Decades
Castiel's eyes flutter open.
He can no longer feel his wings.
His shoulder blades feel foreign without the feathers arching out of them.
Dean sits in a chair next to him, head in his hands. The bed creaks as Cas turns over, and Dean's head shoots up.
"Hey, Cas— " He starts, eyes wide and hopeful. Castiel doesn't remember them being this green.
"Dean. I think we—" he stops, looking at the bandages wrapped around Dean's neck. And his legs. And under his arms. "You've been hurt."
He nods, laughing, then coughing. It looks like it hurts to breathe. "Yeah, you don't remember?"
Castiel shakes his head, soft and slow. His voice comes out weak even though he doesn't mean to when he says, "Something went very wrong."
His head hits the pillow.
Castiel's eyes flutter open.
He can no longer feel his wings.
"Dean," he says, smiling softly. Dean frowns at him from his chair.
"Yeah?"
"I think we-" he stops. "You've been hurt."
Dean tilts his head, eyes becoming narrow. "Very funny, Cas." But he isn't laughing.
"I don't fully understand your sense of humour yet, Dean. How was I amusing?"
Dean stares at him, bewildered. "Just— nothing. Cas— do you remember—"
Cas's head hits the pillow.
Castiel's eyes flutter open.
He can no longer feel his wings.
"Dean." He says, confused. Dean is looking at him strangely. Almost disappointed. "I'm sorry. Did I do something wrong?"
"No."
"Oh." Cas says, but Dean still seems angry, confused, something. He can't quite place it. His eyes dip down to take note of all of Dean's injuries. "You've been hurt."
"What the hell?" Dean asks. He stands, and cards his hands through his hair. He's pulsing with frustration. "Sam!"
His head hits the pillow.
Castiel's eyes flutter open.
He can no longer feel his wings.
He's in a motel. The bed groans as he turns onto his side, and examines his surroundings. Dean's bag is on Cas' bed, and Sam's is on the other. The Impala's parked outside.
Cas smiles, hopeful. Maybe tonight will be a rare night when Dean'll sleep with him. Though Castiel doesn't need sleep, being an angel and all, the act makes him feel more like Dean, who craves it. He likes the nights when Dean sleeps with him. In the most innocent meaning of the word, of , he doesn't mind the other type of sleep either. The memory of a few weeks ago drifts into his thought process. When Dean felt the need to kiss all the places he loved, he had said. Steamy kisses and a fiery tongue drowning his body in a heat that he'd never felt before.
Though the sex happens often, Dean gets confused sometimes. Confused with his feelings, his thoughts, something, and he sleeps on the couch.
There are times, though, when Dean is too drunk, or too tired, or not in the mood for an aching back, so he sleeps next to him, and Castiel feels a different type of heat; one that explodes in his chest.
Maybe today, Dean will -
His head hits the pillow.
Castiel's eyes flutter open.
He can no longer feel his wings.
"Dean," he says, and Dean smiles at him. But it's a weird, nervous smile. Sam's there, too, looking puzzled. Dean has to lean on him for balance, and Castiel notices all of his bandages. "You've been hurt."
"It's like the twentieth time, I'm telling you," Dean tells Sam.
"Maybe it's just a temporary thing?" Sam offers, but Dean scoffs.
"It better be."
"What's going on?" Cas asks.
"Nothing," Dean says.
Cas doesn't believe him.
"So, what are we going to do?" Dean asks. Sam shrugs, and Cas knows there's something going won't they tell him?
"I don't appreciate not being told what goes on around here," he huffed.
"Castiel-" Sam started.
His head hits the pillow.
Castiel's eyes flutter open.
He can no longer feel his wings.
"Yeah, I know. We've tried all that. Yeah, salt, too." Sam's on the phone.
"Dean," Castiel says. Dean's sitting in a chair next to him, and he doesn't look up. "Dean," Cas repeats. No response.
"Garth, that's insane and — yeah, I know it's all we haven't tried. Thanks. Bye." Sam hangs up, and whispers something to Dean. They sneak looks at Castiel in between words. Dean nods eventually, then looks down again.
"Dean." Castiel demands. He stands up, about to walk over when Dean screams-
"What, Castiel? What the fuck do you want?"
Castiel gazes at him, eyes falling to his shoes, "Sorry- I just-"
His eyes roll up in his head. They push against his eyelids.
Dean reaches out for him, but Cas drops onto the bed.
His head hits the pillow.
Castiel's eyes rip open.
He can no longer feel his wings, but he can feel the blaze of holy water and gasoline engulfing him in flames. The heat is unbearable, indescribable, inhumane, and he shrieks and it's being torn from his throat without mercy.
"Please!" He cries, and though he can't see anything through the flames, he hears voices. Someone must be out there.
Were they kidnapped?
Is Dean okay?
Why is this happening?
It lasts much too long, and he is thankful when his eyes close.
Castiel's eyes flutter open.
He can no longer feel his wings.
But there is an ache deep inside of him, as if he hasn't fully recovered from an injury yet. But he looks down at his body and he looks unchanged.
"What the hell, Sam?" Dean shouts. "You fucking burnt him alive, all because you thought it might help? What the fuck were you thinking?"
Sam tries to defend himself but Castiel speaks.
"Burnt who?" He asks. That's what the ache feels like. A burn.
Sam sighs, grabbing his laptop and a beer and leaving the room. "I'm going to get some air, do some research. You stay here."
"With him? Like this?" Dean asks. Castiel feels like he's been stabbed. Like what?
"Did I do something, Dean?" He doesn't answer.
Castiel senses the smell of burnt flesh in the air, and his entire body feels warm.
His head hits the pillow.
Castiel's eyes flutter open.
He can no longer feel his wings.
He can't see in front of him, and for a second he thinks he's gone blind, but when the light of a car swims by the window, he knows it's just dark.
There's a weight on his stomach, and he realises it's Dean's arms snaked around him, holding him tight. His heart beat quickens, and he wonders what he did to deserve this. This privilege of Dean next to him. He starts to think. Did Dean finally come to terms with himself? With us? Was he acting different before? But horror overcomes him as he doesn't even remember how he got there.
He doesn't even remember this hotel.
Or Dean wearing this shirt.
Or it becoming night.
It feels like a disease, this loss of time, and it consumes him so completely in that moment that he lets out a wail. A wretched, high pitched shriek that should frighten Dean but Dean barely even reacts. He just holds Cas tighter, lets out a half sob against his trench coat and shushes him.
"It's okay- it's okay, Cas." And his voice trembles and it is weak and Cas doesn't remember it ever sounding like that.
"Why don't I remember?" He breathes.
Dean's fingers dig deeper into the fabric. "I. Don't. Know."
His head hits the pillow.
Castiel's eyes flutter open.
He can no longer feel his wings, but he doesn't need to because Dean is on top of him, mouth exploring his as if they're just learning the way each other works. His hands are splayed under his jacket, like they're trying to soak up as much skin as they possibly can.
The early morning sun stretches across their clothes.
"Good morning, beautiful," he says.
"Hmm.." Castiel hums, and he smiles against Dean. Castiel lifts his hand up to Dean's shirt to lift it off but bandages are in the way. "You've been hurt." He notes.
The words must do something to Dean because he rolls off of him instantly, face twisted in terror.
"What? Did I do something?" Castiel asks.
"I forgot." Dean whispers. It's so quiet Castiel barely hears him.
"Forgot what?"
He just shakes his head, eyes suddenly so sad. "Forgot that you won't remember this in another second or so."
And Castiel just frowns, because what the hell is that supposed to mean?
"Dean-"
His head hits the pillow.
Castiel's eyes flutter open.
He can no longer feel his wings.
He's in a hospital, and the white is suffocating him.
Dean's hand is in his, and it's strange because Castiel knows this is Dean, but his hand is different. Rougher, more wrinkled, more frail.
"Dean," He says, and Dean nods, a half smile on his face.
"Yeah, babe?"
"You've been hurt," he says. And he isn't talking about the fact that his fingers feel arthritic in his own. He isn't talking about the scar that runs down the middle of his cheek (he wonders when that got there).
It's a look that Castiel cannot describe that rests on Dean's face.
He imagines Dean looked like this the night his mother died.
He looks broken all over.
"Yeah, I have," he admits, dropping his head, taking his hand out of Castiel's to wipe under his eyes.
"I'll kill whoever did this to you," Castiel promises softly, reaching up to touch Dean's face. Huh. His hands are more brittle, too.
Dean looks up at him, and gives Cas a long, long stare, and then he laughs. The laugh turns to a cry quickly, and he's choking out the emotion now, and Castiel is confused because this? This looks alot like grief.
His head hits the pillow.
Castiel's eyes flutter open.
He can no longer feel his wings.
Dean sits across from him. They must be in a hospital. The white is suffocating him.
"Dean, what's the matter?" Castiel wonders. He's surprised by his own tone. It's rough and old, like he's on the verge of losing his voice.
Dean looks up and Castiel blinks, eyes taking him in.
God, he's so, so old.
He looks like he could be this vessel's father, or older. What is this? Some sort of curse?
"Dean, what happened?"
He breathed heavily. "I married someone today, Cas."
Castiel feels his world falling apart underneath him. His mind struggles to understand but it can't keep up.
"You what?"
"Her name's Amy. You'd love her."
"Why?" Castiel breathes out, because Dean isn't kidding, and he's so old, why is he like this, why is he telling him this, why?
"I can't-" Dean stops. He begins to cry. Full on sobsthat wrack his body and abuse him. "I can't let you go."
"So don't." Castiel commands.
His head hits the pillow.
Castiel's eyes flutter open.
He can no longer feel his wings.
"We gather here today to mourn the loss of Dean Winchester, beloved..." The words fade from him, then.
Dean is dead.
He is gone.
A redheaded woman is crying more than anyone else, and Cas frowns from his wheelchair. She must not have been very important; Cas has never heard or seen of her.
The realisation slams into him with enough momentum to knock the breath out of his body.
Dean's dead.
He wants to throw himself onto the grave, wants to dig him up and raise him from perdition, wants to crumble into skeletal dust with him,but his muscles won't let him.
His hands are old and wrinkly and when did this vessel get so weak?
He struggles, but he barely moves.
He watches the woman shovel dirt onto the casket, as if she loved him. She could never love him, not like Castiel. She doesn't deserve to do that. Castiel deserves to-
His head hits the soft cushion on the top of his wheelchair.
Castiel's eyes flutter open.
He can feel his wings.
They surround him with his celestial light, engulfing him in their glory and he is here, but he is not alone.
"Dean," he says.
Castiel just saw him yesterday before they went on the hunting trip, but the memory stretches from him. He feels like it's been years. Decades.
Dean is smiling wider than he's ever seen, with arms opening wide to meet him. His eyes shine so magnificently Cas is momentarily blinded.
Dean closes the distance between them and kisses Castiel with such a vibrant, colourful longing, it is one that Castiel could never ever forget.
His eyes flutter shut.
Author's Note:
Thanks to wrenton for being my lovely beta! And thanks to you for reading it :)
Let me know what you think!