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Fools Rush In

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 Dean had lost all track of time. It might have been an hour since Anna had lead him to Cas's room, and it might have been six; all he knew was that suddenly, she rose from the neighbouring chair, yawned and said, 'I'm going to go find the cafeteria. Want anything?'

'Caffeine,' he said. He was so tired, but he couldn't let himself sleep, not until he was sure that Cas would wake up, that he was safe.

'I'll see what I can do,' she said, and quietly slipped away.

Dean turned back to Cas, stroking the back of his hand, and heard again that panicked voice on his phone, the way he'd said I know it's just that I'm so fucked up but I love you, I love you so much. He couldn't bear to think of that as the last thing Cas ever said to him, that he might never know Dean felt the same way, and without even meaning to, he started talking.

'Cas, I'm so sorry. Anna said I should stop apologising, that I haven't done anything wrong, but right now, it doesn't feel like it. I should have been there for you, and I wasn't, and even if this isn't my fault, I'm sorry. I got your message, though. And I need you to know, I love you, too. I love you, Castiel. And I don't think you're fucked up. Or maybe you are, I don't know, but I'm not exactly well-adjusted and normal either, so I guess it all works out. I mean, this week alone, we've been to the hospital and the police station, and I got pretty beat up today, and you got mugged, and what the hell kind of world is this, anyway?

'It's a crapsack, that's what. Or I thought it was. But of all the stores I could have bought, I ended up with the one next to you, and right from the very first day, I was driving us both crazy trying to act like I didn't want you, when I did, I did. And maybe... maybe that's the balance, if there is one. Maybe upstairs, when god or whoever was handing out the good luck, all of mine just got lumped together, and this is it, right now, this week with you, because on one level, I know it's been shitty, I know it's just been terrible thing after terrible thing, but then you look at me, and I just... it just feels so right, you know? And maybe we're both just crazy and broken and too dumb to know how this is all meant to work, but I don't care, Cas. So long as it means you're OK, and we can figure it out together, I don't care. I wake up next to you, and I feel like I'm safe, like I'm a person again. Like I belong.

'My whole life, I don't think I've ever belonged anywhere. After my mother died, my dad just... imploded, I guess. He was so mad at everything, he couldn't hold down a job, couldn't lay off drinking. He told us we had to move for his work, but he had skills, we could've settled anywhere if he'd wanted to, and at least to begin with, I think that's what he told himself we were doing, that this time it would be different, this time we'd make a home somewhere, but we never did, and eventually he stopped trying, because no matter where we went, she was still dead, and he had to do it without her.

'And what made it worse was, it was all just down to a stupid accident, a stupid fire that never should've started, and he needed to blame something for it, something solid, you know? If there'd just been something real to blame, then maybe he could've put all the grief and rage into just that thing, but instead, there was only me, because I broke the smoke alarm, and I know he didn't love me after that, but I don't think he could hate me like he needed to, either. So he was just stuck in the middle, and all that left over anger, it just spilled out into everything, tainted everything – his boss was always an asshole, the town was always wrong, the government was always stupid, I was never good enough, and all he could love was Sam, because Sam was the only good thing left.

'And we were so different anyway, it wound up feeling like we had different childhoods too, you know? I mean, his still wasn't perfect, but I don't think dad ever hit him, and I don't think he ever knew dad hit me, and by the time he was old enough that I could've said something, I didn't know how, and ever since then I've just been... oh, god. I've just been doing what dad did, haven't I? Going because it's easier than staying. You drive, and the world makes sense, and the car moves, and there's a purpose to it, a map and signs, and a plan for when you get there, but once you stop – really stop, I mean, not just pull in and visit – it all gets hard, and he never taught us how to do that part, and so I never learned.

'But I made you soup. I've never cooked for anyone else before, not really, and somehow you made me good at it. How do you do that, Cas? You don't try and change me, but I'm still better because of you, and maybe that's what love is, being better just because someone makes you think you can be. I don't know. I don't know because I never looked, I didn't think I could have it. We moved around so much, there was never time to figure it out, except that I knew I liked men as well as and women, and I thought... I think on some level, I thought it was because I was desperate, like if I could just be attracted to enough people, then maybe one of them would want me back. And I know now that's not true, but it took me a while, and before I did... before then, there was Lassiter.

'I think I can say it, now. What he did to me. I need to talk about it, Cas, but not like this, not when I don't even know if you can hear me, because it's going to hurt, it all hurts and I need you, baby, I need you to wake up. I need you to wake up so we can throw out your couch and buy one that's actually comfortable, so we can curl up on it and watch bad movies, I need you to wake up so we can figure out what to do next, I need you wake up because I love you, and because if you don't, I think I'll just start driving again, only it'll be too fast and on purpose and into an ocean, and I know this isn't my fault, but I don't know how I'll keep living if part of me still feels like I killed you, and I want to live, because this can't be all the good there is, it just can't. So please, Cas. I need you to wake up. Please, baby. Please.' He rested his head on the blankets, tears running down his cheeks. 'I love you so much.'

And Castiel stirred, his fingers tangling in Dean's hair, and croaked, 'I love you, too.'

 

*

 

At first, Cas thought it was part of the dream. He kept on seeing Dean, sometimes in the bookshop, or his bed, or the kitchen, but also in the compound and the old house in California, too, and a dozen other places he had no business being, except that it was Cas's dream, and he wanted him there. And it wasn't quite a nightmare, even though he had this urgent, nagging feeling like he'd forgotten something important, but it wasn't quite a fantasy, either, because every so often, there'd be flashes of somewhere else, of faces and places that made no sense, and people looking down at him, and then he'd slip back under again, and the dream-logic would take over.

But then he heard Dean's voice, and something inside him sat up and listened, and the words became a rope, and the rope became a path, and he walked the voice back into himself like it was the most natural thing in the world. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and Dean was still there, only this time, he was crying, and that was was wrong, very wrong; Cas wanted to say so, but his mouth was too dry, like he'd been eating ash. And then Dean said, I love you, and it was such a perfect, impossible thing that he almost didn't believe it was happening, except that he made himself say, 'I love you, too.'

Dean jerked upright like he'd been stung, and looked at Cas like he'd never seen him before. His eyes were red-rimmed and wet, and what had happened to his arms? He was all wrapped in bandages, and surely that meant it was still a dream, but if so, Cas thought, it was a very painful and specific one; he had a headache, and his other arm hurt when he tried to move it, and he felt tender and slow and sick, but Dean was still there, still saying, 'Cas?' in that rough, shy way that melted his heart, and suddenly he remembered Dean had been missing, and he lurched upright, needing to know that he was alive and OK, that he was really there.

'Dean?' he gasped, and suddenly they were in each other's arms, Dean half on the bed and sobbing brokenly into his shoulder, Cas pulling him close and stroking his hair – and wincing a bit, as the drip in his elbow tugged and pinched – and both of them saying, I love you, I love you, like neither of them could quite believe it enough to stop saying it, just in case it was only an echo, or a dream. But it wasn't, and it couldn't be stolen, and Cas held tight to Dean and said, I love you.

When they finally eased apart, Cas sat up a little, and only then did he realise how badly hurt Dean was. Fear punched through him; he gripped his lover's hand and said, 'What happened to you? It wasn't Lassiter, was it? Because I told the FBI how he treated you, what he said, and he's not allowed to come near you, Dean, I promise.'

Dean made a strangled sound, neither tears nor laughter; he stroked Cas's cheek, and Cas leaned into his hand like he'd never been touched before.

'No, it wasn't Lassiter. It was Crowley and Ruby Blue and some bitch called Meg.' He swallowed. 'They knew I'd been talking to the cops, and they thought it was about whatever it is they're planning, and it, uh... it took me a while, to convince them otherwise.'

Pain flashed in his eyes, and Cas, who had never hurt anyone in his life, said evenly, 'I'll kill them.'

'Not if I save you the trouble,' said Dean. All at once, he went tense, looking at Cas like he was afraid of breaking him, and asked, 'Why did you do it, baby?'

'Do what?' Cas said, baffled. 'I didn't –'

And then he realised where he was, and why, and felt his throat close over.

'Oh,' he said. 'Oh god, Dean, it was an accident, I didn't mean – I didn't want to die, I was just so – after the interview, I couldn't cope, and you were missing, and I just wanted to calm down, I swear that's all, I just needed to calm down, but the pills weren't working fast enough, and I couldn't stop –'

Dean kissed him gently, stopping the flow of words, and Cas as kissed him back, the tears on both their cheeks had nothing to do with sorrow.

'I thought I lost you,' Dean whispered, their foreheads pressed together.

Cas inhaled the scent of him, and said, 'Never.' Then he smiled, and patted the edge of the blanket, and said, 'You're too far away, and I'm cold. Get in.'

Dean complied, but slowly: getting his shoes off was a particular struggle, and it pained Cas to see how gingerly he moved, how utterly worn out he was. But then he lifted the covers and climbed in, pillowing his head on Cas's chest, an arm across his ribs. It meant that some of his weight was resting on his injuries, but though Dean winced a little, he didn't change position, and just at that moment, Cas was selfish enough to want him as close as the tiny hospital bed would allow. Protectively, he curled his good arm around Dean's shoulders, and wished they were back at home. Almost, he said so out loud, but as he looked down, he realised his lover had fallen instantly and sweetly asleep against him. Cas watched over him, letting himself be lulled in turn by the steady rhythm of Dean's breath, and without quite meaning to, his eyes slipped steadily closed again, a smile still tugging at his lips.