It was red, pussy, puckered and ugly. Cas saw a glimpse of it as he watched Dean change from the corner of his eye. It shouldn't be looking like that, a voice in the back of his mind told him. He tried to push it away. Dean was fine. Dean had survived the bullet wound and he was fine. He had been for ages now. It was almost Christmas (December was just starting) and Cas had hardly spent any time with the man. Not only because he was being forced away, but because he didn't want to. He'd been genuinely hurt by Dean's comment, as if this relationship was just a bit of fun but it wasn't going to go anywhere. Men didn't just kiss other men for fun! That just didn't happen. They certainly didn't… do other things with men. Men and men wasn't really an accepted thing.
On some of his days separated from Dean, he found himself stuck on the listening end of a conversation about how homosexuality was 'disgusting' and 'unnatural'. Every time someone said something like that, he felt a sick feeling in his stomach. He was wrong. He was disgusting. He was unnatural. No matter how seriously he thought that of himself, he couldn't think that about Dean. No matter how much Dean's words had hurt him, he couldn't stay angry forever.
One glimpse of Dean's ugly, torn bullet wound was enough to completely wipe Castiel of all anger. "Dean?" he asked quietly, voice thick with concern.
Dean quickly buttoned up his shirt and walked (yes, he was walking) slowly out of the room, past Castiel. He was feeling a little hurt at having his apologies ignored, but Cas obviously couldn't read his mind and make that better.
Castiel chewed at his lip and limped after him. "Dean, your chest… Why haven't you said anything?"
Dean just turned around to Cas and raised his eyebrows. "Oh, so you're talking to me now?" He winced and tugged on his shirt.
Castiel looked down at the floor, embarrassed. "You should put a bandage over it…"
Dean just glared at Cas without saying a word. He walked slowly over to the couch, sitting down with a sigh and holding out the newspaper so that he could read it.
There was nothing but silence for a while and Cas just stood there, eventually leaning to take hold of his walking stick when his leg started aching. He was worried. He'd finally let Dean take over looking after his wound and he was regretting it. It was infected. He could see that clearly. If Dean would let him touch it, he was certain it would be radiating heat. "Please… let me look at it…"
"No, Cas. It's fine. Why don't you go talk to Andrew or something?"
"I've got work… You know, that thing that keeps us alive?"
Dean nodded once and sighed again.
"I forgive you, you know…" Castiel shrugged on his coat and left.
He couldn't concentrate at work, not that there was much to concentrate on. Stacking fruit and vegetables didn't require much use of the brain. Things with Dean were wrong and Castiel really wanted to fix that, even if it meant shutting himself inside again. The world didn't need him and he didn't need the world. He just needed Dean.
When he came home, Dean was laying spread out, half falling off the couch as he tossed restlessly in his sleep.
Castiel hated seeing him like that. He hated that though they had left, the war was still very much a part of their lives. He watched Dean dreaming for a moment before moving closer. He nudged Dean gently in an attempt to wake him, but when he didn't wake up, he bit at his lip and told himself that Dean would understand. Cas had to look at it. He'd been put in charge of making sure that Dean was okay. He never should have given up looking after the wound. He unbuttoned Dean's shirt without any trouble and exposed the torn, infected flesh. Pressing a hand to it, it was hot. There was no way it could have been comfortable.
Dean snorted awake at the feeling of Castiel's cold hand and lashed out instinctively, hand connecting with Cas' cheek and sending him toppling backwards.
Cas stared at Dean, almost afraid, wincing as he poked at his cheek. "Dean… I'm sorry, I just… Why didn't you tell me?"
Dean looked down at his chest and sighed. "You weren't talking to me. I said a horrible thing to you and I didn't think you'd want to know." Dean winced as he poked the sore, red skin. "The stitches have popped a few times, and I know I should have gone to someone else, but I really didn't want to… so I just did it myself."
Cas' stomach dropped and he stepped forwards. "Dean… I forgive you." Castiel placed a hand against Dean's cheek and gave him a sad smile. It was infected. There was no doubt about that.
Dean looked up at Cas and moved off the couch, wobbling on his feet. "I'm fine. It will heal. Don't worry about it." Dean pressed a soft kiss to Cas' lips hesitantly.
Cas sighed, being gentle as he kissed back, making sure that he didn't touch the infected area. All he wanted was to take Dean to a hospital and at least have him looked at, but Dean would hear none of it. The man was too stubborn and Cas knew that he wouldn't' be able to persuade him. Cas smiled against Dean's lips, stomach settling in a way that it hadn't since Andrew had first knocked on their door. He knew that everything would be alright, that no matter what happened, Dean would always be there and no matter how hard their 'friends' tried to pull them apart, they would not succeed.
Dean shuddered and rubbed at his eyes, yawning and looking back to the couch.
"What were you dreaming about?" Castiel tilted his head to the side, eyeing Dean curiously though he was pretty sure he knew what Dean was dreaming of. War. It was the only thing either of them dreamt about, really. Agonised screams, gunshots, explosions, sand, water and fire were all that filled their minds while they were sleeping. Cas never failed to have a dream about lying there in the sand, leg crumpled beneath him, bodies hitting the ground around him with sickening thumps. Castiel had to concentrate when limping down the street to make sure he didn't jump at the slightest sounds. There had been a few days when he'd been sent home from work early, two stressed out and jumpy to function properly. Most of those times, before Dean had upset him, Cas would curl up in Dean's arms and take deep breaths until the world came back into focus and he was certain that it was all real, that he wasn't still frozen next to poor, dead Stitch.
"I was dreaming about all my friends. They're probably all dead now…" Dean scratched at his head, expression pained. "Do you ever think about that? The war's still raging on and our friends are either dead or dying… we're just stuck here being useless. We aren't even in the right country, for God's sake!" Dean threw his hands in the air.
Cas swallowed a small lump in his throat. It was roughly one week off Christmas and news reports of yet another battle came flooding the newspapers. Surely there was no one he knew fighting there. They'd probably all died in Normandy, on Omaha beach. They'd probably all died as he should have, scared and crying out for their mothers. Cas knew he was supposed to feel lucky, but the only reason he hadn't given up completely was Dean.
"They can't all be dead," Cas whispered, rubbing a hand over the warm skin around the swelled up wound. The stitches in it were all crooked and knitted the hole together messily. "Dean, do you want me to try fixing it?"
Dean shrugged and stripped his shirt off. "Do you think you can do it?"
Cas didn't say anything, just took Dean's hand and lead him into their bedroom, laying him down on the best before getting some alcohol, a cloth, something to stitch the wound up with and a bowl of warm water. He sat on Dean's lap, forcing him to rest back against his stack of pillows. His tongue stuck out between his lips as his brow furrowed in concentration. He unpicked the messy stitching and tried his best to clean out the jagged hole before sewing it back up and wiping at the sweat on his brow. "I… I don't know if that's going to help…"
Dean shrugged and pulled Castiel into a kiss. "At least you tried. Thank you." Dean let Cas roll away and shut his eyes, sighing at resting as Cas went about putting things back in their place.
Castiel watched Dean closely for the rest of the day, noting his tiredness and the slight winced every time he moved. It was Cas who suggested that Dean start utilising his wheelchair more.
Dean nodded, groaned at he looked at the infernal thing. He played around with his hat in his lap after he'd lowered himself into his chair and got used to wheeling around again.
"Dean, you got better before… you're going to get better again, I promise," Cas said quietly, limping into the kitchen to find them some food. "I'm sure if we manage to get home soon like we were promised, you'll heal up in no time." Cas was obviously trying to stay cheerful and he hoped that it wasn't coming across as a fake cheerfulness. All he really wanted was for Dean to be okay, though deep down, he didn't believe that it was going to happen. Infections were never a good sign. Hopefully it would just go away, heal up and fix itself without Cas having to force Dean into a hospital.
Dean placed his hat on his head and rolled around in circles, tipping his chair onto one wheel as he had a bit of fun with it. "I love you," he mumbled as the wheels squeaked.
Cas barely heard him, but when he did, and he finally figured out what Dean had said, he went scarlet. He opened and closed his mouth a few times in silence as he watched Dean from the kitchen. Then he spun on his heel and hid his face in the pantry, pretending to be choosing between various foods. He came back with a few simple things on a plate and set it on the small table in front of the couch. He picked at the food slowly, still blushing and unable to say a word.
Dean raised an eyebrow as he began eating, but didn't question Castiel's silence.
They had a bit of quiet reading time, during which Cas read the latest letter from his parents and sat there thinking about home. He really just wanted to go home and sleep in his own bed, but Dean was still being stubborn about not facing his father, so Cas would stay with him. He thought about getting Dean to talk about it, convincing him that his father wouldn't care. Dean had been injured and it didn't matter, his dad was probably more upset by the lack of letters from the son that he'd seen march off to war and never heard from.
Dean, of course, would come up with some ridiculous explanation to convince himself that he was doing the right thing. He'd probably say that he wasn't going home until the war was over, or he was dead.
As that thought passed through his head, Cas' stomach flipped and he struggled to his feet, pausing to kiss the top of Dean's head and check his wound before he stumbled off to curl up on the bed, happy that Dean would be able to curl up next to him like nothing was wrong.
Note: I blame my holiday homework for the almost month long gap between updates... That, and lack of motivation. I do hope you haven't all forgotten about this...
