A/N: Good God, guys. I'm so sorry this is so late. I don't know if I'll have another chapter up till next week. I know. I promised daily. But, my show is very time investing. Plus APs are coming up. Which, I'm sure you all know is the most fun thing ever and not at all full of ridiculous teacher bullshit. Woohoo. -_- ANYWAYS. I actually like this chapter, and I hope you guys do too. Let me know what you think. Every read, review, favorite, follow... they're all like christmas for me. I'm like *fangirls* people actually like me. And I get super excited. But, I'm super excited all the time. So... I really don't know what to tell you. Anyways. Thank you for all the support and understanding. I love you all!
A week went by, Cas slowly having more and more energy, needing less and less of Dean's touches, becoming more of his own person, not needing to worry about his breaths clashing with his words or his thoughts crashing into one another until all that was left was a deafening roll of letters that came out in an incoherent mess. His mouth listened to his head, just like his fingers started to listen to his hands, and his hands started to listen to his arms.
He only needed one of Dean's legs during PT to stay awake. He only needed an arm across his shoulder to keep him sitting up straight. He could concentrate for fifteen minutes, for twenty. Dean was starting to take a stopwatch to the sessions and just see how long Cas could go for. It was a competition against himself, trying to break his last record.
They went on like that. Dean offering congratulations when Cas did, giving him tips for improvement when he didn't, and clutching him tight when he could feel the fatigue of the coma creeping through his veins and through the synapses in his brain, feeling like he was beginning to short-circuit. He'd begin to crumble, one side starting to collapse, and Dean would suddenly envelope him completely in his arms, his body, his legs, anything to keep him from fading again.
Another week passed and Cas was standing, Dean behind him, arms around his waist, like Jimmy had wrapped himself around Cas when he'd taken him for a ride on his motorcycle. Dean had his head on Cas's shoulder, his soft breaths leaving marks invisible to the eye but iridescent to Cas's heart. Dean's hands on his stomach, on his chest, holding him flush against Dean's front. Cas could feel the warmth melting off of Dean's skin like a sun clutching him for dear life.
Then, at night, when they laid in bed together, Cas curled up into Dean's side, Cas would read aloud. Sam would bring books, so of course they were old, dusty and boring as hell, but when Cas read it, his voice grinding out the letters like a feral animal gnawing on a stringy carcass, it brought life to it that Dean had never heard before. Cas was hungry to have the words in his mouth and the story in his head, and that animated the books into movies that Dean only listened to.
The next week Cas and Dean could walk down the hall together, their arms wrapped around each other's waists, their sides flush against each other and laughter pouring out of their lips like warm morning coffee poured into a mug. They spent a lot more time holding each other, whispering secrets they didn't want the nurses to know, offering life stories, speaking of the grave and the gallant times. They didn't sleep as much, but instead went for walks, exploring the building together, Dean helping Cas far more than anyone could notice without looking for it.
At this point, Dean was beyond feeling self-conscious. Everyone on the floor knew about them. Reporters had come in. Doctors and scientists from around the world had come in to experiment, to test, to ponder, to 'd taken samples of their blood. They hadn't gotten back to Cas and Dean.
They spent much of their time, wordlessly staring at each other, because now that Cas had his words back, it didn't seem so desperate to say as much as he could. And, Dean had never been one for words, preferring silence, music, and loud action scenes to all else Anyways, everything needing to be said was etched into the creases of their faces, the denim blue of Cas's eyes, the ivy green of Dean's, the worried furrow of their brows, the crinkle of their lips.
And the week after, they caught themselves in a heated debate about whether cars or motorcycles are better. The night shone through the window and the sheets curled around their bodies, their legs tangled, their arms wrapped around each other. The quiet bustle of a hospital at midnight strewing a light din over their muffled argument, their voices only hissing through smiling lips.
"You can store dead bodies in the trunk of a car, if you get in a hot mess, where are you gonna hide the body? Huh?"
"Only you would find yourself in such a predicament."
Dean shook his head, a soft chuckle resonating through his chest and tickling Cas's.
"Sure, Cas."
Cas cast a gentle look at Dean, their eyes meeting briefly for a moment, Dean's reflecting the moonlight, then closed his eyes, sleep tugging on his consciousness. But Dean didn't want to go to sleep.
"Hey… Cas…"
After a pause, Cas said, with warning and exhaustion wrapping their tendrils around the word, "Dean."
Dean stilled, silence creeping across the room. Cas sighed and pulled closer to Dean, tapping his back with his fingers, a silent gesture they'd developed to let the other know they were listening in the dead of night when only they and the moon and the midnight nurses were awake. When the world reduced to the light through the window and their chests moving up and down in time.
Dean took a shaky breath, the breath glossing Cas's lips. Cas could feel the heat of Dean's face on his own. He felt a soft tingle of excitement trickling through his stomach. Cas stopped breathing for a moment, anticipation building in his bones. Then Dean's nose touched Cas's. And in a quiet moment, they both laid there, eyes closed, lips parted, breath exchanging in the small space between their mouths.
Cas tapped Dean's back, and Dean leaned forward.
They kissed quickly, and then Dean pulled away. His eyes open now. Watching Cas.
Cas could feel his eyes on him. Watching him. Looking for a reaction.
In that moment, Dean felt a surge of worry. This was so similar to the devastating situation he'd been in only weeks ago, before they'd found that Dean was the cure. But, what if now, he was gone. Gone again, gone for sure, and that's what had sent him. A death inducing kiss from Dean Winchester no less. He'd always thought it'd be Sammy to let his girl die in his arms, not that Dean's… person would die in his. He felt the familiar ache in his stomach as he watched the unmoving features of the man, needing something, anything. Otherwise they'd both be on their way to that two way staircase of the sky, both of them heading opposite directions.
The silent seconds ticked by, Dean's panic rising every second.
Then Cas moved, nestled closer to Dean and brought their lips together again. This time they moved together, the two men on the bed. They seemed to have a dance choreographed from the simple ease it all happened in. The movement of hands, the situation of legs, the tango of their lips. Dean's hand finding it's way to Cas's hair, like it had the first night Cas had stared into his eyes. Cas's hand traced the muscles of Dean's arms. They pulled together, grasping for more and more of each other, Dean guiding his lips across Cas's.
Cas parted his lips, and swiped his tongue across Dean's lips which were already open in response. He smiled, as Dean used his free hand to trace the five o'clock shadow that seemed ever present on Cas's face.
Then, Cas pulled away, laying his forehead on Dean's and breathing with a slight lilt. "Dean, after these last weeks… I just wanted to say-"
"You're welcome," Dean said as he hungrily grabbed Cas's neck and pulled him closer.