Breath

The hospital room is compact and bleak and smells of disinfectant and bleach. There is only one bed because it’s a room for patients in terminal care. The occupant of the bed is small and frail, shrivelled upon himself, but Castiel doesn’t see him that way. Well, of course he sees the exterior: the failing body, the vessel that’s almost at the end of its journey. But to him it doesn’t matter. It never did.

He stands still in the corner and watches. He has been watching for a long time from afar, but this is the first time he has ventured into the room itself. He keeps himself cloaked because he doesn’t want to upset his friend. He is here only to say goodbye.

Of course, he should’ve known better.

”I know you’re there, feathers. Don’t bother hiding.”

The voice is thin and whispery, lungs working overtime to provide the air needed for the words. Castiel can see this, he sees behind the shell of a man to the failing lungs that are barely holding up. 

”Hello, Dean,” he says and uncloaks himself.

”You look exactly the same, trench coat and all.” 

The green eyes are dulled with pain and years gone by, but the familiar amusement is still there, if you know what to look for. And Castiel does, because he knows Dean. 

He tilts his head and frowns. ”How else would I look?”

Dean tries to huff a laugh and it turns into a phlegmy cough. He coughs and wheezes, eyes squeezed shut and his right hand fisted against his lips. When the fit passes, Castiel sees spatters of blood on Dean’s lips. His vessel reacts and Castiel thinks he knows why.

”You are dying, Dean.” It’s a statement, not a question.

”Yeah, I know.”

Castiel moves to stand beside Dean’s bed, hovers close and looks at him intently, like he always has. Dean’s face draws into a wry smile.

”Still no comprehension of personal space,” he mutters.

Castiel moves back. ”I apologize.”

Dean closes his eyes and moves his head slowly once from one side to the other, in a tired imitation of shaking his head.

”It’s okay. I’ve missed it. Missed you.”

His vessel reacts again, but this time Castiel isn’t sure why. 

”Have you?” Castiel asks, but Dean has already fallen asleep.

He sits down in an uncomfortable chair beside Dean’s bed. Or he thinks that humans most likely find the chair uncomfortable: a hard, wooden chair, all angles and no cushion. A chair to mirror the uncomfortable feelings surrounding the concept of death. Castiel doesn’t see things that way, but of course, he is an Angel of the Lord, and to him death is a transition, not the end. 

He wonders how Dean sees death. As a former hunter Dean has seen a lot of death, and also Death himself, and for what Castiel understands, Dean wasn’t exactly impressed by either. And why would he be? He’s Dean Winchester, after all. 

Castiel wonders if it was Tessa or the Horseman himself who would reap Dean. Which one would Dean prefer?

He turns his eyes back to the man on the bed. Dean’s breathing is shallower than when Castiel arrived, and it stops at times. Castiel finds himself holding his breath every time there’s a pause and he wonders why. Then Dean draws a shaky breath and Castiel forgets what he was thinking about.

He wishes there was something he could do, that he could somehow ease Dean’s suffering. If he tried he could probably heal Dean, but to what end? Hunters never expect to live long enough to die from age-related illnesses, like Dean is in the process of doing now, and to be able to do so could be counted as a small victory. 

On the other hand, Dean’s illness isn’t only physical. He has never recovered from the loss of his brother, an experience Castiel could, unfortunately, relate to. After Stull Cemetery Dean had gone to Lisa like Sam had asked him to, and tried to live the apple pie life Sam had wished him to. But something had died within Dean when the Cage had closed, trapping his and Castiel’s brothers within. He has become a dull shell of a man, something too serious, trapped inside his own memories of days past. 

Dean has tried. Castiel knows, because he has been watching. Dean stored his Impala under a tarp, packed away his weapons and fake ID’s, and tried to live his life like a common man. But after a lifetime of travelling around the continent hunting monsters, a still life with a tax number and a steady job was hard to go by. Castiel also knows that Dean had briefly considered marrying Lisa, but had eventually moved out after a mutual agreement that their relationship wouldn’t work out. For some reason Castiel had been glad for that turn of events. Dean had settled in his own small flat, worked as a mechanic with a friend of Bobby’s and slowly trudged through the years. Alone.

Castiel has thought about Dean often. He has battled with himself about whether to visit the former hunter or not, and always ended up staying away. Now, with Dean’s life over, he wonders if he made the right decision after all. He thought that he would’ve hurt Dean, reminded him of the brother he lost, of all the people he has loved and watched die in front of his eyes. So Castiel has stayed away, taking care of things in Heaven and checking in on Dean only occasionally, unable to resist his need to make sure Dean was safe.

And now Dean says that he has missed Castiel.

Castiel feels confused. Human emotion combined with the reactions of his vessel make him feel perplexed and he doesn’t understand why he feels this tightening in his chest and burning in his eyes. There is nothing wrong with his vessel’s eyes anyway.

The door opens quietly and a nurse peeks in.

”Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll just check his temperature and leave you in peace.”

Castiel blinks and watches the nurse do his business, take Dean’s temperature, turn his pillow and change his pose so gently that Dean doesn’t even stir. When he’s ready, he turns to leave, but pauses by the door.

”Is he your father?”

Castiel starts and reorientates himself before answering. ”No. He’s a friend.”

The nurse nods and smiles, doesn’t say anything.

Castiel turns his gaze back to Dean. ”Yes, he’s a friend. A very good friend. I wish…” He leans his elbows on his knees and drops his eyes to his hands for a moment.

”I wish I had been there for him. I wish I had been braver, but I was afraid I was going to hurt him. After everything that had happened he deserved some peace and quiet in his life.” Castiel’s voice is quiet and he pauses before lifting his eyes back to Dean.

Dean is looking at him, dulled greens turned bright. They are alone - Castiel didn’t notice the nurse leave the room.

”Is that why you stayed away?”

Castiel doesn’t understand how Dean’s eyes can hold such power, even now, when his body is slowly falling apart and failing him. Castiel wields the might of Heaven, was resurrected by God, and still he is helpless, caught in the stare of Dean Winchester.

For some reason Castiel feels shame, like he has let Dean down, again. He closes his eyes, trying to escape the force of Dean’s eyes, but even when his vessel doesn’t see Dean, Castiel sees him. Closing his eyes is only skin deep.

”I’m sorry, Dean. I though I was doing the right thing.”

Dean sighs and closes his eyes. ”You should’ve let me be the judge of that.”

Castiel bows his head. ”I know that now.”

Dean slips in and out of consciousness, the pauses in his breathing longer every time. If Castiel was a human, he would’ve thought Dean dead for several times already, but he can see the stubborn soul of the stubborn hunter stay put, holding on, refusing to leave yet. The angel is waiting, for Dean to be ready to leave, for his collector to arrive.

He fixes his eyes at Dean, again. He is so used to looking at the soul that he has to make a conscious effort to look at the flesh, at the body sheltering the most precious soul he has ever met. Castiel notes the grey hair and the lines on Dean’s face, the sunken hollows of his cheeks, the waxy pallor of his skin: all marks of sickness and age. Aging is a foreign concept to Castiel. His vessel doesn’t age and he hasn’t spent enough time on Earth to observe the process closely before. Not before Dean.

”Don’t look at me, I’m hideous.”

Castiel frowns slightly and focuses his eyes on Dean’s once again. The pain is back, but now there’s something else. Embarrassment? Shame? But why? Castiel doesn’t understand.

”You have always been beautiful to me, Dean,” he says gravely.

Dean turns his head away. 

”Don’t mock me, Cas.”

”I never mock you,” he answers and reaches out to touch the papery skin of Dean’s hand. ”You are beautiful to me. I have never met a soul as bright, brave and righteous as yours. Since I pulled you from Hell I have felt nothing but admiration towards you.”

The amusement is back. ”Really?”

Castiel feels his vessel’s lips draw into a smile. ”Well, perhaps exasperation and frustration as well.”

Dean grins, and for a long moment they are lost in each other’s eyes, just like before. Then Dean has another coughing fit, and for a long time he struggles with his breathing. Castiel feels anxious, wants to help but doesn’t know how. It has been a long time since he has felt this helpless.

”Ben and the kids were here today.” Dean says, when he regains the control over his body once more. 

Castiel nods. ”I know, I saw them.”

Dean doesn’t comment on the obvious, the admission that Castiel has been watching him. He smiles softly, his eyes lost in pleasant memories. ”They are good kids. Ben’s an awesome dad.”

”He had a very good teacher.” 

Castiel takes Dean’s hand in his own. It’s frail, bones brittle and hollow, like bird’s. Castiel can feel the blood flow sluggishly, barely making it to the tips of Dean’s fingers. He traces the thin veins with his thumb, willing them to work yet for a while. He feels Dean’s eyes on his face but dares not raise his eyes to meet Dean’s gaze.

”They call me grandpa,” Dean says wonderingly, like it was hard for him to believe he deserved the title. 

”Yes. A fitting title.” Castiel smiles gently.

Dean rolls his eyes. ”You always had more faith in me than I deserved.”

”I always had exactly the faith in you that you deserved, Dean.”

Dean closes his eyes and gives a small sigh. ”I’m tired, Cas.”

”I know. You should rest.”

Dean slips out of consciousness, with Castiel still holding his hand. 

Time has no meaning to Castiel, but he finds himself counting. He counts Dean’s heartbeats, his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, the fluttering of a vein at the base of his throat. He counts and feels time trickling away.

At some point he becomes aware of someone else in the room. He doesn’t need to turn to know who it is.

”Tessa,” Castiel greets her.

The Reaper inclines her head as a greeting. ”Castiel. It has been a while.”

”Yes. Is it time?”

”Almost.”

Castiel nods and touches gently Dean’s cheek. ”Dean?” He asks softly. ”Tessa is here.”

Green eyes open, showing no surprise at Castiel being so close. 

”Will you miss me when I’m gone?” It’s a whisper.

”Always.”

Dean lets out a long breath. ”We wasted so much time,” he mutters and his eyes turn slowly vacant, and he doesn't draw another breath.

Castiel doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to feel. He sees life slip out of Dean, from the shell of Dean, the bright soul letting finally go. He feels something warm touch his cheek and press to his forehead, and knows it’s a goodbye.

After Tessa has led Dean away, Castiel sits a long while by the bed, holding the hand of the one that once was Dean Winchester. 

When he finally leaves for Heaven, he knows he will never return to Earth again.