11.
It's barely nine when Bobby arrives, the engine in his old clunker of a car screeching as it shuts off. Dean, exhausted and light headed, struggles to stand and limps towards the door; he hadn't heard a peep out of Cas since last night, and he wasn't too keen on going to find the guy. The last thing he could handle, physically or emotionally, was another argument with Cas.
Dean pulled the door open, leaning heavily against the doorway for support. Shortly after texting Bobby sometime around six o'clock that morning, he had struggled into a pair of boxers and a long sleeve shirt- one of Cas's, he realized now, from some University he had toured before the accident. There was no way he was getting a pair of jeans on, not without knocking himself out cold for a few hours; his knee was swollen to twice its average size, purple and lumpy with broken bones. His head, too, felt heavy and swollen thanks to his crooked nose.
He watched, world spinning vaguely around him though he stood perfectly still, as Bobby stepped out of the car and stretched, token ball-cap casting shadows across his face from its permanent residence atop his head. It took a moment before Bobby noticed him, the old hunter looking over the house briefly before his eyes settled on Dean and blew wide with shock.
"Dammit, boy, why aren't you laying down?" He snapped, and Dean couldn't help the grin that tugged at his lips upon hearing the fatherly scolding in the man's voice.
"Sorry, Bobby—heard you pull up, came to unlock the door." He explained in a gruff, nasally voice.
Bobby squinted as he came closer, taking the steps two at a time until he was standing close enough to see Dean properly. His eyes, narrow and calculating, took in Dean's state all the way from the cuts on his bare feet to the leftward leaning nose and bruised eyes. Dean stood silent, body shaking with the effort of staying upright, until Bobby sighed and stepped forward, putting an arm around Dean's waist and leading him into the house.
"What happened?" The hunter demanded as he lowered Dean back onto his makeshift bed on the sofa, tucking the blanket over him in a strangely comforting motion.
"Went to Cas's house to pick up a few things… Demon tracked us down. Higher rank, I'm guessing; she threw me across the room, no problem, without even touching me… Cas walked in, so I had to think quick… Last thing I remember, she threw me over a balcony… Then I woke up in the car, on the way here."
"You mean to tell me your friend Cas fought off a demon on his own?"
"Well… Not exactly,"
It took Dean five minutes to tell Bobby angels were real, and that Dean had given permission for Cas to be the vessel for one. Bobby stared blankly at him though most of it, slowly lowering himself on to a chair across from the couch after Dean was finished.
"You mean your boyfriend is a vessel for an angel?"
"He's not my boyfriend, but…You… Don't seem too shocked about any of this, Bobby."
"Course I'm not. I knew angels were real… Hoped you and your brother would never come across 'em. Bastards, the whole group of 'em." Bobby sighed, removing his cap and smoothing a hand over his head.
"Bobby, do you think I would have let this happen if I had any other choice? Feathers told me—either Cas is the vessel, or Cas is dead… And I wasn't gonna let the kid die."
"Feathers?" Bobby raised an eyebrow.
"Castiel. That's the angel- Fourth Captain of Heaven's army or something," Dean shrugged. "Easier to call him Feathers, since… He's got the same name as Cas and everything, you know."
Bobby nodded, sighing heavily as he stared down at the floor thoughtfully.
From the foyer, Dean heard the door open.
He was scrambling for the bag of weapons he'd tossed to the floor earlier in the night, alarm bells ringing in his head, when Bobby's voice declared calmly "Relax, Dean. 'S just Jonah."
Dean watched a scrawny man walk into the room, probably three or four years older than his twenty-one years of age. The guy was gangly, awkward, almost like Cas before he grew into himself, Dean thought; same unruly black hair, but green eyes instead of blue. He was carrying a bag on each shoulder, a small leather case held tightly in his left hand as he struggled to balance it all before simply dropping it in the foyer floor with a great thud.
"Hey!" Dean barked, and the man looked up. "Keep it down. Someone's sleeping at the end of the hall. Bobby. Who is this guy?" He turned to the older hunter.
"My name is Jonah Arkum." The man spoke up, and Dean turned to watch him as he spoke. "I'm a doctor. Bobby called n a favor."
"You brought a doctor?" Dean demanded of Bobby, shocked and somewhat betrayed the man would bring an outsider – anyone not a hunter – into a situation like this.
"Jonah's a good guy, Dean. Lost his wife to a demonic possession—I saved his baby girl. He's not gonna tell anyone anything."
"He's right," Jonah agreed, coming towards Dean and sitting on the edge of the coffee table in front of the couch, setting his black case beside him on the table. "Sarah would have died if Bobby hadn't stepped in. Least I can do is help patch up one of his friends."
Dean tensed as the doctor lifted the blanket off of him, brow creasing as he examined Dean's swollen knee a moment before taking a pillow and shoving it carefully under Dean's knee without moving the injured joint too much. He studied it a moment longer before turning, opening his case on the table; Dean recognized a fully equipped army-style first aid it when he saw one, and this was the most extensive one he'd ever seen.
"I can tell just by looking at it, it's not shattered. Looks like a patellar fracture to me—nothing too serious, but it'll put you out of commission for a few weeks, easy." The doctor explained and Dean sighed, nodding, as the man pulled bandages from the bag, and Dean grit his teeth and tired not to scream as the doctor situated his leg and began to wrap it in tight loops.
"I'm afraid I'm gonna have to reset your nose." He said as he finished off the bandages on Dean's legs, and Dean honest to God flinched at the news. He braced himself, gripping the couch cushions on either side of him as Jonah hovered over his face, eyes focused and apologetic.
The last thing Dean remembered was the sound of his scream as the bone clicked back into place.
Dean woke to a soothing warm on his face.
It was a damp cloth, judging by the coarse texture, but whoever was handling it was swiping gently at his cheeks and lips. It moved lower, swiping over his neck, his chest, dragging carefully over his stomach; bruises pulsated softly, scratches burning a bit, but nothing unbearable. Dean sighed, softly, and felt the motion of the cloth stutter to a stop.
Slowly, Dean opened his eyes.
Cas stood almost motionless at his side, cerulean eyes roaming Dean's face and a yellow wash-cloth clutched in hand.
"Hey." His voice was too loud in the quiet room, and Dean winced at the sound, expecting harsher words to rain down on him. Expecting Cas to berate him, and abandon him.
The words never came. Instead, Cas bowed his head and the gentle motions of the wash-cloth started again on his lower stomach, just above the space his belt usually occupied on his hips. Dean could tell by the boys silence that he was focused, and by the way his free hand laid carefully against Dean's side that he was being careful not to hurt him.
"Hey," Dean finally croaked a reply.
"How are you?" Cas did not look up from his work.
"I'm alright." Dean lied, hand twitching on the sheet beside his body—when did he get to a bed? Swallowing, he reached out and close a careful hand around Cas's delicate wrist as the by dragged the cloth gently over his hip. "How are you?"
Cas looked up, slowly, eyes deep and blue and broken beyond repair.
"Dean..."
"Cas. Please. Answer the question." Dean's thumb swiped carefully over the younger man's pulse, feeling the erratic beat of his heart.
"I… I'm confused."
"Bout what?" Dean tugged gently, and Cas, to his surprise, allowed himself to be led; he sat down on the edge of the bed by Dean's side, hand splayed carefully across Dean's stomach.
"Everything… You've been unconscious for two days, I… I've had a lot of time to think."
"Giving me a sponge bath helps your thought process?" Dean smiled weakly, and his heart thudded nervously when Cas returned the smile.
"No… I just… Wanted to do something nice for you… You've been through a lot, according to Bobby…" Cas's hand twitched against his stomach, and Dean suddenly became hyper aware of the contact, and the fact that he was naked and Cas was touching him and dear Lord did it just get hot in here?
"You've been talking to Bobby?"
"I… Wanted to get to know you… The you that you never talk about… Bobby told me everything. About your mom, and the demon and… Everything." Cas's eyes searched his face, and Dean found himself licking his lips to save them from their sudden chapped state.
"And… What do you think?" Dean rasped.
"I… Think you're wonderful," Cas admitted, hand sliding from Dean's stomach to his chest, resting heavily over his heart. "And I forgive you for what you did, before… And I understand why you let Castiel in."
Dean exhaled a breath he didn't know he had been holding, and Cas smiled softly, setting the washcloth aside and brushing a gentle hand through Dean's hair. "This… Us. Rebuilding what we had, Dean, it… It's not going to be easy, especially when Castiel keeps popping in and out of my head, and when I'm still… A little hurt, by everything, but… I'm willing to try."
Dean smiled, reaching a careful hand towards Cas's face and carding his fingers through that dark hair… Examining the stubble on his cheeks, the way his lips quirked upwards just a tiny bit.
"Cas."
"Yeah, Dean?"
"Kiss me."
There was no request, no demand; just a desperate statement, a plea for peace. Cas's smile fell, only minutely, into something softer; perhaps realizing how damaged Dean really was, but the hunter could care less. Cas was the only one who had ever been able to read him, to know his mind, and even after three years asleep it seemed he still did.
Slowly, carefully, Cas bent to press a slow kiss to Dean's lips.
It was like an earthquake meeting a tornado. Cas, shaking and timid, and Dean, his head spinning as he wound his arms around the boy above him and drew him in closer. They were two forces of nature, colliding for the first time in thousands of years and making the perfect storm.
Dean was pulling at Cas's clothes at the same time Cas was fighting to rid himself of them, and, ever careful of Dean's countless injuries, they learned each other anew; the new slopes of Castiel's adult body introduced to Dean's, and soft words of apology and praise uttered against newly familiar skin as they moved in slow tandem, their symphony rising to a slow and careful crescendo, Dean's injured body tightening until he cried out in both release and pain against Cas's shoulder—and Cas, reaching the brink with him, whispering soft apologies against Dean's skin, soothing him, erasing the pain with soft kisses and gentle petting until it was all gone, and they were simply two bodies sharing space.
Dean shivered underneath Cas, body pulsating softly, and Cas tucked his head under Dean's chin, just like when they were young. The two sat in quiet, comfortable silence for what seemed like years.
"I'm sorry, for everything I did to hurt you…" Dean repeated his mantra into Cas's hair, but they boy was already asleep—gone, to this world. Dreaming of nothing, for his reality and his dreams had finally collided.
Inside the sleeping boy, an angel stirred, watching from the background and feeling, for the first time in his existence.
Feeling—but he didn't know what.
