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Dean wasn't used to feeling like this. The one to care for Cas, to wipe the blood and gore from his wings. He couldn't find it in him to study them like how he'd wanted for months, to revel in an angel's wings. Not when they were practically shredded, ripped apart by a leviathan.
Shhk shhk
The black, iridescent feathers, falling out in clumps and leaving bare skin. The wings were practically as big as the room, sprawling off of the bed and ending up curled on the floor.
Fuck, what a pain it was, trying to maneuver those bastards...
Dean dipped the rag back into the bowl of water, watching it turn a darker shade of pink. It had gone from hot to barely lukewarm.
Movement. Cas's eyes blinked open, his face blank, almost confused, even through the intense pain he was certainly feeling. "Dean...?"
"I'm here."
"Where...?"
"Motel, a few cities over."
"Oh." He slumped down further into the bed, not even a wince as Dean continued touching his broken feathers.
"How're you feeling? That thing really messed you up."
"I'm fine."
"You sure?"
"Yes."
Dean wasn't convinced, but didn't push him. He continued his work.
The wings stayed, but he wasn't sure if Cas was just too exhausted to hide them from his gaze or not. It wasn't like he knew much about angel culture, but he knew wings were sacred. Each feather was full of power. A manifestation of grace.
Seeing the dead ones, lying on the floor without their colorful sheen, was...wrong.
"I think I was scared," Cas said suddenly.
"Scared?"
"Yes."
Dean paused. "Wanna talk about it?"
Talking feelings with an angel, of all things, was out of his expertise. Though, it was what he would've done if it had been Sam.
"I don't know. Yes."
"Well, everyone gets scared."
"Not me."
"Even you."
"No." Cas spoke firmly, though Dean could sense the lingering tension in his body. His breathing was just slightly too fast. "When I was...in heaven, fear was unknown. But now, I'm no longer there. Not a proper angel."
"Like hell you aren't. You're better than any other."
"Not in the ways that matter. I'm powerless. If you had died, Dean, I wouldn't be able to bring you back."
So that's what this is about. Why Cas jumped in front of that leviathan, why he was so on edge. A reminder of mortality.
"Oh."
Somehow, it struck a nerve within Dean. He was, no matter how hard he tried, simply mortal. The only reason he and Sam had made it this far, was because some divine beings had gotten bored. Playthings. That's what they were.
"You know you don't have to keep saving me, Cas."
"What?"
"I'm not worth all that." The hand holding the rag clenched.
Cas sat up.
"Woah, hey, dude-"
"Dean, I gave everything for you." His face was still blank, even through the pain he was undoubtedly enduring. "My family, home, life."
"I...I know."
He slumped back into the bed, sweat beading on his forehead. "You're worth enough..."
"I just-" he paused. Again. It was true, how much Cas had given. For what? Dean? Why? He repeated his words again, dumbly, "I'm not worth it."
"Worth. You have a beautiful soul, Dean."
"I what?"
"Soul. In hell, I saw it. Like sunlight. All your happiest memories. Sam's laughter."
Dean didn't know how to respond.
"I think that's worth something."
"You can't...I was in hell. You know what I did there."
"I know." Cas said, quietly. "We do not choose who cares for us, Dean."
"When did you get so wise, oh great one?" He laughed it off, as best as he could.
"You are insufferable."
"I know. I know."