Cas had finally, mercifully passed out, and Dean wished he could join him there in the nothingness. He longed to scrub the last several minutes from his brain so the animalistic sounds of Cas in agony would no longer torture him. But he couldn't because one of them had to be strong, and right now it was Dean's turn. So he breathed, blinked hard, and stayed conscious.

Despite trying to focus on the miracle that somehow he'd been communicating to Cas telepathically, his senses were being overpowered by the stench of vomit and blood, by stabbing pain and fear for his friend, and even that wonderful news couldn't keep him from reeling back to the basement and to torture. The walls of the old man's house faded into dark brick lit by dim bulbs. Dean shook his head.

"Goddamnit, man," roared the doctor. "Sit down before you fall down."

Dean obeyed, crashing to the floor, both hands still up on the table and reaching for any piece of Cas to hold: a shoulder, an elbow. The why and how of sharing their thoughts was a mystery but however it worked, he didn't want to lose it. He couldn't go back to how it was, alone and screaming into the nothing with no way out and no good way to express himself beyond glaring and stomping and head-shakes. He and Cas were all each other had in this hell, the only people who knew how screwed they were, and each other's only hope of salvation. That's if there was any salvation to be had at all.

Gabriel had chucked them into the past to keep them safe from the she-demon, but almost a full day had passed since then and Gabriel hadn't come to collect. Where was he? Why hadn't he come for them?

Whatever the reason, it couldn't have been good. Dean prayed Sam was safe. That's all he could do. He'd never felt so helpless.

"Dean." The doctor's voice was rough and low. Dean lifted his head and squinted through bleary eyes until the old man's frowning face came into focus. Doc Emmerson wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his arm, needle and thread still in one hand and bloody rag in the other.

"I know my nurse makes you nervous but we need her help."

Even as Dean's brain tried to be rational, fear spiked through his body and made every muscle tremble. God, that demon bitch had done a number on him. He had to get his head right. Dean Winchester would not crumble. But even as he stared at the Doc, the she-demon's visage crept around the edge of the old man's shoulder and smiled at Dean.

Everything went black as Dean slammed his eyes shut. He squeezed his head with both hands and listened to Doc's words through the pounding of blood in his ears.

"Cas needs her," Doc clarified. "Again, I don't know what the hell you boys went through, but it wasn't a human woman who did this—"

Dean shot the man a look that caused Doc Emmerson to bark back, "I ain't no fool and I'm sick of you treatin' me as if I was. You boys got messed up with some banshee or warlock, it's plain as day. Cas already told me you hunt evil so don't go tryin' to deny it." Doc threw the rag onto his counter and dropped the needle into a basin. "I've known a hunter or two," he said with a scowl. "And you're all the damn same. Seen too many of you die for that fool glory you're always chasin'."

The doctor was red around the collar, and his tone bordered on scornful. Dean shook his head but the old man didn't see, his unblinking gaze stuck to the wall.

"In all my life, I've never seen a hunter with a lick of common sense, but you two might just take the prize. What the hell were you thinking cutting into his shoulder? You ain't no doctor, boy. And the next time you decide to stuff a gaping wound full of rags, don't forget to clean them! Infection's every bit as deadly as blood loss." Each frown line on the man's face deepened, and for many harsh breaths, he seemed locked in his thoughts. Then he blurted out, "Now listen here. Are you listening?"

Dean nodded. Focusing on the doctor's angry rant had made the succubus disappear. He clung to the old man's every word and expression, afraid of drifting back to the basement in his mind again.

"I'm going to fetch miss Rose, and you are not going to get up."

Dean's heart picked up speed as Doc Emmerson hurried to the doorway.

"Stay where you are. Understand me?"

Dean nodded.

"So you're going to stay there?"

Dean nodded again. The old man's obstinance and temper reminded him of his dad, and the grief of that loss hadn't hit him so hard in years but it was drowning him. Then the doc was gone, slamming the front door behind him. Cas remained unconscious, and Dean was alone hundreds of years before everyone he knew had even been born. Alone, save for the succubus laughing in his mind.

He wanted to tell her to go to hell, that he was going to cut off her head, that he would end her—but she wasn't real and he didn't have the heart to yell at monsters in his brain. Now that he and Cas were out of danger, Dean found he couldn't rally. There was no fight left in him. He'd never been broken before. Not even in hell. Not like this. This was… this was…

"Glorious," hissed the demon in his mind. "Exactly how I want you."

Dean tightened his grip on Cas's arm and focused on the heat of the other man's skin and how good it felt to touch him. The angel made a noise of confusion and pain, and Dean relaxed his grip for fear of summoning Castiel back to consciousness too soon.

"How does it feel to be so helpless, Dean?" The demon's voice was a purr in his mind. "To be my victim even now?"

Cold sweat slipped down Dean's back. His mind was his own worst enemy, always had been and always would be. Usually, he could fight the voice of self-doubt, or at least push it down, but this was different. This wasn't his voice. Hers had taken its place, stolen his voice even from his own head, and she was laughing as he pulled his hands away from Cas to spare the angel his needy clinging.

Dean bundled his hands to his chest and curled into a ball on the floor, like a dog, he thought. A wounded animal. Dean was cold and hurt so bad he didn't know where his wounds were any more. He wanted to crawl onto the table with Cas, but he couldn't bear the thought of accidentally hurting the angel any more than he had already. So Dean shook and held himself and tried to ignore the memories of the tortures—the demon—that had been the one thing to finally, after a lifetime of hunting, break him down to nothing.

-Cas- he prayed in his mind. -Cas, can you hear me?-

No response. But as long as Dean was asking, the demoness wasn't torturing his thoughts. So Dean kept repeating the angel's name into the nothing.

#

Castiel opened his eyes, but couldn't see for many moments. He knew he hadn't moved from the kitchen table—in fact, he was still tied to it—and as consciousness returned in earnest (and agony with it), Castiel longed for the escape of nothing. Then he heard his name.

-Cas-

It was like a prayer and yet less focused, the sound softer than a whisper, but so needful it was as if the speaker was reaching out to Cas while falling backward off a cliff. It pulled him out of his pain and gave him a sense of urgency.

-Cas-

God, the sound was painful. It cut straight through his chest. And where was Dean now? Cas rolled his head left to right, and though pain lanced through his body when he moved he couldn't help himself from searching. He looked up and down but there was no sign of Doc or Jamie or any other soul.

-Cas-

The sound of his name so desperately cried sent his heart into his throat.

"Dean?" he rasped aloud. When there was no answer, he summoned a deeper breath and tried harder. "Dean?"

A noise from beneath the table indicated the hunter was there and rousing clumsily with ragged breath.

"Dean," Cas repeated. "Are you okay?"

The man's hand reached up to the table and circled Cas's arm. His fingers were cold and his grip weak as he squeezed.

"You were calling for me," Cas said. His voice was raw from screaming, and his chest ached from how hard it was to speak. With the fresh blood loss, Cas was the weakest he'd been in days.

Dean's touch lifted from Cas's arm as the hunter placed both palms on the table beside Cas to hoist himself up to his feet. He looked exhausted and pale, yes, but more frightening than that was the expression that made Dean's face almost unrecognizable. Cas couldn't remember ever seeing the man look so… broken.

"Are you still calling for me?" Cas asked.

Dean nodded.

Cas swallowed before admitting, "I can't hear you anymore."

The hunter's eyes closed. His jaw clenched, his brow furrowed in concentration, and Cas listened hard but heard nothing. Dean opened his eyes and gave Cas a pleading look.

Cas shook his head. "S-sorry. I don't know why I can't—"

Dean placed his hand on Cas's chest, and it drew the angel up short. The touch was warm and grounding. If Cas had been upright, he would have leaned into it, but he was content to be underneath. Dean's eyes hardened as he shook his head as if to tell Cas no. Guilt reared up and took the place of every other emotion. His expression seemed to say. "It's my fault. Not yours."

-Can you hear me?- Cas asked through the mental link.

Dean gave no indication that he could. He went to work untying Cas's bonds and helped him sit up when they were free. Moving was excruciating, but being upright was a small victory. By the time Cas had caught his breath and the room stopped spinning, he had worked out a theory.

"It seems that under extreme duress, we can communicate mentally."

Dean's mouth moved in the shape of a weak laugh—a common and sarcastic, 'no shit' laugh that had once hurt Cas but now felt so normal it was almost a relief.

"So, you and I never escaped the demoness?"

Dean's jaw was a hard line as he shook his head.

"You weren't in the shack with me ever?"

Dean shook his head again, but there was something in the way he did so that was hesitant. Cas thought back to every word he remembered hearing during their brief window of open communication.

"You said she showed you some of what she did?"

Dean answered with a nod. His breath was becoming harsh again, and Cas reasoned the only motive the demoness would have for such a thing would be to cause Dean greater pain. So what had happened in the shack that would hurt Dean so much? Cas needed to figure it out in order to fix it.

"Did you see her patch up my shoulder?"

Dean shook his head.

"When she tied me up?"

Another shake.

"Did you…?" Cas swallowed hard. He wasn't sure why dread was coiling around the base of his spine or what he was so afraid of, but heat spread up from his gut as he asked, "Did you see her take off my shirt?"

Dean's eyes shone bright green, and Cas almost wished the man would look away to spare Cas from their spell. The hunter spoke, "Yes," aloud and made no noise. He didn't seem to be breathing. So, that quiet, intimate moment he had shared with Dean in the shack, the one in which Dean's touch had lit up Cas's skin, and they had been close enough to share breath—close enough to kiss and damn near almost did—that must have been what the demon had wanted Dean to see. What she had used to torture him.

"So you saw… when she straddled me?"

Dean nodded. He leaned forward, too.

Cas closed his eyes. "And you saw when I—she—when we almost—when I wanted—?" The heat from Cas's stomach climbed up his body and burned his cheeks. He took a gasped breath and blurted out. "I'm so sorry you saw."

Cas startled as Dean's hand lifted his chin. The angel looked across at Dean who mouthed, "What did I see?"

As hard as he tried, Cas couldn't maintain eye contact as he admitted, "That I wanted to kiss you."

The shock that emanated from the man mere inches from Cas's body was like a heat-wave, and Cas wanted to throw himself into it but he feared this confession would drive a wedge so far between them that no bridge could cross. His voice cracked.

"I'm so sorry, Dean." Cas stared at his knees as shame pressed his shoulders and chin down. "Sorry you saw that. But I-I thought I was dying and—?"

Dean's lips were on his, taking the words from his mouth and replacing them with heat and desire and need. Cas's spine arched as Dean's rounded forward, and they were touching from noses to chests. There was no room for pain or shame in the face of such bliss, and Cas had to wonder if this was real. Then Dean's hand found its way to Castiel's thigh and squeezed a helpless noise out of the back of his throat that made the ex-angel blush and Dean kiss him harder. It was one of the most real things he'd ever experienced.

Cas wasn't sure how many seconds of dazed and fevered kissing passed before he realized he could touch Dean too, but it was too many, and he made up for lost time by using both hands. Dean's chest was broad and strong, housing a heart that seemed to want to beat out of the man's ribs. His bare skin was soft where it wasn't broken, and as Cas's left hand ghosted over the raised scar of his own handprint on the hunter's shoulder, his right searched up Dean's neck and caressed his stubbled jaw.

-Wanted to kiss you so bad for so long-

Cas shifted his hips forward and pressed himself flush against Dean.

-God, you feel so good. Taste so good-

The hunter tilted his head the opposite direction as if to explore every facet of the angel's mouth. Their lips lost contact but only for an instant, and even then, their tongues stayed pressed against each other as their kiss shifted deeper. Cas wrapped his hand around the back of Dean's neck and encouraged him to never stop kissing him. He'd wanted this so long—far longer than he'd let himself believe. Maybe even before he'd pulled the man out of hell. But he never thought Dean wanted this too.

-Don't know what the hell we're gonna do. Don't care. Just need more of this and fewer clothes and less blood and needles and way more dick-sucking and-

-I can hear you-

Dean's voice sounded relieved and amused. -Halle-fucking-lujah-

Cas gripped Dean close and replied -That's blasphemy-

-Pretty sure this is too- Dean's hand wrapped tight around Cas's thigh and moved higher up. The angel spread his legs and shivered. Dean deepened the kiss again, and Cas dropped his head back to let him. The world fell into nothing, along with all pain and fear and shame, and they kissed as if the action gave them life. And in some way, it did.

Then there was a squeak that didn't come from either of them, and Cas opened his eyes to see a red-headed woman standing in the doorway with her mouth agape and a scarlet blush on her cheeks. The world crashed back into focus, bringing all the negative back with it, and Cas froze so hard Dean realized something was wrong. The hunter turned to look over his shoulder at the doorway. When he saw the woman, he startled and lost balance, and Cas didn't move fast enough to catch him before he knocked against the nearest chair on his way to the floor.

The doctor's voice came from the living room after he slammed the front door.

"Damnit, is Dean up?"

"Um—" Miss Rose's voice was a squeak and her eyes had yet to blink. Cas didn't know what to say. He'd never kissed before, much less been caught doing such a thing. What was the protocol?

Miss Rose stepped into the room. "They're both—it's—up?" Cas crossed his arms over his lap. Miss Rose stared at the floor. "They seem fine? Considering?"

Dean was using the seat of the chair as a lever with which to pull himself upright, but gave up the struggle and used it as an armrest from the floor. He locked eyes with Cas, and heat danced in the space between them. Dean's bare chest heaved, and the echo of touching those hardened muscles tingled through Cas's fingers. The hunter's lips looked swollen and damp and red, and as he stared at Cas like he was a thing to be devoured, Dean licked the bottom lip, and Castiel's cock tried to jump out of his underwear to join the fun. It made Cas dizzy.

He curled his hands to fists and turned away from Dean in the hopes of normalizing before any more damage could be done. In modern times, two men kissing might alienate them from the general public. In nineteen-twenties Alabama, it might get them both killed. Their safety lay in the hands of the red-headed woman in more ways than one.

Doc nudged his way into the kitchen past Miss Rose and looked between the two men a few times before declaring them both fevered and prescribing ice baths.

Miss Rose let out a breathless, "Excellent idea."