[Fic] In the Forests of the Night
Trees, nothing but trees and darkness, living shadows and phantom howls for miles, for hours. He stands in a clearing that could have been the one they started in, and fuck, what if it is, what if he's been going in circles-
"Dean!" comes Castiel's distant call, almost a scream, and Dean barely hears it, turning in slow circle and trying to tell if he's seen that gnarled trunk before, if the rocks or the knotted mass of exposed roots are twined in familiar patterns.
Sam wasn't in the room, might have escaped coming here, but when have either of them ever been that lucky? Sam's here, he has to be here, somewhere under the dense canopy of bare black branches and a sky lit by witchlight and lightning. He's here, Dean thinks in steadily declining circles, he's here, and that means Dean has to find him, has to, first job and last job: keep Sam safe-
"Dean, please!" Castiel screams again, and the almost hysterical desperation in his voice breaks the hypnotic spiral of Sam Sam Sammy. Dean turns toward the sound, and back twenty feet the way he'd come, the angel suddenly reels into view amongst the trees.
"Cas?" he calls back, confused and slightly wary.
Castiel's head jerks up and he stumbles, falling to his knees in the rough dark leaf litter and roots with a force that looks painful. He staggers to his feet but he's still not watching where he's going and falls again, eyes all and only for Dean.
"Jesus, Cas," Dean mutters, and begins to pick his way towards him.
He reaches Castiel just in time to save him from a third fall and the angel clings to him, hands fisted in Dean's jacket and his forehead pressed to Dean's sternum. He's breathing in huge shuddering gasps, exhaling on tiny sounds that sound like sobs, and his shoulders shake under Dean's hands. His palms are scraped raw, the knees of his scrubs are bloody and streaked with dirt. He's lost one of his asylum slip-ons.
"Cas?" Dean says softly, uncertainly.
Castiel tips his face up, and his eyes are wide and wet.
"I couldn't find you," the angel whispers, voice thready and exhausted. "You weren't where I left you."
"Cas-"
"Don't leave me," Cas shouts into his face, fierce and angry. Dean jerks back, surprised at his vehemence, but Castiel ruins it by reburying his face in Dean's shirt. The next words come out muffled and faint. "Don't leave me behind, please don't, not here, not here."
"But-" Dean starts. Stops. Wonders what he intended to say. Sorry, thought you'd just flown off like you always used to? Sorry, didn't want to wait around? Sorry, thought you could take care of yourself? Sorry, still not used to the new helpless hippy you? All of which are true, more true than he wants them to be, staring blindly down the line of Castiel's quaking back to his bare muddy foot.
Strange. Castiel looks like he's falling apart, and in the face of that Dean's own panic is fading away.
"'M not gonna leave you behind, Cas," he tells him, and wraps his arms around the angel. He squeezes tight when Castiel stiffens. "It's going to be okay."
A beat, and he's about to let go when the angel slumps abruptly into him. His arms creep up around Dean's waist, like he thinks he might be told to stop at any moment, and then tighten to the point of pain.
"It's going to be okay," Dean repeats, because Cas smells like sunlight and honey and Sam might or might not be out here but if he is, Dean and Castiel will find him, and they'll all get out of Purgatory because they've broken in three times now, really, how hard can it be?
Against his chest, Castiel gives one more unsteady sigh, and subsides.
"Dean!" comes Castiel's distant call, almost a scream, and Dean barely hears it, turning in slow circle and trying to tell if he's seen that gnarled trunk before, if the rocks or the knotted mass of exposed roots are twined in familiar patterns.
Sam wasn't in the room, might have escaped coming here, but when have either of them ever been that lucky? Sam's here, he has to be here, somewhere under the dense canopy of bare black branches and a sky lit by witchlight and lightning. He's here, Dean thinks in steadily declining circles, he's here, and that means Dean has to find him, has to, first job and last job: keep Sam safe-
"Dean, please!" Castiel screams again, and the almost hysterical desperation in his voice breaks the hypnotic spiral of Sam Sam Sammy. Dean turns toward the sound, and back twenty feet the way he'd come, the angel suddenly reels into view amongst the trees.
"Cas?" he calls back, confused and slightly wary.
Castiel's head jerks up and he stumbles, falling to his knees in the rough dark leaf litter and roots with a force that looks painful. He staggers to his feet but he's still not watching where he's going and falls again, eyes all and only for Dean.
"Jesus, Cas," Dean mutters, and begins to pick his way towards him.
He reaches Castiel just in time to save him from a third fall and the angel clings to him, hands fisted in Dean's jacket and his forehead pressed to Dean's sternum. He's breathing in huge shuddering gasps, exhaling on tiny sounds that sound like sobs, and his shoulders shake under Dean's hands. His palms are scraped raw, the knees of his scrubs are bloody and streaked with dirt. He's lost one of his asylum slip-ons.
"Cas?" Dean says softly, uncertainly.
Castiel tips his face up, and his eyes are wide and wet.
"I couldn't find you," the angel whispers, voice thready and exhausted. "You weren't where I left you."
"Cas-"
"Don't leave me," Cas shouts into his face, fierce and angry. Dean jerks back, surprised at his vehemence, but Castiel ruins it by reburying his face in Dean's shirt. The next words come out muffled and faint. "Don't leave me behind, please don't, not here, not here."
"But-" Dean starts. Stops. Wonders what he intended to say. Sorry, thought you'd just flown off like you always used to? Sorry, didn't want to wait around? Sorry, thought you could take care of yourself? Sorry, still not used to the new helpless hippy you? All of which are true, more true than he wants them to be, staring blindly down the line of Castiel's quaking back to his bare muddy foot.
Strange. Castiel looks like he's falling apart, and in the face of that Dean's own panic is fading away.
"'M not gonna leave you behind, Cas," he tells him, and wraps his arms around the angel. He squeezes tight when Castiel stiffens. "It's going to be okay."
A beat, and he's about to let go when the angel slumps abruptly into him. His arms creep up around Dean's waist, like he thinks he might be told to stop at any moment, and then tighten to the point of pain.
"It's going to be okay," Dean repeats, because Cas smells like sunlight and honey and Sam might or might not be out here but if he is, Dean and Castiel will find him, and they'll all get out of Purgatory because they've broken in three times now, really, how hard can it be?
Against his chest, Castiel gives one more unsteady sigh, and subsides.