Castiel worked in a hospital, he was around people that were sick all the time so Dean assumed that he could be trusted when he mentioned that he must have contracted the flu that had been going around, except...Dean really didn't feel sick. There was no fever, no aches and pains that came along with the flu. By all accounts, it didn't make sense, but there was nothing he could really do about it. He stayed in bed where Castiel had confined him, mainly because if he didn't argue, Castiel stayed by his side and doted after him. He'd take being treated like he was sick even if he wasn't if it meant that Castiel would stay with him. That was the one and only reason he was putting up with any of it. And at first it really wasn't all that bad, Castiel would sit with him and they would talk about what was happening at work, why Castiel had been away so often. Apparently he'd gotten in trouble by his boss over something? He'd mentioned being reprimanded and Dean wondered if maybe it was because of him. Maybe he'd been taking up too much of Castiel's time and he wasn't doing his job properly anymore.
It wasn't until he was well into the second day that everything seemed to come crashing down on him. He suddenly felt stiff and sore. His head throbbed painfully every time he opened his eyes and was assaulted with sunlight. He found it difficult to focus on anything, even when Castiel was there at his side trying to talk to him. His voice sounded distorted more often than not and Dean could only ever make out every other word. Eventually, he couldn't even stay conscious and he slept through most of the day. Opening his eyes in the darkened room was easier on his head, but his bedroom looked strange. The walls were different somehow, horrible wallpaper instead of the slate blue colored paint he'd covered the walls in when he first moved in. There were generic pictures of flowers hanging over his bed where the window should have been and the sheets he was laying on felt more like plastic than cotton. Everything was uncomfortable and his head was spinning.
"Dean, you're awake?" Castiel whispered, drawing his attention to his beside. All of his furniture looked the exactly the same, but sitting in the middle of a hospital room instead. Both rooms bleeding together and it hurt his head to try and tear them apart. "Are you feeling any better?"
"God, no, no-" Dean grumbled, reaching out blindly toward his voice. He was thankful that he was met with warm hands gripping his, thumbs smoothing over the backs of his hands softly. "My head-Cas I feel like hell."
"I know, I know and I apologize," Castiel murmured, leaning closer to him so that he could kiss his forehead lightly. He should have told him to stay back, to keep him from catching whatever the hell it was he had, but he knew that he wouldn't go away. "You are getting worse Dean, there is nothing I can do for you at this point. You have to understand, I have done everything I can..."
"Does that mean-I gotta go to the hospital? I hate hospitals." Castiel was quite for a moment, glancing around the room and Dean tried his best to focus on his face despite how blurry his vision was. He looked like he was in pain, his face set into a mask of pure shame and Dean wasn't sure what to make of it. "Cas? What's wrong?"
"Dean, you are already in the hospital. I couldn't contain it any longer-you must understand-"
Dean tore his eyes away from Castiel's face, forcing himself to focus on the room no matter how badly it hurt his head. He could still see his own room blending with a hospital room he was sure he'd seen somewhere in his nightmares and it made him feel uneasy. The more and more he looked at it, the less and less it looked like his own room. Things started to vanish that had been there for years, replaced by cheap hospital furniture and decor. Things that no one in their right mind would ever put in their house. His bed was no longer the comfortable king sized, memory foam mattress he had insisted on getting even if it was a little too big for the room. It was no larger than a full, adjustable with rails on either side that lowered to allow the person to get up and move around. He was in literal hell and he couldn't remember how he had gotten there. If he had taken a turn for the worse at the house, Castiel had to have called an ambulance to take him to the hospital or maybe he'd braved driving him himself.
"How long?" Dean croaked, blinking to try and keep his mind from recreating things from his own bedroom and forcing them into the room again. It was easier to focus when he settled on one particular setting instead of the two clashing.
"A few days. Dean I-"
Castiel's voice cut off suddenly when the door to the room popped open, Dean's heart lurching up into his chest when he pictured the nurse coming through the door, but it was a man. He could feel Castiel's fingers go rigid where he was still holding his hands as the man entered, dressed in a nice black suit, shaven head and dark skin. He looked intimidating and Dean thought to ask who the hell he was and why he was just letting himself into his room, but he figured that maybe it was his doctor. Castiel was only an anesthesiologist after all.
"Castiel," the man sighed heavily, folding his hands in front of him and squaring his shoulders. Castiel instantly released his hands and stepped away from Dean's side. He wanted to reach out and pull him back, but it was clear that the man was his boss and he was about to be yelled at for something. "What are you still doing here?"
"I need more time, just a little longer, Uriel," Castiel pleaded, taking a tentative step closer to the strange man. He'd never seen Castiel curl in on himself in such a way, lowering his gaze to the floor as if he were actually afraid of the man. It was difficult for Dean to watch, but he kept his mouth shut for fear of getting him fired. "He still needs me-"
"No." Uriel's voice was stern and dominant, insistent in a way that made Dean want to cringe away from him. Castiel did shrink back a bit, his hands twitching slightly as if he wanted to reach back over to grab Dean's again, but thought better of it. "No, Castiel. It is you that needs him. You are here to do a job, finish this or I will."
Uriel turned to leave the room quietly, Castiel standing beside his bed a little straighter the moment he was gone. Dean wasn't exactly sure what had happened, but it seemed like Castiel was neglecting his work to stay with Dean and that was the very last thing he wanted. This was a new job for him and Dean would never be able to live with himself if he was fired over his stupid illness. He reached up slowly to grab Castiel's hand, shaking a bit before he managed to grab a hold of him. He could feel him flinch, almost pulling away until he noticed that it was just Dean and turned to look at him sadly.
"I got you in trouble," Dean whispered, trying to tug him closer but Castiel didn't budge. He just stood there staring at him sadly and it made his chest hurt. "Cas I'm sorry."
"No Dean, this was not your fault. I overstepped my bounds and I-I was selfish enough to want to stay with you," he murmured, finally stepping closer and reaching up to comb his fingers through his hair. "The moment I met you I knew that I was going to have trouble walking away if I didn't keep my distance. And still I stayed. I was selfish Dean and I will never stop being sorry for that."
"Cas, what the hell are you talking about?" Dean demanded, tilting his head to the side a bit in confusion. The way he was talking, he was breaking up with him, leaving him for good and he wasn't sure what he'd done to warrant that. Honestly, they'd never really declared that they were dating, but he'd thought it was pretty obvious at the time and now...now he was breaking it off? For what? "If what I did the other day upset you, I didn't mean for it to. I won't ever do anything like it again, I swear-"
"Dean please, stop." Castiel leaned forward, wrapping one hand around the back of his neck and pulling him forward so that his face was pressed against his chest. "You have done nothing wrong, you have never upset me. You must believe me, I have never been happier in my entire existence than I have been with you."
"Then why are you doing this?" Dean choked, gripping Castiel's shirt so tightly he was sure it was wrinkled now. "Why are you talking like you're leaving me?"
"I would never leave you, Dean. Never. Unless you asked me to go, I will never leave your side."
"Good, then we're done having this conversation, cause I'm not gonna ask you to go," he demanded, nuzzling his face against his chest. "I'm fine with being selfish. You can be selfish all you want if you just stay."
The room fell silent and it stayed like that for a long time, Castiel combing his fingers through Dean's hair repeatedly and all he wanted to do was pull him into the bed and lay with him. To just go back to sleep until he felt better then take him home. He never wanted to step foot back in the hospital again and certainly never wanted to run across Uriel ever again. All too soon, Castiel was pulling away from him, kissing his forehead softly before he stepped back and held his hands out as if to coax him out of bed.
"Dean, there is something I need to show you. Will you walk with me?" he asked and Dean frowned. He really didn't feel like walking, but he didn't want to risk Castiel leaving without him so he swung his legs over the side of the bed, grimacing when he realized he was in one of those flimsy hospital gowns where his ass was probably hanging out. Castiel held his hands, helping to steady him on his feet which were a lot less stable than he remembered them being. Still, it wasn't all that bad when he was able to lean against Castiel for support, walking with him slowly out into the hallway. He remembered hospitals being a lot more busy, but as they walked down the hall, it seemed almost dead. There were no real sounds that he could pick up on aside from his bare feet hitting the tile floor and it concerned him a bit. It had an empty feeling to it that reminded him too much of his dreams and he was trying his best not to panic. Castiel was with him and there was no way that he would let something bad happen to him. "Just down here, on the left."
He could see the room that Castiel was indicating to, the number "406" printed above the door. The room was well lit from what he could see through the barely open door. Castiel's grip on him tightened a bit as he eased the door open and helped him hobble into the room. Dean instantly noticed that it looked exactly the same as the room they had just left, but then again, he supposed all hospital rooms were pretty much the same. They could have at least tried to get different art work or something, everything was an exact copy, right down to the bed. Dean's entire body seized up when he first spotted the body occupying the bed, covered in bandages more than skin, a breathing tube shoved down their throat and the horrible sound of the heart monitor was beeping away, spiking a bit when he realized what he was looking at. The man had the same short, dirty blonde hair as him, his jawline nearly exactly the same, but he really couldn't tell with all the bandages on him. He could clearly see the blood that was fighting to seep through the white bandages, smaller cuts littering the small portions of skin that were actually visible.
"What is this?" he croaked, his throat suddenly very dry at the sight of the breathing tube and he wished he hadn't gotten up to walk with Castiel. He wanted to go back to his own hospital bed because looking at this was too horrible to bear.
"That is...you, Dean." Castiel's voice was so level it frightened him and all he could do was shake his head no. He didn't care how much the battered man in the bed kind of resembled him, there was no way it was possible. He was standing right there, he couldn't be in two places at once. It was impossible. His stomach suddenly rolled violently, doubling him over and he was instantly sick right there on the tile floor. Castiel didn't even flinch, crouching down with him and smoothing his hand softly over his back. He wanted to jerk away from him. To tell him not to touch him unless he was going to take him out of the room because he couldn't look at that man again. "It is you, Dean. You are in a coma and I-I am here to try and help you. I have been trying, this entire time, to help you with this."
His head snapped up a little too quickly, causing it to throb painfully, but he just pushed through it for the sake of figuring out what the hell was going on. Castiel was trying to convince him that he was looking at himself laying in a hospital bed, in a damn coma? Castiel just stared at him sadly, the same look he'd seen grace his face several times whenever Dean had an episode. Every single time he pulled Dean back from a nightmare or a hallucination. Every. Single. Time. It was always Castiel who brought him out of it and it was painfully clear that the life he had been living was not reality. The nurse coming into his room so often now made horrible sense, as well as the heart monitor and the beeping. It all made so much sense, but he didn't want to believe it. That would mean that Castiel wasn't real. That he was some figment of his imagination he'd made up to comfort himself.
"No Dean, I am not a figment of your imagination," Castiel said softly, carefully pulling him back up to his feet. "It must be so hard for you, to understand all of this, but I assure you it is all very real. The accident, your condition. All of it. And I was sent to help you transition."
"You told me you were a doctor," Dean snapped, anger welling up as the betrayal made itself known. "You're an anesthesiologist."
"That was the closest human term I could find to define what I do, yes. Please, do not be angry with me. I have never truly lied to you. Not once. I answered every question as truthfully as I could. You have to understand that I could not just simply appear and explain to you that you were dying. You would have gone into shock and it would have caused complications-"
"Complications?! I'm in a fucking coma, Cas! Is that even your real name? Who are you really? What are you?"
Castiel looked momentarily hurt by his tone, but he really didn't give a shit. They guy had been lying to him for the better part of three months and he expected him to just accept everything and roll over like a damn dead dog? It wasn't going to happen and he wasn't going to try and spare anyone's feelings in the process. He was apparently dying and being lied to and he wasn't the least bit pleased with any of it. He loved Castiel, loved him ways that he was sure he probably shouldn't given the current circumstances, but he wanted straight answers.
"I am an angel. My job is to help make a soul as comfortable as possible as they come to terms with their fate and cross over into Heaven. We try to take away the pain. Hence the anesthesiologist," Castiel answered quietly, still looking rather hurt, like he had any right to be upset in the first place. Dean was the one who was dying.
"So that-all of that-it was just a means to make me "comfortable"? Content? Everything?"
"No, no of course not. I explained this already. This was the first time I have been entrusted with a soul by myself. I overstepped my bounds, I allowed myself to-to care for you when I knew I shouldn't have. I was selfish and I wanted to keep you for myself. Three days have passed and I drew things out in your mind to have more time with you. To see you happy. I never wanted this, for you to find out. I wanted to stay like we were, but there are limits to what even I can hold back. The damage to your body was severe and while I can contain the pain, your mind is breaking down. It can no longer hold up the facade of your past life and your surroundings in the hospital began to bleed through. My time with you Dean, I meant every moment of it. I cherish every moment. Please do not think that I only did what I did because it is my job. I have never viewed you that way. From the moment I met you, you have shown me nothing but kindness. There is a warmth to your soul that I could not walk away from, as well as a sadness." Castiel stopped talking for a moment, his blue eyes darting over to look at the bed and Dean almost followed his gaze, but he couldn't stand to look at it again. "The hardships you have incurred, the things that you have had to sacrifice... I wanted to give you something pleasant before you had to go. I never imagined that you would return the sentiment and I know that I do not deserve your kindness, but I have appreciated it none the less."
Dean was still having a difficult time coming to terms with what was happening. That Castiel was some sort of angel that had come to take his soul away because he was dying. He'd said that he had some sort of accident, but for the life of him, Dean couldn't remember anything happening that would have put him in this condition. He forced himself to look back at the man laying in the bed-himself laying in the bed-and just stared. There was no way for him to miss the exact replica of himself laying in the bed as battered as it was. Or maybe he was the replica, it was hard to tell at this point, everything was just so jumbled. He braved moving closer, approaching the side of the bed where the heart monitor was now beeping away in a steady rhythm, like he had finally calmed down enough to properly assess the situation. Near every inch of him was either bruised, cut or bandaged. His chest still rising and falling weakly thanks to the tube crammed down his throat and he had to bring his had up to cover his mouth to keep from vomiting again. He wasn't even sure how he could be nauseous if he wasn't even real, but he didn't care enough to question it anymore. He was dying, what did a little nausea matter?
"How?" It was the only word Dean could manage to get out at the moment, watching Castiel in peripheral vision as he moved closer on the other side of the bed, reaching down to pick up the lifeless hand laying on the mattress and Dean swore he could feel his own hand tingle a bit in response to the touch. He wasn't all gone, some part of him was still conscious in there. "How did I get like this?"
"It was a car accident. You hit a guardrail on the highway, ejected through the front windshield." Dean's chest constricted painfully, the monitor next to him beeping erratically for a moment before it evened out again.
"Was I...had I been drinking?" he asked softly, wondering how he could have crashed unless he was drunk, even though he normally never drove when he drank. He'd always promised his little brother not to.
"No. There was not a single trace of alcohol in your system when you crashed." Dean glanced over at him in confusion. If he hadn't been drinking, how in the hell did he suddenly lose control of his car and crash into a guardrail? Had an animal darted out in front of him? Another driver cutting him off? It didn't make sense. "Exhaustion. You feel asleep at the wheel. You had been pushing yourself too hard at work, long hours, little sleep. Eventually...your body just shut down."
His mind was instantly drawn back to the first morning he had spent with Castiel in his house, how he had told him that his body was under a lot of stress and that he needed to rest. How he had managed to get him to do more things that made him happy and work less. How he had simply made him look forward to the next day. To seeing him again. He wasn't ready to go; to give up the life he had started with Castiel, even if it was all in his head. He was happy with him and he had other responsibilities. His brother, the shop, things that he hadn't been able to set in order yet. He couldn't die because he wasn't finished living. But the look on Castiel's face told him that he didn't have a choice. He was going to die one way or another.
"The damage to your internal organs was far too extensive. If they had put you on a donor list, you would have never received everything you needed to live and even then there was no guarantee you would ever wake up to begin with. Coma patients vary." Dean nodded, understanding that if he was as bad off as Castiel was saying, there would be no way they'd give him donor organs. Why save one life when you could use the exact same organs to save several? It sounded cruel, but it was logical. "Sam is here."
Dean's eyes jumped back up to Castiel's face, staring at him in shock. He had never even mentioned Sam to Castiel in all the time they'd spent together, even though it hadn't been as long as he originally thought. "Sammy? He...he's here? Now?" He glanced around the room as if his brother was going to suddenly materialize, but there was no one except Dean, Castiel, and Dean's battered body laying in the bed.
"He is here in the hospital. He left the room not too long ago, before I brought you in, to get food I believe. He has been here every single day since the incident. He hardly leaves your side. Gave blood a few times, though he understood it would probably be ineffective in the long run."
"Have you-do you, talk to him?"
"I have spoken to him once. He believed I was part of the medical staff. Asked several questions I struggled to answer. He is a very smart man." Dean smirked softly, knowing damn well Sam Winchester was the smartest guy out there. He was a big time Stanford graduate, a lawyer, and Dean was more than proud of him. "You raised him well Dean. He adores you, I can tell by the way he speaks about you."
Dean laughed lightly, it was more of a desperate sound because he would have given anything to see him again. To talk to him at least one last time, but he was unconscious and there was no way he'd be able to get through to him. He could only pass a message along and that just wasn't good enough for him. He wanted Sam to hear it from him directly, to tell him that he was alright, even if he really wasn't. He wasn't, but what other choice did he have? "Does he know, that I'm still in here-there-whatever you call this?" he asked softly, reaching up to comb his fingers through his short hair.
"I explained to him that you were, comfortable. That you were not in pain. That was what he feared most aside from your imminent death. He did not want you to be in pain..."
He could certainly admit to not being in pain, not physical pain anyway. Whatever Castiel was doing to ensure he didn't hurt was working. He could tell just by looking at himself that his body had to be in a severe amount of pain, yet he felt nothing. It was for the best that he was unconscious or he was sure he'd be screaming in agony. There were probably several broken bones, obvious ruptured organs, things he never wanted to feel. "How much longer? Is it-is it going to be soon?"
Castiel rounded the bed slowly, coming closer to him warily, probably fearing that Dean was going to push him away, but he didn't see much point in it now. He'd never done anything to hurt him, Dean could see that now. Everything had been to try and make him happy and it would have if he could have continued that life. Now it was just a bittersweet memory that he would never get to experience again. "Yes. Very soon. When you went into shock this morning and flatlined, it put even more of a strain on your body. They thought you would go then, but I pulled you back as much as I possibly could. I didn't want you to go like that, while I was away."
"Where were you? Why did you keep leaving me alone, Cas?"
"Being reprimanded. They forced me away; I did not go willingly. My superiors-Uriel-believed that I was getting too close to you. And he was right." Castiel reached out slowly, cupping Dean's face in his hands and smoothed his thumbs over his cheekbones, causing his eyes to flutter closed for a brief second.
"I don't want to die, Cas. I want to go back, to have what we had. I want to see Sam again," he said shakily, feeling Castiel's thumb swipe away a tear that had managed to escape at some point. He really didn't even care if he was crying at that point. Nothing mattered when you were about to die at any given second and the heart monitor behind him was a grave reminder of that fact. The once steady beeps were slowing down, longer pauses between each pip and while it frightened him, he was oddly calm, probably thanks to Castiel and whatever weird angelic powers he had. "I don't wanna go."
"Dean, I would give anything to not have you face this fate. I would give anything, to save you." When Dean felt himself being pulled forward, he didn't fight it. Warm lips pressing against his forehead and he sobbed brokenly. It would be just his luck, after all those years of being alone he would finally find someone to love...just as he was about to die. "I wish that I could take all of this back, but I-it is not my place. If I altered life and death, there would be severe consequences to pay."
Dean nodded slowly, Castiel pulling him down a bit so that his head was tucked into the hollow of his neck, combing his long fingers through his hair like he had done so many times before. It was a comforting gesture, but all Dean could focus on was the longer and longer pauses between the beeps on the monitor. His breathing had picked up, panic setting in and he found himself clinging to Castiel's shirt tightly. "Is it going to-will it hurt?" he gasped, Castiel's fingers petting him softly.
"No, of course not. It will be like going to sleep," Castiel cooed, lips pressing against his temple and as if on cue, Dean's eyes slowly started to droop closed as another long pause filled the room. "I am here with you, Dean. Sam is here, even if you cannot see him. You are not alone and it will be peaceful."
He kept waiting to hear the next beep, to feel his heart beat just one last time. Anything. But all he was left with was the shrill continuous sound of the heart monitor flatlining and the sense of drowsiness that was quickly pulling him under. He'd tried to call out to Castiel one last time, even to Sam, but he couldn't find his voice and he knew he was already gone. Darkness consumed the very edges of his vision until there was nothing left. No light. No sound. No panic. No feeling of Castiel holding him close. Just an endless void that he seemed to be suspended in and he hoped that it wasn't Heaven. Castiel had mentioned it was his job to help him cross over and he wished he had asked what it would be like before he ran out of time. He wished he'd stowed the bitterness and the anger long enough to ask the important questions, but the time for that was long passed. All he could do now was pray that he was on to a better place and that Sam would be alright without him. He was a smart kid, he'd make it through somehow. And maybe if he was going on to Heaven, he might see Castiel again. He'd said he was an angel after all. It wouldn't be all bad. Peaceful, that was the word Castiel had used and he could-after years of struggling-finally rest.