto it, Cas." He flipped the phone open, unable to resist himself. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that Castiel hadn't set up his contacts; the history was just a string of the same two numbers over and over, no names attached. He scrolled through the list and hit send on the number that appeared the most, wincing when the number you dialed cannot be reached alarm blared in his ear. He shook his head, wondering what he'd been expecting, then slid the phone back into the pocket. "When you wake up I'm gonna teach you how to program this thing. That way you won't have to keep dialing the numbers in each time." Castiel didn't answer, not that Dean had expected him to; Dean slid the phone back into the pocket and stared at the sigil. Then he reached back into the coat and pulled out one of the swords.
He went back and tucked Castiel's arm back against him before settling down on the floor next to the bed. Dean set the sword down across his lap.
Just in case.
***
Dean hadn't realized how much effort Castiel had been using to keep him stable. If his mind wandered Dean found himself suddenly not there – not zapping out but just stopping, coming back to himself to find that hours had gone by. It made him think of all the ghost hunts he'd been on where the spirits hadn't known how many years had passed. Every time it happened the fear that he could spend centuries in this musty hotel and never realize it almost choked him and he told himself it wouldn't happen again. Right up until the next time it did.
Castiel wasn't doing much better. It was like the pain wouldn't let him rest, dragging him from complete unconsciousness to wide awake in an eyeblink, and that startled whimper of pain was usually what dragged Dean back, too. Awake but not aware; Dean could tell when Castiel woke he didn't know where he was or why he hurt so much. Sometimes his head would turn toward Dean's voice but there was no recognition; more often he didn't hear Dean at all, his eyes locked open in pain as his body took its sweet time figuring out whether it was going to heal or finally give out on him. All Dean could do was count the seconds until the attack loosened its grip and and let Castiel slip back into unconsciousness.
But he still trusted Dean. While he didn't know who Dean was he seemed to get that Dean wasn't there to hurt him; even when the pain was at its worst he would calm down when Dean touched him. The fever kept spiking up and down but never quite breaking.
But the wound was closing. Slowly enough that Dean thought it had been wishful thinking at first, but progress had definitely been made. Dean just had to keep them both going a little bit longer.
***
Dean tensed as he came back to awareness, not sure what sound had done it. He swore as checked the clock and saw he'd lost three hours this time. Then he heard the sound again, a murmured word, and jumped to his feet. "Cas? You up? Sorry, man, I can't...." Dean swallowed the excuse; he'd said he would be there and wasn't following through. "I'll get better at it."
Castiel whispered something Dean didn't catch, looking through Dean and shivering so hard he was almost shaking the bed. When Dean touched him he expected to find that the fever had spiked again but couldn't smother down the flash of panic when he found the opposite. It was like touching a body that had been dead for hours. "Jesus, Cas, what the hell's wrong with you now?" Castiel just whispered the same word again, a trace of panic in his voice. Dean didn't know the language but it didn't take a huge leap to wonder if the word meant cold.
The wound was closed all the way but still red and painful looking, and he hadn't gotten any color back. Dean wondered if that was it, if his body had been so busy healing the stab it hadn't replaced any of the lost blood. He tried to remember the first time he'd ever felt cold and couldn't; he couldn't imagine how messed up he would be if he'd never been cold a day in his life and then couldn't stop shivering. "Hey, Cas," he said, trying to get his attention. "You don't have any blood in your body, that's why you're shaking this hard. It's gonna pass." Castiel stared in his direction, his eyes as wide as when Raphael had stabbed him. His hand felt like a block of ice when Dean tried to steady him. "I'm gonna find something to help warm you up, okay?"
Dean bit back the frustration when his hand went right through the closet door. He felt Castiel's eyes watching him as he paced up and down the tiny room, trying to marshal the focus he needed but nothing worked. He could shake the room but he still didn't have the control to do anything useful; that wave of helplessness from before came back, and Dean had never learned to deal with helplessness very well.
Finally he picked up the battered trenchcoat from the chair and draped it over Castiel, trying to cover up as much of him as he could. "I know it's not enough, Cas, but it's all I've got." Castiel just seemed to shiver harder, staring up at Dean in baffled confusion. He whispered that word again and Dean felt something in him twist into knots.
"I know you're cold, buddy. I'm trying," he said, brushing Castiel's hair off his face. Castiel moved into the touch, his eyelids fluttering as he whispered something Dean couldn't make out.
Dean realized he was being an idiot about this. "When you bring me back, make sure you don't tell Sam I ever did anything this mushy," he said. He took a deep breath, then he wrapped himself around Castiel.
Castiel sighed and looked back at Dean, a vague flicker of recognition in his eyes for the first time. "You know me?" Castiel nodded, murmuring something in that harsh language of his. "I don't speak angel, Cas."
He started again, his brow furrowing as he focused. "Forgot," he whispered. He was staring at Dean like he'd never seen him before. "Look so...." He shivered again, his eyes already losing focus.
"Different, right? You mentioned that." Castiel nodded; when he tried to move further into the warmth Dean held him still. "Don't move around so much. You have to stay on your back, it'll hurt more if you don't." Castiel nodded, although Dean wasn't sure how much of that he'd grasped. Dean felt his icy fingertips trail down his face; he whispered something Dean didn't catch, lapsing back into his own language. There was a hint of amazement in Castiel's voice and Dean wished he knew what the hell he'd said. "Just go back to sleep, Cas. You'll feel better when you wake up."
Castiel kept staring at him, his fingertips trailing along Dean's jaw. Before Dean realized what was about to happen Castiel's lips brushed against his.
Dean held very, very still. Castiel kissed him again, pressing closer; Dean felt a tremor run through Castiel when Dean kissed him back, his lips parting despite himself. Castiel finally pulled back and Dean had never seen someone's eyes look like that before. "Shh," he whispered. "That's okay. You're okay." Castiel nodded, breathless and shivering; Dean put one hand on his chest to keep him still, mindful of the wound. "You need to rest now, Cas. Okay? Just close your eyes and rest." Castiel nodded again, laying back against the pillows but still staring at Dean. "Shh," Dean said again. "Close your eyes."
Castiel nodded vaguely again, but this time his eyes drifted closed. He sighed when Dean wrapped his arm back around his waist, his breathing slowly evening out again.
That had been weird. Dean knew his heart should be pounding and that it wasn't just added to the surreality. The shivering was beginning to ease and Dean wrapped himself more comfortably around Castiel, trying to ignore how close Castiel's parted lips still were. He knew he shouldn't have returned the kiss; Castiel was delirious and didn't know what he'd been doing.
A few minutes later Castiel whimpered in his sleep. Dean saw his eyes moving rapidly under his lids, like he was having a particularly nasty dream. "Hey," Dean soothed. "You gotta relax. You're safe." Castiel didn't seem to hear him; his hand clenched and Dean felt his struggling heart start to race. Dean wondered if he was reliving the fight. "Shh. You're safe."
He swallowed hard when Castiel whimpered again. Dean paused for another moment, then leaned across the few inches between them and kissed him, a chaste kiss just brushing against his lips. Castiel murmured something he couldn't make out, trying to press closer to Dean. "Whatever you said, Cas," Dean whispered, so close their lips were still almost touching. "You rest up and you'll feel better, I promise." Castiel quieted and this time stayed that way, his heart beating a slow rhythm under Dean's hand.
When he shivered again Dean wrapped him up tighter, counting each heartbeat to keep himself from fading. He told himself again none of that had meant anything.
When he heard the whisper in the back of his mind that maybe he wished it had, Dean told it to shut up.
***
The next time Castiel woke it was like a switch had been flipped. His eyes flew open, clear and aware, and he sat up so quickly Dean almost tumbled off the bed, something he was relieved Castiel didn't seem to notice. His eyes darted around the room, finally settling on Dean. "I'm not dead."
Dean shook his head, leaning back against the wall. "Nope. Hey, one of us should still be breathing, right?"
Castiel stared at him for one disbelieving second, then lay back on the bed, his hand pressed against the mostly healed stab wound in his chest. "You slew Raphael."
"Yeah." Dean folded his arms over his chest, wondering for the first time if a human taking out an archangel was a bigger deal upstairs than he'd realized. "That okay?"
Castiel nodded. "I...." He closed his eyes, and it took a few seconds before he could speak again. "Thank you."
Dean just shrugged. "Hey, I've never been any good at running from a fight." Or frankly, at accepting gratitude, so Dean hoped Castiel would stop looking at him like that. He'd gotten lucky, not made the planet spin backwards. "He really had it in for you, huh?"
"You could say that. We...encountered each other before. Twice before."
"I'm guessing those went more your way, huh?"
"One of those times." Castiel rubbed his chest, then levered himself off the bed, swaying on his feet. "We were about to go to Cold Oak?"
"Yeah, but dude, slow down. You were in a coma literally five minutes ago."
Castiel just shook his head. "The wound can't be helped any more by resting."
"Is it all healed up?"
He just grimaced. "I can bear it."
Dean caught him when he stumbled picking up his coat and helped him sit back on the bed. "You've been out for two days, Cas. Give yourself another second."
"That long?"
"Yeah, at least," Dean said, one hand on his shoulder to steady him. "You remember anything?"
Castiel shook his head, brow furrowed as he considered the question. "Very little," he finally admitted. "Did I...did I say anything strange?"
Dean licked his lips before answering. "Nah. Slept like a baby." Castiel nodded and Dean let out a long breath that he hadn't looked at that lie too closely. "Feeling more up to things yet?"
"As much as I'm going to."
"Good. Any chance we could make a quick stop before we go pull Sammy's ass out of the fire?"
Castiel tilted his head. "Where were you thinking?"
***
Dean leaned against the hospital window and watched Bobby snore away in the chair at his bedside. "Hey, old timer. Wakey wakey." Bobby's eyes blinked open and he squinted at Dean. "You miss me?" Dean said, giving Bobby his best grin.
That lasted right up until Bobby pounced from his chair and swung an iron bar at Dean's head. Dean was too surprised to dodge; he felt the bite of the iron as it ripped him apart, burning pain spreading through him like he'd stepped into lava. It felt like years before he could manifest again, although from the look on Bobby's face Dean guessed it had only been a few seconds. "You hit me with iron?"
Bobby backed away, knocking the chair over and pointing the iron poker at Dean. "You stay the hell away from me."
"Bobby, Jesus. You're dreaming. This is a dream, okay?" he said, gesturing around the room.
"And how do you expect me to believe that?"
"First of all, there's no way you could smuggle that thing into the hospital, right?" Bobby looked down at the long poker, doubt starting to creep into his expression. "And second, we're back at your house now." In an eyeblink the room had changed from the hospital to Bobby's cluttered study and Dean ached to be there for real. "Happy now?"
Bobby sank down into his battered chair. "Okay, so I'm listening."
Dean sat down across from him. "That hurt."
"Oh, you would've done the same thing." He set the poker across his lap, making sure Dean knew it was ready. "Why're you haunting me, Dean?"
"I'm not. God, that would be the worst afterlife ever." Dean couldn't believe Bobby had the nerve to look insulted. "Sam's in trouble, Bobby."
"Well, there's a surprise," Bobby muttered. "You might not know this, but it's been months. He's not even taking my calls anymore." He looked up and Dean almost couldn't take seeing the tears in his eyes. "So Sam was right. He really did sense you that night on the road."
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes I think that hadn't been such a great idea, but yeah."
"Dean, you can't keep hanging around! You know what happens, we both do."
"It's not like that, Bobby. There's a lot more bullshit going on than you realize and we're right in the middle of it. I'm working on getting back in my body, there's just some things that need to happen first."
"I just don't want to wind up having to hunt you."
Dean grinned. "You won't. I swear. Not for this anyway, but it's Sam I'm worried about. He's in way over his head."
Bobby leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "I'm listening."
"Remember how we used to joke around that Wyoming was so boring even demons didn't bother going there? Well it turns out there's actually a reason...." He trailed off when he noticed the maps and newspaper clippings amid the debris next to the chair. "Should've guessed you'd already be on that," he said, gesturing to the pile of papers.
"Ellen got this to me," Bobby said. "She said Ash had been working on it before...." He glanced up at Dean, and Dean didn't like that look at all..
"What happened, Bobby?"
Bobby shook his head. "You got enough on your mind as it is. Anyway, it seems there's demon signs all over the place, like they're massing around this big-as-all-hell devil's trap."
"Sam's a part of that. Yellow Eyes grabbed him and took him to a place called Cold Oak."
Bobby frowned. "Cold Oak, South Dakota?" He tapped his fingertips against the maps. "I know where that is. It's an old ghost town."
"Well, it's populated now . Yellow Eyes has some kind of psychic fight club going on. Sam's supposed to open a gate to hell, Bobby, that's why they gave him the Colt, and we can't let him do that. We're gonna go pull his fat out of the fryer but he's still gonna need back up. You up for it?"
Bobby just gave him a withering look, like he couldn't believe Dean had even asked that. "Have I ever let you boys down before?"
"Well, y'know. You did hit me with an iron bar."
For a second he thought Bobby was going to come at him again, but as he stood Bobby just enveloped him in an enormous hug. And since it was a dream, it actually worked. "I wake up and this was just a dream I'm gonna hunt you, evil yet or not."
"This is real, Bobby. This happened, swear to God." Dean had no idea he could ever have missed something as simple as a hug so much. "I'm coming back."
"Yeah, well, hurry it up. You're running up one hell of a bill."
Dean felt a hand on his shoulder and found himself back in the hospital room, Castiel standing beside him. "Dude. A little warning."
"The dream was ending."
To look at Castiel Dean would have never guessed he'd been at death's door. He'd even fixed his clothes. "That iron really did hurt," Dean said, rubbing his head.
"Now you see why I insisted it be a dream," he said, and Dean could swear he looked amused. "The pain would have been much worse otherwise." He tilted his head to the side. "Are you prepared?"
"As I'm gonna be."
Castiel nodded. "Then hold on. This will be much more difficult than previous journeys."
Dean closed his eyes and felt Castiel's hands tight on his arms. Then things happened very quickly: Dean heard the sound of Castiel's wings, the sound louder than normal, like he was straining; he felt a burning he realized was the presence of sulfur, then felt them smash hard into something solid. Castiel hissed in pain and Dean cracked his eyes open to see a wall of foul, red energy blocking the way; he focused on Sam, just getting to Sam as Castiel heaved in a breath and tried again. This time there was a crack in the wall, sparking with bright white light.
Dean closed his eyes again and focused on Sam like he'd never concentrated on anything in his life. He heard those powerful wings beat one more time.
Then everything went black.
On to Part 5
Return to Masterpost
Back to Part 3
Author:
misachanFandom/Genre: SPN, Drama, Romance, AU
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel
Warnings: Violence, language, character death
Word Count: 7088
Summary: "The two of you are so stubborn you've made Heaven blink." Finally convinced that Sam and Dean will never say yes and accept their destinies, Heaven and Hell come up with a new plan, one that will redraw the Apocalypse and make everything run much more smoothly. All they need is Dean Winchester's soul.
Castiel was still moving. Dean could see his chest heave for air, the hand closest to Dean clutching at the ground. Dean clung to the thought that if he was moving, that meant he was alive; in that moment nothing else mattered, nothing else existed. His face turned toward Dean as the light flickered, spasming him like he'd been stabbed all over again. Dean could tell Castiel's glassy eyes couldn't quite see him; there was blood on his lips as he tried to form a word Dean couldn't make out. Dean thought it might be his name. "I'm right here, Cas," he whispered, feeling the start of something low and dark and burning echo through him. "I'm not going anywhere."
Raphael went down to one knee beside Castiel and wrenched his head back around. "Not yet, Castiel," he said, taking the tip of his sword and carving a shallow line along his jaw; the wound glowed white and Castiel's whole body jerked up, sharp, stuttering breaths giving way to a wet moan. "I'm not quite done with you yet." He positioned the point of the blade over Castiel's eye. That roiling cloud within Dean went darker still; across the street a streetlamp exploded, then another, the whole line of them going up in a shower of glass. Dean didn't notice.
Neither did Raphael. He grabbed another handful of Castiel's hair to hold his head still, anticipation lighting up his face. "Were we home I would take your wings, brother," he murmured, hovering the blade first over one eye, then the other; Dean wouldn't have thought Castiel was aware enough to realize what was coming but he made a desperate grab for Raphael's wrist, trying to push the sword away. Raphael sneered and twisted his arm back, making him gasp again in pain as he drove his knee into Castiel's wrist to pin it down. For just one fleeting instant the binding around Dean disappeared as his concentration slipped.
An instant was all Dean needed. He poured all of that darkness boiling in him out in one surge right at Raphael, pushing the archangel back – not far, not even as far as he'd pushed Castiel in that motel room, but far enough. He blinked and felt himself flicker out of existence, manifesting again between the two. He pulled Castiel's abandoned sword into his hand with barely a thought. "You're not gonna touch him again," Dean warned, fury flowing through him the way blood used to flow though his veins.
Raphael picked himself up. "And how will you stop me?"
Dean brandished the sword. "Pretty sure I'll think of something."
Raphael smiled. Dean was getting damned tired of things smiling at him like that. "Michael may want your soul but it needn't be unscathed."
"Cas was right, you do talk too much." Dean zapped himself out again, showing back up and swinging the sword at his throat, a strike Raphael dodged easily.
He answered with a grazing slash at Dean's shoulder, the pain from even that glancing a blow almost sending Dean to his knees. "Have you forgotten, Winchester?" Raphael said as Dean staggered back, trying to keep his feet. "That sword can't harm me."
Raphael was playing with him. He wasn't even trying to hide how little a threat he considered Dean, toying with him out of sadistic amusement. Dean just hoped it didn't show on his face how happy that made him.
His father had taught him all his life how to fight things stronger than him. Tougher than him. Things no human should ever be able to go toe to toe with and come out on top. John Winchester's first rule had always been make sure they underestimate you.
He charged at Raphael, surprising the archangel enough to bull rush him off his feet. Dean remembered being thirteen and scrawny, sparring against his dad and trying to take him down even though John could pick him up and throw him without blinking. He could almost hear his father's voice again, telling him that if you didn't have strength, use leverage, if you didn't have an opening, make one.
And if the thing you're fighting has a weapon, take it away. "Used to pick pockets," he said as they squared back against each other. "Wasn't proud of it, but sometimes Dad was gone longer than he'd thought and the money ran out. Sammy needed to eat." He smiled at the memory, the rush he used to get. "Got pretty good at it after a while, the whole slight of hand thing."
Raphael's brows drew together in confusion. It was the first time Dean could believe he and Castiel were brothers. "What are you rambling about?"
Dean smiled wider, glancing down at the sword in his hand and the identical one in Raphael's. "It means I have your fucking sword." Before Raphael could react Dean stabbed him full in the chest, feeling the blade slide through skin and flesh and bone. He left the sword in and stepped back as Raphael gaped at him for a moment, then dropped to his knees.
The earth shook when Raphael screamed. The sound went on forever, starting low and rising until it was as high and piercing as a siren; Dean knew that if he still had physical ears they'd be bleeding. As it was he felt his soul trying to curl in on itself, quivering behind the wall of rage that had made this happen.
Raphael fell backwards, light pouring from him until he was brighter than the sun. Then there was a sudden burst of energy and the only sound left was the crackle of enormous wings searing themselves into the ground as the archangel's eyes stared sightless and empty up into the storm clouds.
Dean had never felt power like this before. Suddenly there was no limit to what he could do, no cap. He felt like he was made of the storm rolling in above him, that dark force he'd given himself to filling every inch of him.
Something brushed against his leg. Dean looked down and the fury left him in such a flood he felt hollow; he didn't know how but Castiel had managed to drag himself over to Dean, leaving a bloody trail on the ground. His hand shook so hard against Dean's leg Dean could feel the tremor vibrating through him.
I don't want to turn into one of those things.
You won't. I promise you that.
"I'm sorry, Cas," Dean said, dropping to his knees to help Castiel lay back so he could get a look at the stab wound. "I got lost for a second." He'd never felt anything as purely as he had that rush of fury. It had almost been like a drug. He didn't wonder any more why it seemed so easy for evil spirits to go the way they did.
Castiel nodded, squeezing Dean's hand for a second as pain crowded everything else out of his eyes. He'd lost so much blood his shirt looked red but that wasn't what worried Dean; he'd lost a ton of blood against the wendigo and hadn't so much as blinked. What scared Dean was the blueish-white light bleeding from the wound, drifting like low-hanging smoke. Bright light glowed from the edges of his nails and flashed under his skin; when Castiel looked up Dean could see pinpricks of light deep in the pupils of his eyes, a slow motion version of what had happened to Raphael. Dean swallowed that fear and tore open Castiel's sodden shirt, exposing the wound; he was rougher than he'd meant to be and Castiel whimpered deep in his throat, the light pulsing brighter. "You're gonna be okay, Cas," he said, needing to convince himself as much as he did Castiel, then he set his hands and pressed against the wound as hard as he could.
Dean felt a jumbled mix of panic and pain rush through him as Castiel's eyes went wide, his body arching up; he looked up at Dean with surprise and, Dean thought, just a touch of betrayal. "Hurts," he whispered, as if he couldn't believe anything could hurt so much.
"I know it does," Dean said, keeping his voice calm, as if he knew a single thing about what it felt like to get stabbed in the chest. "I gotta put pressure on this, that's the first thing you do." Blood still seeped through his fingers and he could feel that light pressing against his hands, almost hammering against him in desperation. "Can you heal this, Cas?"
Blood trickled from the corner of Castiel's mouth. "I...I don't know." His voice was so weak it barely qualified as sound.
All Dean cared about was that wasn't a no. "All right. All right, Cas, I need you to breathe. Take a breath, as deep as you can."
Castiel shook his head. "I don't want to."
"I know you don't, Cas, but you have to. You're in shock, this is what shock is for you," Dean said. He had no idea if he was right about that, but it was all he had. "I'm betting you probably don't need to breathe any more than I do right now but your body doesn't know that. It's freaking out and you've gotta calm it the hell down. You understand?" Castiel just looked at him like he was speaking in tongues. "Listen to me. If I get hurt, my body's gotta keep me going, I don't have a choice there, but you're the opposite, you keep it going. Right now your body thinks it's dying---"
"Am dying," he whispered, as if Dean had missed that obvious fact.
"No you're not." Castiel actually flinched back. "You're not. Cas, you keep saying I've gotta trust you. I need you to trust me right now, okay? I know what I'm talking about. I know you're scared and I know it hurts but you gotta believe me. Can you do that?"
The next second felt like it lasted years. Finally he nodded and Dean felt Castiel's hand close around his arm. Even the light under his hands felt different. It took every ounce of willpower he had to not look away from Castiel's eyes; no one had come close to looking at him like that since Sam had been little and thought every word from Dean's mouth was truth from on high. He hadn't realized what he'd been doing when he'd asked for an angel's faith.
Dean didn't have the luxury of being overwhelmed. "Okay, Cas," he said, keeping his voice steady by some miracle. "We gotta keep your body going until the healing kicks in. I want you to breathe with me, as deep as you can. Ready?" Castiel didn't nod and Dean really couldn't blame him. "On three."
Castiel's chest barely moved before he started choking and coughing. His body convulsed, almost like it was trying to buck Dean off; he could feel the light surging against his hands again and pressed down as hard as he could. "Your body's panicking, Cas, you can't let it do that," he murmured, ignoring the sharp rush of pain washing through him. "You're in charge. Remember, you can't choke, you don't really need the air, you're just conning your body into thinking it's not as hurt as it is." Castiel squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, his nails digging into Dean's arm. "I'm gonna breathe and you're gonna match me."
Dean could feel how much each breath cost him, pain echoing through the light touching his hands. Even if he couldn't feel it, he would be able to hear it in the whimpering sobs Castiel couldn't quite swallow back. "I know it hurts, Cas," he murmured between breaths, the helplessness of not even being able to hold his hand, to even give him that tiny amount of comfort during this tying him in knots. Dean told himself that every second that passed without that light glowing brighter made it worth it.
"How...how long...have to do this, Dean?"
"I don't know, Cas. Until your healing kicks in. Long as that takes." That wasn't the answer Castiel wanted; he shut his eyes and when Dean saw a tear trail down his face he pretended he hadn't. "Look at me, Cas." Castiel opened his eyes at the command, the pain making his eyes so blue Dean ached. "We're in this together, you and me. I don't get tired. I'm gonna be right here the whole time, I promise." He took the risk of leaning down closer. "Hey," he whispered, "remember you said you'd fixed it so I would go where you went? That means you don't get to go anywhere I can't catch up with you. You hear me?"
Castiel nodded again, determination setting his jaw. Dean's sense of time passing had been murky ever since he'd died and never more so than now; he had no idea how long they breathed together in that lot as if the rest of the world had stopped around them. Long enough that the light failed, the blown streetlights leaving them in darkness. It didn't matter. Dean didn't need light to see anymore and he knew as long as Castiel kept looking up at him like that it didn't matter if years passed.
Finally the constant pressure against his hands began to fade, faintly enough at first that Dean thought he was imagining it. Castiel's breathing evened out, going from ragged gasps to slow and shallow; his eyes drifted closed, not rolling back but just like he was going to sleep. "Cas? Cas, don't pass out. Look at me." It was the first time his eyes didn't snap back open at Dean's word.
It would have been more frightening if his breathing hadn't stayed automatic and steady. Dean took a chance and moved one hand to the pulse point in Castiel's neck. No light bled out and while Castiel's pulse was weak it was also steady. He moved his other hand away and Castiel's pulse didn't change.
Dean gave himself permission to just sit there and shake for a second. He tousled one hand through Castiel's hair. "You did so fucking good, Cas." Dean didn't think he'd ever been so proud of anyone in his life. He wiped the blood from Castiel's face, trying to figure out their next move.
They couldn't stay there. The rain was finally starting to fall and Dean had no way to shield Castiel from it; he was already shivering from the first few drops and Dean tried not to contrast that with how Castiel had barely noticed he'd been standing in a downpour the night they met. He'd only traveled on his own once, trying to get to Sam during the wendigo fight but Sam wasn't an option now. Castiel had said Cold Oak was sealed off and he couldn't punch through that alone.
Castiel had said that Dean could go to places he felt an attachment to and Dean focused on that. His first thought was Bobby's; that was practically a second home and there was no safer place on Earth. Which of course Dean realized a second later meant that as a ghost he couldn't even get through the doors.
As Dean rifled through options he hit on a motel he and Sam had spent a Thanksgiving in years ago; it had been the first Thanksgiving dinner he'd cooked (which of course just meant heating up open faced turkey sandwiches on the motel hot plate, but Sam hadn't known any better.) The place had been practically deserted that whole week, set in a horrible location and kept open as some kind of tax dodge as far as Dean could tell. That had been Dean's best Thanksgiving since he'd been three years old.
Castiel could move them with just a hand on Dean's shoulder but Dean didn't dare try that, not with the risk he could lose Castiel mid-transit. Dean reached back to grab the two swords, tucking them into Castiel's coat pocket, then Dean sat him up carefully, watching for any signs of pain. Dean checked his pulse again but it was just as steady as if he'd never been moved. "Guess we should've squeezed in some more lessons, huh?" The rain started to pick up and Dean didn't want to waste any more time; he wrapped his arms tight around Castiel, closed his eyes and stood, thinking about that motel room until he felt the world warp around them.
***
Like the hospital, Dean was glad he couldn't actually smell the motel room when he opened his eyes. The place seemed to still be in business to Dean's relief and as badly kept as ever; Dean lay Castiel on the bed and hoped the bedspread had been laundered sometime in the past decade. "Didn't miss this time, Cas," he said, easing his coat off and arranging him in a position that looked comfortable. "Guess that means I'm getting better at this, huh?" There was no answer but Dean hadn't expected one; he finished stripping off Castiel's bloody suit jacket and what was left of his shirt, brushing the angel’s wet hair off his forehead as he realized just how limited his first aid options really were. The wound needed to be stitched, something Dean had no way of doing; even if he'd had the supplies he didn't have the dexterity. He told himself it would heal on its own but not even being able to clean a wound properly was a new level of helplessness for Dean. Castiel murmured something under his breath, his head tossing on the pillows and Dean put his hand back on his forehead. "Shh, Cas, you're okay," he said. He thought he felt the beginning of a fever starting. "You're safe."
And of course as soon as Dean said that the door started to open. Dean caught a glimpse of a couple, the man eager and the woman looking bored, just regular humans to Dean's relief. Still, they didn't need the company; Dean focused on the door and it slammed shut. When they tried to open it again Dean concentrated on holding it closed, careful not to reach back into that pit of rage. He made the door rattle for good measure and made the lights flicker, any ghost trick Dean could think of to scare them away. Dean grinned when the guy screamed first.
He kept the show up until he heard them both run up the hallway, not wanting to admit to himself how much fun that had been. Tiring, though. Dean hoped he wouldn't have to do that too often. He turned back to Castiel and found his eyes half-open, staring unfocused in Dean's direction. He grabbed for Dean's hand and Dean knew he'd been right about the fever when he felt that heat building under his skin. "Hey, Cas, it's okay," he said, keeping the worry out of his voice. "Don't worry, I'm being careful, I won't get lost again."
Castiel shook his head and turned Dean's hand over, trying to trace something onto his palm. Castiel's hand shook so hard he had to start over twice, and Dean still couldn't get a clear picture of what he was trying to do. "Cas, I'm not getting it. What're you t...?"
Castiel scowled and pulled Dean closer, pressing his fingers against Dean's temple. A complicated sigil hovered in Dean's mind, pulsing and insistent and demanding, whispering now now now in Dean's ear like it had a voice of its own. "I need to draw that?" Castiel nodded, falling back to the bed exhausted. "Where? On the door?" Castiel nodded again and Dean looked around the room for something he could possibly write with before he felt Castiel grab his hand again.
"Blood," he murmured. "Must be."
"Jesus, Cas." When only one of them had blood that didn't leave a whole lot of options. "I just got you to stop bleeding."
Castiel just gave him a helpless little shrug. "Must...be done. Not safe."
"I don't have anything to cut you with. I won't use one of the swords."
"'precaite...if you didn't." He took a deep breath, his hands clenching as he concentrated. "Try now. Look."
Dean touched the dresser and realized he was solid. He rifled through the drawers, looking for anything with an edge. He found a letter opener but it was too dull for the job and there were no glasses on the nightstands or in the bathroom. Finally Dean took a good hard look at the dingy mirror on the wall; he focused all his energy on it, picturing the exact way he wanted it to shatter until the first lines started to spiderweb across the glass. The whole thing came apart with a loud crack and Dean picked up on of the bigger shards, turning back to the bed. Castiel's face was beaded with sweat, his breathing labored again; when Dean stretched out his arm he could feel Castiel's pulse fluttering rapid and weak in his wrist. "I don't know if you've got enough blood in you for this, Cas."
He only shrugged again. "We'll find out."
Dean shook his head and crouched next to the bed. He slashed the glass shard across Castiel's wrist before he could talk himself out of it, hating himself when Castiel whimpered as the glass cut into his skin. Castiel's concentration failed and the glass fell through Dean's hand but it didn't matter, it had done the job. Dean cupped his hand under the wound to catch the blood, not letting himself think about how slow it was dripping out, nowhere near the gout he would expect from a wrist wound.
It took almost a minute to gather enough to draw the sigil. The power in the blood made his hands tingle as he carefully made his way to the door, a faint echo of the way that light had echoed through him. He drew the sigil carefully, the one in his head pulsing brighter when he drew an edge wrong and he gave a silent whisper of thanks to his father for all the years of drilling in drawing devil's traps. When he drew the last line the sigil in his head sputtered and went out, letting Dean know that if it wasn't perfect it must be good enough. When he looked down the last traces of blood were gone from his hands and he went right through the door when he tried to touch it. "Finished just in time, Cas. All out of mojo."
There was no answer. Dean zapped back to the bed and found Castiel unconscious again, the building fever Dean had felt before already sending minute shivers through him. At least the slash on his wrist had already healed; Dean told himself that if he could still heal the easy stuff then the serious wound would follow along. He kept that up until he believed it.
The sigil glowed red on the wooden door, pouring out a steady stream of power Dean could feel across the room. It didn't reassure him; if keeping out threats was as easy as some quick finger painting Dean had a feeling they would have been doing it the whole time. He put the thought out of his mind and picked up Castiel's trenchcoat from the floor; the guy liked the ratty thing, why Dean couldn't even guess, but while the suit jacket and shirt were lost causes for anything short of angel mojo the coat had made it through in relatively good shape. When he went to drape the coat over the chair Castiel's phone fell out of the pocket; Dean picked that up too, wondering where he should make the note in his dad's journal that ghosts could touch things that belonged to angels. Weirder things had come in handy.
"If you can keep this thing charged I don't get why you can't magic more minutes onto it, Cas." He flipped the phone open, unable to resist himself. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised that Castiel hadn't set up his contacts; the history was just a string of the same two numbers over and over, no names attached. He scrolled through the list and hit send on the number that appeared the most, wincing when the number you dialed cannot be reached alarm blared in his ear. He shook his head, wondering what he'd been expecting, then slid the phone back into the pocket. "When you wake up I'm gonna teach you how to program this thing. That way you won't have to keep dialing the numbers in each time." Castiel didn't answer, not that Dean had expected him to; Dean slid the phone back into the pocket and stared at the sigil. Then he reached back into the coat and pulled out one of the swords.
He went back and tucked Castiel's arm back against him before settling down on the floor next to the bed. Dean set the sword down across his lap.
Just in case.
***
Dean hadn't realized how much effort Castiel had been using to keep him stable. If his mind wandered Dean found himself suddenly not there – not zapping out but just stopping, coming back to himself to find that hours had gone by. It made him think of all the ghost hunts he'd been on where the spirits hadn't known how many years had passed. Every time it happened the fear that he could spend centuries in this musty hotel and never realize it almost choked him and he told himself it wouldn't happen again. Right up until the next time it did.
Castiel wasn't doing much better. It was like the pain wouldn't let him rest, dragging him from complete unconsciousness to wide awake in an eyeblink, and that startled whimper of pain was usually what dragged Dean back, too. Awake but not aware; Dean could tell when Castiel woke he didn't know where he was or why he hurt so much. Sometimes his head would turn toward Dean's voice but there was no recognition; more often he didn't hear Dean at all, his eyes locked open in pain as his body took its sweet time figuring out whether it was going to heal or finally give out on him. All Dean could do was count the seconds until the attack loosened its grip and and let Castiel slip back into unconsciousness.
But he still trusted Dean. While he didn't know who Dean was he seemed to get that Dean wasn't there to hurt him; even when the pain was at its worst he would calm down when Dean touched him. The fever kept spiking up and down but never quite breaking.
But the wound was closing. Slowly enough that Dean thought it had been wishful thinking at first, but progress had definitely been made. Dean just had to keep them both going a little bit longer.
***
Dean tensed as he came back to awareness, not sure what sound had done it. He swore as checked the clock and saw he'd lost three hours this time. Then he heard the sound again, a murmured word, and jumped to his feet. "Cas? You up? Sorry, man, I can't...." Dean swallowed the excuse; he'd said he would be there and wasn't following through. "I'll get better at it."
Castiel whispered something Dean didn't catch, looking through Dean and shivering so hard he was almost shaking the bed. When Dean touched him he expected to find that the fever had spiked again but couldn't smother down the flash of panic when he found the opposite. It was like touching a body that had been dead for hours. "Jesus, Cas, what the hell's wrong with you now?" Castiel just whispered the same word again, a trace of panic in his voice. Dean didn't know the language but it didn't take a huge leap to wonder if the word meant cold.
The wound was closed all the way but still red and painful looking, and he hadn't gotten any color back. Dean wondered if that was it, if his body had been so busy healing the stab it hadn't replaced any of the lost blood. He tried to remember the first time he'd ever felt cold and couldn't; he couldn't imagine how messed up he would be if he'd never been cold a day in his life and then couldn't stop shivering. "Hey, Cas," he said, trying to get his attention. "You don't have any blood in your body, that's why you're shaking this hard. It's gonna pass." Castiel stared in his direction, his eyes as wide as when Raphael had stabbed him. His hand felt like a block of ice when Dean tried to steady him. "I'm gonna find something to help warm you up, okay?"
Dean bit back the frustration when his hand went right through the closet door. He felt Castiel's eyes watching him as he paced up and down the tiny room, trying to marshal the focus he needed but nothing worked. He could shake the room but he still didn't have the control to do anything useful; that wave of helplessness from before came back, and Dean had never learned to deal with helplessness very well.
Finally he picked up the battered trenchcoat from the chair and draped it over Castiel, trying to cover up as much of him as he could. "I know it's not enough, Cas, but it's all I've got." Castiel just seemed to shiver harder, staring up at Dean in baffled confusion. He whispered that word again and Dean felt something in him twist into knots.
"I know you're cold, buddy. I'm trying," he said, brushing Castiel's hair off his face. Castiel moved into the touch, his eyelids fluttering as he whispered something Dean couldn't make out.
Dean realized he was being an idiot about this. "When you bring me back, make sure you don't tell Sam I ever did anything this mushy," he said. He took a deep breath, then he wrapped himself around Castiel.
Castiel sighed and looked back at Dean, a vague flicker of recognition in his eyes for the first time. "You know me?" Castiel nodded, murmuring something in that harsh language of his. "I don't speak angel, Cas."
He started again, his brow furrowing as he focused. "Forgot," he whispered. He was staring at Dean like he'd never seen him before. "Look so...." He shivered again, his eyes already losing focus.
"Different, right? You mentioned that." Castiel nodded; when he tried to move further into the warmth Dean held him still. "Don't move around so much. You have to stay on your back, it'll hurt more if you don't." Castiel nodded, although Dean wasn't sure how much of that he'd grasped. Dean felt his icy fingertips trail down his face; he whispered something Dean didn't catch, lapsing back into his own language. There was a hint of amazement in Castiel's voice and Dean wished he knew what the hell he'd said. "Just go back to sleep, Cas. You'll feel better when you wake up."
Castiel kept staring at him, his fingertips trailing along Dean's jaw. Before Dean realized what was about to happen Castiel's lips brushed against his.
Dean held very, very still. Castiel kissed him again, pressing closer; Dean felt a tremor run through Castiel when Dean kissed him back, his lips parting despite himself. Castiel finally pulled back and Dean had never seen someone's eyes look like that before. "Shh," he whispered. "That's okay. You're okay." Castiel nodded, breathless and shivering; Dean put one hand on his chest to keep him still, mindful of the wound. "You need to rest now, Cas. Okay? Just close your eyes and rest." Castiel nodded again, laying back against the pillows but still staring at Dean. "Shh," Dean said again. "Close your eyes."
Castiel nodded vaguely again, but this time his eyes drifted closed. He sighed when Dean wrapped his arm back around his waist, his breathing slowly evening out again.
That had been weird. Dean knew his heart should be pounding and that it wasn't just added to the surreality. The shivering was beginning to ease and Dean wrapped himself more comfortably around Castiel, trying to ignore how close Castiel's parted lips still were. He knew he shouldn't have returned the kiss; Castiel was delirious and didn't know what he'd been doing.
A few minutes later Castiel whimpered in his sleep. Dean saw his eyes moving rapidly under his lids, like he was having a particularly nasty dream. "Hey," Dean soothed. "You gotta relax. You're safe." Castiel didn't seem to hear him; his hand clenched and Dean felt his struggling heart start to race. Dean wondered if he was reliving the fight. "Shh. You're safe."
He swallowed hard when Castiel whimpered again. Dean paused for another moment, then leaned across the few inches between them and kissed him, a chaste kiss just brushing against his lips. Castiel murmured something he couldn't make out, trying to press closer to Dean. "Whatever you said, Cas," Dean whispered, so close their lips were still almost touching. "You rest up and you'll feel better, I promise." Castiel quieted and this time stayed that way, his heart beating a slow rhythm under Dean's hand.
When he shivered again Dean wrapped him up tighter, counting each heartbeat to keep himself from fading. He told himself again none of that had meant anything.
When he heard the whisper in the back of his mind that maybe he wished it had, Dean told it to shut up.
***
The next time Castiel woke it was like a switch had been flipped. His eyes flew open, clear and aware, and he sat up so quickly Dean almost tumbled off the bed, something he was relieved Castiel didn't seem to notice. His eyes darted around the room, finally settling on Dean. "I'm not dead."
Dean shook his head, leaning back against the wall. "Nope. Hey, one of us should still be breathing, right?"
Castiel stared at him for one disbelieving second, then lay back on the bed, his hand pressed against the mostly healed stab wound in his chest. "You slew Raphael."
"Yeah." Dean folded his arms over his chest, wondering for the first time if a human taking out an archangel was a bigger deal upstairs than he'd realized. "That okay?"
Castiel nodded. "I...." He closed his eyes, and it took a few seconds before he could speak again. "Thank you."
Dean just shrugged. "Hey, I've never been any good at running from a fight." Or frankly, at accepting gratitude, so Dean hoped Castiel would stop looking at him like that. He'd gotten lucky, not made the planet spin backwards. "He really had it in for you, huh?"
"You could say that. We...encountered each other before. Twice before."
"I'm guessing those went more your way, huh?"
"One of those times." Castiel rubbed his chest, then levered himself off the bed, swaying on his feet. "We were about to go to Cold Oak?"
"Yeah, but dude, slow down. You were in a coma literally five minutes ago."
Castiel just shook his head. "The wound can't be helped any more by resting."
"Is it all healed up?"
He just grimaced. "I can bear it."
Dean caught him when he stumbled picking up his coat and helped him sit back on the bed. "You've been out for two days, Cas. Give yourself another second."
"That long?"
"Yeah, at least," Dean said, one hand on his shoulder to steady him. "You remember anything?"
Castiel shook his head, brow furrowed as he considered the question. "Very little," he finally admitted. "Did I...did I say anything strange?"
Dean licked his lips before answering. "Nah. Slept like a baby." Castiel nodded and Dean let out a long breath that he hadn't looked at that lie too closely. "Feeling more up to things yet?"
"As much as I'm going to."
"Good. Any chance we could make a quick stop before we go pull Sammy's ass out of the fire?"
Castiel tilted his head. "Where were you thinking?"
***
Dean leaned against the hospital window and watched Bobby snore away in the chair at his bedside. "Hey, old timer. Wakey wakey." Bobby's eyes blinked open and he squinted at Dean. "You miss me?" Dean said, giving Bobby his best grin.
That lasted right up until Bobby pounced from his chair and swung an iron bar at Dean's head. Dean was too surprised to dodge; he felt the bite of the iron as it ripped him apart, burning pain spreading through him like he'd stepped into lava. It felt like years before he could manifest again, although from the look on Bobby's face Dean guessed it had only been a few seconds. "You hit me with iron?"
Bobby backed away, knocking the chair over and pointing the iron poker at Dean. "You stay the hell away from me."
"Bobby, Jesus. You're dreaming. This is a dream, okay?" he said, gesturing around the room.
"And how do you expect me to believe that?"
"First of all, there's no way you could smuggle that thing into the hospital, right?" Bobby looked down at the long poker, doubt starting to creep into his expression. "And second, we're back at your house now." In an eyeblink the room had changed from the hospital to Bobby's cluttered study and Dean ached to be there for real. "Happy now?"
Bobby sank down into his battered chair. "Okay, so I'm listening."
Dean sat down across from him. "That hurt."
"Oh, you would've done the same thing." He set the poker across his lap, making sure Dean knew it was ready. "Why're you haunting me, Dean?"
"I'm not. God, that would be the worst afterlife ever." Dean couldn't believe Bobby had the nerve to look insulted. "Sam's in trouble, Bobby."
"Well, there's a surprise," Bobby muttered. "You might not know this, but it's been months. He's not even taking my calls anymore." He looked up and Dean almost couldn't take seeing the tears in his eyes. "So Sam was right. He really did sense you that night on the road."
Dean nodded. "Yeah. Sometimes I think that hadn't been such a great idea, but yeah."
"Dean, you can't keep hanging around! You know what happens, we both do."
"It's not like that, Bobby. There's a lot more bullshit going on than you realize and we're right in the middle of it. I'm working on getting back in my body, there's just some things that need to happen first."
"I just don't want to wind up having to hunt you."
Dean grinned. "You won't. I swear. Not for this anyway, but it's Sam I'm worried about. He's in way over his head."
Bobby leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "I'm listening."
"Remember how we used to joke around that Wyoming was so boring even demons didn't bother going there? Well it turns out there's actually a reason...." He trailed off when he noticed the maps and newspaper clippings amid the debris next to the chair. "Should've guessed you'd already be on that," he said, gesturing to the pile of papers.
"Ellen got this to me," Bobby said. "She said Ash had been working on it before...." He glanced up at Dean, and Dean didn't like that look at all..
"What happened, Bobby?"
Bobby shook his head. "You got enough on your mind as it is. Anyway, it seems there's demon signs all over the place, like they're massing around this big-as-all-hell devil's trap."
"Sam's a part of that. Yellow Eyes grabbed him and took him to a place called Cold Oak."
Bobby frowned. "Cold Oak, South Dakota?" He tapped his fingertips against the maps. "I know where that is. It's an old ghost town."
"Well, it's populated now . Yellow Eyes has some kind of psychic fight club going on. Sam's supposed to open a gate to hell, Bobby, that's why they gave him the Colt, and we can't let him do that. We're gonna go pull his fat out of the fryer but he's still gonna need back up. You up for it?"
Bobby just gave him a withering look, like he couldn't believe Dean had even asked that. "Have I ever let you boys down before?"
"Well, y'know. You did hit me with an iron bar."
For a second he thought Bobby was going to come at him again, but as he stood Bobby just enveloped him in an enormous hug. And since it was a dream, it actually worked. "I wake up and this was just a dream I'm gonna hunt you, evil yet or not."
"This is real, Bobby. This happened, swear to God." Dean had no idea he could ever have missed something as simple as a hug so much. "I'm coming back."
"Yeah, well, hurry it up. You're running up one hell of a bill."
Dean felt a hand on his shoulder and found himself back in the hospital room, Castiel standing beside him. "Dude. A little warning."
"The dream was ending."
To look at Castiel Dean would have never guessed he'd been at death's door. He'd even fixed his clothes. "That iron really did hurt," Dean said, rubbing his head.
"Now you see why I insisted it be a dream," he said, and Dean could swear he looked amused. "The pain would have been much worse otherwise." He tilted his head to the side. "Are you prepared?"
"As I'm gonna be."
Castiel nodded. "Then hold on. This will be much more difficult than previous journeys."
Dean closed his eyes and felt Castiel's hands tight on his arms. Then things happened very quickly: Dean heard the sound of Castiel's wings, the sound louder than normal, like he was straining; he felt a burning he realized was the presence of sulfur, then felt them smash hard into something solid. Castiel hissed in pain and Dean cracked his eyes open to see a wall of foul, red energy blocking the way; he focused on Sam, just getting to Sam as Castiel heaved in a breath and tried again. This time there was a crack in the wall, sparking with bright white light.
Dean closed his eyes again and focused on Sam like he'd never concentrated on anything in his life. He heard those powerful wings beat one more time.
Then everything went black.
On to Part 5
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