Cas was a dead weight as Dean laid him out on the worn hotel mattress. A touch from Ambriel cleaned out the chloroform and gasoline, and Castiel's breathing evened out as his lungs cleared. Dean managed to tug off the former angel's boots, and a wet washcloth did wonders for the soot and sweat sitting stagnant against Castiel's skin. Castiel was unmoving as Dean swiped the cloth roughly over his face and neck, his throat tightening as he carefully avoided the bruised needle prick where Abaddon had poisoned his friend. Setting the cloth aside, Dean sat vigil beside Castiel, hesitantly brushing the hair back from his forehead. Castiel's eyes tightened at his touch, his mouth slack in a grimace of pain. Ambriel had promised he would be alright, so all Dean could do was wait.

"You stupid son of a bitch," Dean whispered, thumb tracing the lines in Castiel's brow, "You scared the shit outta me."

His body is paralyzed. Castiel can still feel the poison sitting in his veins, slowing his blood flow to a sluggish pace, diving into his mind and rooting out his pain to spread it evenly through his muscles, his blood, his bones.

He feels before he sees. Pain mostly. Pain courses through his legs and arms and settles with an unpleasant weight on his chest. He's conscious of the ends of his body. His head, hands, and feet burn most of all. But he is a prisoner in his own body, unable to cry out in pain.

Another's skin touches his skin. A hand on his forehead. It feels rough, but not unpleasant. Back and forth it brushes feather light. Back and forth. The burn lessens.

A moment passes. The skin makes a scratching noise against his skin. He realizes he can hear too. A voice drifts close by. Tickles at his ear, pushes his hair back. The hand keeps moving as the voice lilts.

"You stupid son of a bitch. You scared the shit outta me."

Castiel clings to it, wills his essence closer to the voice. It's familiar, and so strange.

"I haven't been writing in your stupid journal so you could up and die." The hand disappears for a moment, then reappears, touching Castiel's own hand. The burn retreats from his hands and returns to his head. He supposes that compromises must be made.

"I wish I could say I was glad to see you.

"I wish…shit, I am so pissed at you. Like, deep down, boiling mad. If you weren't already out cold I would probably knock you out myself but…you look the same. Christ you look the same. It's like you never even fucking left. Like every time." The voices chuckles, and through the pain, Castiel recognizes the sadness behind the sound. It sends an ache through his ravaged body. "Every time I think 'that's it, he's finally gone' and when I'm finally ready to let go you're back and it's like the bandaid's been ripped off again. And we never say anything. We never say a goddamn thing and then it's like you never left and i…forget. i forget how much it sucks until you leave again."

The hand takes Castiel's hand in its own in earnest now, without giving up on its continuous stroking. "You need a haircut. And a shave. And to uh…open your eyes and stare at me until it makes me uncomfortable. Ambriel says you're gonna be okay. So be okay. Please Cas. Look at me. There's shit we need to talk about. Things we probably should have talked about like two years ago, but I'm a hick who gets scared of new things.

"This is new Cas. Everything is new. And I'm as scared now as I was a month ago but I need you too much to go back. "

The heat retreats. Castiel feels his muscles relax slightly He thinks that maybe he could sleep now. He hears breathing, and the rhythm is beautiful. Something he only remembers from dreams.

But he remembers that he can see.

His eyes peel open, his feverish heat drying his lids to them. The light brings more pain. It's white. It's orange. It leaves a residue on his skin. He tries to scratch it away.

"Cas- just take it easy-"

Castiel seizes up, drawing all his limbs to himself as the second presence registers. Tall. Male. Dean. His.

His.

The voice. It isn't comfort. It's torture. Torture from her. Abaddon dug for his pain and painted it on his outsides to torment him. His voice, hidden from even himself, rips from his chest.

"Dean— you can't be here- she'll be back soon-"

Dean's touch was poison. He couldn't allow him to touch his hands. What other poison could Abaddon give him? Was he here? Was Dean Here? Was he dead? Had Castiel failed?

"My fault. All my fault. You couldn't- you shouldn't- don't save me." The sound of his own voice, harsh and underused, frightens him.

"Cas?" Dean asks. "Hey, it's okay man-"

Cas wishes with all his pain for Dean to be an apparition. A something conjured to make him shout and cry out and not his someone summoned to his own death by a demon with an ex-angel in tow.

The wishing comes true. His eyes start to clear and Cas tries to see Dean for the apparition he must be. His hand takes his again; impossibly cool, impossibly there. The pain retreats. It moves from his hand to far-away places.

Maybe he could keep this Dean. Maybe he could keep him and make him real. Maybe he was real.

"Dean, how could you— how did you find me?" His voice trembles, but the sound is less frightening.

"Your angel friends got me, and we came and got you. Walk in the park." He smiles, his mouth relieved but his eyes still nervous. "You're okay…yeah?"

"Ok… yeah…"

Cas can't help but grimace some form of a smile through the pain. Dean meant safety. Dean meant home. Was he home?

His eyes flutter shut. Needles. Demons. Hands holding him down. He was there. He was still there. It was all a lie to lure Dean to Abaddon's claws and it was his fault and Dean would die now.

The pain returns in a rush. He tries to throw it off, channeling it into whatever he's gripping; he's forgotten what it is. Abaddon swirls around the edge of his vision, filling up another syringe and grinning while she reassures him that Dean will be just fine when he's dead.

"Youshouldn'tbehereyoushouldn'tbehereyoushouldn'tb ehere— You have to get out Dean!" His voice is a scream now, toneless and without breath, "She's here, she'll do this to- do this to y-ARRRGGHHH" His screams only serve to enhance the pain. It condenses in his spine, forcing him to arch off the bed.

"Cas? CAS!" More hands are on him. Dean's hands. They push, pull, hold him down. They're soft on his face, hard on his shoulder. "Abaddon's gone! It's not real!"

Does Dean know how in danger he is? That Abaddon is behind him with a syringe and a sickening grin? He wants to explain. His voice stutters like an old record.

"No no no NO. It's a trick- you didn't come- she's here- killing angels…" Angels in jars. Angels in bottles. Empty bottles on the floor with dim grace barely sustaining. Broken bottles with nothing in them at all. He collapses back on the bed, sobs and tears emptying out of his body in salty streams that run into his mouth. "My fault… my fault…"

Hands. Hands on Castiel's face. Dean's hands were gentle and he wanted to lean into them. He could barely see Dean now.

"No no no no…" Dean moves in closer. Cas feels a new wetness fall onto his own face, salty tears that were not his own. A forehead resting on his while gentle hands stayed gentle. "Cas it's me. I'm here. Remember? The dick who pisses you off all the time and writes you stupid notes?" A laugh erupts, spilling more salty tears. "For once it's me bailing you out, I need you to snap out of it so I can gloat, ok? C'mon Cas…"

Round and round and round Dean's thumbs paint circles on Cas's face as both their tears mingle. Dean is so close and staying close. The pain in his limbs can't compare to the pain of having him close. Eyes flutter shut. Breaths shared. The memory of a kiss.

Dean had to go. He had to save Dean. The only way he knew how.

The human way.

He forces his hands to be rough. Push. Push Dean's hands away. Push his face. Slip on tears. Push harder. Scream.

"No! Don't touch me! I- I don't want- I don't want you here! Get out! Just leave me ALONE!" Scream louder. Push.

Dean stumbles back. Cas pushes at air. "What? No! Cas—"

When he tries to return his hands Cas backs up further. His head smacks against the headboard. Ignore the pain. Screams. Push.

"You have to go! You'll— you'll ruin everything! I'm… I'm- I'm better without you…" Dean's face contorts. Cas squeezes his eyes shut to block out the pain. Begging. Pleading now. "Please go….Dean…"

He hears Dean flinch. Hears the hitch in his breath. "What the fuck…please don't…tell me something's wrong. Tell me something's hurting you and I'll go kill it. Don't tell me…shit…"

Cas can hear too much. See too much. He squeezes his eyes shut and claps his burning hands over his ears. He whispers so even he won't have to hear.

"I wish I had never met you."

Dean had never wished to have his guts ripped out, but this was bringing him pretty damn close. He needed an outlet, something physical to blame on the raw throb of pain that beat through him with every pulse of blood through his veins.

Cas didn't want him. Dean tried to keep his jaw from clenching, unfurl his hands where they had fisted tightly at his sides, and believe. Castiel had his free will, his humanity, and a new life. Why would he want the Winchester curse to come and fuck it all up for him? Demon poison didn't have Castiel sobbing in a ball on the mattress. Dean's hands, Dean's touch had done that. Castiel didn't call him here for help. Castiel didn't want him here.

He remembered the flutter of hope in his chest as he had finished his last letter to Cas, and Dean buried it, leaving Castiel alone in the room to forget him and heal. Just outside he found Ambriel waiting, keeping a close eye on a roughed up but conscious Crowley. Her face was carefully level, and Dean didn't have to guess that she'd heard everything Cas had said, and probably a little extra. Angels and their mind mojo. Dean schooled his own features, staring Ambriel down as he closed the door softly behind him.

"Somethin' you want to contribute?"

Ambriel only stared for a long moment, and Dean wished he could tamp down on the broiling emotions just below his skin. He would manage later, once he'd cleaned out the bunker's liquor cabinet, but for now it was too fresh. Let her see, Dean thought bitterly. Ambriel twitched at his thought, confirming his suspicions.

"I know this is difficult," she said at last, "But it would seem that he is unable to recover with you present. I think… leaving would be best. I would be happy to return you home."

"Just get me outta here," Dean entreated, "Let him get better." Ambriel nodded, her gaze flicking to the demon King. Crowley's eyes were downcast, but he had obviously shifted closer to Dean in the last few seconds. Dean sighed. It would be safer for everyone to take Crowley back to the bunker where they could keep an eye on him. Didn't mean he had to like it.

"Well? You stayin' or goin'?" Dean spat at the former King of Hell. Crowley looked affronted, but Ambriel was relieved. The road was no place to try and bring a wanted demon.

"I suppose I'll tag along, since you promise to be such charming company," Crowley pouted.

"Take it or leave it, pal." Ambriel stepped between them, ending a potential spat.

"Thank you, Dean," she admitted, "Without your help, Castiel would have surely been lost."

Castiel was lost to Dean either way, but he acknowledged the angel's thanks with a curt nod before she tapped him on the forehead and the floor fell from under his feet.