This has spoilers for up to the Purgatory episodes.

Supernatural doesn't belong to me. I couldn't begin to ever say it did.

xxxxx

Dean had never really spent much time pondering the nocturnal habits of angels. Until the last few years, if he'd wanted angels, he'd just been happy to focus on lingerie ads, or maybe that sexy Irish babe who used to be on TV.

When he'd finally met the real angels, he'd never stopped to ask them whether or not they took a powder on fluffy clouds. Not on the top of your list when they're trying to kill your parents, your brother, you, probably your fifth grade teacher...that last one wouldn't have upset Dean too much.

Then there was Cas. Cas was...Cas. He'd never been one of them. Dean had known even before Cas had rebelled, even when Cas had still been Castiel, fervent follower of all that was just and good and holy and packed into an an itchy-looking suit.

Dean had never told Cas - probably never had to tell him, wasn't exactly tough to figure out - but Cas used to scare the shit out of him back then.

Somehow, the Cas currently asleep in his arms frightened him even more.

He didn't even know if what Cas was doing qualified as sleep, but he knew the torment etched into that face didn't exactly suggest sweet dreams.

Dean figured he could live - if this was any kind of living - in Purgatory forever. Felt like he already had.

But Cas...this place was slowly killing him.

The rare times Dean had tried to confide his fears in Benny, Benny had only put down his whittling long enough to mutter "fuckin' angel" and "pansy." If he'd thought Benny would have done anything but laugh in his face, Dean would have raged to him about the Cas who could burn eyes and crush souls, the Cas who'd rebelled and won against his own kind, the Cas who'd overthrown Heaven, Hell and humanity.

"I did it, all of it, for you."

Echoed in Dean's head ever since the Leviathans had gotten the drop on them. Dean had watched Cas die in more ways than he wanted to remember, but there was always another punch thrown, another disaster struck. In Purgatory, there was nothing to fall back on. Just battles. And in the breathing room between battles, just too much time in your own head. Thinking, worrying, remembering, dreading. Purgatory rotted the soul long before the body.

The rare times Dean slept now, he dreamt of Cas' face after Benny had saved him from the Leviathan. Cas was...disappointed. Cas had lost so much of himself that he wanted to die. As horrible as it sounded, that actually would have been easier for Dean to accept. He'd been down that dark road more often than he cared to admit. When you want to give in. What was worse was his immediate knowledge that Cas didn't fight back because this was his only way to stop Dean from being fresh meat for Purgatory. That this would somehow atone for Cas unleashing the Leviathans.

He wanted to die for me.

The thought was almost too much for Dean to bear. If he thought it would make any difference, he could spend every day for all of eternity pleading with Cas that if there was any atonement to be made, it was to get out of this place together, to fight side by side, to joke and laugh and be whole, or as close to whole as two wrecks like them could ever hope to be.

Without realizing it, Dean had moved Cas' head onto his lap. He brushed the hair out of those increasingly tired eyes. Dean had never felt more alive than he did here, but he knew Cas had likely never felt weaker. So many of the resentments, the regrets between them, had been discarded out of sheer necessity. Dean wanted Cas to be strong again, but Dean had never felt closer to Cas, more protective of him, more...

He shook his head of invisible cobwebs. He couldn't let himself think about that. Not here. Not now.

He looked at Cas again, the tormented man stirring, silently crying.

Initially he'd told himself that this Cas was a complete stranger to him, not his stubborn warrior of the Lord, the fearsome beast who would tear apart the planet for what he knew was right.

Every day, he was less and less convinced. One day, he'd caught a reflection of himself while cleaning a blade. 2014 hit him like that truck all those years ago. The Dean he'd despised. The Dean who'd tortured and betrayed without a second's hesitation. The Dean of a world he'd bled and bled to stop from existing. Dean hated to admit it to himself, but his experiences since then, especially now, every monster he'd carved up in this armpit, had made him empathize more with the shattered mirror image of 2014 Dean. That Dean did what he thought he had to do, what circumstances had forced him to do. He could accept being that Dean, if he knew the price was worth paying.

What he couldn't accept was 2014 Cas. That wasn't his Cas. That could never be his Cas. The despair, the casual acceptance of annihilation, the depleted powers and spirit, the fading of those beautiful blue eyes.

Broken. Beyond repair.

All because of me.

That Cas had died for nothing. He knew it was for nothing. Dean knew it was for nothing. Cas went anyway, without hesitation.

Dean had sworn he wouldn't let his Cas become that mockery. Every time he'd lost Cas, the only consolation was that his last memories of Cas weren't buried in pills and maniacal despair. Even now, when Cas begged to be left behind, Dean briefly contemplated sparing him the slow death of that world, that fallen angel. But he just couldn't do it. Whether that made him weak, or more selfish than Cas, he didn't know, or particularly care. All he knew was he wasn't going to lose Cas again.

Dean's thoughts trailed off when he heard Cas trying to speak.

"D...Dean..."

Cas tried to sit up, confused and slightly embarrassed. Dean held him in place.

"Long day. Just rest, Cas. Benny's on the lookout. We'll be fine. These suckers like to wait until we're ready for some fun."

Cas responded with a faint smile, both men knowing the situation was more dire, but allowing themselves a moment of contentment.

Dean stroked Cas' beard, that 2014 beard. He liked it, in spite of everything, liked how the hair felt against his hand. Cas shifted, slightly, to feel more of Dean's healing fingers brushing against his battle-scarred skin.

"Gotta get you a shave when we get home, Cas," Dean muttered, a vain attempt to stave off the future.

In spite of the slight teasing tone of Dean's voice, Cas grimaced.

"How unrecognizable I must be to you. To myself."

Dean quietly shushed, slowly, carefully allowing himself to clasp the other man's hand.

Castiel was surprised, but squeezed Dean's hand in return. His eyes briefly flickered in the firelight, his smile more genuine, his body warmer, stronger against Dean's.

"Still my Cas," Dean whispered.

Dean ran his thumb over Castiel's forehead, while doing so, looking down at his angel, briefly awed, as he'd been that first time...every time.

"You'll always be my Cas."