[ not much more to be said; cas stops texting and Dean sets his phone aside and leans back. “Broken ankle” sounds better than crushing injury, and while he’s gonna be okay, there’s, uh. A lot of reconstructive surgery that went on.
At least the pain meds are good, especially since the nurses aren’t hot.
He’d have escaped days ago except he can’t walk and he moved too slow on crutches. He’d get caught instantly. That and Sam’s had people keep as sharp eye on him when he isn’t here, warning them Dean would absolutely try and give them the slip.
Asshole.
The morphine kicks in and he’s out for twelve hours, a nurse coming in sometime in the night to give him another dose they’ll make him sleep through until morning. He’s out like the dead, and when Cas shows up, he doesn’t budge. He’s got the blanket pulled up to his chin, flowers on the side table from Charlie, a stuffed bear holding a rainbow with a puffy cloud at one end tucked in the bed with him.
[ it's not until he's actually present that castiel realizes how bad it is— after his own stint in the emergency room, back when he was human with a sprained wrist, he knows certain things about how hospitals work. for dean to be here at all is a shock, because dean and sam don't go to hospitals in the first place. for dean to be here for an extended amount of time means that it was serious.
and immediately, he's glad he came. because serious damage may not be repairable. dean said two months, but frankly, dean can't be trusted with his own health.
the question is, does he heal him now, while he's still asleep, or wait until he wakes? he comes around the bed to adjust the stuffed bear so it's snug in the bed with dean. ]
Dean...? Are you awake?
[ ... no, it doesn't seem like he is. he peers at the IV, and there's his answer. morphine. ]
You probably won't be awake for a while. I'd like to ask your permission before I heal you. [ he frowns. ] But I also don't want to make you wait.
[ He’ll wake up eventually, but right now isn’t going to be the moment it happens. The morphine cocktail is strong, and he’s breathing long and deep, cuddling his bear.
He can hear Cas, but it just seeps into his subconscious, Cas appearing in his dream just by way of his voice.
It’s a nice dream. Calm, on the dock in front of the cabin he always dreams about. He’s teaching Cas to fish, showing him how to bait a hook, throw the line properly, fasten sinker and bobber.
[ he can tell that dean is dreaming, but he doesn't know what he's dreaming of. he could step into his dream, but that would take a lot of power he doesn't have— he frowns at the thought of the deal that dean offered (rather, demanded) and then tries not to think too much about it. his first thought was to find some way to weasel out of it, but a part of him knows he probably won't be able to.
so best to put it from his mind.
instead, he watches dean, and lets the sight bring him some peace. at least right now, dean isn't in any pain. ]
I'm sorry you got hurt. I wish I had been there.
[ he looks around, then moves away to pull a chair up. this is what people do when they come to keep vigil over their loved ones, yes? he perches with a sigh. ]
Remember when I told you I wasn't here to perch?
[ isn't that funny to think about now, all these years later? funny, and a little sad. ]
[ The dream is a little odd, Cas’ voice permeating his haze of sleep, but not so much that it actually wakes him up.
He shifts, but not much. A shuffle of sheets; the medication has him immobile, limbs heavy as lead. Probably half the attempt to keep him in the hospital where he should be.
His sigh is audible, a long exhale, expressing peaceful, relaxed. ]
[ can dean hear him, wherever he is? sleep is a strange thing, a semi-permeable state with less clear delineation than the average person may assume. his first dreams had been terrifying, because of his own difficulty telling dream from reality, though he eventually grew used to it— the fear, the sense of unreality.
and now he doesn't dream. his grace seems to block of that avenue of humanity, even though he's still gets so tired he needs to sleep more often than not. ]
[ Peace is certainly a new one - even if it’s due to a heavy flow of
medication that hasn’t worn off yet. He looks younger, skin smoothed, the
perpetual frown lifted as he cuddles his bear, fingers wrapped protectively
around synthetic fur.
Dream Cas is there on the dock again, Dean handing him the pole,
telling him to pull it back, throw and release the line. Easy, he says.
I missed you, Cas says, and Dean doesn’t understand, a tiny
frown on his face appearing in the waking world. ]
[ easy. dean might not say that about what he's trying to do now— and what is he trying to do? offer some small nugget of honesty, he supposes. after everything. or maybe he's just being selfish again, saying the things he's wanted to say that he knows dean might find awkward or objectionable.
castiel smiles and looks down at his knees, where his hands are resting on them, fingers twisted together. maybe that's why he doesn't notice the frown— or maybe he just doesn't imagine he could be the cause of it. ]
It's my fault that I've been away. Not yours. I hope you understand that.
[ castiel hesitates before reaching out to stroke the bear's fur, in place of touching dean himself. it's a sorry substitute, but the stuffed toy is warm from dean's body heat, and that will have to be enough. ]
I know that I hurt you— when I said I didn't trust you. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean it. And I should tell you that, but I can't.
[ because, the truth is, he doesn't deserve to be forgiven.
and maybe he's afraid that dean won't, even if he makes the penance he's due.
[ for such small words, the phrase ‘I’m sorry’ can have such big meaning. Often it’s trite, not even remotely heartfelt, a lie to obtain whatever it is the speaker is looking for. Forgiveness, money. Sex. Doesn’t matter.
Still, Dream!Cas says it and Dean is confused still, the words a blur his drug fogged head annotates. But he hears, somehow, he hears the words from a disembodied voice and he shuffles closer, closer. Wanting, but unable to reach. His physical body twitches, but his dream self reaches, wants. It takes, wraps a hand around Cas’. Their hands are warm, woven together. It’s good. Right. Where it should be.
Dont be sorry. It reverberates in his head, a mantra. No sorrow. No regret. Only them and a sunrise, skin lot by the colors of the sun. ]
[ castiel watches dean move in his sleep and remembers how he once slid into his dreams with ease, diving beneath the surface of his mind like some sleek seabird. he wishes he could do it now, see what dean is dreaming, sooth the fears that chase him through the night (and in this case, day). but if he wants to have the strength to heal dean, he can't spare any for his own indulgences.
he tips his head down, moving his hand from the toy bear's head. his fingers brush dean's arm as he folds both of his hands in his lap to stare at his fingers. ]
I love you, you know.
[ he knows he'll never get another opportunity to say it.
why not now? the words hanging heavy from his lips like another apology. it sounds like one, when he says it.
i love you. i'm sorry for loving you. you deserve better than me. ]
[ He holds Cas' hand in his dream, their fingers entwined, stares at the sunlight reflected over rippling water. It looks like diamonds sprinkled across, glinting in the fading light as the sun sinks lower and lower.
I love you, you know, Cas says and Dean laughs in his dream, leans closer, though shoulders touching, weight against one another when Cas responds in kind.
I know, he says, like he's Harrison Ford in Star Wars, a grin on his face, eyes crinkling at the corners. I love you, too.
Heat floods him, a warmth in his chest, the lifeless organ that is his heart coming back to life, pumping blood in his veins for the first time in years. He wants this to last forever, this moment, this dream, but it's already beginning to fade, Cas turning more and more translucent, fading from view, a vision created in his mind. Dean reaches, grasps at him in desperations, fingers gliding through mist and only catching wisps as Cas' smiling face disappears like the Chesire cat, and he's left with only pain and wakefulness, groaning his way back into the waking world. ]
[ castiel sits up the moment dean begins to stir— he can feel his consciousness rising to the surface before he makes a single sound, and his back is ramrod straight with anticipation. he can't let himself wonder, but the thought winds through his mind anyway— did dean hear? did he hear what he said?
his breath stops in his throat, and he stands. if he still had his wings, he might fly. but instead, he girds himself, and takes a step closer. ]
[ Slowly but surely he's coming back to life, eyes blinking open, weariness settling back into his face. He was alone when he went to sleep, but now there's a figure standing over him, dark and shadowed and he yelps, not expecting it, jerking in the bed and smacking his foot against the rail. It prompts a howl of pain, the poor bear goes flying and he's staring in sheer surprise until the shock wears off. ]
[ oh, dean. guilt rolls through him when smacks his leg, and he offers dean the hangdog look of any animal caught doing something it knows it shouldn't. ]
I'm sorry, Dean.
Let me help.
[ he reaches for the cast without thinking twice— and although he'd lingered with the intention of asking dean his permission, he heals him now before he's had the opportunity to give it. his weakening grace flows through him, pouring into dean's body, centered on his newly reconstructed bone.
castiel's face twists in concentration, sweat beading on his brow. the lights in the hallway give a brief flicker, and then it's done.
castiel sags in place, his breaths coming faster than usual. ]
[ Cas does not, in fact, wait - instead he’s reaching for Dean and letting the flow of grace shiver through, a feeling Dean knows he’ll never get used to. It’s cool, a wash of nirvana and storm clouds, lightning crashes and ozone all in a blink and he’s left reeling, clutching the blanket. ]
It’s - good. I feel good. Sit, Cas, cause you don’t look so good.
[ He pushes himself up and pats the bed, moving to the side to make space. ]
[ he might try to make some excuse to get out of his end of his bargain if he weren't so overwhelmed by dizziness. suddenly, he has to sit, and he comes down heavily on the edge of dean's hospital bed, ashen-faced in the pale light of morning. after a few moments breathing through it, he begins to recover— but there's a sick heat in his center, where the wrong grace has failed to take root.
[ He’s sitting up now, kicking himself free of the blankets and ignoring the very mortifying hospital gown he wears in favor of focusing his attention on his angel. ]
Cas, I told you not to heal me, take it, take what you need from me.
[ He’ll scold Cas properly later, for the moment he’s more worried about getting the Angel stable. ]
[ don't say things like that to him— castiel shoots dean a glance that's meant to be chastening, but hardly carries any heat at all. but dean has a point. he can hardly let himself keel over in the hospital. there would be questions, and dean would be liable to be blamed.
and, well. he did make a promise.
sagging again in resignation, he looks toward the door, reaching out with a hand to turn the lock shot with one of the last wisps of grace in his body. then he sighs, and turns toward dean, sitting so they're directly facing each other at an angle across the bed. he reaches out, halting, fingertips brushing dean's gown. ]
This is going to hurt.
[ it's the only warning dean is given before castiel begins— pushing his fingers not just through his body, but into the very core of his being. into his soul. ]
[ Dean knows it’s gonna hurt; he saw what happened when Cas shoved his hand in that kids body, and Bobby had told Dean years ago what it had been like when Cas recharged from his soul. It’s painful. Incredibly so.
But they’d made a deal and Cas looks ready to collapse. Even if hasn’t been a bargain, he would’ve offered himself on a silver nagger to Cas.
I love you, too.
His eyes close when Cas reaches out, jaw setting, clamping down to hold back the yell of pain when CAs’ hand goes deep, deep into his body, his bones, the very core of Dean Winchester himself. Teeth grit so hard it’s a wonder they don’t break, he forces himself to stay silent through it, enduring the pain but somehow savoring it, too. Cas is touching him in the most intimate place possible, the very fabric of his being, and no matter how much it hurts, there’s a certain pleasure to be derived as well. ]
[ his fingertips press into the barrier of dean's body and through, past the physical into the metaphysical. it's a delicate procedure. his fingers skim the surface of that radiant, ever-lasting light, power flowing through the conduit of his body and into the core of the flickering grace. it catches like a spark and alights into a roaring blaze— castiel gasps when it happens.
it isn't the first time he's had to do this. but it isn't like those times.
it isn't like when he touched dean's soul in hell.
they have a history now. things are different. it's hard to imagine that any experience could exceed that wild flight, but he may as well be wheeling through the heavens now. it can't last long, though. once he feels himself rejuvenated, he's easing out. gently leaving dean's body, mercifully, thankfully, unscathed. ]
[ His face is pink when Cas finally withdraws, and despite the blinding pain he’d been in, once it’s gone he feels almost empty, floating in space, lost without the feeling of completeness, without Cas being part of him.
He reaches out, wraps his fingers around Cas’ wrist, breathing rough. ]
[ dean is pink faced, castiel is too. pleasure fizzles through his body the after effect of the touch. embarrassingly, the effect is physical, too— which is a brand new side-effect that he tries not to think about. ]
Cause you're, you're the one who needed the recharge.
[ Duh. Dean's aching and glad he's covered with a hospital blanket, because his dick doesn't really seem to know what's going on right now and is responding inappropriately. ]
[ he can't deny that he needed it— and he feels much better now, too. his body is brimming with newfound energy, grace blazing white-hot inside him. it still isn't his grace, but he can make do until they find some alternative. (or it burns out, but that isn't something they're going to think about right now. it's not important, anyway.)
of course— try as he might, dean can't hide his reaction from castiel. he can hear the change in his heartbeat, the spike in his blood pressure— even the subtle scent of his hormones, and reflexively he looks down between dean's legs to check. it's just a glance, but dean's not an idiot. dean will see, and dean will know that he knows, and, well.
it's too late to take it back now.
castiel coughs and looks away. then his expression softens. ]
[ Dammit Cas, you don't look at a dudes crotch, it's just not done. He yanks the covers higher, scowling because it's weird, both the pointed look and his stupid body's reaction. ]
Good. I'll uh, I'll text Sam and me and you are gonna get the hell outta here. You got your car? [ Whatever he's using at present. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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At least the pain meds are good, especially since the nurses aren’t hot.
He’d have escaped days ago except he can’t walk and he moved too slow on crutches. He’d get caught instantly. That and Sam’s had people keep as sharp eye on him when he isn’t here, warning them Dean would absolutely try and give them the slip.
Asshole.
The morphine kicks in and he’s out for twelve hours, a nurse coming in sometime in the night to give him another dose they’ll make him sleep through until morning. He’s out like the dead, and when Cas shows up, he doesn’t budge. He’s got the blanket pulled up to his chin, flowers on the side table from Charlie, a stuffed bear holding a rainbow with a puffy cloud at one end tucked in the bed with him.
Stare away. ]
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and immediately, he's glad he came. because serious damage may not be repairable. dean said two months, but frankly, dean can't be trusted with his own health.
the question is, does he heal him now, while he's still asleep, or wait until he wakes? he comes around the bed to adjust the stuffed bear so it's snug in the bed with dean. ]
Dean...? Are you awake?
[ ... no, it doesn't seem like he is. he peers at the IV, and there's his answer. morphine. ]
You probably won't be awake for a while. I'd like to ask your permission before I heal you. [ he frowns. ] But I also don't want to make you wait.
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He can hear Cas, but it just seeps into his subconscious, Cas appearing in his dream just by way of his voice.
It’s a nice dream. Calm, on the dock in front of the cabin he always dreams about. He’s teaching Cas to fish, showing him how to bait a hook, throw the line properly, fasten sinker and bobber.
He grips his bear tighter. ]
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so best to put it from his mind.
instead, he watches dean, and lets the sight bring him some peace. at least right now, dean isn't in any pain. ]
I'm sorry you got hurt. I wish I had been there.
[ he looks around, then moves away to pull a chair up. this is what people do when they come to keep vigil over their loved ones, yes? he perches with a sigh. ]
Remember when I told you I wasn't here to perch?
[ isn't that funny to think about now, all these years later? funny, and a little sad. ]
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He shifts, but not much. A shuffle of sheets; the medication has him immobile, limbs heavy as lead. Probably half the attempt to keep him in the hospital where he should be.
His sigh is audible, a long exhale, expressing peaceful, relaxed. ]
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[ can dean hear him, wherever he is? sleep is a strange thing, a semi-permeable state with less clear delineation than the average person may assume. his first dreams had been terrifying, because of his own difficulty telling dream from reality, though he eventually grew used to it— the fear, the sense of unreality.
and now he doesn't dream. his grace seems to block of that avenue of humanity, even though he's still gets so tired he needs to sleep more often than not. ]
I... missed you, you know.
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[ Peace is certainly a new one - even if it’s due to a heavy flow of medication that hasn’t worn off yet. He looks younger, skin smoothed, the perpetual frown lifted as he cuddles his bear, fingers wrapped protectively around synthetic fur.
Dream Cas is there on the dock again, Dean handing him the pole, telling him to pull it back, throw and release the line. Easy, he says.
I missed you, Cas says, and Dean doesn’t understand, a tiny frown on his face appearing in the waking world. ]
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castiel smiles and looks down at his knees, where his hands are resting on them, fingers twisted together. maybe that's why he doesn't notice the frown— or maybe he just doesn't imagine he could be the cause of it. ]
It's my fault that I've been away. Not yours. I hope you understand that.
[ castiel hesitates before reaching out to stroke the bear's fur, in place of touching dean himself. it's a sorry substitute, but the stuffed toy is warm from dean's body heat, and that will have to be enough. ]
I know that I hurt you— when I said I didn't trust you. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean it. And I should tell you that, but I can't.
[ because, the truth is, he doesn't deserve to be forgiven.
and maybe he's afraid that dean won't, even if he makes the penance he's due.
which is worse? he wonders. ]
I'm sorry.
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Still, Dream!Cas says it and Dean is confused still, the words a blur his drug fogged head annotates. But he hears, somehow, he hears the words from a disembodied voice and he shuffles closer, closer. Wanting, but unable to reach. His physical body twitches, but his dream self reaches, wants. It takes, wraps a hand around Cas’. Their hands are warm, woven together. It’s good. Right. Where it should be.
Dont be sorry. It reverberates in his head, a mantra. No sorrow. No regret. Only them and a sunrise, skin lot by the colors of the sun. ]
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he tips his head down, moving his hand from the toy bear's head. his fingers brush dean's arm as he folds both of his hands in his lap to stare at his fingers. ]
I love you, you know.
[ he knows he'll never get another opportunity to say it.
why not now? the words hanging heavy from his lips like another apology. it sounds like one, when he says it.
i love you. i'm sorry for loving you. you deserve better than me. ]
i'll never measure up to a drunken tag
I love you, you know, Cas says and Dean laughs in his dream, leans closer, though shoulders touching, weight against one another when Cas responds in kind.
I know, he says, like he's Harrison Ford in Star Wars, a grin on his face, eyes crinkling at the corners. I love you, too.
Heat floods him, a warmth in his chest, the lifeless organ that is his heart coming back to life, pumping blood in his veins for the first time in years. He wants this to last forever, this moment, this dream, but it's already beginning to fade, Cas turning more and more translucent, fading from view, a vision created in his mind. Dean reaches, grasps at him in desperations, fingers gliding through mist and only catching wisps as Cas' smiling face disappears like the Chesire cat, and he's left with only pain and wakefulness, groaning his way back into the waking world. ]
Wha-
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his breath stops in his throat, and he stands. if he still had his wings, he might fly. but instead, he girds himself, and takes a step closer. ]
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Cas! We've talked about this!
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I'm sorry, Dean.
Let me help.
[ he reaches for the cast without thinking twice— and although he'd lingered with the intention of asking dean his permission, he heals him now before he's had the opportunity to give it. his weakening grace flows through him, pouring into dean's body, centered on his newly reconstructed bone.
castiel's face twists in concentration, sweat beading on his brow. the lights in the hallway give a brief flicker, and then it's done.
castiel sags in place, his breaths coming faster than usual. ]
How— How do you feel?
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[ Cas does not, in fact, wait - instead he’s reaching for Dean and letting the flow of grace shiver through, a feeling Dean knows he’ll never get used to. It’s cool, a wash of nirvana and storm clouds, lightning crashes and ozone all in a blink and he’s left reeling, clutching the blanket. ]
It’s - good. I feel good. Sit, Cas, cause you don’t look so good.
[ He pushes himself up and pats the bed, moving to the side to make space. ]
Gotta hold up my end of the deal, Cmere.
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it's seeping away. he knows. he can feel it. ]
Dean...?
[ he hasn't actually forgotten. ]
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Cas, I told you not to heal me, take it, take what you need from me.
[ He’ll scold Cas properly later, for the moment he’s more worried about getting the Angel stable. ]
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and, well. he did make a promise.
sagging again in resignation, he looks toward the door, reaching out with a hand to turn the lock shot with one of the last wisps of grace in his body. then he sighs, and turns toward dean, sitting so they're directly facing each other at an angle across the bed. he reaches out, halting, fingertips brushing dean's gown. ]
This is going to hurt.
[ it's the only warning dean is given before castiel begins— pushing his fingers not just through his body, but into the very core of his being. into his soul. ]
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But they’d made a deal and Cas looks ready to collapse. Even if hasn’t been a bargain, he would’ve offered himself on a silver nagger to Cas.
I love you, too.
His eyes close when Cas reaches out, jaw setting, clamping down to hold back the yell of pain when CAs’ hand goes deep, deep into his body, his bones, the very core of Dean Winchester himself. Teeth grit so hard it’s a wonder they don’t break, he forces himself to stay silent through it, enduring the pain but somehow savoring it, too. Cas is touching him in the most intimate place possible, the very fabric of his being, and no matter how much it hurts, there’s a certain pleasure to be derived as well. ]
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it isn't the first time he's had to do this. but it isn't like those times.
it isn't like when he touched dean's soul in hell.
they have a history now. things are different. it's hard to imagine that any experience could exceed that wild flight, but he may as well be wheeling through the heavens now. it can't last long, though. once he feels himself rejuvenated, he's easing out. gently leaving dean's body, mercifully, thankfully, unscathed. ]
Dean.
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He reaches out, wraps his fingers around Cas’ wrist, breathing rough. ]
You - are you okay?
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[ dean is pink faced, castiel is too. pleasure fizzles through his body the after effect of the touch. embarrassingly, the effect is physical, too— which is a brand new side-effect that he tries not to think about. ]
I'm fine.
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[ Duh. Dean's aching and glad he's covered with a hospital blanket, because his dick doesn't really seem to know what's going on right now and is responding inappropriately. ]
Are you sure?
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of course— try as he might, dean can't hide his reaction from castiel. he can hear the change in his heartbeat, the spike in his blood pressure— even the subtle scent of his hormones, and reflexively he looks down between dean's legs to check. it's just a glance, but dean's not an idiot. dean will see, and dean will know that he knows, and, well.
it's too late to take it back now.
castiel coughs and looks away. then his expression softens. ]
Of course I'm sure. Thank you, Dean.
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Good. I'll uh, I'll text Sam and me and you are gonna get the hell outta here. You got your car? [ Whatever he's using at present. ]
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it got smaller and smaller
cas' dick
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