I'm still on my first watch of Supernatural. And I've finally come to Season Fifteen. And am I glad I'm writing this story - maybe I'll still be writing it when I come to The End. I hope so. I think it'll be very much needed. I'm enjoying watching, but also squirming at some of the decisions the writers made. Oh well - fanfic always does it better!

My story is sprawling all over the place, going where it wants to go. It's as luxurious for me as stretching out in a great, big, warm bubblebath. Hmm...

Anyway, back to that cliffhanger. Dean is about to go one-on-one with a monster!

Chapter 8

Dean's fingers curled around the rock. The simple weapon would kill if he was fast enough and brutal enough.

He drew back his arm, muscles tensing with potential, ready to release destruction.

Darkness hid him from his enemy. He set the lantern upright and flicked the ignition switch. It hissed and spat - and then light flared out in a splash of blinding white that stabbed straight to the back of Dean's eyes. He roared a battle cry and leapt forward - light, noise and action were his weapons as much as the heavy rock in his hand.

A jagged black shape jerked, startled, against the stark, white light. Dean yelled again and swung his rock in an arc that would surely end in a smashed skull or a shattered limb.

Then all his instincts screamed.

His arm faltered.

He dropped the rock.

It landed on his foot.

"Fuck!"

The black shape came at him. Dean grappled with it, fending off its flailing limbs, bracing himself against the thrashing of its powerful body. It was strong and wild and determined. But Dean was strong too. He pinioned one of its arms, then hooked the other firmly around its elbow and yanked it back. A leg kicked out - he caught it with his own free leg, bent his knee and pulled hard, so that they both fell, full-length, onto the pebbly shore.

Dean let his weight do the rest of the talking.

His opponent struggled.

Dean tightened his hold.

"Easy, there."

A frantic burst of movement nearly threw him off, but Dean held on, like he was a trick rider on a mad bull. He pressed down hard with one knee and got a pained grunt in return.

"Sorry."

The body beneath him convulsed again, and let loose a frustrated, sobbing howl.

Dean gritted his teeth, but still he held on and held on and used his weight against the twisting, writhing body and its sudden, wrenching jerks.

Then there was no resistance. The contorted limbs softened, the powerful muscles went slack.

Dean maintained his grip, shaking with adrenaline.

The river rippled by, to the accompaniment of ragged panting - his own and the subdued, shuddering creature beneath him.

Dean drew in a slow, deep breath and let it out.

He wanted to curl up somewhere warm and quiet and sleep off whatever the hell had just happened here.

"Okay." His voice shook. "Okay, are you back with me? Cas?"

A moment ago the familiar face had been twisted into a snarl, wide eyes rolling crazily, tense body fighting with everything he had. He'd been a wild thing - a fierce, attacking animal with no hint of the rational, fair-minded man that Dean knew him to be.

Now, his eyes were blank and lost, one cheek pressed down into the damp grit between the river pebbles, his mouth opening and shutting like a landed fish. His skin was pale and shadowed, his clothes were soaking wet and, where Dean was still holding him down - just in case - his arms and legs were cold and slack.

"Hey," said Dean softly. He eased back by slow inches, bringing his weight onto his knees, releasing the pressure on his friend. "Hey, are you in there? Cas?"

There was a flicker of recognition and then it was gone. Dean swallowed and tried to ignore the burning in his chest. Cas would be okay. It was just one of those things - a flashback or something. He'd be fine.

The ex-angel remained limp and unresponsive. Dean released his wrestling hold completely, coming upright so that he knelt beside his friend. He curled a hand around Cas's shoulder.

"Cas." He kept his tone carefully soft. Who knew what might set him off again? Who knew what had set him off in the first place? "Hey, Cas, buddy - can you tell me what happened?"

The blue eyes stared at nothing.

Dean shook his head. Then he pulled the ex-angel into his arms again, not to subdue him this time, but to comfort him, to try to put him back together, like Cas had put Dean back together that night by the bonfire.

He hauled his cold, wet friend up and held him close, one arm supporting his back, the other pressing his head into Dean's chest, fingers pushing their way through Cas's bedraggled hair, their tips rubbing at his scalp.

And it seemed natural to whisper mumbled reassurances into Cas's ear, just like Dean had been doing for Sam since he was six months old and Mom wasn't there any more to do those things for his little brother, so now it was his job.

"Ssh, it's okay. I'm here now. Everything's fine. Everything's good. You're okay."

Cas's breath made a warm patch on the wet fabric of Dean's shirt. Dean was cold except where his friend's body was draped over his.

"You're okay now. I've gotcha."

His back ached from where Cas had jumped him. And his head. And plenty of other places. Cas would be bruised too - Dean had caught him a hefty thump in the ribs and then crushed him down into the rocks.

"Everything's fine. You're okay."

Was he okay? He'd been feral, attacking out of nowhere. What darkness was Cas suppressing that would make him lose it so completely? And what had triggered the episode?

Dean's breath plumed in the cold air. The temperature had fallen a good few degrees and he could feel his abused muscles tightening up. They'd have to move soon. Cas would be okay. He just needed some warmth and some food. He'd be fine.

"Dean?"

Cas's voice was a weak, rasping thread. But it sounded like him. It sounded like he might just know what the hell was going on.

"Yeah, Cas. I'm here."

"Dean."

Oh. Shit. Oh well, Dean could deal with this. He could deal with a tearful ex-angel.

Cas pressed his face into Dean's chest. His arms clamped tight and his fingers grabbed and pulled at Dean's shirt as if he were trying to rip it. His breath came in gusting, shuddering sobs.

"You're okay now, Cas."

"Dean. Dean, it was so dark."

"Yeah, maybe you should've brought a flashlight."

"I did. I did bring one. I lost it."

"Okay."

"It was so dark."

"Yeah, you said that."

"I couldn't find the light."

"Yeah. You lost your flashlight. We'll find it tomorrow."

Cas sniffed and wiped his nose on Dean's shirt. "No. I mean I c-couldn't find the light. I kept looking and looking and…" He broke off to sniff and hiccup again. "I couldn't find you. And sometimes I thought I had, but then it wouldn't be you - it'd be some- some thing trying to hurt me and I'd have to fight and - and then I'd be lost again and - and it was never you and I was alone in the dark - all alone. Dean, I couldn't find the light. I couldn't f-find you."

Dean held his friend even more tightly, curling his body around him and pressing one cheek onto Cas's wet hair.

"You ain't talking about tonight, are you?"

Cas trembled in his arms.

"This is about what happened to you - in the Empty, right?"

A small, tired whimper vibrated against Dean's chest. "I couldn't find you, Dean. I couldn't find the light."

"I'm here now."

"I was so lost. So l-lonely."

"Yeah." Dean cleared his throat roughly. "Yeah, me too. Me too." He clamped his lips together and swallowed, painfully. "Me too, Cas."

Cas was firm and solid in his arms, right here, right now. He was here and Cas was here and they were together. He wouldn't let go.

"I won't letcha go, Cas. Not ever."

Dean swiped at his cheeks with the back of one hand and then pressed his palm and splayed fingers onto Cas's back, his shoulder, his hair, his face - as if he were pressing handprints into the ex-angel's skin just as Cas had left his mark on Dean's shoulder when he'd raised him from the pit.

Cas clung to him, his breath hitching, his body trembling.

The black water slid past, gurgling softly. A soft rustling came from far overhead where a night breeze touched the tops of the trees. Small flits and scuttles marked the paths of birds and nocturnal creatures.

The lantern flickered, spat and then flared again. It'd go out soon. And they'd been sitting here long enough.

Dean stretched his back and winced.

"Cas?" He shook his friend gently. "Cas, c'mon - we need to get moving. Can't stay here."

Cas sighed and muttered.

"C'mon - up we get." Their house would be warm, waiting for them, lights shining out. And, of course… "Hey, I know what you need - I got the bath ready for you. Well, it'll be cold by now. But we can get it hot again. C'mon."

Hot breath huffed against Dean's chest, pointing up the fact that the rest of him was getting pretty chilled. Cas peeled his face away from the soggy mess of Dean's shirt and looked up. His face was a blotchy mix of swollen red and pasty white, but his eyes latched onto Dean's like Dean had all the answers - which he definitely didn't, but would pretend he did if that's what Cas needed.

"The bath?"

"Yeah." Dean pasted on a chirpy smile. "Just what you need - get you nice and warm."

"I'd like to be warm," said Cas. His voice wavered.

Dean swallowed, his jaw aching. "Course you would."

His bruised back ached as he unfolded himself and helped Cas to his feet. A sharp pain shot through the back of his head and his foot reminded him he'd dropped a rock on it. Judging by Cas's squinched eyebrows and pursed lips he was feeling pretty rough too.

Dean picked up the lantern, but kept one arm around his friend.

"Off we go."

Cas was shivering hard by the time they reached the kitchen door and Dean's teeth were chattering even though he tried to clamp them together.

The kitchen was a haven of light and warmth and he was tempted to dump Cas into a chair and attack the hot chicken and the bread - his stomach was so empty and he was so cold. But they were both soaking wet, so Dean kept a good grip around Cas's shoulders and steered him through the kitchen, up the stairs and into the bathroom.

Cas slithered into a heap on the floor when Dean let him go.

"Soon have you warm." He reached over the high side of the bath and down into the lukewarm water, pulling the plug to let some of it drain away. Then he used the wrench on the valve to get the hot flowing again. "There we go - didn't know we had hot water now, did you?"

Cas didn't respond. His knees were drawn up, his arms clasped tightly around them.

"You need to get those wet things off."

His hair was half plastered to his head and half sticking up in spikes. There was slimy green stuff dripping off it. Had he been lying in the river? He looked up.

"S-so do you."

"Yeah, well, let's get you squared away first, yeah?"

Cas shook his head. His lower lip jutted out. "It's a big bath," he said. "And you're cold."

Dean released his arms from their tight self-hug. "I'm fine." A shiver broke out and ran across his body.

Cas frowned and glared.

"Yeah, alright, I'm fucking freezing. But-"

"I'm sorry, Dean."

"What?"

Cas released his knees and reached out to Dean, catching hold of the hem of his shirt.

"I'm sorry." He looked up at Dean, his eyes huge and desolate. "I didn't know what I was doing. I-"

"I know, Cas. It's okay." Dean crouched down, tugging Cas's hand free of his shirt. "It was just a flashback or something." He shrugged. "Shit like that - it happens."

Cas nodded wisely. "Shit happens," he said. "I've heard that."

Dean gripped his shoulder and squeezed. "You heard right. Now, how about you get those wet things off and get in the bath?"

The glower returned. "You too."

"You wanna have a bath with me, dude? Seriously?"

"It's a big bath, Dean. And you're cold too."

Dean sighed and rubbed his eyes. "Yeah sure, why not? Just… give me a minute, okay? You get in."

He patted Cas's shoulder again, stood up and leant over the bath to test the water.

"Perfect."

The bottle of pine shower gel lay abandoned on the floor. Dean picked it up and squirted the rest of it in, wriggling the surface of the water to get some bubbles going.

A couple of wet splats behind him announced the shedding of Cas's clothes. Dean kept his eyes averted.

"Be back in a minute."

There was a grunt, a skin-on-enamel squeak and a splash as Dean left the room. Cas was in.

Dean padded down the stairs in his sock feet. Most of their washing stuff was by the back door, ready for use with the cold outside faucet. Dean sorted through it and stuck another bottle of shower gel in his jeans pocket and one of those pump-things of hand soap. If he was doing this, he was having as many bubbles as possible.

He headed for the stairs, turned back, snatched up a cloth and took the chicken out of the oven. He'd leave the foil on to keep it warm, but it'd dry out if it cooked any longer. In fact… better just test it. He peeled back one corner of the foil and pulled a chunk off the breast.

"Mmm." Hot and greasy and just a bit salty.

"Dean!" A querulous voice drifted down the stairs.

"Coming." He tucked the covering back around the chicken and took the stairs two at a time, even though his wet jeans were chafing his legs, his back felt like he'd been used as a punchbag and his head throbbed with every movement.

The bath was so big he could only see Cas's steam-shrouded head over the roll-top, his hair more wild than ever, his cheeks pink with heat.

Dean pulled the lids off the shower gel and hand soap and threw the bottles into the bath, keeping his eyes firmly out of range of anything he might see through the water.

"That's a lot of soap, Dean."

"Yeah. It ain't a bubble bath without bubbles."

"There were already bubbles."

"Now there'll be more." Dean pulled off his shirt, suppressing a groan as his arms stretched above his head. "Flap the water around - get them going."

Behind him, rippling and splashing sounds were magnified by the metal sides of the bath. Dean's pants were cold and stiff against his chilled skin.

"Hurry up, Dean. Oh." There was a wet lurch and a rubbery squeak. "Dean - what happened to your back? Was that- was that me?"

He turned around. Cas was hanging over the side of the bath, knuckles white on the gilded edging, mouth drooping half-open.

Dean shrugged. "We both took some hits, Cas." He gestured to his friend's ribs, where there was a darkening, fist-sized bruise.

Cas looked down at himself and touched the bruise with his fingertips, as if he hadn't even noticed it. "Oh."

"Yeah, so let's call it even, shall we?"

Cas looked up at him again, puppy-dog eyes and floppy hair and all sad and wet. Jeez.

"Have you got all those bubbles going yet?"

Cas sank back into the water and resumed flapping his hands about. The water frothed and foamed and bubbles rose around his shoulders and obscured the surface of the water.

"Dean, are you-"

"Okay, okay. I'm getting in."

He ducked around the end of the bath where it sloped upward like the prow of a ship. His jeans stuck around his legs and he hopped, bent over, to pull them off. And his boxers.

Cas was staring down into the bubbles, transfixed.

Dean took a breath, and then slithered over the roll top like a 'gator sliding into a river.

The water came up around his shoulders. He waggled his hands frantically around the surface to create even more bubbles, which floated about in mad whirlpools. He avoided looking at Cas and definitely didn't think - at all - about the touch of Cas's thigh to his calf or Cas's calf to his thigh.

"It's a big bath, isn't it?" said Cas.

"Yup."

"We can both stretch right out."

"Sure can."

"I'm warm now."

"Yeah."

The water was just right. And it was good that Cas was feeling better. Even if sharing a bath with his friend was pretty weird. But the bubbles were doing their job, so it wasn't as weird as it might have been, if he'd been able to see things.

Dean eased himself back to rest against the sloping end. He let the smooth surface support his head and breathed out some of his tension into the water, feeling the heat sink through his skin and into his muscles and down to his bones. "Shit."

"What? What's wrong?"

"I forgot to get towels."

"Oh."

Cas was hazy through the steam. Dean's eyelids felt heavy and his thoughts slopped around like the water. He waved a slack hand. "Whatever. We'll worry about that later."

He sank lower. Bubbles tickled his nose. Up the other end of the bath, Cas's chin dipped into the water. His eyes were at half-mast, his lips lazily curving into a soft smile. The hand soap and shower gel bottles wandered in slow circles between them.

Good thing Sammy couldn't see them - having a bubble bath together. Dean could imagine the look on his brother's face. He'd offer to get Dean a yellow plastic duck.

Cas's hands wafted through the water - together then apart, like he was thinking about practising his breaststroke. Dean wondered what the ex-angel would make of yellow plastic bath ducks. He pictured his friend holding one in his hand, regarding it intently, then bobbing it experimentally through the water.

Cas had never got to be a kid, playing in the bath. He'd sprung, fully-formed, from whatever Chuck had made angels out of. Maybe that explained his childlike wonder over stuff that, for humans, was just normal once you were grown-up.

Dean's thoughts drifted among the spirals of steam and drifting bubble-bergs. Cas caught the floating bottles and poured water in a slow, precise stream from the shower gel into the handsoap and then back again.

It had been a long, long time since Dean'd had any bath toys. Sometimes, growing up, he'd save things like empty pudding cups for Sammy, so that if they had a motel room with a bath instead of just a mildewed shower, he could dump his brother in it for an hour or so. Dean would leave him (with the door open, just in case) to play in the water, pouring it from one cup to another, sometimes bringing in the army men to have aquatic battles. Pretty often Sammy'd get bored and pour water, cups and army men out of the bath and onto the floor, but it was worth the clean-up if it bought Dean a few minutes peace.

Anyway, there'd be no harm in having a few carefully selected items lying about in the bathroom. For Cas.

A vibrating groan disturbed Cas's gentle splashing and pouring, and ripples spread out on the surface of the water, making the bubbles bob up and down.

"Was that you?"

"It wasn't- I mean, I didn't-" Cas's pink cheeks bloomed a deeper shade.

"Jeez, Cas, you can say the word fart. And I know it wasn't. Unless you fart pine-fresh." Dean's laugh created more waves. Or was it a giggle? Was he someone who giggled? "I think it's time we got out and had something to eat."

"Yes," said Cas. "Yes, Dean. I'm very hungry." His hands disappeared beneath the surface. To calm his stomach down, hopefully, rather than for any other reason.

Dean was really glad there were still plenty of bubbles.

Ah, they're all warm and bubbly! But they need to get dry and be fed and then they'll be tired. I'm going to have fun with that. Although, that might be too much fluff? It'll need a little seasoning with angst, probably.