On one of the warmer days of August, Castiel announced that he had a week left. One week before his stolen grace burned out. One week before his vessel died. One week before he had to leave the Winchesters forever.
He didn't say all of this, of course. Could he really be expected to?
One of the warmer days of August, he stood in the Winchester's kitchen and watched Dean make himself breakfast. He noticed the scars and calluses that gave character to the hunter's skin, each rough patch a tribute to some monster slayed, to some human saved. He noticed the way that Dean's light brown hair had grown longer than ever before, with Dean too preoccupied to realize it.
"Dean," Castiel said it quietly, but Dean heard. Of course Dean heard.
"Hey, Cas. What's up?" Dean turned, and Castiel noticed how bloodshot the hunter's eyes were.
Castiel also noticed how Dean's hand jerked towards the cabinet before stilling. Dean was already so used to caring for him. He often forget, if only for a second, that Castiel no longer needed basic human necessities—like cereal.
"One week," Castiel's thin lips pressed together and he had to force him eyes to stay up, to notice how Dean's eyes squinted into confusion, "I have one week."
Confusion turned to stony understanding, and Dean slowly fell apart in the little signs that Castiel had come to know so well. Dean nodded and turned around. His scarred arms stiffened and his hands tightened around the edge of the counter. He took a deep breath that barely shook.
"Can't you just recharge? Just steal another angel's grace?" Dean asked. When he turned around again, there was no emotion to be found on his face.
Castiel shrugged, a gesture that even he knew was useless. Pathetic. He was tired of the violence, of the constant bloodshed, of people dying in his name. He was so tired of it all.
But Dean wouldn't understand that, so Castiel sighed, "It wouldn't work."
Dean sucked in an angry breath then, "So what am I supposed to do, Cas?"
His voice rose in that short question, but it wasn't really a question. It was desperation. It was fear of losing another person. Castiel knew this.
"Watch a movie with me," Castiel suggested. His eyes dropped and he stared at the black shoes he always wears –sensible shoes- because he couldn't force himself to watch Dean's poker face crack.
"A movie's not going to get your grace back," Dean said, but his voice had lost its strength. Castiel looked up, but avoided Dean's eyes. He fixed his own gaze on the forgotten bowl of cereal.
"Dean," he hesitated, not knowing what to say. No, this wasn't going to save him. No, it wasn't going to make matters better. Watching a movie with Dean would be pointless.
"Have you seen Lord of the Rings yet?" Dean asked suddenly, even though he knew the answer to that, "Come on, the DVD is in my room."
That's how, on one of the warmer days of August, Castiel found himself sitting on Dean's neatly made bed. The hunter stood beside the bed, watching the movie in a mostly dark room. His trench coat was folded neatly over one of Dean's chairs, and his white shirt was unbuttoned, just like it had been on that fatal date night.
"I want to be close to you," Castiel said, and that was that. Dean gave him a look that showed a lack of surprise and more hesitation than was necessary, but he still sat down on the bed beside Castiel. The movie played on.
Castiel woke up on something warm. His nose was pressed against skin that smelled like gun smoke and cheap soap (but not whiskey, for once). He let out a hum of contentment when Dean's arm tightened around him. The arm had been there when he woke up, but not when he fell asleep. He liked it being there.
He lifted his head and looked at Dean. Their faces were inches apart, and he felt Dean's breath on his face. A strange tension settled over them both, but the tension was not unfamiliar. Castiel had felt it from the very beginning.
The movie was still playing in the background. Castiel sucked in a breath, parted his lips-
What was he doing? He was acting strange. They both were.
And Castiel hummed again before resting his head back on the hunter's shoulder. He didn't sleep; he didn't need to anymore. If the stolen grace inside him wasn't running so low, he wouldn't have…he wouldn't have fallen asleep the first time.
"Is this okay?" Castiel asked.
"Yeah, it's okay," Dean squeezed Castiel's shoulders in proof. But he sighed, "Sam has to know, eventually."
"Tomorrow," Castiel decided. The younger Winchester deserved to know, but now wasn't the time, "I'll tell him tomorrow."
Time was running out. Castiel knew this, but he couldn't bring himself to do anything about it, especially not with Dean's arm around his shoulders protecting him from all the worries in the world.
(A/N): Does anyone have any suggestions for a specific outing between Cas and Dean, Cas and Sam, or Sam and Dean? This is Castiel's last week, and god knows that he deserves a good last few days. I'm thinking that maybe they go to the park.