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Castiel feels the sensation of Dean’s hand on his shoulder long after Dean disappears. Though he's come to understand such gestures as meant for offering reassurance, what Castiel can’t understand is why he’d been on the receiving end. Like Sam said, Dean was the one in trouble.
After their brief conversation, Castiel takes up Sam’s offer to choose himself a room, only he finds himself hovering outside Dean’s. His arms hanging by his sides, he clenches his fists as he battles with an unexpected moment of indecision. He realises that if he were to enter he would be doing so at his own risk.
Shaking his head he concentrates on what may be going on beyond the door. His celestial hearing means that he can hear the anxious beat of Dean’s heart, the way he holds his breath, and the way in which his body sinks into the bed as he tenses.
Closing his eyes and slowly inhaling, Castiel can automatically detect the tendrils of Dean’s anxiety as the gentle currents of air carry the evaporated particles through the cracks between the door and frame. It tastes bitter, desperate, and elicits from Castiel an overwhelming urge to do something, anything to ease Dean’s pain.
Decision made Castiel takes another breath, this one deeper and steadying. Dean might react badly but Castiel has to try. He knocks once before pushing the door open and purposefully stepping inside.
He’s met with Dean sat slumped at the end of the bed, head in his hands. He looks up as Castiel steps round to close the door but refuses to make eye contact, seemingly preferring a spot on the far wall as he restlessly rubs at the mark.
“Dean?” Castiel asks, because he finds he doesn’t know what else to say.
Dean sighs.
“Dean.” Castiel says again, a little more forcefully, a little frustrated.
Dean slowly raises his head to look at him and finally they make a connection, one that speaks the truth as opposed to the hollow shoulder-pat promise of, ‘don’t worry, everything’s fine’. Everything is far from fine. The look Dean gives him is so wrecked and dejected that Castiel feels as if the human heart around which he’s secured himself may break.
“I can’t do it, Cas.” Dean says, his voice choking on the words.
Castiel takes a shuddering breath as he remembers a web of lies and a hospital bed before he slowly makes his way across the room. He sits down slowly as if Dean were some skittish creature who may flee at his presence.
They sit quietly for a while with Dean staring at the floor, his hands clasped loosely between his legs. Castiel thinks it looks like a prayer but the mark is glaring up at him and he knows better.
Eventually Dean’s voice cuts through the silence, “Cain said I was living his life in reverse. That it would all end with me killing Sam.”
It’s not the words themselves that shock Castiel, but the hollow way in which they’re spoken.
“I thought we were ‘Team Free Will’?” He bumps their shoulders together, it’s a little awkward even by his standards, but he’s still not particularly accustomed to human touch.
“What?”
There’s eye contact again and this time Dean appears perplexed. Castiel decides that’s a good thing. Confusion is a small improvement on pain and emptiness.
“Back during the apocalypse, I had just returned from 1978 and the three of us were in that motel room,” he explains. He’s a little surprised Dean has forgotten. He likes the idea of ‘Team Free Will’. It makes him feel a part of something bigger than himself, something important.
Dean actually chuckles a little, though it sounds tired and drawn over gravel, “You were passed out.”
“I’m an angel," he says, somewhat indignantly, "I was still aware of my surroundings.”
Dean appears to consider this, “right.” He then sighs and looks back at the floor, “This isn’t the same thing.”
“I think it is.” Castiel offers, though he’s suddenly not so sure.
“Cas, this isn’t some jumped up dick telling me how to live my life, this is in me!” Dean shoves his arm up as if to prove a point, his eyes are a little wild now.
The mark is an angry red and Castiel can feel the hate rippling under the surface of Dean’s skin. With his angelic sight Castiel can see the way in which the dark energy of the mark twists and snakes it way up Dean’s arm, pulsating in time with his heartbeat. Cain’s mark invaded Dean’s body and soul the moment it was accepted. Now all that stood between Dean and total corruption was his mind. Castiel reaches across to close his hand around the mark, Dean tries to jerk away but Castiel holds fast.
“Dean. You once told me that the three of us would be enough.” He feels and sounds angry which surprises him. It may be the contact with the mark, or perhaps it’s his investment in the mission, his investment in Dean. “I still believe in that. I still believe in us.”
“Cas.” Dean protests, his wide, pleading eyes and tortured countenance spoke volumes.
Castiel wishes to bring an end to everything that has ever caused Dean pain. He would never again seek great power of his own but, if he had it now, he would use every drop to rid Dean of his affliction. He thinks that might be what people do when they love each other.
“Dean.” He says firmly, and as if to prove a point he wraps his free hand around the back of Dean’s neck, grasping perhaps a little tighter than necessary as he pulls him down into a hard kiss.
He’s pulling away before Dean has the time to respond, but he doesn’t let go of either Dean or the mark.
Dean is staring back at him with eyes far wider than before but there’s something else there. It’s still pleading, it’s still desperate and it’s even a little dark, but it doesn’t scare Castiel who is more than willing to let Dean surge forward and kiss him back. At first it’s rough, a little savage even with Dean finally wresting his arm free so that he can claw at Castiel’s back, his other hand twisting and pulling Castiel’s hair.
Castiel moans and as he returns the kiss he grants absolution for all that Dean has done, and for all he will do. He pours grace into it so that Dean’s body and soul may know some relief.
Dean’s lips are tinged with the taste of salt and Castiel thinks one of them might be crying.
They part when Castiel remembers that Dean needs to breathe. They both lean into each other, resting their foreheads together. Dean’s breath is hot and mingles with Castiel’s own.
Castiel finds himself lost in a red-rimmed sea of gold-flecked green. The human eye was one of his Father’s most intricate designs. These are his favourite and Castiel resolves that he will never again see them turn black.
They had always been better at communicating without words and it is without words now that Castiel utters a benediction.
I will preserve you from evil, and I will preserve your soul, always and forever.
I will give you my strength when you feel you have none.
I will give you all that I can.
I will love you.