Author's note: Final chapter! Might do an epilogue after this...
Thank you to all those who reviewed last chapter! I'm so so so sorry to have left it at such a horrible cliffhanger! I was seriously considering splitting this chapter in half and making it another cliffhanger but then I decided not to be an ass, so. Here it is.
crazylove4u - Haha. I feel a little evil not gonna lie. Hope this chapter makes you feel better.
Reaper aqua - *shh, spoilers*. Read on. Hope you enjoy.
iwritepoemsforkicks - Haha, thank you! All your reviews have been super lovely and encouraging, so I'd actually like to thank YOU for reviewing so continuously. And you're very welcome. I'm glad you've found it to be an adventure.
ashleybeaar69 - Aww, thank you, sweetie! All your comments are so wonderful and constantly kind and reassuring (sometimes I feel a little [very] apprehensive about posting chapters, so you always saying such nice things is hugely appreciated). And I don't think you know how much that means to me like ? just wow thank you so much. I really hope my next story lives up to your expectations bahaha. Thanks again, lovely.
mailaine - I'm sorry. I'm really evil, I've come to realise.
Hello-there-qe - Haha, thanks so so much! I'd actually love to say a huge thank you to you for reviewing so many of my chapters, I always love seeing what you have to say! And I'm glad this story lifted your spirits when you were in a bad mood. I hope this chapter does the same. Thank you very very much for all your generous and kind words!
Seriously horrible/graphic descriptions of violence coming up in this chapter wowowow look away if you dislike that kind of thing I definitely would were I in your shoes.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters in it.
26.
"Cas, I'm serious! You've gotta stop this!" Dean sighs as he pursues Castiel into the kitchen, pushing open the door that Castiel had attempted to slam behind him.
"Stop what exactly, Dean?!" Castiel bites as he turns on his heel to face Dean suddenly, who takes a step back and looks slightly shocked for a moment.
"This," Dean gestures concomitantly to the angel with another sigh. "You've got an interview in a few months and you're already drawing too much attention to yourself—"
"And what do you mean by that, Dean?" Castiel asks, his jaw clenching as he glowers in his husband's direction.
"What I mean, Cas, is that you telling me that you're writing another book—and that it's gonna be even more extreme than the ones before—just after you've received threats—"
"Don't you see, Dean?! That's why it needs to be more extreme! Because things aren't changing fast enough! Because my activism has earned me threats to my life!"
"And apparently, that means nothing to you!" Dean exclaims.
"When did I ever say that?!"
"You didn't have to say it!" Dean bellows. "You're acting like it, right now!"
"The very fact that I've received threats from your people—" Castiel takes a step forward, and Dean takes one back, "—for speaking out against racism, the result of which being that someone—or multiple people—have begun threatening to take my life—is a sign that I need to continue speaking out!"
"But do you have to do it so loudly?!"
"Do you really think that if I didn't protest so loudly, that I would still get noticed?!"
Dean sighs and scuffs his foot against the floor of the kitchen.
"You're acting like the only thing that matters in this situation is the cause—"
"That's because the cause is the only thing that matters!"
"Really?!" Dean shouts. "You're really gonna say that?! When it's you they've been threatening?! When I'm the one who's been worried sick about you?! About what might happen to you?!"
"Dean," Castiel sighs, taking another, gentler step forward, this time—he is relieved when Dean in turn doesn't step back—"You needn't worry about any of that—nothing's going to come to any fruition of it—"
"How can you say that?!" Dean groans rubbing his face exasperatedly with the palms of his hands. "How can you be so sure?!"
"Stuff like this happens to people all the time—"
"You've received three threats in the past week alone!"
"You're taking this out of context—"
"There is no taking this out of context, Cas, don't you see! Someone's targeted you directly and is intent on making you feel unsafe—"
"Yes, feel unsafe, Dean—and why should we be giving them what they want, anyway—"
"Because they're being fucking threatening, Cas! They know where we live! These notes were delivered directly! You're refusing to go to the police, and you know what, even if you do—I don't feel safe, anymore!"
"What, so I should stop with my activism because you feel threatened?!"
"I'm saying this because I love you, Cas! I don't want to see you get hurt!"
"This is about more than just me! And you know what else, it's about more than just you and your needless feelings, too!"
"'Needless feelings'?!" Dean repeats, venom filling his voice as he raises his eyebrows incredulously at the angel. "Oh, nice one, Cas! Real fucking gentlemanly of you!"
"No, no, you want to know something more, Dean? There's no fucking point in me going to the police—not when I'm an angel receiving death threats!"
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!"
"What the hell do you think it means?! They won't care! They won't care, because I'm an angel!" Castiel bellows.
"You're receiving death threats, Castiel!"—Castiel winces at Dean's use of his full name—"And you know what? People aren't nearly as racist as you think they are!"
"How would you fucking know, Dean?!" Castiel spits. "You don't experience any!—And anyway, I'm receiving threats at my life"—Castiel punctuates each of these four words with a needlessly large amount of time over each syllable, venom dripping from his voice—"from someone—clearly people are as racist as I think they are!"
"You know that's not what I meant! You're taking this way out of context, just like you always do!"
"That's not true at all!" Castiel exclaims, slamming his hand down onto one of the work surfaces.
"Yes it is!" Dean bellows back, his eyes turning glassy from tears.
"Well, Dean, it's your people who've been threatening to kill me!"
"My people?!" Dean repeats incredulously. "What the hell do you mean by that?!"
"What I mean, idiot," Castiel bites again, watching as Dean's jaw clenches as his eyes glass over a little further, "is that I received these threats from a fucking human. Who else would send them?! I knew it was a mistake marrying one of you lot."
"Stop grouping me with people I have nothing to do with!" Dean shouts, taking an angry step towards Castiel. "And why the fuck are you saying our marriage was a mistake?!"
"You have everything to do with them," Castiel's jaw nearly locks from anger. "You're one of them!"
"You know what, Cas, fuck you, too!" Dean bellows. "You're acting like all that any of this is about is you and your stupid fucking activism, when really—"
"How dare you call it stupid!—"
"How fucking dare I?!" Dean repeats, his eyes wide and dark from anger. "Don't you see what it's done?! Don't you see what you've fucking caused?!"
"I've caused?!" Castiel repeats, banging his closed fist on the surface again.
"Yes, you." Dean confirms, spitting out his words as though they are poison in his mouth. "'Listen, angel-scum,'" Dean recants, rolling his eyes upwards as he retells one of the earlier threat-letters. "'I'll see you rot in hell before another one of your shitty, piss poor 'activist' books comes out again. In fact, you're gonna rot, either way.'"
"Dean—"
"'One more thing—that traitor partnered up with you in the abomination you want to label as marriage? He's gonna rot, too.'"
"Dean," Castiel's jaw clenches.
"'Dearest Castiel, I warned you, I did fucking warn you, don't say that I didn't fucking warn you—you're gonna pay for this interview, pay for it with blood—'"
"Dean!" Castiel shouts, cutting Dean off as Dean's gaze finally snaps back to the angel's face. His expression turns suddenly guilty.
"Cas, I'm sorry," Dean's voice has turned suddenly impossibly small. "It's just—I'm scared, okay? And I wish you'd do more—to be careful, to—"
"This is about more than you and me, Dean." Castiel repeats. "It's about all the angels—ever—about all of us—I can't just stand down—"
"It's not standing down—" Dean shakes his head, the frustration once more growing in his voice.
"Yes, it is." Castiel replies firmly, the blood in his veins beginning to boil again. He breathes deeply, struggling to keep his voice steady and even. But the task escapes him. "It's admitting defeat—"
"It is not!" Dean shouts. "You never think of me, in all of this! You never think of us! You always—"
"You know what, Dean?" Castiel sighs, throwing his hands into the air in some kind of livid self-defeat. "I'm done trying to explain this to you. Clearly you could never understand. The only way you could understand would be for you to have lived as an angel for all of your life, and obviously you haven't done that, so—"
"So I have no fucking say in what you do?! Even when I'm your husband?! Even when it's for your own safety?!" Dean bellows.
"You don't understand!" Castiel roars back. He shoves past Dean and storms out of the kitchen.
"No, of course I fucking don't!" Dean shouts after him. "I'm too stupid, huh?"
"I never said that!" Castiel spins on his heel to shout back at Dean, again.
"But you thought it, didn't you!"
"You're putting words into my mouth and you know it!"
"But am I, Cas?! Am I really?! Or is it just you being the insensitive asshole?!"
"How the hell am I being insensitive?!" Castiel asks, his voice raised to such a volume that he is sure he feels the foundations of the house shake.
"I don't know, Cas, maybe by forgetting that I've already lost two of the people I loved most in the world due to their actions in activism because of extremists, and I don't want to lose another!"
This response stumps Castiel, somewhat. But he doesn't let it show. Even if it sends shards of pain piercing into his heart like pieces of broken glass into raw flesh. He grits his teeth and swallows hard, turning again just as he feels the press of tears at his eyes. He paces to the front door, swinging it open.
"Cas—" Dean calls after him. "Don't go out—"
"Why, you're scared that I'll get killed?" Castiel asks bitterly from where he stands, not bothering to turn and look at his husband. "Quit your worrying, Dean. Do us all a favour."
And with that, Castiel leaves.
He stamps down the street, past all of their neighbours' houses, past lines and lines of store fronts and café's, until he has reached the very edge of town. He stops a moment, breathing heavily. He leans against the back of a grotty looking building, his thoughts buzzing around his skull as he attempts—somewhat fruitlessly—to get them to settle.
"Castiel," a voice dark and rich with what sounds like loathing sounds somewhere near Castiel. The angel snaps up to attention, and—
Castiel's eyes fly open. He staggers back, his hand still pressed up against the rough brick of the building he had been leaning on—in front of him stands a terrifyingly familiar looking human—terrifying, terrifying, terrifying—
Castiel staggers back again, but the man only smirks.
"Scared?" He raises his eyebrows at the angel, taking a step forward. Castiel stares, petrified, into his eyes—his yellow eyes—his—
"Stay back." Castiel shakes his head, staggering back again.
"Or what?" The man smirks again. "You'll lose your memory, again?"
Castiel trembles.
"Do you even remember me?" The man asks. "I wouldn't doubt it—angels are notoriously fucking stupid, so one of you forgetting your own attacker wouldn't be a huge fucking surprise—"
"—You—" Castiel stammers, terrified.
"Yes, me." The man nods. The vulgar smile is still playing at his lips. "Remember, now?"
"It was you who—"
"Attacked you the first time?" He asks. "Yes. It was."
"—Why—"
"Because I was the one who'd been sending you those fucking threats, idiot angel." He shakes his head, still smirking. "And you couldn't seem to take a damn hint, could you? You went straight ahead with all your plans of that book—and that interview—and, well, I didn't want to hurt you—although, maybe I did, but only a little—but you just wouldn't stop—" The man takes another few threatening steps closer to Castiel. The angel trembles and attempts to back away again, but it's to little avail—the man continues in close pursuit. "—and now, apparently, you still can't take a hint, can you?"
"I don't—" Castiel shakes his head, staggering backwards.
"You know damn well what I'm talking about." The man spits. "Even after I beat the living shit out of you—left you nearly dead in the deserted alley beside that dirty building I followed you to—but you're still carrying on with your stupid fucking preaching on 'equality' and 'liberation' and other such bullshit, aren't you?"
"Who are you?" Castiel trembles.
"Well, see, I can actually tell you, this time." Castiel's aggressor smirks. He pulls out something that catches the sun's light for a moment, the light shining in Castiel's eyes and disrupting his vision a moment, before his gaze manages to settle on it once more. His heart drops suddenly and violently into his stomach. "Seeing as I'm not planning for you to get out of this, alive."
"But you were the first time?"
"The first time, as I said, angel, was a warning."
"And now you intend to kill me." Castiel states.
"You're learning." The human sneers. "Yes, I do. I'd say it's something that I'm not going to particularly relish, but that wouldn't be entirely true. Anyway. You got in my way—far too many times—you kept kicking up a fuss, and I can't let that continue."
"Not to be rude," Castiel starts, only just managing to keep his voice even as he balls his fists at his sides, "but I'd like to know the name of the man who wants to kill me."
"Of course." Castiel's aggressor leers yet again. "Azazel."
"And I'm going to take a wild guess and say that you're a supremacist."
"I prefer to think of it as a preserver of the natural order." Azazel smirks. "And you just couldn't stop disrupting that order, could you, Castiel?"
"Couldn't you have found a gun to kill me with? To, you know, make this all a little bit faster?"
"Oh, I considered it." Azazel nods slowly. "I could have, you know. I have an awful lot of weapons at my disposal." Castiel glances at the knife. Along the base of the blade lie several jagged teeth. Castiel winces. He imagines bone and flesh—his bone and flesh—ripping and cracking under the blade. Bile rises to the back of his throat. "But then I thought—why should I make this quick? I mean, I already have the police's apathy on my side. Their dispiritedness has actually served me rather well, you know." He sneers.
"I can imagine." Castiel replies drolly.
"And in any case," Azazel continues, "I wanted to make this painful. As painful for you as possible."
"You're sick." Castiel shakes his head, his lips curling. A bitter taste has formed in the back of his mouth.
"Well, sick of angels thinking they can overturn centuries of my people's work."
"Centuries of oppression!" Castiel shouts.
"Centuries of justice!" Azazel spits back. "Anyway," He breathes in, as though calming himself for a moment. "We've talked for quite long enough. I do believe it's time that I wiped your filthy smear of an existence from the earth's surface."
Castiel staggers back again, but Azazel is quicker than he could have anticipated. He lunges, slashing at Castiel's wing—the angel cries out in agony, stumbling as he attempts to twist out of reach of the man, but it's no use—Azazel is playing a game—this is a game to him—Castiel can tell as much by the crudely entertained leer still scrawled across his face—and Castiel glances to the deep gash in his wing, the skin and feathers around it ripped and tattered. Blood is lobbing steadily out of the wound; Castiel is sure Azazel's blade reached his bone.
"I'm going to have particular fun mutilating those pretty wings of yours when I'm done, angel." Azazel sneers. "So much fucking fun."
Castiel steps back again, but another slash is aimed at his other wing, and it hits with agonising precision, ripping open the flesh of an entire section of Castiel's wing. The angel cries out again—Azazel is backing him up against the wall, and there's nowhere for Castiel to escape to, now, and Castiel's vision is growing blurred with pain. Azazel pushes the angel back hard enough against the wall that his head is pressed against the brick—the blade is pressed to Castiel's chest, and his entire frame trembles with fear.
"I could end it all now, you see, angel." Azazel says, his voice quiet enough to be a whisper. "But I won't." He shakes his head. "See, by the time I'm done with you, you'll be begging for death. Begging me to end it all, and I, in all my kindness, will. But I want to have a little fun, first." He sneers. He grabs one of Castiel's hands and draws the tip of the knife across the angel's palm with agonising slowness. Castiel attempts to cry out, but before he can, the blade has been swiped across his cheek, carving a deep groove into it which then begins lobbing blood thick and dark.
"You make any noises, and things get a whole lot more painful." Azazel's top lip curls. He moves his foot to slam it onto Castiel's own, grinding the angel's toes into the dust. Castiel winces and holds back his cry of agony—all that comes out is a broken sob. He's certain he hears the sound of his own bones cracking. "It may be dark, but I still don't want you drawing any more attention to us than needs be." Azazel sneers as he repeats the action on Castiel's other foot, before tracing the blade lightly over the juncture between Castiel's neck and shoulder—it's mocking him, it's making Castiel wonder, deliberately, where he may be scarred next—it's calculated and cruel and shit, agonising as the blade is pressed slowly into the skin just above Castiel's collarbone.
The angel lets out another low, trembling cry of pain, but Azazel's hand moves to cup over his mouth.
Castiel trembles, looking away so as not to have to stare into the horrible eyes of his attacker, but Azazel's hand in at his neck and forcing his gaze back to him. He presses hard at the angel's throat, forcing the air out of Castiel's lungs—and he can't breathe, and his throat is bruising under the rough, crushing hands of Azazel, and his lungs are burning and he's gasping for air—and then the pressure lessens, somewhat. Castiel breathes in gasping, rasping sounds, his throat on fire.
"I'm gonna enjoy this so much, angel." He spits, forcing Castiel's chin upwards as he tilts the blade to a point on Castiel's throat and presses lightly at it, piercing the flesh slowly. Castiel moans and shudders in agony—he just wishes it would end, he wishes he could die, he wants to die—
"I was thinking." Azazel smirks. "What if I cut you up, one piece at a time? Carved you apart, while you were still alive, till you couldn't take it anymore? What would you—"
Castiel's knee slams into Azazel's groin—the man staggers back, gasping with pain as Castiel rips the knife from his grasp and throws it away, stamping on the man's chest once more before staggering away as fast as he can—but the damage to his wings has left him off balance, and he nearly topples, his body already bruised and aching, the cut at his throat making him gasp for breath and the taste of blood come mingling into his mouth—and before he has made it even twenty paces from his attacker, a sharp pain shatters into his leg and then is ripped from it just as quickly. He stares down, shocked, terrified, as he sees a fresh wound, blood pouring out of it faster than he would have thought possible—and then a deathly whisper comes at his ear, horrible thick arms holding him and stopping him from running.
"You should have killed me when you had the chance, angel."
And Castiel collapses, the whole world turning dark as a grey mist descends on everything—he thinks he can make out a figure dashing towards him, another standing over him—and still more flooding closer to him—he can hear screaming and crying buzzing at his ears, but the world is slipping through his fingertips, slipping away from him, and then—nothing.
…
"It's my fault—oh my God, it's all my fault, Sammy—"
Castiel can hear the buzzing ringing in his ears. And crying. Buzzing and lots of crying, and the sound of more memories spitting and dancing around his inside skull. Breathing hurts. So does thinking. He resolves to lie back and simply be. He's done this before. He's been here before.
Buzzing white. And shadows. And crying. And a pressure at his hand—or is that only a memory of a pressure?
"Sammy, I drove him away, again, I should've known better—I should've known—"
"How could you have predicted this, Dean?" A gentler voice soothes. "Listen, he's alive—he's recovering—his wounds weren't fatal—"
"Yes, but they nearly were."
The pressure at Castiel's hand squeezes hard again. Harder than life itself.
"It's all my fault."
The broken sob of a memory.
"Cas, please come back to me—"
Another memory? Or is this really happening?
Images flit behind Castiel's eyelids. He can't open them. He doesn't want to try. Everything hurts. Breathing hurts. His lungs are burning. Why are his lungs burning?
"What if—what if when he wakes up, he can't remember anything? What if he can't remember anything, again—and we have to start all over—and Sammy I'd only just got through to him—he'd only just started loving me again, I think—and I can't do it again—I'm not strong enough—"
"Cas, please wake up. I know it's all my fault—what I said was stupid—it was stupid, I was stupid—but I really want you here right now. I can't do it without you and I'm sorry and—" Sobbing cuts the disembodied voice off. "We need you. I need you." More sobbing.
More sobbing.
And more.
"He'll never forgive me." The voice groans. "I—all of it was my fault. Both times, I drove him out of the house—"
"Dean, you can't say that for certain—and he loves you."
"How can you love someone you can't even remember?"
"You don't know that he won't remember you—"
"That's what happened last time." The voice groans. Dean? Was he called Dean? "I'm only speaking from experience."
"You can't—"
"You know what's really fucked up, Sam? The reason we had a fight, this time, is 'cause he asked me about having children. He thought we were ready to start thinking about adoption, again, and me being the fucking idiot that I am—"
"It's not your fault—"
"It is."
Castiel sees shadows dancing behind the images in front of his eyelids. Shadows? Silhouettes? Reflections?
He can't tell. He doesn't know what's real, anymore. He thinks he falls asleep, for some time. Or, deeper asleep. Further out of consciousness. It's difficult to know what's sleep and what isn't. It's difficult to know anything, coming to think of it.
Myriads of images dance in front of his eyes. His head hurts. Something feels as though it is shifting into place. Or out of it? Castiel can hardly think, anymore. Everything hurts. His brain hurts. His wings hurt. More images flash in front of the screen of his eyes. Castiel wishes his mind would just let him be. It seems apparently incapable.
"Castiel—" A woman is sobbing. Woman? Girl? Young lady—someone Castiel is sure he knows—
"I'm sorry, Rach—"
Rachel? Dean?
Dean.
The images dance in front of Castiel's eyes a little brighter. Something washes over him. He tries to breathe deeply. Dean. Dean. The dancing of images and skittering of memories doesn't cease. Castiel's mind has become as a storm. His thoughts swirl in a messy cacophony around his skull. He tries to move. It hurts more than anticipated.
"What's happening to Azazel?"
"I want him dead." Dean's voice spits. "I want him dead—and if there was any justice in the world, he would be—"
Castiel tries to move again. The voices around him fall quiet.
"Did you see that?"
"He moved." Dean's voice croaks. Croaks with disbelief.
"I think he's coming to."
"Get a doctor—"
The storm in Castiel's skull stills somewhat.
"Dean—" The angel rasps. Speaking hurts a lot more than he foresaw. He tries again, nonetheless. "Dean—" It's like shards of glass are tearing at his throat. He wonders when it was he last spoke.
"Cas?" Comes Dean's tentative voice. The familiar pressure is at his hand, again. Castiel realises that it is Dean's hands wrapped around his own. "Cas, are you there? Can you hear me?" The angel tries once again to force his eyes to flutter open. At last, they do.
"Dean," Castiel's voice sounds rough, as though ridden with sleep.
"Cas?" Dean asks again. He swims into vision. He is crouched beside the bed Castiel is lying on—not even sat on the chair, Castiel notes with moderate amusement and affection—and the angel cannot help but beam. Or at least attempt to do so. It comes out, he is sure, as more of a rather pained grimace.
"Dean." He replies, his voice more certain, this time.
"You can—" Dean's voice trembles with something not unlike joy. "You're awake—and you can—"
"I can what?" Castiel frowns softly.
"You can remember me." Dean lets out a soft sob, grasping the angel's hands tightly and burying his face into Castiel's covers. "You can remember me." He repeats, his voice saturated with joy.
"Of course I can, Dean." Castiel chuckles. "I can remember everything."
"You're alive." Dean laughs, a little deliriously. Castiel squeezes his hand softly.
"I don't think you heard me correctly, Dean," Castiel says gently. "I said, I can remember everything."
"You—what?" Dean asks, disbelief flitting across his features. "—Everything?"
"Everything." Castiel nods.
"Cas—when you say—"
Several people burst almost violently through the door. Castiel's sister is one of them. He beams, almost unintentionally, at the sight of her.
"Rachel."
"Castiel!" She nearly sobs, almost collapsing on the other side of the angel and pressing a kiss onto his forehead. "Castiel, Castiel—"
"Rachel, Rachel, Rachel!" Castiel chuckles. Rachel only giggles tearily and presses another kiss onto his hairline.
"You had us worried sick, you know." She sighs, her face damp. "Again."
"Yeah, you freakin' idiot." A deliberately soft punch is landed on Castiel's shoulder—it hurts a great deal, nonetheless. Castiel protests loudly and turns to see a familiar face.
"Ezekiel." He almost laughs out. "That hurt."
"Hey, you remember me! Dean said you might not!" The angel exclaims excitedly.
Dean blushes furiously.
"Can you remember me?" An excited voice asks. Castiel turns to see Jo grinning widely and expectantly—although somewhat nervously—and Castiel nods and chuckles.
"Yes." He confirms. "Very well, in fact, Jo."
"I told you, Dean." Comes an almost triumphantly smug voice from the doorway. Castiel glances over to see Sam strolling towards him, bending down to ruffle his hair. The angel frowns indignantly. "Really glad to have you back, Cas. Dean was insufferable while you were out of it—"
"Sammy, how about you shut the hell up?" Dean glares at his younger brother from where he kneels at Castiel's side. "What would you do if your spouse was—"
"Castiel!" Ellen exclaims, bursting into the room. "I hope you know how worried about you we all were!" She wraps her arms around the angel in a tight hug—Castiel makes a muffled sound of pain into the embrace.
"Ellen, geez, stop smothering him! In fact, that goes for all of you!" Dean exclaims.
"Dean, there's no need to get so pissy with us—"
"Shut the hell up, Bobby." Dean growls, his face pink.
"I think Dean wants a moment alone with Castiel." Jo giggles.
Dean blushes and looks down.
"Yeah, you know what? That'd be freakin' great, guys. Can everyone fuck off for just a moment, please?"
"That's not how you're meant to go about asking people to do stuff for you, Dean, but fine." Ezekiel smirks. "We'll get out of your hair."
Once everyone has left—after much further giggling of apologies—Dean turns to Castiel with tears clouding at his eyes. He tangles both his hands with Castiel's and squeezes softly.
"I'm so sorry—" He chokes out, the tears brimming over his eyes and onto his face, now.
"Whatever for?" Castiel frowns gently.
"For everything—" Dean shakes his head, choking out his words. "—I shouldn't have—"
Castiel brings Dean's closed hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles softly. The gesture stops his babbling all but completely. It hurts a little—Castiel has a cut on his lip, although he has no idea what formed it—perhaps him falling to the ground; but seeing Dean's face seep with relief is more than enough to make the pain brought on by the motion entirely worth it.
"What happened?" He asks softly. "After I collapsed?"
"—You—" Dean stammers. "You were in a pretty bad way. Blood everywhere. I wanted to be sick." His face turns a little pale. "I thought you weren't gonna make it—but someone had called an ambulance—someone else had called the police for Azazel—they had to restrain him—you'd attracted quite the crowd in the end, Castiel—and they had to restrain me, to stop me killing Azazel—'cause after you went under, I came pretty close to beating the living shit out of him—"
"Dean," Castiel almost laughs, shaking his head.
"I thought you were going to die, Castiel." Dean almost sobs out. Castiel feels his expression soften. He pulls Dean's head down to place a gentle kiss on his husband's forehead. Dean lets out another broken sob and almost clings onto Castiel's body, holding the angel tightly in his arms, his frame trembling. "I thought I'd lost you—" Dean chokes out, shaking his head. "—I thought is was my fault, 'cause I'd driven you away—"
"It wasn't, Dean." Castiel reminds, gently. He presses a kiss into Dean's soft hair. "Not at all."
Dean merely continues in his trembling and holds tightly to Castiel's body. It hurts the angel, somewhat, but he won't complain—not when Dean is in this vulnerable a state—not when Dean needs him as he does, right now.
"I thought you weren't going to remember anything, all over again, when you came to." Dean shudders out. Castiel presses his husband's head against his chest.
"Well, I do, Dean." He says softly. "So there was no need to worry."
Dean lifts his head and pauses a moment, worrying at his lip.
"You said you remember everything, now…" He says, quietly. "Did you mean that? How can you tell?"
Castiel pauses a moment. He glances down at his sheets.
"Well," He starts, slowly. "For one thing, I feel like me again. I don't feel so lost. And for another, I could tell you that you're allergic to cats," Castiel says, winding his fingers slowly around Dean's. "And that you told me that on our second date. When I said that I really loved animals."
Dean's lips twitch softly upwards. His eyes are shrouded in both disbelief and by his own tears.
"I know that you know all of Clint Eastwood's movies." Castiel beams. "Every single one."—Dean actually breaks out a laugh, at this—"And that you like to quote them a little too much." Castiel chuckles. "And that you made me sit through a bunch of them during a movie-fest we had, together."
"You said you liked them." Dean can hardly supress his smile.
"They were good," Castiel shrugs, "what was far better was watching your smile as each of them opened. And watching you mouth each of the lines."
"You spent more time watching me than watching the films?" Dean raises his eyebrows at the angel, apparently unable to supress his beam.
"Well," Castiel chuckles quietly, "I find you infinitely fascinating. Is that a bad thing?"
"No," Dean blushes, shaking his head quickly. "Just—I don't know—"
"You always get embarrassed by my attention." Castiel beams, squeezing Dean's hand and stroking his thumb across his husband's knuckles. "That's another thing about you."
"Yeah, but you could've just observed that, any time." Dean points out.
"Alright then," Castiel concedes, "how about the fact that you call salad 'rabbit food'."
"That's what it is." Dean wrinkles his nose. "And I'm a person, not a freakin' rodent—"
"—You love baseball, because Bobby taught you how to play." Castiel beams. "Your dad took you to a heavy metal festival when you were only four, and your mom was furious when the two of you came back."
Dean bursts out laughing and nods, wiping tears from his eyes.
"Yeah, she threw a fit." He confirms.
"Your first girlfriend was called Amanda." Castiel continues. "When I met Bobby and Ellen for the first time, Ellen made burgers because she heard how much I liked them. When you first brought Sam round to your dorm in college, it was before you and I were together, and he kept on cascading me with questions, and you got really embarrassed. When I met Jo later that day, she actually told me that she thought you were in love with me."
"She didn't." Dean shakes his head, his expression filled with disbelief and embarrassment.
"She did." Castiel chuckles.
"I'm gonna kill her." Dean laughs, running a mortified hand through his hair.
"It was years ago." Castiel shrugs, chortling softly. "And I was flattered. And very happy to hear it. And very in love with you, too."
"You weren't." Dean laughs, shaking his head again.
"I definitely was." Castiel chuckles, squeezing Dean's hand.
Dean blushes. Adorable isn't a good enough word to describe it.
"Okay," He says. "What else?"
"The ring you wear on your middle finger was your mother's wedding ring. You're afraid of flying. I had to hold your hand all the way to Vienna. Which is where we had our honeymoon. You wear your father's leather jacket. The amulet you wear was a Christmas present from your brother when you were both children."
"Yeah," Dean nods, having to look at the floor to prevent himself from tearing up any further. "That's all true."
"When you first met my sister, you were so nervous and so desperate to make a good impression that you tripped over your own feet and accidently closed a door on your fingers."
Dean blushes a furious pink.
"Yeah, that's a moment I'd prefer not to relive, thanks, Cas—"
"And on our wedding night, you pressed your cheek against my chest and told me you were trying to memorize the sound of my heartbeat."
"I was pretty tipsy—" Dean flushes.
"I remember." Castiel chuckles. "So was I."
"We were so drunk and stupid and in love." Dean laughs, cheeks pink.
"It was only two years ago, Dean." Castiel smiles softly. "If you ask me, we still kind of are."
"I'm glad to hear you're still in love with me, Cas." Dean laughs, shaking his head.
"Always." Castiel beams. "That's something I told you on our wedding night. And I meant it."
Dean's eyes cloud over with tears again.
"I'm really back." Castiel says softly, squeezing Dean's hand again. Tears leak onto his husband's face.
"No," Dean shakes his head, beaming. "You never left."
...
Well, I hope that doesn't disappoint! As previously mentioned, I'll probably do an epilogue of some sort. What kind of thing would you guys like to see in it? As always, thanks for reading and please review!