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It’s getting harder and harder to shake off the after-effects of battle. The rattle of his gun, the squelching sound of a blade piercing through flesh echo in Dean’s mind. The adrenaline of the fight’s still pumping through his veins.
Maybe it’s because Dean holds onto the feeling, reluctant to come back to the ordinary world quite yet.
“All dead,” Sam informs, but it reaches Dean’s ears as if through water. “You okay?”
Despite the blood starting to crust on his face, Dean nods. Once the wounds are inspected and healed, it’s over after all.
Satisfied with his answer, Sam starts on damage control. Before the official law enforcement arrives, this place has to be void of any Winchester traces.
Dean moves to join him, but a hand on his shoulder roots him in place. It’s Cas, of course.
“You’re hurt,” Cas says, “Let me fix that.”
Dean doesn’t shy away from his touch. The three fingers on his forehead are gentle, a conundrum that will never not amaze Dean. Minutes earlier, this hand had been wielding a blade with lethal accuracy, wiping out monster lives with no sign of mercy. Now it brings the life back into Dean.
And this is Dean’s sanctuary. This is where he can pretend things can be as good as Cas promised all those years ago while he basks in the warmth that courses through his veins, the grace chasing away the remnants of the battle. The small moment he allows himself when they are like this, the illusion of permanence.
As if Cas would hold him forever like this. As if Dean’s enough to bind him to this world.
But Cas is a creature of flight. A flap of his wings, and he’s gone again. The only thing that summons him is the fight, so that's what Dean itches for.
Cas’ deep murmur leads him out of the dream-like state the grace has drifted him into, carries him back to shore.
He blinks into the darkness of the night, trying to make sense of the world that looks much clearer suddenly, less cruel. Realizing he’d fallen against Cas’ shoulder with a mix of exhaustion and relief, he pushes himself upright, puts the necessary distance back between them.
Distracted by his traitorous heart beating in staccato, it takes Dean a moment to notice that while Cas’ eyes have lost the glow of his power, there’s still a faint shimmer surrounding him.
“You’re bleeding.” Dean reaches out carefully to the gash on Cas’ stomach that oozes blue light.
But Cas shies away from his touch. “It’ll heal,” he assures, making sure the distance between them stays unbridged.
Right. What could Dean do to fix Cas’ wounds anyway. He’s just a man, and Cas is good as invincible.
Swallowing his frustration, Dean doesn’t let up. “At least let me bandage it,” he demands, and Cas must catch the finality in his words because he doesn’t protest. He lets Dean roll up his shirt to uncover the torn skin underneath.
Though Cas’ healing has cleaned Dean of all blood and grime that stained his body, Cas still looks as roughed up as the battle left him. So Dean fetches the flask from his jacket’s pocket and disinfects the wound. Cas hisses, but stays still under Dean’s ministrations.
The unfiltered proximity to Cas’ grace tickles Dean’s fingertips like the tiniest of electric shocks. He’s vaguely aware of Cas’ gaze on him as he winds the bandage around Cas’ hip. His face burns, but he’s gotten used to ignoring that around Cas.
“You know you should put on your safety vest first before takin’ care of anyone else, right?” he chides.
“Not if you don’t need a safety vest,” Cas argues, and Dean pulls the bandage tighter just for that. Cas hisses again, and Dean looks up at him in challenge just to see him glare right back.
“Baby,” mocks Dean, finally feeling like he’s standing on much more solid ground. This back and forth between them, it’s familiar.
He finishes with a soothing brush of his hand over the bandaged patch of skin and looks up to find Cas watching him, brow furrowed and expression undecipherable, like Dean is the sole mystery of the universe he hasn’t figured out yet.
“Good as new.” The rasp of Dean’s voice betrays his nervosity.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Cas says softly. “But thank you. I…appreciate it.”
Dean stands up, turning around to hide his embarrassment. “Anytime, bud.”
He’s a complete fool, but he can’t help it.
Pretending to watch out for Sam’s return, he asks, “So what‘re you gonna do now?”
He feels Cas’ presence in his periphery, getting ever closer, until the fine hair on Dean’s neck stand up in anticipation. Of what, he can’t tell.
“I don’t know.” Cas sounds uncertain.
Dean exhales a shaky breath. “Well, you’re hurt. So first step, I’d say you catch a little R&R at our place.”
Both their gazes drop to Cas’ bandaged stomach. The light that’s been shimmering through has faded, and Dean could bet, if they removed the bandage, no trace of a wound would be left to see.
“Yes,” Cas agrees. “That would be wise.”
Dean angles his head to the ground, hopes Cas doesn’t see the dopey smile that’s plastered on his face.
“And then…,” Cas starts.
“And then?”
Cas shrugs, fiddling with the sleeve of his coat, one of his tells. “You think you can stay out of trouble for a while without me?”
Grinning overtly now, Dean draws closer. “Not a chance.”
Cas huffs a soft laugh, a rare species. “Then I suppose it would be prudent for me to… stay around?”
“Guess so.”
Now it’s Cas who steps forward, the tip of his shoes bumping against Dean’s with how close they are. “Dean,” he says, hand reaching out to brush over his cheek down to his chin hesitantly, as if scared to touch for anything other than healing or a friendly shoulder pat. “Take a break once in a while, will you?”
His eyes fluttering shut, Dean tries to catch his breath.
“Says you .” He focuses every ounce of his strength on not leaning into Cas’ touch too desperately, and opens his eyes again. “You’re overdue for a vacation too, you know.”
Cas drops his hand, and Dean already misses the contact. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admits.
“Me neither, man.” Dean laughs at the absurdity of the situation, not sure they’re talking about vacations anymore. “Me neither. Maybe that’s something we can learn together.”
The words hang in the air between them like a confession, and Dean’s heart races with the fear of rejection, a fear far worse than that of dying.
But Cas smiles, a small little thing that lights up Dean’s world. “I’d like that, Dean.”
Hope fueling his heart, Dean lets his fingers glide over Cas' wrist, traces the veins on his hand and clasps their hands together.
The warmth from the contact travels through Dean’s body until it reaches his cheeks.
Cas' gaze hovers over his lips.
Encased in their little bubble, neither of them notices when Sam comes back. Experienced, always-alert hunters and all.