Well, it's been another heavy week for me, with the start of another chemo cycle and a really not brilliant MRI result... huff. But anyway, I had plenty of time to write while hanging around between appointments and being inside a story is such an amazing comfort. Now I just need to get back into my normal mindset of 'it's today' and enjoy what I have right now, chemo permitting, which hopefully it will.

So, here we go with Cas's story about what happened to him down by the river, and more angst and more comfort.

Chapter 10

When Dean was in pain or afraid, mostly he tried not to let it show on his face. He did his best to hide the shit that was going on in his head, especially from the people closest to him - to stamp it down and cover it up with a smirky smile or a dumb joke.

But Cas's face showed everything. Right from the start, he had been obvious to Dean. And Dean hadn't a clue why other people seemed to find the nerdy little trenchcoated guy inscrutable, when he had been able to see every flicker of emotion on the angel's face - in the twitch of an eyebrow, or the slow parting of lips that looked like they needed a good coating of chapstick, or in the turbulence of those wide, blue eyes. Sometimes Dean had thought he knew what Cas was feeling before Cas knew himself. He'd said angels didn't feel. But Dean thought that was bullshit and always had been, for Cas at least.

To begin with Cas's main emotion had been confusion - the narrowed eyes, the pursed lips, the tilt of the head. He hadn't known what to make of Dean - his mistrust, his guilt, his shame had puzzled the newly corporeal Angel of the Lord. But what had he expected? That Dean would jump for joy at being brought back from Hell, and have no doubts - no qualms?

Then there'd been a healthy dose of self-righteousness and anger - outrage even - at Dean's lack of respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in. He'd been pretty scary back then.

But when had the angel first smiled? Not for a long time, and he'd smiled on the inside before it had shown on his lips - Dean knew that much.

He wasn't smiling now.

"I switched it off."

Cas's mouth slowly curved downward. His brows drew together. His bright blue eyes clouded to a sad, faded denim. Dean's heart squeezed with pain for his friend.

"It was so dark, Dean. So dark." His voice cracked. "And the river-" He swallowed. His hands wrung the dish towel into a tight knot. "The sound of the river filled my head like- like the silence of the Empty." He was trembling and his voice shook along with his body. "So silent. So full of nothing. You… you'll think it's stupid, but it was as if the silence roared."

Roaring silence? Dean flailed in his mind for something to say.

Cas's eyes flicked up to meet his briefly. "I don't expect you to understand. I don't think anyone could."

"I can try," said Dean.

"I know you'll try," said Cas. "You've always done your best for me, Dean."

The acid curl of guilt in his stomach was a familiar one. He'd let Cas down time and again, and doing the best he could was no excuse. He should have done better. He'd do better now.

Cas's voice was tight and strained. "I froze, Dean. I couldn't move. I was so afraid that I was back there, that this had all been a cruel trick - just another vision of happiness to drag me further into the darkness when it was finally taken away."

Dean reached across the table and covered Cas's hand with his, stilling the tortured twisting. Cas let go of the dish towel and clung to Dean, tangling their fingers together.

"I tried to switch the flashlight back on, but - I don't know. I must have dropped it." His thumb skated restlessly up and down the side of Dean's, from his wrist to thumbnail - up and down, up and down. "I ran. Bolted like a wild animal. And I couldn't see. I couldn't see anything. So I fell. Into the water. I got up and then fell again and again until the darkness spun around me and I didn't know where I was."

"Cas…" Dean squeezed his fingers. "Cas, I'm so sorry I wasn't there for you. I shoulda been there."

"How could you know I needed you? You couldn't, Dean. And you were there. I just didn't believe it was you."

"So…" Dean didn't want to cause his friend even more pain. There were deep furrows in Cas's forehead and the lines around his eyes were sharply etched as if pain and fear had cut into his skin. "You said - when you were in the Empty - you thought you'd found me. But you hadn't."

Cas sighed. He let go of Dean's hand and covered his face, fingers closing tight over his eyes. "So many times, Dean. So many times I saw a light - just a flicker or a spark. And I'd chase it. I'd run, reaching toward it, desperate to snatch it, terrified it would go out."

He slowly pulled his fingers down over his face. Then he grasped Dean's hand with a bruising grip. "And sometimes - often - I'd hear your voice. I'd hear you, Dean, calling out to me. Sometimes just calling - 'Where are you, Cas? I'm here. Come and find me.' But other times-" He blinked and shook his head and his eyes were in shadow, but a trail of light ran down one cheek and then the other. "I would hear you crying out in pain - such terrible pain, I couldn't bear it. 'Please help me, Cas. Please.' Just that, over and over."

Dean's eyes stung. His throat ached. And Cas needed him to sit right here and listen and just take it - take all the pain his friend had gone through and share the burden. But he wanted to move. He wanted to surge to his feet and kick his chair over and go and punch something - punch again and again and again into one of those sheets of drywall he'd put up, until his fists shattered it into tiny pieces.

"But it was never you." The words were a broken thread of defeat. "It was never you, Dean. The light would go out and I'd be lost in the dark again. Or your voice would change into a sour, shrieking horror and there would be claws and teeth and blood in the darkness and I'd fight until I was torn and beaten and so hurt I fell into even deeper darkness for… I don't know how long."

He was shaking and his shudders travelled through his cold hands to Dean's - which wasn't enough. Just letting Cas hold his hand wasn't anywhere near enough to make any kind of a difference. Not when his friend had been through so much. Dean wrapped his other hand over the top, making a tight bundle of reassurance. It still wasn't enough.

"Every time, I would chase it. Every time. In case, against all reason, it was real." Cas gulped and sniffed. He stared down at their joined hands. "Because for me, Dean, you are the light. You are my light that shines in the darkness. Once, it was God. His will was my beacon, my guide. But… well, you know what happened. His light was false." Cas's grip had slackened but it tightened again and his knuckles stood out white. "Whereas your light is true, Dean. Your light guided me out of the darkness, pulled me out into the world again. Your light saved me."

"What?"

Cas looked up, and the yellow glow from the bare bulb dangling above them lit his features, highlighting both his strength and his vulnerability, glistening on the tears that brimmed and spilled over and followed the contours of his cheeks and the lines around his mouth to drip steadily onto the table.

"No," said Dean. His mind was blank. Cas was smiling at him. "I didn't do anything, Cas. I tried. I tried everything - everything me and Sam could come up with. Nothing worked. Not a single fucking thing made any difference. You were gone."

"You didn't need to. You didn't need to do anything, Dean."

"Well, then-"

"Jack tried to explain, but he didn't have the words. The only thing I understood was that he - he punched a hole between this world and the Empty. Just the tiniest pinprick of a hole. But it was enough. Through it I saw your light and I chased it, even though I believed that if I caught it, it would just disappear or turn into something that would hurt me. But it was real. You were real. You pulled me out of the darkness." His tears pattered steadily onto the tabletop. "It was you, Dean."

Dean's head spun and he didn't know if it was because he'd hit it on a rock earlier, or just because of what Cas was saying.

"Okay, I think I need to talk to Jack about this."

"It wouldn't help." Cas's lips twitched up at one corner. He wiped one cheek and then the other on the sleeve of his hoodie, and sniffed. "I have a more than passing acquaintance with both particle physics and quantum mechanics, Dean. Not to mention Enochian ritual and spell-casting. And I couldn't understand him when he tried to explain."

"Right." Dean pulled his hands away from Cas, patting the backs of his knuckles as he drew away to show he wasn't withdrawing his support. He wasn't pissed or anything. Just stunned. "I think I need a stronger drink."

His chair squeaked against the bare boards as he stood. His rock-battered foot throbbed as he grabbed a bottle of JD from one of the doorless cupboards - he'd taken the doors off to rub down and revarnish, because you didn't rip out a good quality build like that just because it was old. Two tumblers clattered together. He set them on the table and poured a healthy splash of amber liquid into each. It burned as he swallowed it straight down, and he swiftly dealt himself another shot.

He had helped pull Cas out of the Empty? How? And why hadn't Jack said anything to him?

Cas held out his glass for a refill. Dean raised his eyebrows but tipped the bottle again. The ex-angel didn't often drink. But when he did, he could really put it away. Or he had been able to, as an angel. Dean watched as his friend knocked his second shot back.

He sat down and took a sip of his own. He stuck his injured foot under the table and rested it on the seat next to Cas. "You might want to go easy on that."

"Or I might not," said Cas, holding out his glass for more.

Dean let a half measure trickle into the glass. "Seriously, Cas. It won't help you to be hungover tomorrow."

"You always cope."

"Yeah, but I'm dumb like that. I never learn."

"You're not." Suddenly Dean was pinned by two blue lasers. "You're not stupid, Dean. I wish you wouldn't talk like that."

Dean shrugged. "I'm not clever like Sammy. People have been telling me I'm not the sharpest knife in the block all my life - why shouldn't I believe them?"

"Because either they don't know you or they choose to ignore what should be obvious to anyone. You may not have had the advantage of a good education, Dean, but you're intelligent and resourceful and inventive and sometimes inspired. And I should know - I had to remake all of your neurons and get every last one of your synapses firing again. So don't you repeat what other people think - don't you repeat that - that crap, Dean."

Cas's face was blotchy from tears, his eyes red and puffy, and now his cheeks were reddening even more as he glared. He might have lost his grace, but he still had the intensity of an angel who went around smiting things whenever he felt like it.

"Okay! Fine - I won't. I'll… I'll get my application into Mensa ASAP."

"You should," Cas growled.

Dean drained his glass and set it down. He scrubbed both hands through his hair and winced as he caught the lump on the back of his head. "You know, I think we've had enough excitement for one night. I'm gonna hit the hay. You should too."

Cas glanced at the darkened window. A muscle in his jaw twitched and his fingers curled tightly around his empty glass.

"I'll be glad when we've got proper beds," said Dean. "Sleeping on the floor again's gonna give my bruises bruises."

The ex-angel was staring at the table now, slumped down in his chair, small and exhausted. His expression was bleak.

"C'mon, man - you'll feel better after a good night's sleep."

"I don't want to sleep," Cas shot back. "If I sleep, I'll dream and I don't want to dream."

"Yeah, look - I get that. I do. But you're exhausted. Flashbacks, panic attacks - whatever that was - they really take it out of you. You need to give yourself a chance to recover."

"I know that, Dean. But I don't want to sleep."

"Right." Dean rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn.

Sammy used to get like this, when he'd had a nightmare. He'd refuse to go to bed the following night. Not that childhood nightmares compared to Cas's flashback - well, Sam's didn't anyway. The nightmares Dean used to get as a kid after a particularly bloody hunt had been pretty horrific.

Another yawn tried to force its way out. How did he used to deal with over-tired, defiant Sammy?

"What can I do?" Dean asked. "What would make it possible for you to sleep?"

Cas shuffled in his seat. "I don't know."

He might as well have crossed his arms and stuck out his lower lip.

"Well, I know one thing. We may not have beds, but we've got mattresses. Even with no proper bedding and the plastic wrap still on, they've got to be more comfortable than the floor. You wanted that room at the back, right? There's a nice, fat memory foam mattress in there with your name on - how does that sound?"

"No!" Cas's breathing suddenly sped up and his eyes were taking on that wild look again, as if there were things in his head already pursuing him. "No, I can't do that. I can't."

"Right, fine - you don't have to if you don't want." Strike one for Dean.

"I can't. I can't. Not alone. Alone in the dark. I can't."

"It's okay." Dean reached out again, covering Cas's twitching hands with his own once more. "You don't have to."

Shit. He'd been trying to help and now Cas was all freaked again.

"Hey, we already shared a bath tonight - how about we share my mattress? And, if you want to, we could keep the lantern on, turned down low, so it won't be completely dark. How does that sound?"

Cas hesitated, his eyes far away, as if he were imagining the scenario - trying it out. "That sounds… good, Dean. I think I might be able to sleep like that."

The tension in Dean's shoulders eased a notch. If all it took was for Cas to stay close, then that sounded like a simple, workable solution.

He arched his back and his ribs jerked a sharp inhale at the sudden mass of aches. The painkillers were taking the edge off, but that was about it. He wasn't taking any of the hard stuff, though, from the stash he'd built up from having to keep fighting through years of injuries. He didn't like the fuzzy head and dry mouth they gave him.

Cas was watching him. Dean smiled, ruefully.

"I think we'd both be better for a night's sleep. C'mon. Can you get up or have you set solid?"

"I can get up."

He did, but not without his lips pressing tightly together as the muscles in his jaw bunched. His eyes met Dean's. "Moving is not pleasant."

"No." Dean drew his sore foot carefully away from its prop and stood up and swore. "Fuck."

"Do you need to lean on me?"

"No!" Dean's foot throbbed angrily as he put more of his weight on it. "Maybe." He picked up the little lantern and limped out of the kitchen. Cas came up alongside him and, without comment, put a steadying arm under his.

"Thanks." He made it to the stairs and paused at the bottom, looking up at the obstacle. "You know what, Cas?"

"What?"

"I'm thinking maybe we've earned ourselves a day off. Tomorrow, let's just chill. We could watch something on the laptop."

He began making his hobbling, cursing way up the stairs, aided by his friend. And Cas shouldn't be helping him - he'd make his own bruises and strains hurt worse.

"I don't know, Dean. I have work to complete that must be done before winter."

"Yeah, me too. But one day? C'mon, Cas. We can take one day. We ain't gonna get much done anyway - a pair of beat up old men."

"You are not old."

Dean mumbled, "I'm forty years older than I look. People always forget that."

"I never forget, Dean."

"No. I know you don't." He winced as he limped up another step. "Going to Hell - this past coupla years, it got to be like going to the seven-eleven. Just something we did, one trip blurring into the next. But that first time… I'll never forget what that was like."

"You were a soul in torment, Dean. Nobody forgets that."

"No. I guess not."

They reached the top of the stairs. Cas had slid an arm around his waist at some point. It stayed there as his friend supported him to his bedroom, and Dean couldn't help leaning in. Was Cas's body was pressed closer to his than was strictly necessary? Maybe. Dean could smell the whiskey on his breath.

"I would have pulled you out sooner, if I could," Cas said, his voice soft and regretful.

"I know," said Dean. "I know you would."

"I wish I had. I wish I'd gone against orders and fought my way in harder - got to you sooner."

Cas didn't usually talk about that time. But neither did Dean. The bottle of JD had been left untouched on the shelf for a while, though. Maybe it shoulda stayed there.

"Yeah, well, if you'd gone in sooner maybe I wouldn'ta got around to breaking that first seal. And you'da ended up in heaven's dungeon, or gotten brainwashed into being a good little angel."

Cas's arm around him tightened. "But I hate the thought of you there, in Hell, being hurt again and again. I hate it, Dean."

"I'm not there now. It's over. A long time ago." He pulled away from Cas, hopped to turn around and then let himself collapse onto the mattress. The plastic crinkled. Dean was breathing hard and sweating and not just from the awkward climb.

Red and black and blood and screams. Hooks through his writhing body and lashes flailing at his mind.

"I know what kind of things the demons do to souls in Hell, Dean.

"We forgot to bring up the sleeping bags and stuff." Dean's heart was hammering a rapid thud-thud-thud. His face felt hot but his hands were freezing.

"I know what they did to you and it makes me-"

"Stop!" Dean stared at Cas's fluffy blue socks - so soft and comfortable. There'd been no softness in Hell, no comfort. No kind words, no rest, no peace. "Please. Just stop."

Cas's face was before him, both hands on his shoulders, then on his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, Dean. I don't know why I-"

"Cause you're officially a lightweight now, Cas. One beer and a coupla shots and you spill your guts." He tried to smile.

Cas's hands slid down his face and then his arms went around Dean's back and he held him and squeezed him tight and close. The darkness and fear began to fade.

And Dean's arms sprang up of their own accord and clung to his friend.

His body and heart had craved this in Hell - craved it with the abject, tearing desperation of a soul in deepest torment. At the time it was Sammy he'd called out to from the darkness. Right now he wanted Cas - to hold him and feel his warmth and the muscles moving and bunching beneath his skin and to know that he was really here. They were both really here - not stuck in some Hell dimension with no hope of rescue or respite.

Dean was here and Cas was here - right here, right now - in the home that they were making together. And actually - even though there was a whole mess of tangled thoughts and feelings around the issue - actually, Cas belonged to Dean. They belonged to each other.

I do like a nice hug. And there'll be more to come.