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There's a gentle, dim gray-white haze hovering just above Cas' eyes as he blinks them open. It reminds him of the low fog that clings to fields on autumn mornings. Just as chilly, too. He shivers a little, the air wherever he is a bit too cold for comfort. Where is he? Cas turns his head to look, but only manages to twist a few degrees before pain sparks bright before his eyes. A long, narrow line burns on the right side of his neck, running up from his collarbone to wrap behind his ear. His blood seems to be running right below the surface of the cut, searing his flesh. It must be a deep one.
Cas turns his head back to a front-facing position, letting out an uncomfortable little groan at the way his movement pulls at his wound. But the pain has helped clear away a bit of the fog, and he can see the basic sketch of the room he currently occupies - a cold, sterile room with speckled tile below him and industrial lights above him. The lights are turned off, mercifully, leaving the room in a quiet semidarkness. Everything looks washed-out, colorless. It smells washed-out too, almost like nothing at all, but with a faint scent of cleaning supplies and a lingering odor of illness. A hospital. Cas does not remember his other hospital stays with any sort of fondness, and he can feel an uneasiness settling over him.
Based on the slash in his neck and his current environment, Cas guesses he must have been hurt, badly. Loathe to make any major movements, Cas wiggles his toes, which all appear to be in working order. He starts to catalogue the sensations in the rest of his body, noticing several twinging muscles, a deep ache in his chest that he suspects are several broken ribs, and a sling holding his right arm to his chest. He tries to take in a deep breath, and hisses at the way his expanding lungs press against his fragile ribs, and notices another line of pain burning up the left side of his abdomen. Stitches, he thinks, and some serious ones. He tries to remember what happened before he woke up, but the memory, like the room around him, is shrouded in mist.
Cas blinks, and blinks again. The room is coming into slightly more focus, the smaller details sharpening. He's still too cold, but his various injuries are unpleasantly heated, like walking on summer asphalt with bare feet. There's one point of warmth that feels different though. Cas shifts as best he can to look at his left hand, lying down near his hip. He finds there's another hand in his. It's Dean, of course, the fingers of his right hand placed perpendicular to Cas' and wrapping around the back of Cas' hand where it rests on the bed. Dean's palm, nestled into Cas', suffuses him with a soft, healing warmth.
Cas squeezes Dean's fingers gently, and Dean shifts into view, no longer a shade amongst shadows. He's perched on the edge of an uncomfortable-looking plastic chair, back hunched, shoulders curling inward. His face is gaunt, a little too pale even in the colorless room. His eyes are heavy, with deep shadows hollowing them out from below. He looks like he hasn't slept in days, and Cas realizes he probably hasn't.
"Cas?" Dean says softly, as if he's afraid to spook him. There's a tiny glimmer of hope in his low voice.
"Dean?" Cas returns, his throat feeling parched from disuse.
"Cas," Dean repeats, but it's pure, unadulterated relief this time. He squeezes Cas' hand back, drawing in a great shuddering breath before releasing it in choppy waves. The gust of his breath seems to clear the last of the fog hovering around Cas' head. Cas can see Dean's forehead drop to the bed beside their clasped hands, as he begins to let the weight of his worry go. Rather than speaking, Cas just grasps Dean's hand tighter. They've always been good at reading each other like this, and Cas knows that Dean has a hard time saying what he feels on a normal day. At times like this, when Dean is so completely overwhelmed by his feelings, he can hardly speak at all. Cas knows Dean will talk when he's ready.
It's a strange kind of peace, just sitting there in the dark, anchoring each other through their hands, Cas ruminates. It's strange, but everything about their time together has been strange. The past few weeks, after Dean brought Cas back from the Empty, had been stranger than ever and yet so frighteningly familiar. There were no more apocalypses to stop. Cas was human. He and Dean had both confessed their love for each other. They were more open with their affections, sure, but much of their relationship was the same as it had always been. It was just easier to say out loud.
Cas thinks about the value of speaking truth. It is no mean feat, as he knows all too well. But lying in the gloom of a hospital, Dean's hand in his, he knows it was worth it. He had always believed Dean was worth it.
Cas runs his thumb up and down the back of Dean's hand, which is the only part of him Cas can reach. He tries to reflect back to Dean the soothing energy Dean is bringing him. Dean's breathing is more even now, and after a long moment he picks his head up and looks into Cas' eyes.
"I thought I lost you," Dean whispers. The "again" lingers in the air between them like a waft of acrid smoke. Every time Cas has come back, he's understood more what his absence does to Dean. He's slowly piecing the puzzle together, but he knows that the scars Dean carries are deep. Cas briefly thinks of what he would do if he lost Dean, but brushes that thought away.
Dean closes his eyes and sucks in a deep breath, his inhale still shaky. "It was bad, Cas. Real bad. We were, uh - do you remember?" He opens his eyes again, peering into Cas' as if to see his memories there.
Before answering, Cas takes a moment to think. There are flashes - a shadow here, a shout there. "No," he answers slowly, stretching out the word.
Dean nods, gaze dropping to their clasped hands, where Cas' thumb is still tracing a soothing pattern over his skin. "You have a minor concussion," Dean says, and that explains a lot for Cas. "Coupla torn muscles, several broken ribs, dislocated shoulder. You lost a lot of blood when they slashed your neck. Ruptured spleen didn't help either." He pauses to let Cas take all this in, or maybe to steel himself for what comes next.
"Dean," Cas works across his tongue, which feels too heavy for his mouth. "Did I-?"
Dean shakes his head a little too violently. "No," he says softly. "No, but it was close."
"Oh," Cas replies. He feels like he should say more, but the words are fleeing from him, hiding in the dark corners of the hospital room.
"It was supposed to be a simple job." Dean still can't meet Cas' eyes. "Just a grab-and-stab, something we've done a million times. But I screwed up."
Dean's voice wobbles on the last phrase, and he takes another long pause. He runs his left hand down his face, from his forehead over his downturned eyes, stopping at his mouth, where he clenches it into a fist.
Sorting through his lethargic brain is a challenge, but Cas carves winding trails through his memories, searching for the most recent. The scene is clouded, dusty. Trying to recall is like peering through someone else's glasses. But he remembers the laughter, echoing around him.
"There were too many," Cas says haltingly.
Dean lowers his fist, hitting his thigh harder than necessary. "Yeah," he chokes out bitterly, "yeah, there were. A whole gang of demons, just for us. It was a trap. I fell for it, and then you, Sam, and Eileen had to come rescue me." Before Cas can ask, Dean adds, "They're both fine. Some bumps and bruises, a few fractures, but they're okay. You took the worst of it."
The laughter continued, Cas remembers. He squeezes his eyes shut, as if the darkness will illuminate his memory. He just remembers Dean's eyes, wide, fierce. Cas reopens his eyes and looks to Dean, who finally raises his head. His eyes are wild now, just on the edge of tears.
"They brought you to where they were holding me, so they could kill you as I watched," Dean whispers. "Kill you, then kill me. That was the plan. And it was all my fault, Cas, I'm so sorry. I couldn't get out, I couldn't get to you."
Looking into Dean's eyes, Cas remembers the last time he saw them. "Look at me," Dean had said. "Cas, please, look at me." And when Cas had raised his head from the concrete floor, blood spilling from his neck, he had seen Dean's face, horrified, desperate and pleading. But still beautiful. "Cas," he'd said, "it's gonna be okay. You hear me? You're going to be okay. Just hold on, Cas, please. Hold on."
Present-day Dean finishes his story in a low mutter. "I watched the light go out in your eyes," he says. "I saw it. Just before you lost consciousness. And I - god, Cas, I was so scared. I didn't know how you could come back."
A faint smile pulls at the corner of Cas' mouth. "I always do," he murmurs. Dean squeezes his hand tightly, as if to remind himself that Cas is right.
"Cas, I don't know if I can do this anymore," Dean confesses. Cas' stomach drops to somewhere between the fourth and fifth circles of hell. His face must show it too, because Dean's eyes widen in horror.
"No! No, that's not what I meant! I mean, I don't think I can keep hunting," Dean blurts out.
Somehow, that's worse. Cas feels his jaw drop. Dean stays silent, eyes scanning Cas' face. Cas struggles to gather up his thoughts, which seem to have scattered like cockroaches under a bright light.
"Dean...but it's...how? Your whole life?" he eventually fumbles out.
"Yeah, well, I've had time to think," Dean mumbles. "And uh. You're right. I have been doing it my whole life. But well, we have free will now, and uh. Maybe I want something else."
Cas is still goggling at Dean, trying to make sense of what he's saying. Before he can even ask the question, Dean answers it in a rush.
"You. I want you. And whatever you want to do. That's what I want my life to be." Dean's earnestness takes Cas' breath away. It never gets old, being loved.
"And it isn't about you. Well, it is," Dean is full-on babbling now. "But if you want to keep going, you can, you can do whatever you want, but I think it's time for me to retire. For me. And for you. And for us."
Cas can't tell if what Dean's just said is really this mind-boggling, or if it's the concussion, but he's stunned.
"Dean, are you - do you - really?" he manages to stammer out. His eyes scan across Dean's dimly-lit face, searching for a tell in the clench of his jaw, the furrow between his eyebrows. But there's nothing to see. Dean's face is so familiar to Cas, but the open, warm honesty it currently holds is rare. It's becoming less rare by the day, but it's still a joy to behold.
"Yeah," Dean breathes out. "Yeah, really. Is that...okay?" A more familiar expression is creeping into his face now as Dean tucks his chin down and glances up at Cas through his eyelashes. He bites into his bottom lip. It's part anxious, part hopeful, and all raw vulnerability. It's the same look he wore when he brought Cas back and told him he loved him too.
"Oh. You mean it," Cas realizes aloud, and of course he believes Dean, of course he trusts him, but it's a lot for Cas to process. "Dean, you know I have a concussion, right?"
He's rewarded with a short bark of laughter, and a little tension eases from Dean's shoulders as it becomes a quiet, continuous chuckle. "Jesus, man, I'm sorry. Yeah, you do. I just...I...didn't want to waste any time," Dean explains, a current of guilt woven into his words.
Now it's Cas' turn to laugh, because if there's one thing they've both been guilty of, it's wasting time. "I understand," Cas says. "And Dean, you know what I want. I want you. All of you."
"So...it's okay?" Dean asks, and Cas has earned an eye roll at this point.
"Yes, Dean, it's okay." God, Cas loves him and his profoundly thick skull.
"Okay," Dean confirms. "Okay. Um. How do you feel?"
This earns Cas a second eye roll. "How do you think I feel?"
Dean raises his left hand as if to give Cas a playful smack, but lowers it as he realizes that there's nowhere he can touch Cas without literally poking a sore spot. He settles for an eye roll of his own, though his mock exasperation is betrayed by the way the corner of his mouth quirks upward in a fond smile. "Smartass," Dean laughs. Cas smiles at him.
They sit in silence for a while, hands still clasped on the bed. Dean seems content to just look at Cas' face, animated as it hasn't been in days. Cas ponders what they'll do next. He doesn't have a clue where to start. He never thought he'd get this chance, to have Dean at all. Let alone to create a new life with him. The potential is endless.
It's comfortable, sitting there together. They don't need to fill up the quiet room with chatter. Occasionally one will ask a question. Dean asks if Cas is cold, but Cas says that Dean's keeping him warm (Dean blushes a little, and so does Cas). Cas asks about Sam and Eileen, both of whom are back at the motel they booked when they rolled into town. Jack's come by to check in on Cas a few times. He's busy these days, making the world a better place. Cas is so proud of him. Dean asks what he's thinking about, and Cas hums in response before admitting, "you," which makes Dean blush again.
It's easy, Cas thinks, just being here like this. It's never been this easy.
Cas' body is battered, his brain is bruised, but his heart is whole in a way he's never felt. And based on the peaceful smile on Dean's face, the ease of Dean's hand around his own, he thinks Dean feels the same.
Time stretches oddly in the hushed dark of the windowless hospital room. But a knock on the door breaks the spell. Cas clears his throat. "Yes?" he calls out.
The door cracks open, revealing a doctor in navy scrubs and bright yellow clogs. "Hello, Mr. Winchester," she says, but she's looking straight at Cas. He shifts his eyes to Dean, who gives a brief, sure nod. He looks back to the doctor, whose eyes are thankfully on her chart. "It's so good to see you up. How are you feeling?"
"All things considered," Cas says vaguely. He's still hung up on "Mr. Winchester."
The doctor raises the lights in the room, and Cas blinks in the sudden, harsh glare. "Good, good," the frazzled doctor says, and she looks to Cas' left side, as if she's thinking about asking Dean to move. She must think better of that plan, because she moves around to Cas' right. She examines his various injuries, takes a look at his stitches, asks a series of rapid-fire questions about his condition. Cas answers as best he can.
Dean continues to hold Cas' hand through all the tests, clenching his jaw and glaring in the doctor's direction. Cas catches his eye once, but Dean just shakes his head, jaw tightening further.
"Well, all things considered, you appear to be on the mend. I think we'll be able to discharge you tomorrow, if you remain stable and continue to rest," the doctor reports.
"All right," Cas replies. The doctor turns her gaze to Dean, who flinches like a fugitive caught in a searchlight.
"Now will you go home and get some rest?" she asks in an aggravated tone.
"Not a chance," Dean responds, tone just on the edge of menacing. He locks eyes with the doctor, who sighs. She looks at Cas instead.
"Your husband has refused to leave your side since you arrived," she huffs. "Maybe you can talk some sense into him now that you're awake." She turns and leaves, dimming the lights again before shutting the door behind her.
The silence that follows in her wake is significantly less comfortable. The easiness has evaporated. Dean is shifting nervously in his seat, stare fixed on their joined hands again.
Cas tries to keep his tone as level and neutral as possible. Communication isn't one of Dean's strong suits, but Cas knows he is trying, in his own boneheaded way. "Husband?" he asks simply.
After a long moment, Dean raises his eyes to meet Cas'. "They said I couldn't come with you. Family only. I wasn't gonna leave you."
Cas has a sudden vision of the scene. He doesn't know if it's real, but he's able to picture himself unconscious and bleeding, bleeding out, blood staining Dean's shirt where Dean had carried him out of the demons' trap, cradling Cas against his chest and whispering a litany of prayers and pleas. He can see Dean carefully passing Cas' limp form off to the EMTs, watching as they lay him down on a gurney and load him into the ambulance, one EMT throwing out an arm to stop Dean from climbing up behind them. "Family only," says the EMT, and Cas can see Dean's eyes go blind with panic at the idea of leaving Cas even for a moment, and blurting out, "he's my husband, please," before the EMTs help him up into the ambulance to huddle next to Cas' side.
Dean's low voice drags Cas out of this devastating scene. "I wasn't gonna leave you," he's repeating.
"I know," Cas whispers, "I know. I'm not gonna leave you either."
Their hands are clasped so tightly that they should be losing circulation, but it just feels warm, secure, like a promise. They won't let go. They have before - sometimes by choice, sometimes by accident - but never again.
Cas and Dean just stare at each other for a long time. Dean's eyes seem to glow brighter than anything in the semidarkness, burning into Cas' own. There's love behind them, Cas realizes, and he knows his own eyes are projecting and reflecting the same fierce passion.
"Marry me," Dean says.
"What?"
"Marry me."
"Dean, you're not serious. When was the last time you slept?" Cas frowns at him.
For the first time since Cas woke up, Dean pulls his hand away, and Cas fears he's done something horribly wrong. Dean turns around, reaching behind his chair to rummage in his duffel bag, which Cas hadn't noticed until now. When he turns back to Cas, there's a small box in his hands.
Cas closes his eyes. His concussion must be worse than he thought. There's absolutely no way this is happening.
He reopens his eyes, and Dean is down on one knee next to his hospital bed, box open to reveal a simple silver band.
"Cas, I love you so much. I've loved you for so long, longer than you know. And I spent so long lying to myself about it, about you, because I was scared to screw it up. I was scared of screwing you up. I haven't always been good to people, I know. But you make me feel, not just like I want to be good, but that I can be good. You make me feel like there is good out there. Loving you makes me better. I love you more every day. I used to think I knew what I wanted out of life. But I was wrong. All I want - all I need - is you. I want to be with you, wherever you go, whatever you do, for as long as we've got left. And I've wanted to ask you this for so long, but the time never seemed right until it seemed like we were out of time. So. Will you marry me?"
Dean's crying by now, and Cas is too, and he's still in a state of shock, but he chokes out, "Yes, Dean, yes, of course," smiling as he says it, watching Dean's face bloom with light and joy. Cas stretches out his left hand and Dean takes it in his own as he rises to his feet.
"It's not much," Dean says, but Cas recognizes the band as Dean slides it onto Cas' left ring finger. Dean must have gotten it resized, because it fits perfectly.
"You were wearing this when we met," Cas says in wonder. Dean nods.
"I, uh, didn't think you'd remember," Dean stammers.
Cas laughs, and the movement causes a fresh wave of tears to spill from his eyes. "Dean, how could I forget the first time I saw you on Earth?" He laughs again. "Which was also the first time you stabbed me."
Dean laughs a full, hearty laugh at that, and he holds Cas' left hand in his own as he moves his right hand to cradle Cas' face. "Sorry, I guess. But in my defense, you did try to rupture my eardrums." His thumb wipes the tears from Cas' cheekbone.
"I forgive you," Cas breathes, "always. I love you, Dean."
Dean grins, and leans down to brush his lips to Cas'. "I love you, Cas," he murmurs against his lips, just hovering there. Cas moves up to meet him in a real kiss. His heart feels like it's overflowing, sending heat surging through his limbs, making his head spin. It's everything he never dared to dream he would get.
Neither of them knows what they want to do next. They talk about their future until Cas gets tired. Before he drifts off, he makes Dean swear to him that he will sleep too. Dean agrees, and when Cas wakes, Dean has adjusted his chair so that he can rest his head on Cas' left arm, where he's sleeping soundly. Cas smiles as he closes his eyes and returns to a comfortable sleep.
The next day, as they check out of the hospital, a sign catches Cas' eye. He nudges Dean with his good elbow, and points to it. "What do you think?"
This time, it's Dean who's at a loss for words. Cas waits for a moment before Dean's face breaks into a warm smile. "Yeah," he says, reaching for Cas' hand and interlacing their fingers. "Yeah, let's do it."
Twenty minutes later, they walk out of the hospital chapel as Mr. and Mr. Winchester.