The grace swims in Dean's veins, cleansing him of the Mark.
It drains his lust for blood and reminds him of who he is, who he once was, and who Cas, at least, still believes he can be.
Before he can even really process that he's made the decision to, he cups Cas' cheek in his hand and kisses him back, desperate and needy and grateful. And Cas' lips move fluidly with his and for thirty blissful seconds, he forgets what he's done.
He forgets that this is it. This is all they get.
Then Cas hisses in pain, and he pulls back abruptly, watching in horror as Cas staggers backwards, eyes human and hazy. He catches him and tugs him back. He breathes into Cas' hair as he slumps toward the grass, eyes closed, the first blade still lodged in his chest. "Don't you dare. Don't you fucking dare."
He shakes at his shoulder, roughly, desperately, knowing full well the good it's going to do. He knows he didn't miss.
"Don't do this, Cas. Don't. I need you. I...Christ..."
Cas is literally dying to save him, and he still can't get it out.
He inhales sharply before exhaling the long overdue confession. "I...I love you. Okay?"
Cas shifts slightly, minutely, enough to give Dean some kind of hope, then he whispers, his voice thin and painfully strained, "I know. Dean, I've always known."
He squeezes Dean's hand before going completely, eerily still.
"Cas? Cas, come on! Cas! Castiel!"
There's no answer.
XXX
As the memory fizzles out, Dean's breathing speeds up and his hands start trembling. He looks at them and all he can see is the blade going into Cas' chest, over and over again.
He did that. He...he did that.
He's shaking all over when the door to the room creaks, and there's a flurry of motion as the nurses get Cas' bed and IV set up.
And he doesn't even feel like he's there until a nurse presses his hand against his shoulder, eases him into the chair, and tells him to breathe.
"Inhale, good. Okay, exhale," he encourages in a steady loop, and Dean sluggishly pulls himself back to the reality of the hospital room, of Cas nodding as another nurse tugs his hospital gown back to inspect his stitches.
And he sees the glimmer of a scar high up Cas' left side, above his heart, and he thinks that Cas really does have actual stab wound experience.
And he's probably going to throw up.
The nurse starts to ask him if he's had panic attacks before just as Sam appears in the doorway. Dean shrugs away without a word and pulls Sam into the hall.
Sam's eyes flick from Dean, to the nurse, who shrugs helplessly, and back to Dean. "Are you okay?"
"Peachy," he hisses as he tugs him further down the hall, until he thinks they're out of earshot. "I...damn it, Sam. I kissed Cas? Then I stuck him with a damn knife? Tell me this ain't real."
Sam sighs and runs a hand through his hair before asking carefully, "What do you remember, exactly?"
"Uh, we're hunters? Casper and Co. are the real deal?" Dean says, wincing at the skepticism in his own voice.
He knows, intuitively, that something's been blocking all of this - all of the things that go bump in the night - out. But he knows that it stillsounds insane.
Sam simply nods.
He looks miserable about it, but Dean feels a little less like he's losing his mind, if nothing else. "Okay. But the First Blade? The Mark of Cain? What is this crap?"
"An incredibly long story," Sam says.
"And let me guess, I don't want to hear it?"
"No, Dean. You really don't," Sam says. "This whole amnesia thing? That was your idea. And Cas? He went with it."
Dean snorts. "Awesome. That's awesome. Can't wait to see what else got buried in this time capsule." He rubs and pinches at his temple, as something else clicks, "Cas? Cas is human?"
"Cas is human," Sam agrees simply.
XXX
Human fatigue is something Cas can't seem to wrap his head around. It seems so illogical that a routine surgery can make him so impossibly drowsy merely an hour after he first woke up.
But once the hospital staff gets him settled in his room, he barely has the energy or the cognizance to get Sam's attention as he sees Dean dragging him into the hall.
He drifts back to sleep, praying that his worries about Dean, and his apparent panic attack, are misplaced.
But, shortly thereafter, a tight grip on his shoulder has him blinking back into consciousness.
And his first instinct is to reach for his blade, which, in his current condition is a mistake. He hisses in and twists himself into a less painful position before looking up to find Dean staring down at him with intent and concern. "What the hell did you do, Cas?"
"I was afraid of this," Cas says as he continues to shift, unable to find a comfortable position. "I knew I shouldn't have asked you to stay here. I'm sorry, Dean."
"That ain't even close to an answer."
"Dean," Sam's voice carries from outside the door, "he just had surgery! Cut him a break."
"Cut him a break? I'm not cutting either of you a break. Spill, spill now, gentlemen. Spill it all. Because only knowing about 1/10 of what's happened in my own damn life is getting really frigging old. And you two - you two apparently know all the gory details."
The room goes silent but for the steady tick of a machine to Cas' right. Dean looks between the two of them expectantly, simply waiting.
Cas still doesn't think now is the right time.
"You didn't want to remember them," he says, wincing as he twists the wrong way yet again. "And I don't think ...I don't think I will be awake long enough to remind you of all the painful mistakes you made under the Mark's influence."
Strangely, this somewhat callous remark softens Dean enough to help prop him against the pillows. "You ever think before you speak?"
Cas just barely shakes his head before trying to fight his fluttering eyelids. "Should I be this drowsy? Is this normal?"
Dean squeezes his shoulder. "Yeah. Totally normal. And fine, guess I'll let you slide on account of the whole stitches and agony gambit you got going here. For now."