In the Dark

Genre: slash, angst
Ship/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam
Summary: Dean shakes off a close call too easily. Castiel is disturbed at how little Dean values his own life.
Notes: Set sometime late season 4/season 5-ish (not related to any particular arc)

In the Dark

The sound started abruptly, sharp against the nighttime stillness, rumbling vibrations carried through the air and the ground. Castiel turned, eyes scanning across the misty sky already reflecting the harsh blood red of fire. There was no doubt that the explosion had been well within the search area the Winchesters had claimed. With a thought, Castiel disappeared and reappeared beside an abandoned warehouse already engulfed in flames. He slowly pivoted, searching for one or both of the brothers, but the street was devoid of life.

He looked into the fire instead, blocking out the ominous sounds of tinder-dry wood snapping somewhere above him. All he could perceive were flames and shadows of old pallets and shelving giving way before the flames.

"Dean!" Sam's voice and the sound of heavy footfalls were only just discernible above the noise of the fire. Seconds later, Sam himself rounded the corner, barrelling full-tilt toward the fire. He skidded to a stop next to Castiel, but kept looking past him. "Where's Dean?"

Castiel was still reaching out and trying to sense Dean's thoughts - he should be able to feel Dean's fear or pain or concern for his brother - but the desperate panic coming from Sam was now overwhelming everything else. If there was anything to sense. He looked at Sam mutely, unable to give voice to his fears.

"No, no, no, no," the hunter moaned. "I gotta find him. Dean!" Sam launched himself toward the building, and it was all Castiel could do to grab him before he got too close to the flames. The heat where they stood was already at the limits of human tolerance; any closer would be suicide. Sam let his momentum wheel him around, and smashed his free fist into Castiel's cheek, trying to shake his other arm loose. His words came in panicked gulps. "Let go. We split up... last two warehouses... he took this one. We gotta get him, Cas, before he... before..." Sam's face crumpled as he looked at the flames. He looked back to Castiel, eyes wide and pleading and defeated.

Castiel pulled Sam into a tight embrace, as much for comfort as to make sure he didn't make another suicidal run into the fire. He looked over Sam's shoulder as another small explosion shook the building. It was too late; it must have been too late as soon as Dean had triggered whatever trap it was he had walked into. Still, he continued to search for Dean as best he could, hoping for another Winchester miracle. He tried to direct enough self-contained grace away from the wall of grief and guilt and fear that was Sam's emotional state - and away from the slow shattering within himself he was just beginning to recognize - but he couldn't focus.

One thought kept echoing in his mind:

Dean Winchester was dead.

Castiel had failed Dean, failed Sam, and failed himself in the worst way possible.

He felt a weight pulling at him. Sam had abruptly stopped fighting him and was sinking to the ground, his breath coming in heavy rasps. He followed Sam down, pulled along by Sam's hands fisted in his coat.

He looked at the younger Winchester, left here alone and grieving. That was unacceptable. Sam's safety and happiness had always been the most important thing to Dean. In that light, it had now become Castiel's top priority: to protect Sam. It was the last thing he could do for Dean.

He pushed back his own heartache. For now, he would be strong for Sam. He had the rest of eternity to feel his grief.

The sound of sirens carried faintly across the night, and Cas pulled back just a bit. Sam's eyes were open, unfocused and still fixed on the fire, and he was pale beneath a thin layer of soot that had already settled on their skin. He hadn't heard the approaching vehicles; he didn't seem to be aware of much of anything.

"Sam, we have to leave," Castiel said firmly, shifting and pulling at him. Sam shook his head,refusing to look away from the warehouse. "Yes, we have to go before others arrive." He could not predict what Sam might do or say to anyone at this point, and there was no good reason to stay. The vamp nest they had been hunting had surely moved before they had arrived that evening, leaving only an explosive trap as a parting gift.

"God damn it," Sam barked suddenly, getting to his feet. The sirens were nearer, and he was obviously hearing them now. He grabbed Castiel's arm and helped him up. With one last look at the fire, Sam tugged on Castiel's arm, his expression bleak but resolute. "Let's go."

They rounded the corner, skirting the length of the warehouse to head back to the car. From here, they could see that the damage was worst at the front; the structure was much more stable at the back. They were just about to turn away from the warehouse and down an alley when Castiel heard a faint noise. He paused. Sam took two more steps, then stopped when he realized Cas wasn't right behind him.

Red and white light strobed down the street from around the corner; the fire trucks were nearing the front of the building. Castiel shook off Sam's impatient urging and pushed him a little farther from the fire. "Stay here," he ordered. "I need to check something."

He started toward the building, looking back once to make sure that Sam was indeed staying. He had stepped back into the shadows and was watching Castiel worriedly.

Another sound had Castiel hurrying forward, just around the corner of the least damaged section of the building. There, a few feet from an open door, was Dean, lying face down and unmoving.

Castiel knelt next to him, sparing a quick glance toward the flames steadily moving through the building toward them. A frisson of pain threaded into Castiel's perception as Dean flirted with consciousness.

"Dean." Conscious or not, Dean could be lethal if he felt threatened, so Castiel announced his presence as he gently rolled him over and assessed his injuries. He hoped the familiar voice would be soothing to the hunter, as well. Dean had obviously been caught on the outskirts of the blast, suffered traumatic injuries to most of his internal organs, and some relatively superficial burns, all quickly healed as Castiel gently placed his palm against the chill of Dean's cheek.

"Wake up, Dean."

"Cas?" Dean mumbled, pushing halfway up on his elbows. "What the hell?"

His eyes opened and he groaned when he saw the flames behind Castiel. "Damn vampires." He twisted his head to look around. "Where's Sam?" he asked, pushing up to standing.

"Sam is waiting for us..."

"Dean!" Sam's voice floated over Cas' shoulder moments before he appeared to his immense frustration. Sam pulled Dean into a quick thank-god-you're-alive hug before noting that the fire trucks were right on top of them.

The three made their way quickly and silently back to the dark alley where they had parked the Impala. Dean slid behind the wheel with a cocky grin.

As they headed back to the motel, Sam kept sneaking relieved glances at Dean, with occasional grateful looks back to Cas, even though Cas had not revealed the extent of Dean's initial injuries. Where Dean usually found comfort in avoidance, Sam tended to focus too much on the what ifs and try to figure out what must have happened. It didn't take too much consideration to realize that Cas' intervention would have been necessary.

Finally, Dean had had enough. "Would you stop that? I feel like I'm in a zoo here!"

"Dean, man, we thought you were..." He glanced back at Castiel but jerked his head forward again before he could see any confirmation of his worst fears.

"Yeah, well, whatever. I'm not. Just let it go, man."

"Dean, that explosion... And I was..." Sam tried to explain, as Dean's fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

"The building blew up. I didn't. End of story, Sammy. You should try to be a little more like Mr. Cool back there. I'm here, or I'm not... either way, he's not gonna stress over it."

Castiel looked at Dean's profile sharply, trying to figure out if he was joking, but he looked quite serious as he continued speaking. "Can't let it all get to you. Oldest rule of hunting. You know that."

Castiel sat back unhappily and let Sam's incredulous bark of laughter speak for both of them. Did Dean really think that his death (even the idea of his death) had had no effect on him? Castiel found himself deeply disturbed by that, although he wasn't sure why.

The remainder of the ride passed with just the sounds of Dean's music, Sam having given up trying to convince his brother that his life was worth something, and Castiel lost in his own muddled thoughts about how he perceived that life. He disappeared quietly before they reached the motel, reasoning that Sam would be grateful for the time with his brother after the earlier events.

He didn't go anywhere specific; rather he let himself drift on the currents of humanity as he reflected on his feelings for Dean. Feelings that, as an angel, he should not be capable of experiencing. He had always been a little different from other angels, more easily swayed to the plight of humanity as a whole, and individual petitioners in particular. He wholly revered his Father's greatest creations. It was the reason, he assumed, that he was rarely given tasks such as this: to work with one human closely and for a prolonged time.

It had really just been luck (or fate, a traitorous voice whispered in his ear) that he had reached Dean first in Hell and bonded with him. Castiel loved all of humanity, but somehow his feelings for Dean had grown so far beyond that over the brief time they'd been acquainted. And yet it consistently confounded Castiel that Dean, for all that he meant to so many people, could never see his own importance. That he never understood that these people for whom he would do anything, felt the same way toward him.

Castiel floated among the tides of humanity for a time, losing himself in their love and joy and their fear and anger, until he felt the faintest tug against his grace from Dean. Not quite a prayer (demand) for Castiel's appearance, more a stray thought escaping Dean's tightly controlled psyche.

He focused himself back toward the motel, standing in the parking lot outside the brothers' room. The Impala sat in its space, and Dean was slumped against it, all the bravado that he automatically affected around his little brother gone. A beer bottle dangled at his side, fingers wrapped loosely around the neck. The motel room was dark behind him as were most of the others, the only sign of life the muted sounds of a room party a few doors down.

"Hey, Cas." Dean didn't look up when he arrived.

"Hello Dean."

Dean listlessly lifted the bottle to his mouth, huffed his disappointment when he found it empty, and finally looked up at Castiel.

"So, how bad was it? I know you did something, Cas. I know you healed me." Castiel inclined his head in acknowledgement. "So tell me, how bad was I?"

Castiel hesitated, unsure if Dean was seeking true answers here or comfort. "You were dying, Dean."

His jaw clenched for a moment, before he deliberately relaxed his muscles. "Yeah, well, thanks for that, I guess," he mumbled.

Castiel narrowed his eyes, irrationally angry as he peered into Dean's soul and saw the ever present discontent and self-doubt swirling muddily around. He took a step closer to Dean.

"You did both of us a great disservice with your earlier comment, Dean."

"Okay...?"

"When you pointed to my reaction as proof that your death would mean nothing. In truth, it would be an unbearable event."

Dean stared silently for a moment, shaking his head. "Cas, it's just ... I'm not ..."

"Yes, you are, Dean. I was not unmoved by your apparent death. I could not be unmoved by such an event. I am sorry that you misinterpreted my reaction; there were simply things that had to be taken care of first."

"Like what?"

"Sam. Your brother is your priority, therefore, should something happen to you, he would become my priority. To protect Sam, help him in whatever course he decided to pursue, try to keep him from making drastic mistakes. I would be there for him throughout his life, and when that was over, then I would be able..." Castiel trailed off with a frown, the thought of mourning Dean producing feelings of profound discomfort, even when he stood safe and whole right in front of him.

"So, it would be so traumatic," Dean drawled as he retreated into familiar sarcasm, "you would deal with it in, what, a couple of decades?"

Castiel glared at him, frustrated by his deliberate misinterpretation. "Dean, I have existed for millennia. The matter of a half-century or so is nothing to me."

Dean crossed his arms and glared at Cas. Castiel huffed out a sharp breath of displeasure and glared back. Obviously, he wasn't getting through to the very stubborn human.

"To lose you, Dean, would be catastrophic in a very real sense. I would not want to live without you. Once Sam was gone too, I do not know if I could. There is nothing left for me in Heaven, and I do not regret that because the bond that exists between us exceeds anything I have experienced before."

Dean's eyes snapped to Castiel's, shocked and wide. Then he shook himself slightly and took a deep breath. Before he could voice the inevitable protest, Castiel closed the space between them - "personal space" be damned - until he was close enough that he could almost taste the beer on Dean's breath.

"Do not ..." he began harshly, then gentled. "This is true, Dean. This is real." He laid his hand across Dean's heart, feeling the thudding reassurance of life. "I ask nothing of you other than you acknowledge your own worth, the necessity of you in my life, in Sam's life. How valuable you are to so many people."

Dean blinked. Though his mouth still a hard line, his eyes were soft, seeking. He swayed slowly toward Castiel, so slowly that it was almost imperceptible.

Castiel fought for unneeded breath, unsure what was happening. The only thing he know was that Dean hadn't scoffed, or pushed away, or made another deflecting joke. They were existing together, here in this space, and it sent an unfamiliar heat through Castiel's body.

Dean licked his lips, and Castiel was mesmerized by the way they glistened in the reflected neon light of the vacancy sign.

"Cas," Dean whispered.

They both started back, suddenly alert and defensive, as a door opened, and the background party noise rocketed to a raucous foreground. A couple exited and staggered past them, whispering loudly and laughing.

Castiel looked back to Dean, who was shuffling from foot to foot, his eyes still following the drunk couple.

"Dean."

"Yeah, Cas. Yeah, it's getting pretty late. Maybe I should try to get some sleep; what with almost dying and all." He gave a tight smile that was closer to a grimace and tapped the empty beer bottle against his thigh.

"But, really, you know, thank you, man."

"I will always do what I can, Dean," Cas replied, pushing back the confusing emotions surging forward at the sudden turn of events. "Just, please, think about what I said."

Dean's eyes flicked up to meet Castiel's for a moment, then away again just as quickly. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I'll think about it."

Dean retreated into his room. The light never turned on as he moved easily through the darkness.

And Castiel stood in the night, and he watched and he waited.

~end~