A/N: So, this was supposed to be smut... You might recognise the beginning of this from Soul Survivor.
Dean flipped through his meagre stash of photos, reminding himself of what the Mark had almost stolen from him. He wasn't avoiding Sam or Cas. Just decompressing. At least, that was what he was telling himself.
There was a knock at the door.
"Yeah?" He stashed the photos under his pillow as Cas opened the door and stepped in.
"You look terrible," he said in lieu of a greeting. Normally, Dean would be glad that Cas was being himself, but right now it just reminded him of what had happened over the last few weeks.
"You know," he growled, "it wouldn't kill you to lie every now and then."
'"No, it wouldn't kill me. I just… You…" Cas was floundering and Dean felt bad. Even though he could consider this part of Cas' ongoing education about humanity.
"Forget it. Well, you on the other hand, you're" Dean stood up and took a couple of steps towards Cas. "You're looking good. Last time I saw you, you were dying and now you're okay. What's with that?"
Cas was still looking particularly uncomfortable. "It is… a long story."
Dean shrugged and sat back down, patting the bed to encourage Cas to do the same. "I got time. Come on – I need to stop thinking about all the things I did while I was a demon."
Cas sighed. "Very well, but I am not altogether certain you will believe me. I am not sure I believe it myself."
"Always a good start," Dean said with a reassuring smile.
"I suppose I should start with explaining what Hannah and I have been doing for the last few days…"
Dean listened as Cas told him about his life over the last six weeks, helping Sam at first, then how they had separated. The apartment Cas had rented. About the mission Hannah had come to him with; tracking down and apprehending Daniel and Adina. Dean bit his tongue to stop himself asking the obvious, blunt question (Why?). The phone call from Sam, asking for help. The cross-country dash, and their apprehension by Adina just five miles down the road. Then the confusing part, that Cas told in as much detail as he could, even though it was obvious that his memories were not as clear as he would like.
"Crowley?" Dean asked when Cas paused, trying to control his confusion, incredulity and not a small amount of anger, because he didn't want Cas to think he was pissed at him. Because he wasn't. "You were so weak you couldn't fight off Crowley?"
Cas looked ashamed. "I have been all-but human for some time now," he admitted. "My vessel is rejecting the parts of me that are foreign to it. What was left of the grace was useless, and I was sick and injured."
"What the hell, Cas?" Dean got up, stalked to the open door and bellowed "Sammy!" down the corridor.
"What? Dean, is everything okay?" Sam's head poked out of his room, looking baffled.
"Get your ass in here!" Dean barked before retreating back into the room, standing against one wall so that he could watch both Cas and Sam.
"What's going on?" Sam asked, filling the doorframe. "Cas, is everything okay?"
"Did you know how bad Cas was?" Dean demanded. "Did you know how much he's been sleeping? That he's actually been sick?"
Sam's open, honest eyes studied him for a moment. "I knew Cas had a bit of a cough last time I spoke to him," he admitted. "But…"
"Why the hell weren't you taking care of him?" Dean interrupted. "Why was he alone, halfway across the country, when he was dying? When he was too weak to hold his own in a fight?"
"What?" Sam looked baffled. "I… Cas? You said you were okay."
"Well, of course he did," Dean yelled. "You know what Cas is like: he's a damn martyr. You should have been looking out for him. And you…" He turned to Cas. "You should have learned by now that it's okay to ask for help. You need to ask for help, Cas, before you end up in bed with Crowley again."
Cas stood, his eyes blazing and fists clenched. "I am not a child, Dean," he insisted, his voice shaking. "I was taking care of myself, allowing Sam to pursue you rather than being burdened with my failing health. There was nothing Sam could do to help me, and you are more important."
"More…" Dean was floored, so shocked he couldn't be angry with Cas. Because of course Cas would see it that way: he had no appreciation of his self-worth, and always put Dean's wellbeing ahead of his own. "Dammit, Cas! I'm not more important than you, or anybody else."
"Of course you are!" Cas shouted back. "No matter what idiotic thing you have done to yourself, you are still the Righteous Man; you are still this world's best hope at survival beyond the apocalypse."
"Bullshit," Dean responded, feeling his hackles rise again at Cas' tone. "Why can't you see how important you are? Sam, why the hell did you let him go off on his own?"
Cas seized the front of his shirt. "I am not a child, Dean. Sam is not and never has been my keeper. He has no obligation to care for me."
"The hell with obligation, Cas." Dean swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. He wasn't afraid of Cas, even though he knew first-hand what a pissed angel could do to him. This was a resurgence of something that had been nagging at him for a long time: Dean was afraid for Cas, afraid that if he couldn't persuade Cas to look after himself, then one day he would cease to exist.
"I need you to take care of yourself," he admitted hoarsely. "I…"
He couldn't finish, because suddenly Cas' lips were pressed firmly against his. Pinned to the wall, he could do nothing but yield under the unforgiving pressure. There was no elegance, no refinement, no technique – it was all demanding heat and tongue and teeth scraping, full of desperation, want, need, that Dean couldn't help but respond to in kind, his hands coming up to cradle Cas' head, to tug at his hair. Distantly he heard the door slam and realised that Sam had escaped his wrath. But as Cas bit just hard enough on his lower lip, Dean found that he didn't care much.
When he started to struggle for air, he tugged particularly hard on Cas' hair, then pulled one of his hands between them and gave a solid shove against Cas' chest. He dropped his forehead to touch Cas' as he stood, panting and trying to order his thoughts. He got distracted from this when Cas' hand unclenched from his shirt and settled at his waist; long, elegant fingers probing at the waistband of his jeans, working his undershirt free.
"Cas, I…"
"Shh. Let me take care of you. Let me rejoice in your being whole again." Cas sounded utterly desperate, and almost angelic. You know, if not for the fact that he was not-so-stealthily trying to get his hands on naked flesh.
Cas wanted him. This wasn't Cas as he had been five years ago when they had gone to the whore-house, or even Cas at the time of the fall. This was post-virginity Cas, who had some passing familiarity with sex and, Dean was fairly certain, knew what he was doing. What he was silently asking. Cas wanted him. Cas, who had been so sick he couldn't even raise his head earlier, and had been suffering in silence because he didn't want to distract Sam. Because he wanted Dean to have a chance at life.
It was too much. Dean didn't deserve this after all the horrible things he had done in his life. After all the things he had done in Hell while he was still human, kick-starting the apocalypse. After not being there when Cas needed him. After allowing Sammy to believe that Dean was disappointed in him.
He definitely didn't deserve the softening of Cas' embrace, the firm security of Cas' vessel wrapping around him and the familiar tingle of grace dancing over his skin, trying to soothe his hurt away.
"Cas," he croaked. "Don't. You need to save it."
There was a gentle huff of laughter against his neck, and a soft brush of lips near his ear. "What use is it if I cannot help the man I love?" Cas whispered.
"And what use is it," Dean said quickly, before he could change his mind, "if it… if it can't keep…" He swallowed, trying to force the hot, tight knot of tears back down his throat. "…if it can't keep the angel I love alive?"
Okay, it was out there. Dean wasn't sure he had ever even been that blunt, that honest about his feeling with Lisa. But Cas? Cas not only deserved honesty, but needed it too. Lisa had always known that Dean cared for her; Cas wasn't so good with the non-verbal cues. He needed to be told. And Dean needed Cas to understand just how much he was wanted, how much he had to take care of himself, for Dean's sake. How broken Dean would be if Cas died.
The tingling across his skin faded suddenly, leaving him grateful but swamped by doubt once more, and questioning his sanity – had he really just said that to Cas?
"I apologise, Dean," Cas murmured into his ear. "I did not see it that way. I… I will conserve what I have for as long as possible."
Cas was in his arms. Cas was in his arms and murmuring reassurances in his ear. Blunt as hell Cas-reassurances, but reassurances nonetheless. He could have this, so easily. Cas wanted him. Cas loved him. And, in the end, who was Dean to deny a dying man the comfort that came from being with the person he loved? And maybe, just maybe, work with him to stop the stupid idiot from dying in the first place.