The thing about dying was that it wasn't like you'd expect it to be. There was no life flashing before his eyes, no light at the end of the tunnel, no great judgement to decide where his soul would rest forever. Those things were all clichés, just stories told to make it seem like a more important event than it was. There was only darkness and this strange sense of calm. Dean was peaceful, his eyes closed—or were they open?—as if he was sleeping, but he was perfectly awake and aware. It was weird. He felt like he was just drifting along in some slow, lazy sea, going nowhere but heading towards some unspecified oblivion. Maybe this was purgatory, and he was awaiting judgement or some shit like that. Though he'd always imagined purgatory as more of some dark, never-ending forest. Ah, well, he couldn't have it all go his way.
Dean had been so upset in the end about dying, but now he couldn't say he felt bothered by much. He was going to miss Castiel deeply, of course, but the thought didn't depress him anymore because he knew he'd see him again one day. Angel or not, everything had an expiration date. Hopefully it'd be a long, long time before then, though. The guy could go places if he managed to straighten himself out a little. Dean didn't at all mind his absurd behaviours, but other people, they'd be dicks to him. And if that happened, Dean was going to become a ghost and haunt their asses.
There was long period of nothingness, and then something started to come back to Dean. He could feel, just barely, enough to tell that he was laid against something soft yet firm, like a bed. He had none of his motor functions, though; he couldn't move, couldn't speak, couldn't open his eyes and see where he was. He didn't feel panicked, though. Everything was odd, but somehow he just couldn't be bothered by it in the slightest of ways. It was so sing oddly...familiar. Maybe it was just—
"—up. Dean, wake up!"
Dean started awake, jerking upright in his bed and looking around frantically, coming face to face with his too-tall little brother, who looked relieved. "God, I didn't think you were ever gonna wake up," he huffed, turning to sit on the edge of his bed. Dean just stared. He looked so alive and well, his skin tone healthy and his eyes bright with that happy light he carried with him everywhere. "You've been out forever. We were all worried."
"We?" It was all he could think to ask, though he had a million and one questions for him.
Sam nodded. "Yeah, we. Me, Bobby, Meg...Castiel..." Those were all names he couldn't have possibly known, aside from Bobby. He'd never had the pleasure of meeting Meg or Castiel, and never would. Because he was dead, had been for years. And now he was here? Dean was confused.
"Are you a ghost?" he interrupted, pushing himself up on his forearms and looking at him critically. He didn't look ghostly, but then, what would Dean know? He was bonkers. He was also dead, and apparently dreaming still happened when you died somehow? Or...maybe his Heaven was to have all those people back with him? Sam had mentioned them, so that meant they had to be here, wherever here was.
It was a room he'd never been in, with soft blue walls decorated sparsely with a few hung photos of landscapes, a radiator in the corner rattling as it pumped out warm air into the room. He was lying in a bed, a couple thin blankets draped over him, with a couple softly beeping monitors hooked up to his arm. It was a hospital room, one he hadn't seen before, but that was strange, because he was damn sure he wouldn't have wanted to have this kind of place when he died.
"No way, man," Sam said, shaking his head with a slight smile. "I'm not a ghost. Erm...I don't think I am, anyway. I'm pretty sure only dead people can be ghosts, Dean. Did you really hit your head that hard?"
"Wha..?"
What was going on here? Dean hadn't hit his head, he'd died. Or at least, he thought he had. He lifted his arms, looking them over sceptically, pinching himself gently and flinching when it hurt. He felt real to himself, but did that mean anything? Was everything just in his head? "In the crash," his brother continued, paying no mind to Dean's little reality checks. "Do you remember? We were coming home from the diner in the storm and got hit. I was okay, but you hit your head pretty hard on the wheel, got cut up pretty bad. You've been unconscious for a solid week and a half now. You really don't remember it?"
Oh, no, he remembered the crash, but the stories didn't line up. It was like his place and Sam's were just switched, something he'd often wished for. He'd always wanted to be the one who went through all that, not his baby brother. He was far too important to everyone. Life wasn't the same without him. And now that he could see him again, actually reach out and touch him if he pleased, everything felt right. Had that other thing really ever happened? Sam's death? Alcohol binges? The hospital? Castiel?
Wait, he had mentioned Castiel. Dean hadn't known him before, but with everything still seeming so real and his feeling kind of like a scrambled mess... "Hey, how did I meet Castiel?" he asked suspiciously, earning a worried look from Sam, who promptly moved to the end of the bed to examine a medical chart.
"They said you might have a bit of amnesia, but I didn't imagine you'd forget your own boyfriend, Dean," he muttered, scanning over whatever was written with interest, then shrugging lightly and smiling up at him. "Ah, well. No problem, this is why I'm here. This one's easy; you tell us this story maybe every other night, and it's pretty short. You guys go to the same college, and you finally decided to go to one of those parties everyone talks about. So you're there, the place is packed, and apparently you just happened to look up and, in your words, saw an angel. It just kinda went from there."
"Ironic," Dean scoffed; Castiel always said he was an angel, and hell, he kind of believed him now. He didn't know why, he just did. He could so easily imagine him with these fantastic, sleek black wings, doing whatever it was angels did. Performing little miracles, playing a harp, whatever. It seemed so fitting for him. His brother gave him a questioning look, and he just shrugged. "Nothin'. So, tell me about him. Like, what's he do? Is he here?"
His brother laughed softly, taking a seat on the end of his bed again. "I get the feeling this is going to be the Spanish Inquisition day."
"Dude, I've been out for...how long? I don't remember shit." Actually he did, but it all seemed to just be wrong. It didn't match up.
"Fair enough. I've got plenty of time anyway. So, Cas, he—"
"Castiel."
"What?"
"Castiel. He hates the nicknames."
Sam just looked at him and for a second he though he fucked up, but then he nodded slowly, looking shocked. "Yeah...that's right. I didn't think you'd remember." Dean smirked proudly and made a motion for him to carry on. "Anyway, Castiel. He's in college with you, final year. I think he's majoring in paranormal investigating? Something like that. Real big fan of that and old cars, which is probably why you guys get on. I think you guys spend most your time together in the scrapyard."
"Oh! Bobby's?" Sam nodded again. "How is the old guy?"
"Worried, mostly, but he's alright. He's been staying with dad the past few days, keeping him sobered up so he could tell him about all this. I can't say it's been going well, but it is what it is." Well, their dad was clearly still a useless dunk; some things never changed. Oh well, it wasn't like he missed the guy. His dad had been that way his whole life and he had someone far better to be his father. He didn't need John. "I called him when you started waking up. He's gonna get Castiel and Jess on the way over."
Jessica Moore had been Sam's girlfriend for as long as Dean could remember. She was a pretty thing, with blonde hair and big brown eyes, always smiling and very smart. She was sweet, too, and a literal ray of sunshine in their lives. Dean loved her, in very different ways than Sam. He'd always looked forward to calling her his little sister when those two finally did get married. "How is Jess?" Dean questioned, lacing his hands together over his stomach.
"Oh, she's good—great, even. She was really worried about us, took a break from school to spend a few days down here with me. I, ah...I'm gonna ask her to marry me this spring, after we graduate."
"Dude, I've been after you to marry that girl for years. You're finally getting with it?"
Sam and Jess would get married, like they were always supposed to. Dean would have a sister. It felt so surreal, like...like a dream. But at the same time, it felt very real. Everything else, it had to be a dream. A terrible nightmare of a life he'd made up in his head when he was unconscious. Apparently it was possible to live months in another life in only a week and a half real time. He'd never have imagined any of that.
"Oh yeah," his brother replied, beaming. "And I want you and Cas to be in it. We're so going to torment you guys, because we all know who's getting married next." Dean felt his cheeks flush with heat. He hadn't thought about marrying Castiel, not so soon, but the idea didn't scare him. And he supposed, although he couldn't remember, that they'd been together for a couple years. It wasn't absurd or anything.
"Shuddup, Sammy," he griped, smiling a little himself. It was all so...nice. He'd woken from such a nightmare. Castiel hadn't been bad at all in that dream, no, he never could be, but living in a mental hospital and dying slowly...it was horrible. Dean didn't want to die. It must've all been in his head. "Hey, how long do I have to stay here? I wanna go home. I feel like I've spent months in this hell."
"I can call a nurse to check you out. You're in good physical condition, so maybe they'll let you out." God, he hoped so.
Sam called a nurse down to the room, and the woman who came in was sadly not the nurse he'd gotten used to. Was Meg even a nurse? Was she just a friend of his, maybe? He'd have to figure a lot of things out once he got home. Maybe he could go through his phone or something and figure a little out without asking stupid questions. Conversations did tell a lot about people. Dean started planning it out in his head while the woman checked him over, doing as she asked him to and not once complaining. The needles didn't bother him at this point, when he'd had so many.
Dean was deemed to be in perfect health despite his slight case of amnesia and the nurse said that he should be able to just handle that at home. If he couldn't, he could come back and they'd try to get him into a help program. Otherwise, he was free to go. Dean could've jumped for joy, if his body didn't feel all stiff and achy when he tried to move. As it was, Sam had to help him up out of bed. Thankfully he could dress himself well enough to leave, and then they just wasted some time sitting in his room, talking a few things out. He had a lot to adapt to.
When Sam announced that Bobby and the others had finally arrived, Dean was all too eager to get out and see them. They were waiting in the lobby for him, so as not to crowd him or delay his leaving. They wanted him home just as much as he wanted to leave. He wanted, more than anything, to see Castiel. He'd full on tackle the guy. This Castiel, he was healthy. Strong. He could handle it. Dean didn't have to worry about breaking him. They made their way carefully out of the room and down the hall, Sam offering him support so he didn't just fall on his face.
Signing out if the hospital was surprisingly easy. All he had to do was go up to the main desk for that wing, get verified by a doctor, and he was done, officially discharged. It felt relieving. They walked down the hall slowly and took the elevator, and then had to make a small detour due to the main hall being shut off for reconstruction of part of a wall. It'd gotten damaged somehow, something with a car if he listened to the side conversations of nurses, but he wasn't really concerned. It wasn't like they were walking down the crazy corridor, it was just past some of the major surgery recovery rooms, which were always quiet.
Except one. The last room on the hall was busy and loud, with nurses rushing in and out and someone shouting orders. Sam seemed wary of the room, slowing to a stop and quietly suggesting they just go the other way, but Dean's curiosity was piqued. He didn't know why. He typically ignored anything not related to him, but something intrigued him. He brushed Sam off and stepped forward, creeping down the hall as steadily as his legs would allow, and each step he took brought a new sense of dread, sinking further in his stomach as he went. It didn't take long to figure out why.
Much to his surprise, in that room was no stranger, but a man he knew well. He looked sickly, pale and dishevelled, and it was honestly the worst thing Dean had seen. Castiel had been better than this when he saw him. He was very confused now, looking between his brother and the lethargic figure. What was the dream? Sam said that Castiel was here, that he was well and that whatever he'd thought up was just a dream, but then what was this? Maybe...maybe it was real? Maybe he really was crazy? He had to check. He took a few steps into the room, his breath catching in his throat when he reached out to touch the man's arm. It certainly felt real.
"You weren't supposed to see this," a familiar voice sighed behind him, and Dean wheeled around to see a different Castiel, one very healthy and alive, practically glowing. Jesus, there were two of him?! "Love...I need you to come with me. Come on, we need to go."
"What is this?" Dean demanded, planting his feet firmly and looking at him levelly. He wasn't playing games anymore. His whole life was topsy-turvy and he couldn't make sense of it. "What's going on? Who is he? Who are you?"
Castiel sighed. "I'm Castiel, you know that. And so is he. He's the one you knew, the broken one. Dying. He's a lost cause, Dean. But I'm healthy, thanks to you. So please, let's go. The others are waiting to go home."
He shook his head. "No. Not until you explain. What the hell is all of this?"
There was a long pause, neither one wanting to budge in the argument, but Dean inevitably won because Castiel always gave too easily. That hadn't changed. He was too sweet to fight. "It's...purgatory, if you will, but more specifically, the point between life and death. It's that whole 'light at the end of the tunnel' business. There's something to signify your past—" he gestured to the hospital bed and then himself "—and then future. There's nothing for you there. Come with me."
"What happens to him? Er...you?"
"He dies, Dean! That's what I'm saying, there's nothing left! That's a broken man, dying from the inside and you can't fix that. Fallen angels never survive. It's the way it runs."
Fallen angels. Castiel had always insisted he was an angel, and Dean believed him now. Something told him it was true. That he wasn't crazy. Angels were supposed to be all heavenly and shit, right? Then how could he die? God couldn't just let him die like that. He was too pure. "There's got to be a way to save him. You're lying to me," he retorted, touching the sleeping Castiel's face. "This is a perfect world, you, Sam, Jess, Bobby...but it's not mine. This, this man is mine. Broken or not. I will return to him. I just need to..."
Wake up.
Once again, Dean startled awake. The room was much the same as the one he'd just seen, as he noticed when he jerked upright and looked around, but there was no brother. His old man was snoozing in a chair nearby, but that was it. No Meg, no Castiel...it was all the way it was supposed to be. And he was alive, somehow. Castiel. It had to be. He had to find him. He'd understand, right?
The only problem was that he couldn't move a damn muscle. He was still, and there were more tubes in his arm that he didn't want to jerk out. His mouth was dry, too, and he quickly found that he couldn't talk. His throat felt raw, like he'd had another one of those tubes down it. Maybe he had. So all he could do was sit there and wait until someone came in or Bobby woke up. That gave him a chance to really notice something; he didn't hurt anymore. The morphine only ever dulled the pain, but now there was just nothing. His head didn't ache, and his body just felt normal for the first time in so long. He was healthy. And alive. He almost hadn't been, but something pulled him back here and here he was.
Dean promised himself two things right there and there: that he was never going to drink again, and that he was going to go to church, at least once. Because although he didn't believe in God, angels were most definitely a real thing. Somebody had to be listening. He had a fresh life now and he was making something of it, as soon as he got out of here—with Castiel, preferably. He could be a caregiver for him or something.
It didn't take long for a nurse to come in, the one he'd grown so used to seeing all this time, and when she saw him awake and looking back at her, her clipboard clattered to the ground and she was rushing over to hug him, waking a very disgruntled Bobby in the process. "Hey, Meg," Dean croaked, cringing at the sound of his own voice. God, he sounded awful, and talking hurt. He'd have to refrain from doing that.
"Dean! We didn't think you were gonna wake up," she replied, leaning back. She looked relieved. Beside her, Bobby looked exactly the same, definitely happy to see him, though his brow was still furrowed in worry. He watched him stand, his knees popping loudly in their familiar way, and walk over to pick up a paper cup and fill it with water. It looked blissful and he tried to reach for it, but his arms wouldn't cooperate, so Meg held it steady for him to drink. It didn't do a whole lot to soothe the burning in his throat, but it was a start.
"What...happened?"
"You...um, well, you were dying. You know that, right?" she asked quietly, and he nodded. "We actually did lose you for a little while there. We saw the alert in the nurses' station's monitors. But by the time we got there, it was all just...fine. The monitors were normal, and we did a couple tests to see what was up, and everything... We don't know how to explain it, Dean. You're completely healthy."
So it wasn't just him feeling good; he was good. Seriously, he felt like he could run a damn mile marathon right now, he had so much energy stored up. Too bad his body wouldn't work with him. Maybe when he got out he'd just go running. He used to hate exercise, teasingly called Sam a weirdo for liking it, but he understood the appeal now. Or at least he did at the moment; it may fade away soon enough.
"Hey, I told you...couldn't get ridda me," he teased, smiling. Meg smiled slightly, looking kind of bothered by something now that he looked her over. She was always open with her feelings to him, and he was good at reading people. He knew just what it was. Meg Masters was a stone wall when it came to emotions and people, but there were two exceptions: Dean Winchester and Castiel Novak. And considering that he was here and well... "Where's Castiel?"
She paled at the name, diverting her eyes to Bobby, who looked back at her with the same expression. He didn't like this. Had they taken him back to that facility after Dean "died"? He knew he'd been unstable again; what if it'd gotten worse? Or he could be sick again. He didn't take good care of himself and Dean knew it. It was possible that he'd just resorted to his old ways and things weren't going well again. Either way it went, he had to know. He wanted to go see him, talk to him and figure things out with him. Because Castiel understood all of this. Dean knew he did. "Guys. Castiel."
"Um, Dean..," Meg began, busying herself with the hem of her sleeve, twirling it between her thumb and forefinger. It was like a nervous twitch. "You're not gonna like this, but please, don't freak out. We don't want to push your body, okay?" He nodded, but he couldn't promise a thing. He'd sprint down this hall to reach that man if he had to. "Well, he was with you when you, ah, died. He looked awful, Dean. He just stood there and watched us check you over, and it was like once he heard us say you were healthy, he just kinda...collapsed."
Was he exhausted? Had the emotional tax been that draining for him? After everything, it wouldn't be surprising. "He's been sick. Body doesn't work right. He was probably just—" he coughed, cringing at the pain in his throat "—drained."
She shook her head, finally lifting her gaze to lock eyes with him. "Castiel, he's always been very sick, Dean. Remember, I told you about the internal damage, like his body is killing itself?" Yes, he recalled. The doctors had no explanations for it. It was some disease they hadn't heard of before or whatever, and it'd been in kind of a paused state at the time Dean met him. They said it'd been like that for years and likely wouldn't change. "It's gotten worse. I don't know what the cause was, but his body, it's just...it's bad. We can't work on him either, because everything is almost charred, like something burned it, and it just breaks. He's on a strong morphine drip to ease the pain, but I'm not sure how much he feels it."
He was afraid to ask any more questions. He'd just learned that Castiel was dying. Was there anything more? Could it even get worse than it currently was? Oh, yes, it could. Because life and Dean Winchester did not get along very well and it just loved to screw him over. "What do...you mean?"
"He's in a coma, Dean," Meg explained quietly, looking at him sadly and patting his arm. He swore he saw tears in her eyes, welled up but not spilling. His heart sank, and he just knew. "And he's never going to wake up."