Title: Stay With Me

Author: Arisprite

Summary: No one on their team was the type to let their guard down, Cas least of all, even less than sober, but for one second no one was looking in the right direction.

Warnings: Spoilers for 5x04 The End, dark and angsty, non graphic wounds, and mentions of suicidal ideation. Only as much swearing as is in the show. This is probably set around 2012-2013ish. Not meant as slash.

A/N: Phew, Okay, so I have been consuming Supernatural, and its fandom for a few months now. It's a poor explanation for my utter lack of writing lately, I know, but my brain will not be managed. This isn't the first thing I've written for SPN, but it's the first I've finished, and I just have such...fascination with the End!Verse. It's not healthy. Anyway, I hope somebody likes it, as it's insanely depressing. But's it's End!Verse, so...

They'd just finished a mission. It was a rare trip in that there were no casualties. The last croat slumped to the ground, and the team took one minute to breath. It was too long.

No one on their team was the type to let their guard down, Cas least of all, normally. He was less than sober, yes, but still functional. Dean still handed him a gun, so that counted for something. Dean was stone cold, sober and otherwise, as was per usual lately.

They were just packing up, the jeeps parked against a collapsing wooden shed, and surrounded by trees. They should have known, kept a better watch on the unseen forest, but by some mistake no one was looking in the right direction, and it was enough. Something slammed into Cas' shoulder, knocking him to the gravel, and a sharp pain ripped through his deltoid. Smaller pains tore through his elbows and back from the rough ground. A bloody snarling face was inches from his, and he cried out in fear, shoving and bucking in panic, his reflexes slowed slightly by whatever the hell he'd taken that morning. Whatever it was didn't do much for the pain though.

A gunshot, and then Cas was pinned by dead weight. The croat twitched, and Cas pulled in a sharp breath before he pushed it off him, and came into a sitting position, listing to his injured right side.

Then Dean was there, kneeling regardless of the gravel, and his stone cold dead eyes showed fear and panic. It was mesmerizing. There was his old Dean, before all the crap. The Dean he'd pulled out of hell, the Dean who he'd followed out of Heaven. It was amazing.

"Cas? Cas, can you hear me?" Dean was talking, the look in his eyes gone, and Cas jolted out of his thoughts, igniting the pain. He grunted, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I hear you." Cas ground out, his moment of wonder passed. He wondered if it was the drugs or the shock.

"You're bleeding." Dean said harshly, voice mimicking the pressure of his hands against Cas' wound.

"I can tell," Cas said, his human taught sarcasm strong, though not stronger than the pain in his voice. The crowd around him was still, and after a moment, Cas looked up. There were guns pointed at him. "Oh," Right, the Croatoan virus, communicable by blood. Only cure is death.

"You're infected, Cas. He bled all over you, and you have open wounds." It was Tom,Tom Sullivan, who'd lost his daughter last month to the virus, that said it, seeing that Dean was making no move towards either his gun or explanations. Dean said nothing, and Cas searched his eyes for those slivers of the the old Dean, but he couldn't find him anymore. Dean hadn't waited till she was showing symptoms before he shot her, so sure he'd been. Tom was sure now.

Oh.

Of course.

Cas straightened, wanting to go upright, not slumped to the ground, but his body shook, and he couldn't find the strength not to lean. Dean's eyes widened, something Dean-like coming back, and he realised a moment behind Cas what Tom was about to do.

"No!" Dean dove for the gun, shoving it upwards as it discharged. The bullet went harmlessly into the sky.

"He's infected Dean!" Tom said hotly.

"He hasn't shown any symptoms!" Dean returned, eyes flickering towards Cas, holding a hand to his own torn shoulder. Blood still flowed between his fingers.

"My daughter hadn't either!" Tom screamed, and the rest of the group went still. "The virus is dangerous, we have to put it down before it has a chance to spread. Wasn't that what you said about her?"

Dean stepped forward, never one to back down. "We're ten minutes outside of camp, we'll lock him up and wait. That's all."

Dean turned his back to the gun, to Tom's anger and came over to Cas. The pain was sharp and guttural, pulsing against his hand, but Cas found the strength to meet Dean's eyes.

"Dean-"

"Cas, you'll be fine." Dean bent down, and heaved Cas upright, arm over shoulder, bracing his waist. Cas could not hold back a small cry of pain, but Dean ignored it, moving already towards the jeeps.

The drive was silent, and agonizing. The Croats bites were always jagged, exposing the maximum amount of nerve endings, spreading their poison through the blood system as fast as possible. Cas gripped his shoulder, his vision whiting out whenever they bumped over the rough ground. As much as Cas disliked cars back then, he sure missed paved roads.

Dean's blood stained fingers white knuckled the steering wheel, and Cas found himself superimposing the old Dean over the Dean of lately. The Dean who'd get worried, who'd get upset and even tearful over the people he cared about. Sam had taken a lot from them both.

The effects of his previous high were completely gone now, and Cas, along with everything was beginning to wish for something more, just to take the edge off of the pain, life, the fact that he was going to die...

Cas held no illusions. He was human now, practically the same as everyone else. His powers, his mojo, gone with the angels. He didn't think that he was immune to this demon virus, why would he be? If anything, the little bit of angel left inside him, the part he tried to drown out with absinthe, or amphetamines, or alcohol or women, would make it worse.

"Cas, you with me?" Dean asked, after a few minutes quiet. Cas grunted his assent.

Another moment passed. They were about five minutes from camp.

"You got any meds on you?" Cas asked, squinting his eyes through another jerk of the car. Dean sighed through his teeth.

"Cas..."

"For the pain, Dean. It hurts, sue me." Cas said impatiently. Dean looked mildly shamefaced. Distantly, Cas was amazed. Today had seen a range of emotions that Dean's face hadn't shown in over a year. Yeah, not much, not as much as he would have shown years ago, but it was something more than the statue Dean had become, the statue that Cas tried not to hate sometimes. He should get bit more often. Except not, 'cause it freaking hurt. Plus, he was going to die. Cas couldn't decide how he felt about that.

"Right." Dean said, looking at the road. "There's stuff back at camp."

"Don't bother," Cas said, "I'll get what's left from my cabin."

Dean gave him a look. "You running low?"

"Everyone's running low, on everything. Not that it makes any difference for me now."

Cas tried to chuckle, dying, yeah, no big deal, right.

"Don't say that." Dean growled. "You're not going to die."

Cas turned to look at him, his fingers slipping against his bleeding shoulder. "Yes, I am. In a few hours, I'm gonna go insane, and then you're going to blow my head off."

Dean took his words like a bullet, face pale, and pained. Cas was vaguely fascinated. He hadn't known he could still inspire such fear, fear for him, for his health. He thought he'd done a good job alienating everyone. Guess not.

Dean said nothing else for the remaining minutes on the road, and then they were at camp. His fearless leader, looking significantly more fearful than he'd seen him in a while, bustled Cas into his own cabin, rather than Cas', and sat him down on one of the two chairs.

"You should tie me down..." Cas murmured. The pain, and blood loss was getting to him, and he felt weary, and sort of hung over. "It'll start soon."

"Not yet." Dean said, turning over his shoulder to see Chuck, and Tom and others standing just outside the doorway. "Chuck, get me some medical supplies, pain pills, thread bandages, whatever we have. The rest of you, clear out."

Tom Sullivan stepped forward, anger, and sympathy warring on his face. "Dean, you're not thinking straight. We can't waste supplies on a dead man. You've gotta pull yourself together!"

"Dean, he's right." Cas put in, though inside he was longing for those pills.

"Chuck?" Dean snapped. Chuck looked like he was about to cry.

"Dean, I-"

Cas jumped as Dean's hand slammed against the wall of the cabin. "Dammit, Chuck! Get me the damn supplies! Cas isn't dead yet, and we're not gonna leave him in pain!"

Tom worked his mouth, before stalking off. Chuck followed, eyes down, presumably to get the medical supplies. Cas admitted to feeling a shot of relief at that. His shoulder hurt, and there was too much going on, too many changes, and he just wanted it all to stop for a while.

Dean would have no such thing, going over to the small fawcett (Dean's was one of the few cabins that were hooked up to running water) and filling a bowl with clear water. He then began to roughly clean out the wound, easing up slightly at Cas' gasp.

Cas swore, something he'd gotten good at. "Can't you wait till we get the meds?"

Dean didn't take his eyes off the torn skin. "It's been too long already."

Cas sighed. "It doesn't matter. Tom is right, there's no reason to waste supplies on me." He didn't mention how much he wanted those pain pills.

"I told you to stop talking like that."

"Seriously, Dean, I'm a dead man. In an hour and a half, I'll be a monster. You should just kill me now."
Dean turned tortured eyes to Cas, and Castiel was reminded why he fell from Heaven for this man.

"You might be immune. Sam was." Neither of them mentioned how it was the first time Dean had said Sam's name since that fateful "yes". Cas couldn't get Dean's hopes up.

"Sam was immune because Azazel wanted him to be. I'm a fallen angel, if anything a demon virus will be worse for me. Which is why you have to tie me up, now!"

Cas was startled at his anger. It had been a while, he must be really low on substances in his system. Anger was the first emotion to fade, leaving the cynical bitterness that had become his trademark.

Dean stilled, his fingers on Cas' wound. Head down, he breathed in, and nodded. Cas leaned back into the seat, something like relief making his limbs weak. Dean stood, and gathered a rope from the miscellaneous tool corner, and got to work. The rope bound his waist, chest and arms to the chair, and Cas sagged against them, breathing hard as it tugged on his wound. He was so tired.

"Hey! Stay awake." Dean tapped Cas' face, and he came back into the world with a frown.

The door swung open then, revealing Chuck with his arms full of supplies.

"Jeez, took you long enough." Dean growled, stalking forward, and grabbing the stuff. Chuck shrugged apologetically.

"We're really low. It was hard to find enough. And the only pain pills we've got are aspirin."

Dean frowned, and Cas felt a sinking feeling. Aspirin had never really been strong enough to have an effect, even before he built his tolerance with the harder stuff.

"Did you check my stash?" Cas asked Chuck; he knew where it was, he regularly raided it for pain pills when the med cabin ran low. One too many times apparently, as Chuck nodded his head. Damn.

"Didn't think hallucinogens would be a good choice for the situation." Chuck rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I took the last of the pain meds when Anthony broke his collarbone. Sorry."

Cas shrugged with one shoulder. "It's fine." It wasn't, but he wouldn't know that tomorrow.

Dean leaned back, dropping the bloody rag back into the pinkish water. "Do you want the pills?"

Cas shook his head. "It won't make a difference."

Dean stiffened. "I said stop talk-"

"I meant the pills, I have too much of a tolerance. Jeez."

Dean nodded, and picked up the needle and thread. He ran it through a stream of rubbing alcohol and turned to Cas.

"This is gonna hurt." Dean said, some of that stony eyed look back. Cas couldn't help but respond in his usual flippant manner.

"Already does, Mon Capitan." He said, leaning back and bracing his tied hands against the arm rests. Dean removed his belt, and stuck the folded edge between Cas' teeth, before moving the needle to the open wound.

Cas didn't look, but he could feel every prick, and tug. The skin pulled together with unsettling little noises, which Cas almost drowned out with muffled grunts. No one ever said Cas had the highest pain tolerance, nor did he have the pride to pretend that he did.

Dean's fingers were steady as he tied off the edge of the stitching, and wrapped a clean bandage around his arm.

Chuck had left some time after Dean had started stitching, still squeamish. Cas didn't blame him. When Dean was finished, he spat the belt from his mouth, leaving it to slide down his chest. Dean took it, and put it back around his waist. He needed it now, they all did. Cas knew for a fact that Dean had needed to punch two new holes in his, for all the weight he'd lost since the world ended. Cas had needed three in his.

But that was neither here nor there. Someone else would wear his clothes now. Waste not, right?

Dean moved around in front of him, pulling out the other chair and beginning to take apart his gun. Cas wished he'd leave it ready to go, ready to shoot, but the motions Dean's hand made to clean it were familiar and soothing to watch.

"Now we wait, huh?" Cas murmured, leaning his head back to rest against the top of the chair. Wait for the crazy to set in. Cas wondered what it would feel like... "Stay with me?"

The words escaped before his say so, but as they did, Cas was startled to realize that he meant them wholeheartedly. He was dying, and for all the bitterness and anger that he felt towards Dean, this new Dean with only the occasional glimpse of the old, he still wanted Dean to stay with him. He was afraid.

Dean only snorted, like there was nothing strange going on, and nodded. "I'm staying."

Cas nodded back, swallowed.

"I don't want to die." It was a surprise. It didn't make any sense, but he wanted to live. Life was life, for all the crap theirs was, he didn't want to leave it. Didn't want to leave Dean alone. Didn't want to find out what sort of afterlife existed for a fallen human angel with a multitude of sins under his belt.

"You're not gonna." Dean said harshly.

Cas breathed in shakily, a bit shocky from the stitching (and the dying, he supposed). He didn't want to crush Dean's hopes, but he just couldn't see himself surviving this.

"Dean-"

"Shut up," Dean said, moved back, sitting slowly on the side of his cot. They faced each other, Dean with hidden fear in his eyes (Cas could see, he once knew every fiber of Dean's soul, had pieced him back together in more ways that could be imagined. Too bad it didn't stick) and Cas with a pale face and shaking hands. At this point he couldn't tell if it was withdrawal or shock, but it didn't matter much.

"Now we wait." Cas couldn't help but quip again. Dean let out an annoyed breath, and Cas had the sudden remembrance of how their roles were so reversed from the time they met.

The silence stretched out. Cas thought that if this were a fiction, one of those movies from before, the two characters would have a chance to have a heart to heart before the dying one breathed his last. Words would be said, friendship renewed, feeling shared for the last time. Dean would stop being this brick wall that he'd been since Sam, and would be the Dean of yesteryear. Cas would not be a shaking druggie with a sarcastic snark, but would be Castiel, Angel of the Lord. They'd say their last words to each other, maybe even hug, and then he'd slide peacefully into the next life.

But for one, there was no next life, at least not one he wanted to end up in. Heaven or Hell; both were unappealing. Cas wanted nothing more than oblivion.

Two, there were no words forthcoming from Dean. Just as Cas could not stop his tremors, Dean could not go back to the softer Dean he once was. Too much life was between then and this Dean. Now was what he tiny flashes of what once was would have to be enough for the rest of his life-all half hour of it, right?

The minutes passed, and Cas wanted to say something, anything. No, he wanted Dean to say something, but nothing came. All Cas had to think about was the throbbing in his shoulder, head, the beginnings of withdrawal (withdrawal had always hit him harder than most people, he had yet to figure out that one, since in all other things, he was more sturdy than a human-maybe God's final parting screw-you) and the fact that he was definitely, for sure going to die here, and he was freaking terrified.

"Please say something..." Fell from his lips before he could stop it. Dean looked up, an almost startled look in his eyes. That's right, I'm still here you bastard. Dying!

He shrugged, and looked back down in his lap.

"What do you want me to say?" Dean muttered, his voice as harsh as ever. Cas gritted his teeth.

"Maybe something about the fact that I'm dying, and you don't give a crap!" Cas shouted, anger, that old friend that he'd tried to bury with drugs, coming through strong. "Maybe how we were friends, and now you just sit there!"

Dean's jaw clenched.

"Everybody dies. Or haven't you looked around lately." Dean's eyes flashed to his, "Oh, I forgot, you haven't seen much of anything in the real world lately, just whatever is the latest hallucination."

"Then why didn't you just shoot me?" Cas had wanted his voice to be accusing, proving his point (some point, he wasn't quite sure what) but instead it was a weak plea. Why not, Dean? Why not put me out of my misery?

Cause, even though he was scared to die, he'd toyed with the idea for a long time. He wasn't sure if an overdose would even work on him, with his tolerance, but an ex-angel couldn't survive a bullet in the brain. Yet, something had held him back, whether it be fear or whatever else. He'd held on. But now, he was on his way out, and he just wanted some comfort, someone to care.

"Damn it," Cas muttered, bowing his head to hide the sudden moisture in his eyes. He took a shaky breath, and calmed himself, drawing on a thousand years of discipline to school his features, though not like the old , expressionless mask. Instead it was a wide, brittle, goofy smile that hid his thoughts. "You know what, whatever man...I'm dying. I've got, what? Fifteen minutes till the three hours is up? It'll be any time. Why don't you just do it now?"

Dean stared at him, seemingly startled by the sudden change, the sudden acceptance.

"Cas..."

"What? You can't really still think I'm immune?" Cas threw his head back, forcing a bitter laugh out of his throat. "Why the freaking hell would I be?"

"We won't know for another twenty minutes, so until then, would you just shut up." Dean growled.
Cas' anger got the better of his smiling mask, and like a flash, he tilted his head towards the other man.

"No! I'm gonna talk, while I still can."

Dean almost snorts. "About what?"

"You, Dean. I gripped you tight, you know? That was literal. I saw into every corner of your soul, and you know what? These days I don't recognize you. You've changed so much, and you can't even see it. You think you're protecting yourself, others, by being Mr. Hardass Soldier who does what needs to be done, but all you're doing is destroying yourself."

"You done?"

"No. Most days, I can't stand you, Dean! I hate you for what you've become, for what you turned me into! I was the highest of creatures, and now I roll in the filth. You talk about the drugs, and the sex, but to tell you the truth-"

"Oh, is that what you're doing..."

"To tell you the truth, they are the only thing that makes life bearable. So, don't talk to me about drugs, and addiction, and not being who I used to be. Look in the mirror, pal! Look next to you, where I always am, and look what you made! I hate you for doing this to me, Dean! I hate you!"

Cas stopped, gulping back the rest of his words. That wasn't what he meant to say, but...the truth always escapes in one way or another. He did hate Dean, blaming him for his current life was easy, and Dean's machine like personality made it effortless to forget the man he'd raised from hell. The man who loved his brother more than anything, who teased him, and was gentle with children. The man who stood up to the mightiest of angels without fear. The man who'd inspired him, and then forgot him. Yes, Cas hated him. But he loved him too, still, after all these terrible, screwed up years. He was a brother, more so than any of the angels had been. And, he'd lost him too, just like them...long ago, to tell the truth. And, he was dying, so why the hell not?

Dean had taken his rant with a stony face, and now he turned back to his weapon, cleaning it as he'd been doing. Cas did not take back his words, and Dean did not respond. A minute passed, then two.

Cas kept waiting for symptoms. Was that pounding in his head for want of drugs, or because he was about to turn rabid for meat? Was his heart beating fast in anticipation or disease? His fingers shook, but it felt like normal withdrawal tremors.

More minutes, ten? Fifteen? Dean cleaned and re-cleaned his gun, ready for the moment when he'd have to put a bullet through his former friends head. But...nothing?

After forty five minutes passed the mark, Cas pulled slightly at the bonds.

"Nothing's happening." He said, slightly in wonder. "Shouldn't something have happened by now?"

Dean looked up, looked at the clock, and his shoulders dropped.

"You don't feel anything? Any craving for the long pig?"

Cas shook his head. "I want drugs, not meat." He stated.

Dean leaned back in his chair. He looked...pleased.

"I was right."

Cas stared at him. "You think I am immune?"

Dean stood, stretching his back, sounding several sickening cracks. "We don't have the equipment to check your blood for sulfur, but give it another hour, and then I think we can untie you."

Cas slumped back. He would survive...too much in shock to take it in, he leaned forward again. "But it doesn't make sense!"

Dean raised a hand in surrender. "Hey, don't look at me." The hidden bits of relief were falling away now, and

Cas remembered the things he'd said to him, uninhibited by the promise of death in a few hours. Cas had spewed the truth, but not the full truth, and Dean would not forget his words. Tension in his shoulders, Dean turned his back towards Cas, heading to the door. "I'll be back in an hour to untie you."

Cas opened his mouth to respond only to the slamming door.

In the silence, Cas realised again, he was going to live...continue living in this hell hole of a life, where drugs and alcohol were the only things keeping him going.

He felt only...disappointed.