Operation Overlord -Destiel War!AU

12. Losing

Confused, struggling to breathe, wheezing, pains, sweating, panting, bleeding from newly formed rashes. Cas couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand watching it. He'd tried. He really had tried to ignore it, and respect Dean's wishes. He couldn't do it any more. He couldn't just sit by and watch Dean fall apart, dying.

Dean was dying. He refused to acknowledge it, but the moments when he actually knew what was going on, were becoming few and far between. Dean was dying, and he was okay with that. The only thing he regretted was not getting home. He was scared, sure, but he'd fought for his country, fallen in love, survived a war, and dying from some stupid infection didn't seem like such a bad option. He had tried to explain it to Castiel, but Cas had just sent him a glare and stayed in silence.

Castiel couldn't let Dean do that to himself. He tried to convince the man that he had lots of time left, many things he needed to do, needed to see, people who needed him.

Dean was slumped in his chair, staring out the window at the grey sky, frowning to himself as he struggled to remember what he'd been on his way to do.

Cas moved up to him, stroking his fingers through the man's hair as he pulled the chair back, wheeling it slowly.

Dean's head snapped around. "What are you doing?"

"Taking you to get some help," Castiel whispered, voice hesitant and calm.

"Where from?"

"Just someone."

Dean relaxed and nodded, too tired, too pained to argue.

Castiel wheeled him into the hospital a while after, calling out for help and struggling to explain Dean's condition to a doctor who was busily trying to get some sort of medication together for another patient. "Listen to me!" Cas roared, heaving Dean out of his chair and supporting his weight. "He needs help."

The doctor finally paid them attention, scowling and eying Dean closely.

Dean tried to pull away. "No," he whispered. "No, no, no, no, no! Cas, I said no!"

Cas pushed him forward. "Please, Dean, you need this."

"No, I don't. I need to go home, and die in my bed with Sammy by my side, I do not need this!"

The doctor sighed and called a few nurses over. Together, they pried Dean away from Cas and pinned him to a bed, strapping down his arms and legs.

Cas squeezed his eyes shut, feeling sick with himself. He wasn't respecting Dean's wishes. He was doing exactly what Dean had asked him not to do. And he was standing by, doing nothing, and forcing him into this.

"Castiel, please!" Dean screamed, voice scratchy and panicked. He gasped for air before the doctors made him fall unconscious.

Cas winced and stood perfectly still as Dean was unstrapped and carted off to a more permanent bed. He was told to wait, and eventually collapsed in a chair, looking around at the hospital in disgust. It really wasn't a nice place. He looked around and hoped that Dean was going to be okay, that he would be fixed up, that he would be better than ever. He hoped, and he prayed to the god he'd almost stopped believing in. It was the first time he'd prayed since Omaha.

Castiel was told when the doctors and nurses were through with Dean, when they'd examined him and done all they could. He was let through, into the wing that had around 10 other beds crammed in. Castiel found Dean's bed and pulled the curtains around it. He sat in the uncomfortable seat next to the man and held onto his hand, watching Dean sleep.

He seemed sickly pale, waxy skinned, unhealthy. His chest rose and fell erratically and

his skin had gone from being freezing cold to burning hot. He moaned uneasily in his forced sleep and his grip tightened pathetically on Cas' hand. It was so different to the usual tight grip,and strong hands that belonged to Dean Winchester.