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“He wasn’t thinking,” Sam says, running a shaky hand through his hair and staring wide-eyed at Cas, barely conscious in Dean’s arms.
Dean grits his teeth and doesn’t bother correcting his brother: Cas knew exactly what he was doing blocking Dean from that demon’s angel blade. For so long his purpose as an angel had been to protect the Winchester brothers - and apparently, that purpose hadn’t changed with his fall.
“Get the damn car,” he growls at his brother. Sam nods, exhaling roughly, and takes off at a jog.
Cas’s eyelids are fluttering. His skin is alarmingly pale. It’s all too human for someone who looks so close to heaven.
“You’re a goddamn idiot,” Dean says, and is only half surprised to hear his voice break. “You already lost your wings for me - gonna die for me too, asshole?”
Cas snorts in derision - or coughs; Dean squeezes his eyes shut.
“We’re gonna get you to a hospital, bud,” he whispers, holding his jacket to the wound in Cas’s abdomen. It seems to have stopped bleeding, but God, he’s so damn pale.
He starts babbling as he watches Cas’s face furrow in pain. “And when you’re discharged, you’re having as many burgers as you want. And pork rinds. Pickles. I dunno. Whatever you want.”
Someone sobs - Cas? Or was it Dean himself?
The next words come from Cas’s lips, rough and pained - “Just - stay,” he manages. He even attempts a smile. “With me.”
Dean nods frantically; he feels tears gathering at the seam of his mouth where his lips are pressed tightly together. He takes a steadying breath and tells Cas, “Forever, Cas. Wherever. I’ll be there.”
Cas releases a breath, nodding once.
The Impala rumbles outside of the warehouse, and Dean cries openly when Sam comes in with a paramedic.
Surgery lasts several hours, and by the end of it, Dean’s sure he’s paced about 500 miles around the waiting room.
When they’re finally allowed to see Cas, Dean’s eyes are red-rimmed in exhaustion - but the lack of sleep is worth it to see Cas breathing steadily, to hear the steady beeping of his human heart through the monitor.
And when Cas wakes up hours - days? years? forever? - later, Dean is there to press his forehead to Cas’s warm hand, which had lain still for so long next to his body, and blink relieved tears into the scratchy hospital blanket.
“You’re here,” Cas mumbles drowsily, his voice pleased.
Dean nods against the skin of Cas’s hand, not bearing to look at Cas’s face just yet. He kisses Cas’s hand instead, silently promising to give him a proper one later. “And I’m staying,” he says.