Swifter Than Reason - Chapter 1

[alassenya]

Go to the Introduction for synopsis and warnings.

We never would have loved had love not struck
Swifter than reason, and despite reason... -- Robert Graves, "Under the Olives"

Chapter 1 - Croatoa


Tuesday 01 June 2010

As far as Staff Sergeant Dean Winchester could work out, it was day five of his captivity. He wasn't entirely sure, because his watch had been taken from him along with everything else, but it felt like five days. Actually it felt like a lot longer, what with the hunger and thirst and the pain from his many wounds, but his brain -- scrambled, yes, from the sleep deprivation, but still functioning on an as-needs basis -- was pretty sure it was five days.

As to why he was still alive after five days ... well, he had no idea. Especially after yesterday. He fought against the inevitable wave of nausea that rose when he thought about yesterday.

He'd fucked up so badly.

Now he'd had a night to think about it and come down from the excruciating adrenaline spike that had supported him through his ordeal, he was appalled at what he'd done. All his training, all his experience, his strength, his goddamn pride ... all for nothing, in the end.

He'd broken. He'd folded. He'd given it up like a cheap whore, and the Croatoans hadn't even had the decency to kill him afterwards.

How the hell was he supposed to live with himself now?

~~~~~

It might have been an hour later; it might have been three or four. There was the sound of brisk footsteps in the corridor outside, which usually heralded either a meal or another interrogation session. Since he'd already been fed that morning, it had to be interrogation, and he mentally braced himself for another round, this time of Colonel Alistair's undivided attention. Instead of the clanging of the cell door, however, there was a brief exclamation, and then silence.

He held himself still for a minute, but nothing happened, and he gradually made himself relax -- as much as he could -- and sink back down on the cot.

Thirty seconds later, there was the crack!thump! of a shaped charge and then the door fell in.

The figure that emerged from the dust and smoke was clearly special ops, wearing a close-fitting dark camouflage uniform, face paint, and tac vest. The figure was also very short.

Later on, he blamed it on being loopy from pain and hunger and not having slept well for a week, but right then he just couldn't help it. He raised himself up on one elbow and asked, "Aren’t you a little short for a Ranger?"

The figure halted, then lifted her cap to reveal pale skin and a glimpse of red hair and said, "I'm Anna Milton. I'm here to rescue you."

Dean flashed a grin at her. The movement of muscle under charred skin was excruciating, but the fact that she'd picked up his reference so fast and responded in kind was kind of amazing.

"Tell me you're here with Ben Kenobi and I'll love you forever."

"Not quite, he's more like Yoda." She paused a moment, stifled a giggle, then leaned forward. "Can you walk?"

"Yeah, I think. They didn't do much to my legs." He managed to get up from the cot without assistance, stifling a moan as his broken fingers moved, and pretended not to hear her horrified gasp when she saw the burns on his back. It was only skin. Skin could be replaced. Bones could be splinted. Eyes, on the other hand ... he shuddered, and forced his mind away from that memory.

Anna produced a couple of tablets and held out her canteen. "These will take the edge off. I'm sorry, I don't have time to treat anything else right now. We have to get out of the building."

He nodded and swallowed the tablets. The water was as sweet as nectar after the thirst he'd had for the last two days, but he knew better than to take more than a couple of mouthfuls. There would be more later, if they got out of here alive.

"So, which one are you?" she asked, re-stowing the canteen on her webbing.

"Winchester, Staff Sergeant."

"Do you know where the others are?"

"Dead."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure." Nothing said dead like complete evisceration, after all. Or having your throat cut.

"OK. I'll find you some clothing." She ducked out of the cell.

Dean concentrated on standing upright and not fainting. He hadn't lied, precisely -- they hadn't done as much to his legs as they had to his hands and torso, but he was pretty bruised all over and still shaky from the rapes.

Anna came back in with a heap of clothing. "Clothes should be OK, not sure about the boots."

He gave them a quick glance. "How far do we have to go?"

"About a kilometer."

"A size bigger would be nice. I can make do if not."

"I'll check."

She was back in under a minute with another set of boots. By then he had managed to pull the pants and shirt on (resolutely ignoring the still-sticky blood on the shirt that told him exactly how the previous owner had died) but fastening the buttons was beyond him. It didn't faze her though -- she just leaned in and fastened the buttons, then knelt to assist him with the socks and boots.

"Thanks," he managed to say, though it cost him. He hated being so helpless.

"No problem." She buckled a belt with a holster around his waist.

He lifted his hands. "I'm not sure I'll be able to use a weapon."

"You shouldn't need to. But if the worst comes to the worst, I'll feel happier if ... well, you know."

Yes, he did know. He nodded.

She looked straight ahead and said, "Cas, we're ready to leave the cells. Any hostiles I need to know about?"

Dean heard the faint static double click of her headset -- which she had definitely not touched prior to speaking -- and his jaw dropped. He rated a Sentinel extraction team?

A second later, he realized that he didn't. He wasn't the one they'd been sent in for, after all -- they had undoubtedly hoped to rescue the lieutenants, and had to settle for him because he happened to be the only one left alive. Well, he wasn't going to complain if it got him out of here.

Anna led the way out of the cell block. They passed several bodies, most of them lying in large pools of blood. He almost whistled -- whatever else she might be, this woman was clearly an expert with a knife. He made a mental note to keep a lid on any smart comments he might be tempted to make in her hearing.

There was a man waiting for them at the exit - American uniform, dark skin under the camo. He nodded to Anna and covered them as they moved forward, then fell in behind.

Dean moved as fast as he could, but he wasn't nearly as fast or as quiet as he usually was. Anna didn't seem to care much though, she just steadied him as they hit rougher ground near the perimeter.

They were through and at least a hundred yards into the surrounding terrain before he saw another man approaching them from the side. His hand automatically went for his gun and he winced as his fingers brushed against his hip.

"It's OK, it's our sentinel," said the soldier following them.

Dean relaxed. The four of them proceeded further into the wood.

"You have transport?"

"Yeah, there's a helo a half-kilometer ahead."

"OK." His back was burning and his fingers had shooting pains at every step, but he kept on going. He had to reach that helicopter. Then the nice lady with the great knife technique would give him morphine and they'd go flying up into the sky. Or maybe the tablets would kick in. Either way, reaching that helo was his only goal for the moment.

Another soldier appeared in front of them. He stiffened when he noted Dean's Croatoan outfit (or maybe it was all the blood) but was obviously reassured over his radio and let them through. The helicopter, one of the newest stealth models, was waiting in a small clearing, doors open and rotors idling.

The sentinel -- whose face was so thoroughly obscured by camo paint that all Dean could make out was a pair of very blue eyes -- had been muttering into his headset for the last few minutes, and, as they approached the clearing he heard what the man had been worried about -- a vehicle, coming towards them at speed. Dean figured it would be a close call as to whether they would get out of there before the Croatoans caught up with them, but he was determined not to hold the others back.

"Run!" ordered Anna, giving him a push, which hurt like fuck, but he obediently hurried a little faster, holding his hands close into his stomach so they didn't move as much. The helo's rotors started to turn faster and he tucked his head down. He was bundled onto the helo, Anna and the sentinel close behind him, while the other two soldiers steadied their rifles.

The Croatoans burst into view -- a jeep carrying three men, one of whom was raising a submachine gun. The officer in the passenger seat was shouting at them, presumably to stand down, but inevitably the Americans' response was to open fire instead.

"Stay down," ordered the sentinel, his voice low and gruff. Dean wasn't going to argue -- he might have a pistol, but his hands were in no condition to use it with any accuracy.

There was a clatter of bullets hitting the chassis and Dean flattened himself further, trying to meld with the metal. Anna gave a sharp exclamation and leaned on him more heavily for a moment before righting herself. Dean took a few minutes to catch his breath again - she might be small, but that had hurt.

The soldiers scrambled into the helo, and the rotors whined as they ramped up to full power, and then they were rising. Dean risked peeking out of the door on his side, but there was nothing but forest. He really hoped that the guys on the other side were taking out the enemy, or this was likely to be a very short flight indeed.

They were only a meter and a half off the ground when another volley of shots was followed by the grinding and screeching of metal breaking up, and the helo suddenly dropped down and to the side.

The next few seconds were chaotic. Dean had automatically put a hand out to brace himself and nearly passed out from the pain as his broken fingers took the impact. There was shouting and firing and metallic groans as the frame bent and twisted. The rotors shattered, either from enemy fire or from the impact, and fragments sprayed everywhere. The tail rotor shuddered and shut down and the helo settled a little further into the ground.

Then he was being dragged out by the sentinel and one of the other soldiers, and had to bite almost through his lip to avoid screaming. He paused to catch his breath when he was dumped on the ground and watched them heading for the pilot, who was slumped in his seat, either dead or unconscious. Anna had rolled behind the helo's tail and was reloading her magazine. The third member of the team -- the one who'd accompanied Anna and the sentinel to the camp -- was on the ground with a pool of blood around his head and one vacant eye staring up at the clouds.

From Dean's vantage point he could see the Croatoan officer reaching for a handgun. He shouted out but none of the others could react in time, and the officer got off at least three rounds. With his left hand, Dean grabbed the weapon at his feet and, steadying it as best he could over his right knee and wrist, he shot at the Croatoan.

His ruse succeeded. He saw the Croatoan swivel towards him and fire. He kept on firing and was rewarded with a direct hit to the Croatoan's face on the second last bullet. He dropped the gun with relief as Anna hurried over.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"I'm OK. Better make sure they're all dead."

"I will."

Dean sank to the ground as he watched Anna double-check that all the Croatoans were dead. She put a single round into the driver's head for insurance and Dean felt a grim satisfaction as the body jerked and fell still.

At the front of the helo, it appeared that the pilot and other soldier were both dead. He watched the sentinel check for pulses and draw himself up, slowly, before heading for the jeep There was blood on his face and hands, but there was no way to tell if it was his own or his team's.

The sentinel helped Anna to pull all three enemy bodies out, dragging them to one side. She was moving slowly, and there was blood shiny and bright on her uniform. Dean hoped she hadn't been hit badly -- he really liked sassy, smart, lethal women, even if they usually turned out to be way out of his league -- but torso shots were rarely good.

"Grab the medical supplies, we're going to need them," said Anna.

The sentinel nodded and clambered into the wreck of the helicopter, emerging with the medical kit and something else that Dean figured was emergency supplies. He made a couple more trips and loaded the jeep with everything he could manage.

They ignored Dean while they worked, which was fine with him. He was still shaky from the last few minutes anyway, especially after operating the assault rifle. He was happy just to sit and try not to throw up.

It wasn't until they came over to help him stand that the sentinel noticed all the blood on Anna's clothing.

"You're bleeding."

"I know."

"Let me see it."

"No. We have to get away from the helo before we can stop. They're bound to send another vehicle to check it out." She helped Dean to settle in the passenger seat of the jeep.

"Anna..."

"It's just a graze, caught me under the vest. I'll be fine, just let me drive. You look after the staff sergeant."

"Don't mind me, ma'am. You just drive."

She laughed, and Dean tried to ignore the edge of hysteria he could hear. "That I can do."

"It's not just a graze," the sentinel countered. "Your heart's racing."

"Adrenaline."

"Anna ..."

"Cas. This is not the time to argue. We can either we get out of here right now, or we can argue and end up back in the prison camp. You can check it out later."

Grimly nodding, the sentinel turned away and made a last round of the clearing, putting a bullet through the helo's radio, collecting all the dog tags and mobile phones. His face was furrowed and streaked with blood, but grimly determined as he clambered into the back of the jeep and said, "Go."

They took off with a shudder of gears. The sentinel -- Cas? -- opened up a pocket on his vest and produced a tiny first aid pack. He reached forward with an alcohol swab and Dean jerked away.

"Your wound needs disinfecting. Let me clean it."

"With all due respect, sir, this is not the worst of my wounds, and it's too close to my eye for you to be dealing with it in a moving vehicle. If we get out of here there'll be time to look at it later."

Cas (if that was indeed his name, not that Dean would be using it) pursed his lips in frustration -- though Dean wasn't sure if it was merely his refusal of treatment or the sentinel's own inability to do anything. "Fine. But when we stop I'll give you a thorough checkup."

"Yes, sir."

They drove for several more minutes, while the sentinel stared back through the woodland. If there was any pursuit, it seemed as if they had eluded it. After twenty minutes, he started going through the phones he'd retrieved. Two were locked and he chucked them back in the back. The other two were operable but obviously not showing anything useful.

"Any signal?" asked Anna.

"Nothing so far. I'm worried they'll run down before we get into range of a tower, but I don't want to switch them off in case they're password-protected."

"Airplane mode? It should extend the battery life a bit."

"Yeah, I'll try that." He fiddled with each in turn, and placed them in one of the pockets of his vest.

"I thought every unit was supposed to have a satellite phone," said Dean.

"We did," said Cas. "It took a bullet."

"Oh."

They drove in silence for nearly an hour, until Anna pulled over with a lurch that jarred Dean's back and ribs.

"Sorry guys," she muttered. "Can't go any further."

The sentinel turned to her immediately. "Let me check that wound. Your pulse is very high."

"Internal bleeding."

"You said it was just a graze!"

"Yes, I did. Sorry about that. I think it grazed the liver."

"Shit."

Dean echoed the sentinel's exclamation. He'd seen people bleed out from liver shots before.

They managed to get her out from the driver's seat onto the ground. Dean wasn't able to help much, but using his wrists and forearms and the few fingers on his left hand that still worked, he was able to support her while the sentinel undid her tac vest and uniform blouse. They both blanched when they saw the blood welling up underneath.

"I'm sorry, Cas," she said in a low voice. "Guess I'm not going home this time."

"Anna! Please." He glared at Dean, who took her weight on his forearms while the sentinel rummaged in the medical kit, coming up with some clotting crystals. He tore open the sachet and funneled as much of it as he could into the wound, cursing under his breath.

"Stupid, stubborn idiot. We could have done this back at the helo."

"Was too much of a risk," she said. "We had to get some distance. You know that. They’ll be sending another patrol soon, we needed to get away and cover our tracks."

"We could have taken a few minutes to stop the bleeding."

"It's too deep. Just get going. Leave me here and get away yourselves."

"I’m not leaving you behind," the sentinel shook his head, even as he started to pack up the debris. Everything was thrown into the back of the jeep, and the jumble of bags was redistributed so there was a reasonably flat surface. Dean helped lift Anna onto the makeshift bed, and they arranged her as comfortably as they could.

"Try and find another guide," she said, reaching out for her sentinel's hand. "Please, for me."

"No, I can't."

"Cas! Promise me you'll try. Please, do this for me."

"I ... I ... Anna, please."

"Promise me."

"I promise, Anna. Now please don't die.

"I'll try not to. Just so tired." Her eyes fluttered shut.

Dean glanced at the sentinel, who was checking her pulse. He didn't look very happy at what he was feeling. "Is she OK?"

"For now. Her pulse is fast and thready."

"She must be losing a lot of blood inside."

"I know she is, but there's nothing I can do about it right now," he replied, looking sternly at Dean. Then his expression changed, and he said, "I'm sorry, you're wounded too. I should check you out before we set off again."

"Honestly, sir, I think we ought to keep going."

"Let me at least splint the fingers and give you something for the pain."

Dean was feeling bad enough that he couldn't argue with that plan, so he sat while the sentinel buddy-strapped his left hand and splinted his right around a bandage roll and then gave him a shot of morphine. He got into the driver's seat and Dean eased himself back into the passenger seat, trying to ignore the pain.

"Sir, where are we going?"

"Towards the coast. With luck we'll catch one of our own patrols."

"Won't the Croatoans be expecting that?"

"Probably, but what the hell else can we do? Every other direction takes us deeper into Croatoa."

He was right, thought Dean. They really had no other option but to head west and hope that they could elude anyone on their trail. At least with the jeep they weren't restricted to roads but could cut across country, as long as they didn't leave a blindingly obvious set of tracks. And as long as they didn't run out of fuel. The fuel gauge showed the tank was still three-quarters full, but that wasn't going to take them very far across country.

"Do we have any comms yet?"

"There was no signal on the mobiles when I checked them last. Those that have any charge, anyway."

"Solar charger?"

Cas looked at him and grimaced. "I think Sutton carried one but I forgot to check. Stupid of me."

"Hey, we were under fire, it was chaotic. You can't think of everything."

"I know, but a phone charger is something I should have thought of."

"I had one of those emergency rechargers that runs off a couple of AA batteries," Dean added, hoping he didn't sound too critical.

"So did I, until someone broke it." Cas made a vicious gear change and the whole vehicle shuddered.

Dean winced and kept his mouth shut for the rest of the journey.

They drove for another hour until the light began to fail. The morphine had taken the edge off Dean's pain, but it was still bad enough that he was glad when the sentinel called a halt and drove the jeep into a stand of trees. They didn't dare light a fire but hunkered down in a hollow, using the single space blanket from the medical kit and the chemical heat packs from their food to try and keep Anna warm. She was fading fast, and they both knew she wouldn't last the night, but they did what they could for her, making sure she wasn't in any drafts, trying to keep her as comfortable as possible.

Once Anna was settled, the sentinel turned his attention to Dean. The burn on his left temple was cleaned first. After that it was a major evolution to take the shirt off, and it consumed more of their precious water stores than Dean was happy with, but finally it was off and the sentinel was able to inspect the ruin of his back by torchlight.

"It's bad, isn't it," he said, trying to keep his tone as matter-of-fact as possible.

"It's ... pretty bad," the sentinel confirmed. "Mostly partial thickness, I think. Very painful, I'm afraid, but you should be OK once it's had a chance to heal." He gave Dean a half-smile, recognizing the effort it took for him to remain still and calm. "All I have is antiseptic cream, but it should help a bit. Any other injuries I should know about?"

Dean shook his head. "Nothing you can do anything about." There was no way he was going to talk about the other things Alistair and his men had done to him -- and it wasn't the sort of injury that was amenable to first aid anyway. If they made it to safety, he'd be treated then. If they didn't ... well, the burns were the only injuries that were likely to kill him, and the sentinel was busy covering them with antiseptic cream. That was as much as anyone could do for the moment.

The sentinel helped Dean back into his shirt -- a revolting task but they didn't have any spare clothes -- and gave him some more morphine, which allowed Dean a chance to sleep. He was so out of it by then that he didn't even think to ask who was keeping watch, but it was a stupid question anyway -- the sentinel was the only one capable of it, and if he didn't sleep their chances of evading capture the next day would be close to zero. They'd just have to take the risk tonight and hope that no one had followed them closely enough to track them here.

~~~~~

Dean didn't sleep well. He woke in the early hours when the temperature dropped too far for him to be comfortable, even with the tarp that they unearthed from the jeep. He struggled to sit up, hampered by the stiffness of his body. Everything hurt -- his back, his hands, his abdomen -- and he had a raging thirst that reminded him he hadn't had nearly enough to drink yesterday or in the days preceding.

He staggered upright, cursing under his breath with every movement and managed to find a tree he could lean against while he undid his fly and relieved himself. He only got a few drops on his boots, which he thought was pretty damn good considering he could only use the thumb and middle finger of his left hand.

When he returned to the clearing he saw, silhouetted in the early dawn light, the sentinel crouching beside Anna. He didn't have to be an empath to work out what had happened -- it was clearly written in the man's posture.

He walked over to them and looked down. Anna was still: her face waxen pale, her features sharp. He was grateful that her eyes were closed; he didn't think he could have coped with seeing her staring blankly at him. For form's sake he touched a fingertip to her neck, but there was no pulse and her skin was icy cold: she must have been dead at least a couple of hours. There was nothing left for them to do but bury her and move on.

"I'm sorry," he said, knowing that the words were, as ever, completely inadequate. "She was a good soldier."

The man didn't answer; he didn't even move as Dean squatted down beside him. Nor did he respond when Dean gently tried to remove Anna's lifeless hand from his.

"Sir? You have to let her go now."

Still no response. Dean shifted around a little so that he could see into the man's face. It was blank and frozen, as if he were a statue carved in granite. His eyes were closed and for one awful moment he thought that the sentinel was dead as well, but the faintest shadow of movement in his neck revealed that he still had a pulse. His expression looked grimly intense, as if he were concentrating hard on something he couldn't see, and Dean figured that he must have zoned out, probably at the moment his guide's heart had stopped beating.

He tried to remember his emergency sentinel aid lessons. Talk to the sentinel. Appeal to his sense of duty. If the situation is appropriate, ask him to help you. Well, the situation was definitely appropriate. There was no way Dean could drive the jeep, so he had to get the sentinel functional.

"Focus on me, sir. I need your help. I'm injured, I can't get back on my own. I need you to stay strong for me."

He still wasn't responding. Maybe "sir" was too impersonal. Christ, what was the man's name again? He had a vague memory Anna calling him by name in the jeep but he'd been in so much pain from the vehicle's movements it hadn't really registered. There was no name on his uniform, of course, but he had to be wearing dog tags. With his left thumb -- and a few curses -- Dean managed to ease the chain up from the sentinel's shirt and tilted the tag to read it in the early morning light: Milton, C. Dammit, He should have remembered that - his guide had introduced herself as Anna Milton, after all.

"Major Milton. Major Milton, sir, I need you to come back. Major Milton, you have to respond to my voice. Come out of the zone. You're needed here."

Dean waved his hand in front of the man's face, but the sentinel didn't move. He tried pinching the back of his hand, first gently, then more firmly, but without effect. He didn't have anything that might stimulate smell or taste -- not that he had any intention of sticking his fingers in the man's mouth anyway, since neither of them had had a decent wash in a long time.

"Come on, sir, Major Milton. You're needed here. You have a mission to finish."

After a few minutes of this he sighed again. He needed something more immediate -- more personal; something that would get through the fog surrounding his mind and bring him back to the present. Anna had called him Cas -- that would do for now and fuck the regulations.

"Cas, Cas, can you hear me? I need your help. Please, help me. You have to focus. You have to wake up so you can get me home. Anna wants you to take me home."

Had that been a flicker of movement? He tried again, adding a touch on the back of his hand to reinforce the words. "Cas, I need you. I need you to help me get home. Anna needs you to help me. You have to wake up so you can drive the jeep and get us back to base. That's what Anna wants. She wants you to get home. She made you promise, remember?"

Yes -- that eyelid had definitely twitched. Encouraged, Dean continued, but there was no further response.

OK. He had to take a break. He'd get himself a drink of water, and then maybe something to eat ... if he could open up a ration pack. He'd also take a look at the jeep and see if he could possibly drive it himself. If not -- and he strongly suspected that he wasn't going to be either eating or driving without the sentinel's assistance -- then he'd come back and make another attempt to rouse him from his trance.

Ten minutes later, having proved to his satisfaction that he was well and truly going to die on his own, he returned to the sentinel -- to Cas.

"Cas, this is really important. You have to come out of this zone. I'm going to die here if you don't. I can't drive the jeep, I can't open a ration pack, and I can't even open the water canteen. I need water, man. Cas, I need your help. I don't want to die, and you're the only one who can help me." He hoped the note of desperation in his voice would get through, even if the words didn't. "Anna asked you to help me. She made you promise you'd continue being a sentinel. You have to come out of this zone and help me. Please, Cas, I need you."

Cas opened his eyes and blinked. Dean heaved sigh of relief and kept on talking, stroking Cas' hand to emphasize his words.

"That's it, keep on blinking. Let your eyes get accustomed to the light. Concentrate on my voice, come back to me. I need your help, Cas, I need you to come back and help me get home."

Cas swallowed, and Dean gave a silent cheer. This was actually working! "That's it, get your muscles moving again. You have to be able to move so you can help me. Anna made you promise."

"Anna?" Cas' voice was a hoarse whisper.

"Yes, Anna. She wants you to help me get out of here."

"Anna's dead." His voice broke on the second word.

"Yes, she's dead." Dean put his hand on the man's shoulder and gently rubbed with his left thumb. He'd lost team members before; he'd lost family members before; but he couldn't imagine what it would be like to lose a guide. At its strongest the sentinel-guide bond verged on telepathy, or at least telempathy, and the sudden loss was frequently described as more devastating than losing a spouse or child. To his horror, he saw that the man was openly crying now, the tears running down his face.

"I'm sorry, I wish there was more I could do to help."

"I don't know what to do." Cas' tone was slightly panicked.

Dean tried to reassure him. "Just keep on breathing for now. Get used to being back in your body. Stretch out your limbs, let the blood flow back in. You've been crouched here for a long time, you're going to have some really bad pins and needles."

"I don't feel well."

"It's shock, I guess. But you can work through it. You just have to stay on top of it. Stay focused on the mission -- we have to get back to base. We have to get home."

"Can't."

"You can. You can do this, sir."

"How?"

Truthfully Dean had no idea. He had a vague notion that he had to keep his requests simple and specific. "One step at a time, sir, just one step at a time."

"But I don't know what the first step is."

Well Dean could help with that. He proffered the canteen he'd tried to open earlier, gently pushing it into Cas' hand. "The first step is opening this canteen so we can both have a drink of water."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure, sir. We need water. Open the canteen."

"OK." Cas opened the canteen and looked at it. Dean put his hand under Cas' and lifted it and the canteen to Cas' mouth.

"Drink."

Cas drank a couple of mouthfuls, then let Dean take the canteen.

Dean drank, though not nearly as much as he wanted to. The water was cool, but it had a distinct plastic taste, and on top of that he wasn't sure how much water they had or how far they had to go, and until he did he was going to be very careful.

"Right. Next you have to get up." He hooked an arm under Cas' shoulder and helped him get to his feet, but couldn't help wincing as the movement pulled his shirt tight over his burns.

"You need treatment," said Cas sharply. It was the first time he sounded in control of himself.

"It can wait," said Dean as he straightened himself up.

"No, it can't."

"Sir, what I need is a hospital. And you're the only chance I have of getting there before I die of septicemia."

"I can still clean it up and put more antiseptic on."

"And then I'll put the dirty shirt back on and all your effort will be wasted. I wouldn't say no to some painkillers, but for the rest of it I think we should just press on as fast as we can."

Cas nodded. "You could be right."

"Food's next. There has to be more in that kit you salvaged yesterday."

"Yes, food." He went back to the jeep and rummaged through the bags, returning with a couple of one-man packs. "Here."

Dean took the pack, then silently handed it back to Cas, saying, "You'll have to open the pouches for me, sir."

"Oh, right. Forgot." He did so, efficiently mixing the pouches that were supposed to be mixed and adding water where needed. "Thank god for chemical heat packs," he muttered. "I'd hate to have to eat this stuff cold."

"Yeah, gross just isn't the word for it."

There was silence for a few minutes as they ate. Dean found that he was able to manage the spoon with his left hand -- clumsily, sure, but he got more into his mouth than he spilled on the ground and he counted that as a win. He didn't have much of an appetite anyway.

Cas had eaten the first half of his meal fairly quickly, but he soon tapered off and his gaze kept returning to Anna's body. Dean wondered if he ought to suggest burying her -- they couldn't really afford the time, but he didn't want to leave her to the carrion eaters, and they could hardly put her in the jeep now that rigor mortis was setting in. Well, they could probably get her in, but getting her out again would be tricky.

"Sir," he ventured. "What are we doing about your guide?"

Cas slowly turned to him, as if he hadn't realized there was another person in the clearing. "I don't know."

"It has to be your decision, sir. She's your guide, your wife."

Cas frowned. "Not my wife. My sister."

"Sorry, sir, my mistake."

Cas shrugged. "It's of no importance now. She was the only family I had left, anyway." He stood there, looking at the body, until Dean wondered if he'd zoned again and touched him gently on the arm.

"Sir, we need to decide."

Cas looked at him, helplessly. "I just don't know."

"We have two options -- well, three. We can leave her here just as she is and drive off. That's the safest option, but looking at your face I'm guessing that's not what you want to do. Secondly, we can try to bury her -- but that will take a lot of time that we can't spare and we could end up captured again. Thirdly, we can wrap her in the tarpaulin and try and fit her in the back seat of the jeep, but you would have to be prepared for the chance that we may have to abandon her later."

Cas' blue eyes just looked at him, and Dean sighed. God save him from officers who flaked when they should be leading. And from officers who looked like they were about to cry. People with big blue eyes like that shouldn't cry -- it stirred up Dean's protective instincts and made him want to do silly things, like give the man a hug.

When Cas still made no reply he heaved another sigh and went to get the tarpaulin. He was getting too damned sentimental in his old age.

It took more time that he liked to get Anna rolled up in the tarp and hauled onto the jeep's tray, even with Cas doing most of the work. Luckily the night had been cool enough that rigor hadn't progressed much past the face, so they had little difficulty in bending her limbs to fit inside the vehicle. Dean steadfastly ignored the grisly prospect of removing her at the end of the journey.

Once all their gear was stowed in the jeep Dean eased himself into the passenger seat. Cas was checking their position against a map he'd found in the glove box.

"Are we lost?"

"Not precisely. I know where we are and I know where we need to go, but I'm not sure what's between those two points. I was hoping the map would help, but of course it's in Croatoan and I don't read Cyrillic characters very well."

"Well don't look at me, I barely read English."

"Somehow I think that's an exaggeration, but no matter." He sighed. "Anna was the one who was good at languages."

"I guess we're fucked then."

"We are not fucked. I will manage. We need to head south-west, towards the coast. I'll try to keep an eye out for other vehicles, and of course I'll hear anything approaching, but if you see anything yourself, let me know.

"Yes, sir."

"And you don't have to call me sir with every second breath. I'm Cas."

"You're an officer, sir, I'm just an E6."

"When we're back on base you stick to the regulations. Right now we're just two soldiers in enemy territory, and I'm not going to spend what may be my last hours being addressed as 'sir'. Call me Cas or I'll report you for insubordination."

It was a poor attempt at humor, but since it was the most animated Cas had been since he'd come out of his trance, Dean had to grin, no matter how much it hurt. "Roger that, sir -- Cas."

"Good."

"I'm Dean."

Cas smiled. "Good to meet you, Dean." He put out his hand.

Dean tapped it with his bandaged fist.

Cas shook his head. "Sorry."

"It's cool, man."

Cas started the jeep and they made their way slowly back to the main road and turned west.

Now that Cas seemed to have recovered his wits -- more or less -- Dean tried to rest. Unfortunately, between the jeep's suspension and the rough state of the roads, it was a vain effort, and he soon found himself alternating between leaning forward and leaning to the side, changing every few minutes. There was no respite from the pain in either position.

Progress was very slow, since Cas stopped at every rise to check the terrain and the sky. As he had expected, there was more traffic that day as the search for the missing prisoner widened. They hid for two hours under the space blanket while a helo did grid runs, only venturing out an hour after it had left. Then a three-car patrol caused them to lose more time while they hid in a pine plantation, only venturing out after Cas had done a reconnaissance on foot. On that occasion Dean had been told to wait by the jeep, but had fallen asleep. When he woke alone he'd become anxious and had ventured after Cas, to find him zoned again, staring at the sky. It took him several minutes to bring him out if it, and by the time Cas had recovered enough to drive the Jeep, Dean was so exhausted and ill that he slept while the vehicle was moving.

He woke in the late afternoon to find that they had stopped in another wood. Cas was studying the map intently. "If my calculations are correct," he said, "we're only about fifteen kilometers from the base. Unfortunately there seem to be several civilian settlements around here. I think we'd be better off staying here the night and then making a fast run for it tomorrow morning."

"Any phone signal?"

"I'll check once it's full dark. No point now, too much interference."

"Will the Jeep make it?"

"I'm not sure. I hope so, I don't think you'll make it on foot."

"Me neither. Cas, I have to tell you ... I feel like shit, man.

"You don’t look well. You should drink some more water."

"I'll just throw it up."

"You need to drink. When did you last urinate?"

Dean stared up at him. "Did you just say urinate?"

"Yes, it is the correct medical term."

"I'm sure it is, but we aren't in a hospital. I last took a piss this morning."

"That was twelve hours ago."

"No kidding."

Cas came over and examined him, looking at his skin, his eyes, his lips ... and under other circumstances Dean might have found that either embarrassing or exciting, but right now he hadn't even the energy to push him away. He watched him pinch the skin on the back of his hand. It stayed up in a peak for more than a second before slowly collapsing.

"You are approximately five per cent dehydrated, possibly more," Cas pronounced. His voice was even more dark and deep than usual.

"Five percent's not much. That's what, half a liter? Less?"

"Not five percent of your plasma, five percent of your entire body fluid -- around four liters. Essential body functions will be compromised if you don’t rehydrate soon. There's one liter of saline left in the medical kit -- if you can't drink I'll have to try and get an IV line in."

Dean looked at his hand. The veins that usually stood out on the back were flat and almost invisible. "Good luck with that," he muttered.

"Then you'd better drink." Cas patted him on the shoulder and picked up the canteen of water. "I added a little beverage powder -- it'll taste better than plain water and you could do with the sugar."

Dean accepted the canteen and took a mouthful of the liquid. He had to admit it was definitely better than the plain water but he still felt a little nauseated as it went down. "Thanks," he muttered. "I'll try to drink more."

"Good." Cas smiled and him, and Dean felt absurdly happy. "And here's some Tylenol for the pain and the fever."

Dean obediently swallowed the tablets but he figured he was heading past the point where Tylenol could help. "Is there anything stronger in that medical kit?"

"Not much. It's mainly dressings and IV fluids. There is one morphine syringe left."

"You have morphine? Why didn't you tell me?"

Cas gave him that odd, intense stare, before saying, "Because there is only one left, and I suspect you're going to need it tomorrow more than tonight."

"But I'm in pain now."

"And you'll still be in pain tomorrow and we may have to move fast and on foot."

Dammit, he couldn't even argue with that logic. It didn't make him any more comfortable now though.

He struggled through the evening -- Cas made him take some more tablets, which helped a little but he was still in a lot of discomfort, and he was developing a fever. Even the space blanket couldn't stop him shivering. He was so fucking exhausted all he wanted to do was sleep but Cas had been up as long as he had, and it wasn't fair to make him do all the watchkeeping.

After checking the phones again -- still no signal -- Cas finally noticed that he was struggling and came over. "Sleep, Dean," he ordered, his voice as dark and mysterious as the night. "I'll wake if anyone comes near us."

"Not sure I can sleep. So damn cold."

Cas put a hand on his forehead. "You're still feverish." He handed over a couple more tablets -- not Tylenol this time, something stronger -- and then lay down beside him. Dean wasn't sure if he was supposed to snuggle up or spoon or just lie still, but Cas made it easy by sliding an arm under his shoulder and pulling him in, letting the blanket fall over them both. Lying half on his side and half sprawled over Cas' chest could have been very embarrassing if it weren't definitely the most comfortable position Dean had been in for days. He fell asleep before he could even say thank you.

~~~~~

The next morning he didn't so much wake up as emerge slowly and grudgingly from unconsciousness. Cas had obviously woken first and was several meters away, carrying two sloshing water canteens.

"Drink," he ordered, twisting the cap open on one and holding it out to Dean.

"You put any flavoring in?" he asked, sitting up and feeling all the scabs on his back crack and pull.

"Two purification tablets and a flavor sachet."

Well that sounded gross, but there wasn't any alternative. Dean took a swig and forced it down, but it tasted like flavored swimming-pool water and he had to fight the urge to vomit. If his stomach had been stronger he would have chugged the whole canteen and let his gut fight it out but he couldn't risk that with their limited supply. He'd just have to keep sipping the revolting stuff and hope that it stayed down. At least it kept his mouth from drying out too much.

He drew the line at eating. Cas gave him more painkillers but he really couldn't face another vacuum-packed meal.

"Seriously, man, I have no appetite. I'll only throw up -- if I don't already from the water."

"You need to eat something. It will help the painkillers get absorbed."

Dean sighed. "Do any of the rat packs have dry crackers? I think that's all I could keep down."

"I don't think so -- but there are some plain sweet biscuits."

"Yeah, that'll have to do."

He ate the two biscuits slowly, forcing each mouthful down with some water. He knew he was dehydrated -- worse than yesterday -- but there was no way he was going to be able to drink enough to fix that. He'd just have to hope that they made it to the base today and that the doctors could get a line in.

He ached all over, his fever was getting worse and he had no energy to move. He prayed that the jeep wouldn't run out of fuel because there was no way he was going to be able to walk any distance.

Cas refilled the canteens and got him back into the jeep shortly afterwards. Dean struggled to stay alert but even with the jeep's appalling suspension he found himself drifting off again and again.

The jeep ran out of fuel about an hour later. Cas sighed and steered for the edge of the road as the engine spluttered.

Dean got out and leaned against the vehicle. They were in a valley, which wasn't great, and there was no convenient ditch or stand of trees in which to conceal the jeep. He looked at the tarpaulin-wrapped bundle on the tray and made a mental apology to Anna.

"What do we do now?" he asked.

Cas lifted his gear out and started sorting through it. "One of the phones has two bars and a quarter charge left. I'll try to get a message to HQ. If not, we'll have to make a run for it."

"Oh, great."

"I'm sorry, but the only alternative is for me to leave you here, run there myself and try to get back with transport before the next Croatoan vehicle comes along."

"You should do that. You've got a much better chance of getting back alone."

Cas just shook his head. He tried the phone, first voice and then text, leaving messages on half a dozen numbers. After waiting half an hour they had to accept that they weren't going to get a response any time soon.

"If we're still out here tonight I'll try again," he sighed, putting the phone back into flight mode.

"You should go on alone," Dean said.

"No. I'm not leaving you. We'll manage. If we stick close to the trees we should be able to hide from any passing vehicles."

"I'll slow you up so much it's ridiculous."

"I'm not leaving you behind."

"Cas, honestly, I'm not sure I can get that far."

"You can and you will."

Dean just looked at him wearily. Implacable determination was hard to argue with, but it really didn't have the same motivational effect as a screaming drill instructor.

Cas spoke. "Listen, we'll make it together, even if I have to carry you. Understand? I'm not leaving you behind. Trust me, we'll get there."

"OK." Dean straightened up. "What do you want me to carry?"

"Nothing."

"Come on, man you can't take everything yourself."

"Your back wouldn't take a webbing belt, let alone a pack."

Dean had to concede that point. His back had oozed so much over the last twenty four hours that his shirt was more or less glued to the skin, and the stream they'd camped next to hadn't been flowing fast enough for Cas to allow him to soak it off. The burn on his temple had been dry for the last twelve hours only because it had built up a thick scab that pulled every time Dean moved his jaw.

Cas held up a syringe. "I think it's time for that last morphine shot."

"Yeah. Good luck getting my shirt off."

"Hmm." Cas regarded the shirt for a moment, then grabbed his knife and cut a small hole in the sleeve over the deltoid muscle of his shoulder. He enlarged it enough to be able to clean the skin with a swab and then injected Dean with the morphine.

"I think you're in enough pain that this isn't going to make you sleepy, but if you need to rest just tell me."

"Sure."

They set off towards the base, keeping to the trees, hiding whenever Cas said there was a vehicle approaching. It was slow going, heavy going, and Dean was already at the end of his strength. His pace became slower and slower until he was lagging a fair way behind.

"Come on Dean, keep moving."

"I'm moving."

"Faster."

"With all due respect, sir, I really don't think I can." He was swaying and the bright daylight was hurting his eyes.

"OK." Cas clipped his rifle to his tac vest and took Dean's right arm, draping it over his own shoulder and taking a good percentage of his weight. It wasn't that comfortable, and it made walking awkward, but Dean figured it was about as good as it was going to get.

He zoned out after a while, his whole world reduced to the feeling of Cas next to him, the sun on his back and the ever-present pain. He was starting to feel as if he wasn't really connected to his body anymore. He had a vague idea that that it wasn't a good sign, but he hadn't the energy to think about it. As long as his feet were moving, that was the main thing. Left foot, right foot. Left foot, right foot. There was word for it, the rhythm that feet made on the ground. Cay-something. Left foot, right foot. Cadence, that was the word he was looking for. Left foot, right foot. On and on and on.

Time passed.

Cas stopped suddenly, jarring Dean out of his ... whatever it was.

"Huh?"

"I think we're in luck. I can see two of our APCs coming up the road."

"You sure they're ours?" His voice was barely a whisper, but Cas heard him.

"I'm sure. It's our vehicle build and camo pattern, anyway."

"Think they'll stop for hitch-hikers? Or just shoot on sight?"

"I think they'll stop long enough for me to talk to them."

"OK. You talk. I'll just sit here."

He sank down onto the ground, glad of the chance to rest. His head was muzzy and floaty, he hurt all over -- well, that was pretty much situation normal now -- and his mouth was a dry as an ashcan. Cas was right, he was getting more dehydrated by the hour.

The vehicles pulled up about twenty meters away, and two soldiers got out of each, aiming their rifles at them. Cas approached them slowly, holding out his empty hands. Dean only half-listened to the rapid-fire exchange of ID and Cas' brief statement of what had happened, and then there were people running towards him and strong hands hauling him up. Unfortunately the hand were also pressing on his burns, and he cried out.

"Be careful!" Cas told them. "Dean was one of the group we went in to retrieve. He has extensive burns on his back."

"Sorry, sir," one of them said. He was pulled up a little more gently and escorted to the vehicle.

They gave him water -- cool, sweet water; he was never going to take it for granted again -- and an energy bar.

"Can't eat," he muttered, pushing it away. "I'll just puke."

The group didn't have a medic so the platoon leader -- a shiny new lieutenant -- ordered an immediate return to base.

"I could call for a medevac," he explained, "but honestly, we could be back in base by the time they got the flight authorized."

"Good call," Cas agreed. "Is there a chance you could send a team about five kilometers further up the road? We had to abandon the jeep when it ran out of fuel, and my sister's body is in it."

"I'll have to clear it with base, sir," said the lieutenant. "I'll try, but I can't guarantee they'll authorize it."

"I understand. I can tell you where the helo was when it crashed, too."

"No need, sir. We found the helo two days ago. The site had already been picked clean by the Croatoans, though. We've been looking for you ever since. Just weren't sure where you were headed."

"Progress was slow. We made for the woods immediately, of course. They had search parties out yesterday but we managed to evade them. We're lucky that they didn't set up roadblocks."

"We've seen a lot of patrols the last two days but no static positions -- well, we'd just have bombed the shit out of them anyway."

His attention was claimed by the comms operator. "Sir, HQ acknowledged message, concur with return to base."

"Great. OK, men, back to base. Chang, ride in the other vehicle."

"Yes, sir."

Dean settled onto the back seat next to Cas while the vehicles turned slowly and headed up the rise. It was warm in the vehicle but the morphine was wearing off and while the suspension was better in the APC than in the jeep, it still wasn't a comfortable ride.

"So, what happened out there?" asked the lieutenant. "Where are the others?"

Well, shit. That was the last thing Dean wanted to think about right now. There was a lot that Dean hadn't told Cas yet, and Cas knew that. And while Cas could report on everything that had happened in the last two days, he didn't know how the others had died, and he didn't know what information had been given to the Croatoans. Only Dean had that knowledge, which meant that he had to make a basic report.

On top of that, his strength was fading fast, and once they got to base he'd be handed over to the medical teams, and with any luck they'd pump him full of enough morphine to keep him under for a week. It was probably the only chance he had to pass on information for a while. Not to mention the fact that he was so sick he might not actually make it out the other side.

"I'm not sure this is the time --" began Cas.

"No, he's right," said Dean. "I need to debrief to you guys, just in case I don't make it through the next few days or the docs sedate me too much to talk."

"You'll make it."

"I've got infected burns and broken bones, maybe internal bleeding too. I may not make it. I'll definitely be out of it for a while."

Cas looked almost affronted at the suggestion, but the lieutenant nodded, getting out his smart phone and setting it on record. "OK, tell us what happened. And make it short."

"OK. Short version -- you know we were ambushed, right?"

"Yeah, we found the vehicles. And the bodies."

"The rest of us got taken to this camp. There were four of us. Nothing much happened first couple of days -- standard interrogation, nothing more than we expected. Food and water provided in limited quantities. They didn't let us sleep much -- rattled on the doors every time they changed shift, but that was all. Day three it all changed. Some big guy came from the capital, name of Alistair. He was different: brutal, focused, loved his work. Lieutenant Fletcher died that day -- I think he killed himself somehow, from what the guy said. Lieutenant Jackson and Corporal Ponzi died the next day. I witnessed their deaths. I'm the only one who survived long enough to be rescued."

"Do you know what information the officers gave up?"

"Not entirely, sir, I wasn't present for Lieutenant Fletcher's interrogation or Lieutenant Jackson's first session. But Jackson broke the session I was there."

"What did she tell him?"

"He wanted to know where we took the prisoners and equipment from Maykop. Something about a vault. I don't know, it didn't make any sense to me."

"She told him?"

"She said the officers had been shipped out to Germany already, the enlisteds were being processed locally."

"Anything else?"

"Satellite stuff -- access codes, timings ... it sounded like gibberish. I've no idea if what she said was accurate."

"Which satellite?"

"Some alphanumeric designation. Sorry, I really wasn't concentrating on her right then."

"Why not?'

Why not? Dean glared at the officer with every ounce of energy he had left. What sort of stupid fucking question was that? Because one of Alistair's men had been shoving his --

"What he means is that he was being tortured himself at that point," Cas broke in, and Dean could just about have kissed him for it. "It's hard to hear when you're screaming."

"Oh." The lieutenant looked suitably chastened. But he still asked, "And what did you tell him?"

"He was really keen on finding those prisoners. I told him where the lock-up was at the base. He wanted to know the access codes but I didn't know them." He swallowed. He didn't really want to think of Alistair's response when he'd said that. "After that he switched to general security stuff -- patrol schedules, radio frequencies, call signs."

"Oh, great. That's going to make the boss happy."

Dean hung his head. Cas patted his arm gently; it was a welcome and reassuring gesture and Dean smiled at him from under his lashes, feeling it pull on the scab over his temple. Cas smiled back and Dean was struck by an urge to rest his head on Cas' shoulder. He restrained himself, but he couldn't help turning his arm and rubbing his thumb along Cas' hand.

"Why didn't he kill you too?" asked the lieutenant.

"He was going to, eventually He said he wanted to take his time with me. He said ... he said I was a better opponent. Stronger. Would last longer." He swallowed. "He said he could make me last a week or two, that I'd be begging for death by the end of it. I don't even think he cared if I talked or not ... he was just enjoying it."

"Fuck," breathed the lieutenant.

"Yeah, that too," Dean said, trying to make a joke of it.

"I think that's enough for now," said Cas gravely, his hand still comfortingly warm on Dean's arm.

"Yeah, I think so." The lieutenant switched off the recording.

Dean closed his eyes and leaned against Cas. Now that he was safe, the adrenaline that had sustained him for the last hour was ebbing fast. He felt exhausted -- more than he'd ever been before, even in basic training.

He could hear the lieutenant whispering to Cas. "There's more he's not telling us."

"There always is," murmured Cas.

"He broke."

Cas paused for several long seconds, and said, "Wouldn’t you? I know I would."

"Maybe. But we only have his word for what happened. What if the others are still alive?"

"My team found no trace of the others in the cells. It was not a large camp. There was at least one new grave that I could identify, and it could easily have held more than one body. I believe that he is the only survivor."

"Shit."

Dean was glad his eyes were already closed and that Cas was shielding him from the others in the vehicle. He really didn't want to see their faces. He knew he'd fucked up; he knew that in the end he was no better than the Fonz; poor stupid Ponzi who'd already maxed out at corporal and who'd died with a whimper and charred holes where his eyes used to be. Fletcher had done the right thing and killed himself before he could reveal anything ... but Fletcher was dead and Dean was alive and on his way home, so how the fuck could Fletcher have done the right thing if doing the wrong thing kept you alive?

Exhaustion was really overwhelming him now, and Dean slumped against Cas, who held him close. He was so glad that Cas hadn't drawn away after his confession, so glad that he could still feel the man's warmth. It would have to stop when they got back to base, of course, when the sheer disparity of rank would keep them apart, but for the moment he was going to take advantage of every moment they could be together.

They arrived at the base only twenty minutes later, and were taken straight to the medical tent. Dean dutifully provided his name, rank and service number, and Cas provided a potted medical history of the last few days. Some ace of a junior medical officer managed to get an IV line in his arm on her second try, which was a real bonus. After taking what Dean thought was an excessively large amount of blood out she hooked up a bag of normal saline.

"I don't need to wait for the bloods to know you're severely dehydrated. I'm going to run some fluids in fairly fast and we'll see how you go over the next three hours. When did you last urinate?"

Cas smirked at him over the doctor's shoulder, which Dean thought was really unfair, before answering the question for him. "Yesterday afternoon. And there wasn't much."

"Do you feel like going now?" asked the doctor.

Dean shook his head.

"Try anyway, we want to get a baseline."

"OK."

"Now, I'll need to get look at the back." The doctor reached forward to try and push the shirt away from his shoulders.

Cas stepped in immediately. "You'll need to soak it off," he said, lifting a hand as if to ward off any attempt to touch the shirt. "It's adherent to the burnt skin. The back was washed once and antiseptic ointment applied, but after that we had no water clean enough to risk it."

The doctor straightened up, saying, "OK, we can soak it off." She paused, then said. "Is there anything you need to report? Because we're probably going to have to sedate you to clean up your back and set your fingers."

Dean and Cas exchanged a look. Then Cas said, "A preliminary report was made on the way in. A formal debrief can probably wait a few days until he's in better health."

"Excellent. I'll set up a morphine drip then, and I'll get you something to make you relax."

"I can manage without a sedative." Now that they were back on base Dean had a sudden premonition that they were going to take Cas away while he was asleep, and he really didn't want that.

Cas took his chin and turned his face so they were eye to eye. "You'll take the sedative, Dean. You need it."

"Stay with me?" he asked in a low voice. He hated feeling so unsettled, but after being alone with Cas for two days he found the prospect of being separated almost unbearable. Part of his mind knew he was being absurd, but he felt so bad that the rest of him just didn't care.

"I'll be right here with you." Cas' hand on his arm tightened and Dean nodded. He could trust Cas.

"OK then."

He watched the doctor push the sedative into the cannula, and then the world fell away.

Chapter 2