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spn fic: kiss each other clean
Title: kiss each other clean
Pairing: Cas/Dean
Rating: PG
Words: ~3,700
Summary: "Help me," Cas whispers.
Notes: Episode tag; spoilers for 11x02 and the 11x03 promo.
[AO3]
kiss each other clean
"Help me," Cas whispers.
Dean lowers his gun and tucks it into the back of his jeans. He leans sideways a little, shifting his shadow off Cas' face. Cas looks rough, bloody and bruised and weirdly pale. His skin is a sickly, grayish color, and his eyes -- fuck. Dean has seen those bloodshot, yellow-rimmed eyes before.
"Hey," he says, crouching at Cas' side. Tentatively, he pats Cas' knee. "Are you --"
"Did Rowena do this to you?" Sam cuts in.
"Yes."
Dean mulls that over for a few seconds because it doesn't make any sense. Those fratboys Rowena cursed for leverage had gone feral in minutes. Cas should be foaming at the mouth by now. Or dead.
"I don't get it. If you --"
"My grace," Cas says hoarsely, his throat bobbing as he forces the words out. "It's acting as a barrier between the curse and my true form, but it won't last." He touches his chest, curling his trembling fingers into his bloody shirt. "The curse is digging. Deeper and deeper. It keeps --"
"Okay, okay," Dean says. Gently, he squeezes Cas' wrist. Cas' skin is clammy and cold. "Let's get you cleaned up, and then we'll figure this out. Is this your blood?"
"I was tortured, but I healed myself."
"Tortured?" Sam asks, his voice brittle around the edges. "Who --"
"Angels. They tricked me."
Dean scoffs under his breath. "Angels playing dirty... now there's a surprise."
"Rowena cursed me to escape Crowley. She wanted me to kill him, but he -- he abandoned his vessel just as I stabbed him. My failure angered the spell, and I --" Cas sucks in a breath, and a tight, pained look crosses his face "-- rage clouded everything. I was lost to it. When I regained my mind, I was wandering the streets, and I -- I prayed. I asked them to take me to heaven before I hurt anyone, but they -- the wanted answers." He pauses, color rising in his cheeks as he chews on a furious noise. "They wanted -- Hannah didn't -- I --"
"Hey, hey," Dean says, squeezing Cas' wrist again. Carefully, he gets Cas under the arms and helps him to his feet. "You gotta stay calm, okay? No hulking out. We're gonna get you fixed up, but you --"
Cas fists his hand in Dean's sleeve. "Dean," he says desperately. "You recently asked a favor of me." He tugs Dean's sleeve again, then gropes along Dean's side until he finds the angel blade in Dean's pocket. He grips the handle through Dean's shirt. "I'm asking you to return it."
"No," Dean says, an icy chill sweeping over his skin. "No way."
"Dean, please."
"No." Dean slides his hand up to Cas' jaw, and he holds it there, despite the fact that he can feel Sam staring at them. "I ain't giving up on you that easily. Not when you didn't give up on me."
+
Cas starts shivering about an hour after they get the laptops laid out for research. Sam cranks up the bunker's ancient heater, and Dean grabs a blanket from one of the spare bedrooms. He also makes a cup of the chamomile tea Sam bought for their frequent insomnia nights. It's never done much for Dean -- he's convinced tea is just dirty water -- but Sam swears by it, and Dean figures it can't hurt. If anything, it'll warm Cas up a little.
"Here," Dean says, setting the steaming mug on the table. The blanket has slouched away from Cas' shoulders, and Dean's knuckles brush the back of Cas' neck as he readjusts it. Cas' skin is hot now, and sweat is beading along his hairline. "Dude, you're burning up."
Sam glances up at them, his face washed green from the glow of his laptop's screen. "What... like a fever?"
"Yeah." Dean's chair creaks as he sits. "Hey... maybe that's a good thing. Maybe it'll break like a fever if he can wait it out."
"No," Cas says quietly. He hunches over his tea, cradling the mug with both hands. "The curse is growing stronger. I can feel it burrowing into my grace."
"Great," Dean mutters. He pushes his laptop away and looks at Sam. "Well, I've got nothing. Everything I search turns up weird porn and online role-playing games. You know --" he waves his hand "-- like Harry Potter fantasy stuff."
"That's all I'm getting too," Sam says, tucking his hair behind his ears. "I did find one occult website that mentions a similar curse -- giving a person the mind of a beast -- but it doesn't say how to cast it or reverse it. It's just a spell for protecting yourself against it."
"Yeah, well, I think we're past the preventative medicine stage."
"We'll have to hit the books."
Sighing, Dean glances at the mess waiting for them in the other room. The air still smells faintly of gasoline. "It's a good thing our library is so neat and orderly."
"Actually, most of the witchcraft books are still in my room. I stashed them there when I -- when I, um."
"Right," Dean grunts. Anger wells in the back of his throat, sour and hot, but he makes himself swallow it. It's a pointless argument anyway -- done is fucking done -- and they've got bigger fish to fry. He drums his fingers on the table, right beside the angel blade Cas had insisted he have ready. He can't even look at it. "Just go get them."
"I doubt you'll find an answer," Cas says. The color is starting to come back to his face, but there's a yellowish cast to it, livid and unhealthy. "Rowena devised this spell herself."
Sam pauses for a second, then nods. "It's probably a cocktail of simpler spells. Bestial mind, berserker rage, and -- did she order you to kill Crowley, or did you just know she wanted him dead?"
"Both." Cas leans back in his chair, pulling the blanket closer around him. She said dele malum hoc. Destroy this evil. But I also sensed that she wanted him dead."
"So, some kind of mind control. Or maybe the empathetic bond a witch gives their familiar."
Dean sighs and rubs his hand over his face. "So we're fucked?"
"I don't know. When I was researching a cure for the Mark, I found an all-purpose curse reversal, but --"
"And you're just sharing with the class now?"
Cas grates out a noise, curling in on himself and clutching at his stomach.
"Cas," Dean says quickly. "You all right, pal?"
"It's the spell." Cas sucks in a breath, his shoulders shaking as a shiver wracks his body. "I'm so cold."
"I'll get you another blanket."
"No," Cas says, lurching to his feet. "I just -- I need some air."
"Okay," Dean says, standing. He doesn't put the angel blade in his pocket. "Okay. We'll go outside for a couple minutes."
Cas takes two steps and crashes to the floor.
+
Cas technically has his own room, but Sam backs into Dean's as they're carrying him down the hall. Dean doesn't bother arguing about it; he's too fucking tired. It's easier to just help Sam lay Cas out on his bed.
"I'll -- um. I'll grab those books."
Dean doesn't bother arguing with that, either. "Yeah."
The door closes behind Sam with a groan, and Dean pulls off Cas' shoes and tie. He rolls Cas on his side -- just in case he pukes -- and he wedges a pillow against Cas' back so he stays that way. He covers Cas with two blankets, and he brushes Cas' sweaty hair away from his forehead.
"You better not fucking die on me."
He pauses in the doorway before flipping off the lights. He knows this isn't his fault -- not really, not when he specifically told Cas and Sam to leave the Mark of Cain alone -- but it feels like it is. Guilt is a living thing in his gut.
Sam finds him in the kitchen as he's pouring himself a drink.
"That isn't going to help."
Dean shrugs and knocks it back in one swallow. "Well, it's aint gonna hurt." He sets his glass on the counter and turns around, crossing his arms. "Tell me about this spell."
"I didn't mention it before because I don't think we can work it."
"Why not?"
Sam grabs a beer from the fridge, sighing as he pops the cap. "Because it isn't like summoning a demon. It isn't just bleeding a little and saying the right words. It's heavy-duty hoodoo. We don't have the mojo to get it off the ground."
"All right," Dean says slowly. "Then we... I don't know. We lasso ourselves a kitchen-witch and get them to work it in exchange for not ganking them."
"You really think that'll work?"
Snorting, Dean reaches for the bottle. "With our luck?" He pours himself about a finger and a half, and he swirls it around a little before drinking it. "Probably not."
"Dean, we might --"
"I know, all right? I know."
Dean clutches the glass in his hand until his knuckles flare white. His angel blade is still in the library, still waiting patiently beside his laptop. He doesn't think he can make himself use it. He isn't entirely sure what he's living for these days anyway, but if Cas died, the pinprick light at the end of the tunnel would go out for good. Killing Cas would -- fuck. His second whiskey shot lurches around in his gut.
"I can't do it," he says quietly.
"I know."
"I ain't letting you do it, either."
"I'm not offering," Sam says. "I just -- look, I've set the witchcraft books up the library. I'm going to check on Cas, and then we'll do some more digging."
Sam heads out of the kitchen, his feet catching the linoleum bubble in the doorway. Dean swallows the knot burning in the back of his throat, shutting his eyes as they start to sting. He squeezes the glass a little harder, then hurls it against the wall. It shatters with a noise like a gunshot, but it doesn't make him feel any better.
+
"I can't find Cas."
"What?" Dean shoves the dustpan aside and heaves himself to his feet. "What --"
"He's not in your room. He's not in any of the rooms. I checked the war room and the library and the dungeon. He's just --" Sam waves his hand "-- he's just gone."
"All right." Dean takes a breath and rubs his hand over his face. "All right. It's been... what, an hour since we put him to bed? An hour and half? He's gotta be close by. We'll track the GPS in his phone, and -- fuck."
"What?"
"I don't think he's got his phone. He didn't answer when I called him, and he didn't call us before he turned up here. He must've lost it when those angels rolled him."
Sam pauses for a moment, then shakes himself like a dog. "I... I might have an idea. Get the gear in the car and meet me back up here."
Their bags are still in the war room; Dean grabs them and hauls them down to the garage. It's cold enough down there that Dean shivers as he's stowing them in the trunk. He hopes Cas is okay. He hopes -- fuck. His guilt is squirming in his throat, thick enough to strangle him from the inside.
When he gets back upstairs, Sam is murmuring over a copper bowl full of blood and myrrh. He rolls a map out on the table and lights one corner on fire with a candle. The flames chase each other around the map's edges, then slowly burn their way toward the center. Sam murmurs something again; the flames surge up a little and Sam takes a step back.
"What's this?" Dean asks.
"Tracking spell."
"Where'd you learn it?"
"I -- Ruby."
Dean makes himself let it go. Done is fucking done. "Whatever. If it finds Cas, I'll take it."
The flames start to sputter and die. Sam says, "Out," and they fade away completely. The map is almost completely burned away; he taps the center of what's left. "Cas should be here."
"Okay. Let's go."
+
Concordia is only an hour away; they pull into town just as the sun is peeking over the horizon. According to Sam's magic map, Cas is on the south side of town. It's a warehouse district, barely brimming with activity as early birds come to work. Dean parks beside several other cars. None of them are the Continental, but that doesn't mean anything. Cas could've ditched it somewhere else. He could've stolen another car. He could've done a lot of things. Guilt wells in Dean's chest like blood from an open wound.
Dean climbs out of the car and frowns at the four warehouses surrounding them. "So, this is the place?"
"Yeah," Sam says.
"There's lots of ground to cover," Dean says, shouldering his bag. His angel blade is buried at the very bottom of it. "I guess we should split up. You --"
"I'm going to look for Rowena."
"Rowena? Why the hell would Rowena be here?"
"I think Cas is trying to find her," Sam says. He sets his bag on the hood of the Impala and digs around until he finds the witchcraft handcuffs. "I mean, attack dogs are supposed to protect their masters. The curse is probably driving him to find her again so he can keep protecting her."
"That... almost makes sense," Dean mutters. "I can't believe we live in a world where that almost makes sense."
Sam starts to reply, but a woman screams in the warehouse to Dean's left.
"Shit. That's my cue," Dean says. He pulls his sleeve up, flashing the sigil inked in blood on the inside of his wrist. "You really think this will trap him?"
"It won't trap him, but it will stun him for a few seconds -- long enough for you to get a ring around him."
The woman screams again, and Dean takes off at a run. The warehouse is poorly lit and cold, and it smells -- weirdly -- like stale candy. Once Dean's eyes adjust, he sees that it's stocked full of party supplies -- balloons, streamers, clown cut-outs, piñatas. Around the first corner, Dean finds Cas throttling a man up against a metal shelving unit by the throat. Two women are behind him, crouched against the wall.
"Hey, Cas," he says, holding his hands up. "Why don't you let these people go."
"Dean." Cas glances between Dean and the guy he's choking, then growls under his breath and tightens his grip on the man's throat. "I told you to kill me."
"Okay, I will," Dean hears himself say. He thinks he might puke. "But first you gotta let these people go."
Cas hesitates for a second, relaxing just enough for the man to twist out of his grasp. Gasping, he scuttles toward the women. Dean snaps his fingers to get their attention, then waves at the door and mouths, "Go." He takes a couple steps closer to Cas, circling around so Cas doesn't see them leave.
"I don't -- I don't know why I'm here," Cas murmurs, glancing at all the party crap on the shelves. "I don't remember coming here."
"It's the spell," Dean says. He sets his bag on the floor, tugging the mouth until it's yawned open around the jar of holy oil. There isn't much left; he'll have to be careful with it. "It wants you to find Rowena again so she can sic you on someone else."
"Dean, please." A terrible expression contorts Cas' face, half rage and half fear. "You said you'd kill me."
"No."
Cas charges Dean like a linebacker. Dean is expecting it, but the shelves still knock the wind out of him when they slam into his back. He sucks in a breath, but he doesn't fight back. Cas twists his hand in Dean's collar, dragging Dean down to his knees. He hesitates as he cocks his arm for a punch.
"Do it," Dean says quietly. "I figure I owe you a few good shots."
Cas stares at him for a minute, his yellow-rimmed eyes not quite focused. Heat is coming off him in waves. "I don't want to." He loosens his grip on Dean's collar, then tightens it, then loosens it again. "I don't think I can stop myself."
"I ain't fighting you."
"Dean, please."
"I ain't killing you, either."
"Why not?"
"I -- you know why," Dean says, his heart hammering in his throat. "It's the same reason you worked a spell to get rid of the Mark instead of killing me. I need you. I -- I need you here, with me."
Cas makes a soft, startled noise in the back of his throat. He slumps a little, his hand slipping away from Dean's collar. Dean pricks his thumb on the sharp, unfinished edge of a shelf, then tackles Cas to the floor. Snarling, Cas twists underneath him. Dean presses his bleeding thumb to the sigil on his wrist; Cas stiffens all over and heaves out a grunt like he's been punched in the gut. Dean scrambles for his bag and grabs the jar of holy oil. The circle he pours is narrow and crooked, but it lights up all right, and Cas stumbles to a stop as he's getting to his feet.
"Dean," Cas says desperately. His face is orange-pink in warm glow of the fire. He still looks sick. "Please. You can't keep me here forever. I don't want to hurt anyone else."
Dean wipes his bloody thumb on his shirt. "You won't."
"Dean --"
"I ain't giving up on you yet," Dean says. "Not when I still got one more card to play."
+
Sam shows up with Rowena just as the flames are starting to wane.
"What is it with you Winchesters and dirty, smelly warehouses?"
She seems tiny standing next to Sam. Her dress is too fancy for seven in the morning in a Kansas backwater, and the length of her wig is pulled over her shoulder like a platinum-white waterfall. Inside the circle, Cas starts pacing restlessly.
"Blonde really isn't your color," Dean says.
She gives him a flat look over the rims of her Farrah Fawcett sunglasses. "Really? I cleanse you of the Mark of Cain and this is how you repay me?"
"Sorry. Your thank you card must've got lost in the mail."
She huffs out a noise, then peers over Dean's shoulder. "Castiel. I'm pleased to see you're still alive."
"Fix him," Sam says shortly.
"Or what?"
Dean pats his knife against his thigh. "Or I'll kill you."
"I'm not so sure of that, not when I'm the only one who can save him." Rowena tips her head to the side and hums under her breath. "Come on, hero. You spared me once for three boys you didn't even know."
"That was then. I'm a lot angrier now."
"Of course you are. Now, it's Castiel." She tugs her arm out of Sam's grasp and takes a few steps toward the circle. The flames are almost gone. "He's dying, you know. He's only lived this long because he's an angel. It will kill him eventually."
"Maybe," Sam says. "Maybe not. Cas is pretty tough."
"That's quite a gamble you're taking."
"So are you." Dean points at her with his knife. "Witch or not, you're still human. When you die, you're only going one of two places. With your track record, I'm betting your all-expense-paid is headed straight downstairs."
"Where your son is still king, by the way," Sam adds. "Crowley gave Cas the slip."
Dean whistles through his teeth. "I'm thinking that might make for an awkward eternity."
After a tight pause, Rowena says, "If I reverse the spell, I walk out of here a free woman."
"No. Dean, don't," Cas says, but Dean says, "Deal."
+
Whatever Rowena does smells like brimstone and rotten fruit. It also knocks Cas flat on his ass. He hits the warehouse floor like a ton of bricks. As Sam is dragging Rowena away, she says, "What did you expect? A bloody miracle?"
Dean crouches beside Cas' body. The color is returning to his face, but his eyes are closed, so Dean can't tell if the bloody, yellowish film is gone. His breathing is shallow but steady. Dean grabs him under the arms so he can pick him up and carry him out to the car, but he ends up fear-frozen on the floor with Cas half in his lap.
"You'd better wake up."
Sunlight streams in through one of the high windows, painting a lopsided square of light across Cas' shoulder. Dean brushes his fingers through Cas' hair, then slides his hand down to Cas' jaw. Cas' skin is stubble-rough against Dean's palm, and Dean runs his thumb over the swell of Cas' cheek. He's always wanted to do that, but he's never had the nerve. He's wanted to do a lot of things and never had the nerve.
"If you die on me, I swear I'll --"
"Dean?" Cas mumbles.
"Yeah," Dean says, smiling. He runs his hand down to Cas' shoulder and squeezes a little. "Yeah, it's me."
"I'm alive?"
"Looks like."
Cas sits up then, pulling away so suddenly that Dean worries he overstepped somehow, that he misread this thing that's always waited between them, but once they're both on their feet, Cas wraps him up in a hug.
"I'm sorry," he says, into the side of Dean's neck.
"You're sorry?" Dean asks. He tucks his face into the curve of Cas' shoulder and breathes Cas in. "The other day, I -- I nearly beat you to death. I can't -- I'll never --"
"That wasn't you."
"I sure as shit remember doing it."
Cas tips his head up. His eyes are blue and clear, and his mouth is right there, so Dean leans in and kisses him. It's soft and slow and sweet, and Cas hums into it, pleased. He curls his hand into Dean's hair, and Dean slides his arms inside Cas' coat and pulls Cas' closer. They kiss and kiss and kiss, until they're both half-hard and breathless and the Impala is rumbling outside the warehouse and Sam is laying on the horn.
"C'mon," Dean says, hips lips moving against Cas' jaw. "Let's go home."
Pairing: Cas/Dean
Rating: PG
Words: ~3,700
Summary: "Help me," Cas whispers.
Notes: Episode tag; spoilers for 11x02 and the 11x03 promo.
[AO3]
"Help me," Cas whispers.
Dean lowers his gun and tucks it into the back of his jeans. He leans sideways a little, shifting his shadow off Cas' face. Cas looks rough, bloody and bruised and weirdly pale. His skin is a sickly, grayish color, and his eyes -- fuck. Dean has seen those bloodshot, yellow-rimmed eyes before.
"Hey," he says, crouching at Cas' side. Tentatively, he pats Cas' knee. "Are you --"
"Did Rowena do this to you?" Sam cuts in.
"Yes."
Dean mulls that over for a few seconds because it doesn't make any sense. Those fratboys Rowena cursed for leverage had gone feral in minutes. Cas should be foaming at the mouth by now. Or dead.
"I don't get it. If you --"
"My grace," Cas says hoarsely, his throat bobbing as he forces the words out. "It's acting as a barrier between the curse and my true form, but it won't last." He touches his chest, curling his trembling fingers into his bloody shirt. "The curse is digging. Deeper and deeper. It keeps --"
"Okay, okay," Dean says. Gently, he squeezes Cas' wrist. Cas' skin is clammy and cold. "Let's get you cleaned up, and then we'll figure this out. Is this your blood?"
"I was tortured, but I healed myself."
"Tortured?" Sam asks, his voice brittle around the edges. "Who --"
"Angels. They tricked me."
Dean scoffs under his breath. "Angels playing dirty... now there's a surprise."
"Rowena cursed me to escape Crowley. She wanted me to kill him, but he -- he abandoned his vessel just as I stabbed him. My failure angered the spell, and I --" Cas sucks in a breath, and a tight, pained look crosses his face "-- rage clouded everything. I was lost to it. When I regained my mind, I was wandering the streets, and I -- I prayed. I asked them to take me to heaven before I hurt anyone, but they -- the wanted answers." He pauses, color rising in his cheeks as he chews on a furious noise. "They wanted -- Hannah didn't -- I --"
"Hey, hey," Dean says, squeezing Cas' wrist again. Carefully, he gets Cas under the arms and helps him to his feet. "You gotta stay calm, okay? No hulking out. We're gonna get you fixed up, but you --"
Cas fists his hand in Dean's sleeve. "Dean," he says desperately. "You recently asked a favor of me." He tugs Dean's sleeve again, then gropes along Dean's side until he finds the angel blade in Dean's pocket. He grips the handle through Dean's shirt. "I'm asking you to return it."
"No," Dean says, an icy chill sweeping over his skin. "No way."
"Dean, please."
"No." Dean slides his hand up to Cas' jaw, and he holds it there, despite the fact that he can feel Sam staring at them. "I ain't giving up on you that easily. Not when you didn't give up on me."
+
Cas starts shivering about an hour after they get the laptops laid out for research. Sam cranks up the bunker's ancient heater, and Dean grabs a blanket from one of the spare bedrooms. He also makes a cup of the chamomile tea Sam bought for their frequent insomnia nights. It's never done much for Dean -- he's convinced tea is just dirty water -- but Sam swears by it, and Dean figures it can't hurt. If anything, it'll warm Cas up a little.
"Here," Dean says, setting the steaming mug on the table. The blanket has slouched away from Cas' shoulders, and Dean's knuckles brush the back of Cas' neck as he readjusts it. Cas' skin is hot now, and sweat is beading along his hairline. "Dude, you're burning up."
Sam glances up at them, his face washed green from the glow of his laptop's screen. "What... like a fever?"
"Yeah." Dean's chair creaks as he sits. "Hey... maybe that's a good thing. Maybe it'll break like a fever if he can wait it out."
"No," Cas says quietly. He hunches over his tea, cradling the mug with both hands. "The curse is growing stronger. I can feel it burrowing into my grace."
"Great," Dean mutters. He pushes his laptop away and looks at Sam. "Well, I've got nothing. Everything I search turns up weird porn and online role-playing games. You know --" he waves his hand "-- like Harry Potter fantasy stuff."
"That's all I'm getting too," Sam says, tucking his hair behind his ears. "I did find one occult website that mentions a similar curse -- giving a person the mind of a beast -- but it doesn't say how to cast it or reverse it. It's just a spell for protecting yourself against it."
"Yeah, well, I think we're past the preventative medicine stage."
"We'll have to hit the books."
Sighing, Dean glances at the mess waiting for them in the other room. The air still smells faintly of gasoline. "It's a good thing our library is so neat and orderly."
"Actually, most of the witchcraft books are still in my room. I stashed them there when I -- when I, um."
"Right," Dean grunts. Anger wells in the back of his throat, sour and hot, but he makes himself swallow it. It's a pointless argument anyway -- done is fucking done -- and they've got bigger fish to fry. He drums his fingers on the table, right beside the angel blade Cas had insisted he have ready. He can't even look at it. "Just go get them."
"I doubt you'll find an answer," Cas says. The color is starting to come back to his face, but there's a yellowish cast to it, livid and unhealthy. "Rowena devised this spell herself."
Sam pauses for a second, then nods. "It's probably a cocktail of simpler spells. Bestial mind, berserker rage, and -- did she order you to kill Crowley, or did you just know she wanted him dead?"
"Both." Cas leans back in his chair, pulling the blanket closer around him. She said dele malum hoc. Destroy this evil. But I also sensed that she wanted him dead."
"So, some kind of mind control. Or maybe the empathetic bond a witch gives their familiar."
Dean sighs and rubs his hand over his face. "So we're fucked?"
"I don't know. When I was researching a cure for the Mark, I found an all-purpose curse reversal, but --"
"And you're just sharing with the class now?"
Cas grates out a noise, curling in on himself and clutching at his stomach.
"Cas," Dean says quickly. "You all right, pal?"
"It's the spell." Cas sucks in a breath, his shoulders shaking as a shiver wracks his body. "I'm so cold."
"I'll get you another blanket."
"No," Cas says, lurching to his feet. "I just -- I need some air."
"Okay," Dean says, standing. He doesn't put the angel blade in his pocket. "Okay. We'll go outside for a couple minutes."
Cas takes two steps and crashes to the floor.
+
Cas technically has his own room, but Sam backs into Dean's as they're carrying him down the hall. Dean doesn't bother arguing about it; he's too fucking tired. It's easier to just help Sam lay Cas out on his bed.
"I'll -- um. I'll grab those books."
Dean doesn't bother arguing with that, either. "Yeah."
The door closes behind Sam with a groan, and Dean pulls off Cas' shoes and tie. He rolls Cas on his side -- just in case he pukes -- and he wedges a pillow against Cas' back so he stays that way. He covers Cas with two blankets, and he brushes Cas' sweaty hair away from his forehead.
"You better not fucking die on me."
He pauses in the doorway before flipping off the lights. He knows this isn't his fault -- not really, not when he specifically told Cas and Sam to leave the Mark of Cain alone -- but it feels like it is. Guilt is a living thing in his gut.
Sam finds him in the kitchen as he's pouring himself a drink.
"That isn't going to help."
Dean shrugs and knocks it back in one swallow. "Well, it's aint gonna hurt." He sets his glass on the counter and turns around, crossing his arms. "Tell me about this spell."
"I didn't mention it before because I don't think we can work it."
"Why not?"
Sam grabs a beer from the fridge, sighing as he pops the cap. "Because it isn't like summoning a demon. It isn't just bleeding a little and saying the right words. It's heavy-duty hoodoo. We don't have the mojo to get it off the ground."
"All right," Dean says slowly. "Then we... I don't know. We lasso ourselves a kitchen-witch and get them to work it in exchange for not ganking them."
"You really think that'll work?"
Snorting, Dean reaches for the bottle. "With our luck?" He pours himself about a finger and a half, and he swirls it around a little before drinking it. "Probably not."
"Dean, we might --"
"I know, all right? I know."
Dean clutches the glass in his hand until his knuckles flare white. His angel blade is still in the library, still waiting patiently beside his laptop. He doesn't think he can make himself use it. He isn't entirely sure what he's living for these days anyway, but if Cas died, the pinprick light at the end of the tunnel would go out for good. Killing Cas would -- fuck. His second whiskey shot lurches around in his gut.
"I can't do it," he says quietly.
"I know."
"I ain't letting you do it, either."
"I'm not offering," Sam says. "I just -- look, I've set the witchcraft books up the library. I'm going to check on Cas, and then we'll do some more digging."
Sam heads out of the kitchen, his feet catching the linoleum bubble in the doorway. Dean swallows the knot burning in the back of his throat, shutting his eyes as they start to sting. He squeezes the glass a little harder, then hurls it against the wall. It shatters with a noise like a gunshot, but it doesn't make him feel any better.
+
"I can't find Cas."
"What?" Dean shoves the dustpan aside and heaves himself to his feet. "What --"
"He's not in your room. He's not in any of the rooms. I checked the war room and the library and the dungeon. He's just --" Sam waves his hand "-- he's just gone."
"All right." Dean takes a breath and rubs his hand over his face. "All right. It's been... what, an hour since we put him to bed? An hour and half? He's gotta be close by. We'll track the GPS in his phone, and -- fuck."
"What?"
"I don't think he's got his phone. He didn't answer when I called him, and he didn't call us before he turned up here. He must've lost it when those angels rolled him."
Sam pauses for a moment, then shakes himself like a dog. "I... I might have an idea. Get the gear in the car and meet me back up here."
Their bags are still in the war room; Dean grabs them and hauls them down to the garage. It's cold enough down there that Dean shivers as he's stowing them in the trunk. He hopes Cas is okay. He hopes -- fuck. His guilt is squirming in his throat, thick enough to strangle him from the inside.
When he gets back upstairs, Sam is murmuring over a copper bowl full of blood and myrrh. He rolls a map out on the table and lights one corner on fire with a candle. The flames chase each other around the map's edges, then slowly burn their way toward the center. Sam murmurs something again; the flames surge up a little and Sam takes a step back.
"What's this?" Dean asks.
"Tracking spell."
"Where'd you learn it?"
"I -- Ruby."
Dean makes himself let it go. Done is fucking done. "Whatever. If it finds Cas, I'll take it."
The flames start to sputter and die. Sam says, "Out," and they fade away completely. The map is almost completely burned away; he taps the center of what's left. "Cas should be here."
"Okay. Let's go."
+
Concordia is only an hour away; they pull into town just as the sun is peeking over the horizon. According to Sam's magic map, Cas is on the south side of town. It's a warehouse district, barely brimming with activity as early birds come to work. Dean parks beside several other cars. None of them are the Continental, but that doesn't mean anything. Cas could've ditched it somewhere else. He could've stolen another car. He could've done a lot of things. Guilt wells in Dean's chest like blood from an open wound.
Dean climbs out of the car and frowns at the four warehouses surrounding them. "So, this is the place?"
"Yeah," Sam says.
"There's lots of ground to cover," Dean says, shouldering his bag. His angel blade is buried at the very bottom of it. "I guess we should split up. You --"
"I'm going to look for Rowena."
"Rowena? Why the hell would Rowena be here?"
"I think Cas is trying to find her," Sam says. He sets his bag on the hood of the Impala and digs around until he finds the witchcraft handcuffs. "I mean, attack dogs are supposed to protect their masters. The curse is probably driving him to find her again so he can keep protecting her."
"That... almost makes sense," Dean mutters. "I can't believe we live in a world where that almost makes sense."
Sam starts to reply, but a woman screams in the warehouse to Dean's left.
"Shit. That's my cue," Dean says. He pulls his sleeve up, flashing the sigil inked in blood on the inside of his wrist. "You really think this will trap him?"
"It won't trap him, but it will stun him for a few seconds -- long enough for you to get a ring around him."
The woman screams again, and Dean takes off at a run. The warehouse is poorly lit and cold, and it smells -- weirdly -- like stale candy. Once Dean's eyes adjust, he sees that it's stocked full of party supplies -- balloons, streamers, clown cut-outs, piñatas. Around the first corner, Dean finds Cas throttling a man up against a metal shelving unit by the throat. Two women are behind him, crouched against the wall.
"Hey, Cas," he says, holding his hands up. "Why don't you let these people go."
"Dean." Cas glances between Dean and the guy he's choking, then growls under his breath and tightens his grip on the man's throat. "I told you to kill me."
"Okay, I will," Dean hears himself say. He thinks he might puke. "But first you gotta let these people go."
Cas hesitates for a second, relaxing just enough for the man to twist out of his grasp. Gasping, he scuttles toward the women. Dean snaps his fingers to get their attention, then waves at the door and mouths, "Go." He takes a couple steps closer to Cas, circling around so Cas doesn't see them leave.
"I don't -- I don't know why I'm here," Cas murmurs, glancing at all the party crap on the shelves. "I don't remember coming here."
"It's the spell," Dean says. He sets his bag on the floor, tugging the mouth until it's yawned open around the jar of holy oil. There isn't much left; he'll have to be careful with it. "It wants you to find Rowena again so she can sic you on someone else."
"Dean, please." A terrible expression contorts Cas' face, half rage and half fear. "You said you'd kill me."
"No."
Cas charges Dean like a linebacker. Dean is expecting it, but the shelves still knock the wind out of him when they slam into his back. He sucks in a breath, but he doesn't fight back. Cas twists his hand in Dean's collar, dragging Dean down to his knees. He hesitates as he cocks his arm for a punch.
"Do it," Dean says quietly. "I figure I owe you a few good shots."
Cas stares at him for a minute, his yellow-rimmed eyes not quite focused. Heat is coming off him in waves. "I don't want to." He loosens his grip on Dean's collar, then tightens it, then loosens it again. "I don't think I can stop myself."
"I ain't fighting you."
"Dean, please."
"I ain't killing you, either."
"Why not?"
"I -- you know why," Dean says, his heart hammering in his throat. "It's the same reason you worked a spell to get rid of the Mark instead of killing me. I need you. I -- I need you here, with me."
Cas makes a soft, startled noise in the back of his throat. He slumps a little, his hand slipping away from Dean's collar. Dean pricks his thumb on the sharp, unfinished edge of a shelf, then tackles Cas to the floor. Snarling, Cas twists underneath him. Dean presses his bleeding thumb to the sigil on his wrist; Cas stiffens all over and heaves out a grunt like he's been punched in the gut. Dean scrambles for his bag and grabs the jar of holy oil. The circle he pours is narrow and crooked, but it lights up all right, and Cas stumbles to a stop as he's getting to his feet.
"Dean," Cas says desperately. His face is orange-pink in warm glow of the fire. He still looks sick. "Please. You can't keep me here forever. I don't want to hurt anyone else."
Dean wipes his bloody thumb on his shirt. "You won't."
"Dean --"
"I ain't giving up on you yet," Dean says. "Not when I still got one more card to play."
+
Sam shows up with Rowena just as the flames are starting to wane.
"What is it with you Winchesters and dirty, smelly warehouses?"
She seems tiny standing next to Sam. Her dress is too fancy for seven in the morning in a Kansas backwater, and the length of her wig is pulled over her shoulder like a platinum-white waterfall. Inside the circle, Cas starts pacing restlessly.
"Blonde really isn't your color," Dean says.
She gives him a flat look over the rims of her Farrah Fawcett sunglasses. "Really? I cleanse you of the Mark of Cain and this is how you repay me?"
"Sorry. Your thank you card must've got lost in the mail."
She huffs out a noise, then peers over Dean's shoulder. "Castiel. I'm pleased to see you're still alive."
"Fix him," Sam says shortly.
"Or what?"
Dean pats his knife against his thigh. "Or I'll kill you."
"I'm not so sure of that, not when I'm the only one who can save him." Rowena tips her head to the side and hums under her breath. "Come on, hero. You spared me once for three boys you didn't even know."
"That was then. I'm a lot angrier now."
"Of course you are. Now, it's Castiel." She tugs her arm out of Sam's grasp and takes a few steps toward the circle. The flames are almost gone. "He's dying, you know. He's only lived this long because he's an angel. It will kill him eventually."
"Maybe," Sam says. "Maybe not. Cas is pretty tough."
"That's quite a gamble you're taking."
"So are you." Dean points at her with his knife. "Witch or not, you're still human. When you die, you're only going one of two places. With your track record, I'm betting your all-expense-paid is headed straight downstairs."
"Where your son is still king, by the way," Sam adds. "Crowley gave Cas the slip."
Dean whistles through his teeth. "I'm thinking that might make for an awkward eternity."
After a tight pause, Rowena says, "If I reverse the spell, I walk out of here a free woman."
"No. Dean, don't," Cas says, but Dean says, "Deal."
+
Whatever Rowena does smells like brimstone and rotten fruit. It also knocks Cas flat on his ass. He hits the warehouse floor like a ton of bricks. As Sam is dragging Rowena away, she says, "What did you expect? A bloody miracle?"
Dean crouches beside Cas' body. The color is returning to his face, but his eyes are closed, so Dean can't tell if the bloody, yellowish film is gone. His breathing is shallow but steady. Dean grabs him under the arms so he can pick him up and carry him out to the car, but he ends up fear-frozen on the floor with Cas half in his lap.
"You'd better wake up."
Sunlight streams in through one of the high windows, painting a lopsided square of light across Cas' shoulder. Dean brushes his fingers through Cas' hair, then slides his hand down to Cas' jaw. Cas' skin is stubble-rough against Dean's palm, and Dean runs his thumb over the swell of Cas' cheek. He's always wanted to do that, but he's never had the nerve. He's wanted to do a lot of things and never had the nerve.
"If you die on me, I swear I'll --"
"Dean?" Cas mumbles.
"Yeah," Dean says, smiling. He runs his hand down to Cas' shoulder and squeezes a little. "Yeah, it's me."
"I'm alive?"
"Looks like."
Cas sits up then, pulling away so suddenly that Dean worries he overstepped somehow, that he misread this thing that's always waited between them, but once they're both on their feet, Cas wraps him up in a hug.
"I'm sorry," he says, into the side of Dean's neck.
"You're sorry?" Dean asks. He tucks his face into the curve of Cas' shoulder and breathes Cas in. "The other day, I -- I nearly beat you to death. I can't -- I'll never --"
"That wasn't you."
"I sure as shit remember doing it."
Cas tips his head up. His eyes are blue and clear, and his mouth is right there, so Dean leans in and kisses him. It's soft and slow and sweet, and Cas hums into it, pleased. He curls his hand into Dean's hair, and Dean slides his arms inside Cas' coat and pulls Cas' closer. They kiss and kiss and kiss, until they're both half-hard and breathless and the Impala is rumbling outside the warehouse and Sam is laying on the horn.
"C'mon," Dean says, hips lips moving against Cas' jaw. "Let's go home."