Those of you missing Santorum (the fic, not the asshole republican) it's over at my lj. There's a new update as of Friday.
Also, my new novel 'After the Fall' will be out soonish, so keep an eye on my twitter JollySnidge, for updates, and go to my wordpress 'Sarah Goodwin, a Writer' for details of the plot.
Sam stands, frozen in horror, watching as Dean's whole body sizes up, cords standing out on his neck as his face turns red and his teeth sink into his bloodied lip, until more blood, his own, runs over his chin.
"Dean?" Sam inches forwards, and Dean's head tips back, another terrible, animal scream coming out of him until his throat dries up and only a hoarse moan of pain comes out. He doesn't seem able to draw breath, or have any control over his movements.
Sam moves closer, hands clutching at Dean's hand. Blood appears in his brother's tear ducts, the skin on his cheek ruptures and blood flows freely down his face and onto the bed. Dean's eyes roll, and he chokes, blood spluttering between his lips, even as he tries to scream, and produces nothing but blood and strangled air.
The sharp smell of urine mixes with that of blood in the air, and Sam realises that the seizure, or rictus that's gripping Dean is going to kill him, in seconds.
Strong hands push Sam away, so hard that he hits the wall on the other side of the room and falls to the floor. He turns, and sees Castiel leaning over Dean, wrist slashed upwards, almost to the elbow, a clumsy arching slash. With the other hand he's pried Dean's clenched teeth open, forcing his wrist to Dean's mouth.
Sam struggles to his feet.
Castiel turns towards him, and Sam jerks backwards in shock, because the angel's face is so intensely furious that he looks capable of murdering Sam with his bare hands, and ripping him to pieces.
"Cas-"
"You could have killed him," Castiel thunders, oblivious to the great, starving pulls that are being taken of his blood. Dean is shaking on the bed, the soaked sheets sticking to him. "You almost did."
"I didn't know!"
"You didn't think!" Castiel's eyes are so dark that Sam is actually scared.
"Is he going to be ok?"
Castiel looks down at Dean, one hand going to cup the back of his head.
"It's taking too long," he mutters, turning back to Sam, "Get me a needle."
"Wha-"
"A needle, now Sam." Castiel orders, and Sam sprints out of the room and back to his bag, scrambling for the first aid kit, with it's dressings and thread, and a pack of two hypodermic needles, large ones, which he's most often used for dosing vampires with dead man's blood.
He runs back to Castiel, clutching the pack, and tears one free, handing it to the angel.
Castiel doesn't take it, he just offers his uninjured arm.
"He needs more in his system, quickly," Castiel says, some of the fury gone from his voice.
Sam's fingers shake as he inserts the needle into Castiel's arm, drawing a syringe full of blood.
"Where-"
"His limbs, and the heart." Castiel looks at him. "Sam, if I stop feeding him, he'll die. Do this quickly please."
Sam sinks the needle into his brother's arm and watches, with a sick feeling in his stomach, as the blood moves under Dean's skin, like djinn poison. He refills the syringe, injects the other arm. The he has to strip the wet jean's off of Dean and inject the crook of each knee.
With one last look at Castiel, Sam aims the needle between Dean's ribs, right into his heart, and pushes the plunger down.
Castiel pulls his arm away from Dean, just as the hunter gasps, jerking upwards into a sitting position and grasping the bed to keep himself upright. Dean fights for breath, his mouth entirely red with blood, all over his chin and most of his cheeks. When he looks up, Sam sees that his eyes are bright blue.
"Leave, Sam." Castiel tell him.
And God help him, Sam does.
(-*-)
As soon as Dean is able, about thirty seconds after Sam leaves the room, he locks himself away in the adjoining bathroom, and leaves Castiel alone.
He'd expected it, and holds no ill will at Dean for retreating to regain his composure. Castiel sits on the side of the bed, the sheets made clean and new again with a thought.
Then he waits.
When Dean returns, his hair is wet and Castiel surmises that he's submerged his head in the grimy basin to remove the blood from his face. Still, some of it lingers, a darkish tattoo, red filigree at the corners of his mouth and at the faint stubble on his throat.
He's naked, underwear presumably having been discarded while he cleaned himself up, and the first thing he does is dart for the clothes that are spilling out of his duffle bag. Eyes purposefully avoiding Castiel, he pulls on underwear, jeans and a shirt, face tense and stiff with anger.
"Dean-"
"You still here?" Dean doesn't turn around, toughs it out instead. But there's an edge to his voice, or rather, a crack in it.
"I will never let that happen again."
"How, by staying with me 24/7?" Dean all but growls, "Getting a little tired of your face being the first and last thing I see every day." He kicks the duffle viciously. "I'm getting tired of living like this."
"I know, I-" but Castiel's soft voice is lost in another lash of bitterness.
"It's like we never got out! Like we're still crouching in the dark, acting like monsters because there's nothing else." Dean finally turns, and he's drawn with anger, and even though Castiel knows a lot of it is directed inwards, there's still plenty of hatred for him pasted across Dean's face.
"And you, are you even trying, to fix this? To fix me?" Dean's almost trembling with anger, but something else as well, "or do you like having me like this? Huh? Desperate, needing you? What do you think you're going to get out of me if you keep this going long enough?"
"I'm not trying to get anything out of you." Castiel says calmly, though inside he's anything but calm.
"Bullshit," Dean snarls, "you think that you can...that you can get that from me? Like before? You're dead wrong. Understand?" He swallows, gathering his reserves of spite. "I'd rather die than let you."
Castiel takes it silently. He can't say that he doesn't want what they shared before, because that would be a lie. He doesn't want to lie anymore. Still, there's a different between deceit, and guarding himself for further pain.
Dean almost visibly deflates. "I can't believe Sam saw..." he shakes his head.
"You can explain to him."
"Yeah, that's gonna go down great."
"He'll understand. Or try to. And I can't imagine he'll be angry with you for surviving, in order to return to him."
Dean looks at the ground, then up, uncertainty warring with anger, warring with shame. "He's going to ask questions."
"Then answer them."
Dean doesn't say anything.
"He loves you, and you've forgiven each other a great many things in the time I've known you...and in this case, there's nothing to forgive."
Dean shakes his head, a bitter half smile edging his mouth. "And you'd say that because you're not human. You don't know how we work."
"I know what shame is," Castiel says quietly. "I know how it feels to do the wrong thing for the right reasons."
"And that's what I did."
Castiel meets his eyes unflinchingly. "I think we did the right thing, for the wrong reason, because it was the only reason you'd allow yourself to believe excused you."
Dean's gaze is like a knife, but Castiel holds it, unwilling to let his point fall on deaf ears.
"You don't say anything like that to me again, understand?" Dean says finally.
"Then don't tell me you'd rather die, than have me. Because you already made that choice, and we're both still here."
Dean grits his teeth, but Castiel knows that he's gotten through. Somewhere, under that shell that is Dean Winchester, is the soul that shared itself with him. The bright, irrepressible truth of the man he loves. The man he's killed for, died for.
Dean is the first to look away, muttering, "Don't ask me for anything Cas, you know I can't give it to you."
Castiel almost smiles. Almost. He's had nothing for his entire existence. Duty, fraternity, his love for his unseen father. That was all. And only in the last blink of his life has he begun to experience this.
Dean may be unable, or unwilling to give him more than unspoken, harsh-backed, half-love, but it's far more than he has had for himself in forever.
He disappears without another word.
(-*-)
Dean goes downstairs, still feeling shaky but hiding it well, or so he thinks. Sam can see the weakness in his limbs, the way he holds himself.
Dean comes to a stop in front of where Sam is sitting, toying with his laptop and not paying attention to the screen.
"Cas gone?"
"Yeah."
"I'm really sorry I uh...I shouldn't have sent him away. I just didn't know what..." He frowns, "Dean, what is going on?"
"Cliff notes?" Dean sits down and lays his arms on the table. "In purgatory, there's nothing for people to eat. So...when I got to starving, Cas gave me his blood to keep me going."
Sam says nothing, just sits, processing. Then he closes his eyes briefly, and nods. "Ok, I get that...but why now? You're out."
"Cas's blood wasn't exactly regular, human blood. It had grace in it, and when he started to get weaker, he was taking bits of his own personal energy, and putting it into me to keep me alive."
"And what? Now you're...addicted or..."
"No..." Dean wets his lips, this is the part he can't quite make himself comfortable with. The part he wishes had never happened, because it means he can't close off the part of him that had woken up in purgatory. "Cas got torn up by a monster, and to save him, I...gave him, part of my energy. My soul."
"You haven't got a soul."
"I have half of one."
"And Cas has the rest?"
"Yeah, only, without his grace in me, my half of the soul starts...bleeding, and it's like I'm back in the pit."
"Like you're being tortured?" Sam's face takes on a grey tinge. "So, when I sent Cas away..."
"I'm guessing you banished his grace from me."
"Dean, I'm sorry I-"
"Not your fault. I should have explained." Dean sighs. "Thing is, I'm drinking Cas's blood to stay sane and not in freaking agony, but if too much grace builds up in me, weird shit like what happened with that demon happens."
"So, how does the grace get out?"
Dean's jaw tightens. "It just...goes."
Sam narrows his eyes. "You're not telling me everything."
"No I'm not."
Sam searches his face for any signs of the truth, but Dean's gotten way too good at lying over the years.
"You can tell me...Dean, I don't want to end up almost killing you again."
"You won't."
"But if I don't know-"
"It's not important." Dean tells him, "It's just...you know, stuff."
"This the stuff that's been bothering you since you got back?" Sam pauses. "Stuff that involves you and Castiel...being close?"
"Close." Dean repeats, brows knitting.
"Close like I saw you this morning." Sam says. "I'm not an idiot Dean, and I'm certainly not as blind as you. Two guys, one half naked, onto of each other, moving like that, making the sounds Cas was...what do you think that adds up to?"
"A great big pile of none-of-your-damn-business' Dean tells him, "I know what you're thinking, and you can just stop now because there is nothing going on."
"Why? Because you're saying so?"
"Yes."
"And that makes it not what it is – just because you say it's not?"
"I'm saying I wouldn't let it happen." Dean grits out. "And that's all there is to it."