#assbutt-hurt

When he finally sees the bunker a few hundred feet forwards, one sob rips past his lips. His legs had been ready to give out days ago, but he’d forced them to keep moving. He’s almost there now, and even if the brothers refuse to welcome him back, he doesn’t think they’d deny him just a few minutes of rest inside, maybe a glass of water. He knows he’s thirsty.

He raises an arm to knock on the door, and his knuckles rap against the surface three times. As he lets his arm fall back to his side, his body sways slightly. He wills it to stop, but it isn’t listening to him, and there are stars and black mixing in his peripheral vision and he suddenly knows he is not going to be able to remain upright. He begins to fall forwards, just as the door is opening, and he more or less slams into a wall of something just a little bigger than him. It’s not the door, he knows that, but his eyes are closed and it feels so good to finally let them stay that way that he doesn’t want to open them again. Maybe he won’t ever. He’ll just sleep for the rest of eternity, or until he dies.

What the thing is, it has arms and they’re wrapped hesitantly around him.

“Cas?”

Castiel recognizes the voice immediately and it surprised he hadn’t realized who it was sooner, but he doesn’t respond because it would take too much energy to use his voice or move his head or an arm or anything, really.

“Cas, what—son of a bitch. Cas, you with me?”

Castiel makes a sound in his throat, not sure what he wants it to mean.

He feels himself sinking before suddenly he’s hefted up, an arm around his back and another behind his knees.

“It’s been almost a week, Cas, have you eaten anything?”

Castiel mumbles something he intends to sound like “Lebanon” and he feels Dean’s grip tighten ever so slightly.

“You crazy son of a bitch.”

“Dean?” His voice sounds hoarse to his ears. “Metatron lied. You were right…heaven…he took my grace. Naomi—“

“Shh. Stop talking, you sound terrible.” Dean lays him down on something soft and Castiel forces himself to open his eyes. He faintly recognizes the room as Dean’s. He’s only seen it one other time, but he remembers through the haze of humanity enough to feel confident it’s the same place.

“I’m gonna get you some water. Don’t go bailing on—shit. Nevermind. Just stay put for a minute.”

Castiel rasps out, “Sam?” before Dean leaves again.

Dean’s jaw clenches and suddenly he can’t look at Cas. His eyes look glossy, but maybe it’s just Castiel’s. “He’s not okay. We’ll talk about it later.”

Castiel closes his eyes again and manages to wiggle one arm out of his trench coat, then the other, and cover himself with the blanket before it hits him.

Later.

Dean had said they’d talk about it later. He wasn’t going to make Cas leave.