Chapter Text
Dean stood there, blinking, trying to process what he'd just heard.
"By the time you're free, it'll be too late!" The witch, propped up on her elbows on the dirt, licked the blood off her teeth and smirked at him.
Dean scowled at her, deciding he'd had enough of this localized madness. He aimed carefully—no hesitation, no second thoughts—and ended it. A single bullet to finish the job. As her body ignited into a sudden, unnatural heap of flames, he scrambled back.
"Son of a bitch..." the mumble escaped his lips involuntarily. He watched with wide, blown-out eyes as she vanished into nothing. No ash. No bone. Just empty ground.
He stood up and kicked at the yellowed grass. Nothing. Not even a speck of dust.
He wasn't sure if that bitch had the juice to pull off the spell she'd screamed, but this... this was definitely off-book. He dialed Bobby.
'Please tell me you know what this crap is.'
The call went straight to voicemail. He rolled his eyes.
'Of course.'
Just when he actually needed someone, everyone pulls a vanishing act.
Cursing the witch's words that were still echoing in his skull, he grabbed a rag from the trunk and tried to wipe the blood off his hands. The red stains smeared dry across the fabric while a dull ache began to throb behind his eyes. The more he tried not to think, the more questions swarmed him like flies.
"I have bound you to the one who is closer than a brother."
Dean slammed the car door shut as he slid into the driver's seat. His fingers were shaking too hard to fit the key into the ignition. He scowled at the dashboard like it was the car's fault. Finally, he got it to turn and headed back to the motel, muttering under his breath. "Bound... jackass... what's he gonna bind after a beating like that!" The ringing in his ears was grating on his nerves. He rubbed his ear hard with his palm the whole way back. His grip on the wheel was so tight his knuckles turned white.
'Closer than a brother... Bobby? No, that's just stupid.'
He fought his own head all the way to the motel. A few words in a foreign tongue and some purple light from a witch's eyes—how could that cause a "bond"? Dean felt like the air wasn't quite reaching the bottom of his lungs.
He pushed open the creaky motel door, dazed. Empty. The unmade bed, the scattered beer bottles, and the crumpled packs on the table matched the misery of the room perfectly. He tried to remember where Sam was, but his mind was a mess of witch-talk and static.
'He was waiting here... no... he went for food...'
He remembered his phone and called Sam. Busy signal. He cursed his own empty head. If he'd hit his skull somewhere, he probably wouldn't remember that either. He couldn't remember where his own brother was. The realization sparked a fresh wave of panic. He closed his eyes, taking a jagged breath.
'Act normal. I'll remember... just a little foggy... maybe a beer will help. Like always.'
He left Sam a message asking what circle of hell he was in, and as he turned back toward the door, he jumped nearly out of his skin. His phone hit the floor with a hollow thud.
Cas was standing right there, staring at him. Dean muttered a string of curses about how many times he'd told him not to do that and snatched his phone off the wood floor. He checked the screen, then glared at the angel.
"I'm sorry, I forgot to say 'hello,' but I didn't come here under normal circumstances." Cas explained in that low, gravelly rasp, eyeing Dean's frayed nerves.
Dean narrowed his eyes. Everything was weird today.
"What do you mean, not under normal circumstances?" He was vibrating with tension now, his hand squeezing the phone.
'I can't deal with angel crap or God's drama right now.'
"I felt something unusual. And I believe that 'something' is you, Dean." Cas seemed to think that was explanation enough.
Dean threw him a sour look, forgot about the beer, and slumped into a chair at the table.
'His wings must be blocking the blood flow to his brain. Give him a minute.'
The weight in his head was getting worse. It felt like an electric current was crawling through his skin, biting into his bones. The color had drained from his face, leaving him a ghostly pale.
"What are you trying to say, Cas? Don't make me ask twice. Just spill it." His voice was thin, practically begging for an Advil. He put his head in his hands. This wasn't a normal headache. The spell was tightening his veins. He couldn't even remember if he'd prayed for Cas to show up.
Cas stepped toward him.
"There is something in your energy... in you... that is calling to me." His voice was heavy, resonant.
Despite the wreck he was, Dean lifted his head to shoot Cas one of his signature glares. He tried to connect the dots between the spell and this "calling." His eyes were slit with pain, the lines on his forehead deep.
Cas moved closer, looking confused by his own senses. "I need to touch you," was all he said.
Before Dean could even open his mouth to protest, Cas's fingers were already against his forehead. The electricity in his body surged violently. Dean tried to shove himself back, away from the touch, but his legs gave out.
Cas caught him before he hit the floor, pulling him close. Dean scrambled back on the floor, trying to break the hold. The surge had him reeling; his only instinct was to run. He hit the side of the bed and stopped, gasping for air. He looked up, wide-eyed, and saw the same shattered expression on Cas's face.
Cas could still feel the current buzzing in his fingertips. When he'd grabbed Dean, he'd felt the sheer scale of the tension drawing him here. He realized he was holding his breath. Looking at Dean's face, he decided it was better to stay quiet.
Dean had pulled away like he'd been burned. He stared at Cas with parted lips. "Did you... did you feel that too?" His voice was raspy, breathless.
Cas struggled to mask the shock on his face. "I don't know... You must tell me how you came to be in this state."
They stared at each other for a long second. Dean swallowed hard, trying to pull himself together. He told him about the witch, her words, the fire, and added in a low voice that he couldn't remember where Sam was. As he spoke, his knee bounced nervously, and he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, pausing constantly to check if his memories were still there.
When he finished, he just sat there, staring at the scratches in the worn wooden floor. Even staying still felt like his insides were being twisted. Damn it all...
"Bobby and Sam are together, Dean. They are hunting a vampire nest." Cas's voice softened. "The spell may be causing the confusion. Please, do not worry." Seeing the frown deepen on Dean's face, he decided to drop the subject to keep him from spiraling.
"From what you've described, this witch carried the marks of a high-blood. I have a few theories about the spell. I just need time."
"Just tell me what you know." Dean gripped the bridge of his nose, wincing as the throbbing reached his eyelids. His body was still humming with that electric sting. His mind was a fortress under siege by a migraine. Since Cas had arrived, the physical chaos had only intensified.
"The bond she mentioned... it is likely connected to the mark I left on your shoulder. It may be deepening that connection. That is my suspicion. And... I can see the bond." Cas swallowed. The phantom chains on his wrists felt tighter by the second. He tried to ignore the fact that his heart rate was climbing. This vessel, which he'd never viewed as anything more than a vehicle, was suddenly making its presence known with a vengeance.
Dean fought for his last few functioning brain cells.
'Closer than a brother... how could that be Cas?'
He flashed back to Hell—the seconds he was pulled out, and the sudden, overwhelming relief that followed.
"What I know of this binding is that we must remain close. Until we find a way to break it." Cas kept his eyes on the floor, his voice small.
Dean looked at him, starving for answers. "You don't know how to break it? And what do you mean 'close'?" He didn't filter the questions. They just spilled out. If I'm already this wrecked, how the hell am I gonna handle this? Anxiety—or the spell—was making his breath hitch.
"I don't know, Dean. I just..." Cas closed the gap between them. He wanted to look closer at the spell—or maybe just discover the limits of this new "want." The usual angelic curiosity was now tangled with the urge to slacken the chains of the bond.
Dean, exhausted by the current buzzing through him, watched Cas approach with a dazed stare. He tried to calculate just how tight this spell had trapped them. Every explanation just made the room feel smaller.
Cas was close. Very close. Close enough that Dean could see the tiny, microscopic flecks of blood on his trench coat. He swallowed. A pressure was pushing his own body toward the angel's. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Thinking only made the pain burn hotter. He looked up at Cas again. He wanted to say something, ask something, but he didn't even know what it was. His lips parted, then closed.
He traced the unusual intensity of the blue in Cas's eyes, the unfamiliar hardness in his features, the pink hue of his lips. Lost in it, he licked his own lips.
'W-what am I doing?'
The confusion flared into anger, and his face hardened. Realizing what he was feeling felt like taking a punch to the jaw. His face burned as he slowly backed away from Cas.
"Cas, dammit, stop. Just stay still! I don't get it. I... I can't think about anything but the bond, and the spell, and you." He stopped. It sounded like a confession. He closed his eyes and shook his head like he could shake the thoughts out. "And it's only been a few hours? I don't know what we're gonna do!" He could take the pain, but the desire he felt rising in him was hitting his stomach like a lead pipe.
'It's not mine! It's not...'
Cas wasn't making it any easier. He just kept staring with that intense focus, staying stubbornly close, closer, always closer. And his skin felt like it was turning to ash in a fire that didn't burn his organs. Against this flood of emotion, he had no defenses. He was trapped here with this curse. Trapped with Cas. The thoughts raced through his mind, brutal and fast.
'It's just the spell...' he told himself again. And again. He was looking for a logical shelter before he lost his mind. His breath hammered against his lungs. His pupils were blown wide, feeling like his free will had been colonized, wondering how the hell he was supposed to fight back.
Cas realized Dean's breakdown required immediate intervention. Before he himself lost his grip. He decided to do the most logical thing he knew.
He stepped toward Dean again. Dean didn't even look up; he was shaking, head in his hands. Cas could see the red auras of pain radiating from him. He couldn't wait any longer. With a graceful flick of his wrist, he pressed his fingers to Dean's forehead. He let out a long breath as he watched him slip into a deep sleep.
After laying him gently on the bed, Cas could finally observe the changes within himself—even if he didn't fully understand them. He knew why Dean was spiraling. He could hear the howling storm inside himself; the transformation was fast, but blurred. The dusty veil over his feelings had been ripped away, leaving them raw. He didn't know what to do with any of it, but for now, being here was enough.
Cas sat slowly on the edge of the bed, watching the face that remained angry even in sleep. The lines around Dean's eyes were still there, even in the quiet.
He had already accepted that he would find the depth of this feeling—and the meaning of his own emotions—in that face.