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Dean hears them when they slip through the door. The footsteps are loud on the hospital linoleum, nothing like the nurses who have been in and out all day long. He tenses, body prepared to fight. For what it’s worth, anyway, even though every and any movement makes his limbs feel like they’re on fire.
The steps come closer, loud in the eerie silence of night. Dean waits, somehow more nervous than he has any right to be.
He figures it’s some monster, something that’s been trailing him. Maybe they’ve come for revenge.
Slowly, he reaches for the stash of salt he’s been collecting. Better to be prepared with a shitty something rather than nothing. For a moment, he wishes that he had his knife or his gun.
Or Sam. But Sam’s gone—gone after their last fight, gone after their dad in a fit of anger.
He’s alone now. Like he’s always been.
A thousand different scenarios run through Dean’s head, but he certainly does not expect what happens next. A hand slipping into his hair to card through it, the movement gentle. Slow. Then the barest brush of knuckles along his jaw. A soothing gesture.
Dean’s breath hitches, suddenly overwhelmed.
God. It feels—it feels nice.
He has to stop himself from melting into the touch, trying hard to stay focused.
You stay focused or you die, Dean. His dad’s voice echoes in his head. Dean wants to laugh. Some tough fucking luck it is, getting his ass landed in the hospital. About to die.
The monster gets sloppy though, leaning in. And that’s when Dean knows he’s got them. He reaches out, bringing the monster—just a man, he notices with shock—down to his level.
“How’d you get in here?” he spits out, hands pressed against the monster’s pulse point, trying to hide the trembling in his hands. He’s so tired. “I may be dying, but I ain’t dead yet. So the way I see it, you’ve got two choices. Wanna bet what those two choices are?”
Dean’s heart pounds, but he doesn’t look away. Yet the more he looks, the more he’s unsettled. He’s never seen a monster look like this before, never met one with a gaze so gentle.
He’s definitely never met one with eyes this blue.
What he doesn’t expect at all, however, is what comes out of the monster’s mouth.
“Hello, Dean.”
Hello, Dean? The words are so jarring that Dean’s grip slacks a little, allowing the monster to step back. To get away. Dean curses himself for being so careless.
“How the fuck do you know my name?” Dean asks, damning the fact that his voice wavers.
The monster tilts his head, gaze now a piercing thing. Dean shifts again, uncomfortable with how he seems to see through him. He’s about to bite back with another threat, but the monster smiles, more warm than Dean would ever expect.
“I’ve known you for a long time, Dean. From the time I raised you from perdition, I have always been by your side. As you have been mine.”
Dean tries to ignore the way that those words tug at his heart. “Bullshit. Nobody’s ever been there like that for me.”
“Good things do happen, Dean,” the monster admonishes gently, a sad look in his eyes. “But you’re going to have to trust me on that.”
Dean scoffs, falling back on his pillow and looking in a different direction. All his limbs feel like they’ve been lit on fire. The fight leaves him. “On second thought, go ahead.” He gestures to his neck. “‘M half dead anyway.”
Closing his eyes is the hardest thing he’s done; he’s always walked head first into deadly situations. Doing this feels like giving up, but if it’s between a shitty two more months and this—well, he’s long past the point of shame.
But the monster surprises him yet again. He grasps Dean’s chin, tilting it so Dean has to look at him. It’s tender. So unlike any touch that Dean has received.
A shaky exhale leaves Dean.
Slowly, the monster moves his hand so he’s cradling Dean’s cheek. And despite it all—despite it all —Dean can’t help but lean into it.
“Oh, Dean,” the monster sighs. “You have no faith.” There’s a disappointed sort of tone in the monster’s voice, like he’s had to say these exact words more than once. Enough that it’s become sad. But he still continues, whispering, “That’s okay. I’ll have enough faith for the both of us.”
Using his other hand, the monster brushes Dean’s hair back from his forehead.
It takes everything Dean has not to shudder. Nobody has carded their fingers through his hair before. He wants so badly to stay like this for as long as he can, even if it’s only for a brief moment. Even if he’s going to die.
The next thing that happens is even more confusing.
Dean inhales sharply as a warm, gentle light starts to emanate from the monster’s hands. It grows and grows, filling the room until the only thing Dean can see is the sharp blue of the monster’s eyes.
That gaze is a lighthouse in a storm, especially when Dean feels like he might split open. He clutches at one of the monster’s wrists.
Closes his eyes.
God, if this is the way he goes, then at least he’s not going to die bathed in his own blood. He’s fine with that. Air fills his lungs. And for the first time since he tasered himself going after that rawhead, he doesn’t hurt at all.
Dean opens his eyes. Alive. He’s met with that soft gaze of the monster whose hands are still cradling his face.
“Who are you?” Dean rasps out, incredulous. “What are you?”
The monster smiles sadly. “My name is Cas. And I’m an angel of the lord.”
“Right,” Dean draws out the word sarcastically. “Did you think you could trick me because I’m alone?” Saying the words hurt more than he expected them to. Alone. “Angels don’t exist. ”
“You said the same thing the first time we met too.”
Dean wrinkles his nose. “Buddy, this is the first time I’ve met you. Now, are you going to kill me or what?”
“I would have hoped that display would have convinced you otherwise.” Cas admonishes him. “Everything I’ve done since I’ve met you has been trying to keep you safe. I’m not about to go back on that now.”
“Yeah? But you won’t heal me.” Dean can feel it, that ache. It’s persistent, still there under the lightness he feels right now.
Cas runs one thumb under Dean’s eye, sighing at the dark bags from lack of sleep. The movement makes Dean flinch back and Cas drops his hands like they’ve been burned. A sorrowful look crosses the angel’s face.
“I wish I could. My powers—they were damaged.”
Another quiet scoff escapes Dean. “Sure. Just another thing in a long line of disappointments. Figures.”
“Do you not trust me, Dean Winchester? Do I look like a fool to you?” The monster’s—Cas’—voice turns sharp, another thread of disappointment evident. “Does our bond mean nothing?”
They stare at each other. An impasse. Dean can’t breathe, fixated on Cas’ blue, blue eyes, never looking away.
He can’t look away.
Because the truth is that Cas hasn’t hurt him, hasn’t left him. His touch is gentle, so unlike anyone else. So unlike anything Dean has had before. So if this monster—this angel—is asking Dean to trust him, Dean wants to. Badly.
“Do you trust me, Dean?” Cas repeats softly.
And the thing is, foolishly, Dean does.
“Yeah, Cas,” Dean whispers, his voice raw. “Yeah, I trust you.”
“Then let me watch over you.”
It’s the last thing Dean remembers before he falls back asleep, exhausted and finally not in pain.
-
The thing about pain, though, is that it always comes back. Dean knows this intimately.
Doesn’t mean it hurts any less.
When Dean wakes up next—shooting upwards in a fit of desperate inhales—it’s almost like he’s had a shock. His heart skips and every part of him is concentrated on whether it’s normal or not.
You idiot, he thinks, nothing about this is normal. You’re dying, for fuck’s sake.
It takes a moment of heavy breathing and clenched sheets for him to notice something different.
A hand carding through his hair again, another covering his hand. The warmth feels good, feels human in a way that Dean doesn’t right now.
A comforting feeling washes over him before dissipating and Dean’s left staring at Cas. The angel’s eyes are soft, bluer than the ocean.
Kind.
Dean thinks about all the times when that hasn’t been the case.
“All better?”
There’s just enough strength left in Dean to nod. He’s so tired. So tired. He just wants to stop being tired.
“Why won’t it stop?” Dean whispers, his voice breaking on the last syllable. “Why won’t it stop hurting? ”
Cas sits down on the edge of the bed, gently tugging Dean forward into his arms. Maybe it’s the touch that makes Dean break or something else, but it strips Dean raw.
Leaves him shaking.
A sob bursts out of him, tears trailing down his cheeks. Dean brings his hands up to clutch at the rough fabric of Cas’ shirt, almost tearing it straight through by force.
He doesn’t notice the words Cas is saying at first, too caught up in gasping to really pay attention.
But as he comes to focus on the little details happening around him—not so caught up in the pain for a brief, brief moment—Dean can feel Cas’ hand rubbing large circles on his back. Hear the low, soothing rumble of words in his chest.
“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas says over and over again. “It’ll be okay.”
“But it’s not,” Dean croaks out. His voice is half desperate and half resigned. “It won’t be. You can’t even do anything.”
Cas would love to be able to tell Dean otherwise. But it would be a lie.
So he stays quiet, hands drifting up and down Dean’s back as a poor consolation. A silence drifts over them even as Dean subsides in crying.
And they stay that way—Dean in Cas’ arms—until Dean’s breathing evens out, soft exhales against Cas’ neck. The angel runs his hand up into the short hairs at Dean’s nape. It makes Dean shiver, vulnerable yet again.
He can’t stop thinking how easy it’d be for Cas to kill him. How the angel hasn’t so far.
Maybe some future version of himself really did trust him, believing him when so many others have let Dean down.
Dean thinks about how good it feels to have somebody hold him, matching every breath. God, this feels right. And Dean doesn’t ever want to let that go. Not even when Cas makes a move to pull back, sit back down on the bedside chair.
“Please,” Dean gasps out, hand clutching Cas’ shirt sleeve, “please stay. Don’t leave.”
“Okay, okay. I won’t,” Cas replies, his voice low and soothing. “I promise I won’t. For as long as I can.”
Cas shifts his weight then, tugging the blankets aside to tuck both himself and Dean in before settling them both down on the bed. It’s almost like it was meant to be—the way that Cas fits around him, arms caging him in.
Protecting him.
Dean rests his forehead against the broad expanse of Cas’ chest, caught up in the moment. He can feel the way that Cas keeps rubbing his back, timing the movements with each inhale and exhale. The weight of Cas’ hand grounds him, keeps Dean in his body. A sigh leaves Dean, suddenly both exhausted and content. It always aches like this after the adrenaline leaves him.
He’s just never had anybody to prop him up after.
Moments pass, one after another. The clock seems about the only sound in the room until Dean moves closer—one ear seeking out the steady thrum of Cas’ heartbeat.
It’s soothing, this lull. Funny that it only happens when Dean’s dying.
As loath as Dean is to break the silence, he wants Cas’ voice more. That smooth, deep rumble. If he tries hard enough, Dean bets that it could soothe him to sleep.
His fingers curl against the fabric of Cas’ shirt, fiddling with the button. For a minute, he feels almost shy. Something about this is more intimate than most things he’s experienced—them just lying here. There’s no expectations to be anyone; Dean’s just Dean.
Maybe that’s what it is, why he feels more at ease with a verifiable stranger than most people.
“You’re not from here, are you?” Dean whispers, the words barely coming out.
Cas doesn’t answer, but the silence speaks for him.
“Not this time, at least. You keep saying ‘when I go back’ and ‘as long as I can’.”
“I was dealing with an artifact. Careless, I suppose, to be handling it the way I was. But it drew me back in time. To you.” Cas doesn’t sound the least bit apologetic about it. “I’m not sure when it will pull me back, but I am grateful for the time it has given me. To make sure you’re safe.”
Safe. Dean almost laughs, it’s such a foreign concept. Strangely, strangely he does feel safe with Cas. But he keeps catching on one thing. From the time I raised you from perdition.
He pauses. Then, “I die in the future, don’t I?”
Cas seems to freeze—his breathing, the motion of his hands. With a heavy release, he sighs. “I don’t think you want the answer to that question.”
But that’s all Dean needs. It feels like a thousand bricks weighing him down, knowing this. He laughs once in disbelief. God, what did he expect? Dean knows hunters don’t live long.
“Guess I know what I’m worth now. Not a damn thing,” he says to himself. Of course he isn’t. He can’t even keep himself alive to make a difference.
Cas draws back, an incomprehensible look on his face. Full of sadness. Dean shuts his eyes, unable to bear looking at Cas, at the disappointment on his face.
“Oh, Dean,” Cas whispers. “You are worth everything.”
When there’s no response, just a small shake of Dean’s head, Cas presses on. “Everything, Dean. From the moment I saw you, your soul burned brightest. It always has. It guided me here, when I could have landed anywhere in time.”
Dean’s shoulders shake with a restrained sob, his hands clutching the hem of Cas’ shirt.
“I wish you could see how beautiful you are. How deserving.” Cas’ words linger in the room. They feel so heavy, unbelievable. “Look at me, beloved. You said you trust me. Trust me on this.”
It’s a plea, one Dean can’t deny. Looking at Cas, though, makes his stomach drop and his throat close up. He doesn’t—he doesn’t want Cas to go.
“But you’re going to leave,” Dean gets out, gritting his teeth, “you’re going to leave and I’m still going to be here. Why are you leaving when I need you?”
Everybody has left him. Everybody. Even when they said they wouldn’t. Dean doesn’t want another broken promise, he wants someone to stay. He wants Cas to stay. Cas, who’s kind to him. Some part of him knows it’s pitiful, but he can’t help it.
“Please,” he begs.
“I wish,” Cas sighs, drawing closer to Dean. Gently, he presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “I wish I could. But I will be there, eventually. And I won’t leave. Not ever. You won't be alone. I will always come back to you.”
“Promise?” Dean asks, voice cracking. He buries his face in Cas’ shoulder, unable to bear the wave of emotion currently washing over him.
Cas nods, a brief moment that Dean can only feel. The angel presses another kiss to Dean’s temple. “Always.”
-
Dean doesn’t hear Cas leave. Rather, the flash of light and rolling over into the empty space where the angel used to be makes Dean realize what just happened. He clenches his jaw, holding back tears. Yet, a slow breath in and out reveals he's somehow been healed. One last parting gift, it seems.
He tries to hold onto Cas’ always, but it’s hard. Sometimes it slips away.
It isn’t until four years later that he finally understands what Cas meant. Dean doesn’t expect it to be in a dilapidated barn, gripping the demon knife so hard it leaves his hands bloody and raw. But when he sees who it is, he breathes out a singular Cas?
And Cas tilts his head, repeating the same thing he said all those years ago. “Hello, Dean.”