Need You More Than You Know

-8-

Notes:TW: major character death (sort of), suicide (sort of). Takes place in season 9, pre-Kevin's death.

This one is sad. Sorry, guys. :(

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Dean was groggy and happy. Happy - unbelievably enough. Maybe it was the winning streak they'd been on lately, or maybe it was Sam seeming to be okay these days even with Gadreel being gone, or maybe it was the fact that he had actually gotten a full eight hours' sleep (eight!) the last four nights.

Or maybe, he considered, it was something to do with the pair of arms wound around him, their owner probably waiting patiently for him to wake up fully.

He leaned back, yawning and settling himself more comfortably against Cas. There was no real need to get up yet, so...

"Dean, wake up," Cas said right then, with annoyingly spot-on timing.

Dean shifted his weight, turning slowly, with sleep-inhibited movements. "Mmm. Yeah. I'm 'wake," he mumbled, pushing Cas back against the mattress so he could lie on top of him, using the guy like a pillow. He still didn't open his eyes.

"Morning," Cas told him softly, the rumble of his voice soothing as Dean rested on Cas's chest. Dean nodded tiredly, more than awake enough to talk but not really wanting to. "Wake up, Dean," Cas insisted.

Dean shook his head in the most miniscule motion possible. "Shuddup."

"We have to wake up. Gotta get up soon," Cas said, brushing his hands up and down Dean's back.

"Not yet..." Dean all but whined.

"You need to wake up," Cas said again.

What the hell? He was already awake, obviously. Dean lifted his head enough to look up at Cas, but he wasn't prepared for what he saw.

Cas was sorrowful, apologetic, almost the way he had immediately after breaking free of Naomi's mind control. And helpless, as if something was going to happen that he had no power to stop. "Please, Dean," he said, his voice softened by regret.

Dean pushed himself up on his elbows, taking a quick look around the room. This had felt like the morning after a one-night stand, a miraculous mistake he definitely wanted to repeat, but maybe it was something more.

There were photos on the wall. An eight by ten of his parents, taken a lot more recently than 1983, judging by how much older and beautiful his mother appeared. A wedding photo of Jessica and Sam, such joy in his brother's eyes that Dean's breath caught painfully. A group shot of Jo, Ellen, Bobby - and Kevin and Charlie. And a candid of Cas in the Bunker, on his knee in front of Dean, holding out a small box, the photo blurry as if whoever had taken the picture was too excited to hold still. Jo in the background with wide eyes, and Kevin with one hand over his mouth in shock and excitement. And another wedding photo, this one of him and Cas...

Dean glanced down at his left hand, and yes, there was a simple gold band on one finger. A match for the one on Cas's finger.

He met Cas's eyes and swallowed hard. "This... This isn't real, is it?"

Cas looked devastated, mournful. "I'm so sorry," he whispered. "You need to wake up. To go home."

Dean seemed to remember the words being said a lot more than they already have been. "How..." He stopped, licking his lips, trying to moisten a grief-desiccated mouth. "How long have I been in here?"

"Here? Weeks. Out there? It's been days, Dean." Cas pulled him closer up, pressing a kiss to Dean's forehead. "You're dying. You need to wake up. I've been trying to tell you..."

How did he not know this wasn't real?

Had he ever been allowed to be happy?

Dean rests his head on Cas's chest again, knowing what he had to do and not wanting to move. "Goddamnit," he groaned. Every ounce of the joy he'd felt a few minutes earlier was gone, bled away.

"Come find me in the real world," Cas said quietly. "We can really have this."

Dean sighed. "You can't guarantee that." He rolled off of Cas and glared up at the ceiling in misery.

The bed shifted as Cas got up. He returned a moment later with a gun from Dean's display on the wall. "This will probably be the fastest," he murmured, lying back down next to Dean and pressing it into his hand.

"I hate this," Dean said, gazing down at the metal in his hand. "Why can't I just... Just stay here?"

Cas kissed him. "Because this isn't real, Dean." He held onto the side of Dean's face and stared at him intently. "But we need you in the real world. You still have work to do."

Slowly, Dean nodded. "Look away," he begged. Cas kissed him once more, and then turned away.

The shot was loud, but blessedly did the job on its own.

*~*~*

Dean woke up in an abandoned apartment building, tied to a chair. Sam was there, crouched over him, Cas a short distance away checking on a small form in another chair. "-ke up, Dean," Sam was saying desperately.

"I'm awake," Dean finally muttered, glancing around the filthy apartment. A body lied in the corner, its eyes blown out. Cas's handiwork.

Sam checked on Cas, who shook his head remorsefully before turning his attention to Dean. "Are you all right?" Cas asked in concern as Sam helped Dean to his feet.

"Sure, I'm great," he nearly slurred as they made their way to the car. "Anyone else in there?"

Sam looked defeated. "No. Only the kid. And we didn't get there in time for him." Dean slid into the front passenger side.

The drive home passed in near silence. Dean caught Cas's eye a couple of times in the rearview mirror, still half in the dream world and remembering the feel of Cas's skin beneath him and the painfully happy pictures on the walls.

Sam glanced over. "Dean, if you need to tal-"

"No," Dean said sullenly, and stared out the window into the black night.