Every Time You Go
The clinking of beer bottles meant victory, a job well done, it was a pat on the back for surviving another night. The chime of laughter echoed off the walls of the bunker, good cheer shared by friends battered and bruised and alive. Sam was deep into recounting the harrowing hunt like none of them had been there at his side, but it was okay, they threw in bits and pieces here and there, adding their voices to the mix.
Except for Dean.
He sat a short distance away in the back of the room and if any of them noticed his lack of participation they kept it to themselves. Everything felt… wrong, from the stiffness of the wall at his back to the glass of the bottle neck his fingers curled around.
Dean's gaze stole over Sam with his shaggy hair and a deep purple shadowing his left eye, the result of a well-placed blow from an opponent. Across from Sam was Ketch, of all people, his British accent always grating to Dean, perhaps because it reminded him of Crowley and that brought with it a bubbling pot of mixed emotions he refused to deal with. And of course, there was Cas, spots of blood on his trench coat.
Warriors, each and every one of them.
Dean became oddly fixated on those red splatters, the edges of his vision blurring, until they were all he saw. They seemed to grow more vivid, almost neon.
He closed his eyes, seeing them on the insides of his eyelids. Dean bit his bottom lip, acutely aware of each beat his heart took. Their words became foggy, almost like they were drifting away from each other, or he was sinking, swallowed up by water.
Fear startled Dean, his grip tightening on the bottle.
Sam clinked his bottle against Ketch's, the sound oddly loud, ringing out over the room. And Cas, his eyes were on Dean, the expression on his face one that sent a chill through Dean. Meeting the angel's gaze he saw the fear he felt, a shiver passing over him, warmth seeping from his body.
Pain blossomed in his side, a soreness akin to a pulled muscle, but with each exhale it grew worse. Sharper. More insistent. Dean tore his gaze from Cas, glancing down at his side and noting a patch of red on his shirt.
Blood.
And it was spreading.
He looked to Cas hoping for an explanation, terrified to find the angel's face marred by sorrow, his eyes glistening with tears. Sam and Ketch continued to laugh and talk, oblivious to anything and everyone else around them. Fire burned in Dean's side, a sensation familiar to him after countless years hunting every manner of monster in the darkness of night. In a way, he too had become a monster.
By now the stain had grown twice the size of his hand and it's warmth was more real than the chill of the glass against his fingers.
"Dean," someone whispered his name.
His gaze shifted to Cas yet again. He could see the angel's lips moving, but aside from that one utterance he failed to hear anything else, the rest of Cas's words getting lost somewhere in the space between them. Sharp radiating jabs sliced up his side, prompting Dean to gasp, the beer bottle slipping from his grip. When it met with the floor it shattered, the amber liquid inside seeping out. Neither Ketch nor Sam seemed to register the sound, too caught up in each other to notice the world around them.
And even as that annoyance registered with Dean, he realized the world was growing dimmer, darker along the edges of his vision. The trio at the table, they wavered, almost as though he was drunk despite his lack of finishing even one alcoholic beverage. Cas reached across the table toward him, the anguish on his face wrapping around Dean's heart, resonating with each beat.
"Dean!"
Fingers trembling, Dean reached for the hem of his shirt, the sensation of blood oozing down his side unpleasant in the way it was ticklish. He peeled back the fabric to reveal the hideous wound, ugly in the way it broke through flesh and muscle, jagged around the edges. Impaled, he'd been impaled by something or someone. Did he need to be worried about toxins in the wound, something that would kill him as it coursed through his body undetected until it was too late?
How did the others not notice? How did I...
His stomach roiled, what felt like bile rising up his throat, but when it hit his tongue, he tasted copper, blood bubbling past his lips. By now panic had settled heavily on his shoulders, his heart beating frantically, desperately in his chest, pushing more of the vital substance from his body. Dizziness swept over Dean, causing him to sway where he sat, and all he wanted was for one person to notice, for Sam to glance in his direction.
Desperately he tried to speak his brother's name.
Even to call out to Ketch.
But all that came out was a sob.
Tears wet his cheeks.
"Dean!" Cas was reaching out to him, arm outstretched over the table. Why wasn't his reaction enough to stir Sam and Ketch, to grab their attention?
The room dipped and twirled.
Dean felt himself teeter, imagining he was about to crash to the ground like the bottle; would he also shatter upon impact? His vision grew darker and he wondered if this time would be it, his final dance with Death. And just where is she? Now seemed like the right time for her to pop in to tell him it was over, that there would be no resurrection for him this time, his dance card was full. He was done. Kaput.
Darkness washed over him...
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"Dean, wake up," came Cas's familiar gruff voice, this time edged with panic. "Please."
Pain sang from nearly every nerve in his body as Dean slowly swam back to the surface of consciousness. He gasped for breath, finding it was hard to draw oxygen deep into his lungs, opting for short struggling gasps. Something rattled in his chest, the tanginess of blood lingering in his mouth. Reality crept over him, the image of the cheery time in the bunker fading into oblivion, a gift, albeit cruel, from his frantic mind. Trees stretched overhead and beyond their shadowed leaves he could see twinkling stars. The moon isn't out tonight, that's why we were hunting it.
The next thing he became aware of was a figure at his side and for a split second he worried it was the monster waiting to finish him off. Dean tried to move, to throw himself away from the creature and its unnaturally long claws, but his body betrayed him and there he remained, prone in a bed of dirt and pine needles. Heat burned in his side, bringing forth the memory of the wound.
The figure reached out.
Dean flinched.
And a hand brushed against his cheek. "You're awake." Cas leaned forward, his eyes searching Dean's.
He didn't care for the sorrow he saw etched on the angel's face. He'd been down and out before, been to Hell and back, faced The End more times than he cared to count, but something about that look...
"Cas..." he managed to whisper.
There came the crunching of leaves and twigs under the weighted footfall of something approaching. Another shot of panic, this one laced with adrenaline, spiked his heart rate. What if the evil responsible for his current state was returning to hasten his departure? Dean grasped at Cas's jacket, the tan duster he'd always worn.
"Castiel, Dean," came the British accented voice of Ketch, one who Dean remained on the fence about; ally or foe? "Shit." Ketch came into view looking battle worn, tired, a smear of something indistinguishable in the dark across his left cheek, could have been blood, could have been mud. "How bad is he?"
"Go find Sam," was all Cad said, his gaze in Dean never wavering.
"Cas…"
"Go!" Castiel barked.
Ketch needed no further convincing, traipsing away through the underbrush. Dean heard him depart, and yet, despite his wavering opinion of the man he wanted him to stay. Death, it turned out, was a scary and lonely transition. He didn't want to go alone.
And Sammy, did he want to have a chance to say goodbye to his baby brother? Could he bare the tears and the heartbreak he'd see? Sure, they'd been down this road so many times before, but there was always the hope they'd see each other again. They always found a way, even if some of their choices turned out questionable in the end.
And why are you so certain this is the end?
"Dean, look at me."
It was getting harder to breathe.
"Let me do it," pleaded Castiel, his eyes searching Dean's. "Please, let me save you."
He wanted to say no, but found it easier to shake his head a fraction of an inch.
"You are a foolish, stubborn man, Dean Winchester."
"Damn…straight." He coughed, his grip on Cas's jacket tightening. The series of coughs wracked his body, shaking him to the core, pushing more blood from the wound in his side. Some bubbled up in his mouth, dripping out the side to run down his chin. He was beginning to feel cold.
Castiel hooked an arm under him and pulled him close, hugging him, bent over him. For the first time since they met, Dean saw tears glistening in Cas's eyes. He didn't know angels could or even old cry, and he especially didn't expect it to happen because of him. He welcomed Cas's warmth, wishing for so many things, words unsaid and impulses left ignored. If only he had a chance to do it all over again…
You do, just tell him yes.
Dean closed his eyes, his energy waning. He wanted to sleep, to fall into the embrace of the darkness that beckoned to him.
"Please, Dean, let me save you," Cas pleaded. "I can't imagine this world without. I need you here." Cas placed a hand on Dean's chest.
The words Cas spoke took Dean by surprise, and really, they shouldn't have, after all hadn't he known on some level that his feelings for Castiel were mutual? Hadn't he seen them mirrored in the angel's eyes? Oh, but to hear the love spoken out loud, even if the 'L' word itself hadn't been involved, it was magnificent. The sort of thing Dean never expected to happen. Who could love a man like him, who could love his life with him? Being a hunter, it was all he knew and all he was destined to be.
And now it's come to an end. Finally.
The hand moved from his chest to cup his cheek. By now he could no longer feel his legs, the numbness of death having crept over them. Hell, even the life ending wound in his side had lost its sting.
"Dean," it came out gruff, dripping with emotion.
Before he could reply the sound of hurried steps reached his ears and a moment later Sam arrived, Ketch not too far behind.
"Dean!" exclaimed Sam, falling to his knees at Dean's side. With some pleasure, Dean remained cradled in Castiel's arms. "Oh god." Sam's eyes were wide with fright, a cut on his forehead along his hairline slowly bleeding.
How did I end up so much worse than everyone else?
Ambush, the word slipped effortlessly across his mind, the memory of what happened a jumbled mess. Whatever they'd been hunting, it had grabbed him from behind. After that all he could remember was the shock of being impaled and then whisked away to the bunker, no doubt courtesy of his mind as he lay dying in the forest.
Sam seemed unsure of touching him. "We can save him, right?" The question directed at Castiel. "He isn't too bad off. We've dealt with worse."
"The toxin," Ketch spoke softly, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Its likely ravaged his body-"
"Castiel has brought people back from the dead," snapped Sam, shrugging off Ketch's hand. "He can save Dean from this. He has to."
Dean could feel his heart slowing and he'd grown so cold. He wanted to ask Cats to pull him closer, desperate for a bit of warmth. Dying should have bothered him more, what with all the things he was leaving undone, and who would watch after Sammy like he promised his dad he would do? How would Sammy go on knowing there was no way to get him back? Dean already knew, though, that Sam would search every book and scroll, every scrap of writing in the bunker in the hopes of finding a way to bring him back.
Did he even want to come back?
Admittedly, part of him was tired of the constant hunting, the fact that they never seemed to gain any ground against the nastiness in the world. One big bad after another, they closed the lid on one just to have another pop up. It's like the world was doomed. It might be nice to rest.
Sam was yelling. "Do something! Can't you see he needs you?"
"I can't," replied Castiel through gritted teeth. "He won't let me."
"So? Damn it, Cas." There were tears coursing done Sam's cheeks. His anger dissipated. "Please. Please don't let him go."
Those heavenly eyes met his again. Dean could feel it, his last breath was coming. The warmth of Cas's hand on his cheek again. "Stay with me, Dean. With us."
His eyelids fluttered, his breathing grew weaker. Dean tried to speak, his lips moving, but if he actually managed to get the words out he failed to hear them.
"What's he saying?"
For some reason he was shot back to the moment he watched Lucifer erase Castiel, taking the angel from his life. How lost he'd been, broken in ways he'd never known possible. Sure, he thought he'd experienced love before, having enjoyed the company of a few lovely ladies over the years, and then there was Benny, the vampire. There was a wicked secret he'd managed to keep to himself, the attraction he'd felt for the vampire. But Castiel… No one could ever hope to hold a candle to the angel.
Castiel leaned close. "What are you saying?"
"I…" A cough stole his breath. Dean closed his eyes. "…love…you."
"Dean," the emotion in Cas's voice, oh, how it shattered him inside and out. "I can't-" The rest of the sentence was lost to Dean as he let go, his hand slipping away from Castiel's coat.
He no longer felt the cold.
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There was no light at the end of tunnel like everyone thought. Darkness never-ending welcomed Dean and he floated weightlessly, wondering if this was how it would be for eternity. He was likely to lose what remained of his mind, lost in this nothingness, only memories of little Sammy and what might-have-been with Castiel to keep him company. But while he could recall the sound of Sam's laugh, he couldn't conjure up the warmth of Castiel's touch. Dean closed his eyes, desperate to remember the peace the angel's touch brought to him.
And there it was, a spreading warmth over his heart. Dean saw it as a soft glowing light, imagined that he was seeing what love looked like, wondering why it wasn't pink or red, deciding it didn't matter.
I miss him.
I wish I could see him just one more time.
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"Dean?" A whisper in the inky black. "Dean? Come back to me, please. Please."
Dean cracked his eyes open, peering through the blurriness, expecting to see more of the same nothing, surprised to note there was now light and shadows. He became aware of someone at his side. Where had the darkness gone, who chased it away?
A hand held his, fingers laced together, and his troubles faded away. Dean shut his eyes. Slowly his body began to waken, from the various aches of sore muscles to the dull throbbing in his side, and the headache pounding behind his eyes, like someone had his head in a vice grip. Dean grit his teeth, wishing to go back to that place beyond it all where it was just him. Floating. Weightless. Beyond the trappings of a mortal body.
"Dean?"
He blinked once, twice, the room coming into focus. The bunker, his bedroom in the bunker. But what if the forest, had it all been some horrible dream cooked up by a night of too much merrymaking? The first thing he noticed was Sam standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a tired, haggard expression on his face.
A ghost of a smile graced his lips. "Nice to still have you around. Don't be mad at him."
Dean wanted to ask who, then remembered the way Castiel looked at him, his departing words to the angel. He shifted his gaze to his side, his hand involuntarily squeezing Castiel's. The angel sat in a chair by his bed, slumped forward, his head resting on the mattress.
Since when do angels sleep?
It was like Sam could read his mind. "It took so much out of him, saving you. For a while there Ketch and I thought we'd lost you both."
"I asked…" His throat was dry, what he wouldn't give for a little something to drink. "Not to."
Anger flashed across Sam's features. "Who cares? He did it because he loved you, you damn fool. Why can't you see that? The rest of us can, even Crowley saw it, for crying out loud. The freakin' King of Hell himself. Can't you see you're his heaven?" His shoulders slumped. "We all want you here, Dean. We need you," he nearly whispered the last part, then turned and disappeared down the hallway.
Alone with Castiel, Dean reached across his body and placed his hand on Cas's head, burying his fingers in the angel's hair. Castiel didn't stir, no doubt worn out, weakened by the use of his power; which had been up and down ever since the lockdown in Heaven.
"I didn't want you to do this to yourself, not for me," Dean whispered, his throat scratchy, sore. "Never for me." His eyes closed as he drifted toward slumber. The sensation of someone squeezing his hand pulled him back, his eyelids fluttering open. Castro was awake, but pale and looking every bit as hellos as he felt. "Why?" was all Dean could manage.
Castiel drew his thumb along Dean's jawline and over his lips. "Simple."
He leaned forward, pressing his lips to Dean's, the kiss tender and sweet. There was a flutter in Dean's stomach, a rush of heat making the bitter cold touch of death a distant memory. It ended much too soon and he found himself gazing into in those wonderful eyes.
"I love you, Dean," Castiel said, his voice gruffer than usual. "From the moment my hand touched you in hell and dragged you back." He looked prepared to say more, but Dean out a finger to Cas's lips.
"I'm tired," he whispered. He shifted his position in the bed, creating room for Castiel to slide in beside him, which he did. Castiel curled up at his side, resting his head on Dean's chest. Dean wrapped an arm around him, wanting to keep him close, afraid of waking to find Castiel gone. Slumped tugged at him, drawing him back to oblivion, but before he slipped away Dean managed to mutter, "I love you, too."