How Life is a Waving Feather

So basically this is how this story came to be. I was listening to my music on shuffle and the song 'Dancing' by Elise came on. I found myself listening to it on repeat. Then I had this idea of writing an angsty Dean and Castiel story. This is what came of it as I continued to listen to this song on repeat.

Summary: Dean took a few more steps forward before he found himself frozen in place. A familiar scent assaulted his nostrils. "Are you bleeding?"

Disclaimer: I don't own anything besides the idea behind this story. The title of this story comes from the song 'Dancing' by Elisa.

Dean Winchester had been raised to always be aware of his surroundings. He never let his guard down. Even when he was alone. Especially if he was alone.

So when he heard the sound of something getting knocked off a table, he sat up on his bed, shotgun in hand. His eyes adjust to the darkness as fast as they could. He braced himself for an attack, but it didn't come.

After a few minutes of standing still, he reached over and turned on the lamp at his bedside. He figured that if he were going to get attacked, it would've happened already. He relaxed and placed the shotgun on his bed when he saw Castiel leaning over a desk. He ran his hand up and down his face a couple of times to wake himself up.

When he was fully conscious, he walked over to the angel. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asked.

At a snail's pace, Castiel looked up to Dean. "Dean?" Castiel choked out. "I… I'm sorry for waking you."

"You didn't answer my question," Dean said, irritated. "What are you doing here?" He stood in his place, crossing his arms across his chest. He waited for an explanation, but received none. "Cas?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

"I'm sorry," he said. His voice shook.

"For?" Dean took a few steps forward and saw Castiel shaking where he stood. "Cas, what's wrong?"

"Couldn't think of anywhere else to go," Castiel whispered. His voice shook almost as much as his body.

Dean took a few more steps forward before he found himself frozen in place. A familiar scent assaulted his nostrils. "Are you bleeding?"

Castiel brought one of his hands to his stomach and nodded. He fell to his knees, hard, as one hand wasn't enough to keep him standing. On the ground, his hands met on his stomach.

Dean ran to turn on the light in the motel room. With the light on, he could see how disheveled Castiel's appearance was. His trenchcoat was drenched with blood. Dean made his way to the angel and knelt down in front of him. "Just go back to sleep, Dean."

Dean took Castiel's hands and slowly pulled them away from his body. He was surprised at the little resistance that Castiel gave him. He let Castiel's hands fall to his side.

Then he saw red. A lot of it. From the blood still flowing from whatever wounds Castiel had on his body. But most importantly from the anger boiling inside of him. "What the hell happened to you?"

Castiel shook his head. "I'm—"

"Don't you dare say you're fine," Dean threatened. "Because if you were, then I want to know the reason that you're here." Castiel's eyes began to slide shut, and his body started falling to the side. "Hey," Dean said, grabbing him by his shoulders and straightened him up. He shook the angel and Castiel's eyes flew open. Then he saw it. Castiel's blue eyes which were usually so clear were now glazed over and clouded with pain. "Why are you here?" he asked, his voice shaking, even though he tried to hide it.

Castiel looked up to Dean, tears sitting on the brim of his eyes. "I…" he drew in a shaky breath. "I didn't want to die alone."

Dean found it hard to breathe. He felt like he was drowning. Or someone was sitting on his chest. He relaxed his grip on the angel's shoulders when he realized how tight he was squeezing. "What?" he asked in a voice that sounded like it didn't belong to him.

"I just… I wasn't…"

Dean noticed how his voice got softer with each word he spoke. "You're dying?" Dean asked.

At that moment, a wave of pain went through Castiel's body. He grabbed onto Dean's shirt so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He fell forward, resting his head on Dean's chest. His entire body shook as he rode out the pain. "Can't heal," he said when he found his voice.

Dean lifted Castiel away from him. "So what? You showed up to leave me to bury your body?" he said, his tone biting. But he was scared. And he couldn't show it. Because he wasn't supposed to care about Castiel.

He shook his head. "No," Castiel whispered. "Body will disappear."

Castiel said it with such seriousness and resignation that Dean was hit with the reality of the situation. "Cas, can I do anything?"

"No. Too much blood."

"Screw that!" Dean yelled. He stood up, letting Castiel fall to the floor. "I'm not going to just sit here and watch you die."

"Dean," he replied, trying to get the hunter's attention. But Dean ignored him.

He turned and walked into the bathroom and turned on the water. He plugged up the bathtub when the temperature was warm enough. He walked back out into the room and saw Castiel lying on his back with his hand on this chest. He was taking short, shallow breathes, and as bad as it seemed, it put Dean a little at ease to know that he was still alive.

He grabbed a canister full of salt out of his bag and walked back into the bathroom. He poured all of it into the tub and let the water continue to run.

He stepped out into the room and saw that Castiel wasn't breathing the same way he was a minute a go. It looked like he wasn't breathing at all. He was at the angel's side in a flash. "Hey," he said, shaking him. "Hey!"

He put his ear to Castiel's chest and then to his mouth to listen for any breathing. When he didn't hear anything, he immediately blew two breathes into Castiel's mouth and started chest compressions. He repeated it four times before Castiel coughed, gasping for breath. Blood gushed out of the corner of his mouth. Dean rolled him on his side.

Castiel's eyes shot open again. "Dean?"

"You need to stay awake."

"Tired. Hurts."

"I don't give a damn," Dean said. "No falling asleep."

"I don't—"

Dean pulled a Rosary out of his pocket and put it in Castiel's hand. "Pray this," he said. "Take your mind off the pain for a second."

The hunter ran into the bathroom to shut off the water before Castiel could protest. He didn't want the angel to use up whatever energy he had arguing with him. He knelt outside the bathtub and said the prayer to bless the water. He prayed it soft enough that he could hear Castiel praying the Rosary in a language that wasn't English. He stood up, knowing that the prayer wouldn't be complete until a Rosary touched the water.

When he got back into the room, he saw Castiel's still on his side with his eyes closed. He had the Rosary in his hand, his thumb rubbing the bead that he was on. Dean watched as his mouth moved, but no words could be heard.

Dean bent down to move Castiel into a sitting position. As he did that, Castiel's eyes opened and his praying stopped. "Did I say you could stop?" Dean said.

"Dean, it won't help."

"Keep praying."

"Dean."

He ignored the angel and slid his trenchcoat off his shoulders. He then got to loosening his tie and pulling it over his head. He then started unbuttoning the shirt that looked unsalvageable. It would've been easier just to cut it off, but Dean knew that the clothes were a part of Castiel. He wouldn't discard his clothes knowing that.

Some of the blood had dried which made it difficult to peel the shirt away from the angel's body. Castiel bit his lip to keep himself from whimpering out loud. Dean's eyes widened at the amount of blood and wounds on Castiel's chest. And it was just his torso. He couldn't even imagine how bad the rest of his body looked. "Damn," he whispered.

He laid Castiel down onto his side and went to unbutton his pants. In any other situation, this would've been uncomfortable for him undressing another man, but this was life or death. The only thought that was in his mind was that he had to save Castiel's life.

He got the angel down to his boxers and sighed. Somewhere in the middle of all of it, Castiel started to pray again. It saddened Dean. Castiel was resigned to die, but he was still listening to whatever Dean told him to do. Obedient and loyal to the very end.

It was because of that Dean was going to do everything he could to keep the angel alive. He took the Rosary out of Castiel's hand and put the beads around the angel's neck.

Then Dean stood up, leaving Castiel on the floor. "Dean," he whispered.

He knelt back down beside the injured angel. "Yeah."

Castiel grabbed onto Dean's wrist with a weak grip. "Don't leave me. Please," he pleaded.

"I'm not leaving you." He took Castiel's hand in his own and unwrapped his fingers from his wrist. "And you're not leaving either." He stood up again. "I'll be right back."

He went back into the bathroom to check the water one last time. But he needed to get away from Castiel for a second. He needed to convince himself that it was going to be okay, that at the end of it, Castiel was going to be all right. And most of all, alive.

He walked back out of the bathroom, rolling his sleeves up his arms. He made his way to Castiel's side and slid his arms under the angel's shoulders and knees. He picked up the angel without any difficulty. He carried him to the bathtub and lowered him into it.

Castiel gasped when his wounds touched the water. The pain shot through his body and he grabbed onto Dean to keep himself from being fully submerged in the water. "Dean, please. No," Castiel cried.

Dean stopped moving for a second. "I'm sorry, Cas," he said, hoping that those words meant something. He got Castiel seated in the water. "I'm sorry," he repeated, sitting back on his heels.

The angel relaxed in the warmth of the water. He wondered why Dean was apologizing. He sounded like he needed forgiveness and he was the only person that could give it. "It's all right, Dean," Castiel replied. The words sounded loaded. He said it so Dean could get whatever forgiveness was offered to him, but also because he wanted Dean to be all right with his passing.

Dean slid his arms out from under the angel and Castiel settled into the water. Dean saw that the Rosary still sat above the water. He moved to remove it from Castiel's neck, but the angel caught his wrist before he could. "I have to—"

He let go of Dean. "It hurts less when I wear it. But if you need it." He bowed his head so Dean could remove it.

Dean shook his head. He couldn't take away Castiel's respite from whatever pain he was in. Dean tipped Castiel's chin up with a finger. He looked into the blue eyes filled with pain and fear, but something else that couldn't place. "Cas, do you trust me?"

Castiel nodded as much as he could with Dean's finger under his chin. "With everything that I am," he said.

"I need you to take a deep breath and hold it. It's probably going to hurt."

Castiel did so without question. Dean put his hand around Castiel's mouth and pinched his nose. He then guided Castiel under the water like he had seen so many ministers do for baptisms. He knew that the water had become Holy Water because he heard the sounds of sizzling.

He gently lifted Castiel up and moved him to lean against the back of the tub. He watched as steam lifted off of some of the wounds. The blood on the injured angel's body began to wash off. Dean grabbed a rag and dipped it in the water. Dean cleaned some of the blood off of Castiel's chest and saw the cause for most of the blood. Something was carved into his flesh. He pushed Castiel forward to clean his back and saw the words more clearly. Someone had carved the words he couldn't read all over his body.

He continued to clean, taking extra care around wounds that were deeper than the rest. Then he saw the wound that must've been the fatal one. It was a stab wound right under his sternum that went right through him to his back. The blade, or whatever it was, had done its damage.

But something had to be wrong. The other wounds didn't seem so bad. Castiel should've been able to heal them easily, but he wasn't. Or he couldn't. And Dean wanted to know why.

Castiel whimpered as Dean ran the rag over the worst wound. "Sorry, Cas," he said for what felt like the hundredth time in the past thirty minutes. The words were losing its meaning.

He watched as Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but he ended up just biting his lip instead. He leaned back and rested his head in the corner. Dean watched as his eyes slid shut, and his body relaxed. It was the most relaxed he had seen him since Castiel appeared in the room. He hoped that the water was doing its job. He didn't know if he was just trying to be optimistic, but Castiel looked a little better.

He sat on the toilet, and stared at the angel in front of him for a minute before he walked out, unable to look at him any longer.

He plopped himself down on the table in the corner of the room and sighed. He spun his cell phone on the table. He looked over his shoulder, into the bathroom, one more time at the resting, no, dying angel and heard no commotion coming from it. He grabbed his phone. He dialed a number and waited for someone to pick up. "Hello?"

"Bobby, I need something," Dean said softly.

"What? Why are you whispering?"

Dean straightened up when he realized why he was doing that. He was trying to be quiet for Castiel's sake. But it probably wasn't going to matter because he wasn't going to wake up if he was dying. He shook his head and chastised himself for thinking like that. "I need something."

"What?" Bobby asked. He heard the sadness in his voice. It concerned him.

"A binding link that can keep an angel inside its vessel."

"Why?" Bobby asked.

Dean took in a deep breath and released it slowly. "Cas is dying," he said softly. He had been trying the entire night to avoid saying those words. He was afraid that saying it out loud would somehow make it true.

"What?" Bobby asked.

Dean didn't know if it was because he didn't hear him the first time, or he just didn't believe him. "Cas is here with me, and he's dying."

"Dean," Bobby sighed. He knew exactly what was going on in Dean's head.

"I have to do something, Bobby."

"How do you know if binding him to his vessel will even work?"

"I don't. But I'm hoping this will buy me a few hours. Then I can figure it out."

"Dean, are you sure it's best?"

Dean squeezed his phone so tightly that it should've snapped in his hand. "What does that mean?" Bobby couldn't have meant what he thought he did.

"If you're prolonging his death. Is it hurting him more to stay alive?"

"I don't know," the younger hunter replied.

"Dean."

"Damnit, Bobby. I know that I'm sounding selfish right now, but I can't just let him die. Not after everything he's done. Especially since…" his voice trailed off, unsure of the words he wanted to say to end that sentence. There was a list that could've finished that sentence, but he didn't have the time to start naming it. "I have to try. Bobby, can you help me?" Dean asked, sounding like when he was five years old asking his Uncle Bobby for something.

And like in the past, Bobby would always help Dean if he asked. If it were in his power. "I wish I could, son. But I don't have anything like that."

Dean ran his hand down his face in frustration, but more in disappointment. He was slowly losing hope. If anyone had any information that could help him, it would've been Bobby. "I figured," he said before his throat tightened on him. "Thanks, Bobby."

"Dean," Bobby started before Dean could hang up the phone. "I know that you care about Castiel, but seriously, in this situation, think of what is best for him. Even if it hurts."

"Yeah," Dean whispered, unable to say anything else around his clenched chest and tightened throat. He swallowed and his throat felt like sandpaper. "I'll call you later, Bobby." He hung up the phone, unable to say anything else.

He thought about what Bobby had said. He wondered why he was doing all of this. Castiel told him how futile it all was and how he was going to die anyway. So why was he wasting his time?

But as much as he wanted to believe that he was all right with not being able to save Castiel, he wasn't all right with it. Not in the slightest. And if Castiel passed away, he wouldn't be okay.

He couldn't just let Castiel die. He had to at least try something, right? That was all that would matter.

But deep inside, he knew that if he couldn't save him in the end, he would blame himself. Because in his head, Castiel would've died for him. Again. And he wasn't able to save him after Castiel came to him.

But Dean wasn't about to let that happen. If he had anything to say about it, he'd get Castiel back into fighting form, then chastise him for scaring him like that. And hopefully scare Castiel as badly as he was.

He was pulled from his thoughts when he heard the sound of Castiel wheezing from the bathtub. He walked back into the bathroom and saw that the angel was in the same position he had left him in.

But now, blood was flowing from the corner of his mouth. He suspected it after seeing the wounds the littered Castiel's skin that there had to be internal bleeding. What surprised him was when something blue flowed out of Castiel's mouth along with the blood. It was a blue light. The same light that he saw when Anna became and angel again. And he froze.

Because he knew.

Castiel's grace was leaving him.

Castiel was really dying.

Dean snapped out of his stupor when Castiel started to cough like he was choking on something. The angel's eyes snapped open and stared at the wall in front of him. He brought a shaky hand out of the water and to his lips. He looked and saw his grace coating his fingertips. "Dean?" Castiel asked.

"Cas, what do I do?"

"Leave," Castiel whispered. "Have to leave. You'll go blind."

"No. Screw that."

Castiel jerked forward, his hand going straight to the stab wound on his chest. "Don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

"Please, Dean. Just leave."

"You said you didn't want to die alone."

Castiel tried to take in a breath, causing his entire body to shake. Dean watched as Castiel's grace leaked from his mouth and into the tub. Dean put a hand on the angel's shaking shoulder and pushed him to lean back against the walk hoping that it would ease his breathing.

Castiel's free hand grabbed onto Dean's shirt while the other stayed glued to his chest. "Something's wrong," he said, sticking his fingers into the stab wound on his chest.

"Don't do that," Dean said, pulling his fingers out of the wound. His eyes widened when he saw them painted with his grace.

"Hurts."

"You were stabbed," Dean started. "What else did you expect?"

"Some…something…wrong," Castiel said, his voice getting softer with each word. His eyes slid closed.

Castiel's hand let go of his shirt and fell into the tub. And Dean went into panic mode. More of the angel's grace flowed from his lips and chest. "Damnit, Cas. You listen to me." Castiel's eyes opened again, slower than they closed. He looked up to Dean. "You stay in this vessel. I don't care how much it hurts, but you have to keep fighting until the end. Don't you dare give up."

"I don't want to die, Dean."

Dean wanted to punch a wall at how human Castiel sounded. How scared. "Nobody does."

"Can you just stay until—"

"Stop, Cas. You aren't dying."

"Something…" he started. He swallowed hard. "Something's wrong."

"You keep saying that." Castiel started to nod off, but woke up when Dean shook him by the shoulders. "Hey, none of that. Tell me what I can do to help you."

"I'm sorry you had to see me like this, Dean."

"Don't apologize. Just tell me what to do."

Castiel's breathing became more labored. Dean saw Castiel's chest leak his grace a lot faster than before. Dean put his hand on the wound, thinking that somehow it would slow the bleeding. He pushed down on it, causing Castiel to moan.

Then Dean felt it.

And like Castiel said, it felt wrong.

"Cas?" He looked to Castiel's face and saw that his eyes were closed and he was biting his lip, like he was trying to block out the pain. Dean took in a shaky breath when he realized what he had to do to save the angel's life.

He inhaled deeply, knowing that he needed to calm his nerves.

After what felt like hours, he put his hand over Castiel's mouth. He looked down at the wound on Castiel's chest, knowing that he wouldn't be able to look Castiel in the eye while he did what came next. He felt Castiel waking up and whispering something into his hand, but ignored it.

He stuck his thumb into the wound, then his pointer finger. He tried not to think about how messed up it felt, but he kept going, searching for what he needed to find. He pushed further and probed, pressing up against the walls for anything that didn't belong there.

He felt Castiel struggling to get out from under him. Dean knew that he was causing Castiel a lot of pain, but he ignored it and kept searching for what was lodged in him.

Then he found it. Not because he felt something not human under his fingers, but because Castiel screamed under his hand. His back arched and he fought harder to get away from Dean. He had to push his hand tighter on Castiel's mouth to muffle the screams that left it.

It was difficult for him to split his attention and focus between digging for whatever was in Castiel's body and making sure nobody heard the screams and called the cops on him. He could only imagine how bad it would look if people walked in and saw him with an almost naked, dying man in his arms.

When Castiel finally stopped struggling and finally used up all of his energy, he sank down into the tub. "I'm sorry," Dean repeated over and over again, not realizing tears were streaming down his face.

He finally grabbed onto the foreign object and started working to ease it out. He felt Castiel twitch with every pull.

Then it was out. And he saw that it was a three-inch tip of a blade. He wanted to inspect it, but he threw it in the sink and saved it for a later time. He was concerned that his fingers weren't covered in blue light, like it should've been. When he looked into the tub, all he could see was blood.

And an unconscious Castiel.

He figured that it was a good thing because Castiel's grace wasn't leaking from his body, and Castiel was still there. Not just his vessel.

Dean drained the tub, wanting to wash away all traces of blood from it. When it was empty he turned on the shower. He let the water run over Castiel for a few minutes. During that time, he grabbed a towel, and stepped out of the bathroom and to the nearest bed. He pulled the covers back, and laid the towel out.

He got back into the bathroom and saw that, for the most part, Castiel was clean. He shut off the water and threw another towel over his shoulder. Then he bent down to pick the angel up in a bridal carry. He walked them out into the room. He put Castiel in a sitting position, resting the angels' head on his chest while he dried him off.

When he was dry, he laid Castiel on the bed. He then grabbed his bag and rummaged through it, looking for what he needed.

He then maneuvered the angel to lie on his side. He wrapped the towel around Castiel's torso and legs. When the angel was covered, he reached under and grabbed the boxers he was wearing and pulled them down. He tossed them onto the pile of Castiel's dirty clothes. He would worry about laundry later.

Dean pulled out two large pieces of gauze and tape. He dampened the gauze with Holy Water. He looked over at Castiel's wound on his chest and saw that it didn't look as bad as it did in the bathtub. He taped one piece to Castiel's front and the other to his back. He then wrapped the worst looking wounds.

After a couple of minutes, he finished. He grabbed the blankets at Castiel's feet and brought them up his chin.

He sat on the floor. After what felt like house, he felt like he could finally relax. Well, not so much relax as remember how to breathe. All he could do now was wait, and hope what he did was enough.

He looked at the clock in the room and saw that he hadn't even been awake for an hour. And as tired as he was a few hours ago, he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep until he was sure Castiel wasn't going anywhere.

He caught a glimpse of his clothes. Traces of Castiel's blood covered the front. His clothes were no strangers to blood. His. Sam's. Demons' or whatever they were hunting. It shouldn't have bothered him.

But he never expected an angel to bleed.

It didn't make sense for it to happen.

It didn't make sense for his clothes and arms to be covered in it. He needed to get out of it as soon as possible.

He quickly pulled off his outer shirt and threw it in the pile of Castiel's bloody clothes. He looked back at Castiel and saw that he was lying down comfortably. Or unconsciously. Either way, the angel wasn't going to wake up while he took a few minutes in the shower.

He stripped down and turned on the shower to a reasonably hot temperature. He jumped it and wanted to scrub the blood from his body and memory. Too bad for him, only one of those was possible

He stayed under the water even after the water going into the drain was no longer, pink. He needed a few more minutes to gather himself. If he didn't take it, he was going to break down in front of Castiel. And that was the last thing that Castiel needed.

When his fingers could wrinkle no more, he stepped out of the shower and tried off. He threw on the same boxers he was wearing before, not finding any blood on it. He stood in front of the mirror for a few minutes, looking over his features. He noticed how tired, yet alert he looked. He knew that within the next few hours, he was going to crash after using up all of his adrenaline. But he knew that he would be okay with it once he knew that Castiel was all right.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, he saw that Castiel was writhing in his bed. He rushed over to his side and saw that he was sweating, and struggling against something. He shook the angel by the shoulder, trying to wake him up and pull him away from whatever was upsetting him. He didn't want Castiel to aggravate his injuries.

"Cas," he whispered, trying to coax him from his nightmare.

"No," he moaned. His brow tightened, unhappy with something happening in his dreams. Then he started to spew on in a language that Dean had never heard before. It must've been Enochian.

"Cas, stop," Dean said. "You're safe. You're with me. It's Dean."

Slowly, the tension eased from Castiel. After a few minutes, the angel fell back to sleep. He let out a slow breath that Dean didn't realize the angel could hold.

Dean put a hand to Castiel's forehead, wanting to brush his hair off of his forehead. He wanted to ignore the moisture that was beading on it. He hoped it was from the bath that he was just given and not from the fever that Dean felt under his fingertips.

He swore under his breath, not knowing what to do. Sure, he knew how to deal with a fever as long as the person was human. He didn't even think that angels could get sick. But the revelation scared him more than it should've, because the alternative meant that Castiel was human.

He shook his head, walked back into the bathroom, and soaked a washcloth. When he got back into the room, he placed it on Castiel's forehead. He hoped that it was enough. He would've hated that after all he did, for Castiel to die because he couldn't take care of a fever.

Castiel let out a sigh, and Dean took it as a sign of approval.

A chill ran over him so he walked over to his bag and grabbed the closest clean shirt. He threw the shirt on and sat down on the other bed in the room. He lied down and closed his eyes, knowing that it wasn't to fall asleep, but just to rest his eyes. He needed to stay alert.

Minutes later, his eyes recovered and they shot open. He reached for the remote on the nightstand and turned on the TV. Even with the TV on, his eyes were trained on Castiel.

He didn't know how long he sat, watching while Castiel slept. He put his hand to Castiel's forehead and felt that his fever had finally broken. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

That had to be the worst of it.

He was going to pull through. Unless, by some vengeful act of a higher power, he missed something. Or it was just Castiel's time. Again.

Dean shook his head, refusing to believe that.

Castiel was going to be around for awhile.

And with that thought, he allowed himself to relax.

Dean found himself sitting on the empty bed watching the television with the volume so soft that it might as well have been on mute.

Everything in his body and mind was telling him that he should not have been awake at that ridiculous hour, especially after what he had just gone through, but he was so wired that even with some alcohol, he wouldn't have been able to get to sleep. So his attention drifted back and forth between Castiel and the rerun of Dr. Sexy playing on the screen. Luckily for him, there was a marathon on that late. He knew what was going to entertain him until Castiel woke up.

Dean thought that he'd have to wait until morning for the angel to regain consciousness, but three episodes into his marathon, Castiel shot up from the bed, shaking and gasping for breath. Dean was at his side at an instant. As soon as he sat down, Castiel grabbed onto his shirt again, forming wrinkles Dean was sure he'd never get out. "Cas?"

"Dean, what did you do?"

"Is something wrong?"

Castiel looked down to his chest and saw that he was bandaged up. "What did you do?"

"You're welcome."

Castiel let go of Dean's shirt and Dean put a little space between the two of them. "You were supposed to…"

"Just let you die?" Castiel looked down at his lap, unable to look at Dean. Dean picked up the shard of the blade and held it out to Castiel. "This is what was killing you." Castiel looked up and saw the blade in the hunter's hand. He wanted to reach out to touch it, but decided against it. "So you going to tell me what happened?" Dean said, setting the blade on the nightstand.

"What do you mean?"

"Who did this to you?"

"Doesn't matter."

"It doesn't matter?" Dean jumped up from the bed and began to pace. He was angry at what Castiel had just said. "It doesn't matter?" he yelled. "Cas, you flew your ass here basically on your death bed, and expected me to just sit here and watch you die. You came to me. It matters. It was angels, wasn't it? They're the only things in this universe that could mess you up that bad. Tell me who they are, Cas, so I can find them and—"

"No, Dean. It's all right."

"No, it isn't, Cas. You were almost dead a few minutes ago, and it was because of angels that you consider your brothers. Cas, that isn't right. Tell me."

"Dean, please. I don't want to fight about this right now."

"Fine. But you're going to tell me sooner or later."

"Later. Much later." Castiel looked around, trying not to meet Dean's eyes. "I should be leaving."

Dean could hear how much stronger Castiel sounded, but he didn't want to sound too hopeful yet. He wanted to keep an eye on him. "You should be, but you're not going to." Castiel glared at him. "Don't give me that look, Cas. You were basically dead a few hours ago. Just…stay."

"Dean, I'm going to be all right."

"So, you're going to be fine?"

"I should be. I can feel myself healing already."

"So, you aren't dying? I won't wake up and find you back how you were when you first came in."

"No, Dean."

"Good. But you're staying here so I can be sure. So lie back, close your eyes, and sleep. I don't care if you need it or not, just do it."

Castiel laid back without a fight. "Dean?"

"Cas, I swear to whoever you believe in, that if you aren't asleep in the next five minutes I'm going to find a way to drug an angel and make sure you stay drugged until you're healed."

"I just wanted to say thank you." Castiel sighed, and rolled over, his back facing the hunter.

Dean watched as the tension eased its way out of Castiel's shoulders. Then he yawned. He didn't think that he was tired, but after everything that had just gone on, he needed to sleep.

And he would as soon as Castiel woke up.

So, I guess that you could say that this story takes place between the second and third episode of the fifth season. Or if you have seen the sixth season, I guess it could take place there? I'm sorry that I haven't been updating often. I promise I'll try to soon! Hope this turned out all right. Thanks to everyone who has been sticking with me. Thanks for reading. Please review. Lil-Rock