"His madness...his madness keeps him sane."
"And do you think he is the only one, my sister?"
- An exchange between Delirium and Dream of the Endless, as recorded by the Prophet Neil.
...
The sun was low on the horizon, and the angel had not initiated a single word or movement, just lay there like a troubled mannequin. "Uh, Cas?"
Castiel cleared his throat. "Yes, Dean?"
"Not that this is the worst thing in the world, but what brought this on? You've never exactly been Mister Cuddles."
"Aziraphale forbade me to touch his alcoholic beverages. I asked him what he suggested I do instead."
Dean wasn't certain how he felt about that. "Any reason it was me?"
"We share a...profound bond. And you have had longings towards me."
"What? No!" A look from those bright blue eyes silenced any further protests.
"There is no use in lying to me. I have touched your soul, left my mark on it, and this has left us inextricably connected. I am still sorting out my own emotions regarding that matter." Castiel had been staring at the ceiling all this time, but now he fixed his gaze on the human, and lightly rested a palm on his cheek. "I prefer starting on a smaller scale."
...
"You owe me a tenner," Aziraphale said quietly. He was seated on the floor, leaning against a large fluffy cushion, writing in a gigantic ledger where he kept the convoluted accounts of his bookshop.
Crowley nestled against him, drowsing. The infusion of blood from Sam had been helpful, but he needed time to fully incorporate it into his system, and it was better not to tax himself in the meantime. Also he had been spending entirely too much time away from his angel lately, juggling Hell's expectations with the agenda of Team Free Will. "Why?"
"Love, not lust. The two upstairs. I was right." Aziraphale scritched at Crowley's hair in a fond but distracted manner.
"I'll pay you after the Apocalypse fails to happen."
Sam returned from the kitchen, where he'd had a snack. He was still reading Good Omens. "These guys are a lot better writers than Chuck is. What's with the footnotes, though? And the jokes?"
"'Oh Lord, heal this bike,'" Crowley whispered, remembering the time he'd ribbed Aziraphale for insisting on "improving" the bike belonging to the girl they nearly hit with his beloved old Bentley (which Hell had confiscated as one of his punishments).
Aziraphale smiled, but there was sadness in it. "It was less stressful that time. Father was at least within reach. He was in the house while we played outside, not outright missing."
...
"Cas, you either have to stop acting like you're about to cry or tell me what's wrong." This was getting weird upon weird.
Castiel sat up and turned away. "It's not of import."
A slight ruffling noise and Aziraphale appeared before them. With the damn tea tray. "I made you some Darjeeling, little one. There's a bit of brandy in it, just a dram, because I can't having you getting plastered or emptying my wine cellar."
"No, thank you."
"You're practically shrieking with distress. You're going to give me a headache. Come on now."
The angels locked eyes for a moment. Castiel held out his hand for the teacup and drained it on one long gulp. "As I weaken," he said quietly, "my vessel's sorrows bleed into my own."
It took Dean some time to digest that. "Ouch."
"I have something that will help you feel braver. I need to find it though. Let me rummage." Aziraphale disappeared.
Castiel had the teacup grasped so tightly his knuckles were white. "I need to go to the bathroom," Dean said.
When he returned, Aziraphale was holding something up to the light. "I had to work very hard to get ahold of this."
Tilting his head in that quizzical, adorable way of his, Castiel made a disbelieving face. "How can you have a genuine one?"
"I've been on Earth as long as there have been humans upon it." Aziraphale placed it on his open palm. It was a rusty nail. "Fakes abound, naturally, and I tested hundreds before finding this, though I have had the time."
"This is...the holiest artifact I have ever seen."
"Crowley was using it to stick notes on a cork board in my office. When I told him what it was he nearly fainted. I had it cloaked, of course, to keep it hidden and also so it wouldn't burn him."
"You guys care to fill me in?" Dean interrupted.
Aziraphale smiled and touched the nail with an index finger. "One of the only two Crucifixion nails still in existence."
"Why do you show this to me?" Castiel asked.
"Because I want you to take in what Grace it retains. It will not stop your waning, but it will slow it, and perhaps give you enough strength to end this fight."
"This is too great a gift."
"Hush. You are a soldier. I turned away from that path long ago. I am a healer now, a scholar. I will have to send you back to America, where you must suffer and hurt, while I hide away here safe and comfortable. I hate this. I very much do." The nail started to glow as Aziraphale talked. "But I must do this, for if something happens to me there will be no one to resurrect you and no harbor for Crowley. Take it."
