The title of this chapter means "to bargain."

There was no hunt this time. There were no monsters to fuel Dean's rage. There was only a frail, failing form in his bed, and each cough that emanated wracked his body as if it were his own.

He'd returned from a hunt a week ago, needing the soothing reminder that was Cas's body under his fingers, pliable to his urges. He'd needed the reminder that there could be a Heaven for him on Earth despite the damnation of his soul. He'd returned to the bunker ahead of Sam in a flurry of sulfur and smoke, storming off to his room, where he knew Cas would be waiting for him. Only that he wasn't. The room was immaculate, unlived in. Dean called out, but there was no answer. Irritation crept in to intermingle with the rage. He made his way to the kitchen, barely containing that sea of red burning behind his eyes, thinking that perhaps Cas was there. After all, he had to eat now-a-days. No such luck. Biting back a growl, he teleported to the library, another one of the fallen angel's frequent haunts. He searched the spacious room from front to back, top to bottom, but had no luck in finding his lover there either, and with each row of books that did not contain a head of dark hair, his rage slowly morphed to mounting panic. He quickly searched several more rooms, working himself into a tizzy, before finally coming to the room Cas had used before permanently moving into Dean's.

Relief sagged into his bones in the moment he saw the rumpled sheets on the bed. He wasn't sure just what had made Cas return to this room, but at least he had some proof his angel was safe. Except that Cas wasn't actually around, and the adjoining bathroom was eerily silent. Panic clutched once more at his windpipe as he wrenched open the door, half expecting Cas to be on the other side taking a shit, ready to pounce into a lecture on how, as a human, he needed privacy.

Castiel was, in fact, on the other side of the door. Only he was by no means ready to lecture anyone. It took Dean an inordinately long amount of time to actually place the crumpled body on the cold tile floor as that of his lover. He stared on, shell-shocked, as cold dread settled into the pit of his stomach. He learned in that moment that demons don't feel the urge to vomit in the way that humans do, because surely if he was still mortal he'd be on the floor shaking, throwing up all his cookies, as it were. Instead, he slowly made his way toward the angel, no, the man, and kneeled down next to him. With only-slightly-trembling hands, he rolled Cas onto his back, momentarily relieved to find that he was still warm, only to then realize that the problem was that he was altogether too warm, fever flushed and clothes soaked through with sweat.

He gently shook the smaller man, hoping he wasn't quite so bad as to be in a fever-induced coma. "Come on, Cas, you gotta open those baby blues now. Can't be sleeping on the floor." His voice sounded foreign- soft and calm in ways he knew he couldn't be feeling.

He listened to his own heart beat no more than four times before Cas groaned weakly, so close to a whimper that even Dean felt the pain.

Castiel squinted up at him and opened his mouth to speak, for only a rasping cough to pass his lips. Dean smiled weakly, brushing a sweat-soaked lock of hair off Cas's forehead.

"Let's get you to bed," Dean whispered, lifting Cas up into his arms as a young groom would his bride, as though he weighed nothing at all.

Cas buried his face into the crook of Dean's neck, and the demon could feel every shiver that quaked through the man's body. He couldn't help kissing the crown of damp, dark hair before placing Castiel in the bed and tucking him in.

"I'll be right back," he promised, ready to teleport to the kitchen, but then thought better of it, not wanting the smoke and sulfur left behind to aggravate Castiel's cough further, so he took the slower way. He fetched a glass of water, bringing it back to the fallen angel, who seemed to be wavering in and out of consciousness.

Sitting on the edge on the bed, he helped Cas up into a sitting position, bringing the glass to Cas's lips. "Come on, need you to drink a little for me." And bless Castiel, he did, gulping down the water like a man lost in the desert. "Hey, hey, slow down, buddy. Don't want you to choke." Castiel followed the command, drinking slower, until the glass was empty. Dean smiled at him, kissing his forehead. "Good job. You just rest here for a minute while I get a bath ready for you. Gotta get you out of those wet clothes."

Dean drew a warm bath and helped Cas out of his clothes and into the tub, Castiel trembling the whole time from exhaustion and fever chills. Then Dean quickly stripped out of his own clothes, climbing into the too small tub behind Cas. He helped him wash himself and massaged the knots out of Cas's neck and shoulders. Before the water could get cold enough for Cas to start shaking again, Dean got out of the tub, quickly drying himself off, and then helped Cas out, toweling him off and helping him get dressed into clean, dry sleep clothes. He tucked Cas back in, and then crawled into the bed and curled around the fallen angel.

That had been a week ago. When Sam had finally made it back to the bunker the following day, Dean told him what had happened, trying to keep a lid on his fears. They'd both agreed that Cas must have just caught a cold or the flu, but it didn't seem that any amount of chicken soup and tea with honey could abate the illness. Eventually, they had to accept that this was no mild-mannered virus, and was instead Castiel's stolen grace finally burning out. This was the end.

Only that Dean couldn't accept an end. He needed Cas, always had needed Cas, but it was so much more now. There was a symbiosis between them, the one giving the other meaning and reason to live, and Dean wasn't about to let that flicker out, not when he'd just grown accustomed to it. There was no point in existence if there was no Castiel by his side, no point in anything existing, and while he was sure that was a very demon way to think- ready to ravage the whole of all planes of existence if he no longer had pretty blue and fallen eyes to look into- but he was also sure he didn't care one way or the other what kind of way it was to think. All that it mattered was that it was his truth; that he refused to exist without his angel, fallen or otherwise.

And he was ready to grease whatever palms, sew whatever deals, were necessary in order to ensure that he never had to.

He was no crossroads demon, but he'd always known how to get what he wanted.

And that, my friends, is the end. It didn't turn out exactly as I had initially planned, but I'm decently pleased with it. Also, believe it or not, I came up with this particular plot MONTHS before the season 10 premier. This had pretty much been my plan all along since the inception of this story. I feel psychic lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this little journey with me. If you liked this, be sure to check out my other SPN fics. Though they're all AU, except a few of my one shots.

Anyway! Thank you to Pharocomics for going on this journey with me and being an awesome beta the whole way through.