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Angels are experts at torture. Sometimes Castiel wonders at how little difference there is between his species and the demons that run hell. His own brothers have had him bound in sigiled handcuffs for two days while using every skill they learned in heaven to cause him pain. He told them everything he knows about Metatron the first day, hoping to convince them that by working together with their brothers and sisters they would find and defeat Metatron. But they either didn’t believe him or simply were enjoying being able to dish out the wrath that is a part of every angel because the torture has continued and Castiel can feel the painful cuts and bruises over what feels like every inch of his body.
And if that weren’t bad enough, Rowena’s curse is a sick wrongness, a dark corrupting force that he is using all of his remaining strength to fight. If he weren’t an angel, it would have killed him already. As it is, he doesn’t know how (or if) he will be able to remove this curse.
His body and mind are wracked past the point of utter exhaustion and he has felt himself slip in and out of consciousness several times today.
It is for this reason that when he hears a raucous on the other side of the door he barely registers what is might be. And when he sees a glimpse of Dean bursting into the room, followed closely by Sam, both holding dripping angel blades, he ignores the sight believing it to be a hallucination. There is no way Dean could have found him and he expressly told him not to try. He closes his eyes and tries to focus on reality. He can’t let his mind be tricked by pain and exhaustion.
“Cas! CAS!” He hears Dean yell and wonders at the odd crack in his friend’s voice.
Cas feels hands on his wrists struggling with the cuffs holding his arms over his head and moans as the metal cuts into his wrists, causing a new sharp blast of pain.
“Shit, Sam, go check those mooks for a key to these things.”
He hears Sam’s large steps running out of the room and a moment later feels a calloused hand on his cheek gently lifting his head from where it was slumped against his left arm. It’s the touch that grounds him, brings him back to reality and makes him realize that yes, it truly is his friend standing in front of him.
“It’s OK, Cas, we’re going to get you out of these things,” Dean soothes.
“Dean?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“What’re you... doing here, Dean?” He still hasn’t looked at his friend, he doesn’t want to see him through the violent lense of his curse.
“What am I... what the fuck you think I’m doing here? Sightseeing?”
“I can’t be let free. I told you, I’m dangerous,” he grits out between clenched teeth.
“Cas, look at me, man.”
Slowly, he opens his eyes and he can see the shocked look on Dean’s face as he rubs a thumb over Cas’ cheek. “Shit, what did she do to you?”
“It’s a curse, Dean. You and Sam have to leave. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Yeah, no! Thought we talked about this already. Cursed or not? I’m not leaving you.”
“I can’t fight it, Dean.”
Dean scoffs, “Bullshit. Since when has any curse worked the way the bad guys thought it would on you? Seriously, how many times have you been only mostly dead?”
Cas sighs and closes his eyes again, too comforted by the hand on his cheek to argue or wonder why Dean has let his touch linger so long. A moment later he hears Sam come bounding back into the room and Dean’s touch is gone. The ache from the missing touch is palpable.
“Is he OK?” Sam asks Dean through heavy breaths.
“He will be. You got the keys?”
“Yeah, here.” Sam looks at him, “Cas, man, we’ve got you, OK? Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of here.”
Castiel manages a nod for his friend.
Dean grabs the keys from Sam and digs in his pocket for a moment and tosses his own set of keys to his brother. “You wanna stash those bodies and pull the car up to the door while I get Cas down? We’ll meet you out front.”
Sam nods and heads back towards the door while Dean turns back to Cas. It only takes a moment for Dean to unlock the cuffs but without the aid of them holding him up, his knees buckle and he nearly falls to the ground before being caught by Dean.
“Woah, woah, I got’cha. Take it easy,” Dean says as he tucks himself under Cas’ arm and places a hand against his chest to take as much of the angel’s weight as he can.
Dean guides him to a nearby chair and lowers him into it. He sinks heavily and leans forward with his elbows on his knees and buries his face in his hands. Dean stands in front of him, arms crossed looking immensely uncomfortable.
“Cas, man, can you heal yourself?”
Cas tries for a moment to call upon his grace to heal the damage done by his brothers and the metal cuffs, but the curse is blocking him.
“No. Rowena’s curse… it’s… preventing me from healing.”
“Of-fucking-course it is,” Dean grumbles. “It’s OK, Sam’ll be thrilled to have some research to do to cure this thing.”
“How did you find me? I should still be hidden by my tattoo’s sigils,” he grits between his teeth looking up at his friend. It takes all of his willpower to hold back the violence of the curse that is roiling in his blood.
Dean points to himself, “Uh… hunter? I don’t have to use spells to find you. Did it the old fashioned way, I traced your phone’s GPS.”
“Of course.”
“Hey, you OK to get out of here?”
“Dean, I can’t go with you. Look at me. This curse… I could hurt someone. I could hurt you.”
“But you won’t.”
“I could. You don’t understand. I’m barely holding it back right now. You no longer have the strength of the Mark and I’m still an angel. I could hurt you or kill you. It wants me to.”
“But you won’t,” Dean says slower with all the confidence that Cas doesn’t deserve.
“Dean, you are finally free of the Mark. I can’t burden you with my curse,” Cas says as he looks down at his folded hands. Dean has enough on his plate and now the Darkness has returned. He can’t be another problem for his friend.
Dean shakes his head, “God you’re a dumbass sometimes, you know that?” He takes a step closer to Cas and drops down onto his knees in front of him, forcing Cas to meet his eyes. Dean positively growls, “You’re not a freaking burden. You saved me… so many fucking times I’ve lost count and you won’t let me do the same for you?”
Cas tries to look away, but before he can turn his head, Dean has his face cupped between both of his hands, green eyes laser focused on his own. Cas notices the tiniest uptick of his friend’s mouth like he is fighting back a smile. Then Dean tilts his head just a bit and questions, “What’s the matter, Cas? You don’t think you deserve to be saved?”
At the reflection of his own words from so many years ago, Cas loses the will to fight against Dean. He sighs and closes his eyes, relaxing into Dean’s hands.
Then he feels Dean’s forehead against his own and hears him whisper desperately, “After all I’ve done, you gotta let me help you… please let me save you… just this once.”
Cas pulls back, “But Dean you didn’t-”
“Shut up!” Dean growls. “I left you in Purgatory. I kicked you out of the bunker… Jesus, Cas, I let you be homeless as a brand new fucking human. And I almost,” his voice catches and he swallows audibly, “I almost killed you. Christ, I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Dean, that was the Mark, not you.”
Dean rolls his eyes, “I’ve still got the bruises on my knuckles that says it was me.”
Cas reaches up and wraps his hands around Dean’s, pulling them away from his face to examine them. Yes, his knuckles are bruised and spotted with scabbed over scrapes and Cas runs his thumbs gently over them, causing Dean to shiver. He turns over Dean’s right hand so that his palm is facing up and gently pushes up his sleeve, running his hand over the smooth skin where the Mark once was. He can feel Dean’s heartbeat where his fingers rest on his wrist, it's pounding very quickly.
He then looks at Dean with the smallest hint of a smile on his face. “It was the Mark,” he tells him decisively, leaving no room for argument.
Dean makes a noise in the back of his throat and lets out a heavy breath as Castiel watches his shoulders visibly relax and his eyes fall closed. Forgiveness truly is one of his father’s greatest gifts.
He is surprised a moment later when Dean’s arms are suddenly wrapped around his shoulders and his face is buried in his neck. It only takes a moment before his own arms encircle Dean’s torso and hold him tightly.
“I’m gonna fix you, Cas. I need you to let me do this,” Dean says into his neck and he can feel the warmth of every breath on his skin and Dean’s hands holding tight to fistfulls of his button down shirt.
And for the second time in Castiel’s very long life, he feels the odd prickling in the back of his eyes as tears well in them, both of those times because of Dean Winchester. The first was the unimaginable loss when his friend was murdered by Metatron. And now, the overwhelming gratitude and relief and… love he feels for the man in his arms. And he knows that he would do anything for Dean, including let himself by saved by the man who carries the weight of the world on his strong shoulders.
“OK, Dean,” he promises.
After a moment, Dean sniffs as he pulls back presses his fingers into his eyes, “Shit, Sam’s going to think we got lost in here.”
Castiel nods, “Yes, we should go. I’ll need to find a cure for--”
“We need to find a cure. And that can wait ‘till we get you home,” Dean groans as he gets up, grumbling about his age and his painful knees. But Castiel barely registers any of what Dean says, still focused on the one word.
“Home,” he repeats and looks up at Dean, who now has a hand reached out to help him up.
“Yeah, man, home. And this time for good. You said you’re going to let me save you and this time, I’m doing it right. You’re getting your own room at the bunker, you can even park your ridiculous boat in the garage.”
Dean looks so happy with himself as Cas accepts his offered hand and rises to his feet. His body is still broken and aches in places it hasn’t since he was human. And his blood still feels wrong with the constant undercurrent of rage and violence of the attack dog curse but if Dean says they can do this, then he will believe him. He has come to believe that mountains would move and rivers would stop at the request of this impossible man. What’s one more miracle?
Dean slings his arm over his shoulder and tucks himself securely under Cas’ arm to support his weight. It’s probably unnecessary but it feels so good to let his friend help him that he doesn’t argue.
It isn’t until they are halfway to the bunker with Cas slumped comfortably in the shotgun seat of the Impala with Sam following behind them in his Lincoln and Dean drumming along with the music on the steering wheel, looking more relaxed than he has seen him in years, that he begins to let himself feel the first sparks of hope. He never realized after eons of saving others that maybe letting Dean save him for a change was what they both needed.