#at least its at the hospital? carer can grab a wheelchair for us

[lunarflare64]

Oh shit

Anyone remember the bookcase we posted about two days ago? The one that we completely filled up? It was a lot of work and very exciting

Its been 48 hours

Our body feels dense and heavy, its hard to think, its hard to move, mentally we aren't tired but physically we are beyond exhausted

Thats PEM. We have a dentist appointment tomorrow. Fuck.

[chipper9906]

Bound To You - Chapter 5: Different Ways To Fall

<- - - Previous Chapter

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 15

NOTE: Pairings and Ratings Will Change As Story Is Updated

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Chapter Word Count: 8,698

Overall Word Count: 34,834

Status: Multi Chapter Fic - In Progress (5/?)

Chapter Preview: 

Getting back into the wheelchair from the Impala was about as fun as getting out of the wheelchair – but at least this time he didn’t end up face-first on the floor, so... Dean considered that an improvement.

Sam walked ahead of him, leading them out of the garage and to the main entrance, pushing the heavy door open and holding it there for Dean to roll through. The door closed behind them with its familiar clang of locks settling back into place, and Sam stepped up to Dean’s side before freezing in place, the two of them staring at the impossibly long looking metal stairs of the bunker.

“...Dammit.”

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Character Key For Telepathic Conversations

'Italic Text' - Castiel

'Bold Text' - Dean

* * *

Dean Winchester glared at the wheelchair they wheeled in for him like it was his worst enemy.

‘Unless you plan to drag yourself everywhere you go Dean, you’re going to have to accept the wheelchair.’

Dean huffed at the sensible words Cas was speaking into his mind, crossing his arms in the hospital bed like a child throwing a tantrum.

‘Doesn’t mean I have to like it.’

‘And I wouldn’t expect you to. I’m only asking that you accept the fact that it’s a necessity for any sense of freedom in your life.’

‘Freedom? Trapped to a chair? How’s that freedom?’

‘Better than being bedbound, is it not?’

Castiel was one hundred percent right, but it’s not like Dean was going to admit that.

Doctor Sullivan stepped into the room, scribbling away at some forms atop a wooden clipboard in his hands. “Alright, Mr. Winchester… You are officially free from our confines.” He finished signing something on the paper, looking up to Dean with an encouraging smile. “I see you still haven’t given the wheelchair a try?”

“I’m a bit worried it’s gonna ruin my look, Doc. Not really my style.”

“I think the wheelchair is a better look than me and Doctor Sullivan carrying you out here by your feet,” Sam pushed himself out of the chair he was sat in, stepping over to where they placed the wheelchair and wheeling it closer to Dean’s bedside. “C’mon, Dean. Just give it a try.”

‘You said it yourself that you wanted to get out of here as soon as possible.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know I did… Stop using my own words against me.’

‘If you’d really rather not do it, I could take over and get you into the chair. Doctor Sullivan would have to leave the room of course, or at least be distracted while I take over so he doesn’t see the flare of my grace in your eyes.’

‘Nah, it’s… As much as I don’t wanna do it, this is something I gotta do, you know?’

‘Of course, Dean. I understand.’

“So… how do I do this?” Dean directed his question towards Doctor Sullivan, glancing over the bed to the chair beside him. “Would be embarrassing if I fall on my ass trying to get out of bed…”

“You’re going to be relying on your arm strength, mostly,” Doctor Sullivan bent over the wheelchair, applying the brakes on the underside of the chair.

“Got plenty of that,” Dean’s comment elicited quite the snort from Sam, who respectfully hid his laughter behind his sleeve.

“I’ve applied the brakes for you, here-,” Doctor Sullivan pointed to the brakes he had just fiddled with. “You’ll have to disengage them before you move, otherwise – well – you won’t move.”

“Got it.”

“Now, with time, your arm strength is going to improve. Don’t feel disappointed if you can’t do much at once – it’s quite the shock to your arms when they’re used to shift your entire body weight constantly.” Doctor Sullivan said as he stepped to the end of the bed, placing his hands under Dean’s calves. “I’m going to help you turn yourself, okay? I need you to turn yourself, so you’re sat on the edge of the bed with your legs just hanging off the end.”

“Okay…” Dean got his arms behind him, pulling himself up. It was significantly easier with Doctor Sullivan holding his legs up, gently guiding him as he pulled himself inch by inch closer to the edge of the bed. He could already feel his biceps twinging in protest with every movement, chest heaving with the exertion of pulling his entire weight.

“That’s the first step done,” Doctor Sullivan declared once he was at the edge of the bed, gently lowering Dean’s legs down so they were just hanging over the edge. “Now, this is going to be easier to do since the bed is about the same height as your wheelchair. Hopefully, it’ll be the same at your home – otherwise you may need to rely on your brother or another carer to get you in and out of bed.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” Dean already hated the prospect of being such a burden on his brother, especially for something as simple as getting into bed. “I guess I just pull myself into the chair…”

“Essentially, yes.” Doctor Sullivan agreed. “You just need to brace yourself with one arm on the handle, then pull your body over and lower yourself onto the wheelchair. Again, I must repeat how important it is to keep the brakes applied at this stage, otherwise you risk seriously injuring yourself.”

Dean followed the doctor’s instructions, reaching out with his right hand to grab hold of the armrest of the wheelchair. He used his other hand to push himself over to the chair, damn near sitting on the hand he was using the brace himself. It was more of a staggering fall into the seat than it was a graceful descent, but Dean could at least take some pride in the fact that he landed in the somewhat comfortable chair and not on the hard plastic floor of the hospital room.

“And that’s all there is to it!” Doctor Sullivan exclaimed joyfully. “Same kind of method for getting into the bed, and for chairs, things like that.”

Doctor Sullivan reached into his lab-coat pocket, pulling out a few colorful pamphlets and handing them over to Sam. “Any questions you might have, these should help to answer some of them. Plenty of advice in them too, such as exercises Dean can partake in to help strengthen his arm strength and core; things that’ll help make the transition easier.”

“Ah yes, pamphlets. The answers to all my problems,” Dean stuffed as much sarcasm into the words as he could, smiling mockingly up at the two of them.

‘Dean… he’s just trying to help.’

‘You know, you’re slowly turning into my conscience, Cas. Somehow, hearing it through your voice makes me feel more guilty than if it was my own damn voice.’

‘Good to know I’m of some use up here, then.’

“I have plenty of faith in you, Mr. Winchester. You’re going to adapt just fine to this new difficulty, I’m sure of it.”

“Hell yeah I will, Doc. I’ve just gotta mope about it enough to get special treatment from my brother.”

“Like you wouldn’t give me hell for treating you different,” Sam pointed out, folding up the pamphlets and stuffing them into his jacket pocket. “C’mon, we better get you home before Miracle starts missing you too much.”

‘Miracle?’

‘Yeah? Miracle, she’s- oh! You didn’t get to meet her… Oh boy, do you have a surprise waiting for you back home, Cas.”

Sam walked behind Dean’s wheelchair, leaning down to switch off the brakes before grabbing hold of the handles at the back of the chair.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Dean’s words brought Sam to a stop.

“Uh… taking you home?” Sam clarified.

“Sam… what are these?” Dean asked, holding his arms out by his side.

“…your arms?”

“Bingo. And you see what I just did with them?”

“You… moved them?”

“Exactly. I can still use my damn arms, Sammy. So get your paws off my chair, and let me wheel myself outta here.”

Sam sighed at his brother's annoying sense of pride, taking his hands off the handles and holding them out in front of him in surrender. Dean nodded his head at him, turning his head back around to face forward before placing his hands on the wheels, pushing them forward and sending the wheelchair traveling towards the open door. Sam and Doctor Sullivan stood there and watched as Dean immediately collided with the frame of the door, listening to him curse quietly to himself as he reversed back from the door, then succeeded to go through and out into the hallway the second time around.

“I should probably run after him before he mows down a nurse or something…” Sam sighed, plucking up Dean’s hospital bag from the ground and heading towards the door.

“Wait, Mr. Winchester-,” Doctor Sullivan caught Sam by his elbow, stopping Sam in his tracks. “I didn’t want to bring it up while Dean was still in the room, but… I wanted to give you this.” He passed over a small white card over to Sam, the words ‘Dr. Ward’ printed out in sleek black ink, along with a phone number.

“What is this?” Sam asked, glancing from the card in his hands to Doctor Sullivan.

“It’s the number for a specialist I know. He deals in newly paralyzed patients, more particularly… their mental health. I’m not saying you have to give him a call, but I wanted to give it to you so the option is there. Your brother is good at putting on a brave face, but it’s one I’ve seen many times before. Those that make it seem like everything’s alright are usually the ones that are suffering the most. I’m hoping you’ll never need to call that number, but… challenging times lie ahead for both you and your brother, and there’s nothing wrong with finding help.”

“Thanks, Doctor… I’ll, uh… I’ll see how Dean goes for a while, but… yeah, I’ll think about it.”

* * *

 Dean had already made it to the parking lot before Sam had even left the hospital room. That’s where Sam found him, frozen in place in his wheelchair in front of the Impala. Sam didn’t even need to look at his face to know he was staring at her longingly. This… was one of the moments Sam was dreading. The moment that Dean realized…

“I can’t even drive her anymore, Sammy… I’m never going to be sat behind her steering wheel again.”

“You never know,” Sam tried to stay optimistic for the sake of his brother. “There’s always a chance, right? Maybe we can find something to help fix your legs in our research, too.”

“I doubt that, Sam. Besides, that’s not where we should be focusing our efforts. Don’t go distracting yourself with stuff like that; We’ve gotta find a way to get Cas back – that’s the priority.”

‘Dean-,’

‘Nuh-uh, don’t you start with me either, Cas. You’re top priority, and that’s that. My legs can wait.’

“Dean, you know that’s what we’re going to be focusing on. I’m just saying that after we get Cas back and we have another pair of eyes with us… it’s something we can look into.”

“I know you’re trying to keep my hopes up, Sammy. But I don’t want that. Sure, if we find something, then… that’ll be fucking great. But chances are that’s not gonna happen, and I’d rather not have my hopes raised and crushed and like that. So… the sooner I accept that this is my life now, the better.”

Sam looked ready to argue with Dean some more about that, which Dean was absolutely not having. He wheeled away from the conversation, rolling himself over to the Impala’s passenger seat. “Now c’mon, unlock this damn door before I find my own way home.”

Sam shot his brother an incredulous look, but pulled Baby’s keys out of his pocket anyway. “Yeah, how you gonna do that? You going to wheel yourself all the way home?”

“Don’t test me, Sammy. You might just see me rolling down the I-70.”

‘I think he’d be more likely to see you as a red stain on the I-70’

‘Wow, Cas. That’s a dark thought.’

‘I’m just going with the most likely scenario to come from that.’

Sam had jogged over to the passenger side by the time Dean pulled himself out of his own thoughts, grabbing hold of Baby’s handle and pulling the door open for him. Dean waved his brother out of the way when he went to help, rolling himself closer to the Impala until he was lined up parallel with the seat.

“Dean, the brakes-,”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Dean grumbled in interruption. He attempted to lean down, reaching for the brake, but found his body simply wouldn’t allow him to go that far. Sam watched his brother struggle in silence before it became too much, stepping closer to Dean with an arm outstretched. Sam flicked the brakes into place before Dean could utter a single complaint, moving away quickly to avoid a likely swat from Dean.

“I could have done that…” Dean mumbled darkly.

‘No, you couldn’t, Dean. There’s only so far your back will allow you to bend. I can feel the pain you feel too, I know where your limits are. I’m sorry, but you couldn’t have done that by yourself.’

‘Way to bust my balls there, Cas… God, I really am turning into Bobby, aren’t I? Pretty sure Bobby didn’t bitch as much as I did, though.’

‘You’re not Bobby. You are your own man, and the way in which you react to such a traumatic change in your life does not make you any less of one.’

‘Yeah? Then why do I feel like a useless sack of crap…’

‘Because you are the one used to helping others, not being helped. It’s who you are. Always the one to put others before him.’

Dean stretched over to the Impala as far as his weakened back would let him, placing his palm down on her leather seats. With his other hand on his chair, he began pulling himself over, gritting his teeth in pain at the twinge in his back, his arms trembling with the effort. The gap between the chair and the Impala was too large, and Sam could see it happen before it even happened. Dean’s arm gave away the same time the chair tipped over, sending Dean sprawling into the asphalt with a pained grunt, getting the air knocked out of him upon impact.

Sam rushed forward to his brothers’ side in an instant, the fear of Dean’s wound reopening itself or potentially injuring his spine more than he already had springing into his mind.

“Fuck!” Dean cursed sharply, the single word echoing between the cars parked around them. He brought his fist down into the ground in his frustration, feeling the familiar sting of his knuckles splitting as they hit the hard ground of the parking lot. Sam knelt down by his side, one hand on the tipped over wheelchair and the other wrapped securely under Dean’s arm, ready to help him to his feet.

“Dean, please, just let me-,”

“Don’t!” Dean snapped at him, directing his frustration with himself at his brother. “I can do this! I’m not going to be some fucking weight dragging everyone down.”

“You’re not,” Sam insisted strongly, squeezing Dean’s arm tight. “Dean, you’re not. And I know you can do this, but that doesn’t mean you can’t accept my help.”

‘Dean… please.’ It was Cas’s pleading tone in his head, the pain he heard in that usually strong and resolved voice, a pain he knew Cas was feeling because of his pain… that’s what made the anger running through his veins start to simmer.

‘I know you want to prove you’re more than your injury. That you want to show everyone you’re stronger than it. But it’s not something you need to prove. We know you’re more than that. We know you’re stronger. Just the fact that you’re trying, and that you care more about solving my problems than even thinking about finding a way to heal yourself… There’s no one I admire more – and am proud to admire more – than you, Dean Winchester.’

Dean slowly uncurled his fingers out from his clenched fist, closing his eyes and letting out a deep sigh. Sam had remained silent- perhaps sensing that Cas was talking to him – his grip around Dean’s arm loose but still there, still ready.

‘I’m broken, Cas.’

‘No, you’re not. Because you’re most than just your legs. You’re more than your ability to hunt. What makes you – “you” – is all up here with me. And accepting your brother's help, or anyone’s help for that matter, will not change that. You are not weak for accepting help. You are not “less of a man” for admitting you need help. Your brother is not offering help because he thinks you’re weak, but because it pains him to see you hurt yourself like this. He just wants to help, as I would in his position. It kills me to know I can’t help... But one day, you’ll be a master at this. It will become a part of your life as everything else is. But today? Today, you’re still injured, you’re still recovering. You’re new to this. So please… let Sam help you.’

“Alright…” Dean caved, lifting up his arm to rest on the Impala’s seat above him. “Alright, Sammy… help me up.”

Sam took his hand off the wheelchair, shuffling behind Dean and pulling him up to a sitting position. He slid his arms underneath Dean’s armpits, straining with Dean’s weight as he pushed them both up, slowly pulling Dean up the side of the Impala until Dean all but collapsed into the seat. Dean dropped his head back against the seats with a heavy sigh, already feeling his arms start to ache from overuse.

Dean let his eyes close shut, waiting for Sam to finish up folding his chair and shoving it into the backseats (Baby’s trunk was far too cluttered to fit that in) before climbing into the driver’s seat. Sam shoved the keys into the ignition, twisting them until the sound of Baby’s purring filled the air, immediately putting Dean at ease.

“You okay?” Sam asked, glancing over at his brother.

“Yeah… I’m good,” Dean answered, his eyes still closed. “Thanks, by the way… For helping me.”

“Yeah, of course… You know it doesn’t bother me, right? Anytime you need-,”

“I got it, Sammy,” Dean cut him off. “I appreciate it, I really do. I just… I wanna go home.”

Sam’s lips pulled into a sympathetic smile at the exhaustion he could hear in Dean’s voice, nodding at him even though Dean couldn’t see him with his eyes closed. He turned forward in his seat, switching the gear into ‘drive’ and releasing the handbrake, smoothly pulling Baby out of the hospital's parking lot and onto the road.

‘Hey, Cas?’

‘Yes, Dean?’

‘You are helping. I know you think you’re not, but… you are. More than I think you realize.’

* * *

 Getting back into the wheelchair from the Impala was about as fun as getting out of the wheelchair – but at least this time he didn’t end up face-first on the floor, so... Dean considered that an improvement.

Sam walked ahead of him, leading them out of the garage and to the main entrance, pushing the heavy door open and holding it there for Dean to roll through. The door closed behind them with its familiar clang of locks settling back into place, and Sam stepped up to Dean’s side before freezing in place, the two of them staring at the impossibly long looking metal stairs of the bunker.

“Dammit...”

Dean couldn’t help it. Something about the genuine annoyance in his brother’s voice at the sight of the stairs got to him, cracking up into deep pearls of laughter that echoed around the bunker, hunched over as far as his back would let him.

“Sorry, Dean... I didn’t think about it,” Sam apologized, scratching at the back of his head as he tried to figure out what to do next.

“Yeah, I didn’t know what to do about that one.” Eileen’s voice filtered up from down below. Sam and Dean peered over the edge of the railing to see Eileen stood by the map table, craning her head up to see them. “I went out and bought some small ramps and set them up around the bunker on the smaller stairs, but... this one’s a bit too long to do that.”

“I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” Sam asserted, looking from Dean to the stairs in front of them. “Maybe something like one of those-,”

“I swear to God Sammy, if you install a goddamn chair lift that eighty-year olds use, I will push you down these stairs.”

‘Considering you’re going to need your brother's help to get down the stairs, I wouldn’t suggest that.’

“Well… that might be the only option that works, Dean. Unless you have any better suggestions?”

“Whatever…” Dean grumbled under his breath, cautiously wheeling closer to the edge of the stairs. “So how we doing this? Gonna wrap me up in bubble-wrap and roll me down the stairs? Or just roll me down the stairs and hope for the best?”

“Don’t tempt me,” Sam warned light-heartedly, glancing back to the stairs to see Eileen making her way up to them. “Our best bet is just carrying you down in the chair. Can you grab him by the handles of the chair, Eileen? Then I’ll grab him by the front and help steer you down.”

“That still sounds like rolling me down the stairs and hoping for the best.”

“Shut up and focus where you’re going,” Sam grunted, stepping around to the front of the chair. He took a single step back onto the first stair, leaning forward and grabbing hold of the handles near the bottom of Dean’s chair.

Eileen disappeared out of Dean’s sight, taking hold of the handles at the back of his chair. “I’m good. You ready?”

Sam nodded, keeping his eyes focused on where the chair was going. “Yep, Just take it slow, alright?”

And take it slow they did. Minutes ticked by as they crawled agonizing slowly down the stairs, inching the wheels down one by one. Even though Dean knew all Sam and Eileen were worried about was him falling out of the chair and hurting himself again, all he could worry about was losing control of the chair and taking the two of them down with him.

It was both relieving and frustrating when they finally made it down to the bottom of the stairs, the concrete floor under his feet never seeming quite as safe as in that moment. Sam and Eileen looked rather proud of themselves for getting him down there, and Dean knew he should be feeling that way, too. Except… he hated everything about all that just happened. The fact that he wouldn’t have been able to go down some goddamn stairs if it weren’t for two other people helping him. The fact that going down a flight of stairs -something that usually takes him five seconds at most - took around five minutes.

“Who woulda thought, eh Sammy?” Dean glanced up at his brother. “From demons, to angels, to scribes of Gods, and then to God himself… my next enemy is going to be stairs.”

“And you’ll kick their ass, too,” Eileen assured him with a pat of his shoulders.

“I think it’s more likely the stairs will kick my ass. Literally. When I fall down them.”

“You gonna keep making more jokes about you falling down the stairs, or you gonna go get that drink you wouldn’t shut up about the whole drive home?” Sam teased as he made his way down to the hallways leading to the rooms, brushing a hand across Eileen’s back in thanks as he went.

“You know the answers both, Sammy!” Dean called after him as Sam went, giving a dismissive wave of his hand before disappearing out of sight.

“Thanks, by the way,” Dean craned his head around to face Eileen. “For being here, helping out… I know things must be weird for you at the moment, what with the whole resurrection thing… again…”

“You don’t need to thank me,” Eileen leaned back against the map table, bracing her arms behind her as she spoke. “You, Sam, and Cas… you’re my family.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know you’re just here for Sam,” Dean grinned at the flush that spread across Eileen’s face. “Seriously, though, you being here? It’s what Sam needs right now. He, uh… he was crushed when you left. He understood of course, but… kid was pining hard for you. Wasn’t the same, you know?”

“Do you ever stop worrying about Sam’s wellbeing?” Eileen asked with an inquisitive smile. “Most people who get injured like to soak up every ounce of sympathy from others… yet all you can think about is others.”

“You said it yourself; you guys are my family. I don’t consider my injury a ‘problem’. Not one high up the list, anyway.”

“Hmm… first on the list goes to Castiel, I’m guessing?”

“We like to take turns. I’ll have a problem, then Sam’ll have a problem… Then Cas… It’s just Cas’s turn to step up to the plate.”

‘Is that some kind of sports reference?’

‘Yep. Baseball.’

‘Oh, right – I think we watched a game at one point, didn’t we?’

‘Yeah, just the one. Jack wanted to know what it was all about - think he got kinda bored with it. Didn’t wanna say though coz he knew we were still watching it… Think the poor kid just wanted to boot up Netflix and keep on binging.’

“Maybe one day you’ll solve the last problem,” Eileen suggested. “Well, the last ‘loved one at risk of death or worse’ kind of problem.”

“With us? You do know who we are, right?”

“Good point,” Eileen's eyes shifted over to the entrance of the hallway, something Dean easily spotted.

“Hey, you know you don’t have to keep talking to me out of pity, right?” Dean brought her attention back. “I’m not stupid, I know you want to go chasing after my little brother. Don’t let me keep you. Besides, Sam was right – I really do want to go get that drink… been on nothing but water and IV fluids for the past few days…”

Eileen huffed out a laugh, shaking her head as she brought her arms in front of her and crossed them. “I can’t imagine that’s what the doctor ordered.”

“Hey, I know my body. A nice glass of ten-year-old malt is exactly what I ordered.” Dean retaliated with a beaming smile, turning his wheelchair around and heading towards the hallway.

“Hey, Dean!”

Eileen’s call brought Dean to a stop, turning the chair back around to face Eileen. “Yeah?”

Eileen looked to him for a moment, the pause in their conversation lingering before she spoke. “Are you okay?”

This was a question Dean’s been asked many times before; Usually when he’s had his ass handed to him by whatever freak they’re hunting that week. Or when he’s fighting something within himself. Or when someone he loves dies – which is too often in their line of work. And nearly every time that question is asked, he’ll plant the best smile on his face that he can muster and say the same line every time – ‘I’m fine.’

This time? This time, with Eileen looking at him like she can already smell the bullshit lie he’s about to say, and with Cas staying suspiciously quiet in his head – listening in more like – he decides…

He’s done with lying.

“No, I’m not,” His answer seems to take Eileen by surprise, her eyebrows shooting up as she does one big blink in shock. “And I’m not gonna say ‘but I will be’ or something cheesy along those lines, coz’ honestly? I got no friggen’ idea if I’ll ever be ‘fine’ with all this. I’m just… dealing with it hour by hour, day by day. Besides, I got more important things to worry about right now.”

The corner of Eileen’s lips lifted in a sympathetic smile, lifting up her hand at chest height, palm down and parallel with her body. “Let me guess; this is where your problem is, and this-,” Her hand lifted up to above her head. “-Is where Cas is?”

Dean clicked his mouth, shooting a finger gun at Eileen. “Top of the list.”

“You know, one day you and Cas are going to have to tell me the whole story. How Castiel went from an angel of the lord, to an acquaintance, then to your best friend.”

“Kind of a long story. Twelve years in the making, you know.”

“Sounds like an interesting one though. From the family of God to the Winchester family…”

“Heh… Nah, he’s more than that. Cas is…” Dean paused, searching for the right words. What was Cas to him? “He’s… huh… he’s a bit of everything. There’s been times where he’s been my enemy, times where he’s gone behind my back… then there’s times where he’s thrown away everything he knows, everything he believes in, to help us. Help me. Everything he’s done, everything he ever does… it was always because he was trying to do the right thing.”

“Sounds like two other guys I know.”

Dean chuckled, dropping his head down. “Yeah… maybe we rubbed off on the guy. I’m pretty sure corrupting an angel is some kind of sin…”

“Considering how Cas is one of the only good angels out there, I think ‘corrupting’ him was probably for the best,” Eileen said.

“Apparently our Cas is the only one we could ‘corrupt’. Said so by God himself. All the other Cas’s stayed in line, but not this one.”

“Do I detect some pride in your voice?”

“Hell yeah you do. You know, Cas is… before I met him, I didn’t think there would be anyone I would care about as much as Sammy. No one else I thought I’d be willing to die for. Then Cas waltzed right in that barn and changed everything.”

Eileen smiled warmly at him. “Yeah… that sounds like ‘more than family’ to me.”

“Exactly. And that’s why he’s top of the list.”

“And probably why you guys get into so much trouble all the time,” Eileen pushed herself off the map table, patting Dean’s shoulder as she passed by him. “I think I’m going to head to bed – and you should do the same after your nightcap.”

“Already planning to!” Dean said in passing, having to resist the urge to punch himself in the face when he remembered Eileen can’t actually hear him.

‘You know, I recall not too long again when Sam and Eileen were being held captive by Chuck that you did something similar. You-,’

‘Yeah I know, I answered her call and started talking. I’m a dumbass. That the point you were trying to make?’

‘Of course not, Dean. You were in a stressful situation and likely weren’t thinking clearly.’

‘Yeah? What’s new?’

Dean carefully maneuvered himself down the matte black ramp Eileen had set up, thankfully not too steep so he didn’t go zooming down at uncontrollable speeds. Even though that sounded kinda fun…

The plan was to head straight for the bottle of scotch he had stored in the kitchen cupboard, pour himself a glass and let the warming flavors soothe him to sleep.

Castiel decided he wanted to ruin those plans, however.

It was quite cruel on his part, in Dean’s opinion. Waiting quite literally to the last second, with the cap of the whiskey twisted off and seconds away from being poured into his favorite crystal tumbler when Cas interrupted him.

‘Dean, I have to remind you of the Doctor’s instructions. They said not to drink any alcohol for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours whilst the medication is still processing through your system.’

Dean groaned out loud at this, placing the bottle down hard on the kitchen island with a loud ‘thump’, very nearly spilling the precious amber liquid.  ‘C’mon, Cas… Just one drink isn’t going to hurt me.’

‘Perhaps not – but it’s best not to take the risk. If your body doesn’t react well, there’s nothing I can do to heal you.

Dean eyed the bottle in front of him for a while, letting Cas’s words settle in his mind. ‘Fine…’ Reluctantly, he scooped the cap back up and twisted it back into place. Dean placed the bottle and tumbler back in their usual resting places, staring mournfully at the closed door that contained them.

‘You owe me a drink, Cas.’

‘And… how am I supposed to do that?’

Dean smiled to himself in the quiet of the kitchen, wheeling himself back in the direction of his bedroom. ‘I think I have just the idea…’

* * *

The bar Castiel found himself stepping into was familiar. Usually, it’s quite difficult to name particular bars as they generally all have the same feel; grimy tables sticky with various alcoholic beverages, worn and damaged bar stools, pools of blood and other liquids that he’d rather not think about stained on the cheap vinyl flooring.

This bar was… nice. Homey feeling. Soft rock music floated around the room from the old jukebox tucked away in the corner of the bar, sat upon wooden paneled floors which were spotless, matching the overall wooden appearance of the building. Neon signs advertising the bar's drinks adorned the frosted glass windows which hid the world outside – though Castiel guessed there wasn’t even an outside anyway. The barstools were cushioned and comfortable looking, their red cushions somehow without a single scratch or split on them. And there, behind the beautifully carved wooden bar with a pleased smile on his face and a glass of whiskey in hand, was Dean.

“I’m almost impressed,’ Castiel stepped further into the room, making his way over to the bar. “Seems you’re starting to get some control over your dreams – forcing the location is a good start.”

“Almost impressed?” Dean lowered the tumbler from his mouth, looking almost offended. “I managed to conjure up a whole freaking bar. What’s not to be impressed about?”

“For one, you didn’t ‘make’ this bar. Michael did. It exists as a memory within your mind – which you were able to entice your mind into recreating for your dream. That’s the part that’s impressive.”

Dean took a seat on a stool he had dragged to his side of the bar, taking a seat and gesturing with drink in hand for Cas to take a seat of his own. “So why are you ‘almost’ impressed?”

“Well, If I were to guess, you’ve spent nearly a third of your life in bars,” Castiel pulled the barstool out, dropping himself down and leaning his arms on the miraculously non-sticky wooden top of the bar. “It’s almost cheating to assume your brain wouldn’t create dreams of bars without your intervention.”

“Okay, first of all? Screw you,” Dean downed the last drops of whiskey in his glass, turning around to pour himself another glass from a new selection of whiskeys adorning the wall behind him, missing the tender smile that hitched at Cas’s lips from his teasing. “And second of all, what you drinking?”

“Water’s fine for me.”

Dean turned back around, shooting Cas his most disgusted look. “Wow, Cas, uh, calm down? Don’t go too crazy.”

Cas rolled his eyes, leaning back from the bar. “I’ll have whatever you’re having then.”

“That’s the spirit!” Dean cheered, ducking down to grab another tumbler from under the bar, pouring a drink for both him and Cas. “Could always go the Crowley route, you know? Nice fruity cocktail with one of those little umbrellas in it.”

Dean slid the glass across the bar, which Castiel easily caught with his hand. “Considering I barely have any sense of taste, there’d probably be no point.”

“Seriously?” Dean sat back down on his stool, leaning back against the wall behind him. “I’ve seen you drinking before though? Why’d you bother if you can’t taste it?”

Castiel shrugged, spinning the glass absentmindedly on the table. “Do you drink alcohol just for the taste?”

“Point taken,” Dean raised his glass to Cas, the two of them sharing small smiles as they clink their glasses together. The two took simultaneous sips of their drink, and Dean noticed Cas’s brows raising in surprise, raising the glass up to his eyes and looking at the amber liquid inquisitively.

“Something up?” Dean asked, resting his glass on the bar. “Don’t worry, I didn’t poison you.”

“I can taste this,” Castiel’s voice was alight with curiosity, raising the glass up the dimmed lights that hung above the bar.

“You can? How?”

“Not sure,” Castiel placed his glass back on the bar, done with his inspection. “I have two theories; The first being that, since we now share a body, your memories of the taste of alcohol are accessible to me. So, if I drink or eat in your mind, I will taste it, feel it and smell it in the way you remember eating it.”

“Huh. So, if you tried eating something I’ve never eaten before, you wouldn’t be able to taste it?” Dean asked, crossing his arms and leaning them on the bar.

“Possibly. Unless the reason is my second theory; that this is all a result of my diminished grace. The closer I am to being human, the more human abilities I will adopt – senses being one of them. This no longer tastes like ‘molecules’ anymore. I can feel the warmth as it slips down my throat. I can taste the hints of honey and cinnamon and… I believe that may be apple?”

“Alright, so either way – you can taste stuff now,” Dean raised his glass in the air. “That’s gotta be a bonus, right?”

“I suppose. I do miss the taste of a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich…”

“Well then, you better hope your ability in tasting isn’t based on my memories. Coz from my memory, grape jelly sucks.”

“You don’t like grape jelly and peanut butter sandwiches?” Castiel sounded as if the thought of such a thing was a crime.

“I like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” Dean clarified. “But I don’t like grape jelly.”

“Why not?”

“It doesn’t taste like grapes!” Dean slammed the glass down on the table, this time hard enough for the drink to slosh over the side and onto the bar. “It tastes like… the color purple.”

“The color purple has a taste?” Cas clicked his fingers, effortless cleaning up the spilled whiskey.

“Yep. Grape flavor stuff. The grape-flavored Gatorade? Not grape-flavored, it’s purple flavored. Grape candy? Nope, purple flavor again. It tastes like… sugar and processed crap. Can’t be good for you.”

“Says the guy on his second glass of whiskey – since I’ve been here.” Cas raised a good point. “How many did you drink before I entered your dream?”

“None of your business…” Dean finished off his sixth drink of the night, the narrowed eyed look Cas was sending his way only going to show that he wasn’t getting off the hook that easy. “Besides, what does it matter? It’s in my dreams, right? Doesn’t actually affect my real body?”

“I suppose that’s true,” Cas conceded, still sipping on his first drink of the night. “If you can have free reign of the drinks you have in your sleep, does that mean you’ll reduce the amount you drink when you’re awake?”

Dean’s head jolted back, a half-amused half confused look plastered on his face. “You don’t want me drinking anymore?”

“I know you stopping completely will never happen. But I’d like you to slow down, yes.”

“You gonna tell me why, or…?”

“It’s because… Dean, you’re getting older-,”

“You sure do know how to make a guy feel pretty, Cas.”

“I wasn’t finished,” The narrow-eyed look was back again. “In the times when you were injured on a hunt and you permitted me to heal you… I’d… I’d clear our your system, too. Remove any toxins, heal any damage to your liver, clear out the build-up in your arteries…”

For some strange reason, Cas actually looked guilty to be admitting this. He was practically hunched over himself, staring down intensely at the glass between his hands, ignoring Dean’s burning gaze on him.

“Oh… That was, uh… that was nice of you to do, Cas.”

This at least got Cas to break his intense staring match with his whiskey, risking a glance up to see Dean’s reaction. “I didn’t mean to overstep boundaries, I just…”

“You wanted to help, I get it, Cas. It’s okay.”

Cas relaxed marginally at this, releasing the tension in his shoulders and taking another sip – albeit slightly larger than before- of his whiskey.

“So, how often did you do that?” Dean asked, shifting one foot to rest on the bottom of the bar stool, the other hanging off the edge of the stool. “I didn’t get hurt that often – and you didn’t always heal me for every little boo-boo I got.”

The panic was back. Dean could see the subtle changes in Cas; the brief widening and blank look in his eyes, face set in stone so Dean couldn’t read a single emotion on his face – which was actually what gave him away. This was Cas reverting back to his classic angel mode.

“I suppose I, um… there were occasions where I would try to be… close to you. Standing side by side at interviews, next to each other in the kitchen or at the map table… I would take the opportunity then; A touch of the hand, legs bumping under the table, my shoulder brushing against yours… Any time there was even the slightest of contact, I would send over some of my grace. Heal the minor damage inside that you usually can’t see – or don’t keep track of.”

Now that… that happened a lot. He had long since given up reminding Cas about personal space and just accepted that that was how Cas was. But now he thinks about it… did Cas ever stand that close to Sam? To Jack? To anyone else but him? No… no, he didn’t. It was just something that became the norm for them, it was how they were with each other, and now Dean was so used to it that he didn’t even bat an eye when he felt Cas’s arm against his, or when Cas scooted so close to Dean at the table that he as may as well have been sat in his damn lap. That was just… Cas.

Now, at least, there was reasoning behind it other than ‘just because.’ And it was a logical reason, a kind one even, for Cas to be doing that for him. Except… why did he feel disappointed with the reason? He should be feeling relieved about it, right? That Cas wasn’t invading his personal space for the hell of it?

“Oh…” Dean shuffled on the stool, dipping his eyes down to the bar. “So, uh… you were doing all that just to heal me?”

Dean could feel Cas’s eyes burning a hole through him now, forcing his gaze back up to meet Cas’s intense one. Intense, yet… almost sad.

“You know that’s not the only reason.”

Cas had uttered the words so soft, so quietly that Dean almost didn’t hear him. Like Cas intended for those words to be heard for him and him alone, even though there wasn’t another soul in sight. And yeah, maybe he did know the other reason. Maybe he’d been keeping it buried down, pretending that it had never happened. That Cas had never told him those things… Because even now, months after he had said them, after Cas had made them his final words to him, even with Cas back… he still doesn’t know what to do with them.

He hadn’t really tried, truth be told. After Cas had died, the pain of it was still too raw, and thinking about it only ripped the wound open further. He thought it’d be easier to lock the memory away, keep it out of sight and out of mind and find a way to... to move on. It seemed impossible – to keep Cas in his memory, yet simultaneously try to forget about him. Clearly, it hadn’t worked. He might as well have had Cas’s smiling, tear-streaked face etched into his eyelids.

Then, with Cas back… it was as if Cas was trying to forget about it, too. Which Dean can’t exactly blame him for. After all, the poor guy had probably assumed he would stay dead after making such a confession. Easier to pretend it never happened than confront it – at least, that was Dean’s personal motto. Plus, with all they have on their plates (again….), it was probably pushed to the back of both their minds.

Which is why none of this makes sense. There’s a part of him that wants to talk to Cas about it, but… he still hasn’t processed it all. Not really. He had no idea what to say to Cas in that very moment, the Empty and Billie breathing down their necks, about to lose his best friend in the worst time of his life. Now, in a relaxed and cozy bar with literally no-one else that can hear them, safe in his own mind… Dean still doesn’t know what to say to him.

But the liquid courage running through his veins sure knew what to do.

Dean downed the last of the drink for that little extra bit of drunk idiocy, turning the glass upside down and slamming it down on the bar with a grin. “C’mon, finish your drink,” Dean nodded his chin at the glass in Cas’s hand, the stool underneath him screeching across the floor as he stands.

“What for?” Cas asked, though brought the glass of whiskey up to his lips anyway, the last of the drink disappearing steadily.

Cas copied Dean’s prior movements, turning the glass upside down and placing it next to Dean’s glass. It was only once Cas looked up at the shy grin on Dean’s face, a single eyebrow raised up as he waited patiently that Dean moved. Cas turned on his stool to follow Dean as he stepped around the bar, coming to a stop in front of Cas and offering out his hand to him. Cas’s eyes flicked up from Dean’s outstretched hand to Dean’s face, still not getting what it was Dean was trying to do.

“Twelve years on this Earth, Cas. But I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dance.”

“…Because I haven’t?” Cas eyed Dean’s hand suspiciously, hand twitching by his side as he resisted the urge to reach out and take it.

“Hmmm…” Dean hummed, inching his hand even closer to Cas. “How ‘bout we change that?”

Dean could see the moment it clicked in Cas’s head. His eyes were wide like a deer caught in the headlights, looking to Dean as if to try and figure out what weird and cruel joke Dean was trying to play on him. There was no joke. There was no ulterior motive. Hell, not even Dean himself knew why he wanted to do this. He only knew that he wanted to. It was kind of weird, it was all kinds of terrifying and definitely not what two guys do in their spare time, but hey – this is just a dream, right? People have weird dreams all the time. It’s not like his minds trying to tell him something or anything like that…

Castiel swallowed harshly, that partly terrified look still on his face that Dean remembers seeing the day he took him to that brothel. Except, this time, Cas was resting his hand in Dean’s, not some random chick that would be throwing stuff at Cas’s head less than a minute later. Cas’s hand was calloused like Dean’s, both of their skin marked by scars and roughened by years of wielding weapons. The warmth of Cas’s hand bled into his skin, his grip around Dean’s hand tight with nerves, thumb resting lightly over Dean’s pulse point. It was strange that, even in his dream, Dean’s heart was pounding hard in his chest like it would if this was really happening – which Cas definitely had to feel from his pulse in the unlikely event he couldn’t hear his heart going crazy.

Why was he so nervous about something as simple as dancing? Sure, he’s no master at the waltz, but it’s not like he’s at some fancy big-wig party trying to blend in with the rich folk. It was just him and Cas, after all.

Well… that was his answer, he supposed. It wasn’t just Cas. It was Cas.

“I… I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do,” Cas admitted as Dean led him to the center of the bar, the room spacious and perfect for just this occasion.

“I don’t know about dancing either,” Dean replied with a shrug of his shoulders, lifting up his other hand and placing it tentatively on Cas’s back. “We’ll figure it out as we go. It’ll come natural.”

It did come natural, as it turned out. Almost a little too natural. Cas’s hand rested between his shoulder blades like it was always meant to be there, placed directly over where Dean knows his wound exists in the real world. Cas’s grip had slackened somewhat, his nerves lessening as they swayed together.

From the outside, it was probably the most awkward-looking dance in existence. They didn’t sweep each other across the floor with the graceful movements of a professional. It was more of a… stumbling step and shuffle, a few winces occasionally shared between them as they inevitably stepped on each other's toes.

But… that made it all the better. Moments like that got them giggling quietly in the tranquil space between them, smiles plastered on their faces that would be hard to wipe off as they shambled around the room to the hushed chorus of ‘All My Love.’

Of course it was a Led Zeppelin song.

Of course.

“This is one of the songs you put on the tape you gave me,” Cas pointed out part way through the song, feeling coordinated enough now to dance and talk at the same time. Mostly…

“Another guilty pleasure,” Dean said with a sly smirk. “Dad was always embarrassed to admit he liked these kinds of tracks, too. Guess that passed on to me.”

“Well, I like it.”

Dean snorted. “Course you do. Would be foolish to label the tape “Top ten tracks” if they weren’t the greatest of the great, wouldn’t it?”

Cas broke his gaze away from Dean’s, looking instead to their joined hands held out in front of them, fumbling slightly in his steps as he does so. “Did you mean it?”

Dean frowned at him, racking his brain for what Cas could be referring to. “Did I mean what?”

“When you were talking to Eileen… You told her I was ‘more than family’. Did you… did you mean it?”

“Wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t,” The answer came surprisingly easy to Dean. He should have fumbled over the words in his head, any logical part of his brain shut down as panic took over. That’s what should have happened, but it didn’t. “It’s hard to say what you are to me, Cas. Family is all I’ve ever really known, the only thing that was important to me. So putting you in there made sense, you know? And you still are there, but… dammit Cas, you’ve been my longest friend. It feels like… it feels like my mind wants to put you into another category. It just doesn’t know what that is.”

Dean had been expecting for Cas to look disheartened after that. He knows it’s not what Cas wants to hear, but… he can’t. He doesn’t know how, all he knows is that he wants his best friend back. He wants for everything to be fixed, for Cas to be shoved back into his body and then… they can go from there. Hell, maybe they will fix his legs. And then maybe Dean will be stupid and keep hunting despite the clear wake-up call, and Cas will tag along even though he’s pissed at him for carrying on because he’ll always feel the need to watch over him.

He wants things back to the way they were. And Dean knows that’s what he wants.

He knows what he wants.

He’s sure of it…

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