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He doesn't remember much except the blood that had filled his mouth, thick and dark. He vaguely remembers some werewolf dude going after Sammy and he'd sort of...blacked out, just gone insane and thrust himself between the feral creature and his baby brother.
Wasn't it what he'd been raised to do?
He barely remembered being tossed against a wall, head first and mauled. He didn't remember it, and it was fine. His nightmares from Hell were more then enough without adding traumatic life or death situations. God knew he couldn't stay away from those. All he knows is that Sammy had been so desperate, so scared that he'd prayed for help.
And ever the faithful little soldier, Castiel had appeared between two trash containers and patched him up.
He wishes he could forget the look in his sweet blue eyes.
It's all encompassing. Hard to understand just how long Castiel had been waiting for him. He wants to yell and to break the motel room's window. He's scared. He doesn't often admit to fear, but he is now. Because he has almost died tonight and it puts things in perspective. He sees something more in those sweet, sky blue eyes. Nestled close to the anger and frustration...there is bitter sweetness too. Like Castiel is looking at Dean willing him to see him, not his vessel but the Angel beneath.
"I don't like that look." He spits blood in the sink, wipes his mouth and presses the ice pack to the side of his swollen mouth.
Castiel is stubbornly, mightily silent. He seems inevitable, standing under the cheap flickering light of the old roadside motel. Both young and old at once, wise and innocent, angry and lovesick.
Lovesick.
Oh.
"Cas...Stop staring at me, man."
He doesn't. He looks so angry with Dean. So much so that Dean wants to beg for his forgiveness. He just cannot lose him too. Especially not because he's too stupid to be honest.
"You could have died." His voice is bone chilling. It's low and it rumbles deep in his chest, it feels ripped from behind his teeth and Dean winces just hearing it.
"That's just a day in my life." He smiles cockily. He really does not need to think of how he's bound to die young, violently most likely.
"I did not rebel for you to wallow in your self pity." Castiel hisses. "I gave everything I had for your life. Do not look me in the eyes and pretend your life means nothing at all."
"Self pity?" Dean snorts and his hands itch to pick a fight, to punch something. He wants to draw blood because he's nothing if not a glutton for pain. "Well, fuck you Castiel."
He's pressed to the motel's bathroom wall before he can even blink. A solid hand on his jaw, and eyes bluer than the summer sky looking right into his soul, innocent and ruthless at once. Castiel's thumb digs painfully into his bruised cheek and he whines softly. He knows pain and he knows how to take a fair amount of it silently. But Castiel...stupid Castiel brings so much words, so much sound and emotions to him.
"Do not talk to me on this tone." Dean can barely breathe, his heart beats so fucking fast he fears he's going into cardiac arrest for one stupid fucking second. "Do not make the mistake of thinking Sam is the only one who cares for your measly life!"
"Oh? Because you do Cas? You care for the fuck up that I am? Maybe you want to pet my hair and read me bedtime stories to keep the nightmares away? Face it, goddamnit! I'm rotten and no good! Heaven wants fuck all to do with me and even Hell spit me back out. I mean nothing. The faster you wrap your stupid head around that, the faster you can leave me the fuck alone."
"I do not want to!" Castiel groans and Dean is so startled by the expression of pain that flashes in those clear blue eyes he almost shuts his damn mouth.
He never shuts up when he needs too.
"Why do you even fucking care! Just let me go for fuck's sake! Haven't I given enough?"
"Because you were meant to be mine!" His voice shook the walls, shook the very core of him. "They said you were mine." And it feels like such a monumental confession. Like every glance that lasted just a second too long suddenly made sense. All the words he's wanted to say for all of these years and yet knew not how to say...they feel like a soft epiphany. "You were supposed to be mine." His voice suddenly small, broken. A desperate little whine.
"I...I don't…" I don't know what to say. I don't know what's happening. I don't understand. I don't want to know anymore.
"You were born on Wednesday, January 24th 1979."
This is no news to him. It is one of the only things he's ever been sure of. He was born in the dead of winter. He was born in January, when the earth is frozen stiff and the wind pierces you right to the bone. Even when his name didn't make sense, he knew that the cold of winter was a bit like home.
"You were born Wednesday, January 24th 1979...a few minutes short of midnight."
A few minutes short of midnight. A few minutes short of belonging to me and I to you.
"Cas…"
"I would never have let you suffer." He bites fiercely. "Three minutes and 19 seconds and you would have been mine! In body and bones, blood and soul!"
And then he understood. The Angel of Thursday looked at him, desperately.
"I would have been yours?" He whispers and doesn't that terrify him more than anything ever has in his fucked up life.
"I would have spared you so much hurt." Castiel whispers and there is adoration laced behind his words, softness Dean hasn't tasted since his mother had died. It chokes him and leaves him breathless.
"Then why are you here?"
"I have chosen you from the moment you were born Dean Winchester. To protect and to love. I have chosen you over and over again. You were the one thing I ever chose in all selfishness. Because I knew I could do right by you. Even when I knew nothing of free will...you were the only thing I would risk everything for."
It's too much. He's not good. Hasn't been good in years. Probably not since that pit stop when he was fourteen and desperate for money to feed Sam and himself. He's hurt countless people, in the hopes they would stay far enough away not to hurt him. And this celestial being, born perfect, made to love and protect humanity, innocent and pure hearted...loves him. Has always loved him. Has watched as he plummeted to the darkest corners humanity had to offer. And he loved him still.
"You shouldn't." He says quietly. "Care so much for me. Nothing good for you in there Pal."
Castiel shakes his head, there is an annoyed look in his eyes, his mouth a tight line, frustrated.
"You are working very hard to frustrate me Dean. What more do you ask of me? I give you my truth and you laugh in my face. Is it not enough that I wish to be beside you? I do not ask you to be anything else than the man you are. Good, bad, conflicted. I'll take it all."
"You can't mean that."
There is a strong, callused hand at his neck, fingers idly running through the fine hairs at his nape. He wants to lean into Cas' touch, let him close. He closes his eyes instead because looking at Cas is entirely too difficult. There's far too much he's afraid to say.
"You've seen it all." Dean says in a whisper. "The people I killed. The people I hurt. The hearts I broke. The people I touched in exchange for money. The people I lied to. The souls I tortured. The innocents I sacrificed. How could you want to stay after all that, uh?"
Even I don't really want to stay alone with myself longer than necessary.
Castiel moves from him and Dean almost whines at the loss of his touch, the warmth of his hands on him. He almost bites his lip to the blood to keep quiet. He opens his eyes, the light of the bathroom burns his eyes, it's bright and white and Cas seems enveloped by it. Cas' earnest blue eyes meet his.
"When I got into Hell looking for you...I didn't know what your soul would look like. Hell does atrocious things to a soul. I expected your soul to be charred, I expected to find it smoking and broken...blackening like a poison. That's not what I found."
Dean shakes his head, it doesn't mean anything. He knows what he's done and there is no forgiveness for that. He still looks at Castiel, forces himself not to look away.
"No?" He whispers.
"No." Cas says softly. "What I found was a soul that shimmered like sunlight through tree leaves. Soft. Good. Warm and righteous. Your soul was the purest I had ever seen."
Dean laughs and it sounds so stupidly like a sob he shoves his fist against his mouth to quiet himself. It can't be. After all these years, after everything he has done...surely he cannot be good.
"You reached out to me. Dean...after forty years of Hell...your soul was still beautiful and strong. And it reached out to me. I cradled you in my arms, tucked you against my chest and I fought my way out. Did you know...my wings were an array of colours before I plunged into Hell...after I retrieved you, they turned black. But your soul? It still shines as true and good as it did when you were born three minutes before I could call you mine."
Dean is crying and he feels fucking stupid for it. He cannot stop the tears, he's tried and tried to force them down, to no avail.
All this time...he had been deserving of salvation. All this time he had done nothing that deserved being hated so viscerally.
All this time...he had deserved to be loved?
Cas smiles at him and nods. A simple, quiet Yes. Yes you deserve love. Yes you deserve to be happy. Dean crosses the bathroom and he cups Castiel's face in his hands, strokes his cheek so very softly.
"Always." Cas presses a kiss to his forehead.