Dean was curled into a corner when Castiel responded to his call. There was a salt ring around him a mixture of weapons by his side, including guns, a container of holy water, an iron rod and an Angel blade. In his hand was the demon knife, clutched tightly in his white knuckled fist.
The room was the same old motel as the rest of them, but was lacking one of the beds. There was no need to get a second since Sam had decided to take a break from hunting after what had happened with Ruby and the last Seal. The lights were off but the street lights from outside shone through the window, despite the curtains being closed, so the room was lit enough for Castiel to see the hunter.
Dean was trembling and muttering under his breath. His hair was a mess and there was dried blood gluing thick clumps together. There was blood on his face and on his shirt. Castiel could see a deep gash on Dean's forearm and, while he was no expert on human injuries, it looked infected. Dean was sweating, with his shirt sticking to him and his face flushed and damp. There were deep dark bruises under his eyes and he coughed roughly.
It was his eyes that startled Castiel the most though. They seemed so afraid. More afraid than Castiel had ever seen them, and they seemed dull, like all the life had been sucked from them.
"Dean?" The Angel asked. The hunter jumped, noticing Castiel for the first time.
"Cas?" Dean asked as if not quite believing he was standing there. Castiel went to move towards him but stopped as Dean dropped the demon knife and picked up the Angel blade.
"Stay back!" He shouted, holding the blade in both hands, which were shaking violently.
"What are you doing?" Castiel asked, confused. He could see that Dean was clearly afraid of him.
"It's too late, Cas, I can't do it," Dean told him, staring up at the Angel.
"Do what?" Castiel asked, kneeling down so he wasn't looking down on the frightened human. When Dean didn't reply, Castiel asked,
"Do you want to hurt me?"
Dean's eyes seemed to bore into Castiel, trying to work out the answer.
Finally he shook his head and dropped the blade. It fell to the floor and a ring echoed around the room. He clutched his hair tightly with his hands as he looked down at his feet, his shoulders shaking.
"It's happened, Cas, I knew it would," he said, his voice breaking.
"What happened?" Castiel asked, his voice soft and patient.
Dean looked up, his eyes wide.
"This!" He said, "Can't you see?"
Castiel frowned, not seeing anything.
"See what?"
"My eyes!" Dean yelled, furious and scared. Castiel came closer, looking into Dean's eyes.
They were wide and dull. The green seemed washed out and they looked exhausted and red around the edges, but they didn't seem so unusual to cause such a reaction from the normally levelled-headed hunter.
"What is wrong with your eyes, Dean?" Castiel asked. Dean grabbed hold of his tie and pulled him closer, nearly tripping the Angel over.
"Are you blind, Cas?" Dean snarled, "They're black!"
"What?" Castiel frowned, but Dean continued,
"I'm a demon! All that time in hell has changed me into a black eyes bastard!" Dean let go of Castiel, hiding his face in his hands.
Confused and in need of answers, Castiel leant forward and touched Dean's unusually warm forehead with his fingers. Instantly he was rushed into Dean's memories.
He had arrived at the motel yesterday at around noon. Throwing his duffle bag down on the bed, Dean had started to cough roughly and sneezed.
"Damn it!" Dean cursed, rubbing his sore throat. He drunk some water and tried to forget his throbbing head but by that evening it was too bad. He was seeing double and he hadn't even been able to finish his burger. Groaning, he got up and walked down the road to the pharmacy to get some medicine.
"It sounds like you have swine flu," the chemist had told Dean, "I can give you some medicine, but if it gets worst I would suggest seeing a doctor."
"Just give me the strongest stuff you have," Dean told him, leaning heavily against the counter. The chemist gave him some tablets and cough syrup and Dean handed over the money before leaving.
Once outside he opened up the cough syrup and downed about a third of it. Wincing, he started off back towards the motel, taking a shortcut through an alley on the way.
That was when he was cornered by a young woman and a scruffy man who both had flickering black eyes.
"Fuck off," Dean growled, "I'm not in the mood for your lot's bullshit tonight."
"Aww, ickly Deany is sick," the woman laughed, "Great to know that not even the great Dean Winchester is immune to our Father's illness."
"Spreading the flu across the world, what an ingenious plan," Dean said, slumping down the wall slightly, "It hasn't killed anymore people then the common flu."
"It's just the start," the man told him, "Shame you're not going to live to see it."
"You really think you can take me down?" Dean laughed.
"Maybe not on a normal day," the woman said, her eyes black and amused, "But today you're not your normal self, are you Dean?"
And with that she pulled out a long, twisted knife, slashing it towards Dean. Dean ducked but it didn't miss though. It hit his arm and he hissed in pain. He ignored it, drawing out his own demon blade.
Within a minute both demons were on the floor dead, Dean panting over their bodies. He coughed again and groaned at his increasingly sore muscles. He picked his fallen medicine and walked away from the scene, too tired to care about burning the bodies.
As soon as he got back to the hotel room, he dry swallowed some tablets and collapsed into bed, forgetting his cut which was still bleeding, and going to sleep.
"Dean..."Dean," the slow, nasally voice of Alastair filled the motel room and Dean's head. The hunter jumped awake and reached for his knife, looking around the empty room.
Breathing heavily, Dean went over to the closed bathroom door and, with his knife still raised, kicked the door opened. After briefly looking around, it was clear he was alone so he lowered his knife, sighing and rubbing his sore head, going back into the bedroom.
He started to cough roughly and it took him quite a few minutes to remain his breath.
"Fucking Lucifer," he groaned, before downing the rest of the cough syrup with some of the tablets. He felt lightheaded, and by the looks of the dark blue sky outside he had slept most of the day.
Swaying slightly, Dean went back into the bathroom. Leaning against the sink he looked into the mirror, where the reflection looking back was pale and sickly looking. He faintly wished for chicken noodle soup and a good old Clink Eastwood movie. He started running the tap and leant down to splash some water into his face.
He jumped violently as he looked back into the mirror. Staring back was the same face but the eyes were jet black. He blinked a few times, thinking it was just a trick of the light, but his eyes didn't change. They remained black.
"You didn't think you could spend that much time in hell and not change, did you?" A voice from behind Dean asked, slow and cruel. Dean spun around and there stood Alastair.
"And after what you did?" Alastair smiled, "Oh Dean, people change for less."
"You're dead!" Dean said, shaking and backing up so the sink dug into his back.
"So?" Alastair grinned, "Doesn't mean I'm not here."
Dean dug into his pocket and brought out the demon knife. Alastair just laughed though and disappeared. Dean spun around, trying to see where the demon had gone. He was nowhere in sight. Dean caught himself in the mirror and nearly yelled. His eyes were still black.
"No," Dean growled, leaning over the sink to look closer. No white was visible, and no green. His eyes were entirely black.
"No!" Dean said again, horror in his voice. He started stretching at his eyes, as if that was going to get rid of the darkness.
"No, no, no!" Dean yelled, his nails digging into his skin.
He turned away from the mirror, reaching into his pocket and pulling his phone out with shaky hands. He dialled a number and pressed it to his ear.
"Damnit Cas, answer your phone!" Dean yelled, running his hands through his hair, "It's happened, fuck...I knew this was going to happen, I need you here, I can't stop it! I am in Aberdeen, Ohio, in a motel called Milky way...I...I think...damnit!" He turned back to the mirror, the black eyes staring back, "You need to kill me Cas."
He hung up the phone, still looking at his reflection. It smiled back, its teeth red.
"Fuck off!" Dean yelled, not smiling. He threw his phone at the mirror, breaking both the glass and the phone. The smashed mirror just created a hundred more smiling black eyed Deans though.
Dean shook his head and rushed out of the bathroom. He tripped on his way out and fell to the floor, hitting his head on the edge of the bed frame.
"Damnit," Dean hissed, holding his head. It was wet.
"Well, so much for the righteous man," someone sighed above him. Dean opened his eyes to found Zachariah standing over him.
"What do you want?" Dean spat, trying to regain some of his composure even through his panic and pain.
"You have caused me so many problems," Zachariah growled, "And now you're completely useless!"
He kicked Dean in the stomach and the hunter doubled over in pain. He glared up at the Angel as he clutched his stomach.
"You should have said yes when you could, you could have cleaned up the mess you started, but do you think Michael is going to want a demon as his vessel now?" Zachariah asked him, "You have doomed the whole planet."
He aimed another kick at Dean, hitting his hip.
"You're a worthless piece of scam."
He then vanished.
Dean groaned, closing his eyes, his head spinning. Before Zachariah's words could settle though, another voice filled his head.
"Do you wanna play Dean?"
Dean's eyes flew open at the sound of the sweet voice. Standing in front of him was a small girl in a white and yellow dress, holding a teddy in her hand. Her eyes were pure white.
"Lilith," Dean breathed, fear claiming him. He held his knife out, aiming at her.
"Come play with me, Dean," she smiled, looking innocent if it wasn't for her cruel eyes.
"What do you want?" He asked, trembling. Lilith took a step towards him.
"I just want to play with my new bother," she smiled.
"And I always thought it would be Sam to be the first to join dark side," another voice said. Dean turned to it to see Azazel grinning at him, his yellow eyes gleaming.
"That is what I raised him for, after all."
Dean slowly got to his feet, still holding his knife out in defence.
"What do you all I want! I killed both of you!" Dean yelled.
"Dean," came the cruel slow voice again and Alastair was standing by the bathroom door, "You know you can't get rid of us that easily, you should know that from the pit."
He took slow steps towards Dean as he spoke.
"We. Just. Keep. Coming. Back!"
Dean snapped then, throwing himself at the demons. He waved his knife around in anger, fear and confusion, but the demons kept disappearing and reappearing.
The next few hours stayed the same. Dean locked himself into his salt ring and the demons kept taunting him. Zachariah came back a few times, just to assure Dean that he was useless and the world was ending because of him. Ghosts came and went. His Mother asking why he hadn't saved her from the yelled eyed demon. His Father saying that he wasn't strong enough and was weak and a terrible son. Jessica blaming him for taking Sam away and causing her death. Hell hounds stalked the outside, ripping at the door.
Castiel withdraw his hand then and found an openly weeping Dean, crawling closer to the wall as if it would help him disappear.
"They're coming, Cas, they're going to take me back to hell."
"No one is here, Dean, it's all in your head," Castiel tried to tell him but Dean just shook his head.
"I'm too weak...too weak," Dean said and then covered his ears with his hands, his whole body shaking.
"Make it stop Cas, please," he begged. Castiel just nodded, touching his fingers to the hunter's forehead. Instantly the cut disappeared and his head was free of blood. His skin returned to a normal colour and his temperature went down slightly. He slumped forward, unconscious.
Dean woke the next morning to blue eyes looking down at him. He looked at the Angel through tired eyes, not quite registering that he was awake until Castiel spoke.
"Morning Dean," he said in a calm voice, and with that voice everything came rushing back.
Swine flu. Demons. Zachariah. His Mother's bloodied night dress. Eyes. Black eyes.
Dean jumped up and out of bed, ignoring his still spinning head. He rushed to the bathroom and looked into the mirror, which was somehow fixed.
Castiel followed him and watched as the pale human leant into the mirror, so his nose was nearly touching the surface. He studied his reflection intensely.
"You're not a demon, Dean," Castiel reassured him. Dean closed his eyes at the news, breathing deeply. He clutched the edge of the sink, swaying slightly.
"What the hell happened last night?" He asked.
"You were having hallucinations," Castiel told him, "I believe it was a mixture of having a fever, the infected cut, overdosing on medication and then hitting your head."
Dean looked at him and a weak grin formed on his lips.
"Hallucinations and I didn't have a sip of alcohol in me?" He said, "No one is going to believe it."
He then starred coughing, his whole body heaving form the strain of it.
"I couldn't completely heal you," Castiel said, stepping forward to help steady him, "The wounds are gone but without my full powers I was unable to cure your illness."
Sean suddenly sneezed and rocked on his feet as it made his head spin.
"Thanks for getting rid of the other stuff," he mumbled. He grabbed a huge wob of tissue before making his way back to the bed, with Castiel following him like he wasn't sure what to do. He watched as Dean curled underneath the covers and wrapped them around him, shivering. He was sitting up against the bed board and he looked at Castiel through tried eyes.
"What took you so long to get here last night?" Dean asked. There was no accusation in his tone, just curiosity.
"I had trouble with the phone," Castiel told him, "I missed your call because I was, how do you put it, out of range?"
Dean nodded.
"But I left you a message," he said.
"The phone wouldn't let me access the message," Castiel told him, slight annoyance in his voice. He had asked many people for help in a street in a town in Tennessee, but they all ignored him or gave him strange looks.
"What did you do then?" Dean asked.
"I went to the house of my Father."
"You mean a church?" Dean asked. Castiel looked at him for a moment before nodding.
"Yes, but the Priest didn't know either," he told the hunter, "Luckily there was a young choir boy there and he showed me, your message was quite concerning so I came straight here."
"Did you disappear right in front of them?" Dean asked.
"Of course," Castiel answered.
"And did you tell them that you were an Angel of the Lord?" Dean asked, his eyebrows raised.
"Yes, I told them that their assistance was of great importance," Castiel said. Dean looked at him for a moment before bursting out laughing.
"What is so amusing?" Castiel asked, clearly confused. Dean just leant against the bed board, his eyes watering from his tired laughter.
"They have probably been waiting their whole life for some kind of contact with God or an Angel and you turn up asking for help with your phone," Dean told him, wiping his eyes and smiling at the Angel.
Castiel looked back, still slightly confused but happy that the hunter was smiling and laughing. It was very different from the dull eyed, terrified broken man that he had found last night.
From the laughter came coughing again and Dean shivered and sneezed once the coughing had eased. He pulled the cover tighter around his shoulders, looking very sorry for himself. He was still smiling though at something Castiel didn't quite understand.
"I got you some soup," Castiel told him, receiving the cartoon of soup he brought from the nearby diner. It was still warm.
"Chicken noodle," Dean grinned, looking into the plastic container, "My favourite."
"I also got you some movies," Castiel said, reaching into his trench coat and bringing out two DVDs and handing them to Dean.
"Dirty Harry and The Good, The Bad and The Ugly!" Dean smiled, looking slightly excited, "How did you know to get these movies?"
"I asked the man in the movie shop about Clint Eastwood and he gave me these two," Castiel told him, "I saw desire for these items in your mind so I got them in hope that they would make you feel better."
"You were in my head?" Dean asked, but he did look touched by the Angel's kindness.
"I had to know what happened last night so I accessed your memories," Castiel told him, calmly. He then gave one more item to Dean, whose eyes widen in happiness when he saw it.
"Apple pie!" He smiled.
"I know you have a fondness for this particular food so I got you some," Castiel said. He felt lighter somewhat at Dean's simple happiness, as if his grace had lit up to match the pleasure.
"Soup, Clint Eastwood and pie," Dean smiled, looking content, "Will you marry me?"
Castiel looked at him confused.
"But Dean, I am a-," he started.
"A guy, I know," Dean sighed, rolling his eyes, "It was a joke, Cas."
"I was going to say an Angel, actually," Castiel frowned. For some reason that he couldn't explain he felt a small weight added to his grace. If he had to compare it to a human emotion, he would call it sadness. He shook it off though as Dean handed him a DVD.
"Put this in, will yeh?" he asked. Castiel just nodded, taking the DVD and walking over to the TV in the motel room which had a DVD player attached to it. It took several minutes of confusion and Dean laughing as he explained how to work the DVD player, but finally the Western film started to play.
"Come sit with me," Dean said, opening up the container of soup. He patted the space next to him. Castiel looked at him with his blue, confused eyes.
"You normally object to me being in your personal space," he told the hunter. Dean rolled his eyes and huffed out a breath.
"Well, I'm ill and when I'm ill I get cold and I like body heat, I normally ask Sam to sit next to me but he isn't here so you will have to do," he told Castiel. The Angel nodded and walked to the side of the bed and made to sit down.
"No," Dean sighed.
"What?" Castiel asked, pausing his movements.
"Just looking at you makes me uncomfortable," Dean told him, "Take off your coat and shoes before you sit down."
Castiel couldn't see the importance of taking off his clothes but he did as Dean asked. He even took off his black jacket and tie, and untucked his shirt. He then sat down next to Dean who was quietly eating his soup. His good mood seemed to have disappeared as he looked at the scene but didn't really focus on it. Castiel could feel the depression filling the man up again. He could feel Dean's soul dull with the sadness that seemed to be consuming him and the Angel couldn't take it any longer.
"It won't happen," he said, matter-of-factly. Dean was silent for a moment, his eyes still on the TV. He sighed though and closed his eyes briefly.
"How do you know?" He asked, "It wouldn't surprise me if it did happen, after what I did in the pit."
"Dean, you are a righteous man," Castiel told him.
"How can you say that after all I did in hell, after all the souls I tortured?" Dean asked, "After how weak I am?"
"You lasted 30 years, Dean, the longest anyone has ever lasted," Castiel tried to reassure him.
"I was still too weak," Dean sighed, his whole body seemed to deflate.
Castiel was lost to what to say because he knew everything he would say would just be rejected by Dean. Instead he had another idea.
Dean felt something soft against his cheek and warmth seemed to surround him. He looked to his shoulder but there was nothing there. He could feel it though. Something soft and slick touching his skin. He looked to Castiel who seemed to have a faint pink taint across his cheeks.
"Is that your wing?" Dean asked. Castiel nodded.
"You can't see them because the sight of them would burn your eyes out but you can feel them," Castiel told him, "You seem to be in a dark place and I thought that being close to such a wonderful creation of my Father's may cheer you up."
"Big headed much?" Dean chuckled but he seemed to be in awe of the feeling of the wing against him. He raised a hand but stopped and looked at Castiel.
"Can I?" He asked, almost shyly. Castiel nodded and Dean reached up and stroked the invisible feathers. Castiel let out a surprised sign and shivered slightly at the feel.
"No one has ever touched my wings before," he explained at Dean's concerned expression, "Only beings we completely trust and love are allowed to touch our wings."
"Love?" Dean asked, confused. He looked at Castiel but his hand still stroked the long, dark feathers, sending waves of pleasure down Castiel's spine. He ignored them pretty well though as he looked into Dean's green eyes.
"I raised you from hell and rebuilt you, Dean," Castiel told him, "I feel very protective over you and I like being in your company, isn't that what your humans call love?"
"I guess so," Dean said.
"Only men with good hearts and beautiful souls may touch our wings," Castiel said, "If you were truly evil and destined to be a demon, you would be unable to feel my wings."
"Really?" Dean asked. Castiel nodded, drawing his wings closer around Dean's body and caressing his cheek briefly with the tip of his wing. Dean's breath hitched and he smiled, leaning closer to Castiel's body. His head rested against Castiel's shoulder and his hand ended up on Castiel's thigh as Dean made himself comfortable. His other hand was still stroking, making patterns in the feathers.
"Thank you Cas," Dean whispered after a while. His voice was laced with sleep.
"For what?" Castiel asked. He felt quite content sitting like this with the human. It felt right somehow.
"For making me feel better," Dean yawned and he seemed to snuggle up to the Angel. Castiel smiled, knowing no more words were needed. He let Dean fall asleep against him, wrapped in his wings, safe in the knowledge that his Angel was looking after him.
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