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The first night back in the bunker went by smoothly: he slept for a few hours, he and Cas finally told each other what they felt, he talked for hours with the angel. Then he ate and chatted with Sammy. Just like the old times, right?
Not at all. Because Dean was terrified by every shadow, every metallic sound reminded him of the chains and the blades and, worst of all, he was afraid of showing how shitty he felt. He didn't want them to know how broken he was, how he would never be the hunter he once was because he knew, if he told them anything, that they would abandon him or see him differently. Sure, the bandages on his chest and legs didn't help, but Dean tried his best to behave — and make Castiel and Sam behave — as usual.
For the first days it all went good even though he was treated like a child and had to deal with that giant of a brother who changed the bandages and tended his wounds with those rough and indelicate hands. He would love to kick him, but because of his lack of strength he could only swear at Sam.
“Could you please be a bit more fucking delicate? I understand that grace does not belong to you, but could you at least try?” Dean said with gritted teeth, trying to stay upright despite the pain and the exhaustion.
Sam sighed, “Hey, I’m sorry, I’m trying. Wouldn’t it be easier asking Cas? If he doesn't touch you directly, it’s fine, isn't it?” he asked curiously.
“Nope, won’t do it again. I was having a nightmare last night and in the dark I instinctively grabbed Cas’ leg who was beside the bed. It felt like Hell all over again.” Dean answered, shivering at the mere thought.
He had hoped that the touch to be avoided was just the direct touch, so they could bypass the problem, but nothing. Nada. He had to bear his brother’s care.
“I’m done, you can go back to bed now.” Sam said after a while, cleaning the chair he used as a support. “Oh, I found a new case. It’s quite far but Castiel offered to fly me there, to be able to come back here when you need to change the bandages or anything else. You will probably stay here alone for a few hours while we go and start investigating. Do you think you can—”
“Yes, Samantha, I can stay by myself for a few hours. Besides, I’m gonna sleep, so there won’t be many problems.” Dean settled under the covers and turned off the lamp on his nightstand, the only light coming from near the door where Sam was standing, “Can you tell Cas to come here?”
“I’ll tell him now. See you tomorrow, Dean.”
Sam turned off the light and left the room. Dean heard muffled voices from the other side of the door, and soon after Cas came into the room, leaving the lights off.
“Do you need something, Dean?” Castiel asked with a bit of worry in his voice.
Dean smiled and lifted his head from the pillow to look at him, “No, Cas, everything’s alright. I just wanted to say bye before you and Sam left.”
Castiel didn't reply but came closer to the bed, sitting beside the hunter.
“Promise me that you will be careful.”
“Dean, it’s only a short visit for recognition, I will be back as soon as possible to stay here and keep you company. And I’m bringing Sam back for every concern regarding your wounds.”
“Is this really necessary?” Dean groaned, letting his head fall on the pillow.
“I apologize for saying it, but I’m afraid so. You know very well that I cannot touch—”
“Cas, I know, right? I just wanted to say that I’d like Sam to be more delicate.” Dean said with a small smile. He reached towards Castiel’s hand but he stopped him.
“Dean, you can’t. I don't want you to get more hurt for nothing. We need to wait for you to get better. Now sleep, I’ll be back before you even realize.”
“You better be, featherhead.”
Cas smiled affectionately and left the room, going to talk to Sam to make the last preparations for the trip. After a few minutes the voices in the bunker disappeared and Dean knew the two had gone. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep.
“Come on, Dean-o, sing for me.” The demon’s voice was almost distant while it was having fun carving his skin. Dean didn't even have the strength to fight or scream. He heard his blood dripping on the floor, the sound of the blade cutting his flesh and the two monsters laughing.
Why couldn’t they kill him and finish it?
Where were Sammy and Cas? Why hadn't they found him yet?
As if reading his mind, the angel spoke, “Oh, sweetie. Your brother and your angel haven't found you because they don't want to find you. Don't you think they are so much better off without you? Without having to take care of an adult man who drinks his days off? They’re great without you, they finally got rid of you, and they left you alone to rot.”
Dean woke up screaming. It was a nightmare, another.
With difficulty, he got up and left the room.
“Cas? Sammy?” he called, but the lack of an answer made him worry.
He saw the table in the library without any paper and he didn't see his brother’s jacket or his bags. Could it be that—? No, no. They’re not gone, they can’t, they…
Dean started breathing more rapidly and his legs gave in under his weight. The stitches on his legs and chest tore and soon his wounds started bleeding a little.
Blood. Too much, just like during the torture. Was he back there? Had they found him? His heart was beating faster and breathing became complicated.
“Cas, please, don’t abandon me… Sammy, I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” he started crying, curling up on himself on the floor that was starting to get soaked with his blood, and praying his kidnappers to kill him and stop the pain.
“DEAN!”
It was Castiel, but he barely heard him. Was it the end? He was sure to find Cas in his Heaven, but he didn't understand why he couldn't see him.
“Dean please, come back to me. Breathe, I’m here. Look at me, Dean, I’m here, come back to me.” Castiel was crying, why? Shouldn't they all be happy in Heaven? Why could he hear only his voice and not see those blue eyes? Why did God want to punish him more, wasn't enough seeing him like this?
“Sam, help me, he doesn't react, he’s hyperventilating. I can’t touch him. I can’t make him come back to me.” His voice broke at the end, terrified of the idea of losing Dean again. He couldn't now, not before his eyes, at least.
Dean felt two hands grabbing his shoulders and shaking him, “Dean, listen to my voice, listen to Castiel’s voice. React, for God sake! Breathe!”
Sam? Why was he worried too? And why did he have to breathe, wasn't he already dead?
Suddenly he felt the same pain he used to feel in Hell, when Alastair had fun torturing him, destroying his body and soul. That pain was caused by something, but what?
It soon became too much to bear and Dean had to scream, to insert air in his lungs to try and reduce the pain. The sensation of Hell disappeared very quickly and he found himself laying on his back, staring at Cas and Sam’s terrified faces.
He tried to get up but his body didn't want to, so he stayed down to breathe — thank God for air. Sam and Castiel didn't say anything, both tense for any reaction from Dean, and waited until it was him to react.
“C-Cas? Sammy?” He managed to say after a few minutes, “I thought you had abandoned me. I came here and saw nobody, neither your things, and I—” silent tears began streaming down Dean’s cheeks and he turned to try to hide his face.
“We would never abandon you, Dean.” Cas answered him, “And I’m sorry for causing you more pain with my touch, but I didn't know what more to do to make you come back to me. To us, I mean.”
“No problem.” Dean sat up slowly, with Sam’s help to avoid tearing up more stitches, and looked down, “I also perfectly know that you were out only for a few hours.” He sighed, “Could you help me to my bed?”
With care, Sam helped his brother standing — it was a lot easier now that he was lighter — and accompanied him to his room, Castiel following silently. He regretted touching Dean, the hunter wasn't strong enough and something so strong — he had touched him only for a moment — risked to worsen the situation and slow the healing. He already expected a negative reaction from Dean. However when they entered the room and Sam was cleaning Dean from the blood and changing the dressing, the hunter’s eyes didn't leave his. And in that gaze he didn't read hate for his action. He only saw love.
When Sam finished, Dean asked to be left alone with Castiel. He knew that what the angel had done, he’d done it with the best intentions, and he wanted him to know one way or another.
“Cas? You can sit next to me, you won’t hurt me.”
He saw the angel coming closer to the bed and sit, although leaving quite a distance between the two of them. Dean rolled his eyes and smiled gently, “You can come closer, you know?”
Castiel blushed and scooted closer. The two had only a few centimeters to divide them, but they both ached for a contact.
“Cas, listen. I can see from your face that you feel sorry for what you did. You had no choice, okay? It was thanks to you that I came back to reality. It was that pain, so different from what I was feeling, that made me realize I wasn't in danger anymore. I’m happy you did it and you have to know it hasn't diminished what I feel for you. It needed as a confirmation that my feelings are mutual and that I can always count on you for doing anything to save my life, and I’m grateful.”
Talking so much after what he had just been through made him really tired and the emphasis he put in his words made his stitches itch more. He put his head back on the pillow, keeping his eyes locked with Castiel’s.
“I have never doubted of your feelings for me, neither of mine. The only thing I’m worried about is your health, and knowing I’ve probably compromised it, causes me distress.”
“But I don't have any more wounds, see? Except for these damn itching stitches and the constant pain, I have nothing else.”
“It’s not a physical damage, Dean. It’s… something of the soul. Right now, it may not affect it, but if these contacts continue and you haven't fully recovered the damage to your soul would be unrepairable and I don't want to think about the consequences.”
“Consequences? What would happen to me?”
Castiel didn't reply, he looked at his hands and shook his head.
“Cas please tell me, what the fuck would happen to me?” Dean’s voice raised and the hunter, realizing he was breathing heavily, tried to control himself and breathe slower. Then it hit him. Could it be? No, it can’t be true. The more Dean thought about it though, the more plausible the possibility was.
“I’d turn into a demon, right?”
The angel only nodded, without raising his head, and he stood from the bed.
“We will talk about it later, Dean. Now think about sleeping and relaxing. Don't worry about anything else.” Castiel turned off the light and left, leaving the hunter alone with his thoughts.
Clearly Dean couldn’t sleep, how could he? He just had the first of the many panic attacks, the person he loved the most barely talked to him and he just discovered there was the risk of him turning into a demon. What a fantastic first day of freedom. Usually people celebrated, spent all their time with the loved ones, but he wasn't so lucky. His brother and the angel wanted him to constantly sleep — not that he wasn't tired — as though they didn't want him around; he had his first panic attack and knew others would come in the future. How could he manage through all of this?
For Sammy and Cas. He kept repeating it like a mantra, convincing himself to get better because he cared too much about those two to just leave them. But hadn't he already done it? Hadn't he already left them?
Deep in his thoughts, Dean didn't really sleep that night, just a few naps. He couldn't wait to get out of that room and start a normal life again.
The following days went by slowly and they were quickly in a precise routine: Cas woke him up around 9am, rich breakfast, Sammy changed his bandages, Sammy did research, rich lunch, nap, rich dinner, chat or film, Cas accompanied to his room and stayed there the whole night. The perfect day. Not another attack and he surely wasn't looking for it.
However near the end of the week, he and Cas were making lunch. And it was after taking all the ingredients for sandwiches that things deteriorated. Castiel took a knife to cut the tomatoes, hiding it from Dean to avoid disturbing him for no reason. It was obvious that Dean would see it one way or another.
He got closer to Cas to grab a jar on the counter, and saw the angel with knife in his hand, a peaceful expression and red slices of tomato everywhere. He dropped the jar and it shattered on the floor; Castiel turned at the noise and saw those green eyes wide open and staring the utensil he had in his hand and his face. Realizing immediately what was happening, he threw the knife in the sink and tried to get Dean’s attention without touching him.
“Hey, it’s all right. It’s gone now. I’m going to prepare things with my Grace, if needed. I promise nothing will ever hurt you, Dean.”
Like a light switch turning on, Dean blinked and looked at Castiel, completely lost. He opened his mouth a few times, looking for words, and after a few tries he spoke.
“They tortured me using your image, they knew this would break me. The fake-you told me he didn't love me, that he was happy to finally be able to hurt me without anyone to stop him and that he was glad that my responsibilities towards me were finished to he could finally kill me.” His words so hushed, even Cas struggled to hear. “At first I knew you would never do that to me, that those black eyes weren't yours, but after a while I was sure of nothing. And the pain was too much to bear, so I asked you to kill me and end it all; you laughed and cut deeper. I fainted; you left me there in a pool of my blood and then I was healed.”
Dean closed his eyes and turned his head to try and hide the tears streaming freely down his cheeks. This one was Cas, his Cas, he wouldn't do anything to him and he knew it.
Because his Castiel looked at him lovingly, didn't laugh at him and did everything he could to help him. This Castiel loved him unconditionally and Dean held on to that love not to drown. Most importantly, his angel’s eyes were blue and he could get lost for hours in that gaze. That’s what brought him back so quickly this time.
“Dean, look at me.”
Castiel’s voice was commanding, intimidating, and Dean complied. “I’ve never really hurt you; I threatened you several times of killing you or sending you back to Hell, but deep down we both knew I’d never do it. Now I wouldn't even think of it. I will always protect you, we share a profound bond, soul and Grace, and this kind of bonds are very hard to break. One of the part should be destroyed and deleted from the universe for that to happen, and I’ll never let anyone near you.”
Dean had stopped crying and nodded to Castiel’s words. It was all over now and he didn't have to worry about anything but healing.
After another fortnight all his wounds were healed, but ugly scars were scattered on his whole body. The worst ones were the sigils, one on his chest and one on his right shoulder, opposite Castiel’s handprint on the left.
Seeing everyday the newly-healed scars left from the torture, made Dean’s stomach revolt and, even if he didn't want to admit it, Sam’s too. It was hard for him to see the condition his brother was in; however Dean had gained a good part of the weight he had lost, so there was one positive thing.
Dean didn't want to see them anymore, so on an afternoon he asked Cas if he could remove them for good and he agreed, knowing how difficult it was for Dean, basing on the pain the angel felt just looking at them.
Things were too good though.
“Dean, we may have a problem.”
“What kind?”
“I removed the knife scars from all of your body, but I cant do the same with the sigils. How were they made?” Castiel asked, his voice raising for the concern toward the end.
“Just like the others… I think… Why?”
Cas remained silent moving his gaze from Dean’s chest, where the sigil which injured his soul was, and his shoulder, where there was the sigil which aimed for the person the soul was bonded to. After a few minutes he looked in Dean’s eyes. “They’re not like the other cuts. They used Grace, to make it last through time. They didn't thought we would find a cure though.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “How could I not realize before?”
“Grace? You mean I have Grace inside me?” Dean was unwilling to believe the news. How could they not realize it? Whose Grace was used? Of course! The angel’s. It was still alive… What if they…?
“Cas, it’s possible to find angels using their Grace if one has a bit of it, right?”
“Yes, of course. Why?”
“We have to extract the one I have inside me to locate the angel who was keeping me and kill it.”
Silence. Cas was looking at Dean with wide eyes, hoping he misheard and Dean hadn't really said that.
“Yeah, I mean, you can extract Grace; I’ve seen it in a video of the Men of Letters where they did it on a boy who was a vessel for a few months. There are tools in the archives.”
“You can’t be serious, Dean. You have no idea of the risk you’re taking.”
“What risk?”
Sam entered the room at that point. You could see a big question mark on his face when he realized the angel and his brother were at the beginning of a fight. “What risk?” He repeated, raising his voice.
“Your brother wants the Grace he still has in his body to be removed, to be able to find the angel and kill it.”
“You’re joking, right Dean? You can’t be serious. After all that happened!”
“I’ve never been more serious, Sammy. If we have a chance to find that thing, this is the one.” Dean stood up form the chair he was sitting on, “Don’t you think I know what happened? I was tortured for months. I felt my skin being opened repeatedly, the blood covering everything. I was tortured by copies of the two of you — the people I love the most — and they convinced me you had abandoned me. The one I’m in love with can’t even touch me or my soul can break and I become a demon, and you have the balls to ask me if I’m serious?”
Dean knew he had raised his voice too much, it was a cruel thing to say, but he had no strength left to continue the argument; he left the library and went to his bedroom, slamming the door shut and locking it. It may seem a useless action considering that Castiel could easily break the door, but they could at least understand that they weren't welcome in the room.
He fell on the bed and brought his hands on his face, trying to calm down.
He had to go out and apologize to his brother and his angel, but something held him. He didn't know what, but it didn't make him leave the room for the entire evening. He wasn't hungry after all.
After having counted all the stains on the ceiling, he suddenly sat up, remembering something. Months before he had hidden a bottle of whiskey under the floor beneath his bed and he wondered if it still was there. He hadn't drunk in a long time, especially because Castiel controlled every move he made, so he would have loved to taste alcohol and the burn down the throat again. He got off the bed and moved it slowly to reveal his hiding place; he lifted the board and found the still sealed bottle.
“Bingo!”
After moving the bed back to where it was, Dean sat and removed the cap from the bottle, starting to drink the amber liquor as if it were water. It wasn't the wisest thing to do, and while he drank it felt like he had a fire down his throat. He regretted it and decided to continue drinking slower until he fell asleep, which happened after ten minutes.
He didn't know Castiel was outside the door and knew what was happening.
After the fight regarding Dean’s health, the two men and the angel didn't talk about extracting the Grace to locate the fugitive again. Sure thing, finding it was one of their priorities — finding the demon was also important — but they still didn't know how to find it.
Until one day when Castiel disappeared for three days straight saying he had ‘things in Heaven to solve’. And on the third day Dean felt a sudden pang in the chest for just a second.
Cas returned in the bunker a few moments later, saying they didn't have to worry about the angel nor the demon anymore, because he took care of them. Dean tried to ask him how he found them but the angel didn't want to reply. He only said that the pang he felt, was the Grace being destroyed.
What Castiel wanted to talk about was the urge Dean had to pick up the bottle like he had all these years, instead of continuing an argument. This time Dean didn't answer and, after two days without talking, they decided to leave the matter behind.
Two and a half months ago, Dean had come back home to the most important people in his life. He survived, he and Castiel finally gained the courage to reveal their feelings — even though they knew it down deep — and soon he would be able to hold his angel again.
He had almost completely recovered and they had to wait the following week for the full moon to perform the ritual to call off the sigil effect.
The morning of the fixed day for the ritual, Dean left the bathroom after his shower and lingered to look at his body in the mirror. Fortunately his bones weren't showing anymore, even if he had lost most of his muscles, and his skin had a healthier aspect and color. Only the two sigils disfigured him.
He didn't see Castiel entering the bedroom but it didn't matter to him anymore, he didn't care about his angel seeing him naked.
“You could knock sometimes, you know?” He told him with a smile.
Cas only got closer to him with the same smile on his face. Dean absentmindedly traced his fingers on the marks on his chest and frowned, wondering if those would stay even after calling their effect off.
As if reading his mind, Cas answered quietly, “I’m not sure, but I’m afraid so. This kind of wounds never disappear, I know something about them.” He was referring to years before, when he carved in his skin the angel banishing symbol.
“Will you love me even with these scars?”
“If possible, I’ll love you even more.”