Fragile As We Lie
God is not in Toronto, Canada.
Nor was he in Downtown Core, Singapore, or in Lviv, Ukraine.
It's been weeks since Castiel has seen the Winchester brothers and he hasn't encountered any of his brothers or sister along his way either. It is as if he'd returned to his normal duty as a angel he'd possessed before the apocalypse, before Dean Winchester. He walks among men again, unnoticed, ignored, and observes.
But he does not find his Father.
He carries the necklace he had obtained from Dean, but it does not burn, as he'd expected it to after some searching.
He's on a busy street in Toronto, wandering around aimlessly, although he's certain that God is not present in this very city, when he first hears the soft chime of Dean's call reach his ears. In reality, the ears of Jimmy Novak hear nothing but the noise of the traffic and the noises of Toronto downtown, but his grace tingles from the feel of Dean's call. He cannot hear Dean's voice, or what he's saying exactly, but he does know the hunter to be calling for him.
He feels the pull on his grace, his primal instinct to go to Dean, to see what it is that he wants, but he does not go. Instead, Castiel walks forwards, still not ready to leave the city, to give up his search even though he has begun to think it useless. One cannot find God if he does not wish to be found.
An odd, human feeling has presented itself to him in the past few days, and he is not capable to tuck it away, to let go off it so he does not go to Dean. He feels frustrated. And the fact that Dean keeps calling for him, the soft chime of the grace soon turning into an obnoxious and repetitive throb in the back of his consciousness, makes it even worse. He has begun to feel, and this frustration when he does not find what he is s desperately looking for, makes it worse, stirs up all of the human emotions inside of him.
He has started to fall. It is obvious.
And Castiel does not want to see Dean in the state he's in, with all of these uncertainties and doubts. He does not wish to face Dean with these feelings inside of him.
He wishes to cleanse himself from them, to free himself the emotional burden completely and avoiding Dean seems to be the best way for Castiel to do so. Dean Winchester, after all, is the most emotional human being Castiel has ever come to face. Hence, the more time Castiel spends with the hunter, the more it will affect him.
But as hours go by, and the background noise that Dean's calls produce, begins to make him even more so irritated with humans and humanity. Dean probably wants Castiel to get him some pie, or another form of nourishment. His second guess would be burgers. So flying to Dean would simply be of no avail, for he would not be any closer to God, and Dean on the other hand, would be one step closer to a heart attack.
But Dean must already know, that Castiel will go to him in the end.
But the hunter keeps on calling him, at first it creates a steady, pleasant, vibrations through his grace, and suddenly increases to almost-shake-like chant's of what probably is his name when the hunter looses his temper for a moment. That was no abnormal occurrence. It fades out for a minute or two sometimes, but always returns, each time more pathetic than last time and now he can barely feel a light, hum run through his grace.
Finally, he obeys the call and flies.
He is not prepared to see what awaits for him as he lands.
Dean, in a puddle of blood, unmoving and pale. So horrifyingly still.
"Dean!" The angel rushes forwards and skips through the slippery substance that covers the tiles, nearly toppling down on the essence that keeps Dean alive as he goes. There's so much of it on the floor, and a dreadful thought if there's any left in Dean at all makes Castiel's chest tighten with fear.
He sinks down to his knees, instantly feeling his pants to be absolutely soaked, the red spreads like a disease on the fabric and Castiel leans over Dean, carefully pulling the human to his lap.
Before he can check whether the hunter's alive, Dean's eyes slide open accompanied by a pain filled whimper. It shots right through Castiel, and for a second he can't bring himself to do anything but stare down at Dean, so amazed and thankful he had not yet lost him.
Yet. There is not much time.
Castiel blinks down, and Dean blinks up to him, eyes focusing and unfocusing as the blood loss sets in, and he drifts, aimlessly in and out. Dean's weak, Castiel can feel it now, his soul withering, cold and half-way gone. From all of the human emotions Castiel has experienced so far, the guilt that washes over him is the worst.
"Dean" he whispers, and the sound that comes from his vessel's lips, sounds as broken as Dean is in his arms. All of him caked in blood, twisted and limbs bent awkwardly, especially his right arm, but Castiel can't bring himself to straighten it out, instead he holds onto the hunter tight, hands closing over open wounds, trying to stop the blood from flowing. It is a foolish thing to do, but it's the first that comes into his mind.
Dean opens his mouth, and there's blood covering his teeth and tongue, Castiel cannot help but to notice. He struggles to produce anything besides a sound of pain and blinks repeatedly, as if not sure if Castiel is really there.
But he is, he is there now.
The angel tightens his grip on Dean, careful not to bring him any more pain than he already is in. Castiel wastes no more time, and ushers his grace over Dean, covering him, wrapping it tight around the hunter and starts to heal.
Instantly, Dean gives out a soft sight, as the pain starts to ebb away. It's s slow process, and Dean is not yet completely without pain, and Castiel is sorry he cannot completely liberate him from the aches and the pains he surely feels. He cannot fix him up in the blink of an eye anymore, but he can make him better, it just takes time.
"Cas?" The wheeze Dean speaks in sounds painful, and no doubt it must be.
Trying to ensure the man of his presence, he moves his hand which is more or less covered in crimson that is Dean, to the hunters hair and gives it a gentle stroke. "Yes Dean." I'm here, it's unspoken, but clear as day. He has not once touched Dean's hair before and the softness of it takes him by a surprise. The hunter lies there, broken, breathless and so precious. Castiel is overcome by a undeniable urge to press his lips to Dean's forehead and to fondly rock him in is arms 'till the hunter is whole again.
Castiel proceeds to warm Dean up with his grace and catches a glimpse of woolen socks, the steady rumble of the impala's engine and Sam's smile run through Dean consciousness. He's aware of the hunters thoughts, but just barely and he does not mean to pry. But Dean is oddly fine with his presence, the fact that his grace is filling him up and Castiel knows he's aware on some level that he's not alone in his head nor in flesh. It is Castiel and Castiel alone who's filling up the empty spaces, compensating for the damaged ends and breathing pure life into Dean. If anything, Dean's soul arches toward the light Castiel offers it, the peace he brings.
It is sad, how much Dean secretly longs for it.
And it is frightening, how much Castiel is willing to do for him. Now that he is not fully an angel anymore and is not capable to heal like he once had been, he still does not hesitate to drench Dean with his grace, to offer pieces of his being to save the human in his arms.
It is the first time he's truly held someone. But the embrace he offers Dean is nothing more than a bloody mess where he keeps Dean from falling further apart and there's nothing sweet about it, just pain, suffering and sky-splitting urgency.
As Dean's breath eases and grows more painless, Castiel wipes the droplets of blood off his cheek with the edge of his coat sleeve. He casually straightens the collar of Dean's jacket, smooths out the wrinkles on it with firm strokes and fondles with the buttons about to come off and gives.
It is not completely a pleasant feeling, loosing parts of your grace, but it is a thing he's willing to do and he's the only one who'll do it. To touch Dean's soul so incredibly close, to gather it up, to huddle it gently and let it absorb everything it's willing to take from him is overpowering. It feels better than it probably should.
Dean's soul is weak and almost managed to slip away from Castiel as he first reached for it. But he manages to hold it in place long enough to fix up the shell it resides in and eases it into Dean's still quite broken body when he's sure the hunter can take it. It had been a close call, he'd come so close to loosing Dean. And Castiel aches in regret, and almost wishes for Dean to curse him, to yell at him. He's sure it will come later, in good time but now Dean's too fragile to fight him, he's too weak to do anything but breathe. And even that proves difficult for him.
All the while Dean has been staring at him, more or less conscious from time to time, but he's coming around.
The gash on his lower abdomen is almost closed now and Castiel will be sure not to leave a scar on where something slashed Dean open and he can feel the broken joints of Dean's fingers come together as well. The clothes the hunter wears are ruined, absorbed in dark reds and browns and pain.
And Castiel is to blame for it. New clothes can be obtained, but Dean on the other hand is not replaceable.
"Why didn't you call Sam, Dean?" It's a good question and the second fix to whatever problem Dean usually has.
Dean clears his throat up a bit, the best he can but in the end does need Castiel's help to sit up for a bit, so he can speak with more ease. He winches when Castiel reaches finally to straighten up the arm which is bent so wrong and which he'd laid on probably hours and hours. It is not broken, but dislocated.
Dean's voice is rough and spent and no wonder, he's been calling Castiel for hours straight. "Battery died. Couldn't." The hunter closes his eyes for a moment, still conscious but struggling to keep it so. The angel can feel Dean relaxing, warming up under his touch and grace.
Castiel huddles him closer, draws in the pitiful blood soaked human form that is Dean Winchester and holds on. He whispers prayers into Dean's ear, hums a comforting gospel and all the while quite sure that it does not matter what he says or doesn't say. But he still does not dare to rock Dean like a human mother would do to a baby, even though Dean is as helpless and vulnerable as a newborn in his arms. This, Castiel knows, would not be forgiven.
The hunter's eyelids drop again and this time they stay closed, but Castiel is not worried. He can feel Dean's soul stirring and burning again, the nerves under his skin strike up lighting as the pulse returns to normal, and his body starts to recover. There's still more blood on him than Castiel would ever like to see on Dean, but he had managed to stop whatever bleeding that could prove to be fatal to the frail human body the soul of the righteous man recited in. He is safe, for now.
His hunter would bleed a little while longer, but Castiel would be there to see him through it.