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Dean turned on the stove top and laid the piece of bread butter side down on the skillet. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He was just trying to make a grilled cheese sandwich. With all the shit happening lately with Michael and Lucifer and Jack he really just needed some comfort food.
And sleep.
Dean knew he had never been the model for perfect well rested health in the first place, but now that Michael had taken up permanent residence in his brain, he couldn’t afford more than a wink of sleep per night. It was not good for his health. Human bodies weren’t meant to run on two hours worth of light dozing per every thirty-six hours of wakefulness.
He knew he was going to get himself killed if something didn’t change soon. A vamp nearly took his head off the other night. If Sam hadn’t been watching his back . . .
Dean flipped his sandwich to toast the other side. He gave another sigh and closed his stinging eyes. His head hurt so much, from both the archangel and the lack of sleep. His body was cramped but it also wouldn’t stop shaking. He just needed to sleep. Half the time he felt like he was going to pass out. He had, actually, at one point while Sam was pumping gas. Thankfully he had been in the car.
He knew Sam and Cas were worried about him. He had really tried not to let it show how bad it was getting, but it was becoming more and more difficult to hide. He was starting to think they were catching on.
Dean’s eyes snapped open as another wave of divine force pounded against the walls Dean had built inside his mind. Michael’s rage washed over him and Dean swayed on the spot and gripped the counter with white knuckles, trying desperately to hold his own will against an archangel. The angel’s wrath subsided for the moment, but it was always there, rumbling beneath the surface.
Dean took a deep breath to settle himself. His nose picked up a harsh burning smell. His eyes finally focused on the smoking sandwich on the stove.
“Son of a bitch!” he growled, turning off the stove and taking the skillet over to the sink. Steam coiled in the air as the water poured over the remnants of his ruined dinner.
“Is everything okay, Dean?” Cas’s voice traveled from the kitchen doorway, but the hunter didn’t turn to look at him. Dean wondered how long he had been there, watching him.
He decided to ignore the question since the answer was so terribly obvious, and instead asked one of his own. “When’d you get back?” He turned the water off and fished his soggy sandwich out to throw it in the trash.
“Just now,” came the angel’s reply, his nearing footsteps seemed thunderous to Dean’s overwhelmed senses. Dean disposed of his meal in the trash and finally turned to look at his friend.
Their eyes connected in the soft light of the kitchen. The angel’s blue eyes were worried. They were always worried. Dean couldn’t remember the last time Cas’s eyes weren’t hooded with concern, or when his brow wasn’t crinkled in apprehension. Even when he smiled, the expression was sorrowful. Dean longed for the moment when Cas would finally get to relax his features enough for a real, genuine smile to form on his face. Dean shook his head slightly. This sleep deprivation thing was making him way too sappy.
Cas took two steps forward so that they were only a foot apart. His eyes searched the hunter’s. “Dean, how much sleep have you been getting?”
The hunter’s eyes watered from lack of rest. His head pounded so much that he was becoming nauseous. He managed what he thought was a nonchalant shrug but found that he didn’t have enough energy to keep up this charade anymore.
“I’m not going to lie to you, Cas,” said Dean. His rubbed his eyes. “I’m runnin’ on fumes.”
Castiel’s concern deepened. “Michael?”
At the mention of the archangel, the simmering rage in his head went up another level. Dean nodded and his vision swam, Cas’s face blurring with the kitchen wall behind him.
“Dean, you need to take it easy,” Cas grabbed his left shoulder. “Let Sam and I take the next few hunts. I can even try and help suppress Michael if-”
“Cas,” Dean interrupted. “I can’t ask you to do that.”
One of the strongest waves hit Dean at that moment. He heard Michael’s screams, felt him pummeling the walls in his head. It was too powerful. Dean stumbled forward as his knees buckled.
“Dean!” Cas gripped his shoulder tighter and his other hand came up under his armpit. Dean’s fingers tangled in the angel’s trench coat as he tried to keep his feet under him. The wave passed. Michael was still screaming, just softer.
“Dean?” Cas questioned tentatively. His right hand remained on his shoulder but his other came to rest on his face. It was only for a moment before it went down to rest on his other arm. Dean’s fingers relaxed their grip on his coat but he didn’t let go for fear of losing the ability to stand again.
“I’m fine, Cas,” he mumbled.
The angel squinted at him. “You better sit down.” Cas pushed him gently in the direction of the bench. They shuffled clumsily toward the table. Dean slumped into his seat and the angel squatted in front of him. “Dean, you have to let me try,” he pleaded.
Dean closed his eyes against the pressure mounting in his brain. He didn’t want to jeopardize the barriers in his head. Cas’s grace might have some sort of negative effect on them. He sighed. He just needed to sleep, but he wasn’t going to get the chance unless something changed. His eyes met the angel’ concerned blue ones.
“Okay,” Dean relented. “Do what you gotta do.”
Cas reached out to touch his forehead. Dean felt the familiar tickling warmth of Castiel’s grace spread from his fingertips. It enveloped his skull and pooled behind his eyes, soothing the pressure within his head.
The angel closed his eyes in concentration as he searched for his brother’s trespassing presence. Cas’s breath hitched in his throat and Dean tensed. He must have found it. He felt his friend’s grace seep into a concentrated spot. The effect was more than Dean could have hoped for. The screaming decreased to a low hum, the waves of pressure lessened. Michael’s rage was swallowed by Castiel’s grace. The hunter’s relief was immediate. Dean moaned involuntarily and his eyes fluttered shut. He hadn’t really understood how bad it had gotten, but now that the weight had been lifted off, he realized how much pain he had been in.
“Dean?” Cas asked softly.
Dean could barely answer. His body finally had the chance to relax and it wasn’t eager to do anything that might even resemble effort. It was all he could do to keep himself upright. He opened his eyes and saw Cas on the floor, peering up at him with concern, his fingertips still on his forehead.
“I’m alright, buddy,” he slurred. “I just m’bout to fall asleep.”
“Let me help you to your room.” Cas rose from his position on the floor and his fingers came away from his forehead. The wrath of an archangel returned in full of force. The air stuck in his throat and his eyes slammed shut against the onslaught. His hands went to grab at his head, but it did nothing to stem the agony.
“Dean!” Cas grabbed his shoulder. In a second he comprehended what was happening and pushed his grace back into Dean. The Winchester gasped in relief.
“I’m so sorry! I didn’t know. I-” Dean cut him off with a consolatory wave of his hand.
“It’s fine, Cas,” he gulped. “It’s okay just . . . try not to do that again.” His shoulders quaked beneath the angel’s hands. He took a deep breath. “Be gentle with me next time.”
Cas nodded, his eyes guilty. His fingers dug into Dean’s shoulder like he was afraid to let go. “I don’t think I can sustain the connection if I don’t touch you.”
Dean shook his head. It didn’t matter. “Honestly, Cas, I don’t care at this point. I’d offer to be the little spoon if it meant I could get some shut eye.”
Cas looked very worried at this remark. He knew how much Dean valued his personal space. “Let’s get you to your bed.” Being careful not to let go of his shoulder, Cas clasped his hand around Dean’s and hauled him to his feet. The hunter swayed but Cas steadied him.
“We just have to make it to your bedroom,” Cas said encouragingly. “You think you can do that?”
Dean nodded and tried not to blink. If he shut his eyes for even a second he wasn’t sure he could remain conscious. Cas slowly took his hand away from his friend’s shoulder. Dean braced himself, but no pain came over him. The angel squeezed his hand. Right, they were still touching. Dean nodded to tell him he was ready.
They walked in silence, Cas staying close, shoulders touching, just in case Dean stumbled again. It was a mercifully short journey through the hallway and into Dean’s bedroom. The hunter clumsily kicked off his shoes, leaning heavily on his friend’s arm. Cas tugged them over to the corner so he could grab the chair, and then they finally came to a stop at Dean’s bed.
“You sure you’re okay with this?” asked Dean dreamily as he climbed on to the mattress, keeping a firm hold on the angel’s hand. “It’s not like, hurting your grace or anything.”
Cas was not going to have this argument when he was so close to getting him to sleep. “My grace will replenish,” he assured with finality. He sat down in the chair next to the bed, letting their hands rest at Dean’s side on the comforter. Dean was in no condition to argue. His head hit the pillow and he barely caught Cas’s words before he passed out.
“I will be here when you wake.”
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Dean dreamed for the first time in a month. It was nothing really. It was just him and Cas walking down the sidewalk of a park in Lebanon. They didn’t speak, just enjoyed the security of one another's presence. It wasn’t until they had reached the end of the sidewalk that Dean realized Cas was still holding his hand.
Dean opened his eyes slowly to find himself back in his room. He registered the weight of Cas’s hand in his own and the low hum of Michael’s fury behind his eyes.
“Hello, Dean.”
Dean looked to his side. Cas’s forehead glistened with sweat but his eyes shown hopefully.
“How do you feel?” he asked. Dean took a deep breath and stretched his legs.
“Much better,” he sighed groggily. “How long did I sleep?”
“Nearly 14 hours.”
“What!” Dean sat up abruptly, his hand tightening on the angel’s fingers. “I thought you were only gonna let me sleep for a couple of hours.” He gave Cas a once over. “Are you doing okay? Your grace-?”
“I will be fine.” The angel squeezed his hand assuredly but his shoulders sagged in contradiction.
“Cas you need to rest.” Dean threw his legs over the edge of the mattress and loosened his grip on the angel so that only Cas was keeping their hands together.
“Dean-”
“Let me go,” he insisted. “If it gets really bad again . . . we’ll deal with it.” Cas swallowed. “We can’t hold hands forever, Cas.”
Cas looked down at their joined hands miserably. “Okay.”
Dean nodded. “Just go slow, okay?” He knew it was going to hurt either way, but last night had been awful.
Cas nodded seriously and Dean braced himself. He didn’t notice anything at first, Then he started to feel the presence he had become so accustomed to start to seep away. With every second he became less and less comfortable, the hum in his head growing to a distant roar. He felt the angel’s fingers loosen around his hand. Dean hissed as another layer of Castiel’s protection was stripped away. Goddammit, this hurt. Cas finally let go of his hand and Dean exhaled slowly through his mouth.
Cas slumped back into his chair. “Are you alright?”
Dean took another deep breath. “Yeah, you?”
Cas nodded.
Dean looked him in the eyes. “Thank you.”
Cas smiled. It was still a sad one. “Just come back to me when you need to, okay?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, alright.” The hunter stood shakily. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”