#krushnicc

He drops his grip, pulling his hands back as though he’s been burnt. The weight of the body he’s been holding slumps down to the floor and to one side, emptily.

A few dazed blinks, and Cas’ eyes are his own once more. No more pain, no more hunger. He breathes out, a shaky sigh, and looks down.

The world falls still.

“No,” he hears himself say, distantly.

His hand rises to cover his mouth.

“No, no, no, no…”

The body on the floor doesn’t move. Cas stares down at it, hearing the saw of his own breathing, the thud of his heart. He drops to his knees, stretches out a hand. The shoulder under his palm feels all wrong, too weak and too loose under his touch.

He pushes against it, turning the body face-up.

Dean’s eyes are still open. His face has lost all of its tension, all of its fear. When Cas brushes the backs of his trembling fingers over Dean’s cheek, the skin is still warm.

There is no sound. The Earth does not shake. There is sunlight coming through the window, and it pours over Dean’s body like a blanket, trying to hold the warmth inside him. Shroud him in sunshine, Cas thinks, numbly. The shadows are not for him.

“Dean?” he whispers. He knows he will not be heard, and yet Dean has returned to him so many times, in so many ways, that he cannot help but hope… “Dean? No, no, no, Dean, I – Dean. Please, no…” The sobs start suddenly, violently, wrenching out through his betrayer’s body. He has no right, he knows, but he can’t help but reach down and gather Dean up, hold him tightly, press that beloved whitening face against the heat of his own neck.

“What have I done?” he asks, the words choked. “What have I done?” He cradles Dean’s head, fingers buried in his soft hair. “No, no… Dean…”

The name itself rings hollow, a bell tolling in a deserted city.

Cas doesn’t move for several hours. When he does, he lifts the weight of Dean’s body with him. It isn’t right to carry him like a child; it would be worse to leave him lying there, alone.

*

Far away, in another time, in a softer space, Dean opens his eyes.

At first, all he can see is white. Colour and feeling return to him slowly, like a gentle kiss upon his brow.

He’s lying on grass. He can hear the swish and sigh of water nearby. Above him, the sky is clear and blue.

His clothes feel light and loose, his body eased, somehow. The tense knot in his left shoulder has unwound; the pain in his side where a rib healed badly is no more. He blinks, slowly, and sits up to look around.

He’s lying on a riverbank, next to a wooden jetty. He can see fishing equipment, laid out neat and ready. Turning, a few hundred metres away, he can see his car parked up.

The sun is warm on his face.

Dean frowns. Is this some kind of dream? He knows this place, from another vision, long ago. Has a djinn taken him? Should he be trying to escape?

Dean turns back to the wooden jetty, and draws in a quick breath.

Standing on the jetty, watching Dean with an expression of pure – love, there is no other way to describe it – is Castiel.

Dean’s first thought is, I don’t care if this is a djinn dream. I’m staying.

He rises to his feet, a little shaky but still strong. The boards of the jetty creak beneath him, sighing out little greetings, welcoming his weight. Cas has his hands tucked into the pockets of his trench coat, the old one, the one Dean saw him in first. His blue tie is slightly askew. When he’s close enough, Dean reaches out both hands and fixes it, knuckles brushing against the heat of Cas’ neck.

Only then does he look up into Cas’ eyes.

And it’s real, he knows it at once. It’s not a dream. It can’t be. No dream could ever be as good as this.

They stare at each other for a second, and another, and another. It comes back to Dean in fragments. Cas losing control. Dean having to choose between killing Cas, or letting himself be killed. Dean feeling hands around his throat, so tight. Dean letting go…

I’m sorry, say the tears down Cas’ cheeks. I’m so, so sorry…

It’s alright, says Dean’s hands on Cas’ face, Dean’s thumbs stroking away the tears. I forgive you.

He drops his hands, wraps one of them around the back of his neck, suddenly shy.

“Hey, Cas,” he says, out loud.

Cas smiles, eyes shining. Heaven looks good on him, Dean thinks. Maybe he could stay a while.