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He knew that once he stopped, he would die. Once he died, everyone around him would die.
Dean couldn’t believe he was still standing, still able to stumble through the knots of tree roots after the glow of the pair of retreating fallen angels. A third lay on the ground behind him, dead. Dean had done that. He’d found the trio on a hunt, too close to his village. For once, he hadn’t been looking for fallen angels. The Archangel Michael had pointed him in this direction as a good place to hunt for deer, so the villagers could have a good venison dinner. The woods provided for their village, but it also hid dangers that only a hunter could face. So, instead of the passive deer, he’d found three fallen angels, the flickering glow of weakened grace a dead giveaway. There were rumors that the fallen angels were congregating together, cloaked by the forest, in one more desperate push to defeat humanity. Of course, he would try to put a stop to that, even outnumbered.
He caught them by surprise. The one he killed went down easily, with one stab in the back from the angel blade the loyal angels had bestowed to hunters like him. The other two were more of a challenge. He’d nicked the long-haired redhead in the arm and kicked her to the ground, but before he could deliver the killing blow, she whipped her hand out and cut him across the stomach with her blade. In the moment where he registered that he’d been wounded, probably mortally so, the two fallen angels ran off.
On pure instinct and adrenaline, Dean pushed himself forward, one hand clutching the gush of blood at the bottom of his stomach and the other gripping his blade. He was lucky the bastards glow, twin beams of light bouncing farther and farther away in the dim dusk light. Maybe if he caught up enough to them, maybe they’ll get caught in the blast radius of his death. That should satisfy the loyal angels and the archangels, his death bringing down three fallen angels. The Archangel Michael had blessed him with his grace, turned him into his sword, and made him the perfect hunter of fallen angels. If the fallen angels killed him, that would be their death as well. With his last breath, the archangel’s grace would burst out of him and kill every living being surrounding him.
Maybe that was why these two fallen angels didn’t kill him outright. They were learning their strategies. If he somehow survived this, he’ll have to report that back.
Dean thought he was closing in on them, but their glows dimmed as the trees thinned. When he stumbled into a clearing, all that stood was an abandoned farm, consisting of a run-down barn and a farmhouse, with no sign of the fallen angels. He leaned a blood-soaked hand against a tree trunk to take a moment to catch his breath and cursed under his breath. All that for nothing. At least he took one down. That would count for something. The world blurred around the edges of his vision. His time was running out. He could feel it, that hot lick of holy power lapping up as his life faded. He needed to contain himself, hide. The deaths of hunters were powerful, searing away any living creature caught in the burning grace. If his death wouldn’t kill the fallen angels, he should try to contain it so he wouldn’t harm the creatures of the forest.
The barn should provide enough shelter so he wouldn’t set off uncontrollably. He staggered his way over, hurrying while he still had strength. The inside of the barn smelled dank and humid from the recent rain, but it was empty save for bundles of hay and rusted tools. His legs gave out a few steps from the threshold, dropping him by a pile of old hay as his blade rolled out of his hand. This was it, he supposed. What a disappointment. This was not how he pictured his death. He thought it would be a blaze of glory, taking on a garrison of fallen angels. At least he took down one last fallen angel. The thought didn’t fulfill him as much as he thought it would. He felt empty, even. All he could do was count his heartbeats until they came to an end, his heart rattling loud and hollow in his chest.
Just as he was easing into the hay, starting to resign himself to his fate, he heard footsteps crunch over the loose hay on the ground.
Before he could warn them to stay back, his vision blurred to black.
His heartbeat felt too loud in his chest. What surprised him the most was the fact that he had a heartbeat at all.
The sharp scent of vinegar, alcohol, and antiseptic oils that stung his nose was what roused him. As his awareness returned to him, his body felt sore all over and as heavy as lead. He realized that he was laying on a mattress, not on the damp ground of the barn. His right shoulder and left bicep, where the fallen angels had slashed him before striking their almost deadly blow, were covered with scratchy bandages. He was shirtless and cool hands brushed over his lower belly, the skin numb as if injected with diluted spider venom. There’s an odd tugging there, gentle but needling. He didn’t quite feel it through whatever was making the area numb, but the sensation made him shudder. A soft, rumbling voice of a man murmured, “You’re awake.”
Dean had just enough strength to exhale, “No shit.”
The man paused, long enough for Dean to feel his gaze on him even if he hadn’t opened his eyes to see him, before returning to tending to his wound. The tugging continued, but Dean could clench his jaw and bear it for now.
“What are you doing?” Dean muttered. He fought to open his eyes, but he couldn’t keep them focused on the figure sitting at his bedside. He could just barely watch him through his eyelashes, blurred beyond detail.
“Stitching your wound closed,” the man answered, his voice dragging as he crouched close to the bottom of his stomach, probably concentrating on working the needle through the skin. That explained the tugging. “I’m almost done. You’re lucky it didn’t cut in too deep.”
Dean shivered and bit down on the inside of his cheek as the man slowly threaded through the catgut, a bite of pain piercing through the numbness. “I don’t think you’re doing this right,” he groaned through gritted teeth.
“I’m sure I’m not. I’m sorry,” the man said, with such earnestness that Dean was inclined to forgive him. “I’m doing my best. I’m not a healer, so this will have to do until we can get you to someone who knows better.”
How could this man be so calm about finding a stranger bleeding out in his barn, bringing him into his home, and stitching a particularly gruesome wound? And a hunter at that. Dean still felt at the edge of death, so he warned him with as much sureness as he could muster, “It’s not safe. Not safe for you to be here with me.”
The man didn’t hesitate as he answered, “I know.”
No, he did not know, or else he wouldn’t be so close to a dying hunter. As the man fiddled with tying the knot on the latest suture, Dean lifted a hand to feel around his chest for the necklace that hung around his neck. His shaking fingers tangled around the strip of leather to hold up the smooth, metal pendant towards the man. “Do you know what this means?”
“Yes,” the man answered as he snipped the ends, with a dryness in his voice as if he was being condescended. “You’re a hunter.”
“A dying hunter.”
The man clicked his tongue as he leaned in again. “Well, I was not about to let you die in my barn.”
This was going nowhere. With a frustrated exhale, Dean sunk into the mattress and weighed his options, eyes closed to concentrate and conserve his strength. He felt weak, weaker than he had ever felt. His head was swimming and his skin felt too cold and clammy. He remembered the slick blood coating his hand, slippery and hot. His weakness is from blood loss, likely. There was no way he could fight the man off, not with his stomach sliced like this. In his shifting, he realized that he didn’t have the angel blade scabbard that sat at his hip. So, he didn’t even have a weapon at hand. He guessed he had no choice but to let this kindly farmer tend to him until he was strong enough to return to his village.
Laying there for a moment helped him regain some strength. Dean opened his eyes and made them focus on the man. It was night now, so the room was lit by the dim glow of a nearby lantern, close so the man could work the needle. He seemed around Dean’s age, not young but still spry. He was pale in the flickering light with a brush of flushed skin over his cheeks and nose, pink lips, and a shock of dark hair. Dean thought he looked too fresh-faced to be a farmer, but what did he know? “What’s your name?” he asked.
The man glanced up at him. His eyes were the clearest blue Dean had ever seen, just a quick flick before he returned his focus to his work. “Castiel,” he answered.
“Castiel,” Dean repeated to get used to the name. That was definitely an angelic name. People named their children after the loyal angels all the time. After the best and strongest of the loyal angels, at least. There were plenty of Michaels, Raphaels, and Naomis in the land, including people that had changed their names to revere them. Maybe this Castiel was one of those. “I haven’t heard of a Castiel before. What did he do?”
Castiel paused for a moment. “He… cared about humanity too much.”
Dean nodded slowly as he considered the odd answer. “Huh. No wonder I haven’t heard of him.”
That got him a squint, but Castiel continued securing the newest suture with a knot. “What’s your name?”
“Dean,” he muttered out in reply.
“Dean,” Castiel repeated with a nod as if considering such a simple name as that. “I’m sorry we had to meet like this.”
Dean just grunted as he watched the other man get up and step towards a small box full of glass bottles sitting on a table across the foot of the bed. He took the opportunity to glance down, not moving much to not tug on the wound, and try to feel around the stitches. Before his fingers could brush over them, Castiel gave him a stern, “Don’t touch.”
It startled Dean since Castiel had his back to him, but he eased back, though scowling to himself. Did he have eyes on the back of his head too? His lips were still pursed in displeasure as Castiel returned with a new bottle. Castiel dabbed some liquid onto the cloth and then carefully tapped the wet cloth across the wound.
The searing pain almost had Dean jumping out of bed. “Stop! That burns! Stop it!” he exclaimed, writhing.
Castiel stopped and narrowed his eyes at the bottle. “I don’t think this is the correct antiseptic.”
“Use something else then!” Dean said through gritted teeth.
Castiel got up again to rummage through the box again and returned with a different bottle. Dean gripped the sheets in anticipation, though this time the dabbing did not sting at all and it was barely perceptible through the numbness. “You’re not very good at this healing thing,” he commented, still rattled. “It’s all the same if I die from an infection later on.”
Castiel capped the bottle. “You’re not going to get an infection later on,” he insisted with that quiet rumble. Pausing to look at Dean, he reached a hand up to brush over the side of Dean’s head. “You should get some rest. Why don’t you get some sleep while I finish bandaging you?”
Maybe it was the gentle way his fingertips tickled through his hair, but Dean was out like a light.
———
The early morning light woke up Dean. The bed was angled just the right way for the sunlight of the rising sun to land on his eyes, to his irritation. Dean groaned at suddenly being awake and scrubbed a hand over his face. If he thought he felt weak the night before, now he felt utterly boneless. At least he didn’t feel feverish from an infection or that swirl of power from being too close to death. His wounds were sore, but he wasn’t in pain. It seemed like he was alone in the small bedroom, but he could hear someone shuffling around the other room. That was probably his new friend.
Before he needed to call out to him, Castiel entered the room with a bowl between his hands. “Good morning, Dean,” he greeted. “How do you feel?”
“Like crap,” Dean exhaled.
Castiel got that look on his face again, where his brow furrowed and his eyes squinted. Now Dean could get a good look at him. He didn’t look like a farmer, far too fresh-faced for that. He wasn’t dressed like a farmer either. In fact, he looked more like a healer himself, in a tan overcoat and a light blue shirt, tidy and formal. His clothes were far too nice to get covered in muck while farming.
Castiel came to sit on the stool at his bedside, where he had been sitting the night before suturing his wound. “I made breakfast for you,” he said, lifting the bowl as if it wasn’t obvious. He stirred the bowl and then lifted a spoonful of what looked like oatmeal towards Dean.
Dean eyed the man and his spoon. Really? He wasn’t a child. “I can feed myself, thank you.”
One of Castiel’s eyebrows quirked up like a challenge. “Sit up then,” he ordered him. “Without tearing your stitches, please.”
Dean scoffed and put an elbow underneath himself to prop himself up. That was as far as he got because he was far too weak to pull himself up and the bottom of his stomach gave an awful tug. The numbness from the diluted spider venom had definitely worn off. He stayed like that for a moment, too stubborn to give in quickly, but then lowered himself again when it was clear that he wasn’t going anywhere. Castiel lifted the spoon again. This time, he accepted the bite of food. It was gritty and bland, but Dean would have been grateful for a bowl of dirt, and he wasn’t going to complain about the food options from someone working on saving his life. As odd as that still was.
Between nibbles of food, Dean asked, “Did you call for a healer?” He needed to get out of here as soon as possible. He was stable now, but who knew how his condition would change while being treated by someone not experienced in healing. He needed an actual healer. The loyal angels and archangels did some miraculous healing themselves sometimes, but Dean wasn’t going to kid himself into thinking that they would do that for him, even as a hunter. They probably thought he was dead and might not come looking for him.
“Not yet,” Castiel answered, scraping the bowl. “I didn’t want to leave you alone.”
Fair enough, Dean supposed. “Well, you can go after breakfast then,” he pointed out. “I feel fine.”
Castiel pursed his lips and hesitated for a moment. “I don’t want to leave you alone in case something happens.”
Dean furrowed his brow at Castiel. Now his excuse was starting to look thin. “I’m not gonna croak while you’re gone,” he pointed out. “Hell, it might be safer for you if I did croak while you’re gone.”
There was that look on Castiel’s face again, though directed at the bowl. “You’re not going to… ‘croak’,” he insisted, the turn of phrase sounding unfamiliar on his lips. “I’d still rather wait until you’re stronger. They’ll want to move you, but you’re in no condition to be moved through the forest.”
It still seemed too cautious for Dean, but he supposed that he felt stable enough to not need immediate attention from a real healer. He was weak, but not at the edge of death. He could stay put and regain his strength while Castiel tended to him until a healer could be brought in and could transport him back to the village. As with all healing injuries, he simply had to be patient. Not that he’d been ever good at patience.
By the time he finished the bowl, Dean felt sated and as satisfied as he could, a bit sleepy with the full stomach. He was determined to stay awake to get the most information he could about his current situation.
Castiel set the empty bowl aside and tugged at the corner of the scratchy blanket covering Dean from the chest down. “May I?”
Dean nodded, and Castiel carefully lifted the edge of the blanket to reveal starched bandages across his lower abdomen. He lifted the edge of the bandage with one thumb, adhered to his skin with watered-down sap. Dean could see brown-red seepage of dried blood, but it wasn’t the fountain of blood he had to contain while running. “It looks like it has dried enough,” Castiel commented. “I’ll change the bandages and clean the area.”
Dean hummed, finding it sensible enough. “Just don’t use whatever crap you used last night that stung like hell,” he grumbled.
That look again flickered across Castiel’s face. Dean still wasn’t sure what it meant. Confusion about why Dean talked like that when he was trying to help? Dean wasn’t ungrateful. It was just a taxing situation, and he wasn’t the most sensitive when it came to taxing situations. In any case, Castiel stood and stepped towards the box on the table across the foot of the bed. “It was an antiseptic anyway. You said you didn’t want to die of an infection,” he pointed out as he gathered a few vials and a fresh scrap of cloth.
“Yeah, I guess…” Dean muttered. He could play the good patient, but he’ll scowl about it. Castiel didn’t seem to mind it as stepped out of the room for a moment to grab a bowl with water and then returned to his stool. He was delicate as he peeled off the bandages, not allowing the sap adhesive to tug at his skin too much. Now Dean looked, though he wished he hadn’t. The dried blood-crusted wound was wider than he thought, sitting just underneath his belly button and almost spanning between his hip bones. The stitches weren’t neat at all, slanted and clumsy, though at least they held the wound closed. It made him sick to his stomach, but Castiel seemed to know what he was doing as he carefully wiped away some dried blood with a cloth soaked in water and an antiseptic that didn’t make it feel like his wound was on fire. Even if not a healer, Castiel’s sure competence was comforting enough. Dean could cooperate and stay still enough for this, though he asked, “Where are the rest of my clothes?”
Eyes still cast downwards, Castiel tilted his head to the corner where Dean hadn’t seen his gray coat hanging from a hook. It was splattered with blood and caked dirt. Dean could see the frayed edges on the shoulder where the fallen angel had cut him. “I’m washing and mending your tunic,” Castiel said. “I need to do the same for your coat, but I’ll get to it later.”
Dean sighed. Well, now he felt like he was imposing. “You don’t have to.”
Castiel gave him a one-shoulder shrug as tossed the cloth into the bowl and set them aside. “I don’t mind it.”
Dean took a breath as he thought about how to broach the real question he had, more pressing than wondering about the state of his clothes. “Did you… see anything else with me? Something that looks like a silver dagger?”
Castiel sighed and pursed his lips as he thought for a moment, now concentrating on putting sap on the edges of a new bandage. Dean kicked himself mentally for noticing how pink, if chapped, his lips looked. “No, nothing like that. Sorry,” he answered.
Dean didn’t want to be skeptical of someone showing him good hospitality, but he was sure that he had his blade with him at the barn. Maybe it had rolled farther away than he thought. “Well, if you see it in the barn, be careful with it,” Dean told him, not wanting to alarm him. “Just put it in the pocket of my coat and don’t play with it.”
Castiel responded with a nod. Once the edges of the bandage had enough sap, he covered the wound with the bandage carefully, though Dean grimaced as pain flared for a moment from the pressure.
With that, Dean expected Castiel to get up and continue on with his day, maybe go wash after breakfast or check the barn for his blade, but he remained seated, just observing him with those light blue eyes of his. He wasn’t sure if he should feel unnerved. “You don’t have a farm to run?” Dean asked, his voice tinged in some edge. Castiel did still seem too neat to be running a farm. Though then why would he be living on a farm in the middle of the woods? “I actually didn’t know people lived this far into the forest. I didn’t see any other houses around.”
“It’s not really a farm now,” Castiel explained. “I just live here by myself.”
Dean furrowed his brow. “All alone?” He hadn’t seen or heard of other people yet, but this seemed too far away from civilization to live alone if not working a farm.
Another one-shoulder shrug. “I like the quiet.”
Again, Dean didn’t want to be skeptical, but this whole thing seemed off. Maybe he was a squatter, simply finding this abandoned farm and making it his own, and didn’t want to get in trouble. He seemed too clean to be a squatter too. “It’s not safe to be alone out here alone,” he said. “The forest is full of monsters. Not to mention the fallen angels.”
The edge of Castiel’s lip quirked up. “I can protect myself. Don’t worry about me.”
Now Dean had to scoff. “Not against fallen angels you can’t. Have you ever seen one up close?” Castiel hesitated, so Dean added before he could give him an excuse, “Didn’t think so. Hope you never get to see one.”
He had seen countless fallen angels up close, obviously. They were hideous creatures with twisted, broken bodies that wanted to destroy humanity. The loyal angels are noble and awe-inspiring when in their true form. They looked like humans but more. Their heads were crowned by a pair of small white-feathered wings and blue rings of holy light and blazing eyes. More of the almost all-seeing eyes drew down their arms and across their faces, bright and alert. The fallen angels could never compare to that. Their glow of grace flickered as it drained away, leaking from their cracked halo of rings. The eyes that adorned their crown of rings and patterned across their arms and faces were not bright and sharp like that of the loyal angels but twitching and lifeless. The feathers of their wings had been toasted to a dull charcoal black from their fall. They were feral and wrong, apart from goodness. They’d turned from God’s authority and the Archangel Michael had to cast them out of Heaven. The Earth needed to be cleansed of them.
Dean felt a flare of protectiveness for Castiel. The man had dragged him out of the barn when he was at the edge of death, knowing the danger of his death, and with fallen angels hunting and was tending to his wounds even with his grumbling. If he did live here by himself, where wild magic and ancient horrors crept, of course, he would help an injured stranger even just to have some company. “You gotta be careful out there,” Dean told him, now growing restless. “When you go find a healer, be careful of where you go, alright?”
Castiel nodded, though it seemed like it was just to pacify Dean. “You should rest,” he told him as he reached a hand up as if to caress his face. Dean’s eyelids immediately felt heavy as Castiel’s fingers brushed against his temple and he was out in a deep sleep instantly.
When Dean woke up again, the yellow morning had faded into the late afternoon. It was disorienting how much time had passed. One moment, he was asking Castiel about his living situation, and the next moment, he had slept through most of the day. He wasn’t used to sleeping that deeply, always at high alert, but he did lose a lot of blood. That must be it. He’s alone, but he could hear shuffling and low voices from the other room. It looked like Castiel wasn’t alone.
Dean called out his name, though his voice was harsh with the dryness of his mouth. The talking stopped and Castiel hurried into the room, stopping at the door. “Dean, you’re awake,” he said. He sounded surprised at that.
“Is that the healer?” Dean asked.
Castiel briefly glanced over his shoulder. “No, it’s a friend.”
Dean raised an eyebrow, feeling some hope that he’ll make it out of here. “Is your friend a healer?”
Castiel balked. “No,” he answered and then paused again as if thinking. “She’s here for a visit.”
Dean stared, alarm bells sounding in his mind at the explanation and Castiel’s caginess. “Well, can she call for a healer?” he said, slowly as if explaining something that was complex. “If you don’t want to leave me alone?” This seemed so obvious to him that he questioned why that hadn’t been done yet. If Castiel could have guests - which, to be fair, it could have been planned before he decided to take in Dean - then he could have them call for a healer if they’re able to come and go.
Castiel nodded, the motion stilted. “Right. She can do that.” He stepped back into the other room. Dean couldn’t hear what they talked about, but he soon heard the front door open and shut. Castiel returned shortly after. “She’s on her way back to the town. How do you feel?”
“Thirsty.” Dean knew he should stop talking until he had a drink of water.
Castiel nodded once. “Let me fetch you some water.” He stepped away again. In not much time, he returned with a cup and came to sit at his bedside. Dean first stubbornly insisted that he wanted to drink from the cup himself, but when he didn’t have the strength to sit up enough, Castiel carefully dribbled water into his mouth, his hand on his cheek to keep him steady. People like him, hunters, weren’t treated like this. An injured hunter was a dead hunter. Which was all for the best if they brought down some fallen angels with them.
Castiel didn’t seem to mind it, simply earnestly helping. Dean still couldn’t quite look him in the eye once he finished drinking water. He sagged back onto the pillows, just that exhausting him, and grunted out a thanks.
“I’ll make you some dinner,” Castiel said as he stood.
Before he left, Dean was quick to ask, “Have you checked the barn for my knife?”
Castiel paused but still stepped around the bed. “Not yet, no,” he answered.
“Can you do it now?” Dean asked with an edge of irritation in his voice. Now Castiel seemed like he was in a hurry to leave. Dean wanted to press him on this, so he came up with the first thing he could to make him stay and called out before he could think of it too much. “Hey, wait! Uh… I need to take a piss.”
Now Castiel stopped and turned towards him. “There’s a chamber pot on the other side of your bed.”
Dean craned his neck over the side of the bed and indeed there was a small metal bin on the floor, thankfully empty and clean. He settled back and eyed Castiel. “Aren’t you gonna, uh…?”
Castiel simply turned towards the door. Was he just going to leave him? Dean sputtered, “Castiel! C’mon, you can’t leave me like this. Cas.”
Castiel stopped at the door only to give him a small, almost sly smile before he stepped away.
———
That night, Dean awoke to a blue light flickering over his face. When he opened his eyes, it was just Castiel and his candle, the flame emitting a soft yellow glow. “Sorry,” Castiel muttered from where he was crouched next to his bed, his voice rougher when he spoke quietly. “I wanted to check on you.”
Dean did not take well to being woken up suddenly. “Well, I’m fine,” he snapped, grimacing against the light.
Castiel hunched his head into his shoulders but nodded. “Right. I’ll let you continue sleeping,” he said as he stood and started stepping towards the door.
Maybe it was the way Castiel retreated so quickly, but Dean felt like crap for snapping at him. Castiel just wanted to be useful. “Wait, Cas,” Dean called, pausing as he waited for Castiel to turn towards him. “My stitches are itchy, actually. Mind checking them?”
Castiel swept right over to his side. He placed the candle on the nightstand, casting the light glow over Dean, and sat at his stool. “Did I bandage them incorrectly?” he asked as he tucked the blankets aside.
“No, it’s not that. They just itch,” Dean reassured him.
Castiel worked in his careful and meticulous way as he tugged up the edge of the bandage to observe the sutured gash. “It doesn’t look like they’re bleeding or that the ends are poking you. I’ll add more antiseptic and fix the bandage.”
“The kind that doesn’t sting,” Dean called out, though mostly to get a huff of a laugh from Castiel as he went to fetch it. He watched Castiel go and come back with the bottle and a clean cloth, this part routine. Castiel was taking good care of him, even with this little inconvenience. Figuring he should check in on him for once, Dean asked, “Couldn’t sleep?”
Castiel snorted softly, the edge of his lip curling up, as he settled on the stool again. “I don’t sleep very well in general.”
Dean was sympathetic enough about not being able to sleep well. “This is your bed, isn’t it?” he asked, getting a raised eyebrow from Castiel in reply as if telling him not to ask stupid questions. “Where have you been sleeping then?”
“Just in the sitting room,” Castiel answered as he dabbed his wound with antiseptic.
That couldn’t be comfortable. Or fair. Dean had displaced the poor man from his own bed. He didn’t like being a burden, like he wasn’t pulling his own weight, so that wouldn’t do.
“Well, this bed is pretty wide. I don’t mind scooting over to the side for you so you can have some of it back,” he suggested. He hoped he didn’t take it the wrong way, not that he would be able to act in the wrong way.
Castiel gave him that squint again as if studying him. Maybe something had happened to him that made him scrutinize him when he spoke up, Dean figured. “Are you sure?” Castiel asked.
Dean had to smile, feeling like he was giving back a bit. even if he was just returning something that was Castiel’s. “Yeah, just help me move over once you patch me up.”
Castiel fixed the bandage and his blankets and then helped him lay closer to the edge. The bed was wide, but when Castiel came to lay down next to him, Dean found that it wasn’t quite wide enough for two grown men. They made do, Castiel slipping under the blankets. Dean realized now that he’d never let someone see him sleep if he wasn’t armed, much less injured. His defenses were way down for once.
Once they were both settled, Castiel propped himself on one elbow, coming very close to Dean, and blew out the candle on the table. The room went dark in an instant, quiet except for the shuffling of Castiel returning to his pillow. Dean had to lay on his back because of his injuries, but it seemed like Castiel was doing the same. Their arms were touching, pressed one against the other. Dean was very aware of that, the fabric of Castiel’s shirt against his bare bicep.
Dean felt like he needed to say something. Castiel was doing so much for him for nothing in return. As clumsy as he was with his care, he was doing an excellent job. Dean had never been tended to this much since before his mother died when he was a child. There were worse things in the world than being waited for hand and foot by a handsome stranger. “Hey,” he called into the darkness. Castiel stilled, and Dean reasoned that he was listening. “Thank you for taking me in like this. You didn’t have to.”
“Of course, I had to,” Castiel murmured. “You don’t have to thank me for doing something I had to do.”
“It was dangerous to even come close to me. Stupid, even. And then you brought me into your house,” Dean insisted. He smiled to himself. “It’s still kind of stupid for you to share a bed with me.”
Castiel huffed out a soft laugh, the arm pressed against Dean’s slightly shaking. “I suppose I care too much.”
Dean snorted. He found that he understood something about him now. “Like your namesake?”
In the quiet, Dean could hear Castiel blow out a soft huff of breath as if amused. “I suppose so,” Castiel said.
Dean was silent for a moment, long enough that he thought he might have awoken Castiel when he spoke up again. “You really think I won’t die?”
Castiel hummed questionably, acknowledging his quiet question. “I do,” he murmured. “No one deserves to die in a barn like that, bleeding out like an animal waiting for your heart to give out.”
Dean took a slow, deep breath. He was a hunter. He was expected to give it all to protect everyone else. “Yeah, I guess so,” he finally murmured.
The bed dipped as Castiel turned to his side, facing Dean. It’s quiet, almost intimate. They aren’t really touching now, but they’re huddled so close together. Dean’s heart fluttered quickly in anticipation. In anticipation of what, he did not know. He could almost feel Castiel’s eyes on him even in the darkness.
“I have to lay back like a corpse, but it doesn’t mean you have to,” Dean said, a chuckle slipping out to ease this tension he was holding. “I can… put an arm around you. I dunno…”
Castiel took a moment to answer. Dean could just imagine the squint he was giving him. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Y’know, make yourself comfortable. It’s your bed. It’s chilly outside. Might be comfy,” Dean babbled as he lifted an arm. He was usually better with his words, but Castiel was making him feel this nervous energy that he knew wasn’t going to leave him unless he did something about it.
Castiel again paused. Then he shuffled closer into Dean’s embrace. He was tense at first, like a hesitant animal, but Dean closed his arm around him and rubbed his arm until Castiel exhaled. He rested his head on his shoulder and laid his arm across his chest.
“That’s better. I can’t remember the last time I shared a bed with someone like this,” Dean murmured as he eased into the bed. Now this settled him, making his heart rate slow down. “There’s usually more kissing involved, but it’s still nice.”
Castiel hummed. “Kissing?”
Dean’s stomach flipped. Why did he have to bring up kissing? “Yeah, sometimes. There’s sometimes kissing when you’re in bed with someone,” he managed to mutter, his voice quiet as if he didn’t want Castiel to hear. “I don’t… I’m not expecting anything. I was just saying. It’s just…”
“Would it help you feel better?” Castiel cut into his rambling. If Dean could hear smiles, there was one in Castiel’s voice.
Dean was silent for a moment. His heart that had just settled down was thumping hard in his chest, hard enough that Castiel had to feel it. “I mean, it wouldn’t hurt,” he finally conceded.
His heart leapt to his throat in anticipation as Castiel shuffled and lifted himself up from his embrace. The other man’s lip brushed against his, feather soft at first. When was the last time someone kissed him? Treated him as tenderly as Castiel had? Dean didn’t even think of turning it heated, hiding intimacy with physical needs. He simply enjoyed the simple kiss that made his heart slow.
Castiel pulled away far too soon for Dean’s liking, but he did feel satisfied all the same. “Better?” Castiel asked as he made himself comfortable tucked against his side again. Dean just hummed in agreement. With a soft snort that sounded like a smile, Castiel reached up and brushed his fingers against his temple, gentle and soothing. His voice brushed against his cheek, “Sleep well, Dean.”
With that Dean was out like the candle.
Dean slept the best sleep of his life. He wasn’t sure if he should be concerned. The blood loss must have been substantial if he felt this weak and sleepy, dozing off in just a moment. He was already sleeping very deeply when he closed his eyes and sleep overcame him, but then having another presence next to him as if watching over him helped that even more.
Castiel was still tucked against him when he woke up, a source of warmth pressed at his side. In fact, when Dean turned away from the light and blinked his eyes open towards Castiel, he found him watching him, alert and wide awake. It should be unnerving, but there’s only curiosity there. “How did you sleep?” Castiel asked, his rough voice scraping in his throat. He must have slept well too if the raspy voice was anything to go by.
Dean licked his lips and let out a content sigh. “Pretty damn well, actually,” he answered.
The edge of Castiel’s lip twitched up. “I’ll get breakfast for you.” With that, he rolled out of bed and stepped over to the other room.
Dean took the moment to close his eyes, not quite dozing off as he listened to Castiel pad around the other room. He felt pretty good, actually. The bed was still warm from Castiel and it made Dean wish he’d stayed longer. Maybe he left so quickly because he didn’t want to be in bed with him anymore. Then why would he stay in bed looking at him like that? No, Dean was overthinking things. He would resolve all that later, once he had more of his strength back.
Anyway, it wasn’t like he could do much more than what they did last night. Thank the loyal angels that there was no inflammation or feverish sign of infection or else he would be dying all over again. Speaking of, it seemed like no loyal angels or hunters came looking for him either. Dean figured that he was presumed dead, even if the grace he contained hadn’t shaken the forest. He could continue to stay put until someone came looking for him, whether it was the healer, the loyal angels, or a fellow hunter. Then once he felt better, he could come back and bring Castiel back to their village safely. He couldn’t leave him out here alone in this run down farm. Just the thought broke Dean’s heart.
Castiel returned with a bowl and a cup. As he settled at his stool, Dean eyed the single bowl he was holding. “You’re not eating breakfast?” he asked.
Castiel shrugged. “I’m not hungry now. I’ll eat later.” He held up the spoon expectantly.
Dean relented and let Castiel feed him. The oatmeal was bland and undercooked, but maybe that was all the food he had to spare. Dean tried not to think about it. Castiel didn’t seem like he had skipped meals the day before, still bright-eyed and in good spirits. This time, Dean could sit up some more, his strength starting to return.
“I feel much better already, actually,” Dean commented towards the end of breakfast. If he was feeling better, that meant he could stop burdening Castiel sooner, surely. “I think I can get up, even.”
Castiel’s lips twisted as he stared hard at the bowl, concentrating on scraping the last of the oatmeal together. “I don’t know if that’s wise…” he murmured.
“Just help me stretch, at least” Dean insisted. “I know you don’t know me that well, but believe me, I will get up on my own, and then you’ll have to haul my ass back onto the bed again.”
Castiel grimaced, but Dean could see his resolve fading. “Finish your breakfast first,” he told him, pressing the spoon against his lips.
Dean did finish his breakfast. He barely waited until Castiel put the bowl aside to start propping himself up. Crouching down, Castiel grasped his arm and helped him sit up, coming up on his left side where the cut was high on his shoulder instead of his bicep. Dean was a little less steady than he thought, his head swimming from the change in position and the earlier blood loss, but he was able to stay upright. He took a breath to steady himself and asked, “If I can get to my feet, can you walk me around?”
Castiel pursed his lips as if uncertain, but he gently guided Dean’s arm around his shoulders and put an arm around Dean’s bare waist in anticipation of helping him up. Dean shivered as the cool hand rested on his skin. “We’re only trying this once,” Castiel told him.
Once was all they needed. It was slow going to not tug on his stitches, but Dean made it up to his feet. He swayed and leaned heavily against Castiel, doubled over slightly as he winced against the soreness, but he was upright. The other man grunted as if about to say something, but Dean made a point of straightening up as much as he could without too much pain and putting more weight on his feet to show he could do it. He tugged Castiel’s arm and said, “C’mon, I want to walk around.”
It was one foot after the other, shuffling across the room and through the door together. The house was smaller and more worn out than he thought. It was all one room, the small kitchen and the seating area. This gave credence to his squatter theory. Castiel had slept in that dusty seat in the corner? Dean was glad he insisted he shared his bed with him, so then at least he could sleep on something comfortable and warm, sharing their body heat.
Castiel sighed and told him, “There’s not much to walk around here.”
“Let’s go outside then,” Dean insisted, almost cheerful.
Castiel glanced at him. “You don’t have a shirt on,” he pointed out.
Dean knew he was shirtless. Castiel’s touch on his bare waist was electrifying. He was very aware that he was shirtless, actually. Still, he shrugged with his free shoulder and said, “I’ve been worse.”
Castiel did relent and led them out the front door. Maybe Castiel was right about the shirtlessness as he shivered against the cold morning air, but he wasn’t turning back now. The clearing was just the same as he had seen the other day. It was an almost impenetrable wall, hiding the wild magic and creatures within. He could really go for some venison right now, but he wasn’t going to be ungrateful for the bit of food Castiel could give him.
Mustering up some strength, Dean took a side step away from the other man. Castiel squeezed his side and held him fast. “Dean, you’re far too weak to go on your own,” he told him.
“I think I got it, Cas,” Dean insisted. It wasn’t all his ego and bravado, even if that was a part of it. He really did feel strong enough to walk on his own, even doubled over and only shuffling around. “Give me a chance.”
Castiel still had a pinched, displeased look on his face, but he started to unwind himself from Dean, slowly in case he swayed. Still steady on his feet, Dean took slow steps forward. As he stepped farther away from the house, he could see the dead patch of crops next to it. Beyond that sat the barn, in a worse state than he thought. Castiel was really squatting if he was living like this. Dean turned towards the barn. Maybe he could go check it out himself for his blade…
Castiel was suddenly at his side grasping his arm. “Dean, no,” he told him, his voice now stony and cold.
The forcefulness made Dean stop and scowl at him. “Cas, I’m fine,” he snapped, maybe more harshly than needed. “You can let me go. I just want to check the barn. I think I can make it.”
“I’m taking you back to the bed,” Castiel said as he tugged his arm towards him.
Dean wrenched his arm away from him, hard enough that the cut on his shoulder flared with pain. “Hey! What is your deal?” he snapped. “Stop. Look! Look at me. I’m fine!”
He was only skeptical before, but now he felt confident that Castiel was hiding something from him. Why take in a hunter without hesitation? Did he really live here, in this squalor? Why did he care about him this much?
The words just spilled out of Dean, harsh and cutting. “Why are you being like this? So… overprotective. I sure as hell know that you didn’t tell your friend to call for him, did you? Why are you keeping me here? What is your problem?”
Letting go of his arm and taking a step away, Castiel stared as if taken aback and swallowed thickly, his throat bobbing. Then he started glowing.
Dimly at first, but then it settled into that inner bluish glow of grace all angels, loyal and fallen, emanated. His grace flickered, like a candle about to burn out. With a crack, wings spread from his temples, twin sheets of stark black. The glow condensed into rings that floated encircling his head. Rows of eyes opened around the rings and across his face, some wincing and some a white with blindness. Castiel, or what was left of him, simply stood there as the transformation took place.
Dean stared, stunned. He then lunged forward with his fist.
The fallen angel caught his fist as if it was a kitten batting at him. When Dean reeled back his other fist, Castiel ducked and hefted Dean onto his arms as if he weighed nothing. “Put me down! Put me down!” Dean bellowed as Castiel carried him into the house, pounding his fists against him. They had no effect, Castiel not even flinching at the assault. Dean's fists simply phased through his wings and ringed halos as if they were beams of light through dust.
Castiel did indeed put him down, but on the bed in the small bedroom. It seemed like he was attempting to put him down gently but Dean tumbled onto the mattress from all his fidgeting, pain cutting into his stomach. With a swish of his coat and wings, Castiel stepped towards the door. “I’ll give you a moment to think on this,” he said gravely as he shut the door behind him. The lock audibly clicked closed.
That son of a bitch. A fallen angel! Dean had been just sitting with a fallen angel. He’d put his guard down. He’d shared a bed with him! He’d kissed him!
Now to think of what to do. His blade had to be around here somewhere. The cut on his stomach throbbed painfully with every heartbeat, which made him suspect that he’d tugged open some part of it. Good. If the fallen angel returned, maybe he could take him out if he died.
What used to be a simple, single-minded thought now met some resistance. This fallen angel was Castiel. He could have left him to die in the barn, shielded from the blast of his death. Instead, he brought him in and tended to his wounds. He stayed with him overnight, even with the risk of him going into shock and dying. Castiel had taken the risk for him.
No, Dean had a holy mission, and now he got a second chance to fulfill it.
With a groan, Dean rolled out of bed and heaved himself up, his hand clutching the bandage on his stomach. Now he wasn’t as steady on his feet, but he pushed through the pain. He hobbled his way over to his coat and tore it down. Its pockets were empty, so he dumped that aside. He leaned heavily against the table with the bottles of antiseptic in case Castiel was hiding it there. In his erratic search, he knocked some bottles and medical implements, the bottle smashing as they hit the ground. That just angered him more. If his blade was in this room, he was in no state to search it, but he had to. He shoved the box aside, its contents rattling together. Guess he’ll sit and wait for now. Castiel would return to check on him. That much was inevitable.
Dean didn’t know how much time had passed, but the door eventually creaked open. He could just make out a figure at the open edge of the door. “Dean?” the familiar voice of the fallen angel called out.
“Go to hell!” Dean launched one of the cracked antiseptic bottles at him. His aim was off and the bottle shattered against the wall, streaking green-tinged liquid across it.
The door shut but didn’t lock. Dean could hear hushed speaking between Castiel and someone else, so he called out, “Who is that?” He barked out a dark laugh as he realized who it had to be. “Oh, your friend. Why don’t you come in and finish what you started?”
There was more hushed talking behind the door. The stalling was irritating him more. “Would you hurry up and kill me already? Or let me go?” Dean called. “Guess I’ll die from an infection then and take you two with me.”
The door opened again, swinging fully. Castiel stood there, looking like a human. Maybe he’d seen his state slumped down on the floor and figured that he wouldn’t fight back. His friend stood behind him and leaned to look around him. She was a petite red-headed woman, like the petite red-headed fallen angel he’d fought earlier. She leaned a hand on the door frame. The forearm was bandaged, right where Dean had slashed her.
“Anna, you should go,” Castiel told her, his eyes on Dean.
The woman - Anna - blinked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “I’m not leaving you alone with a hunter.”
“Anna.” Castiel’s tone was grave.
He glanced up at her and they exchanged a look before Anna finally stepped out. Once the door shut behind her, Castiel stepped across the room, crouched down in front of Dean, and reached into his coat. For a moment, Dean thought he might kill him here, spare Anna the collateral of his death. Castiel did pull out a blade, Dean’s blade, but he turned it in his hand so it pointed towards his own chest. He extended his hand as if offering it to Dean.
Dean stopped. This must be a trap. “What the hell are you playing at?”
“I’m not… playing,” Castiel said, though a bit unsteady on the turn of phrase. “You can have your blade back. If you’ll die anyway, you might as well get over it quickly. Or you can kill me and try to spare yourself. Anna wouldn’t risk fighting you.”
Dean waited one more moment before he reached for the blade slowly, vigilant for any sudden movements, and closed his hand around the hilt. Castiel lowered his hand once Dean secured the blade. The weight of it is a comfort in his hand.
In a fluid motion, Dean turned the blade and pointed it at his own heart, the tip biting into his breastbone.
Castiel didn’t even flinch. His gaze remained steady on Dean, freezing him in place. “You won’t do it,” he said after a beat.
Dean’s grip tightened around the hilt. There was a second where he considered following through with it, how he would go quickly and he would have the honor of taking down two fallen angels, perhaps three if Anna was right by the door. Even so, he lowered the blade.
Castiel swallowed, his throat bobbing, and gave a single nod. Dean now realized that part of Castiel must have believed that Dean would kill himself and take him with him, but he still gave him the blade. “Now,” Castiel murmured. “Can I check your injuries?”
Dean was scowling, but he put the blade aside and settled back to let Castiel have a look. Instead of having a look, he put his hands underneath him and heaved him into his arms. Dean yelped as he was suddenly aloft. “Put me down! Put me down!”
“Stop fidgeting. You’ll hurt yourself more,” Castiel told him dryly as he lowered him onto the bed. Dean at least didn’t struggle as much this time, instead just laying back on the bed. He glanced down at his bandages and felt sick to his stomach. Dark red blood had seeped through, bright on the starched bandages.
Once Dean did in fact stop fidgeting, Castiel reached a hand up to press his fingertips against his temple. Dean half-expected to fall right asleep, already conditioned for that to happen when Castiel reached his hand up like that, and closed his eyes. Instead Castiel's hand glowed that low white-blue light of grace, visible even through his closed eyelids. Dean winced, expecting the sear of pure grace, but it just tickled at most.
As Castiel lowered his hand, Dean eyed him and asked, "What was that?"
Castiel didn't answer as he swept around the bed to sit on his stool. This was already a familiar sight. Dean couldn’t watch as he peeled the bandage off. Instead he stared at the ceiling and bit hard on the inside of his cheek as he did so. Dull pain throbbed on the wound at the tugging, but nothing unbearable. When Dean finally glanced down, all that was left was a pink scar across his stomach framed with the dots of healed sutures.
“You healed me?” Dean asked, shocked. He brought a hand down to brush over the bumpy skin. It still ached, but it was nothing like before. “I thought only loyal angels could do that.”
“We’re all made of the same grace,” Castiel explained as he rotated his wrist as if he had taxed it too much. He looked a tone paler too.
The words tumbled out of Dean before he could stop himself. “Were you putting me to sleep when you touched my temple like that?" he asked first. Castiel looked somewhat guilty at that. "You could have healed me this whole time?”
Castiel now leveled him an unamused look. “Our grace is weaker because we lost some while falling, but it all works the same, yes,” he answered. “I did heal some of you, last night before you woke up. I don’t have enough grace to fully heal you, so please rest. My grace needs time to replenish.”
That explained the blue glow last night. Dean felt like crap for asking that question and his irritation. This was Castiel. Who’d tended to him the day before and now looked like hell just from healing him. “Yeah, I’ll stay put,” Dean said as he eased back onto the pillow. He could rest for a moment if there was no danger. Still on guard, he did add, “But bring me my blade.”
Castiel got up and fetched his angel blade, placing it in his hand even. “I did find this with you, but I didn’t want you to have it for obvious reasons,” Castiel told him as he sat back on the stool, acting unbothered that Dean was armed.
Dean snorted. Fair enough. He adjusted the blade so he didn’t have to hold it, but it was within easy reach just in case. “And your friend?” he asked. It would be best to know every possible threat. “Where is she?”
“Anna?” Castiel asked, so casual as if he wasn’t talking about a fallen angel. “She still believes you may kill me and didn’t want to risk herself.”
“It’s probably smart of her to leave. I did hurt her and kill your friend right in front of you,” Dean murmured.
Castiel’s lips twitched into a grimace and Dean’s gut twisted with guilt. Castiel then shook his head as if to dismiss it and said, “She probably returned to the settlement. It’s safe there.”
“Wait, the settlement?” Dean asked. Was that where the fallen angels were rumored to be congregating?
Castiel nodded. “Yes. We have a settlement not far from here hidden in the woods.”
The earnest and easy answer. “Should you be telling me all this? You know I’m…” He lifted the blade and reached a hand up to tug up his pendant as if it wasn’t already obvious. “I’m a hunter.”
Castiel shrugged with one shoulder. “We take in everyone at Camp Chitaqua,” he said. “Including former hunters. Anyone that’s willing to help.”
Dean felt like his brain had broken from that information. He dropped his hands and thought for a moment. “But… but you’re fallen angels. You kill people,” he insisted.
Castiel huffed out a breath like a scoff. “Is that what the archangels say?"
“Well, yeah!” Dean felt like he was losing his mind. The world was turning upside down. “You want to destroy humanity and kill all humans!”
Castiel’s lip twitched as if he was hiding a smile. “Do you know why we fell?”
“You went against God’s authority and the Archangel Michael had to cast you out of Heaven,” Dean recited, a very practiced response he’d heard countless times.
Now Castiel smiled. “God wasn’t there at all to uphold His authority,” he said. He took a breath to settle in. “The archangels tried to hide it, but one day, He was just… gone. He’d left us rudderless. We didn’t know how to protect humanity from dangers like the ones lurking in the woods. The archangels didn’t want to intervene, even as humans suffered. We’d call out to Him, Father… Are we doing what’s right? Are we on the right path? You have to tell us. You have to give us a sign. Because if you don’t… we’ll have to do whatever we must.”
Dean shivered, staring at Castiel with wide eyes. Fallen angels had always made dread sit in the pit of his stomach, but there was some fearful awe now, like what he felt about the loyal angels. “And then what?” he said. “They kicked you all out because you wanted to save the humans?”
“In a way,” Castiel said with a tilt of his head. “The archangels didn’t agree to it. So, we were cast out and fell to Earth. Many were lost, but more survived, broken but alive. I suppose the archangels and the loyal angels want the humans to do their dirty work for them.”
Dean grimaced, settling back to stare at the gunky ceiling. “Right…” he sighed, letting all of that sink in. He’s not buying it. No, he couldn’t. This changed everything. He was believing a fallen angel above all the loyal angels and archangels, above everything he was trained for.
Castiel probably realized that he was going in circles in his mind about this. “If you don’t believe me, I did return your blade to you,” he pointed out. “I’m weakened from healing you. You can show me that you don’t believe me whenever you want. Or you can come with us.”
Dean glanced over at him. He was right. Castiel looked unwell, his skin with a tinge of gray and not as rosy as before. It would be easy, just a lunge forward, but all Dean thought was to tend to him as he had tended to his wounds. Something was stopping him from fulfilling his mission.
Without warning, Castiel bolted out of the stool. Dean just caught a gleam of his angel blade and a flicker of blue grace on the way out. His heart caught in his throat. Something was going on. He didn’t have much strength, but he grabbed his blade and bolted out of bed after Castiel, catching up to him at the front door.
Three winged, glowing figures stood at the edge of the clearing. Dean instantly recognized Naomi and Zachariah flanking the Archangel Michael.
Zachariah had a broad, joyless grin on his face. “Well, look who it is,” he called out. “Our little runaway with the traitor.”
“Don’t waste our time,” the Archangel Michael snapped at him, his expression neutral yet fiery. Dean had seen the archangel countless times, but this was the first time that the sight of him brought him dread. “Fetch the hunter.” The two loyal angels stepped forward brandishing their blades.
Castiel tensed beside him, but Dean knew this was an uneven fight. Castiel couldn’t fight them both off, even if Anna was still here. Loyal angels were just stronger. Just a glance between the two factions of angels was telling, with the loyal angels' strong glow of grace and Castiel’s dim shimmer. Dean knew that Michael had to take him alive. If he died, the grace bomb sets off. They’ll kill Castiel and drag Dean away, probably to dispose of him safely.
Without turning towards him, Dean stretched a hand towards Castiel. “Cas, run. You have to run,” he ordered, calmer than he thought he would at a moment like this, much calmer than he had been huddled in the barn. Maybe it was because he’d come to accept his fate, for real this time. He knew what he had to do.
Castiel balked. “Dean…”
“There’s no time!” Dean clutched his blade tightly and rushed forward. “Run! Now!”
As he approached, Zachariah and Naomi put their weight on one foot, unsure if they should strike against the hunter, but Michael only looked on. Dean knew it was time. He had to do it quickly before the loyal angels realized what he was doing and had to trust that Castiel had taken shelter.
Dean turned the blade and plunged it into his sternum.
There’s a second where nothing happened. He didn’t even feel pain at first, but an odd lightness. Then a surge of power burst out of him in an instant. The loyal angels reeled back but were caught in the blast, their bodies charring into black dust. Even Michael raised his arms and retreated quickly, looking more alarmed than Dean had ever seen him.
As he collapsed, Dean saw someone rushing toward him as his vision faded away.
———
His heartbeat felt too loud in his chest. What surprised him the most was the fact that he had a heartbeat at all.
A hand came to rest on his shoulder, the sensation far off. “Dean, can you hear me?” a familiar rough voice. “How do you feel?”
It took more effort than it should to breathe out, “Like I got blown up to bits.” He opened just enough to see Castiel’s small but amused smile. “Did we both die?” If they did, at least they could watch out for each other.
Castiel shook his head. “The two loyal angels did. Michael fled, however.”
Dean exhaled, even that motion was painful. “Yeah, Naomi and Zachariah got a faceful of archangel grace. They’re definitely dead,” he said, his voice raspy from his fatigue. The blast wouldn’t be enough to kill Michael, he knew, but at least Naomi and Zachariah were angel dust now. “I never liked them anyway.”
Castiel snorted softly. “We must hurry back to the settlement before Michael returns with more loyal angels,” he said. “We’ll wait until the evening. Give you a moment to rest.”
Dean nodded, but his thoughts were elsewhere. “You knew I wasn’t going to die,” he said. “You did something to me to stop it.”
“That’s correct,” Castiel said. His hand moved from his shoulder to brush through Dean’s hair, gentle. Dean tilted his head into the touch as he looked up at him through his eyelashes. “I can’t diffuse an archangel’s grace, but I can bring you back. I just had to be fast, before you were gone for good.”
“You could have died if I hadn't warned you,” Dean pointed out. “Or if you rushed in too soon. You didn’t have to save me.”
“But I didn’t die. And you did warn me,” Castiel said. The edge of his lip twitched up. “And you know I had to.”
Dean huffed out a soft laugh, but even that hurt. Well, there was no going back now, if he had any doubts. The thought made his heart beat a bit faster, rattling with anticipation and not fear. He glanced over at Castiel. If he looked worse for wear before, now he looked almost gaunt. It twinged something in Dean’s heart. He just hoped that his grace returned to him soon. “Come lay down with me. You look like crap,” Dean ordered him, a touch playful.
With a small smile, Castiel crawled into bed with him, laying close to his side and gingerly resting an arm around him. Dean felt the same safe comfort he’d felt the night before, that of having someone look out for him. That someone wanted to protect him without reason, not because he had some use for them. Maybe he had a chance to live now. He wouldn’t have to count his heartbeats again.
