Work Text:
Somewhere between staring at the beach in Maine and wading through shallow streams in northern Minnesota, it starts to hit Dean how tired he is.
Going from eastern to central time jumped them back an hour; but besides everything else, this trip with Cas has the side effect of making Dean feel jetlagged. The crypt was in Missouri, and since then they’ve hit every time zone in the country. He feels progressively lightheaded, there’s a light but persistent thud going on the left side of his head, and he’s on and off nauseous but that’s just part of angel travel.
He’s not complaining. Really, he gets why this needs to happen; and more than that he’s just glad to be around Cas, and especially that Cas came back to himself.
But they arrived at Voyageurs National Park when the sun was an orange burn on the horizon; every trace of light has since gone, and Dean’s eyes are starting to hurt.
It’s probably about time to leave. Dean’s counted; the longest time they’ve spent in one place is two hours and nineteen minutes. Cas hasn’t said much over the last hour or so, which really doesn’t help matters, and it feels like they’ve stumbled in and out of forests and rivers, each spot looking identical. Dean’s glad Cas is navigating this one, or he’d never -
He trips over a tree root and pitches forward.
Shit. He didn’t even see it. Fortunately, Cas grabs his arm.
“Dean,” says the angel, and Dean can barely see the blue of his eyes, in the dark. “Are you alright?”
“Yeah,” Dean says, making an effort to sound energetic. “Peachy. Never been better.”
Cas narrows his eyes, like he can see right through Dean. Really, Dean has no idea why he’s lying. He needs to sleep - but then, they can’t stop. The guy already got his chest sliced open for his trouble. Dean doesn’t need to complicate things. Cas can just drag him around, anyway, if it gets to that point.
“If you say so,” Cas says. He frowns. “We should go.”
Before Cas can zap them anywhere, Dean finds himself looking up at the sky. He can see the stars here, better than he’s seen them almost anywhere. Usually, stars are few and far between; he and Sam used to go watch them when they were done with a case, but Dean can’t remember the last time they did that. They used to see a few sparks dotting the sky, maybe get lucky and see a constellation; but here, the stars are everywhere. They make Dean all too aware how small he is in the grand scheme of things. He could turn every which way and see a new constellation, and he does; he feels like he’s stuck inside a snow globe.
Dean’s being weird, he realizes. Weird and tired, as he stands turning himself in circles. He looks back at Cas with a sheepish smile.
But much to his surprise, Cas gives him a smile, a gentle one, in return.
“It makes me happy, too,” says the angel. “I remember forming Sagittarius.”
Well, way to ruin a moment. Or - not ruin, but turn it into something else. Dean is standing down here with Cas, but really Cas should be up there with the stars. In all his glory. What has Dean done to him?
“Maybe we’ll come back to this one,” Cas says wistfully, and then they’re flying through space again.
~
Castiel doesn’t have a specific plan for the places he takes them to. He can sense if angels are honing in on their location, so his first inclination is to go in the opposite direction; besides that, he’s driven toward places he hasn’t visited in ages, or to places he associates with Dean.
He supposes it’s the latter this time. Their next stop lands them in the rugged hills of western South Dakota.
Dean seems a little out of it. Castiel has trouble gauging what might be wrong with him; but when Dean orients himself after they land, he perks up. Even in the dark, he seems to be able to tell where they are.
“The Badlands?” he says, sounding excited. This was a good choice, then. “Man, I wish we’d come here earlier today.”
“Bobby took you here,” Castiel says.
“Yeah, a while back.” Dean kicks at a rock mindlessly. “I mean, it’s pretty out of the way for Sioux Falls, clear on the opposite end of the state. But Dad had to leave me and Sam with him for a week, so he wanted to take us somewhere he thought we’d never see.”
Somewhere he thought we’d never see. It’s a nice sentiment. But Dean and Sam have been all over the country.
“You wouldn’t have come here,” Castiel says, “for a case?”
“Well, it’s more like -” Dean puts his hands in his pockets. His shoulders are hunched up; he looks cold. Well, of course, Castiel realizes. He’s an angel, so he can’t feel it, but it’s the end of March in South Dakota. “We never really get to enjoy anything, I mean, if I came here for a case I’d be here to gank some kinda monster, burn a body, maybe enjoy a beer afterward, and then it’s -” He shrugs. “Onto the next thing.”
“He wanted you to come here as tourists,” Castiel says.
Dean nods. “And it’s fine. It’s great, what we do -”
“Dean,” Castiel cuts him off quietly.
Dean turns to look at him, something vulnerable and uncertain just behind his eyes.
“It’s okay to enjoy where we are,” Castiel says. “I know - we’re running from the angels, but in the interest of full disclosure…” How should he say this? He doesn’t want to make Dean uncomfortable. “I’m also glad to take you places you’ll enjoy.”
“Oh.” Dean’s cheeks turn pink again. This is the second time this has happened today; Castiel likes how it makes Dean look. “Well, that’s nice. I guess.”
Then he doesn’t say anything more. So he is uncomfortable, but it doesn’t seem to be a bad kind of uncomfortable. They walk in silence for a while: up and down the auburn hills, over the rocky skyline of the western world. This part of the country may be Castiel’s favorite; the geological features are newer, but the rock here looks sculpted from clay. He wasn’t responsible for that part, which makes him feel sad; maybe he was asleep for it.
Maybe he was made to forget it.
Castiel is beginning to realize that what happened with Naomi has happened before. Has happened, maybe, dozens of times. He has been alive for precisely nine hundred million years, but there are entire chunks of time missing. He remembers the great continent that connected the world, but not its breaking; he was there for the fall of Rome, but not the rising of Britain. He knows the eastern hills in America, the older mountains that have since shrunk, but he remembers being surprised to see the North Cascades, to see the upper basin of the Rocky Mountains.
He doesn’t want to forget anything ever again. He’s terrified of it.
Dean, fortunately, seems oblivious to everything going through Castiel’s mind. In fact, he doesn’t really seem that aware of much. He’d been happy to be here, clearly, but as they’ve gone on walking, he has started to slow down. He doesn’t so much walk as he sways forward, following along with Castiel, but his head is drooping and he -
Oh. Castiel reaches forward to grab him before he can pitch forward.
This isn’t good. Something is really wrong.
“Dean -” Castiel says, unable to keep the worry out of his voice.
Dean mumbles something that seems to be I’m okay but doesn’t really fill in the right consonants. He’s certainly not okay. Castiel lowers them both down onto a large rock.
“Dean,” he says urgently. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh. Uh -” It takes too long for Dean’s eyes to open. They’re ever so slightly bloodshot. “Just tired, I think. And, uh -” He swallows, several times. “You got any water on you?”
Castiel realizes his error all of a sudden, like with the temperature; Dean is human. And all day, he can’t remember Dean ever taking a moment to drink or eat anything.
Or sleep.
“Of course. I -” He’s about to offer a string of apologies, but he needs to get Dean some water first. He flies to a nearby gas station, then back with a bottle of water. It takes about a second. “Here.”
Dean uncaps it, then drinks the entire thing in about five seconds.
“I’m so sorry,” Castiel says. It seems he can’t stop harming Dean, whether with actual harm or just negligence. “Dean, I didn’t even think - I just -”
“Hey,” Dean says when he’s finished the bottle. “Hey, buddy, don’t apologize. I didn’t…I could’ve just asked. I didn’t really think about it.”
He shouldn’t have to, Castiel wants to argue. He should have assumed, because he’s known Dean for years now. He should have -
“What do you need now?” Castiel asks.
“Well - I’ll probably need more water, but not right now,” Dean adds the last part quickly. “Don’t worry about that. I need -” He sighs. His eyes are unfocused, and a little too bright. “I really want to sleep.”
Castiel’s heart aches for him, as much as he knows that that isn’t possible. He supposes he could knock Dean unconscious and pull him around every time they need to move, but that seems almost cruel; and there’s no guarantee Dean wouldn’t just wake up.
“I wish you could,” he says softly. “We’ll have to move again soon.” But, he reasons, they may not have to move just yet. “You might be able to sleep now, though. For a little while.”
“Uh - okay,” Dean says. “As long as you’re cool with it, I mean, I’ve been awake longer than this before -”
It’s been twenty-six hours since they left the crypt, and Dean was awake long before that.
“Dean, go to sleep,” Castiel says firmly, brooking no argument. He takes off his coat and lays it over Dean. “Here. It’s getting cold.”
The look Dean gives him is that of a wild animal caught in a trap.
“Oh,” he says, his expression almost glazed over. “Uh. You, you sure about that?”
“Dean, it’s just a coat,” Castiel says, confused as to his reaction.
“Yeah. Well.” Dean looks like he wants to say something else, but instead he just lays back on the rock and curls up. It doesn’t look very comfortable, but he’s unconscious in about thirty seconds.
Castiel sits there and watches him for a few minutes, eternally grateful that Dean’s alive; but that gratefulness is overwhelmed by guilt over his most recent sin, neglecting Dean’s well-being. Dean is not a machine, and Castiel has been treating him like one. He’s had water. He’s managing to sleep now, if only for a short time. What else does he need?
Food. Of course, food. Castiel knows Dean likes burgers. He doesn’t know much else, but Dean always seems to be eating a burger.
He flies back to the gas station he’d just visited to grab him one.
It’s a mistake, and one he should have expected. The moment he arrives, four angels are waiting.
One of them, Ion, steps forward with his blade.
“Castiel,” he says. “At last. You’ve been busy, haven’t you? But we’ve finally caught up to you. You’re getting sloppy.”
Castiel doesn’t say a word; he returns to Dean before Ion can move on him. He only has a few seconds. Dean’s been asleep for maybe fifteen minutes, but nothing can be done about that.
“Dean,” Castiel shakes him awake and picks up his coat.
“Blugh,” Dean says, understandably groggy. “What?”
“We have to go,” Castiel says urgently; he can tell Dean is going to move too slow, so he yanks him to his feet.
No sooner has he done that than the four angels appear on the horizon, blades drawn. Castiel doesn’t wait for them to move; he flies them across the country, to the Everglades. Florida. But he can’t stop there for long. He feels for Dean, but if the angels find them, they’ll take the tablet and kill Dean.
He has to throw the angels off their trail.
So he waits in the Everglades for a minute. Then, he takes them to Mount Denali in Alaska. One minute. Volcanoes in Hawaii. One minute. Redwood trees in California. He risks two minutes, waiting, searching all around for the presence of other angels while Dean clings to his arm.
There’s no sign of the angels other than loud, violent frustration.
Castiel flies them once more, to Texas. Then he stops.
~
Dean has no idea where he is, and he’s only vaguely aware of what’s happening. He’s so tired he thinks he might be dreaming; but he definitely remembers the angels showing up in the…Badlands? Yeah, that’s where they were. They’re not there now. Dean barely gets to stay in one place before he’s yanked away again; it’s so much flying, it makes him sick to his stomach. He’s aware of colors around him, temperatures that flash from cold to hot in an instant, and Cas’ arm around his shoulder. That’s it.
They stop again, and when Dean waits for the flying to resume, it doesn’t happen. He can’t tell where they are; he only knows they’ve remained still.
Good. He takes precisely one step before his stomach flips upside down. He utters a string of words that’s meant to be step back, Cas but comes out pretty garbled, and the next thing he knows he’s on his knees on the ground, and there’s a puddle of vomit in front of him.
Oh, gross.
Cas’ hand is on his head. It feels nice. This whole thing might as well be a dream, but if it is, Dean likes the path it’s taking now.
“Yech,” he says, moving himself backwards, away from the disgusting mess in front of him. “I’m - I’m good. I swear.”
“You need to sleep, Dean,” Cas says.
“Yeah - yeah. But -” Cas helps him move backward, gently, so they’re both sitting on the ground. It’s rocky. It’s dark. That’s about all Dean can tell. “But when I did that, the - was that angels that came? Did that happen?”
“Yes,” Cas says, some kind of sadness in his eyes. “Dean, I’m sorry. This is -” He closes his eyes for a few seconds, long enough that Dean struggles to stay focused on him. “This has been hard on you. But you need to eat, and you need rest.”
“But we’re gonna -” Dean’s eyes have started sliding closed again, and with effort, he forces them open. “They’re gonna find us again.”
“I’ve thought about that,” Cas says. “I have an idea. Come with me.”
“No - no flying,” Dean says as Cas takes hold of his hands and pulls them both to their feet. “Please.”
Dean knows he’s not making a strong case for himself when he stumbles into Cas.
“Can you walk?” the angel asks.
The mere idea of flying so soon gives Dean the determination to hold himself upright. He grabs Cas’ arm to pull himself steady, a position he holds successfully for a good ten seconds.
“I’m - I’m good,” he says. “Where, uh. Where are we? Where are we going?”
“We’re at a lodge,” Cas says, and starts moving them toward the door. He’s kept an arm around Dean’s shoulder, which Dean is honestly grateful for. “At Big Bend National Park. Close to Mexico.”
Dean’s been to Mexico once. He and Dad went after a Nahual, a shapeshifter that had tricked three previous hunters by holding two separate identities on each side of the border. He doesn’t think he’s been to Big Bend, though. He can’t see much about it in the dark. He doesn’t think he cares.
He spaces out a little bit. Cas talks to the clerk, and it’s all he can do to hold himself steady enough that he doesn’t look drunk, or something. He blinks, and they’re in a large room. Hotel room. Great. That’s his bread and butter. He doesn’t care what the room looks like; it’s a room. There’s a bed -
The angels. Right. With effort, he focuses on Cas, who’s - no longer standing next to him. Instead, he’s got his blade out and he - wait, shit. Has he snapped again? But Dean’s moment of panic is offset by the red streaks on the room’s walls. Sigils. But that means -
He’s got his blade out because he cut himself. Again.
Dean has no brain power at the moment, but he wishes Cas didn’t have to do all that. The angel never seems to think twice before harming his body. But is it really even his body?
Dean’s too tired to think about that.
“These are temporary,” Cas says, and whoa, he’s next to Dean again. When did that happen? “Otherwise, they’ll start to affect me. But it should buy us about twelve hours.”
Twelve hours. Perfect. Dean doesn’t need any more; he collapses facedown on the bed. He lets the black curtain of sleep pull him under, and he’s pretty sure nothing has ever felt so good.
~
Castiel has never watched Dean sleep through an entire night before.
He’s stood guard over the Winchesters more times than he can count, most without their knowledge. But he never stays the whole night. He has stolen those moments between meetings with his garrison, between hunts for God.
Now, he doesn’t have a choice but to stay. They have a limited window of time, and he can’t leave Dean even for a moment. He learned his lesson in South Dakota.
Castiel expected to be bored. He isn’t. Dean always seems uncomfortable when he’s stared at for too long; Castiel doesn’t have a good grasp on when the appropriate time is to stop. Now, he’s able to watch Dean as long as he wants.
He learns that Dean is not a static sleeper. He has a tendency to sprawl. He starts face down on the pillows; about two hours in he flops over to one side, one leg hanging behind him off the bed. He turns to the other side an hour later.
(This position leads Castiel to get up; Dean doesn’t look very comfortable like this. When he’s assured that Dean won’t wake, he removes his boots, then his outer jacket, before pulling the covers over him.)
Dean makes minute twitches in his sleep every now and then; they all mean different things. When his eyebrows furrow, when his shoulders tense up, he’s starting to have a nightmare. Castiel redirects them each time. Dean doesn’t tend to sleep much, and he wonders if those nightmares are the reason. He sighs frequently. Every once in a while, he wrinkles his nose.
When he turns over on his stomach again, about seven hours in, he grabs the pillow directly in front of him and clutches it to him.
Castiel is struck by how soft Dean looks in sleep. He’s all hard edges during the day; of course, Castiel can always sense the vulnerability underneath, but it’s never presented. Just potential that lurks under the surface. But here, all the hardness melts. His fingers look so so gentle, the way they flex on the pillow. His hair falls in his face; one cheek is red from contact with the bedding. His legs sprawl, directionless; and his pink mouth is open as he snores into the pillow.
There is always a desire to be close to Dean. Here, now, it’s stronger than ever. Castiel wants to touch Dean’s hair, the way he did outside. He wants to touch Dean’s hand, and see if Dean clings to him like he did the pillow. He wants to touch his fingers to Dean’s lower lip, and see if it feels as soft as it looks.
He’s astonished by his own thoughts. Where is this coming from?
Or -
It’s like with the mountains. The landscape he had forgotten. Has he truly never had these thoughts about Dean before? Or have those been taken away from him, too?
Castiel can’t feel angry. He can’t let it be known - or it will draw the angels to him like a beacon. But he wants to kill Naomi, consequences be damned. He killed thousands of angels before, and he was wrong, and - and evil to do so. He will live with the guilt the rest of his life.
He will kill a thousand more angels before letting himself forget again.
Another half hour, and Dean starts to stir. Castiel finds himself fascinated by these reactions, too. The way his fingers twitch on the blanket, the way he gives a contented sigh. The way his eyelashes flutter.
Castiel doesn’t know where the panic comes from, but he knows he can’t let Dean catch him watching. Dean needs to eat. That’s right. And he had said he would need more water.
But where will the food come from?
Castiel doesn’t care. He has to leave. It’s a risk, but he disappears down to the resort’s kitchen; there he fills a plate of bacon and eggs, and some fruit. He doesn’t know if Dean enjoys fruit as much as bacon, but he hopes he eats it.
Then he returns to the room, hoping desperately that the angels haven’t taken advantage of his error.
There are no angels. There’s a small balcony overlooking the Chisos Mountains; the only mountain range that’s entirely contained inside a national park. Dean is standing on it; he’s not wearing his jeans anymore, just his shirt and boxers. He looks sleep-tired and soft.
Castiel opens the door to the balcony, and Dean jumps and turns around.
“Dude,” he says. The softness is gone. He’s all hard edges again. “The hell did you go?”
“You shouldn’t be out here,” Castiel says, but then he lifts the plate as evidence. “I, uh. I brought you breakfast.”
“Oh.” Dean’s face lights up, and he comes back inside, taking a last wistful glance at the view. “Thanks, I - didn’t realize how hungry I was.”
He sits down on the edge of the bed and takes the plate of food.
“I went to get you a burger yesterday,” Castiel says, sitting down next to him at what he thinks is a respectable distance. “That’s where they found me. I went to the same gas station twice.”
“Yeah, you probably shouldn’t do that,” Dean says, mouth already full of bacon. “Man, this is great. Good old American breakfast.” He swallows. “Thanks for, uh, trying, though.”
Now they seem to be having a serious conversation again, so Castiel doesn’t know what more to say.
“This is…” Dean looks out the window. “I didn’t see this last night.”
It truly is a sight to behold. Big Bend is the most beautiful place in Texas; Castiel doesn’t think there’s much else of note. But this, he likes; the mountains are small compared to other ranges, but they don’t look so here. Their dark, rocky peaks stretch off into the distance; and then they taper down into luscious grass and wildflowers that cover the expanse. It’s a magnificent contrast between rugged beauty and all the colors nature has to offer.
In the far distance - farther than Dean could see - a coyote scampers down the rocks. She takes one wary look behind her before continuing on her way.
“It’s beautiful,” Castiel agrees.
Dean’s already finished with his food. As Castiel had feared, he didn’t touch the apple. Maybe he’ll eat it later. Dean consumes too much cholesterol with nothing to balance it.
“Hey, Cas, I need you to tell me something,” Dean says. He’s looking right at him, so Castiel has no choice but to look back. In this light, the green of Dean’s eyes reminds him of the north Pacific Ocean. “Just in case the angels…you know.”
Castiel can fill that in easily. Just in case the angels find us.
“They won’t,” he says stubbornly, but even he doesn’t believe it.
“Just…humor me,” Dean says, and sets the plate aside. “We, uh, we know what I said. In the crypt, and I -” He turns red. “I thought I was gonna die. I thought you were going to - well.”
“Well,” Castiel echoes. He doesn’t like thinking about it.
“Anyway. Why did you, uh.” Dean scratches behind his ear. “This is a…a heavenly connection that’s going on, between this Naomi and you guys. And you want me to believe you snapped out of it because…what, you need me? Really? You?”
That’s his problem? He can’t believe that Castiel needs him? Maybe he didn’t say it right before. He thinks maybe the word, “need,” isn’t enough to encapsulate what it is he’d felt. All he knows is he was unable to control his vessel; he was killing Dean, and nothing was enough to stop himself.
And then - it was something Dean had said. This isn’t you, he hadn’t been trained to address; every false version of Dean begged for his own life, not for Castiel’s well-being. And when Dean told Castiel he needed him… Castiel knows what that means. He has seen most of Dean’s memories prior to 2008. He knows how Dean has been conditioned to never need anyone.
He remembers putting those memories back into place. He saw Dean at thirteen. He’d been ordered to play bait for a group of werewolves, and had panicked and run; his father told him it was his fault the kid they’d come to save had died. Dean spent the next hour crying for his dad in a motel room closet.
It was with the same tone of voice that Dean at thirty-three told Castiel that he needed him.
Dean also seems to be under the impression that what he’d said in the crypt was embarrassing. That won’t do.
Castiel turns toward him and grabs both his hands, as he’d wanted to do when Dean was sleeping. Because he’s touching him there, he feels Dean’s heart skip a beat.
“Uh, alright,” Dean says, a little nervously.
“I don’t know how to say this to you,” Castiel says, not bothering to keep any intensity out of his voice. They only have three hours before they have to leave. “I don’t seem to have the words. Heaven has always needed me. My strength, my tactics, my power. My blank slate of a memory,” he adds bitterly. “You need me, and you don’t need anyone. You don’t even tell Sam that you need him. You tell him he can drive on the way home.”
Dean’s expression is bowled open: shocked, vulnerable. And that, more than anything, is what makes Castiel understand he’s reading things correctly.
“You’re - you’re not supposed to know that,” Dean says, a little rebelliously. He looks away.
No. Dean sought him out for a conversation; Castiel thinks he knows what Dean wants, but he’s not going to let him withdraw from this. He lets Dean’s right wrist go in favor of taking hold of his chin, and lifting it up so Dean is forced to look him in the eye.
“Hey, man,” Dean says, but doesn’t make an effort to pull away. “I was just asking a question, why do you -”
“And this is my answer,” Castiel says firmly. “You have changed the course of my life; you seem to want me to be myself, whoever that is. I didn’t have a self before I saved you from hell, and in this new world you dragged me into, I don’t know who I am without you. So, yes, I need you, but I don’t think that’s the right word. I stole it from you, after all.” He’s aware that he’s starting to ramble now, but he doesn’t care. “As we’ve established, you don’t ‘need’ anyone, because you’ve been taught not to. So when you say, I need you, what I think you’re actually saying is I -”
Rather than let Castiel finish speaking, Dean jerks out of his grasp to take Castiel’s head in both hands, kissing him with the desperation of a dying man.