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Rain hammered against the windshield of the Impala hard enough to blur the world into streaks of silver and black. Dean’s fingers tapped anxiously against the steering wheel while the old wipers fought a losing battle against the storm.
Beside him, Castiel sat silent in the passenger seat, trench coat damp around the edges, blue eyes fixed on the passing darkness outside.
“You know,” Dean muttered, glancing sideways at him, “normal couples go to dinner movies. Maybe bowling.”
Castiel looked over. “You dislike hunting with me?”
Dean snorted softly. “Cas, that’s literally the opposite of what I said.”
A pause.
Then the faintest ghost of a smile touched Castiel’s lips.
Dean’s chest tightened at the sight. Even after everything — Purgatory, the Empty, Heaven falling apart — that tiny smile still hit him like a shotgun blast straight to the ribs.
The radio hummed low between them, some old rock ballad crackling through static.
Dean reached over the center console and squeezed Castiel’s hand once.
“Soon as this hunt’s done,” he said quietly, “we’re taking a damn vacation.”
Castiel tilted his head. “A vacation.”
“Yeah. Beach. Beer. No monsters trying to rip our faces off.”
“You dislike beaches.”
“Okay, rude.”
Another tiny smile.
Dean lived for those smiles.
The church stood abandoned at the edge of a dying town in Nebraska.
Broken stained-glass windows glimmered under flashes of lightning. Vines crawled over stone walls like veins. The bell tower leaned slightly to one side, skeletal against the storm.
Dean shoved the heavy wooden doors open with a groan.
The inside smelled like rot and wet wood.
“Creepy,” Dean muttered.
Castiel stepped past him slowly, grace flickering faintly beneath his skin like pale lightning.
“There is something wrong here.”
Dean cocked his shotgun.
“More wrong than usual?”
Castiel didn’t answer.
That was never a good sign.
The church was silent except for dripping water echoing somewhere in the dark.
Then—
A scream tore through the air.
Not human.
Dean spun instantly.
A creature dropped from the ceiling.
Too many limbs. Too many teeth.
Its eyes glowed white-hot.
“Dean!” Castiel shouted.
The thing lunged.
Dean fired.
The blast barely slowed it.
And then it was on him.
Claws slammed into his shoulders, sending him crashing backward into a pew hard enough to splinter wood beneath him.
Pain exploded across his ribs.
The monster shrieked in his face.
Dean grabbed his knife—
—but the creature suddenly flew sideways with enough force to crack stone.
Castiel.
Grace burned bright around him, blue-white and furious.
“Get away from him!”
The creature snarled.
Then charged again.
Everything happened too fast after that.
Gunfire.
Shattering glass.
Angel grace flashing violently through the dark.
Dean staggered upright just in time to see the creature raise a jagged blade made from black bone—
—and drive it straight into Castiel’s abdomen.
The sound that left Castiel’s mouth didn’t even sound human.
Dean froze.
For one horrible second, the entire world stopped moving.
Blood spread instantly across Castiel’s trench coat.
Bright red.
Too much.
“CAS!”
Rage exploded through Dean so violently it blurred his vision.
He emptied the shotgun into the creature point blank.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
The thing collapsed in a twitching heap.
Dean barely noticed.
Because Castiel was falling.
Dean caught him before he hit the ground.
“Hey— hey, hey, hey— no, no, no…”
Blood soaked instantly through Dean’s fingers when he pressed his hand over the wound.
Castiel gasped sharply, face pale beneath the dim church light.
“Dean…”
“Don’t talk.” Dean’s voice broke. “Don’t— just don’t.”
There was so much blood.
Angels weren’t supposed to bleed this much.
Dean dropped to his knees on the church floor, dragging Castiel against his chest.
Rain thundered outside.
“Look at me,” Dean whispered frantically. “Look at me, Cas.”
Castiel’s eyes fluttered open weakly.
Blue.
Still blue.
Thank God.
“I’m sorry,” Castiel breathed.
Dean stared at him in disbelief.
“You’re apologizing right now?”
“I thought… I could stop it sooner…”
“Cas.” Dean’s voice cracked hard. “You got stabbed protecting me.”
The wound pulsed with dark, terrible grace-burn around the edges.
Not healing.
That terrified Dean more than anything.
“Why aren’t you healing?” Dean demanded shakily.
Castiel winced faintly.
“The blade… angel-killing.”
Dean’s entire body went cold.
No.
No no no no—
“Don’t you dare,” Dean whispered.
Castiel frowned weakly. “Dean—”
“Don’t you dare leave me.”
The words came out broken.
Raw.
Terrified.
Dean pressed harder against the wound, even as blood kept slipping between his fingers.
Castiel looked at him with unbearable softness.
Like Dean was something precious.
Something worth dying for.
“I love you,” Castiel whispered.
Dean felt his heart physically crack apart.
“No.” His voice shook violently. “No, you don’t get to say that like goodbye.”
Castiel’s breathing stuttered painfully.
Dean grabbed his face with blood-covered hands.
“Stay with me.”
“Dean…”
“Stay. With me.”
For the first time in years, Dean Winchester sounded genuinely afraid.
Not hunter afraid.
Not angry afraid.
Human afraid.
The kind that clawed your chest hollow.
Castiel’s hand weakly grabbed Dean’s jacket.
“I’m trying.”
That nearly destroyed him.
Dean hauled Castiel closer against him, forehead pressing desperately against his.
“You listen to me,” Dean whispered fiercely. “You dragged me outta Hell. You raised me from the dead. You rebelled against Heaven for me.”
His voice shattered.
“So you don’t get to die in some crap little church in Nebraska, you hear me?”
Castiel’s eyes fluttered.
Dean panicked instantly.
“Cas.”
No response.
“Cas!”
Dean slapped trembling fingers against Castiel’s cheek.
Nothing.
“Oh God.”
His breath hitched violently.
Blood covered everything now.
Dean’s jacket.
His hands.
The floor beneath them.
“Please,” Dean whispered brokenly. “Please don’t do this.”
And then—
Castiel coughed violently.
Blood splattered across Dean’s shirt.
But his eyes opened again.
Dean almost cried from relief.
“Okay,” he choked out shakily. “Okay. Okay, that’s good. Coughing’s good. Horrifying, but good.”
Castiel blinked dazedly at him.
“You’re crying.”
Dean barked out a broken laugh.
“Yeah, well. Shut up.”
Sirens echoed faintly in the distance.
Someone from town must’ve heard the gunshots.
Dean didn’t care.
For once, he didn’t care about FBI aliases or explaining wounds or running.
He just held Castiel tighter.
“You can’t leave me,” Dean whispered into his hair.
Castiel looked exhausted.
“I don’t intend to.”
Dean closed his eyes hard.
“Good.”
Castiel’s trembling fingers brushed against Dean’s jaw gently.
“So demanding.”
Dean laughed weakly through tears.
“Damn right.”
Hours later, Castiel lay in the bunker infirmary.
Pale.
Weak.
Alive.
The angel blade rested melted in a box downstairs after Jack destroyed it completely.
Dean sat beside the bed wearing a bloodstained T-shirt he hadn’t changed out of.
He refused to leave.
Not even for five minutes.
Castiel stirred faintly beneath the blankets.
Dean was instantly upright.
“Hey.”
Blue eyes slowly opened.
Tired, but alive.
Dean nearly sagged with relief all over again.
“You scared the hell outta me,” he admitted softly.
Castiel looked at him quietly for a long moment.
Then he whispered:
“You were crying.”
Dean rolled his eyes immediately.
“Oh my God, are we seriously circling back to this?”
“You said you don’t cry.”
“I don’t.”
“I witnessed it.”
Dean pointed accusingly. “Near-death doesn’t make you funny.”
A tiny smile appeared on Castiel’s face.
Dean stared at it helplessly.
God, he loved him.
So much it hurt.
Dean reached over carefully, brushing his fingers through Castiel’s messy hair.
“You idiot angel.”
Castiel leaned weakly into the touch.
Dean’s expression softened instantly.
“You know,” he murmured, “when you said you loved me back there…”
Castiel’s eyes searched his nervously.
Dean swallowed hard.
“I should’ve said it sooner.”
Silence filled the room.
Warm.
Fragile.
Real.
Dean pressed a gentle kiss against Castiel’s forehead.
“I love you too.”
Castiel closed his eyes slowly like the words physically healed something inside him.
Dean stayed there all night beside him.
One hand wrapped tightly around Castiel’s.
Just to make sure he was still there.