"You would think by now that you would learn not to provoke the things we're hunting."
Sam grunted, limping ever so slightly every time he moved. He and Dean had just gotten into a small town in Montana and already they'd somehow managed to piss off not only the local law enforcement, but also the werewolves that said law enforcement seemed to have, lucky for them, not come face to face with yet.
It had led to a few unfortunate endings for the locals themselves though. This was where the brothers had come in, unceremoniously, in the middle of the night two days before a full moon in hopes of eliminating yet another problem regular humans couldn't handle.
Dean gritted his teeth, grabbing at his nearly shredded arm, and stumbling over towards the dingy motel sink. The iron-like smell of blood hung fresh in the air and Dean nearly gagged because of it. Flashbacks of the latest hunt came to him in waves, his stomach flipped, but he managed to keep it together long enough to thrust his arm up under cold water and though the stinging came first, the ice cold water eventually started to numb him.
"Some soap on that will help," Sam muttered.
Dean hadn't said a word to him since they had started the actual hunting of the werewolves. It was petty, the arguing that had ensued, and now Dean's silence, but he didn't care much.
"Some soap," Dean said, letting out a frustrated sigh and staring Sam in the eyes. "My entire damn arm is shredded, and your only suggestion is some soap?"
"It's just if you clean the wound first," Sam stopped, dropping his gaze to the floor. Some of Dean's initial anger faded at the sight of his little brother, clearly upset, or embarrassed about the situation.
"Never mind." Sam finished.
Dean debated apologies, but first he needed to be stitched up. Sam's limp would heal faster. He'd fallen hard on his hip during their escape. No doubt it was bruising already, but he'd live.
Dean, on the other hand, was looking at some serious blood loss and perhaps loss of consciousness if he didn't fix himself soon.
After making it to the bathroom, Dean turned on the bathroom fan, and stared at himself in the mirror a for moment. His fingers tightly gripped the edge of the sink, as both of his arms trembled, one more so than the other. The mirror seemed blurry, or maybe that was the latent nausea and blood loss talking.
The hunt came back to him in his mind. Two shrieking siblings, both children, whose throats were ripped out before the brothers' eyes before they could move a muscle to help. Dean had simply stared in awe and shock as the wolf who'd done it had smiled. He'd smiled at the carnage and a child was dead. His companion had done the same to the other kid.
A coppery taste filled Dean's mouth and he reeled to the right, face in the toilet bowl, as the contents of lunch from earlier came up. His legs shook, his knees dug into the tile. He dug them harder. He deserved to hurt.
He deserved it after not saving those kids just like he'd promised.
He'd sworn to their parents they'd come home safe.
Dean tried to stand and suddenly felt he was being assisted. He was simply too drained, too tired to act as though it might have been an enemy. He simply leaned into the figure and when it spoke, he felt embarrassed.
"Are you alright Dean?" Castiel's gravelly voice echoed through the bathroom. Dean felt as though he was swimming through water. His ears rang in an almost unnatural way with no clear cause. Grief did weird things, even if the grief wasn't entirely one's own.
Dean didn't say anything, Castiel didn't ask again. He already knew the answer.
"As you already have learned," Castiel held his hand up towards Dean's injured shoulder and arm. "This will hurt just a little."
The typical bright white light emitted from Castiel's hand reached Dean's skin and started to burn as it attempted to mend the mangled flesh. Dean sucked in a sharp breath and gritted his teeth again. He was slowly getting used to this. Castiel usually insisted on it instead of a human's regular way of healing.
His skin veered back together like two cars crashing and Dean looked down as it did, feeling slightly nauseous again, but managing to keep it together. Sam, luckily, had not been scratched by one of the wolves. A scratch wasn't deadly, wasn't worthy enough for turning, but if a werewolf was strong enough it was definitely known to make a hunter feel less than well for at least twenty-four hours.
"Is Sam alright?" Castiel asked, his hand lingering where he had just mended Dean. Once upon a time there had been a raised red scar of a handprint there.
"Bruised," Dean replied. "But he'll live."
"I will heal him as well," Castiel nodded. "Your injuries just seemed more…dire at the moment."
Castiel cocked his head and stared again at Dean's arm.
"I'll be sure to tell Sam he should die a little more next time," Dean chuckled. "Maybe then he'll get the good stuff."
Dean hesitated to speak again, licking his lips as he contemplated the words he'd just said and how weird they must have sounded.
"At least your humor is intact." Castiel continued to stare at Dean as the hunter wiped off his face with fresh water and inspected the rest of his arm. Dean hesitantly removed his shirt, looking at himself in the mirror. There were more cuts, just from sticker bushes instead of monsters. All in all, Dean hurt.
"At least you understand humor now," Dean replied. His entire body felt as though it was on fire. "No offense Cas, but bedside manner wasn't very becoming of you in the beginning."
"None taken," Castiel continued to stare and Dean felt his heart start to beat in an unnatural way as he reached into the shower to start some hot water. "I am well aware of the way I used to be."
A moment of awkward silence passed.
"I see now you wish to bathe," Castiel bowed his head. "I'll take my leave. Is there anything you need? Food?"
"Yeah," Dean said. "Painkillers too while you're at it. I'm in for a rough night."
Dean regarded the angel as he nodded in response to the request. His tired blue eyes, lingering over Dean's torso. A trained gaze, searching for further injuries Dean was too proud to reveal. The hunter still felt a strange warmth radiating from where Castiel had healed him.
"As you wish Dean," Castiel said before starting to leave. "I'll be back in a moment."
The angel left and the door shut behind him. Soon Dean was in a steamy bathroom, drinking in the warmth from the shower. His muscles burned and screamed, but he managed to stay upright. Soaping up his hair and body proved to be difficult, with each movement causing shooting pain through his arms.
Closing his eyes was harder.
He still saw the kids. Screaming and begging for help and mercy.
Dean grasped his face with his full hand, as though anybody could see any tears that had begun to fall or sobs that escaped his mouth.
-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
When Castiel found Dean again, he was sitting outside on the motel's patio, in one of those crappy plastic half broken chairs, drinking a beer.
"Are you sure you should be doing that?" Castiel asked, taking a seat in the chair beside him, looking down at his butt when the plastic thing made a questionable noise.
Dean ignored him.
"Your internal temperature has risen a bit," Castiel observed. "Your eyes have a slightly glassy sheen to them."
"I'm familiar with werewolf poisoning okay," Dean replied. "I'll get through it. Besides, beer kills the pain."
"So will the medicine I bought," Castiel sternly replied. "At least get some food and tell Sam what's happening before he worries about you even more than he already is."
Castiel stood up to leave, but Dean's mildly pitiful sounding voice stopped him.
"He's worried about me?"
Castiel paused, looking at Dean as though he'd lost his mind.
"Of course, he's worried about you," Castiel chastised Dean. "The two of you apparently haven't spoken so much as a word to one another except on this hunt. What the hell happened?"
Dean didn't reply. He took another sip of his beer and looked down at a rolly polly on concrete that had curled itself up into a ball. That was about how he felt. His body was starting to ache even more than before, and he could feel the chills from a low-grade fever coming on.
"You said you brought burgers?" Dean asked, whining a little when he got up from his chair.
"I remembered your affinity for them," Castiel nodded and held the sliding glass door open for Dean.
"I appreciate your memory then." Dean smiled and walked over to the motel's makeshift kitchen. At least every little shithole they'd stayed in had had a kitchen of sorts.
"I see you haven't lost your appetite yet." Sam commented quietly from the table, as he uncomfortably shifted in his seat.
"That usually comes later," Dean said, taking a giant bite of the burger, despite the latent nausea he was having. "I think I'll survive."
"One could only hope." Sam replied and let out a deep sigh before turning back to his books, but barely focusing.
"Am I missing something here?" Castiel asked, clearly aggravated at the brother's behavior.
"I would ask Dean about that one." Sam shrugged and limped over to the door. "I'll be back in a little bit. I'm going get some things from the store. Dean's gonna need them."
Sam left the motel room, leaving Dean and Castiel alone. The pair didn't exchange many words as Dean choked down what was left of his burger and started towards his bed.
"Your temperature has continued to increase." Castiel noted.
"How do you know that?" Dean asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed, and fluffing up one of the pillows.
"You forget that I am connected to you via the mark I left," Castiel motioned towards Dean's arm where what was left of the handprint was simply bits of a white scar. "I can tell everything that is happening to you at any given time."
"Well gee," Dean scoffed. "Thanks for the heads up, Cas. That's kind of creepy if you think about it."
"Well it does come in handy when either you or Sam injures yourselves," Castiel commented. "Which seems to be on a pretty regular basis."
"Alright, Dr. Sarcasm," Dean groaned and leaned back into the pillow. "I'm gonna get some shut eye. Tell Sam not to be loud when he comes in."
Dean's was out the moment his head hit the pillow.
-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
It was late into the night and Castiel was worried.
Not that much more so than usual when it came to the Winchesters, but Dean's condition had proven that his pride ran deeper than his logic.
Dean was covered in sweat, tossing, and turning in a fitful sleep. His breathing remained steady, but his body temperature had soared. Castiel did his best to try and keep it down without disturbing the man's rest, but it was hard. Hard to watch him lay there and suffer. All he could do was try and make Dean comfortable the few times he had woken up. Castiel hadn't been running at full capacity for a while, but he felt as though he was totally useless in this particular situation.
"Cas…" Dean whined.
Castiel was immediately alert, watching the hunter turn towards him in bed.
"Feel like shit…"
"I know Dean," Castiel sighed, feeling helpless. "You've taken all the medicine you can without killing yourself. I am doing my best to keep your fever low. You have to rest."
"Sammy okay?" Dean asked, pitifully once again.
"Yes," Castiel nodded, checking on Sam, who was also out cold in slumber. "He is fine. I healed his leg. He should be walking fine tomorrow."
"Good," Dean let out a barking cough. "Can't let anything happen to him. I made a promise years ago."
"I know Dean," Castiel nodded again, taking a seat on the side of Dean's bed. "I knew of that long ago. I felt it when I…"
"When you what?" Dean asked, his glassy eyes were so dry when they met Castiel's.
"Nothing," Castiel touched two fingers to Dean's hot forehead. "Go to sleep, Dean."
Dean was asleep again in moments.
Nightmares plagued Dean and Castiel knew it. For he himself never slept unless he genuinely wanted to. Right now, though Dean needed his full attention. Castiel had already chased away Sam's usual nightmares. Leftover thoughts of Ruby and Lucifer plaguing him until the end of his life. Castiel hated that for him, but he couldn't change the past. All he could do was try to give Sam some peace.
Now, it was Dean's turn.
Dean whined in his sleep, clearly in severe pain, but fighting being awake. Castiel came over to his side, studying him, and debating whether or not to invade his mind too.
It wouldn't have been the first time.
What Castiel found inside Dean's mind was a mish mash of events, but mostly it was failures. His subconscious was on fire with them, and he sifted through each one to try and find the nightmare of the night.
Failures at hunting. He saw flashes of past hunts where innocent people had died. The latest one haunted Castiel the most. Seeing Dean almost on the brink of tears as the werewolves tore into the children's throats.
Failures at relationships. Castiel saw Dean's father, yelling at him for some unintelligible reason. He saw Dean kissing various women he'd had feelings for over the years and then walking away forever. Lisa and Ben, whom Castiel had wiped their memories.
What stood out the most, however, were the memories with Castiel.
The pain and sorrow coming from Dean after each time he felt as though he'd failed the angel. After every hit they had taken, the anger and the sorrow that radiated off of the hunter had been immeasurable. There was another emotion too. One Dean would never speak of aloud and Castiel felt embarrassed to be spying on. Other emotions as well. Desires. Past dreams. Random jumbled human thoughts.
Thoughts of death and dying. Thoughts of how relieving it would feel.
He quickly left that part of Dean's head and moved on.
The part that was in charge of producing dreams came next and Castiel projected an image into Dean's brain.
-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
Dean is walking in Hell.
He knows deep down it's a dream but fear still lingers in his gut. He feels his throat constricting. He can barely breathe as he starts running. His departure is paused though and suddenly he winds up where it all begun. On that damn table, strapped down, and being given a choice by the demon named Alistair.
"No," he says. "I refuse."
Flashes of light suddenly spark above him. They're far in the distance, but they're bold and bright. They weren't there before. Suddenly, Dean feels something he hasn't in a long time for the first time.
He feels hope.
The point of view shifts in the dream and Dean feels dizzy, but he goes with it. It's something that never normally happened in this dream. It has to mean something good.
"I do wish you had consulted me before signing me up for this." Dean hears Balthazar's voice and his gaze is suddenly on the long dead angel, very much alive, and Dean realizes this has to be the past.
"I needed soldiers," Castiel's voice comes next and another flash of light as a demon falls to his death and evaporates into black smoke.
"I wanted you by my side when I undertook this daunting task."
Somehow, Dean knows they aren't speaking English. He's shocked he can understand the language of the angels so fluidly, even in dreams.
"Only you would go to such lengths for a human." Balthazar scoffs and slays another demon. It falls to the ground below, next to Dean, screaming its full head off like a banshee. The soot from its being sprays into Dean's mouth and he coughs.
"He is the only human that matters right now," Castiel retorts, angrier than need be.
Dean doesn't know how he can hear them so clearly, he's still strapped to the table, but he's seeing flashes of what happened that day so many years ago. The demons turn to ash before his eyes as angel blades penetrate their forms. There are so many other angels up there fighting as well, but Dean can't see them. Only Castiel and Balthazar and some strange looking dog jumping from cliff to cliff that seems to follow Balthazar's every command.
"Titan! Kill them!" Balthazar calls to the hound and it obeys. It claws and bites at every demon that gets near it.
"Good dog." Balthazar smirks and stabs another demon.
"I'm going for it," Castiel says. "Cover me. The Righteous Man is here. I can sense him!"
Dean knows how the next part goes. He lets it happen as it did. The blinding light. The searing pain in his arm. The scream that comes from Castiel's mouth that he thought he'd only imagined.
"Dean Winchester is saved!"
-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-
Dean woke up in a cold sweat, shaking and crying out. Castiel immediately jumped from the chair he'd occupied for the last two hours and whispered a few words to keep Sam asleep.
"Dean," Castiel said in a hushed tone. "It's alright."
"Why'd you do it?" Dean asked through tears and short breaths as Castiel took a seat near his bedside.
"Do what?" Castiel asked.
"Save me," Dean choked out. "I didn't deserve it."
"Heaven called for it," Castiel said. "I couldn't disobey a direct order."
Dean's fever had jumped five degrees. Castiel placed his hand on Dean's cheek, not caring what the hunter might say. Surprisingly, he leaned into the touch instead.
"There was more to it than that though."
Dean stared up into Castiel's eyes, shivering and pulling the blanket closer to him. Castiel assisted.
"When I saw your soul," Castiel explained. "It was like being on the ocean."
Dean laid back into the pillow, letting out a few rounds of coughing. Castiel reached for his shoes, taking them off and also shedding his trench coat, which left him in his shirt and pants.
"You don't appreciate the entirety of the ocean until you spend enough time around it," Castiel continued. "I was nothing, but a drop in that ocean when I found you deep down in the depths of Hell. You were so much more though. Your soul was so hurt, but so pure just the same. I don't think I've ever told you that."
Dean took Castiel's hand, holding it tightly, so delirious he was probably about to pass out again. Castiel tried to fight the fluttering he felt in his chest, but he didn't let go.
"I fell in love with it the moment I saw it."
Castiel squeezed his hand tighter. Giving in, if only for a moment, to what he felt. What he knew Dean felt, but would never say out loud, so help him God.
"I had never known such an emotion existed until that very moment."
Castiel knew Dean wouldn't remember anything he said. It was like a confession booth without the other side.
It was safe to reciprocate feelings, even if only for a night.
"M'not worth it," Dean whispered, so tired from fighting the poison. "M'broken."
"Broken things are beautiful too," Castiel made a home for himself on the other side of the bed, knowing full well he'd be able to move before Dean woke up the next day and still keep an eye on him.
"Just not everybody appreciates them the way they should."
Flashes of Dean kissing all those women he'd loved in different ways went through Castiel's mind. He kept his jealousy at bay.
"Sammy did something stupid," Dean said. "That's why I yelled at him. That's why he hates me right now."
"He doesn't hate you," Castiel shook his head. "I don't think that would ever be possible for Sam."
A smile cracked on Dean's face.
"Good," Dean gave a weak nod and his eyes closed.
"Sleep," Castiel replied. "I'll be here when you wake."
Dean's breathing evened out and his eyes remained shut.
His hand remained in Castiel's and Castiel didn't dare move an inch.
The ocean was at peace. He didn't dare disturb it.
Read and Review!
I don't know exactly where this came from. It just popped out of my brain. I have been writing it all day due to being on puppy duty, but here it is. Hope everybody enjoys!