Author's note: I know, it's been what? A month since I last updated? I'm sorry :( Start casting your bets as to if I'll get another in tonight. I'll cross my fingers until they lose circulation and fall off, don't worry. :) Hope you like the ending especially guys *Evil laughter* *Starts to hack up blood* (You'll get the hacking up blood part later)

Castiel yawned, stretching his arms out wide to work out the clicks in his shoulder bones. He lay back on his bed, shutting his eyes again, sighing as he pulled the blankets up to cover his mouth. Saturday... What would he do on a Saturday?

He rolled over, face first into his pillow and he curled up underneath the blankets, his fists clenching as he hugged the pillow, trying to absorb the last of the warmth from the sheets before he got up. Maybe he'd sleep all day...
Usually he'd spend the weekend studying, or with Dean, but both ideas didn't sound very good. He refused to even speak to Dean today, especially after the events of yesterday.
He pushed himself up into a kneeling position, tossing one of his legs off the bed, and using his mattress for support as he stood, dragging his other foot out of bed.
He looked around the room for his cell phone, checking the pants he had worn last night, still not finding it. He looked by the charger, then on his nightstand and in the drawers where he kept his phone most times.
Crap.
He had left it with Dean when he had rushed out of the Impala last night. Dean probably had brought it into his house.
Castiel was slightly pissed at himself for not grabbing it, but he was even more pissed at Dean.
If he did go over there, he'd end up being dragged inside by Dean for another day, one where they couldn't even look at each other without getting upset. They'd only get into another fight.
That got his mind thinking about Dean's promise of quitting. Would he truly give up smoking? He had lied to him about the cigarettes each and every time, though he felt that now he could easily read the giveaways of Dean's dishonesty.
He thought about the subtle movement of his bottom lip as he lied, the very small flicker of his eyes as they glanced away and back for a split second. Blink and you'd miss it. Keep your eyes open and you saw everything.
He looked out his window, the one that was level with Dean's on the inside of the house walls, where they faced each other regularly.
All Castiel saw was curtain, and as soon as they gave a flitter of movement, he ducked, peering just above the window sill, using the dark curtains of his room to hide himself as he watched Dean open the window through a slight part of ajar curtain.
Dean stared over to Castiel's house in questioning, allowing the window skirts to fall back into place. It seemed as though he hadn't seen Castiel, who returned to his bed with a sigh, turning on the television. He had to distract himself from this stupid shit.

Dean looked out the window for a small moment in hesitation. Should he go to return Castiel's things or just hang out with someone else? He then realized that he didn't have anyone else. He had Sam; he had Cas, and his "uncle", Bobby. He technically had his father, but he had no idea where he was most of the time.

Maybe he'd go and do something with Sam who, by the smell of it, was in the middle of preparing breakfast. Eggs and bacon most likely. Sam had always preferred a breakfast you could sit down and enjoy, compared to Dean's grab-and-go.
He decided to go down stairs, hoping Cas would come to pick up his stuff before he and Sam left, that is, if Sam wanted to go anywhere. After all, his girlfriend's death yesterday... That had to have taken a toll on him.
Sam was indeed preparing things in a pan, a sad look on his face. Dean was about to grab a microwavable meal or something for a quick and easy breakfast when he realized Sam was used to making Jess meals. He knew Sam was going to have to adjust to this house, but he also knew he wasn't going to do it immediately. Besides, Sam had accidentally made enough for two, like he was obviously used to.
"Thanks for breakfast, Sammy!" Dean said, clapping his brother on the back in fake gratitude. He looked down at the already burnt food. His fake smile seemed strained for a second, until it fell into a distasteful frown, the 'anticipation' suddenly dropping three levels from the low one it was already on.

Although he did enjoy food in general, his younger brother's cooking wasn't appetizing at all. He attempted to be glad and waited patiently for the breakfast.
After all, the only reason Dean had been eating homemade food lately was because of Castiel's skills in the culinary arts. His hand in the kitchen was like God's hand in hell: a blessing. He hoped Sam was able to somewhat save the food, though due to his repeated flipping and pressing, he'd most likely burnt them into charcoal first.
Sam flipped the eggs onto a plate, his eyes dull, and Dean decided that either Jessica would lie to Sam about how good his cooking was, or maybe she had been the one cooking. He doubted anyone could lie about how good this stuff was... He didn't even know if he had the literal guts to tell Sammy that he was enjoying the food.
He looked down to the brown, crusted eggs and shriveled, blackened bacon in distaste. Picking up the plastic fork Sam handed him, and in blatant distrust of the food before him, he shoveled a fork of eggs into his mouth, the bad and strange taste settling on his tongue. Not all of the scrambled egg was cooked, and most of it that was, was burnt to the point of a dark brown, no longer looking like eggs except for the inside of it. He swallowed it down without chewing, knowing that the taste of ash would be in place on his tongue for the rest of the day.
He desperately wanted to spit it out.
Sam pushed away his plate after a simple glance at the plate, looking disappointedly up to Dean. "You can spit it back up. I know it sucks."
Dean had never spit out food so quickly in his entire life. Gratefully, he allowed it to fall out of his mouth, going to grab some of his dad's beer from the fridge. "Yeah..." Dean confirmed, disliking the after taste, though it didn't compare to the actual flavor. "Hey, Sam... Where's the beer?" He looked over to his brother, who looked guiltily up to him. Dean nodded to him, signaling that it was okay. "Hey man, it's alright. I know, with Jess and all..." He closed the fridge and opened the freezer, retrieving a hot pocket for himself and his brother.
He dropped them onto a paper plate and then into the microwave.
3...0...0 he pressed the buttons, then activated the 'START' button.
The microwave beeped once and began its task, making a small humming noise as it worked to radiate heat into the spinning food inside.
Dean sat back down at the table with Sam, at first avoiding looking at his brother. The urge eventually became too strong for him to resist, and he studied Sam's eyes to ensure he was okay.
"Is there going to be some sort of hearing or funeral thing?" Dean asked casually, trying to converse and get him to talk about it, but as soon as he did, he regretted it, Sam's eyes narrowing as he stared down at the table.
"Why would you care?" He asked accusingly, doubting that Dean actually gave a shit. He put his head in his hands, pushing his hair out of his face, and Dean couldn't help but think that he should cut it soon. It was getting long, almost brushing his shoulders now.
"Because I'm your brother. I knew Jess too, you know." He informed Sam. "Sorry this happened to you, but being a dick about it won't change anything." He commented, and Sam shook his head as he placed it in his hands, his elbows digging into the wooden table, if that was even possible. His fingers curled up a bundle of his hair in each hand in frustration.
"Dean, what the hell am I supposed to do?" He asked, knowing his brother wouldn't have the answer. Sam raised his head, staring at something that would avert his gaze from Dean's, leaving to go upstairs to his old room, now a guest room.
Dean watched him kick the chair aside and stomp upstairs. He had actually thought he'd be more depressed than he'd be aggravated.
He ruled out Sam as a possible way to burn out the time in the day. Tomorrow he'd probably suffer the same day of awkward
living next to Castiel. He sighed, deciding that he'd have to go over there before he died in the silence. He needed to drop off his crap anyways. Although he liked time to think, he required some sort of person to be near, someone to take his mind off the bullshit, and the only people that could do that were Cas and Sam, though both of them seemed to not want to speak to him.
He sighed. Why was he so god damn clingy? Did he really need someone to be with him today? Maybe he should just be alone, but no, his mind forbade it. He didn't like being alone, obvious by the fact that he surrounded himself with his family.
He went to go check the mail, pushing himself up from the table, completely ignoring the microwave alarm, telling him their food was done. Obviously Sam wasn't going to eat.
Dean opened the door, checking to see that it was indeed unlocked for him to get back in before he left. He took the slow steps down the driveway, afraid to glance over by Cas' house. He was probably having a better day than Dean was.
He'd have taken a smoke right there if he hadn't remembered his promise to Castiel. Besides, his only pack had been crushed under a speeding car. He wasn't going to do that sort of thing ever again... Maybe he could get the nicotine patches to help him quit, but the addiction was rubbing at him, like when you rubbed a cat, or that one material, the wrong way. It felt wrong.
Dean flipped open the mailbox, reaching a hand inside when he spotted the junk mail and other assorted envelopes. He flickered through them, most addresses to his father, but one specifically for him.
He opened the dark red envelope, wondering why his high school was sending him something like this.
He peeked inside, spotting two free prom tickets, along with a note from his English and literature teacher.
'Dean, I know this is early, but I chose to give the free tickets to you and Castiel. Have fun at the dance!'
Dean vaguely remembered that teachers had been allowed to send out two free tickets to a couple of their choice.
There was another piece of paper folded up inside, and he read over that one too.
'Ms. Ruby and Mr. Belding wanted to give you tickets too! Luckily I got there first...'
Dean stuffed the paper notes back into the envelope, heading back towards his house. He entered quietly and went up the stairs to his room where he placed the two tickets into his top drawer. Maybe they'd resolve their problems in a few weeks.
Dean knew him and Castiel wouldn't survive a boring ass day alone in their houses with this weird tension between them. Hopefully Castiel wouldn't be too out of it for them to hang out, possibly?
He was hopeful Castiel would accept him there, and though he knew he wasn't forgiven, he wouldn't survive this boredom without someone there with him.
That was why he was dreading Sam going to college.
He took one look back at his room as he went down stairs, hoping he hadn't forgotten anything of Cas'.
He picked up Castiel's bag of things on the way out the door, hoping he'd get an apology in before Castiel slammed a door in his face.
He traversed through the grass on their lawns, cutting across the yard to Castiel's walkway, the one that led up to his door.
Dean swallowed back his worry, replacing it with confidence, arrogance, and a whole lot of ego. The classic Dean Winchester.
He didn't need hope or worry on his side.
Dean rapped on the door, and in the fading cold of Winter, he waited.
The door swung inward, and Castiel looked to Dean with curious eyes. He came close to Dean, taking a small and subtle sniff, seemingly satisfied that he didn't smell like anything as unsavory as nicotine filled smoke.
"Dean." Castiel said, hugging him. Adoration filled his voice, and Dean laughed a little.
Although Castiel was upset with him, he was superbly glad that Dean hadn't taken to cigarettes again.
"Hey, Novak!" He said happily, glad that Castiel's trust was placed in him again, even if remaining damaged, and far less than true trust.
Dean wrapped his arm around Castiel's shoulder, placing the plastic bag into his foyer as he stepped inside the entryway.
He took one look around, and he was glad to be back. He knew he hadn't been invited in, but so what? He was Dean, and could do that if he wanted.
"Thank you." Castiel said, and Dean knew it was because he hadn't smoked, along with the fact of dropping off his possessions.
To be honest, there was a burning in Dean's throat from the lack of his usual nicotine routine, but he ignored it. He wouldn't allow something so trivial to push him back to smoking.
Castiel sat by him on the couch, and unsure how to start a conversation, he simply sat there. Dean had to remind himself that Castiel was still there for him, was still in love with him, and was still his.
Dean turned towards him. "Cas, I know I've been a whole bag of dicks lately, and I probably don't deserve any sympathy, but I'm sorry." Castiel smiled, and it reached his eyes just barely, proving that forgiveness would come, but it wouldn't come easily.

"Thanks." He mumbled, looking away again. Maybe it would have been better if Dean had stayed at home. After all, as of right now they were doing nothing but sitting in silence with this imaginary wall between them.
Dean seemed to accept the silence easily. It seemed as thought he preferred to be with Castiel, even if it meant they were like this. That gave Castiel some hope at the chance that Dean would stay true to his previous promise.
"Cas, I really am sorry about yesterday, man." He said, and Castiel looked over to him.
"It was wrong. You shouldn't have lied like that. You know, I actually hated you. I didn't want anything to do with you after I had stormed off. When you promised me that you'd quit, even then I doubted you. I still don't really trust you, but I hope you can change that."
Dean nodded, pulling Castiel off his feet after a few moments of comfortable silence.
"Where to?" Castiel asked, glad to be rid of the silence and tension of their discussion.
Dean laughed a little, a hint of nervousness in his tone. "We didn't get to have dinner last night. I owe you a meal." Dean responded. Castiel nodded as he was pulled along, but he protested.
"Don't do it because you have to." Castiel told him, and Dean didn't turn as he responded, not knowing if it was what Cas wanted to hear, but it was certainly what he wanted to say.
"I'm doing it because I want to." Dean said, and with the ease of Castiel's tightened fingertips, he knew he had accepted that.
"Dean... Could you... Let go?" Castiel asked carefully, and Dean halted in his walk, after closing the door of the house.
He stuck his tongue between his lips as a way of wetting them, a nervous habit.

"Yeah, uh... Sorry." He said quietly. There was a pain in his chest as he released Castiel's hand, the fingers slipping through his own. They both head down to the impala.
"It's fine." Castiel said as quietly as he could once he was seated in the passenger seat. Dean cranked up the radio dial, allowing Metallica to carry out of the speakers on full blast. Castiel didn't mind; it was a way of blocking out the static between them. He wouldn't prefer this type of music to do it, but he was accepting of the hardcore and classic rock that Dean enjoyed.
To be honest, he preferred a slower rock and roll pace. Piano was great too, but maybe he just disliked it because of the volume Dean usually kept it at.
Dean glanced over to Castiel occasionally, a motion that didn't slip past Cas' notice. He had also been sneaking peeks, and he had noticed Dean's mouth moving animatedly along with the lyrics. Same old Dean.
Castiel wiped his brow again, and he could only wonder why he was sweating. He held a hand by the AC vent. It was blowing cool air. It wasn't a cold sweat since he wasn't nervous or afraid...
He passed it off as nothing.
He watched the impala bouncing above the speed bumps, and felt every jolt. They had pulled up to a diner now, and he gladly accepted the idea of food. He was starving.
The car came to a stop, and the music cut off as Dean pulled the key from the ignition, opening his door almost instantly and getting out. Castiel did the same, though as he stood, he felt sick. He was extremely dizzy, the world swimming before him. He began to literally see double, and he almost fell back, catching himself on the car door.
He almost fell down again as he steadied himself, and the nausea became overwhelming. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, yet it only made it worse.
"Cas?" Dean asked suddenly as he watched Castiel stumble around as if he was drunk on the other side of the car.
"I'm fine!" Castiel said. "I, uh-" he looked down at the ground, a slight relief to the dizziness. He spotted his converse and an idea popped into his head. "-My shoes were untied."
Dean knew that Cas usually double knotted his shoes, and that he almost never had the problem of his shoes becoming untied, but he allowed it to slide. Maybe he had drank his troubles away last night like Sam obviously had.
Castiel swiped at his forehead again, looking around the parking lot as he closed the door. He must be getting sick, since he had gotten more than enough sleep last night.
Dean followed him into the food joint, placing themselves down at the tables. Meg, Sam's coworker approached them.
"Dean, where's your brother? I've had to pick up four and a half of his shifts recently, and the manager is still considering placing me on another one! What the hell?" She asked, the notepad in her hand on her hip, an obvious sign of annoyance in her.
Dean looked up at her. He never liked Meg. She was always an asshole. "His girlfriend just passed."
This was the first time Cas had heard of this, and he gasped a little at the sudden news.
Meg chewed the inside of her lip. "I'll do two more before I make him come back. And if he doesn't, he'll get fired. That's three days."
Dean rolled his eyes. "Two cokes." He said, disregarding her warning. She ground her teeth together in annoyance, leaving to retrieve what he had requested.
Dean smirked, one arm hooking around the back of the booth, the other tapping a rhythm on the space between his kneecap and thigh. Castiel was staring out the window, and Dean watched as he wiped his brow. He was looking out across the street at some sort of sign, and Dean adjusted his posture as he leaned forward, trying to get a closer look at Castiel.
"Cas. You okay?" He asked, and Castiel turned his head slowly, with a deliberate slowness. He nodded, just barely. "Dude... are you sweating? Is it a headache or something?" Dean guessed, genuine worry on his face.
"No." Cas muttered, watching a woman pack her crying child into a stroller and past the window, most likely heading to the grocery store. Teen pregnancy is ridiculous he thought with a frown. "It's just hot in here, I guess." He told Dean, and then wiped at his forehead with back of his hand again, and Dean realized that there were small beads of sweat on Castiel's face and neck.
"Hot? It's not hot in here. It's like... What, 76 maybe?"
Castiel's eyes seemed to drift in and out of focus as he stared at him. "Then I don't know." He said. "I'm most likely just a little sick." Dean looked at him with obvious distrust, though he allowed Castiel to pretend to be fine. Meanwhile, he kept an extremely close watch on the boy across from him, hoping he wouldn't projectile vomit across the table. If he was going to barf, he should use Meg as target practice.
As he thought about this, Meg had brought drinks along with her glare and nasty words. "You're lucky the manager was right there or I'd have spit in yours." She spoke in a low voice to Dean.
She glanced over Castiel's way, seeming to notice him for the first time. "Is he okay?" She asked in a mumble, watching him sway back and forth, his hands in his lap, with a blank stare on his face.
Dean directed his attention away from Meg, to Castiel, whose head slammed against the table.
Dean reached over, shaking his shoulder. "Cas." He said.
The boy shook along with Dean's hand, but didn't move after that. "Cas." Dean repeated, a urgency in his tone. He shook him a little harder this time, and yet he didn't get up.
Dean was standing, pushing past Meg and on Castiel's side of the table now. He lifted up Castiel's head, holding his face in between his hands. His jaw was slack, and his eyes shut. He moved only where Dean's hands forced him to.
"Cas!" Dean shouted out. He held a finger to his wrist, trying to feel for a pulse.
He held his breath, hoping he wasn't imaging things. Cas wasn't dead. He wasn't. He just fucking couldn't be.
The faintest flutter of a pulse gave him hope, and he realized, feeling a little stupid, that he had put his fingers in the wrong place. He felt relief swarm through him.
He wrapped his arms around Castiel's legs and torso, carrying him out to the impala in a hurry. He was running as quickly as he could with Castiel resting in his arms.
He had practically thrown Castiel into the backseat, laying him out, not sure what was going on. Why was Castiel acting like this? He hadn't bumped his head, had he?
Dean pressed on the gas pedal with his right foot, sending the car into full acceleration mode as he headed straight for the hospital. Meg had been silent, not sure what to do except say 'he's not sleeping, asshole' which hadn't helped much at all.
Dean eyed the signs around the road. To be honest, he'd never had to go to the hospital except for when Sam had broken his arm when he was younger. Other than that, he had been a relatively healthy child within a relatively healthy family.
He followed the green and white street signs down to the emergency lot of the hospital, cutting the engine and carrying Castiel in as quickly as he could.
"Hey. Hey!" He called out to one of the passing emergency medical responders.
They stopped, turning to him. Seeing Castiel in his arms, he helped him to a room on the second floor.
A doctor was with them in seconds, directing the nurses to hook him up to the heart rate monitors, and he turned to Dean.
"Symptoms, possible cause?"
Dean rambled on a list. "Sweating randomly, it looked like he was dizzy, tired, and uh- he was shaky I guess."
The doctor narrowed his eyes. "Drugs?" He asked suspiciously, and Dean shook his head quickly.
"Never." Dean answered, and the doctor could tell he was being honest.
"That's all I need to know." He said, turning towards Castiel. He handed a clipboard to a nurse. "Go run these symptoms under data check. List all possibilities and bring it back to me."
The nurse rushed out of the room, only stopping to ask Dean to leave. Of course he didn't listen, leaning against a wall in the back, wanting to help Cas, but unsure as to how he would.
People milled about the room, shouting about getting Castiel on an IV now, and the only thing that kept up Dean's hope was the small beeping noise. The continuous, even if uneven, heart monitor beeping, signifying that fact that Cas was still alive.
"We're losing him!" Someone shouted, and Dean stood off the wall, his hands at the ready, though he had no idea what to do in this situation.
A few of the nurses, as in four or five of them, had to attempt to restrain him while the doctor removed the defibrillator off the wall.
Dean's eyes were filling with tears. "What the hell is happening?" He shouted, pulling against the people's arms that attempted to restrain him. His eyes fell on the heart rate monitor, a flat green line by now. He had seen this in movies and on TV, but this wasn't really happening. It wasn't actually happening to Castiel.
The doctor rubbed the two meal plates together, slamming then into the chest of Castiel's unmoving body, the constant eeeeeee of the heart rate monitor killing Dean.
"No! Stop!" He shouted, his throat scratchy and arms straining as they were pulled back as another medic joined the struggle. He wasn't sure why he was trying to stop them. In a more calm state of mind, he'd know they were trying to help him, but he didn't want anyone touching Cas at that moment. "Cas!" He shouted out. Castiel's body jumped from the table every time an electric pulse hit him, and the doctor had a determined look on his face, but it wouldn't help Castiel to be determined. What mattered was if he could get him back and breathing again. He quickened the pace of the emissions, tossing it to the floor and pumping Castiel's chest, as the heart monitor gradually had begun beeping again. The nurses would have clapped like they did in TV dramas, except for the fact that everyone in the room besides the doctor was holding back Dean.
Cas coughed, blood spilling over his lips and into his chin, neck and chest. It stained his pale face, and Dean wanted nothing more than to take away the pain.
The medical staff released Dean, all of them stretching out their arms and panting from the struggle. Dean rushed over to Castiel's side, taking relief from the heart rate monitor once more. He was still a sobbing and shaking mess as he grabbed Cas' hands, watching the blue eyes stare around the room like a newborn.
Castiel's eyelids moved, and Dean smiled as he found that blue again, one that no one could truly describe. He smiled, though he couldn't stop the raining of tears that continued in an uneven stream.
Castiel sighed with a smile. "What happened?" He asked, trying to remain positive. He looked up to Dean, pressing the happiness into him. He squeezed his hand as tightly as he could, though Dean could barely feel the change in pressure.
He knew what happened, didn't have to ask. Dean went to hug him before he was pulled from the room. Castiel attempted to sit up as a security guard dragged Dean out, though he was too weak to do so. "Dean!" He called out in surprise and sadness. "Cas!" He called out, their fingers slipping from each other's grasp. Castiel began to cough up blood again, but he kept his eyes open and he forced himself to continue sitting up, his arm still outstretched, the other being freckled with blood as he tried to cover his mouth as he hacked up the red fluid, his face growing paler.
The doctor moved to block Dean's sight from Castiel unintentionally, speaking to Cas while he leaned around the doctor, not paying attention, to look at Dean as he was pulled into the elevator.
"Why can't I be in there?" He protested, banging a fist against the elevator door in frustration. "Cas is in there and-"
"Sir, if you don't calm down, well have to escort you off of hospital grounds." One of the guards spoke up, stepping off the elevator behind Dean. He decided to be quiet, not wanting to have to be thrown out yet. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, frowning, bouncing his knee up and down.
Castiel... What the hell had happened? He didn't bring a laptop everywhere like Sam, so it wasn't like he could research the symptoms. Besides, they had been almost identical to the flu or a cold, maybe a fever. Well, besides the fainting, the exhaustion, and the death...
Dean wiped at his eyes to ensure the tears were gone. His head hung down, his eyes scouring the linoleum flooring. What the hell was happening up on the second floor right now? Was Castiel dying? Was he in pain? What sort of sickness or disease or whatever was killing him from the inside out?
Dean's knee was bouncing furiously, the ball of his foot pushing his leg up and down at a rapid pace. He looked around the waiting room, sick people waiting for a hospital appointment. He was tired, especially not having had a moment of sleep last night. He was staring off into space when his eyelids fell, and he drifted to sleep.

Castiel played with his hands, not sure what else to do when a doctor tells you this sort of thing... What was he supposed to say to Dean? He watched his heart rate monitor, the only sure sign his heart was still racing.
The doctor placed down his clip board, moving to gather up a small bag, one Castiel identified as an IV bag.
"This will help. It's a combination of medicines able to hold back your predicament." The doctor seemed to recall Dean as he lifted his clipboard and turned to the door. He spun on the sole of his shoe.
"What should I tell the young man out there?" He asked.
Castiel shook his head. "Tell him later. Tell him..." He seemed to think about it. Telling Dean he was dying... Telling Dean about this sort of thing, something he'd stop at nothing to end...
He held back his tears, swallowing constantly to hold it back as he heard the small quiver in his voice. "Tell him-"

(No, I didn't forget to add the ending of his sentence. It's called Suspence)

"*Starts to cough up blood*" Told you guys that you'd get it later :)