#canon!verse

A demon stood tall, blade in hand. Crimson liquid dripped slowly off of the tip of the blade to splash upon the ground. Though it was impossible, Dean would swear that he heard the impact of every drop. A sick, twisted grin spread across the demon’s face as they looked down. 

Castiel staggered backward, hands clutching at his stomach. Already, a dark stain spread across his shirt. Horrified, Dean could only watch as Cas dropped down to one knee, before he finally collapsed to the ground. 

Dean’s still not sure the exact sequence of events. He knows that he charged forward, a pained shout erupting from his throat. He knows that there’s a dead demon. He knows that his fumbling fingers managed to find his phone and call Sam, leaving bloody smears on the screen. 

And he knows that Cas is dying. 

“You stupid son of a bitch, why the hell did you do that?” He won’t cry, not here and not now, but he wants to. Cas moans lowly in pained protest as Dean drags him into his lap. He ignores the sticky warmth leaking into his jeans from the ragged wound in Cas’ stomach the same that he ignores Cas’ eyes squinting shut in agony. He’ll deal with those later, push through those nightmares when Cas isn’t gasping for air right in front of him. Dean lays his hand on Cas’ neck, fingers pressing down on his pulse point. It’s thready and rabbit-fast. 

“You have to ask?” 

“Dammit Cas.” Dean bends down low over Cas’ body, as if he could shield him from the rest of the world. Too little, too late. He’d screwed up and now Cas was paying the price, like always. “You know that I’m not worth it. You know it.” 

“Dean.” Cas’ mouth moves like he wanted to say more, but all that comes out is a dribble of blood, leaking from the corner of his mouth. His hands grasp at Dean, but his grip is so weak that it slides off without ever making an impression. “Dean,” Cas manages to say, breathing in deep and forcing the single syllable of his name out with extreme effort. “I, I--”

“Don’t you say it,” Dean hisses, pressing down hard on Cas’ stomach. The sound of Cas’ agonized cry is enough to twist a knife in his heart, and the feel of warm blood gushing over his hand makes him sick to his stomach, but at least it forces Cas to stop talking. 

“You’re not fucking dying on me,” Dean almost snarls, voice wobbling towards the end. “You hear me, Castiel? Not yet.” 

Cas’ eyes close. He doesn’t respond.

---

Dean watches the skip and jump of the heart monitor and listens to the steady beats. Like a metronome, it counts the beats of Cas’ heart. Each rise and fall, each electronic beep soothes Dean’s rough edges, as it acts as a reminder. Cas is still here. He didn’t lose him. 

Twenty-two stitches. That’s what it had taken to save him. That and some very good surgeons, some impossible luck, and a series of driving maneuvers delivered by one Sam Winchester. Dean would doubt that his brother was capable of such driving, if he hadn’t been in the back seat with him for the full duration.

They’d cut the margin of error so thinly that it was translucent. Minutes, the doctors had said, with the vague whiff of suspicion that came from bringing in a stabbing victim. If traffic had been heavier or if Sam hadn’t been driving quite so fast and furious on the Fury Road...Well, Dean would have another corpse on his hands to burn. Again. 

Dean’s attention is caught by a low groan coming from the direction of the bed. Within seconds, he’s at Cas’ bedside so that he can see the exact moment that Cas’ eyes flutter open. 

He’d been so angry earlier. Furious, that once again, Castiel saw fit to throw himself to the wolves, all for Dean’s sake. He’d been ready to give Cas an earful when he finally woke up (once they discovered that he was going to wake up).  But seeing the hazy, pained look in Cas’ eyes vanish to be replaced with a slow, pleased smile erases all thoughts of rage from Dean’s brain. All it leaves him with is sweet, clear relief. 

“Hey sleeping beauty.” Dean cards his fingers through Cas’ hair, as tentatively as though Cas were made of porcelain. “How are you feeling?” 

Cas pauses to consider. “Numb,” he finally rasps. He glances to the side, where the IV stand drips down into various tubes connected to his body. “I assume that there’s a large amount of medication responsible for that?” 

“Yeah, you’re getting the good stuff,” Dean says. He can’t stop touching Cas’ hair. It’s a little gross--Other than a few quick sponge-baths from the nurses, Cas hasn’t bathed and his hair has taken the brunt of that. It’s a little greasy, but Dean couldn’t care less about that. Not when Cas smiles up at him through a grizzled beard. 

“Don’t be angry,” Castiel says. His fingers wrap weakly around Dean’s wrist. “I know that you’re probably furious with me.” 

“Damn right I am. How many times do I have to tell you, I ain’t worth--”

“Stop.” Cas squeezes his wrist. His grip is pathetic enough that it forces Dean into silence more than if Cas had managed his usual bone-bruising force. “Nothing you say will ever convince me that you’re not worth saving. Nothing,” Cas says, as severe as his voice will allow. He strokes over the soft skin of Dean’s wrist. His eyes look at something faraway only he can see. “I sometimes think that I was created in order to keep you safe. Please don’t deny me that.” 

And what can you say to that? 

Dean lifts Cas’ knuckles to his face, brushing a gentle kiss over them. “Way to make a guy feel guilty, asshole.” 

Cas smiles wanly. “Whatever it takes.” His voice turns thin and ragged around the edges. Dean knows that it’s not going to be long before he slips back into sleep. 

“But you have to try and stay around.” Dean takes in a deep breath. The words sit on his tongue, ready to taste freedom. “It’s not fair to make me go through this without you. I love you, dumbass, and if you go off and get yourself killed just because you were trying to save me then I’m going to be really pissed at you.” 

They haven’t said it. They’ve kissed, they’ve fucked, hell sometimes they’ve even done what Sam would probably call making love. They live together and they’ve died for the other. But they’ve never said the words. Dean had been convinced that he never would. Cas knew. That was enough for him. Everything else was window dressing. 

But there in the backseat, with Cas’ limp and bleeding body pressed against him, forced to listen to Cas’ pained wheezes, and his hand pressed against Cas’ stomach trying to keep Cas’ blood inside, Dean had been overcome by only thought. 

Cas is going to die and I never told him. 

The thought that Cas could die without knowing exactly how much he’s adored has kept Dean awake for several nights. 

Cas’ eyes are wide as his fingers clench reflexively around Dean’s wrist. “Dean,” he finally gets out. He blinks quickly, obviously fighting against impending sleep. “Dean, I--”

“Yeah. I know.” Dean brushes Cas’ hair off of his forehead and leans down to press a kiss against the clammy skin. “Go to sleep.”

“You’ll be here? When I wake up?” Cas’ voice is already slurred, sleep wrapping around him and tugging him deep into oblivion. 

Dean settles onto the edge of Cas’ bed, unwilling to release his hold on Cas until he absolutely has to. Cas murmurs happily, nonsense words that trail off into silence. 

Dean runs his finger down Cas’ cheek, bristly and unshaven. It’s warm to the touch. When he pulls away, Cas almost follows after him, squirming in his sleep until Dean takes his hand in his and laces their fingers together. Only then does Cas subside into peace. 

“Yeah Cas,” Dean says, despite the fact that Cas can’t appreciate his words. “Yeah, I’ll be here.

The bitter coffee and cold air ease Dean’s mind a little. He’s standing by the car, sheltered from the rain by the roof, looking at cars passing by. He startles when Castiel’s hand lands on his shoulder.

"Dean," he says softly. "Please, talk to me. I know something’s bothering you."

Dean shakes his head and takes a sip of his coffee.

"Is it about yesterday?"

Dean’s heart skips a beat. He forces himself to look at Cas. He has this puzzled look he always has when he encounters human behavior he doesn’t understand. Dean scoffs.

"I don’t want to talk about it." He turns away. Castiel grabs his shoulder again, not so gently this time. He makes Dean turn to him.

"But I do. Dean, you can be angry at me all you want but at least explain what I did wrong."

"I told you I’m not-" Dean rises his voice but gets his temper under control. "I’m not angry I’m just-" he huffs and shakes his head looking down at his coffee.

"When people kiss, it usually means something to them. I mean, not always, sometimes it’s just fun, but often it... it means  something."

He can feel Castiel’s eyes on him. "The kiss meant something to you," Castiel says slowly.

Dean grunts and runs his hand through his hair. He already wishes this conversation never happened.

"And you think it didn’t mean anything to me," Cas adds.

"Well, I don’t blame you. You’re an angel. I don’t expect you to-"

"Dean."

Dean looks up when he hears the urgency in Castiel’s voice. He meets Cas’ eyes and his heart pics up its pace.

"You’re wrong," Cas starts. He’s in Dean’s personal space but Dean doesn’t have it in him to step back. "It meant a lot to me."

Dean’s lips part but no words come up. He wants to protest, wants to cut Cas off, afraid that he’s going to say something Dean doesn’t want to hear. At the same time, he’s desperate to hear him say something.

"I didn’t talk to you about the kiss because I know you don’t like to talk about feelings. I wanted to give you time. "

Dean laughs mirthlessly and covers his face with his palms. He feels stupid and giddy at the same time.

Castiel’s fingers wrap gently around his wrists and pull his hands away. There’s a soft smile on his lips.

"The kiss meant that you might be finally ready to reciprocate my feelings for you," Cas says.

Dean’s brain short-circuits. Castiel’s feelings for him. Castiel has feelings for him. And he was just waiting for Dean to reciprocate them.

"Was I wrong?" Cas asks when Dean doesn’t reply.

"No," Dean breathes out. "I mean. You have feelings for me?" He’s shaking, feeling almost as weak as he did yesterday after the witch’s attack.

Castiel’s smile grows bigger. "I love you, Dean. Have loved you for a while."

Dean feels like he might black out. He’s glad Castiel is holding his hands.

"But you’re an angel."

"Yes. My love is different from human love. I would be happy loving you with my whole being without you acknowledging it or without it ever being manifested physically."

Dean frowns.

Castiel lets go of his wrists and instead cups his cheeks with both his hands. Dean holds his breath.

"But I will be very happy if that doesn’t have to be the case," Cas almost whispers.

“There were problems,” Dean settles for saying. And because Sam can never leave anything alone, he immediately asks, “What kind of problems?” Dean rakes his fingers through his hair. He can’t handle this right now; not when Cas is still unresponsive. “I don’t...Just problems Sam. Jesus.” His head hurts. His whole body hurts, but he concentrates on his head. Concentrating on anything else would be too much at the moment. Cas had looked so goddamn happy in that kitchen. Dean hadn’t really known that Cas could smile like that, wide and gummy, eyes sparkling. He hadn’t known that when he’s truly happy, Cas’ whole body relaxes into a grin, like even his goddamned elbows are in on the joke. He hadn’t known that that kind of joy could find a place on Cas’ face. His thoughts are interrupted by Jack’s bright cry of “Cas!” Dean’s eyes fly to Cas’ bed. The angel in question sits up slowly, eyes flicking around the room, never settling on any one place for longer than a few seconds. Finally, he meets Dean’s eyes. Dean’s heart has just enough time to hammer at the confines of his ribs, before Cas’ eyes slide away. Jack’s grin could dim the sun as he reaches out to Cas, no doubt to assess the levels of damage. All four of them--Dean, Sam, Eileen, and Jack--freeze when Cas flinches away from Jack’s touch. “Dean?” Jack calls, eyes darting nervously to him. Dean tries to put on a good face for Jack, but the look he gets from Cas sends a bolt of foreboding through his body. It settles, hard and mean, in the pit of his belly. Something’s not right. He can taste it in the air. Cas sits up and looks around the room like he’s never seen it before. Something is wrong. “Cas?” Sam must realize it too; he’s using the soft voice that he always uses with victims and their families. “You alright Cas? You back with us?” For one, eternal second, the world hangs on Castiel’s answer. Then, with a final sigh, Cas delivers the death blow. “I don’t know.” He locks eyes with Dean, speaking directly to him. “I’ve never met any of you before in my life.”