Chapter Four

"Drink this." A familiar voice said. He felt something plastic pressing against his lips, water. He drank. He was so thirsty. "Slowly, you'll get sick if you have to much at once."

He opened his eyes but everything was out of focus. Who are you? He wanted to ask but he opened his mouth to speak and only a garbled choked noise came out.

"It's ok," Said the oddly comforting voice, "Don't try to talk. Just close your eyes and rest. You're safe now."

His head a dull ache, his vision blurry, his eyelids heavy, without much choice he decided to give in. His eyes closed and he slept.

The first thing he noticed when he awoke again was how soft the bed he was laying on was. For the first time in months, he was actually comfortable. The second thing he noticed was the sweet smell of something delicious cooking. His stomach growled. His eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness and he realized he was in a small, tidy one room cabin. The only light was coming from a small fire in the fireplace in the middle of the room where a figure crouched, stirring something in a kettle above the flames.

Dean stifled a cough as he tried to sit up. The figure turned around.

"Dean."

Dean felt his chest tighten as he stared at the ragged looking man in front of him, the eyes, too blue, not real. He thought, desperately. I'm dreaming.

"Dean?" He tilted his head slightly to the side, sounding concerned. "How are you feeling?"

Dean had opened his mouth to speak but found himself unable to even take in a breath. He stared at the figure in front of him, the likeness of his friend, whom he had spent so long trying his hardest to erase from his mind for the past year and a half. He stared at the face, so different yet familiar, somehow softer, yet, older more worn. His hair was longer than before, disheveled and dirty as were his clothes. The blue suit and trench coat were gone. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt and a green jacket that looked suspiciously familiar. But his eyes, they were so blue. Was that the same shade they had always been?

Dean searched his long abandoned memories for a clue, for a picture of the Cas that he knew. Cas, looking away, embarrassed when Dean had asked him if he was a virgin. He was sitting down and Dean had been looking over his shoulder, admiring the curve of his neck, silently pleading he'd say yes.

Then he was straightening Cas' tie, relishing the brief moment when the back of his hand had been resting on Cas' chest but he had avoided looking into his eyes, to afraid that Cas with his ease of perception would see right through him.

Then, Cas, boiling with rage as he threw Dean across a dirty alley way after Dean had nearly given in to Michael. The anger he'd felt, no, not anger, fear. He hadn't been strong enough and now Cas was disgusted with him, like everyone, he would abandon him. His eyes, they were turned away. His eyes. Why couldn't he remember such a simple thing?

Cas, brave selfless Cas, bursting through the door to save him only to be sent flying back through, landing crumpled, limp in a pile outside. And Dean had just left him there. Alone.

He just stares at the likeness of his friend, longing, wishing, hoping and suddenly he can no longer push down the feelings that have been raging in him for the past year and a half.

"I'm so sorry." He barely choked out before the waves rolled over him, enveloping his body and pushing everything to the surface. His body shook as he gasped for breath. He covered his face with his arms and curled his legs into himself.

"Dean?" More concerned now, he stood up, clearly confused and walked over to the small bed. He sat down next to the sobbing man and rested his hand lightly, cautiously on the back of his neck. Dean did not pull away, which he took as a sign of encouragement.

"There. There." He whispered softly, gently running his hand up and down the length of Dean's trembling back. It seemed to calm him slightly so Cas went even further, running his fingers through the dirty blonde hair, massaging his scalp. After a while, he was still but he remained in the same defensive position.

"Dean?" He asked, softly, patiently.

His heart skipped a beat, waiting for a response.

Finally, the other man turned his head slightly peeking out from the side of his bare arm.

"You were supposed to be dead."

"I'm not." Castiel lowered his eyes as a grim though flashed through his head. "Would you prefer that I was dead?"

Dean made an odd sort of growling choking noise. Only Cas would say something like that. Of course, he could imagine Cas saying that so, it could be all in his head. Maybe he was still down at the bottom of that hill with Croat Cas tearing him a new one. Maybe he was dead already. Maybe this was his afterlife.

"I think I'm dead." He whispered. "This isn't real. This can't be real."

Cas paused. He hadn't been expecting this reaction. All of the time he had spent imagining their reunion and never had it gone quite like this. He was not prepared for this at all.

"Dean," his low voice grave, "Perhaps once you eat something you'll feel better. I was just finishing heating up some baked beans. Would you like some?"

"I, yes, I'm so hungry."

"Okay, why don't you lay back down and I will get some for you."

Dean relaxed a bit back on to the warm bed. His head was spinning, both literally and metaphorically. He wished he had had some aspirin or something. He tried to push the thoughts of That Day out of his mind as well as the feelings of guilt which accompanied them but it seemed to be nearly impossible with Cas or something that looked just like Cas, he still hadn't decide which, standing in front of him trying to spoon feed him Bush's Special Recipe.

"I can do it myself, Cas." He said reaching for the bowl and spoon. "You don't have to do that."

"I, are you sure? I don't mind." The pained expression on his face was just piling even more guilt onto what Dean was already feeling. He took the dish and started eating, all the while staring into it as if a pile of beans were suddenly the most interesting thing he had ever seen. Although, to be fair, as the first real meal he'd had in weeks, it was pretty high on the interestingness scale and also just as delicious as it smelled which was very.

He finished it in a few short moments and looked greedily at the pot that was sitting on the table, then quickly looked back down at his now empty bowl. He could feel Cas' eyes burning into him.

"I don't think it's wise for you to have anymore right now. You appear as if you have eaten only very little for quite some time and if after a period such as that the human body requires some time to adjust to adequate intakes of nutrition."

"And where did you learn all that?" Asked Dean suspiciously. "Since when did you know so much about being human?"

"Dean," he paused. "My connection to the Host has only weakened in our time apart. I am almost completely human now."

"Oh."

"However, that did not imbue me with knowledge of human health and anatomy. That I have had since the creation of your species by my father."

"Oh." He looked down, refusing to meet Cas' eyes, "Cas?"

"Yes, Dean."

"I saw you, um, you were laying there…" he faltered, unable to continue but Castiel suddenly understood exactly what was going through Dean's mind and was instantly frustrated by the reminder that his power was but a fraction of what it had been.

"I was knocked unconscious." He sighed, obviously still embarrassed.

"Cas, I went back for you and you were gone." At this Cas sighed.

"When I awoke, everyone, you, Lucifer, everyone was gone. I tried using my cell phone but it was broken in the fight. I wandered around looking for you for a while but then the infected humans started coming and I found that I was having a hard time making any progress when I had to stop and kill someone every step. I thought that if you were still alive you'd probably be at Bobby's recovering, so I went there to join you but on the way I was overtaken…"

"What?"

"It's nothing. I was able to escape but by the time I had reached Bobby's it was obviously long abandoned and I had found out that you were still presumed alive by Lucifer. So, I have been searching for you ever since."

"Who took you? How did you escape? Do you know what happened to Bobby? Do yo—"

"Dean. You're still weak. Please, rest some more and then we will talk." Dean wanted to protest but the truth was he could barely keep his eyes open and with Cas' hand still gently resting on the small of his back he felt somewhat safe, even if it was only because of a dream or his imagination. He decided to give in, at least just this once, allowing his eyes to close and drifting back off to sleep.