to deepen the bond (1/1)
Title: To Deepen the Bond
Rating: PG
Genre: Pre-slash
Pairings or Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam, Balthazar
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1321
Summary: Dean learns what it's like to feel like an angel.
To Deepen the Bond
It's entirely Balthazar's fault. Every damn thing. Sam gives Dean an irritated look, because he's insulting Cas' family to his face again, but Dean doesn't care. If Balthazar wasn't such a dick, he wouldn't have been nearly blown to bits. Again.
"Please, Dean, you're fine now," Cas mutters but Dean continues glaring at the angel sitting on the edge of the bed, looking around the motel room in a mix of disgust and bemusement.
"He wants me dead."
"I do indeed," Balthazar agrees, but when Cas sends him a look he rolls his eyes and sighs, caving easily. "I'm joking, of course."
"Are not," Dean growls and Sam elbows him hard.
"Look, you're fine now, can we do this later?"
"Fine. But I don't want him here with us," Dean insists, folding his arms across his chest and not caring that he's clearly throwing a tantrum. Cas makes a defeated noise and turns to his brother.
"Balthazar, let us go."
"About time," Balthazar smiles, standing up, "The air in this place was starting to make my wings wilt."
"Wait, Cas, you don't have to go, too," Dean starts to protest, but the angels are already gone. Dean huffs and sinks deeper into the motel chair, glaring at the empty space where Balthazar was a moment before. "I hate that dick."
"Jesus Christ, Dean," Sam groans, rubbing at his temples, "You two are like in-laws, it's disturbing."
"In-laws?" Dean squawks, whipping his head around to stare at his brother.
"Yeah. You hate him because he's related to Cas, and he hates you because Cas and you are, like, human-angel married or something."
"We are not!"
"Are, too," Sam grunts and goes back to gathering up all the bloody clothes that they'll have to salt and burn before they head out. Dean drops it, because he's exhausted from almost being blown in half a few hours ago and getting a bunch of Cas' angel mojo pumped into him to fix him up. He pushes out of the chair, limbs wobbly and walking much more difficult than he liked, and manages to make it to the bed, collapsing into it face first. He's asleep in minutes and Sam spends the rest of the evening watching crappy cable tv, glancing at Dean's unconscious body for signs of life every few minutes.
~
"Oh sweet Jesus fuck," Dean moans, body shaking in misery and nausea. Somewhere, a clock reads three a.m. or so, but his eyes are pinched shut against the overwhelming sensation of loss and pain. He feels like moving would be impossible, but he also feels like he's going to spew any second, so with great effort, he rolls out of bed and sprints to the bathroom. His hands are shaking so bad he can't lift up the toilet seat and he ends up leaning over the side of the tub and puking there. The misery and anguish rocks through him in waves and he doesn't know where it's coming from, just that everything is awful and he hates it and it forces everything out of his stomach until all that's left is spit as he dry heaves over the tub. He hasn't stopped shaking and he's so fucking cold but he's dripping in sweat as he clumsily tugs his shirt off.
He moves to rub a hand over his face in one of the lulls between heaves and finds his face completely wet. He doesn't remember when he started crying, but now tears are falling out of him so fast he's amazed he has any fluid left in his body.
Another wave of misery hits him like a truck and every bone in his body feels broken and he feels his heart stops for a second before it starts pumping in overdrive, making his head spin. He heaves once more against the tub, but nothing comes up, and his sweaty hands slip on the edge, sending him falling until his head hits against the toilet. He starts to scream, voice rough from crying and vomiting, but moments later, Sam is at his side, eyes wide in terror.
"Dean, oh shit, Dean, I'm here, what's going on? What do you need? Fuck that's a lot of vomit," Sam blabbers, mouth flying at a mile a minute as he takes in the scene. He's got a firm hold on Dean, keeping him sitting up, but the dizziness is still there and getting worse.
"Cas," he wheezes, wiping at the tears still falling out of his eyes, "Call Cas."
"Right, yeah, okay, okay," Sam mumbles before looking up at the ceiling and begging for Cas to come down.
Dean feels a sharp jolt of panic that steals all the air from his lungs. He grabs at Sam's shirt, trying to remember how to breathe, but he sits there, suffocating, as Sam looks down at him in helpless horror.
"Dean, you have to breathe," Cas says, and the brothers whip their heads around to see Cas standing in the doorway to the bathroom, eyes focused on Dean. "Dean. Breathe."
A cool rush of air slips down his throat and he nearly chokes on it, but it's better than no air at all. He coughs into Sam's shirt, getting vomit and snot and tears all over it, but at least they're easier to get out than blood, so he doesn't really care. The panic that had taken over him, and the misery that had woken him, both seem to have been reigned in, only a tickling, sorrowful feeling in the pit of his stomach, while everything else is a forced but comfortable sensation of calm.
"Sam, carry him to the bed."
Sam obeys and Dean doesn't fight him or try to walk on his own. Sam drags him, arm draped around his gigantic shoulders, and drops him carefully down on his bed.
"Is he okay? Is he gonna be okay? What's wrong?" Sam asks, panic clear in his voice. Cas nods and places a hand over Dean's eyes, forcing them shut. Dean stares at the black of his eyelids in a serene state of contentedness as Cas speaks above him.
"The amount of grace I used to heal him seems to have, ah, connected us."
"What, so your bond is more profound now? Why did that make him sick?"
"He experienced what I was feeling with no filter," Cas explains, sounding apologetic and amused at the same time.
"Oh God," Sam gasps, "You are human-angel married."
"What?"
"Uh. Nothing."
Dean is finally starting to feel normal again and he brushes Cas' hand away gently, sitting up carefully.
"So. What I felt. That was what you felt. That's what it's like fighting a war in Heaven."
"Yes," Cas nods, and never has Dean understood those eyes better. "I'm sorry you had to experience something like that. I should've realized the amount of grace I expended on you earlier would create a temporary connection like that. I'm sorry I wasn't filtering--"
"How do you do it?" Dean asks, cutting him off.
"Do what, Dean?"
"Keep living with that. I would've put a gun to my head after another five minutes of that, man. How do you do it?"
Cas stares at him and very slowly shrugs.
"Because I have to."
Dean nods, wiping at his face which is still soaked, but at least the tears have stopped so it's not getting wetter. He stares at his lap as he dries his face, trying to ignore the lingering waves of misery and panic rocking through his body.
"Hey, Cas. Do me a favor."
"What, Dean?"
"Don't ever apologize to me for anything again. Okay? Just don't."
Dean feels a small pulse of something warm and happy, and it makes his face burn and his heart pump faster. He looks up from his lap and smiles at Cas, grinning wider when the pulse beats stronger.
"Sure, Dean," Cas nods, smiling back.
Rating: PG
Genre: Pre-slash
Pairings or Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam, Balthazar
Warnings: none
Word Count: 1321
Summary: Dean learns what it's like to feel like an angel.
To Deepen the Bond
It's entirely Balthazar's fault. Every damn thing. Sam gives Dean an irritated look, because he's insulting Cas' family to his face again, but Dean doesn't care. If Balthazar wasn't such a dick, he wouldn't have been nearly blown to bits. Again.
"Please, Dean, you're fine now," Cas mutters but Dean continues glaring at the angel sitting on the edge of the bed, looking around the motel room in a mix of disgust and bemusement.
"He wants me dead."
"I do indeed," Balthazar agrees, but when Cas sends him a look he rolls his eyes and sighs, caving easily. "I'm joking, of course."
"Are not," Dean growls and Sam elbows him hard.
"Look, you're fine now, can we do this later?"
"Fine. But I don't want him here with us," Dean insists, folding his arms across his chest and not caring that he's clearly throwing a tantrum. Cas makes a defeated noise and turns to his brother.
"Balthazar, let us go."
"About time," Balthazar smiles, standing up, "The air in this place was starting to make my wings wilt."
"Wait, Cas, you don't have to go, too," Dean starts to protest, but the angels are already gone. Dean huffs and sinks deeper into the motel chair, glaring at the empty space where Balthazar was a moment before. "I hate that dick."
"Jesus Christ, Dean," Sam groans, rubbing at his temples, "You two are like in-laws, it's disturbing."
"In-laws?" Dean squawks, whipping his head around to stare at his brother.
"Yeah. You hate him because he's related to Cas, and he hates you because Cas and you are, like, human-angel married or something."
"We are not!"
"Are, too," Sam grunts and goes back to gathering up all the bloody clothes that they'll have to salt and burn before they head out. Dean drops it, because he's exhausted from almost being blown in half a few hours ago and getting a bunch of Cas' angel mojo pumped into him to fix him up. He pushes out of the chair, limbs wobbly and walking much more difficult than he liked, and manages to make it to the bed, collapsing into it face first. He's asleep in minutes and Sam spends the rest of the evening watching crappy cable tv, glancing at Dean's unconscious body for signs of life every few minutes.
~
"Oh sweet Jesus fuck," Dean moans, body shaking in misery and nausea. Somewhere, a clock reads three a.m. or so, but his eyes are pinched shut against the overwhelming sensation of loss and pain. He feels like moving would be impossible, but he also feels like he's going to spew any second, so with great effort, he rolls out of bed and sprints to the bathroom. His hands are shaking so bad he can't lift up the toilet seat and he ends up leaning over the side of the tub and puking there. The misery and anguish rocks through him in waves and he doesn't know where it's coming from, just that everything is awful and he hates it and it forces everything out of his stomach until all that's left is spit as he dry heaves over the tub. He hasn't stopped shaking and he's so fucking cold but he's dripping in sweat as he clumsily tugs his shirt off.
He moves to rub a hand over his face in one of the lulls between heaves and finds his face completely wet. He doesn't remember when he started crying, but now tears are falling out of him so fast he's amazed he has any fluid left in his body.
Another wave of misery hits him like a truck and every bone in his body feels broken and he feels his heart stops for a second before it starts pumping in overdrive, making his head spin. He heaves once more against the tub, but nothing comes up, and his sweaty hands slip on the edge, sending him falling until his head hits against the toilet. He starts to scream, voice rough from crying and vomiting, but moments later, Sam is at his side, eyes wide in terror.
"Dean, oh shit, Dean, I'm here, what's going on? What do you need? Fuck that's a lot of vomit," Sam blabbers, mouth flying at a mile a minute as he takes in the scene. He's got a firm hold on Dean, keeping him sitting up, but the dizziness is still there and getting worse.
"Cas," he wheezes, wiping at the tears still falling out of his eyes, "Call Cas."
"Right, yeah, okay, okay," Sam mumbles before looking up at the ceiling and begging for Cas to come down.
Dean feels a sharp jolt of panic that steals all the air from his lungs. He grabs at Sam's shirt, trying to remember how to breathe, but he sits there, suffocating, as Sam looks down at him in helpless horror.
"Dean, you have to breathe," Cas says, and the brothers whip their heads around to see Cas standing in the doorway to the bathroom, eyes focused on Dean. "Dean. Breathe."
A cool rush of air slips down his throat and he nearly chokes on it, but it's better than no air at all. He coughs into Sam's shirt, getting vomit and snot and tears all over it, but at least they're easier to get out than blood, so he doesn't really care. The panic that had taken over him, and the misery that had woken him, both seem to have been reigned in, only a tickling, sorrowful feeling in the pit of his stomach, while everything else is a forced but comfortable sensation of calm.
"Sam, carry him to the bed."
Sam obeys and Dean doesn't fight him or try to walk on his own. Sam drags him, arm draped around his gigantic shoulders, and drops him carefully down on his bed.
"Is he okay? Is he gonna be okay? What's wrong?" Sam asks, panic clear in his voice. Cas nods and places a hand over Dean's eyes, forcing them shut. Dean stares at the black of his eyelids in a serene state of contentedness as Cas speaks above him.
"The amount of grace I used to heal him seems to have, ah, connected us."
"What, so your bond is more profound now? Why did that make him sick?"
"He experienced what I was feeling with no filter," Cas explains, sounding apologetic and amused at the same time.
"Oh God," Sam gasps, "You are human-angel married."
"What?"
"Uh. Nothing."
Dean is finally starting to feel normal again and he brushes Cas' hand away gently, sitting up carefully.
"So. What I felt. That was what you felt. That's what it's like fighting a war in Heaven."
"Yes," Cas nods, and never has Dean understood those eyes better. "I'm sorry you had to experience something like that. I should've realized the amount of grace I expended on you earlier would create a temporary connection like that. I'm sorry I wasn't filtering--"
"How do you do it?" Dean asks, cutting him off.
"Do what, Dean?"
"Keep living with that. I would've put a gun to my head after another five minutes of that, man. How do you do it?"
Cas stares at him and very slowly shrugs.
"Because I have to."
Dean nods, wiping at his face which is still soaked, but at least the tears have stopped so it's not getting wetter. He stares at his lap as he dries his face, trying to ignore the lingering waves of misery and panic rocking through his body.
"Hey, Cas. Do me a favor."
"What, Dean?"
"Don't ever apologize to me for anything again. Okay? Just don't."
Dean feels a small pulse of something warm and happy, and it makes his face burn and his heart pump faster. He looks up from his lap and smiles at Cas, grinning wider when the pulse beats stronger.
"Sure, Dean," Cas nods, smiling back.