Disclaimer: All things Supernatural belong to people much more fortunate and/or talented than I.
What does it profit a man to gain the whole world and lose his soul? - Mark 8:36
It's quiet. That's the first thing he notices (that, and the fact that he's dreaming, a sure sign that he should up his nightly dose of whiskey by at least another three fingers). None of the words that he wishes he could scrub from his mind are echoing off the walls of the empty hotel room. That's the first thing that makes this dream different.
"Dean."
And this is the second. The name is whispered from behind him, and it's a prayer spilling from its speaker's lips. The voice is usually full of accusation, of I-told-you-so-and-you-didn't-listen-and-look-at-us-now, not hesitation and hope.
When he turns, they're there, as he knew they would be. Those damn eyes. The ones that haunt his dreams lately. But not exactly. Something's missing: that unsettling smugness. Instead, there's wariness. A kind of dreadful anticipation. And Dean stops counting the differences because he knows.
This is Cas. Cas Cas, not some soul-filled silhouette. And this is not just a dream.
Every version of this meeting that has played itself out in his head over the past few months flashes through his mind. All of the bickering. Words chosen for their potential to tear and sting. Betrayal written across both of their faces. Dean's seen it all.
And now that the real McCoy is standing right here, he decides that that's not how he wants this to go. So, when he opens his mouth, he makes sure that his voice comes out quiet and concerned instead of booming and accusatory.
"Are you okay?" It actually feels much better than the make-believe yelling ever did.
"No," Castiel breathes.
The word, or really the finality he hears in it, settles heavily somewhere low in Dean's chest.
"Will you be?"
A pause. Then, "I'm not sure. Probably not."
By the cautionary expression Castiel wears, it's obvious that he's waiting for the other shoe to drop. For the violent words to start flying. For the barrage of accusations. Dean's quiet for a moment, taking a little comfort in the familiarity of doing the opposite of what Cas expects. He takes a seat on the corner of a bed, and Castiel mirrors him on the other.
"Cas, what happened? I mean... the creepy crawly souls, are they-"
"They're where they belong."
They belong with me.
For a split second, Dean isn't sure. He knows Castiel sees it in his face because he sees the flash of anger at his own doubt in Castiel's. But the anger is quickly replaced by resignation and maybe a touch of shame.
"Locked back in Purgatory," he finishes.
Dean finally lets some measure of relief through the wall that holds the emotions vying for his attention at bay. It comes out in the form of a small sigh and a slightly-less-tense posture.
"How did all that go down?" Dean asks when it's clear Cas isn't planning to elaborate. He never has been one for thorough explanations.
"I wasn't strong enough," he says, picking at the bedspread. "They broke free. It was all I could do to get them back in. Barely managed the incantation to shut the door once I had."
Dean takes a second to just look at him. He takes in the circles under his eyes, the almost-slump of his shoulders. Cas looks tired. He looks world-worn. Mostly, he looks what he is and really shouldn't be: alone.
"Well... where are you?"
Cas' eyes snap back to Dean's and his eyebrows draw closer together. Apparently, this is a curious question to ask.
"Lying comatose in a hospital. In Tupelo, Mississippi," he answers carefully.
"Yeah? Hang tight. We can be there in a couple days if we start driving now."
The bewildered look Castiel shoots Dean is equal parts awe, fascination, and affection. Like a child observing a two-headed kitten at one of those carnival attractions. Or what he imagines to be the Cas version, anyway. And then he's shaking his head, and the new face Dean discovered is gone.
"No, don't."
Castiel is about to be informed that Dean Winchester will come to the aid of whomever he damn well pleases, and he thinks maybe Cas senses this, because he continues in a tone that leaves no room for argument.
"That's not what I came here for."
Dean closes his mouth and narrows his eyes. After a moment, he decides not to push the issue, in favor of finding out where Cas is going with this.
"All right, I'll bite. What'd you come here for?"
"To explain myself."
And Dean really doesn't wanna do this. Not now. Not in his head.
"No, Cas, look. You did what you had to do. And then some, granted, but still- it's done. We can talk about this later."
Cas' eyes turn wistful for just a flicker, and a corner of his mouth raises, but both oddities are gone almost the second they emerge.
"Maybe. But you misunderstand me. That's not exactly what I want to explain. You may know why I did what I did to stop Raphael, but... you don't know why I lied to you about it. Not really. And I'd like you to."
"Man, I'm not sure I wanna tackle this right now. Look, why don't we just-"
"Please. Dean, just... please."
He's begging. The tiny break in his voice and the set of his jaw tell that much. He and Sam have spent months trying to track Cas down, to get him back, to set things right, and now he's sitting across from him, outright begging. All he wants is for Dean to listen. He can't find it in himself to say no.
"Yeah. Okay. I'm all ears."
The lamp on the bedside table flickers, sending Castiel's face into shadow and then back to light. The hunter goes over and tightens the bulb, blowing on his fingertips afterward. By the time he's sat himself back down, Castiel's taking a deep breath, as if he's getting ready to dive.
"You were raking leaves. When I came to ask for your help. I was lying to myself, though. Because you couldn't. Help."
His fingers are absentmindedly pulling at each other in his lap as he stares, unseeing into a dark corner of the room. Dean knows that look. The look of someone reliving a moment where things went Wrong.
"So really, I suppose I was there to tell you that everything we'd done, all of it, was for nothing. That Raphael was going to burn it all down anyway. That it was not within my power to stop him. And there was nothing in all of existence that I wanted more than to not have to say that to you. That's when Crowley showed up." He looks to the floor, as if it's less likely to judge him than the corner. "With a way out. And I thought, foolishly, that I could fix everything, and you'd never have to know."
Dean wants to shake him. To knock some sense into him. To scream at him, 'You never should have taken that on yourself. You should have come to me. We would've figured something out!' But he knows that it wouldn't help. That Cas already knows his view on the matter. So he bites his cheek and keeps listening.
"Of course, that didn't last. You got involved with Sam and, in turn, Crowley. And there were so many times when I should've just told you. But I wouldn't. Because I'm a selfish coward."
He leans forward then, elbows on his knees, his gaze switching to his shoes.
"Dean, you once called me a soulless son of a bitch."
This time, Dean doesn't manage to hold his tongue.
"Cas, what're you gettin-"
"But I'm not. Not anymore." Cas cuts him off as if he didn't even hear him speak. Dean has to strain to hear his next words.
"You are my soul. And I knew that you'd find out sooner or later, and that I'd lose you when you did. I decided, for my own benefit, to lose you later rather than sooner."
"Wait, wait. What are you talking about, I'm your soul?" He really wishes Cas would look him in the eye.
"The voice of reason. A moral compass, if you will. The difference between right and wrong begins and ends with you, Dean. I knew what I was doing wasn't exactly right, and that you wouldn't approve of it. But it was better than the alternative."
"I get that, I do. I'm familiar with the whole 'lesser of two evils' thing, remember? Look, I know things 'tween you and me aint exactly copacetic right now. The forgiving and forgetting? Let's just make it a day-to-day process, all right? I mean, that is a pretty deep hole you've dug yourself there. It might take you a while to climb out of it. But you will."
"No. I won't."
He's shaking his head again, and damnit, that is it.
"Just where do you get off being so damn contradictory, huh?"
Now those eyes, eyes so goddamned blue, it's gotta be some kinda sin, are finally done avoiding his, and maybe Dean doesn't want an answer after all.
"Dean, when those souls escaped... they tore out nearly all of my grace. This," he glances around the room, "is practically the last of it."
Why does it sound like there's more?
"What are you saying?"
"The damage my body must have sustained... without my power, it almost certainly will not survive. I will not survive."
What the hell? This ex-god, this angel, this man (hell, he's earned it) gave everything up to and including his life to help a ragtag bunch of fucking misfits save a planet full of creatures that weren't even his own species. He turned away from his family to do what was right, what everyone said was impossible. And he did it. He did it twice. And now he's gonna roll over?
"So that's it? You said your piece, now you can die happy, is that how it is? Now that, that is selfish. I'm a mess. I been goin outta my head looking for you, man. I mean, you can ask Sam, I'm snappy, reckless, drunk. And now you're just gonna die on me? You're gonna give up?"
"You're right. I shouldn't have- I'm sorry."
He stands to leave. Really? He's halfway to the door before Dean grabs his arm and turns him back around.
"No. Now, you listen to me. You take whatever's left of your mojo, you get your ass back to Tupelo, you fix yourself up, and you wait for me. You understand?"
Cas smiles, and it's small and sad, and it pisses Dean off.
"Dean, there's really very little chan-"
He doesn't get much further. It's probably hard to talk around Dean's lips.
As kisses go, it's simple. Skin on skin. Breath on breath. It's so simple, when he pulls away, he thinks it might have rubbed off on everything else, 'cause that's how it all feels now. Simple. Except now Cas is looking at him as if he's gone and grown a third head. So he reaches for his face, runs his thumb across a cheekbone, and wills him with his eyes to just know.
"I said, do you understand?"
It's the same question. It's not. But Cas gets it, thank whatever, and his eyes are a little glassy as he slowly nods.
"I'm just asking you to do what you do best. Fight." And then, he has to say it, to make sure. "Please, don't leave me."
Cas blinks, swallows, and whispers, "Okay. Okay."
Then he leans and presses his lips to Dean's, as if this could turn out to be one of those 'when the clock strikes twelve' deals, and he has to get while the getting's good.
Dean smiles into it, and when Cas pulls back, he holds him at arm's length and straightens his trench coat.
"You should get going. I'll be there before lunch tomorrow. I promise." He gives his arm a squeeze.
Cas reaches up and adjusts the collar of Dean's jacket, but it's just an excuse to touch his face. Dean looks into his eyes and God, it's like falling. Or maybe hanging on. The angel nods, and then there is the sound of Cas being gone and the room is dark and he's warm but not warm anymore.
He blinks his eyes open, and looks to his watch, pressing buttons till it glows. Four a.m.
"Sammy." He switches on the lamp and nudges his brother awake.
"Come on. We gotta go."
"Whaat?"
He can almost see the fog coming out of Sam's ears. Then Dean's urgency catches. "What is it, Dean?"
Dean Looks at him. "Cas."
And Sam is up and throwing clothes into his duffel and fetching his bag of toiletries from the bathroom.
"I'll pack. You get online, find the nearest airport, get us on the next flight to Mississippi." Dean's already lacing up his boots.
Sam stops his movements and gives Dean that squinty-eyed head tilt. "Airport? Are you okay?"
Dean finishes his second knot and turns to face Sam in the bathroom doorway.
"No. But I will be."
A/N: I've been working on this a while, but I got stuck near the middle. Once I got over the hump, I kind of just spit the rest out 'cause I had the urge to just get it over with. Hope it didn't show too much. Anyhoo, if you liked, please let me know. The review butterflies are totally worth the weird looks people shoot me when I check my email and my face splits into a ridiculous grin.