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"Dean, I can't." Castiel's breaths are sloppy. His lungs feel heavy, shredded. As tattered as his grace.
"Can't what?" There is blood smeared across Dean's cheek and running from a gash in his thigh. He's favoring his left side, but Castiel can't determine whether he's bleeding there. This is by far the worst battle they've fought. The nest of ghouls was a surprise; they were strong for being well fed—Purgatory is a feast for eaters of the dead—and hunting in numbers was to their advantage. They could even now be surrounded.
And of course there are the Leviathan. They dispatched the first wave of them who'd joined the fight with the ghouls, but more will come.
"You have to go, Dean. Now. Find the vampire. I'll remain here. They won't pursue you." Castiel collapses to the forest floor, hands and knees sinking into the damp mulch. He coughs and blood fills his mouth, spatters the leaves beneath him.
"Cas!" Dean's hands are on him in seconds, turning him over, sitting him down, searching for wounds. "Cas, talk to me, buddy."
"This is not a wound you can treat, Dean." He wipes blood from his mouth with his sleeve. "Please, you must go. We're still under attack."
"I don't know what you don't understand about 'not leaving you,'" Dean mutters, hands continuing their futile search.
Castiel stops Dean's hands and meets his eyes. "It's my grace, Dean." He prays it's explanation enough.
"Your—" Dean eyes go wide. "Oh." He drops heavily beside Cas. "How bad is it? Did one of 'em get your sword?"
The tree line remains clear of threat so far, but Castiel can hear the Leviathan gathering, seeking him.
"No, it's—"
But Dean's hands are on him again, peeling back his coat, lifting his shirt. This time he finds the gaping, glowing slice in Castiel's back, deep enough to penetrate his lung and his grace. Castiel winces.
"Shit. Cas, that's—" It's Dean's eyes doing the searching now, darting over Cas's face, hardly daring to meet his gaze. "I can't run."
Dean's non sequitur is not what Castiel was expecting. He cocks his head.
"My leg," Dean gestures to the bloody denim above his right knee. "I can't run. Losing too much blood, hurts like a bitch. I wouldn't get far enough away. They'd get me anyway."
And Castiel sees it now, the ashen color of Dean's skin, the tremor in his hands. He longs to heal him, to take away his pain.
"You did it with Bobby once, right?"
Castiel doesn't follow. "Did what?" He winces at a twinge of pain.
"Powered up. You used his soul to juice up to get Sam and me out of Frontierland."
"Dean, no," he protests but coughing overtakes him. The sight of the blood only spurs Dean's argument.
"A soul is power, isn't it? A little nuclear reactor? I remember Anna said it's pure creation. I don't know how pure mine'd be, but I bet I got enough to kick start you."
A screech breaks across the sky, black comet smashing into the soil not far from where they sit.
Dean shifts, pulling Castiel's attention back to him. "Cas! Do it. Just do it."
"I could kill you."
"If you don't do it, I'm dead anyway."
Panic hooks deep into Castiel's chest. It's true. He knows it's true. But he can't act. Can't risk killing the man he's fought so hard to protect. Dean has already sacrificed more than any mortal man should ever have been allowed to give, and this may be a gift freely given, but it's also Dean's soul.
Leviathan plummet to the earth around them, sinuous black shapes molding upward into bodies. They're circling.
Dean grabs Cas's hand, presses it to his chest. "Look at me, Cas! Look at me. We got one thing that can get us out of here. Take it, Cas. It's yours anyway."
Castiel chokes back a sob and sinks his hand into Dean's chest.
Dean's scream is unbearable.
Castiel flinches and presses his forehead to Dean's, silently begging forgiveness as he wills himself on.
The bright heat of Dean's soul curls around Castiel's fingertips, tender and familiar. It soaks into his skin, through his vessel's veins, rushing to restore the breech in his grace. He feels the wound gather and repair, feels the caress of its power like the brush of Dean's hand. It fills him, but he dare not take too much. He eases away, knowing his name is again inscribed in the depths of Dean's soul—an undeserved honor he selfishly cherishes.
When his hand reappears on Dean's undamaged chest, Castiel sags against him in relief. It's only then he realizes Dean isn't breathing.
Castiel has one spare second to plead Dean's name before a Leviathan is on them, jaws ready and tongue lashing. He grips its throat and shoves the fire of his grace—of Dean's soul—through its being, incinerating it from within. "Dean!" He shouts this time, but of course receives no response. There isn't time to heal him here. Castiel clenches Dean's battered jacket in his fist and transports them away.
"What in the— Dean?" Benny the vampire's drawl means Castiel has landed where he'd intended.
"Keep watch," Castiel snaps as he again lays hands on Dean. Guilt and anger rip through him. He was wrong to take from Dean while he was wounded, wrong to endanger Dean with his presence in the first place. "You will not die," Castiel commands as he forces Dean's heart to beat, his lungs to expand. "You will not."
Dean was meant to escape Purgatory. He was not meant to surrender his life for an unworthy angel. Castiel will not accept Dean's sacrifice for his salvation.
He leans back as Dean sucks in his first breath.
Dean pants, eyes raking the scene around him before latching onto Castiel. "What happened?"
"Brother, your angel friend just brought you back from the dead," the vampire explains. He is clearly relieved, though there is wary wonder in his glance at Castiel.
Castiel feels a tug at his sleeve and turns his attention back to Dean.
"It worked, didn't it?" Dean asks, self-satisfied.
And in that moment Castiel hates Dean Winchester as much as he loves him. He fixes Dean with his most severe glare. "You're an idiot."
Dean gives him a happy grimace. "Yeah, I'm glad I'm alive too. Thanks, Cas."
– end –