#end!verse

Rolling his eyes at the darkening sky, Dean counts to ten, then takes another step toward Cas.

The black eye is very distracting.

"You should put ice on that."

"I don't like feeling cold."

"Well, tough," Dean grumbles, scowling at the offending shade, physically restraining himself from going to fetch an icepack for him.

With just a tired sigh, Cas turns back to his writing, seeming to dismiss Dean until Dean is more willing to state his purpose. And that sucks for multiple reasons, chief among them being that Dean has no idea what he's doing there at all.

"Is there nothing you'd like to say?"

"What? You expect me to apologize?"

Glancing over his shoulder again, Castiel evaluates him, then decides, "no. You're not sorry. Why would you be?"

Scoffing, Dean throws his arms out and accuses, "you had it coming!"

"You punched me in the face."

"You tried to kiss me!"

"There's an operative word in there," Castiel replies, turning back to his writing, "if all you came here to do is tell me I deserve my suffering, I assure you, I don't require assistance."

For a few beats, Dean just stands there, useless, furling and unfurling his fists at his hips, floundering.

"I'm not good at this, Cas. I dunno what the fuck to do here."

"Okay."

"Don't give me that 'okay,' shit - you can be a real passive aggressive bitch sometimes, you know that?"

"Dean, I'm not interested in making you do anything," Castiel says to his scribblings, "I don't know why you're here, I am getting the distinct impression that you don't know why you're here either, and there's nothing I can do about that. You say you don't know what to do here, and I don't know what you're trying to do here, so I cannot help. I tell you it's okay because there is a throbbing on the side of my face reminding me that you don't have the emotional bandwidth available for things between us to be anything other than okay, and it's something I can afford you."

"The world is falling apart around you, you're tired, I'm tired too, and I can't do what I once..."

He trails off, lets his pen go loose in his hold, sighs again, hangs his head and mutters, "I'm not what I once was. You don't know how devastating that is for me. For you, it's an inconvenience. For me, it's... loss as I've never known. But I can't ask you to carry any part of that, as a friend or otherwise, and one thing I can do for you is turn the other cheek."

He half-looks over his shoulder, not really peeking over, but giving the impression of looking; it's very defeated.

"This is me turning the other cheek. I wanted to kiss you, you punched me, I've gone to lick my wounds in privacy which you've broken unannounced, and you want me to know you're not sorry, and that I deserve this. I hear you. I understand. It's okay, because that's all I have left to give you."

Dean feels ill again.

"Stop giving me shit - stop giving me passes, Cas. I fuckin' hit you."

"You did," Cas admits, shrugging, fully facing away from Dean, "That cannot be changed."

"Yeah, and you want me to be sorry."

"Do I wish you felt regret for causing me bodily harm? Obviously, Dean."

"Yeah, well, I don't!" Dean shouts too loud, his hands shake at his sides, his eyes feel hot, "and I'm not gonna - I'm not changing, okay? I'm not - I wasn't - I've never - and I won't. Okay? I won't."

"Okay, Dean."

"No, fuck you!" Dean argues, stomping closer to Cas' hunched form, "Don't do that!"

"What do you want me to do?"

"Get up, and tell me to go fuck myself!" Dean shouts, gesticulating wildly, "have a fuckin' spine! Face me, and tell me to wise up, or -"

"Or, what, Dean?" Castiel asks, standing and turning in an uncurling, graceful motion he's had the others learning in yoga, "you expect I'll leave you?"

Jaw locking up, Dean scowls dangerously at Cas, and growls out, "it's what I'd do."

"I won't leave you," Castiel vows, not for the first time; his eyes scan Dean's face, memories in his eyes, "I do not stay with you because I expect you to change, Dean. I stay with you because of precisely who you are - not for what you might be. I'm sorry if that unsettles you."

Pushing his chest, Dean shoves him and follows after, putting them much too close.

"Tell me to go fuck myself! I hurt you, Cas! I hurt you, and that's - it's fucked up! It's fucked up that I did that!"

"I agree," Castiel tells him, serene as anything, "I forgive you."

"I'm not -"

A broad, calloused hand wraps around Dean's wrist; he glances down at where Cas' thumb pushes at the smooth skin of his forearm, then glares into Cas' eyes.

Cas' other hand reaches up, nicotine-stained fingertips coming to brush delicately at Dean's face; he swats at the hand, postures like he's going to strike again, but Cas doesn't flinch.

After a brief struggle, Cas just takes that hand in his too.

"Stop it," Dean commands, a quiver in his voice as Cas steps closer.

He gets up so close, their noses nearly touch, and Dean flinches in Cas' hold, but Cas still has that preternatural strength of something not-quite-all-human, and has Dean well in hand.

"Is it so terrible? To be loved so tirelessly?"

Heart skipping a beat, Dean's eyes flash across Cas', flickering back and forth; his auditory processing isn't always great, it sometimes lags, and he thinks that if he gives them a few moments of silence, his brain will catch up to what was just said in a way that makes more sense, but then that doesn't happen.

"Don't say that."

"So many rules," Cas observes, like he's pondering again why humans prefer personal space.

"Let me go," he says, and doesn't resist.

"Is it so bad?" Castiel asks again, gaze soft and sorry, "I wouldn't know."

That takes the fight out of Dean; 'I wouldn't know what it is to be loved, can you describe it?' - it's a roundhouse kick that lands directly in Dean's solar plexus and promises to bruise for months.

"No," Dean mutters, eyes hot and vision cloudy, "don't - fuck, Cas - don't say that."

"What am I allowed to say?"

When Dean weakly tries to pull away again, Cas' hold gets tighter, he tilts his head, breathes in Dean's breath out, and asks, "what are you so frightened of?"

"Fuck you."

Squinting his eyes, Castiel looks at him, looks through him the way he always has, and Dean's praying to a God he doesn't believe in that Cas can't do that psychic shit anymore now that he's lost his wings - he has to believe he's got some privacy left at the end of the world.

It doesn't matter, though.

Cas knows him, has known him since the start, and just like they're standing back in time, back in the dark of that old barn, Castiel cocks his head and says carefully, "loss. You fear that voicing desire means marking someone for death. That if you allow yourself to feel loved, and to want, that inevitably, this too will be taken from you."

"It's easier not to hope, after a time, isn't it?" Castiel asks him, like he's not just flayed him, "you are a strong man, powerful, and fearsome, but not a harbinger of destruction, Dean. In fact, I think you're a brilliant engineer, better than my Father, even."

Dean's eyes round out, and Cas watches that happen with fascination.

He mutters, as though it's inconsequential, "you build invisible things. Homes, families, love. You don't destroy. You only create in the wake of destruction. Sometimes... I sometimes wonder if I was real at all before I met you."

That snaps the last hold in Dean, and he rips his hands away, grabs at Cas' shoulders, walks him hurriedly backwards, and throws him down into the grass.

Cas blinks up at him, wondering, and then Dean is on his knees, straddling Cas, cupping his face and kissing him like it's an insult, like he hopes there's venom in it that will kill his best friend.

Rough hands pet his flanks, his chest, his neck, and he's groaning or crying - he's one long, exposed nerve, and Cas kisses him like he's got all the time in the world.

"Stop it," Dean huffs out, biting at Cas' bottom lip, "I'm not any'uh that, Cas, I'm not - I hurt you. That's what I do. That's who I am."

"You're wrong, my friend," Castiel assures him, leaning up to kiss him better, to lick into his mouth and moan against him.

"I'm sorry," Dean manages tearfully, hands trembling around Cas' bruised and cut face, "I'm sorry, I -"

“And I ain’t delivering that baby”, he snorts. “I can’t be the fucking thing pulling him out into this.” Dean’s bloodied hands can’t be the first thing that touches the little miracle that is a new life, an addition instead of a loss. “Not sure it should be you, either, but you’re still the better option.” Cas laughs softly, the air ghosting over Dean’s cheek like a caress. Dean’s been avoiding looking directly at his because carrying him like this puts their faces a little too close together, but he glances down at his incapacitated soldier anyway and bites his lip. Cas smiles at him, calm and amused despite the obvious pain he’s in. Dean ducks down behind a couple of crashed cars, careful to not bump Cas’s injured ankle into anything. The cars are all marked with a little black X on the windshield, letting them know that camp Chitaqua has already gotten their hands on the contents of their tanks. “If you survive this”, Dean adds. “Maybe this is what takes you out. You know, croats verus a broken ankle. I know who I’d put my money on.”

“Mmm, you still have faith in me”, Cas says wistfully. Dean lets it slide. There was a time when he wouldn’t, but he’s tired, and Cas’s heavy weight in his arms and his warm fingers interlocked behind his neck, casual but intimate, makes him want for this to be a day where he actually likes Cas. “What makes you think I know how deliver a baby, by the way?” 

Dean thinks the coast is clear. He hopes. It’s hard to tell since his vision ahead is obstructed, but they’ll just have to hope the street is clear. With a grunt, he stands up, changing his grip. They’re lucky Cas didn’t take to eating after falling, surviving on the few kinds of canned food he can stand and substituting the rest with weed and pills. That, and the fact that Dean got stronger. He continues to keep Cas close as he half-jogs across the street, ducking behind the long-abandoned barber shop on the corner. “Don’t say it’s because I used to be an angel”, Cas says, carrying on their argument as if it’s just another day in Dean’s cabin, him sprawled out on the couch and Dean at the table, meticulously cleaning his rifle. Not that they have many of those, anymore. Afternoons, that is. 

“Because you used to be an angel”, Dean confirms, avoiding his face again. “Wasn’t that in your job description?” 

“I was a soldier”, Cas repeats cooly, for what must be the millionth time since the world begun to end. “Not a midwife.”

“Well, you should consider a career change. You’re a shitty soldier”, Dean counters, hugging Cas closer, and taking them further down the main street. It’s a long stretch with no cover and Dean is surprised that the first thought he has is If we don’t make it, at least we’ll die together. He doesn’t know how that is supposed to help, but if they’re attacked and he dies now Cas will definitely die, too. Dean’s seen first hand what an injury can do in this world, especially when you’re out in the croat zones like this. It’s as sure a death sentence as a croat bite. And if Cas dies... well, nothing changes except Dean’s gonna be carrying his dead body out of this city, with only one pair of eyes and hands that can shoot a gun. It’ll lower his chances of survival somewhat. He might die. Dying at the same time is the least inconvenient option. 

Of course, the best option would be to survive. 

Cas tilts his head until his forehead rests against Dean’s neck. The lack of response to his comment unsettles him, so he presses on. “Jumping from the second floor like that? What the hell were you thinking?” He knows Cas sees through his distraction tactic, but it was a little bit comforting having him play along. 

Cas nuzzles closer, and Dean hates that he can’t fend him off. He wants to put distance between his body and Cas’s, but the only way to do that is to let him go and that never was and never will be an option. “Stop it”, he warns. Cas doesn’t listen. His long hair tickles Dean’s collarbone, his heartbeat thumps steadily against Dean’s chest. 

“I was thinking”, Cas says dryly, “that you needed me.” 

I don’t. That’s the bitter truth, ain’t it? Dean knows in his heart he’ll be able to lose Cas and still go on to kill Lucifer. It will really fucking suck and probably mess him up six ways from Sunday, but there was a time when he thought he couldn’t survive losing Sam, and now look at him. Loss twists him, but he doesn’t break. He carries that knowledge like a curse.

Cas knows it too. Cas knows Dean better than anyone ever will. He knows that he’s pretty much the one thing keeping Dean sane at all, but above all, he knows that Dean will go on, with or without him. 

“I had it under control”, Dean says. It was a newly turned one, and a kid; Dean put a bullet between its eyes before Cas had even landed. (And landed he did.)

“You didn’t see the second one”, Cas says quietly, and his voice sounds strained, suddenly. “Fuck, fuck, Dean, stop-- we need to stop.” 

They can’t stop. There’s two more of these long stretches of open street before they can zig-zag their way through back alleys and reach the hole in the fence that surrounds the city center. Then it’s another twenty minutes until the car. Dean picks up the pace and jogs towards the next corner, feeling how Cas’s breathing turns heavy. Cas lets out an impressively long string of expletives against Dean’s shoulder. 

“Talk to me”, Dean hisses. “What’s wrong?” 

“The fucking shoe-- off, fuck, you have to take it off”, Cas grits out. They reach the next corner and Dean makes sure they’re in the clear before setting Cas down on the damp asphalt, out of sight from the main street. He works quickly, using his pocket knife to cut through the muddy laces. With practiced ease he coaxes the boot off the swollen foot, gently rolling down the sock to check the injury. Well, there’s no bone sticking out, so there’s that. He puts his fingers over the bruises and they’re hot to the touch; Cas punches his shoulder, hard. “Fuck you!” 

It’s like taking a cat to the vet, Chuck had said when Cas got a splinter in the heel that wouldn’t get out no matter what they did. Cas had kicked Dean flat in the chest so hard he toppled over when it was his turn to try. 

“Jesus christ”, Dean snaps. “Do you want to be left behind?” 

Cas doesn’t answer. He breathes heavily, staring straight ahead unseeingly. 

“Hey”, Dean says, snapping his fingers in front of Cas’s face. “You with me?”

“I’m fine”, he says through gritted teeth. Dean puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“Two more blocks, yeah? The fence is not far from here. You can do that, right? You got your fucking pill bottles in the car, don’t you?” Cas nods, a flicker of relief in his eyes. It hits Dean that it’s been weeks, if not months, since they spent this much time together, uninterrupted; they’re both regularly on patrol but usually not together. Never just the two of them. And they’ve been busy... Cas keeping more and more to himself. Well, him and his little fan club. Dean tries to remember when the splinter thing happened; that was months ago. He really cannot make sense of time these days. He gives Cas’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, before adjusting the shotguns and bag on his back; getting ready to scoop Cas up again. “You gonna punch me again?” 

“Can’t make any promises.” Cas laces his fingers together behind Dean’s neck again, putting his cheek carefully on his shoulder he hit. It feels a little bruised. He taught Cas well. Cas doesn’t apologize; instead, he goes back to resting in Dean’s arms like he feels safe there. It makes Dean want to do stupid things, call him stupid things. Words too gentle for this world and the state they’re in these days. 

By some miracle, they don’t encounter any more croatoans. They don’t run into other people, either. They are well and truly alone. Dean’s arms are shaking with the effort of carrying a full grown person, but he clenches his jaws and pushes on because it is the only thing he can do. Once they’ve left the quarantine zone, Dean puts him down again, but he stays close. Cas smells like sweat and weed and a lot like those scented candles he loves to light. Dean has forbidden everyone in the camp to supply him with them. It’s proven pointless since Cas himself is an excellent scavenger. Dean’s realizes that he’s staring and Cas gives him a coy smile, as always reading him with annoying accuracy.

“Hi”, he says, leaning in a little. “I’ve missed you.” Dean swallows, trying to ignore the knot in his chest. They still live in the same camp, they see each other every day; but that’s not what Cas means.

“Mm. Yeah.” He does something completely out of line: presses a kiss to Cas’s forehead, catching long, unruly tests of black hair under his lips. Cas one-ups him by fisting a hand into his jacket, pulling him in for a real kiss and they don’t... it’s always a mistake, doing this, but Cas is still alive - they both are - and his mouth is hot and wet. 

“We need to move”, Dean rasps after four, five, six presses of Cas lips against his and Cas’s tongue shamelessly coaxing for his. 

“You should let me do this first”, Cas mumbles, wrapping his arms around Dean’s shoulders again and kissing him with abandon. Dean is weak who gives in. Cas keeps pulling them backwards, until he’s half lying on his back in the weeds with Dean hovering over him. Cas kisses him thoroughly, unhurriedly, and Dean lets him. “I like you like this”, he states when they have to come up for air, a small smile playing on his lips. 

“I’m never like this.” Dean hovers over Cas, taking in the blue eyes and the soft, ruffled hair, the parted, wet lips. Nothing is non-negotiable in this world, but Cas comes the closest. Going on without Cas would be close to the end for him. Maybe it really would be the end. Maybe Earth would come to a halt, after all. “I know.” Dean initiates the next kiss. He pauses, after a while, to ask if Cas’s foot is okay; Cas replies that he’s got other priorities right now. If he thought Cas would listen, he would order him to stop kissing back. Then again, that would mean no more tender hands cupping his face, a gentler touch than he’s felt in God knows how long. Dean’s bed ain’t exactly cold, either, but those touches don’t even come close to what Cas can and will offer. If he could stop time, he’d do it now, and here. But he can’t. And they have work to do.

He presses a final kiss to Cas’s stubbly jaw before pulling him up to standing and Cas leans on him heavily. Dean drapes Cas’s right arm over his shoulders and together they start hobbling towards the jeep, the drugs, the camp, the mission.

“Do we at least have books on childbirth?” Dean asks, and Cas laughs long and hard. As the leader of the camp he should probably know this, he should know how to deliver a baby and run a camp and save the fucking world, but he leans on Cas. And he knows that the Earth could give up and gravity could leave; nothing could really keep them from leaning on each other.