Chapter 7: Hunt and Chill

Three days before Dean wakes up in a dirty alley

Castiel hears Dean's pained grunt when the vampire's teeth sink into his neck. He throws a quick look over his shoulder, seeing Dean's face twisted in pain and catches the metallic smell of blood. It spurs him on, and he sends a forceful kick to his own fanged opponent, sending him flying into the wall.

Barely a decade ago, Castiel could easily had held down the blood-infected human, but the last years have worn his grace thin and burned his wings, as Heaven lost more and more of its divine power. He had started experiencing exhaustion, which was quite unpleasant. Yes, he was still stronger than humans, but he became more and more levelled with the monsters that they so desperately tried to fight.

And now, Dean is rapidly being sucked dry by one of these monsters. And Castiel becomes painfully aware of how slowly his legs are moving compared to his once swift wings.

Ignoring the vampire that he just kicked, though it is already getting back on its feet, Castiel turns towards Dean. The hunter is already looking pale, and his efforts to free himself from the vampire's grip are quickly getting weaker.

Luckily, the vampire is caught up in its bloodlust, so it doesn't see the angel blade that Castiel drives through its head. With a gurgle, the vampire loosens its bite. In surprise, it pulls back enough to bare its neck, allowing for Castiel to decapitate it.

The moment the teeth leaves his neck, Dean starts slumping forward. Castiel quickly withdraws his blade to catch Dean. But the second vampire is already too close, so he has to put the hunter down on the floor none-too-gently, but Castiel will not be able to help Dean get out of here if he himself gets hurt, so it is necessary.

It takes three time-consuming misses before he finally decapitates their last opponent.

When Castiel finally turns back to Dean, he finds the hunter still on the floor, grasping weakly at the bleeding wound on his neck to desperately stop the bleeding.

"Dean!" Castiel drops on his knees next to him. He covers Dean's crimson hand with his own.

"Hey Cas…" Dean tries for a reassuring smile, but he can barely lift the corners of his lips.

Castiel closes his eyes and wills his grace to flow into the bite mark and heal the punctures. The skin glows and the bleeding stops. But despite the relatively small task, his grace is already fading. "Dean, I stopped the bleeding, but I can't… I don't have enough grace to counter the blood loss."

"It's okay, Cas. Nothing I can't handle." Dean is still pale and his speech a bit slurred, though he looks a bit stronger. He tries to get up, but his body still fails him.

Sighing, Castiel grabs Dean's arm and hooks it around his own neck, supporting the hunter. Dean grunts with displeasure and fatigue but doesn't fight him. Castiel knows that that is a very bad sign of Dean's condition. Dean never lets anyone take care of him, even when injured – especially when injured. He will call on Castiel to come heal if anyone else is wounded, but never for himself. Even when Dean was bitten by Eve and started turning into a Jefferson Starship, his request for healing was following by a self-deprecating laugh. Not because Dean was afraid of being hurt, but because he was afraid of turning into one of the monsters they were trying to kill, something that could end up hurting the people he cared about.

Castiel supports - almost carries - Dean out of the old cottage. The vampires lived in a small forest surrounded by a number of smaller towns, which they considered their own personal buffet. It is Autumn, and the dark afternoon is cold and wet. They had arrived shortly before sunset, and during their quick battle, the sky has become dark grey.

Dean immediately starts to shiver from the lack of blood to keep him warm. The cold quickly makes his strides stiff, and he moves slower for every small step that he takes.

Once again, Castiel misses his wings. Or the time when a simple fight against five vampires didn't wear him out. "Dean, I don't think it is safe for you to walk all the way back to the car. You have lost too much blood."

"Come on, Cas." Dean's teeth chatters. "I've been in worse shape than this. I can make it."

Just as Dean stammers through the last of his sentence, his legs give out, and he almost drops to the wet forest floor.

Castiel catches him and pulls him up, gripping the arm around his neck tighter. "We need to find shelter."

"We are not spending the night in that murder house!" Dean barks, though it lacks its usual bite.

Thinking about the putrid smell in the cottage, Castiel has to agree. But they had parked two miles away to be sure that they didn't alarm the vampires, and they have moved so little that Castiel can still see the cottage behind them.

Dean shivers more and more violently, and he is barely helping them move forward anymore.

In a desperate search for help, Castiel scouts the area for any place where they can rest. And there it is - A small cabin about one hundred yards away.

Castiel changes direction. "Come on, Dean, just a bit further."

Dean only answers with a grunt, not registering where they are going.

Castiel gets them to the front door. It is locked, but it only takes a bit of persuasion for the lock to break.

It is a one-room cabin, fit for a single hunter to seek refuge in during a hunt, maybe spend a night. A small table with one chair, the smallest of kitchens and a queen size bed. All covered by a fine layer of dust.

"Believe it or not, but I've seen worse motel rooms." Dean slurs, casting a tired look around the room.

Castiel drags Dean to the bed and helps him sit on the edge. He squats down in front of him in order to finally take a proper look at the hunter again. Dean is much too pale, but at least he seems present. "You should be in a hospital. But this will have to do for now. Let me know if you start feeling worse."

Dean grunts again and starts slowly leaning towards the head of the bed.

"Hold on." Castiel stops Dean before he gets too comfortable. He carefully pulls the old blankets from the bed and takes them to the open door to shake most of the dust off, sending a grey cloud into the night. When he turns back towards the bed, Dean has already laid down on the mattress, his head laying on a small corner of the old pillow. He is still shaking from the combination of blood loss and the low temperature of the room, and he is hugging himself to preserve whatever little heat he has left.

Castiel carefully approaches the tired hunter and places the blankets over his shivering body. Dean rarely allows himself to be touched or cuddled. A simple hug demands a life-or-death situation or a resurrection from the beyond. So Castiel can't help letting his hands rest a little longer on the hunter's body than normally allowed. His hips, his sides, his shoulders. Just to be sure that he is alright and properly tugged under the blankets.

Castiel stands over him, just watching for a few seconds. Judging by Dean's elevated heart and respiratory rate, he must have lost close to two-fifths of his blood, just short of being lethal. Just a second longer, and the vampire could have killed him.

He puts a hand on Dean's cheek. It is too cold, and yet it feels wonderfully alive.

Dean leans into the touch, and a moment later, he opens his eyes enough to squint at Castiel. "Cas…? Where are we?"

Castiel frowns. Dean suddenly seems unclear and confused. It fits his symptoms of blood loss, so the effect of the grace must have somehow worn off, or maybe the adrenaline from the fight has. Castiel fights to keep his voice steady. "We are in the forest. In a cabin. We'll spend the night so you can get better."

"Better? What happened?" Dean looks nervously around the room.

Castiel debates how much to say. Dean is looking at him with big, worried eyes, and he is breathing much too fast. Castiel instinctively starts caressing the chin that he is holding. "Don't worry about that. You will be alright."

"Will you stay?"

The question baffles Castiel. Dean never asks that of him. Dean's voice is low and horse, and the vulnerability lacing through it cuts deep in Castiel. "Yes, I'll stay. Of course."

Dean smiles weakly. He rubs his chin against Castiel hand, the most affectionate display that Castiel has ever seen from him. Castiel still can't help but to secretly enjoy the gesture.

But it is cut short when Dean suddenly seems to focus, pulling back and looking confused, first at Castiel's hand and then his face. Dean rubs his face and grunts: "Stop fussing."

Castiel feels a strange sense of disappointment but can't help a small smile. Maybe Dean is not as affected by the blood loss as he feared. "Just checking your temperature. You lost a lot of blood." Castiel moves his hand from cupping Dean's cheek to placing two fingers on his forehead instead. He sends forward the little grace he has replenished to increase Dean's blood volume, duplicating the cells in his bloodstream. It isn't much, far from enough, but it will have to do for now.

Castiel staggers a bit when he rises to his feet. Draining his grace twice within such short time is not a good idea, but it is all he can do to keep Dean alive right now.

Well, almost everything. He goes to the still open door and tries to close it, to shut out the cold air, but the broken lock won't allow it. Instead, he grabs the single chair from the small dining table and tips it against the door, so it is wedged and keeps the door closed.

The room is still cold. Castiel normally doesn't feel the changes in temperature, but with his grace low, he can pick up on it. He looks at the old-fashioned stove, but there is no firewood. He could go out and find some, but that would mean leaving Dean alone, and right now, he can't bring himself to do that.

He looks back at Dean. He seems to have fallen asleep, eyes closed and breathing deeper, but still shivering from the cold. Castiel is not sure whether it is a good sign. Surely Dean needs rest, but maybe it is best to keep him awake so Castiel can better check his state of awareness. But Dean looks so peaceful, his face relaxed, so Castiel can't bring himself to wake him.

Castiel looks around for something else to do, but the room is bare for any kind of occupation. With the chair keeping the door closed, there's not even a place to sit.

Instead, he is drawn in by Dean's shivering figure. He carefully places his hand on Dean's cheek again. It feels just as cold as before.

Dean could get sick. Castiel is shocked that he hasn't thought about it before. But he has been occupied by the immediate blood loss. A cold is secondary, but a real risk.

Castiel moves to sit on the opposite side of the bed, where there is just a bit space to sit on the sparse mattress. Dean takes up about two-thirds, leaving little room for Castiel to sit against the headboard. Still, he carefully places himself on the bed, one foot still resting on the floor. He touches Dean's forehead again, trying to send a bit more new grace into the hunter, but nothing comes forth. It is too soon; he doesn't have any to give yet.

Castiel feels a surge of panic. Dean is cold and hurt, and there is nothing he can do about it without his grace. He used to wield the power of Heaven, but right now he can't even move a feather with his will, if he should wish to do so.

He carefully reaches for Dean's body. He doesn't wish to wake him, but he needs to feel Dean's breathing, he needs to be assured that he is alright.

Dean doesn't stir when Castiel carefully places a hand over his heart.

For a long time, Castiel sits there, just feeling the elevated but steady heartbeat underneath. It is such a small, precious thing. A heartbeat.

Castiel thought he used to care about humanity. He was told to care, to protect, to teach. To punish if necessary. He was told to bow to humanity, honouring his father's creation.

But he didn't care. He knows that now. He respected humanity, in the same way that someone might respect the product of a skilled painter, but he didn't truly care.

Dean had shown him the truth. He had shown him all that was good and bad about humanity. The simple pleasure of being in good company. The pain of losing someone you care about. The exhilaration of saving an innocent. The strength it takes to stand up to something stronger and more powerful than yourself.

And yet, Dean doesn't acknowledge his own teachings. Time and time again, he showed Castiel what was right and just, while ignoring his own sacrifice. At first, Castiel found it frustrating that Dean belittled himself, but he has come to understand that it only speaks volumes of Dean's character when he seeks no glory or acknowledgement for himself. He needs to keep people safe, to a degree where it almost breaks him when he does not succeed, but he needs it.

Castiel wants nothing more than to keep Dean safe. To show him that he too deserves saving. Deserves happiness, security and… Castiel never finishes that thought. He doesn't know if what he is feeling truly is… that. He has never felt like this before. He just knows that whenever Dean is hurt, he hurts too, and whenever Dean smiles and laughs, it makes him feel a happiness he never knew in Heaven.

Slowly, without noticing, Castiel turns more and more towards Dean. The foot on the floor is pulled up to rest on the bed. Castiel's body is laying alongside Dean's, though only touching at that one point of contact; Hand over heart.

Dean doesn't shiver anymore. His body must finally have been warmed up by the blankets.

As the hours pass, and the late afternoon turns evening, turns night, Castiel wills whatever grace he replenishes into the heartbeat beneath his hand, emptying his own lifeforce to fill up Dean's.

It gives Castiel plenty of time to think, which is both a gift and a curse. He studies Dean's profile, though he memorised it years ago. He always enjoyed watching Dean sleep, no matter how 'creepy' the hunter claims that it is. First, it was a fascination with 'Dean, the righteous man'. Then, it became 'Dean, the human' and at last 'Dean, my friend'. As fascination turned to friendship, his appreciation for the hunter changed. At first, he admired his soul. And yes, it is still incredible. But later he has learned to appreciate the smaller things. Like how the worry disappears from Dean's face when he sleeps. How he smiles a little if he has a good dream. How he wakes up renewed. Well, wakes up renewed some of the time, at least. But mostly, Castiel has learned to appreciate how a man who is always watching his back, reluctantly lets Castiel look at him when he is the most vulnerable. That is a level of trust that he does not know how to repay.

It is the same combination of strength and vulnerability that intrigued Castiel when he met Dean. At first, Dean appeared harsh and unyielding, but it quickly turned out just to be on the surface. In reality, Dean took on the responsibility of everyone around him, whether it was his brother or a complete stranger, and the only way to deal with the self-inflicted responsibility, was to keep everyone at a professional distance. Except, Dean couldn't keep that distance, no matter how hard he tried. He started caring about people much too quickly.

Trust, however, was a completely different matter. Dean could care about people without trusting them. He even had times where he told himself that he couldn't trust his brother. So, for him to lay here, hurt and sleeping, next to Castiel, was close to a miracle.

And Castiel's heart beats just a little harder than normally.

Dean doesn't move much until morning comes. Just as the sun starts colouring the sky, he slowly opens his eyes, looking confused at the wooden ceiling above them.

"Good morning, Dean. How are you feeling?" Dean shivers again. He must still be a bit cold.

Then, Dean turns his head and blinks at Castiel, trying to focus on him properly. For a long moment, they just lay there staring at each other. Dean is no longer pale; his eyes are clear and bright again. He whispers; "I'm fine. You don't look so good though."

Castiel forces a smile. "I'm fine." Truthfully, he is exhausted and looking forward to having his grace work a bit of its 'mojo' on himself. But Dean is alright, and that makes everything in the world 'fine'.

Dean looks away from Castiel's face, and suddenly seems to realise just how close they are laying in bed. He stares down at the hand resting on his chest, and Castiel self-consciously pulls it away. "My apologies. I… was only keeping an eye on your vital signs and healing you when I was able to. You did lose a significant amount of blood."

Dean coughs nervously. He brings his own hand to his chest and rubs it where Castiel's hand used to be. "No problem. And, uh, thanks."

Dean still looks at him, eyes wide and wondering. It looks like he is about to say something, but he closes his mouth and then slowly slides out from underneath the blankets and rises from the bed. He immediately crosses his arms when he hits the cold air of the cabin, hugging himself. "It's cold inhere. Let's get back to Baby and warm up, huh? And maybe find a place to eat. I'm starving."

It hurts, seeing Dean pull away from him, but Castiel knows that the hunter doesn't share his… affections. Castiel forces a smile and nods, focusing on the fact that a hungry Dean is a healthy Dean. Castiel quickly rises from the bed as well, and as soon as his feet hit the floor, Dean removes the chair from the door and opens it up to the early morning sun.

Castiel sends a quick look back at the bed, cherishing the memory of spending the night so close with Dean, no matter how innocent and insignificant it truly was.