When darkness comes
And pain is all around,
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water
I will lay me down.
"How's he doing?"
Dean shakes his head wordlessly, body folded in on itself in the uncomfortable chair that may become his home until he knows the answer to that question for himself. He's been sitting in the waiting area since the shooting as people bustled in and out around him. Gabriel is an eerily silent presence a few seats down, as if now that he's called all the family that cares about Castiel, he's just sort of switched off as he keeps vigil beside Dean, but not altogether with him. Not that he needed to call anyone. It's probably all over the news still, though the nurses thoughtfully switched the stations after noticing Dean flinching as they played a reel of Cas's lifeless body (no, not lifeless, motionless) being wheeled out of the hotel by paramedics, Dean at his side, refusing to leave the ambulance.
The only channel not playing images of Dean's nightmare spooling out before him, over and over again, is fucking Cartoon Network. On the screen, a bunch of halfpint would-be heroes screw things up as much as they help them, over and over, though the titles change and the colors flicker and shift. Dean wants to put his fist through the screen.
He's answered questions for the cops, asked questions of the doctors and nurses around him, arranged for his children to be gotten out of that damn hotel, listened to updates on where all his people are, and all the while Cas's blood has set and dried into the creases and lines of Dean's hands, rivers and tributaries that catch and change course with every small scar and imperfection. He should wash his hands, but that would mean walking away, even for a minute, and he fears missing something. Worse, he fears he may never see Castiel alive again, and this is the last proof that he ever was.
Sam crouches at Dean's feet, and it's strange looking down at him. Wide hazel eyes, full of fear and worry, plead with Dean to tell him something good, something hopeful. He's four years old again, and helpless. Goddamnit he can't do this. He can't keep being everyone's pillar to lean on. Not when it comes to this. He realizes Sam is still waiting for an answer, and gives him what little he has.
"He's in surgery still."
"Did they get the bullets ...?" Dean's sharp, interrupting laugh bridges the gap between hysteria and despair, wrenched out of him painfully, and Sam rocks back to sit on his heels, watching Dean warily, afraid of him or for him, Dean doesn't know. The sound drags Gabriel's gaze away from the mindless shift of colors on the screen, and Dean can feel the stare like an accusation, like daggers. Gabriel's brother is in a hospital room dying, and yet Dean's laughing about a stupid question because the world is cruel and ironic and had to remind him that he and Castiel have woven their lives so tightly together, and now that Cas may have been ripped away, things looked on as fond quirks are fraying what's left of Dean. "Dean?"
"It doesn't work that way, Sammy. Getting the bullets out doesn't fix the problem. You ever see on Discovery, where they shoot a watermelon? Whole damn thing nearly explodes. It's too damn much liquid, y'know, all jumps out of the way of the bullet. Sure the bullet cuts through, but a shot to the gut, or the chest? We got a damn lot of squishy parts in there shoved together. Whole lot that can go wrong. This ain't Hollywood. There's no such fucking thing as a clean shot through the gut, apparently."
Sam's hand falls on Dean's shoulder, and it's like a dam has burst. He can't stop, can't stop thinking about it, can't breathe past the tightness of his chest, doesn't want to think but his mind keeps circling around this one ridiculous fact. "And all I can think is that I know way too much about it now. You know how I know?" it's definitely tears now, not laughter. "Because Cas..." Dean's voice cracks in the middle of his name, and he makes himself finish it. "...Castiel argues with every fucking medical show on television and got pissed off at Doctor Sexy's season finale because they treated him getting shot like it was nothing. And I can't get that out of my head."
He can't stay with Sam looking at him with pity, can't face Gabriel's silence, can't deal with the crowd of more distant family and friends that Sam's kept at bay for him, an entire group he brought together into that room, a room where some of them were supposed to die, Dean included. He knows they're waiting until they won't be 'in the way' to descend on the hospital. Waiting to see if they'll be attending a funeral before going home.
Pushing to his feet and past Sam, Dean paces away, trapped by his need to be nearby, trapped by his own guilt and terror and by Cas bleeding out on some hospital table thousands of miles away from home, and even farther from the hospital they met in, where he derailed Cas's life. He's got no delusions that Cas's life would have been better without him in it: Castiel's never let him believe that, not for a minute. But that fictional Castiel who was never fated to mate a fucked up Omega at least wouldn't be fighting for his life.
They had less than five minutes to celebrate victory before someone tore Dean's world apart.
"I'm out, Sam." Resting his forehead against the warm, smooth glass of the window, watching another ambulance take off with lights and sirens, Dean shakes his head slightly. "I can't do this. I can't be this."
"What do you mean?" Sam's sticking close enough to Dean that he's starting to wonder if he's got another Alpha bodyguard now, another person he loves trying to step in front of a bullet for him. His mind spins out horrors, images of the gunman pulling out another piece, taking Sam out when he slammed the man into the ground. How many of them was he supposed to kill today? Is it over, now? Is someone else going to take a shot down the line? Could it be the kids who end up in the crossfire?
"I mean I'm out. We spend so much goddamn time on this... We have kids now, Sammy." If Castiel dies on that operating table, what is he supposed to tell the twins about their father? They wouldn't even remember him, stuck with a broken home and no idea how good they could have had it. "I got a good life, Sam. And instead of living it, I'm out getting arrested, getting in the face of every bigot in this damn country, risking his life and your life and their lives and everyone around me because I can't get over my own goddamn issues. Because I can't let go of something some other asshole did to me and just..."
"You're not Dad, Dean." Sam found his backbone sometime in the last couple of minutes, and it is steel, inflexible, his words cutting right to the point. "You're not ignoring your kids because of some vendetta. You're a great dad, and you and Cas have something good, and what you're doing... It's important, Dean, and you're doing it together. Cas would say the same thing, you know he would. You've saved lives, and you just... You just changed all the rules of the game, Dean."
"Don't tell me what Cas would say." Dean snarls the words, too raw not to. He's angry at himself, at Sam, at the world, at Cas and at Cas's God if the asshole does exist. "You don't get to use him as some sort of goddamn martyr to the cause. Cas got shot because I can't..."
"Castiel got shot because he's head-over-heels for you, loves the rest of us, and he's a heroic moron like that and would probably do it again. Now stop yelling at each other, you're getting on my nerves." Gabriel hasn't moved from his spot, doesn't raise his voice, but he effectively shuts the Winchesters down without looking away from the TV.
Gabe's still on his feet as soon as the doors open, hyper-aware as they all are here.
It's reflex in this kind of place. Every time the door opens in an emergency room, half the room stands but all of them look. It's like a macabre competition, who the doctors are coming to talk to, who gets news, who has the luck. Dean recognizes Cas's doctor, and paces the short distance to meet him, a lump in his throat.
"Surgery was successful, but he's not out of the woods quite yet." Dean's hanging on the surgeon's words, unable to fully hope, and he can feel Sam and Gabe crowd closer. The surgeon is matter-of-fact, straightforward, and Dean has to wonder how Cas would deliver this news. Huge blue eyes and sympathy? A mask of professionalism? He doesn't know how to read this guy, to know how deep Cas is in those woods. "We managed to stop the bleeding without removing his spleen, but we had to use an absorbable mesh to keep it all together. We've sutured the tear through the left lobe of his liver, and he's damned lucky it didn't hit the hepatic artery, but it still lost him a lot of blood we had to replace. He suffered a. . ."
"Don't give me injuries, give me odds. Is my brother going to live." Gabriel cuts him off, and he seems to be holding his breath for the answer. The doctor frowns slightly, eyeing Gabe.
"Odds are for gamblers. But if I had to guess, I'd say 40% chance of a rebleed making us go back in. Beyond that, we'll know better soon. First four to six hours are going to be the most critical. Give us half an hour and we'll have him set up in the ICU." The doctor frowns at the three of them, eyes skimming from Sam to Gabriel to Dean. "Who are we talking to if medical decisions have to be made for.."
"Me." Dean scowls at the doctor, arms folding and feet planted, and by God if they try to play the Omega discrimination game right now he will tear this place apart. "When it comes to my husband, you're dealing with me."
The doctor nods slowly, watching Dean assessingly, critically, comparing him to the image he presents on television. "Somehow I thought you'd say that. Alright, Mr. Winchester, I'll have paperwork coming out for you, and if anyone gives you crap for signing it you refer them to me." A nurse pokes her head out of the door, murmuring something in the doctor's ear, and he nods to her before turning back to Dean. "Give us thirty minutes to get him settled in the ICU. The nurse is going to come talk to you about it when it's time, but the gist is visiting hours end at 8PM. You get two visitors, and one overnighter, and you bicker it out here before you get in there so you're not bothering the patients. If anything happens you get out of the way and let us work."
Dean watches as the door swings closed behind the doctor, trying to gather his thoughts before turning to face Gabe and Sam. Sam's pinch-faced with worry, brow furrowed, but Gabriel is flopping back into his chair, eyes brighter. "Forty percent odds something will fuck up. Sixty percent odds it won't. He's beaten longer odds than that before."
This isn't the first vigil Gabriel has kept-the last one, he was watching one brother slowly die while another was a captive overseas, receiving constant updates on Jimmy and foreboding silence about Castiel. Thirty minutes and they'll see Cas for themselves. Dean goes to rub his face, only to see the dried blood on his hands and his shirtsleeves and flinch, shaking his head. "I gotta..."
He can't touch Cas with blood all over his hands.
Sam rests a warm, broad hand on his shoulder, eyes wide and entreating again. "Let me help, please. Tell me what I can do, Dean."
"I need a change of clothes." Dean takes a look at Gabe, noticing the blood ringing his cuffs from helping Dean keep the pressure on Cas's wounds. "Gabe does too. I need..." More than that, more than anything. "...Keep the kids safe for me. I don't know how long I'm going to be here, but I need to be here. If Cas wakes up..." Gabriel's eyes narrow, but Dean doesn't correct himself "... he's going to want to see them somehow, if Charlie can do that video thing again for us. And there's no sense everyone showing up, there's nothing they can do here but worry."
Sam nods, hand squeezing Dean's shoulder, and Gabriel chimes in unsolicited. "Cup of coffee and a nice looking Bible if you can find one." Dean blinks at the odd request, turning to question Gabe, who shakes his head. "Not for me, dumbass. For Cassie. Trust me, he'll like it better than flowers. Though you could also get flowers and put my name on them. Also, the name, date of birth, address, current location, employer, local dive bars, financial records... whatever your gal Friday dug up on the asshole who put two holes in my brother. And the computer from my hotel room." Gabriel will probably do nothing good with that information, certainly nothing legal, but it's hard to argue against that when his brother's been shot. He disarms with inappropriate humor, as always, but it doesn't take a genius to guess it's a ruse. "Don't dig in the bag too much, there are things in there that would scar your delicate man-moose sensibilities."
Sam takes off on orders with a last squeeze of Dean's shoulder, clapping Gabriel on his as he passes, and Dean glances at the doors into the emergency room again before looking at his hands.
"Go wash your hands already, you've been freaking me out with your Lady Macbeth crap for hours." It's like Gabriel read his mind, though he's watching the television again. It explains Gabe refusing to look at him, and it's a relief to know its not blame that's kept him looking away. "I'll get you if they show up."
By the time Dean's done trying to scour Cas's blood off with scratchy brown paper towels, Gabe is holding two coffees from Sam and has a Bible from the gift shop on the table next to him. He's changed into a 49ers tee, there's a touristy San Francisco t-shirt with a silhouette of the Golden Gate Bridge folded on Dean's seat, and there's a uniformed cop camping at the nurse's station.
"Your brother's paranoid." Gabe offers by way of explanation, handing Dean a coffee after he tugs the t-shirt on without bothering to leave the room. He doesn't care about looking like a twelve year old tourist, anything is better than the dress shirt and suit jacket stiffened with Cas's blood. "'Course I guess that only counts as paranoid when people haven't tried to kill you today. Shove your shirt in the bag there with mine, they're gonna take it for evidence or something. Cop's going to perch outside of Cassie's door once he has one, keep an eye on you both."
"Could be awkward. Accidentally started a riot in this jurisdiction." Dean's letting himself he coaxed into responding by Gabriel, both of them cautiously hopeful despite themselves now, but the two men most likely to use inappropriately timed humor to bolster the others around them aren't getting anything from it themselves, and trail off again, back on their feet as soon as the door opens.
The nurse's instructions are acknowledged impatiently, Dean's too anxious to really pay attention, but he notes the cop following them back, and the fact that Cas has been given a private room because it's easier to secure than keeping him in the ward.
Tucked under layers of heavy blankets, surrounded by medical equipment with tubes and wires running off of him in seemingly all directions, Castiel looks deceptively small. Dean's always known he has a couple inches and a few pounds on Cas, but Castiel's been such a huge presence in his life for the past couple of years that it's disorienting to see him look frail. Bizarrely, Dean almost wants to laugh about the bandage across Cas's nose, the doctors deciding for Castiel that he'll get it looked at after all. If he were awake, it'd be the first thing Dean mentioned, teasing him. It twists the knife farther, just how screwed he's going to be if Cas doesn't come back from this, all the smartassed things they'd sling at each other as a sign of affection.
Gabriel freezes in the doorway, staring at Castiel's still form like he's seeing a ghost, but Dean's drawn forward immediately, looking for anywhere safe to touch, some way to reach out. Cas's left arm seems relatively free of wires, and Dean drags over a chair for himself with his foot, hands closing around Cas's. It's too cold, he's all too cold, and Dean can't help twitching the blankets in place over him, hand rubbing up and down familiar skin to warm it, reminded of old lady blankets and cover stealing and flannel pajamas, despite being a furnace when he sleeps. "Hey, Cas. I'm here. . . " Dean glances up at Gabriel, finally girding himself to pull up a chair near Dean. "We're here. So any time you want to wake up and join the party. . ."
Damnit he wasn't going to get choked up.
There's a clear tube running from the corner of Cas's mouth, the click and hiss of the ventilator terrifyingly familiar, given the day they met Castiel took John off of his, and stood by Dean as he faded away. It kept their children alive, though, until they could breathe on their own, and Dean's life is a mess of hospitals and catastrophes and fear and hope. Bowing his head over Cas's arm, Dean breathes out quietly and holds on, silently begging Cas to do the same.
Nurses come and go. Every hour that passes is one farther out of the woods, another without catastrophe. Gabriel finds a remote and switches on the TV just for noise, lingering on the news just long enough for them to hear a talking head who once introduced Dean to her program as a 'former Omega prostitute' call their win in court a heroic tale, the hypocrisy of it stinging as they all try to seem sympathetic and as if they'd been on the winning side all along. Gabe gets a look at Dean's expression and moves on to the cartoon channel again, but not before they get a glimpse of the changing reel. Someone leaked the camera footage from inside the ready room.
The sound of two gunshots and screams hits them both, even through the tinny speakers, and Gabriel hits mute on the cartoons and puts the remote down slowly. It takes a long time for them to find their voices again after that, lost in their own replays of events.
After a long stretch of silence side by side as evening and the end of visiting hours draws closer, Gabriel slaps Dean on the shoulder and holds his hand out, surprising him out of his thoughts.
"Gimme five dollars."
Dean raises his head from the edge of Castiel's bed and stares blankly at his brother-in-law. "Aren't you a frikkin' millionaire or something?"
"Yeah, and...? Five bucks. C'mon." Grudgingly curious what the hell Gabe's up to, Dean digs his wallet out of his pocket, and as soon as it's open Gabe plucks out a bill and drops the Bible beside him into Dean's lap. "Congrats. You just bought that. Now, pick some sappy lovey-dovey line from it, write it inside the cover, and give it to my brother when he wakes up."
It's not that Dean needs Gabe's reasoning explained to him. He knows Castiel well enough to know that the gift would mean something very different to him coming from Dean than it would coming from another brother, like it's a replacement for Jimmy's gift to him when he was deployed. Nevertheless, he stares at the Bible for a long moment, trying to think of how to voice his reservations, what they are, if they matter with Castiel in this state.
What comes out instead is "...Didn't Sam buy this?"
"And that, my friend, is how you stay a millionaire. Steal other people's work and don't spend a dime of your own unless you have to." Pushing himself to his feet, Gabriel puts the remote on the arm of Dean's chair and stretches, rubbing his hands over his face. "They're going to come kick me out in a couple minutes. If you don't call me the second he twitches, or when he starts giving you that really uncomfortable for everyone else in the room lovestruck look, I'm going to . . ." A look of consternation crosses Gabriel's face as he comes up short on amusing threats, the day too long and too traumatic for humor. ". . . Shit, I don't know, but it'll be good. Just call me, I'll let everyone else know. You want updates on the shooter?"
"I can't." Dean shakes his head slowly, stroking his thumb against Cas's knuckles. Until Cas is up and around, Dean just doesn't have room for that in his head. He can't start a vengeance kick while Cas is still alive without splitting his attention off of Cas, and he can't fixate on revenge if Cas dies, because then he is John Winchester. "Tell Ellen and Jo they can text me about the kids. And check on Chuck for me. Cas will want to know he's okay. I know he'll take it hard, and Amelia and Claire aren't here with him. Make sure he didn't drink himself into a hole."
Gabriel slips out of the room shortly after, Dean turning off the TV as he goes, and he's left alone with his thoughts and with Castiel for the night, the nurses coming in and out around him, taking care of Cas as they do.
Dean nods off briefly sometime around midnight, jerking awake when the nurse and officer outside the door exchange words before she comes into the room again. He doesn't need her to tell him that Cas is more or less in the clear, now: he knows as soon as he wakes.
Cas's hand is warm, reflecting Dean's own heat instead of the chill from bloodloss and surgery and transfusions. He feels like Cas again this way, and sometime in the night his fingers have curled around Dean's, holding his hand. Dean squeezes his fingers, choking back his words as the nurse bustles around him, waiting until she's gone to move, just holding hands with Cas.
Brushing Cas's hair back from his forehead, he presses a kiss to his husband's temple, voice low and hoarse in his ear, and God he loves this stupid man who never got that 'take a bullet for you' love was supposed to be metaphorical. "I'm here. I got you. I love you, you stubborn self-sacrificing idiot. You gotta come back to me, Cas."
xXx
Castiel's return to the land of the living isn't quick. Partially it's the sedatives, keeping him comfortable as his body is given time to recover, and partially it's his body's natural defense to the trauma, but it's harrowing for Dean, hearing about progress but only seeing it for himself in seemingly insignificant ways. He can see the slow return of color to Cas's cheeks, knows that Cas is responding to him being near, holding his hand, and they take him off the ventilator while leaving the tubes in place and Cas's breath is slow and regular. He's not snoring, though, or curling into Dean and his pillow, so Dean can't pretend he's just sleeping. He won't feel better until he can hear Cas's voice.
He feels guilty when he has to leave, Ellen coaxing him out of the room to go take a quick shower in the facilities available for family, change into clothes from the luggage he and Cas shared, and see the kids who she brought with Jo to the waiting room. He hates the idea of them in the hospital, but they can't tell one play area from another, and Jo fastidiously uses Cas's disinfecting wipes on toys before letting them grab for them. He spends longer than he expects to soaking in their presence, because he can't handle walking away from them once they reach for him, and he ends up staying until he gets them both to sleep, loaded into the car seats.
Jo clings to him in her hug almost as hard as the twins did when he goes to leave. By the time he gets back to the room, Ellen is quietly reading to a motionless Castiel from the Bible there, and Dean stops in the doorway to listen. He's never heard Ellen pray, only barely remembers her going to church when they were kids. Ellen's temple is the Roadhouse now, whiskey is her benediction to the lost souls who wander in, but she still seems to know her way around scripture, her voice soft and words steady. ". . . Save me, o Lord, from the hands of the wicked; preserve me from violent men who plan to trip up my feet-the proud who have hidden a trap for me. . ."
She glances up at Dean in the door, who once he's caught pushes away from it to take his seat at Cas's hand again, and she slowly closes the book and passes it over.
"Nurse and I thought for a minute there he was going to wake up, but I think he's waiting for you." Taking in Dean's profile as he resumes his position holding Cas's hand, she wraps an arm around his back, tugging him closer for a moment, leaning across the span between their chairs. "You hang in there, son. He's coming back to you."
Which makes Dean luckier than she was. Dean's family is proof that he hasn't cornered the market on loss yet, broken people all huddled together against the world. Pressing a kiss to the top of Dean's head, maternal and worried, she pushes out of her chair shortly after, promising to get him food because he doesn't take care of himself.
He settles in for the long haul again, resting his head on the edge of Cas's bed, slowly stroking his thumb over Cas's long fingers, fingers for a pianist or a surgeon. Leaning in to press a kiss to his knuckles, there's no way for him to miss the way Cas's fingers suddenly twitch in Dean's hand, Cas's whole arm lurching as he gasps his way back to life.
Cas doesn't regain consciousness the way he wakes up. His eyes fly wide, body jolting as if he's being shot all over again, and Dean has to pin his arm down to the bed to keep him from tearing the tube out of his mouth. "Cas. Cas! It's okay. It's okay, it's me... I'm here. I got you. Castiel, look at me."
Cas's eyes are searching the room, drugged confusion clear in them, but the command snaps his gaze to Dean who leans over him, free hand framing his face, waiting until Cas meets his eyes. The recognition is immediate, soothing Dean's lingering fears, and Cas's arm slowly relaxes under Dean's hand, no longer straining to rip at the tubes. "There you go. Welcome back to the land of the living."
Cas's other hand is clumsy, nearly clubbing Dean in the cheekbone with the oxygen meter clipped over his finger as Cas reaches for him, and Dean only figures out he was crying when Cas is trying to wipe it away, brow furrowing. He can't talk with a tube stuck down his throat, can't sit up with thick gauze bandages holding his guts in place behind the stitches, but he's still trying to pull Dean into his arms where he's leaning over the hospital bed, still trying to comfort Dean like he wasn't the one shot, or trying to take comfort knowing that Dean's okay. Dean jabs the nurse call button unnecessarily-he's sure they can see the change in Cas's readings or something-and sits on the edge of his bed carefully, pointing a reproachful finger in his husband's face.
"Never do that again, you hear me?" Cas can't speak, but it's just as well. They both know he can't honestly make that promise.
xXx
The first night is rough. Castiel's coughing fit once they pull the tube out of his throat leaves his throat raw and pained, his entire abdomen feels like it's on fire from the reflex, and eventually he has to hit the morphine button and concede defeat. He didn't want to go back to sleep, fights it for a while somewhere between dream and unconsciousness, until Dean affectionately calls him a stoner and strokes a hand through his hair, soothing him into real sleep.
When he wakes up again an hour later, Dean is sitting beside him, feet kicked up on the bed next to his knees, and a Bible in his hands as he scowls at it. Castiel has to blink a few times to reassure himself that he's seeing that right.
His first attempt to really speak sounds more like a croak than anything recognizable, but Dean's feet drop and he's leaning forward immediately, hand cupped around the back of Cas's neck. He drops the Bible onto the bedside table, and reaches for a salmon pink ice tub there instead. "Woah, hold up there, gabby. They said you might sound a bit hoarse, but. . ."
The ice is a balm to Cas's pained throat when Dean slips it between his lips, and Castiel lets himself suck on it for a while, the cold numbing the scratchy feeling in his throat and wet making him less parched. Dean smiles at him, careworn and tired, but it crinkles the corners of his eyes and he is very, very near again and distracting as always. "Alright. You wanna try that again?"
"A Bible?" The question conveys everything with the least amount of effort, and Dean looks momentarily sheepish, shrugging awkwardly.
"It's for you. I'm trying to find something to put in the front, but I suck at this crap, Cas." Castiel's watching him, glossy-eyed from drugs and affection, and Dean rolls his eyes and arranges himself more comfortably, dragging the seat closer so he's no longer on the edge of it. "Not all of us know our way around religion. How you feeling?"
Castiel considers that question longer than he should. "It's uncomfortable." The understatement tears a bark of laughter out of Dean-shot twice and he describes it as 'uncomfortable'-but Cas has no idea how long he's been in the hospital, or what happened after he fell. "Twins?"
"They're fine. Everyone is fine, nobody else got hurt. We'll see if we can get the twins in here for a visit once you're better, or get them on the line for you in the morning. Sammy's got 'em. Jo and Ellen are camping out at his house while he runs around taking care of things. He's been on the news a few times recently, I hear." Cas arches an eyebrow slightly, questioning why Dean only 'hears' it, leaving it to his husband to fill in the question for him. "Don't know much of what's going on out there. Not watching the TV much. They keep showing you getting shot and calling the court case a heroic David and Goliath thing."
Cas stares at him for a moment, as if he's slipping into the morphine-induced stoner state again, and then chokes on a laugh that sounds painful, wrecked, and at the cough Dean reaches for the nurse call button before Cas shakes his head at him, adamantly denying that he needs it, fist over his lips until he is breathing evenly again, gasping out "I'm fine."
"Bullshit." Dean growls, but he puts the button back down unpressed, returning his hand to Cas's hair. "What the hell was that?"
"First book of Samuel. Chapter eighteen, verse one." Castiel nods like this makes perfect sense, like he's imparting wisdom, and lets his eyes drift closed as Dean pets his hair slowly. It looks like Dean's found the off button after all, and he's going to shamelessly abuse how quickly Cas relaxes under his touch.
"Yeah, okay Cas. Go back to sleep. It's late, you're tired, and you gotta get some rest if you're gonna heal up. Our families are going to come visiting in the morning." Leaning forward, he carefully presses a kiss to Cas's forehead, and he stays with him until his breathing evens out, until he's softly snoring, turning his head on the pillow to face Dean, still a mess of bandages and wires, but so much more alive.
He settles back into his chair, kicking bare feet up next to Cas again and dragging the Bible back into his lap. He figures Castiel probably sent him to a verse that works for Dean's inscription at the front of the book. He didn't expect to end up with a history lesson, flipping back a few pages to get a better grasp of what he's reading, and waiting for Cas to wake up so they can argue about the Bible.
xXx
Castiel is a terrible patient, and it seems like the hospital expected it. Apparently, this is common among hospitalized doctors.
Once he's extubated and conscious, the rules are quickly established for the sanity of the medical staff: Cas isn't allowed to read his own medical chart if he is going to add editorializing commentary or criticism, he doesn't get to change his dosages or step up the treatment to fast track himself. It doesn't matter that he's a doctor, while he's on morphine he is not allowed to back-talk the people who kept him alive just because he's impatient to go home. He got shot. Twice. His family and friends are not going to back him doing anything stupid that might set him back a few steps.
Gabriel encourages it, hands him charts and pretty much acts as a co-conspirator, quick to grin at his little brother now that he's on the mend, and needle him recreationally. Chuck seems just grateful to have his son alive and breathing, convinced that if Cas hadn't intervened both he and Dean would be dead.
Their visit lasts most of the morning after Castiel wakes up to Dean's assurances that he's just going to get some things taken care of, that Cas won't be alone, and that he's not going far. When Gabriel tugs Chuck away, he leaves a bowl of hard candy and a pack of playing cards for Cas, adding to the growing trove of gifts and balloons and flowers and cards that seem to have sprung up around him overnight, everyone waking to the news from Dean that he's on the mend.
When Dean shows back up he has Sam with him, and Castiel's growing exhaustion from trying to socialize melts away when Sam and Charlie open a video link between them and the twins, though Jo and Charlie have to hold the twins back after a moment when attempts to grab the screen with their parents talking out of it leaves them with a view just of dark curls, and the impression that the screen on the other side is going to be wet from toothless 'kisses.'
Sam's polite enough to pretend he doesn't notice any tears, turning his back courteously when Dean carefully helps Cas lay the bed back the rest of the way again. It's still early afternoon, but Castiel's as exhausted as if he ran a marathon, and Dean declares a moratorium on visitors until he gets a chance to rest, chasing everyone out from the waiting room before returning to Cas's side, carefully feeding him another piece of ice to help, flopping into his chair and dragging the Bible into his lap, picking up the thread of conversation out of nowhere.
"I went back in the story. Hate jumping into the middle of a book. So, tell me if I got this right. Jonathan's a prince, son of the king. They're traveling and Jonathan went poking around in some forbidden honey and broke his dad's law when he licked honey off the tip of a staff…" Cas is nodding slightly when Dean looks up, and Dean smacks a hand to the pages of the bible, incredulous. "Oh come on, that's a like the worst frikkin' euphemism for a blow job I've ever seen."
Castiel's lips tug into a faint smile, closing his eyes to let himself listen to Dean's voice, and he concentrates on his breathing, fingers loose around the morphine button. After yesterday, he doesn't want to have to use it around Dean, doesn't want to go back to sleep. He's floating in Dean's nearness, happy to have him here, prompting him to continue with a noncommital noise. He's more inclined to a literal read, and that's not what he sent Dean into the story for. "And?"
"And Jonathan was some badass war hero so people stood up for him against his dick father, he gets a pass. Blah, blah, David and Goliath. I think everyone knows that story, I skipped it. But then they drag David up in front of the king and ask who the hell he is, he meets Jonathan and. . ."
". . . By the time David had finished speaking with Saul, Jonathan had become fond of David as if his life depended on him; he loved him as he loved himself. . ." Castiel shifts the ice in his mouth, bringing the nearly melted sliver back to his dry lips for a moment to wet them again, and then makes himself continue. "And Jonathan entered into a bond with David, because he loved him as himself.'"
"Dude frikkin' stripped down the second they met, gave him his weapons and clothes and everything." Dean's up, digging a mint out of the candy bowl tucked among the gifts and cards, and holding it up for Cas as an offering that he gratefully accepts, and he doesn't miss Dean brushing a thumb over his lower lip when he pops it into Cas's mouth for him, the way he looks like he'd like to kiss Cas but is worried to, before he physically shakes off the urge. "Anyway, this version says 'the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul.'"
Castiel watches as his mate draws his hand back and scrapes fingers through his hair as if he's trying to fight the desire to touch him, flopping back in the visitor's chair. He's indolent and indecently appealing, all sprawled legs and rumpled hair and tired eyes. It's obvious Dean's been spending sleepless nights in that chair, but he's always beautiful.
"A simpler translation. ...Thoughts?" He knows Dean's thoughts, knows the direction they would have taken him. It's why he sent him to this story, shared it with him. Dean would never read the Bible on his own account, or even 'skim it,' but Castiel knew he'd found something that would resonate-it's been a long time since he was able to do that for someone.
"King Saul's not just jealous of him being a better badass, he's territorial. All the attempts to kill David, pushing the guy towards his daughters instead, demanding David go lop off a hundred foreskins from their enemies and bring them to him if he wanted to be the king's son-in-law… your religion is frikkin' creepy, by the way... that sounds like some serious territorial crap. Like Sam practically pissing a circle around me when you showed up." Crude, but Cas understands Dean's point. Dean's all nervous energy, unable to sit still any longer as he leans forward, bracing his arms on the edge of the bed and resting his chin on them, getting closer to Castiel. "Shit, Cas. Why doesn't anyone teach this to people so they stop with hateful bullshit? This whole damn story is so gay even I don't even know what to do with it and I get plowed by a priest regularly."
"Former priest." Castiel corrects hoarsely. Even with the drugs managing the pain, laughing is still difficult, just gathering up the air for it without feeling breathless, but Castiel manages to huff his amusement. When he suggested the reading, he didn't expect Dean to become as animated about this as he is politics, but perhaps he should have. Dean's always been far more intelligent than he lets himself believe he is, and he has never been short of passionate in all things. "The story of David and Jonathan is taught as the ideal of friendship."
"Bullshit. I mean, goddamnit do they have to spell it out more?" Dean's casual blasphemy when discussing religion used to make Cas flinch, but either the drugs or the long association has rendered it amusing. "There's so much crying, kissing, renewed vows in moonlight, taking on the King for each other, begging, more kissing, secret meetings… David, like, collects wives but spends more time with Jonathan coming up with excuses to see each other, and when Jonathan dies, David rips at his clothes and wails or whatever, and actually writes some sorta poem that says he loved Jonathan more than any woman. Yeah, that...? Harlequin Romance books come up with more subtle love stories, man. You say that's all historical? They actually were real...? Then what the hell are they doing editing history."
"David's a hero of Judaism, Christianity and Islam. An ancestor of Christ." Dean lets his breath out in a woosh that tickles the skin on Cas's hand and he turns his arm into it, spreading his fingers in invitation that Dean takes, linking their hands together.
"Fucking propagandizing bullshit." Dean sighs, pressing a kiss to the inside of Cas's wrist, and he's so gentle with Cas that it's like he's made of spun glass, delicately handled no matter how rough Dean's words are. "Dude can still be a badass, like women, and fall in love with a man."
"Clearly." Cas murmurs, head turned on his pillow to watch Dean, thumb clumsily stroking across Dean's fingers, blunt and work-battered, but so careful when he wants to be.
"You know I'm gonna use that story next time some religious nut mouths off to me, argue that Jonathan and David were mates." Dean warns, and Castiel squeezes his fingers, amused again by how well he guessed Dean's take.
"Wouldn't expect any less." He doesn't have more reading material to suggest yet, nothing like the clarity that came with Dean's words last time. Maybe he'll send him to some of David's psalms about evil men slandering his love, but the passages and verses are escaping him right now. He's just certain now, looking at him here in this environment, that Dean shouldn't be trapped here watching him sleep, unable to do anything. "You don't have to stay. Know you don't like hospitals."
"I've spent how long having to scare nurses away from you back home? Not gonna happen." Dean's teasing him but his voice is thick, and he raises his chin from the mattress, other hand sweeping Cas's unruly hair back from his forehead. "If anyone's giving you a sponge bath it's gonna be me." Cas closes his eyes again, leaning his head into the slow stroke of Dean's fingers through his hair. It's easy to lose himself in that, in Dean's love and his touch, and even the displeased rumble of his voice when he starts again. "You took two bullets for me, Cas. Two frikkin' bullets. You got this gaping hole in your gut right now because of me. Where the hell else do you think I'd be?"
"The twins..." The peppermint has dissolved, and his mouth seems dryer for it, but he still regrets Dean's hand pulling away so he can pluck another ice chip out of the carafe, holding it out for him. Castiel knows he's not actually thirsty, that the machines are feeding and watering him like he's a plant, but it feels like he should be, and the cottony feeling in his mouth is soothed by it. This time he smacks his lips against Dean's fingertips in a kiss when they linger, relishing the way it makes Dean's eyes soften, some of the tension leaving him.
"The twins are too young to remember this, and much as it sucks they're gonna have to get used to being with family for a couple days a month, 'cause I don't figure you're planning to ditch me during my Heats, either. I mean, unless you want to skip the marathon sexcapades..." Cas sucks Dean's fingertip into his mouth, nipping at his skin lightly before releasing him, and Dean chuffs quietly at the antic, planned just for that reaction. "That's what I figured. Careful, Cas. You're hooked up to every kind of monitor in the world, don't get yourself too worked up."
"Sexual activity or masturbation sets off a heart monitor like cardiac arrest. A crash team shows up. It's mortifying for patients, but apparently hilarious to the nurses." Castiel intones solemnly as he relinquishes Dean's finger, but his husband's laughs breaks quickly on an involuntary yawn he does his best to hide as he takes his original position back up, fingers cold from the ice as he laces their hands together again.
"Look at you. Full sentences, biblical crap, random facts, and awkwardly almost-flirting. You'll be back on your feet in no time." Cas can hear the relief in Dean's voice as he lets himself believe, finally, that Cas will be alright. Dean shifts in his seat again, cradling Castiel's hand in both of his, resting his cheek against Cas's knuckles. He needs to shave. Already his usual stubble is growing long enough that it's soft against Cas's skin instead of the prickle he's used to. Long lashes kiss the spray of freckles across Dean's skin when he closes his eyes, lips pink and soft in comparison to Cas's hospital-bleached skin, and every minute observation about him is precious right now.
Of course Cas would take a bullet for this man. But being allowed to come back from it is a priceless gift, and he is so grateful for it.
"Sleep, Dean. I'll be fine." Cas holds up the morphine button in his other hand indicatively, though he has no intention of pressing it. "I'll sleep too." Making a deal of it is the best way to get Dean to agree, and he nods eventually, dragging the chair closer and crossing his arms on the mattress, still holding Cas's hand in one of his as he lays his head down, soft hair on the crown of his head tickling Cas's arm. "The nurses could get you a bed..."
"Stop nagging and get some sleep, Cas." Dean chastises him gently without lifting his head, and Cas closes his eyes until he's sure Dean has shut his.
It doesn't take long at all for Dean's breathing to even out, soft and slow and hushed by the whirr and click of the vacuum pump, by the low hiss of the oxygen rushing through the cannula and steady drip of the IV, the insistent tick of the clock above his bed. Cas resists tiredness as long as he can, listening to the intercom page the medical staff here and there across the hospital, the cop outside answer a call on his phone curtly, and watching Dean sleep the way he knows Dean has for him since the shooting. Eventually sleep overcomes him, and he drifts off holding Dean's hand.