fic: coalesced

[puchuupoet]

Title: coalesced
Author: puchuupoet
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Word Count: ~1930
Rating: pg-13ish
Disclaimer: Not mine, never happened, completely fictional.

Notes: Un-beta'd. For the amazing, wonderful cecilylee ♥



Dean doesn't know where the damn thing comes from, just that suddenly he's being grabbed by the shoulders and thrown into the brick wall of the alley. It was just supposed to be a quick bar crawl, something to get them out of the motel and away from the books. But the demon had sniffed them out, tracked them here and had waited til they were drunk before attacking. It's currently holding Dean up against the wall, his arm across Dean's chest and sucker punching him with his other hand.

Dean sees Sam in the background, doing his best to exorcise the fucker, but nothing's happening. Or if it is, it's not happening fast enough and then Cas is there, a tan blur that somehow ends up wedged between Dean and the demon. Everything's moving too fast for Dean right now, his head pounding, thudding up against the bricks every time the demon hauls back to swing at him. Except it's hitting Cas, the soft solid smack of knuckles on flesh, and that's what's churning Dean's stomach, that the whole thing sounds so normal. That the demon isn't wincing and that Cas is grunting out soft broken sounds with every strike.

Sam must have finally realized he's not doing a damn thing, his arm stuck out like that, and finally heads towards them with the knife. Dean feels Sam gank the demon, the way Castiel's suddenly pushed up against him, his head falling back against Dean's shoulder as he shudders. Cas starts to drop when Sam pulls back, the demon falling to the ground and Cas following closely after. Dean does his best to grab on to him, grasping at the trench coat but it's slick with blood and slides through Dean's fingers like silk.

---

Dean comes to slowly, head pounding from all sides as he slowly sits up. It's a different motel, faded peach instead of green, an old tv with rabbit ears and Sam pacing around the kitchenette. He stops when he sees Dean, the relief obvious as he heads towards the bed, snatching a bottle from the counter.

"Got some Advil for you, man." Sam sits on the bed, reaching up to run his hand through Dean's hair. Dean grimaces, sticking his tongue out when Sam grins at him. "I'm checking the bumps, dumbass. You got thrown around pretty bad."

" 'm fine, okay." And he is, really, as long as he doesn't turn his head too fast and Sam stops making the bed rock like the goddamn ocean every time he shifts. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, the demon's taken care of." Sam's quiet for a beat too long, fiddling with the pill bottle and Dean tries to kick at him, get him to keep talking but just ends up missing and grazes his thigh. Sam huffs out a laugh before quickly sobering up. "Just, Cas got beat up pretty bad. You know how it's been..."

Dean nods, body tensing up as he follows Sam's gaze to the other bed. Cas is lying there, completely still save for the slight movement of his chest. He's been stripped of his trench coat but the rest of his clothes are splattered with blood.

"You'll be alright?" Sam's voice breaks in, and Dean looks back to him. "I got the room next door but if you want, I can stay here tonight."

Dean finally finds his voice. "No, I'm good. I can take care of him," he nods at Sam. "How're you doing?"

"Just beat up and sore. Nothing like you two." Sam stands, making the room sway again, and heads towards the door. "Call if you need anything."

Dean raises his hand in response, waiting til he hears the click of the door before twisting around and planting his feet on the ground. He's not as bad off as he had originally thought, still stiff and bruised and mildly concussed, but nothing he hasn't dealt with before.

There's Cas though, and Dean stands to make his way to the other bed. The more he moves the better he feels, although that could be the adrenaline still rushing through his body.

Sam's left him a goddamn pharmacy on the bedside table: Advil and Vicodin and Oxycontin, an unopened bottle of whiskey that catches Dean's eyes. Which makes Dean wonder how bad off Cas really is and keeps him moving towards him.

Cas' eyes open when Dean sits down on the edge of the bed, his fingers curling in the comforter, and it breaks Dean to see how human Cas looks right now. There are bags under his eyes, blood streaked across the bruises on his face and if Dean holds his breath he swears he can hear the rasp and pull of Castiel's lungs.

"Cas," Dean murmurs, reaching out towards him, except Cas is somehow faster than Dean is, reaching up to grasp at Dean's wrist, pulling him down til Dean's overwhelmed with the stench of copper and sweat and he scrabbles at the bed, finally planting his palms so that he can push himself up and away, sucking in a deep breath.

It catches him off-guard, despite years of being immersed in those scents. The fact that it's Cas this time makes Dean's breath catch in his throat; the angel lying beneath him bloody and groaning in a way Dean had never seen before.

Cas is still holding on to him, fingernails digging into Dean's wrists until it overcomes the pain in his head and he finds himself jerking away.

"Come on man, I know you better than this," Dean murmurs, eyes scanning Cas' face. "Where's it hurting?"

Cas blinks up at him, slow and lazy before licking his lips. "Everywhere," he admits, voice rough and Dean can see the purple marks on Cas' throat from the demon's grasp.

"Can you, you know?" Dean wriggles his fingers and hopes Cas gets it. Cas shakes his head, eyes shutting at the movement.

"Let's see what we have here then," Dean shifts to face the side table, reaching out to grab one of the bottles. Cas' hand snakes out to grasp Dean's other wrist, the touch lighter this time, his thumb stroking over the faint heartbeat.

Dean picks a few pills, a concoction that's worked well for him in the past and he twists to face Cas again. "Bottoms up," he states, raising the bottle in his other hand.



Ten minutes later and watching Cas, Dean's pretty sure the pills and booze are doing their thing. He had thought about going back to his bed, give Cas space to stretch out but he's still doing his best to hold on to Dean, fingers tightening whenever Dean shifts.

"Cas," he whispers, waiting til sleepy eyes meet his. "Gotta give me my hand back, just for a minute." Cas stares at him for a beat longer before barely nodding, his fingers slipping from Dean's wrist to fall on the covers.

Dean moves as quickly as he can, locking the door and double checking the windows and salt lines. He kicks his shoes and socks off on the way back to bed, fumbles with his belt til he manages to shuck his jeans off as well. His back's too fucked up from the beating earlier for him to even consider pulling his shirt off, and he's just thankful it's clean of blood.

Cas hasn't moved at all, just watches Dean with low-lidded eyes as he doses himself with the pills, more liberally with the whiskey. They have no plans for tomorrow, and even if something comes up, Sam can deal with it.

Dean takes another pull from the bottle before finally twisting the cap on, setting it down heavily on the table. Cas is still watching him, fingers splayed on the cover and his lips parted. There's a curl in Dean's gut that he wants to chalk up to the mixture of liquor and pills and pain all hitting at once, but when Cas' eyes shut with a whimper, Dean knows that's not the case.

"It'll be okay," he murmurs, grabbing the remote before making his way around to the other side of the bed. There's a thin blanket folded on one of the chairs and he grabs that as well, sliding on to the bed next to Cas. Dean unfolds the blanket over Cas, making sure he's covered before twisting around and folding his own pillow in half.

Dean leans back, finally letting himself relax as he turns the TV on. There's nothing really on this late at night, infomercials and crappy stand up, but eventually he finds old reruns of MacGuyver and he starts to settle down.



The sound of an explosion starts Dean awake, even though he could swear he had just shut his eyes a second ago. A glance at the clock to his side says it's been closer to an hour, and Dean groans and rubs at his eyes. The room's lit up by the TV screen, a low light that highlights the shadows and spaces in the room.

There's a soft noise next to him that draws his attention to the warm weight against his side, and Dean cranes his neck as far as he can. Cas has rolled over on his side, his arm tangled with Dean's and his breath hot against Dean's skin.

"Cas?" Dean keeps his voice low, can't tell if Cas is awake or dreaming or if the drugs haven't done enough for him yet. He does his best to roll over and face Cas without jostling him.

"You're here," and Cas' slow slur sounds both surprised and comforted, a mixture that sends a shiver down Dean's spine. "Are you cold too?"

Dean is still blinking back sleep when Cas reaches out, dragging the blanket with him so that it covers them both now. Cas leaves his arm where it is, stretched out over Dean's side, his fingers curling in the back of Dean's t-shirt as if to anchor himself.

"Cas?" Dean asks again, this time more confused than anything else. His eyes shut when he feels Cas' fingers loosen their grip, just to slide under the fabric and splay out against his lower back.

Cas just continues to roll into Dean, til his face brushes against Dean's shirt and Dean can hear him whimper at the contact. Dean pulls back far enough to get a glimpse at Cas' face, and when the TV screen flashes with another explosion he can see where Cas' lip split under the demon's fist. It's already swollen and red, something that should have been fixed with a thought but can't anymore. The longer Dean looks at it the guiltier he feels.

"What's wrong?" The cut starts to bleed again when Cas starts talking, and Dean just shakes his head, too drunk and sore to want to have to explain it all right now. Cas is more insistent. "Dean."

Dean avoids the best way he knows how, sliding his arm over Cas' hip, letting his hand rest in the small of his back. Cas is tense, shivering and Dean can't tell if it's shock or cold or something completely different. Dean ducks his head back in, encouraging Cas as best he can.

"Come here," he whispers, and after a moment he can feel Cas tentatively shift, tangling their legs together before drawing close again. Cas' breath is warm on his collarbone, comforting. Dean falls asleep to Cas' touch, to the feeling of sigils being traced on his back and a soft kiss pressed to his throat.