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“D’you remember what it was like, before all this?” Balthazar asks, his lips brushing the top of Castiel’s hair.
Cas raises his head from Balthazar’s chest. “I remember the fighting—the arguments. Father was so mad, so, so mad—“ Castiel’s fingers tightened their grip in Balthazar’s grey shirt. Balthazar tuts Cas and strokes along his back until the grip on his shirt relaxes.
“I remember,” Balthazar begins with a light chuckle, “I remember after the first battle how you looked. My God—and I say that in the slangiest way—you were a disaster! D’you remember that?”
Cas sits up and kneels next to Balthazar’s reclining body. “I remember I was gravely injured,” Cas says in that stoic voice of his. “It took me a very long time to heal.”
Balthazar reaches up and pushes a stray piece of dark hair off of Castiel’s forehead. “Your wings,” he says in a small voice, “they were almost beyond repair. But I wouldn’t let that happen to you.”
A small, strange smile crosses Castiel’s face. “I remember you pleading with Father to do something. When he couldn’t, you took me into your rooms and tried everything you could to fix them.”
“Are the stitches still there?” Balthazar asks, a curious hand sliding down Castiel’s shoulder to feel the protrusion of his brother’s wings. “I remember seeing the humans use needles and thread to literally sew each other up! I remember thinking, ‘Now if that can work for them, then it will sure work for you!’ And it did work.”
Cas picks up one of Balthazar’s hands, running his fingers over the calloused palm. “Your hands… they were so sore after that day. Your weapons were heavy then you had to come home and sew me up.” He raises the hand and presses a soft kiss the center of his palm.
“It was all worth it,” Balthazar says with a smirk before pulling Castiel down to him.
“Everything alright?”
Castiel jumps at Dean’s gruff voice. “Yes, I’m fine. Why do you ask?”
Dean raises an eyebrow. “No reason. You just looked a little spacey there for a minute.”
“I was thinking about Balthazar,” Cas says in a quiet voice. “When we were in Heaven, he was my—“ my what? My lover? My best friend? My own blood. “—he was my closest companion through the wars.”
Dean gives him a heavy and awkward, albeit reassuring pat on the shoulder. “We all miss him, Cas. He was different, I’ll give him that. I know what it’s like to lose a brother.” With that, he eyes Sam warily. Cas follows Dean’s eyes across the room to where Sam is submerged in research.
He should feel compassion and thank Dean for his feelings. Underneath what he should feel, there is only one true thought.
You’ll never know a loss like mine.