A/N: WARNING: This chapter contains gore, and graphic imagery of a suicide (no actual suicide takes places).

Castiel was very glad that angels didn't need to breathe as Dean followed him deeper into the bunker, into the library, because, well, he was forgetting how to do just that. He'd overheard the end of the conversation Dean had had with Sam, but he didn't know all of what they'd spoken of. Castiel decided it would only be his business if Sam came to him about it. He respected him enough to wait. If he didn't go to him — again, that was Sam's business. But now, he had to face Dean, face… He could barely put words to it, but maybe he had to.

"Is he okay?" Castiel asked, leaning against the archway leading into the library.

Dean leaned against the stone opposite him, face pale, even while his cheeks were starting to redden, and his eyes burned. "No, but… he's still here, so that's somethin'."

Castiel wanted to reach out to Dean, but he held back. Doing so hurt, and the feeling in his chest was just another drop of blood that pooled in the space where his love still was. The wound had been torn open with, You're dead to me.

Still, Castiel had to talk, he had to try, because if he didn't try, then what was the point of all this? Of free will, of abandoning Heaven, of carving his own path, of choosing him?

He had chosen him.

The realization was shattering, and not even Castiel could understand it.

"So what is it?" Dean asked, voice low and sharp.

Castiel tensed. What a great way to start this, he thought. Maybe I shouldn't—

Then without a thought, his mouth opened, and he said, "I want to talk about us."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Us?"

Fear bloomed hot in his stomach, and ripped up through his chest, searing all he was.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't, he couldn't, he couldn't…

Yet, there that feeling was. It was in every memory, every look, every touch. And Castiel tried to remember what Dean's smile looked like, and he saw it, and it was like the sun.

I'm going to make him smile again… before the end, Cas decided. He had to.

"Yes, us. I know—I know that this is… your darkest time" — Dean blew his brains out, blood and matter splattering the walls — "and I understand, but the way I feel" — blood, thick and hot, coated Castiel's hands, so bright red — "I need to say this, Dean. I can't… I can't see you hurt." Dean's body lay before him, empty of his soul, his life. "I don't know if we'll get out of here. We've tried so many things."

"And we'll keep trying," Dean argued.

"What is there?" Castiel asked.

Dean just crossed his arms and licked his lips, looking aside. He didn't know either.

"I know you can feel that this might be it, and Sam feels it too."

"You think we're just gonna give up like that?" Dean asked.

"And you haven't tried?" Dean grew solemn, and Castiel worried that he had said the wrong words. To soothe them, he went forward, and he put a hand on Dean's shoulder. His best friend bristled at the touch, and then tensed, as if he had to control himself, stop himself from doing something. "Dean, you've hurt me in ways I didn't know were possible, but you're the reason I can hurt, the reason I can feel."

Dean brushed Castiel's hand aside, and turned from him.

"No, we're not doing this."

"Then when?" Castiel asked. "When will we do it? Never?"

Dean clenched his jaw, and Castiel found himself doing the same, gearing up for the argument that would happen.

"We can do it after we get out of here."

"There's nothing!" Cas argued. "I've tried angel radio, the phones have no signal, we don't have spells, or weapons, or anything to help us! The warding has locked itself and won't turn off. We can't get out. Not unless the bunker realizes it's safe, but it can only do so from the outside. And with Jack—"

Castiel stopped dead.

Oh, his son. His son. He felt as though he was about to fall, and he held onto Dean again. Dean seemed to see the pain in his eyes, and his own eyes teared up.

"Cas."

Dead.

Jack was dead.

Nothing stared back at him from those burned out eyes. Only death and agony lay there. Jack was—

Dean put his hands on Cas' triceps, grip strong, fingers warm through his clothes, to help hold him up. Cas found himself all but falling into him.

He searched his eyes, those green depths so alive and profound. Castiel's face fell, and he said softly, "We're not going to get out of here, Dean."

Dean's voice caught as he tried to speak, and then the words did come out, "Cas, don't say that. There's… There's gotta be— I don't know, there's gotta be something."

They stared at each other, and Castiel saw, he knew. He knew Dean's truth. And he didn't even have to tell him that Dean didn't believe what he was saying. They both knew. Dean's lips turned down at the corners, and his eyes grew big as his face softened in defeat.

"Just… say you're sorry," Castiel begged. "Please. About Jack, about—"

"I don't—I don't know if I know how to be sorry. I'm just… mad."

"But you're tired too," he told him, knowing nearly everything taking up space in Dean's head in that moment. He saw his pain, his fury, and the blanket of exhaustion and despair that covered all of it. Castiel wanted to rip that despair from him, plunge himself into that burning pain and purge himself of his wrongs, and make Dean apologize for his own. But maybe forcing an apology wasn't the way. Maybe Castiel didn't need an apology to tell him what he felt. Because even now, even hurting, he still felt it, felt it so strongly he wasn't sure how he was breathing. "Dean," he assured, "it's okay."

To his great surprise, his best friend didn't argue, and he just bowed his head.

Castiel wasn't ready to forgive him, but he was ready to care for him, to tell him it was alright to care for himself.

"Please don't make this sound like a goodbye," Dean begged.

"I think it is."

"Cas, what are you saying?"

"We don't have a way out of here, the world's ending, and… Please, if I don't say this, I think it might kill me."

"Say what?" Dean murmured, but he was barely breathing as if he already knew.

Cas opened his mouth to tell him, but then something tugged at him, tugged him towards Dean, and he shoved him up against the archway, his lips finding his.

Dean kissed back.