[EDIT]: I originally accidentally uploaded Ch. 9 again as Ch. 11, and akuma-river was kind enough to point it out to me. Much thanks, and sorry for the mix-up! Here's the real chapter.
A/N: Okay, so this is quickly approaching my record for number of chapters in a fic. Not length, mind you, because I've kept chapters pretty short, just number of chappies. And you know why this is possible? You guys. I've always been afraid of doing a fic with a lot of chapters because I worry that people won't want to keep reading for that long, but you guys and your wonderful reviews have assured me that there are still people out there who want more of this story. I confess, I didn't... plan for it to go on this long, it's just taking a really long time for our guys to work out their issues.
Let's be honest here: it's mostly Dean. But guess what happens this chapter? Cas gets issues too! I swear, I'm just making life more complicated for myself; I shoulda just had them kiss in chapter 5 or so and Dean be all like, "Wow, that was an amazing sextastic kiss! Let's get married." But you know what? That story has been written before. Dean and Cas are nothing if not the kind of characters who take the long way around to every emotional breakthrough, and this season hasn't been kind to either of them. So we're taking the scenic route, folks - I hope you're enjoying the ride.
I'm thoroughly relieved by all of your reviews, since I was mildly terrified that I would alienate you all with my talk of "dominance", but it's something I've been working into the dream angle from the beginning. And, of course, "real life" too, but Cas has to be pretty provoked to go BAMF on Dean ordinarily. The Cas of Dean's dreams is one who puts up with a lot less of Dean's bullshit, ha ha.
Anyways, you're all THE BEST PEOPLE EVER for reviewing and if you review this chapter you will get a MAJOR AWARD in the form of SOME LEFTOVER CHRISTMAS CHOCOLATE AND MY PERPETUAL ADORATION. I love you!
When Castiel arrived in the parking lot, it was not a perfect landing. He would have liked to have appeared directly in Dean's room, but he erred by many feet and knew he was too weak to correct it. Instead he staggered toward the door, one hand trying to close the wound in his side and the other groping for the knob. It was a much greater effort than it should have been.
Locked. The damnable door was locked.
Castiel groaned and leaned against the door, gathering his strength for a moment. Normally, this would be as simple as walking, but… He heaved himself back up, and raised a hand.
The door blasted open.
He lurched inside, hoping to make it to one of the beds. Beds had been his friend when he had briefly been cut off from Heaven – soft, warm, safe. One of the small pleasures of a mortal being. He clutched the garish comforter and dragged himself onto the nearest one, remembering at the last moment to flick his hand out behind him and close the door.
He rested.
…..
Many minutes later, Castiel heard voices outside the door. Then they fell silent.
It must have been obvious that their room had been broken into. Castiel wanted to roll over onto his back so he would be easier to recognize but he also wanted more than anything in the world not to move ever again. So he remained.
Twin sets of click-click, the sound of two guns being cocked. The soft metallic whisper of the knob being turned slowly, cautiously. The door creaked open.
A moment of tense silence. Then, "Cas?"
He wanted to answer affirmatively, but all that would come out was a groan.
"Cas?"
Firm, rough hands, grabbing him and turning him over. Castiel gasped sharply and squeezed his eyes shut as the pain in his side flared white-hot. Dean's voice: "Cas, what's -" Stopped. "That's a lotta blood." Shaky, shocked. "Christ, that's a lotta blood. Shit…"
Sam. "How is this possible? I thought angels didn't –"
"I don't know. Cas, can you hear us? Cas?"
Slowly, Castiel managed to force open his eyes. "Dean," he grunted.
The first thing that swam into his watery vision was Dean's eyes, wide and concerned. "Cas, what happened? What happened to you?"
"Pierce – pierced my Grace," Castiel ground out, his hand clutching harder at his side. It felt wet and warm. "Be fine. Need time. Need rest."
Dean's face grew dark. "Was it Raphael? Raphael do this to you?"
"Sigils," he mumbled, a darkness crowding around the edge of his vision. "Hide…" Exhaustion weighed down his entire body and he closed his eyes again, tired, so tired…
Dean's hands fumbled at the buttons of his shirt. "You heard him. Sigils."
"We should take him to Bobby's," he heard Sam say. "Easier to defend –"
"We can't move him!" Dean snarled. "He's not healing himself, he's bleeding out –" and he peeled back the fabric, peeled back Castiel's hand.
They both went silent.
"Christ," Dean breathed.
Castiel opened his eyes again, but this time he saw only water-stained ceiling. He wanted to ask if it looked as bad as it felt but there was blood welling up in his throat and all he could choke out was a strangled, "Bad…"
"S'okay, Cas," Dean whispered hoarsely. He squeezed Castiel's arm. "We're gonna fix you up."
Castiel slipped into unconsciousness.
….
When Castiel awoke, he was somewhat improved. He still felt as though his bones had been filled with lead and his side ached horribly, but he also felt a strong confidence that he was going to recover – a confidence that had almost left him last night.
There was also a dark, empty hollow in his heart that had nothing to do with his physical wounds.
Dean was sprawled on the futon nearby, watching some television program about orange people with thick city accents living in a house together. Several times he made noises of disgust and snorted, but he made no move to change the channel.
"How long was I unconscious?" Castiel asked.
Dean started and sat up, staring wide-eyed. "Cas! You're awake! Thought we almost lost you there." He got up and walked over to the bed, anxious and energetic. "You were out for about a day, but you started to heal up after the first six hours so we called off the wake." He sat down on the edge of the bed and patted Castiel's knee, smirking. The smirk was doing a poor job of masking the concern that was clear as day in his face.
"You were worried," Castiel observed.
Dean chuckled, and looked downward. "Yeah, you know, it's funny. Usually I… well, I never worry about you. I always just assume…" He scratched his eyebrow. "That you're gonna be okay. That you're indestructible. Everybody else I worry about. Bobby, Sammy, Lisa and Ben, even Dad way back when… But you were always too damn resilient, and when you were gone it never occurred to me to wonder what had happened to you. But yesterday…" He raised his eyes to Castiel's. "You worried me, Cas. You had me really fucking worried."
For some reason, this oddly pleased Castiel. It was a small feeling, overwhelmed by the yawning void in his chest, but pleasant nonetheless.
"So how'd you get that hole punched through you?" Dean asked. "And more importantly, how long do we have until Raphael tracks us down?"
The empty hollow in Castiel's heart widened. The words came out of his mouth, but they felt as though they were spoken by a different person. "Raphael is dead."
Dean's eyes widened, and he hesitated before asking, "How?"
Castiel felt cold, and thought that he would never feel warm again. "I killed him."
I killed him.
Dean's adam's apple bobbed, and then his eyebrows furrowed. "You seem… upset."
He begged for his life. He begged me to show him mercy but I knew, I knew he would never stop as long as lived and I killed him.
How many others have I killed? How many others pleaded, begged, implored that I spare them? The things I have done, the creature I have become… I thought I was doing what was necessary but I no longer know if what I did was right. If the ends justify the means. I am as much of a monster as any of the brothers that I murdered.
I am no angel of the Lord. I am no angel of anyone.
But instead of saying this aloud, he did something he'd never done before.
He cried.
He didn't realize it was happening, at first. His vision became blurry and his throat became tight, and then the warm dampness was spilling out of his eyes and down his cheeks.
"Cas," Dean whispered. "Hey…"
Castiel closed his eyes tightly, but the tears kept spilling out. His chest felt like it was snapping in half from the inside out and it hurt worse than the wound that had pierced his very Grace.
But then suddenly, Dean's weight on the bed shifted and moved and two arms were wrapping around him and holding him tightly, anchoring him to something real and substantial and good and Castiel buried his face in Dean's neck, cried harder, clutched him back, let him rest his stubbly chin against Castiel's cheek, let him mutter soothing meaningless nothings into his ear. "S'alright, Cas, s'over, gonna be alright…"
In Dean's arms, Castiel could almost believe it was true.