inonebasket | (no subject)

no it's scary

Cas doesn't say another word though; he holds Dean, as tightly as he has when he'd raised him from hell, praying silently to himself and thanking whatever force at work had kept Dean from Death's grip. He'll hold Dean for as long as it takes.

It's a good ten minutes before Dean gets control of his wayward emotions.

"You reek."

"So do you." He's also bruised and battered and still injured in ways Cas doesn't know about. Cas still hasn't let him go, though.

"Go take a shower. I'll clean up out here." He finally loosens his grip on Cas, only a little reluctantly.

Cas sits back on his heels, but still doesn't go. He just. Can't he just stay here and stare at you for hours on end? Isn't that okay?

"Cas, please." The same plea the Dean shaped Leviathan had used, but the tone is completely different. Shaky. "Go shower. Let me clean this up."

He just needs to know its dead.

Cas hesitates, but eventually climbs to his feet and goes into the bathroom to clean up. He leaves the door open; he wants to be able to hear if something happens and you know he'll fly out of that shower naked if he hears so much as a yelp.

Dean brought more cleaning fluid with him than he really needed, which is good. It makes the clean up a lot easier than it would be otherwise. The black goop sizzles on contact with the solution, most of it vanishing that way. By the time he's done, the motel room reeks of Pine-Sol and Lemon Fresh and Dean wants to be sick. He never used to hate those smells, but they're really starting to wear thin.

His clothes are covered in the stuff, too, but damned if he's going to soak his shirt in Pine-Sol. Instead he strips off his shirt and jeans and dumps both into a trash can, soaking them liberally with lighter fluid before dropping in a lit match.

So okay, that means he's sitting on the hotel bed in nothing but a pair of boxers, but in his opinion that's a hell of a lot better than being covered in Leviathan crap.

Castiel comes out in a towel (and with minty-fresh breath because GOD, he'd kissed that thing) and makes a beeline for Dean to look him over. He's an absolute mess. "Dean. What did it do to you?" Cas has to know.

"Beat the hell out of me and handcuffed me to a light post." He's been worse, though, far worse. This registers on the level of "bar fight". Not even worth noting, really. "Are you okay?"

"Fine. It didn't touch me." Well, didn't leave lasting damage. The damn thing molested him though, which was gross.

There are scrapes that need to be taken care of. Cas heads over to Dean's duffel for the first aid kit. "We need to get you a new cellular phone. And neither of us should leave without the other anymore."

"I'm not letting you out of my sight again, Cas. I'm just not." Yes, he's in definite agreement with Cas on that front.

He sits on the bed, not waiting for Castiel to order him to do it.

This is nostalgic.

For the second time in less than two weeks, Castiel cleans Dean up from a Leviathan scuffle. He disinfects the cuts, bandages what needs a bandage and rubs salve into bruises. Again, just like last time, Castiel is nearly worshipful in how he treats Dean's body. He can't help it.

Funnily enough, at this point, Dean would probably do the same thing for Cas. Provided Cas needed it. Which he apparently doesn't.

While Cas is halfway through wrapping gauze around Dean's abused wrist, he shifts, bending and turning his head to press a kiss to the corner of Cas' mouth. It's light, hesitant and entirely Dean.

Cas freezes.

His eyes dart from Dean's wrist to the bedspread, the floor, and Dean's wrist again before he returns the kiss, just as chaste, and finishes wrapping the bandage. He packs up the kit.

"You're not okay, are you?"

"I don't think either of us are, Dean." Castiel isn't going into detail on that though. It's complicated.

He puts the kit back into Dean's duffel, which he brings over to his bed for him. Lugging his own duffel into the bathroom -still leaving the door open- Castiel tugs on a pair of Dean's old jeans, still too big for him. Good thing Dean had a belt he could use.

Dean winces, but hey, at least Cas is being honest.

He drags a pair of jeans out of his duffel and shimmies into them, deciding to skip the shirt for now.

A week without seeing a Leviathan and then one jumps him out of nowhere. To say that's unsettling is an understatement. They need to contact Sam, give him a heads up so he can tell Bobby what's going on. Dean finds Cas' phone and ...stares at it.

He'll let Cas call.

It is hot enough to do without one, although really they should get the hell out of this motel and drive. Cas doesn't think either he or Dean will be able to make it very far before stopping again.

Cas emerges from the bathroom, pulling a shirt on over his head, and sees Dean staring at his phone. He can guess why; he needs to call Sam and Bobby and inform them, but more than anything he thinks Dean needs to talk to his father figure and little brother.

Cas dials Bobby's number and tosses the phone to Dean as it begins to dial.

"Cas--no, you--Sam."

There's something akin to panic in Dean's voice. He'd planned on talking to Sammy eventually, but this is too soon. Cas is screwing up his timelines here! He hesitates for a second before getting off the bed, heading into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. The tub makes a plastic thumping noise when he sits on the edge.

Dean's in the bathroom for a long time, the sound of his voice a distorted murmur through the walls. When he comes out, he looks utterly wrecked and he refuses to look at Cas, tossing the phone on the table and falling face down onto the bed.

Sorry, Dean.

Castiel comes over to the bed and sits on the edge of it. "What did they say?"

"Called us idiots. Sam's pissed."

More than pissed. Sam gave him the third degree. Said this was why they shouldn't have split up. Et cetera. Dean ran out of energy to argue with him toward the end which was when Sam finally seemed to register just how badly shaken his brother is. The conversation was easier after that. Marginally.

"Bobby wants to know how your Grace is doing."

Cas rests his hand on Dean's back, between his shoulders blades. "Fine. No issues." There's so little of it. Castiel's beginning to wonder if the leader of the Leviathans had taken the majority of it for himself, or if he was stockpiling it somewhere. There aren't enough of them for it to be split into shards this small and remain even between them all.

"You should tell him."

Dean isn't thinking about Leviathans at the moment. He's thinking about Cas' hand on his back and how good it is to feel grounded for a minute. It won't last, because nothing good in Dean's life ever lasts, but he's going to soak it in anyway.

Cas looks down at Dean, then strokes his hand down his back, along his spine.