Twist and Shout

Chapter 12

"That's you."
"That's us," Cas breathed, and Dean looked away for a moment to compose himself. "That's us."
It was them.
The waves silently slid in and out, and when Dean looked at them he could almost hear the sound they made every time Cas took another breath. Cas tossed a shell to the sea and the tide carried it away.
Three days later he was unable to form complete sentences. Whether it was his mind or his capacity to breathe, Dean would never know.
He complained about his vision as well, and Tessa told him they'd do what they could. He seemed to understand and didn't mention it again.
Dean talked to him the whole day; told him about a house on an island. A white picket fence. Two old people bickering on a front porch. Filled the endless silences with his own voice, recounting stories, telling him about anything he could think of.
Cas looked at him for a long time, breathing slowly, his skeletal arms awkwardly resting against his sides. He stared out at Dean and smiled, his eyes blue and twinkling. Dean had to wonder how much he could actually see at the time. It didn't matter, he reminded himself. Anything was always going to be better than nothing. Even if he didn't know what Dean was talking about, Cas looked happy, and that was enough. He ran out of words at some point, and Cas had moved for the first time in hours to reach out and brush his cool hand over Dean's sleeve. Dean covered the chilled fingers with his own.
"You know that medallion I had?" Dean said. "It was...it was supposed to keep me from changing. It was supposed to keep me who I was."
Cas' fingers twitched, eyes trained on the far wall.
"I guess I figured that out too late," Dean whispered, brushing his hand under his eyes. "I'm so sorry I couldn't be who you needed me to be, Cas."

Cas said something he couldn't make out, the last syllable the trailing "...x" sound of the tide pulling in over rocks.

Cas died on a Thursday.
It was sunny.
Late afternoon.
Beautiful California weather.
The time leading up was quiet. His glassy eyes sat sunken in his head, half open, his body limp on the bed. He made sound sometimes, or raised a hand to rake at his gown, over his chest. At some point during that night Tessa had come in to check his IV. Dean had lifted his eyes long enough to watch her touch Cas' hand, and he knew when she turned away she was wiping her face.
"Can I lie with him?" Dean said, breaking the rattling sound of Cas' breathing. Tessa nodded, still pretending to read something. Dean pushed the chair back and pulled the rail down. He eased himself into the bed, pulling Cas onto his shoulder.
"Mind his head," Tessa started, but she had to cut herself off. Dean pulled the blanket over Cas' lap, resting his cheek on Cas' dry, brittle, hair. Cas breathed, like waves crashing. Tessa ducked her head, touching the end of the bed, her white hands blending into the sheets in the dark.
"It won't be too much longer," she said brokenly, and Dean didn't say anything, but folded his hand over Cas', rubbing the papery skin with his thumb. Tessa stood at the end of the bed for a long time, and she wiped her eye with her fingertips. "I'm so sorry." Her voice was teetering, about to shatter. The professional edge had long since gone.
Dean shook his head, listening to her footsteps disappear down the hall.
In the emptiness that followed, Dean found his mouth open but no words would come out. He stroked Cas' thin shoulder, all the way down to the sharp stab of his elbow. His fingers shook where they rested on his skin.
"It's alright," he said to the stillness. Another wave broke when Cas breathed. "It's alright. You can let go, I know - I know you're holding on, because you're worried. You're too stubborn, Cas, and I know you're holding on for me, but I'm going to do the right thing this time. I'm not - I'm not going to make you wait on me again."
Cas choked and Dean shifted him, and it seemed like something fluttered in Cas, some recognition that had been lost for hours. He watched TV 'til morning, Cas still leaning against him, until, at last, he kicked his leg restlessly, his breathing increasing to an impossible rate with the fluid that had built up in his chest.
Dean knew.
"It's ok," Dean assured him. "You know. You know I love you. You know I do, so it's ok. It's ok to let you go now."
He shook his head again, trying to clear the tears away but they wouldn't stop. Tessa had said that hearing was the last thing to go. Just keep talking to him. He could be anxious, or scared.
"Don't be scared," Dean blurted, "you're doing so good, Cas. You're doing so good." He racked his brain for something, anything, and suddenly he remembered Cas' face looking up at him.
"So why is it your favorite song?"
Cas' hand padded over his chin. Dean never lost track of his eyes, even when Cas looked at his own hand, shy. He nudged at Dean's mouth with his index finger, moving so his palm was cupping his jaw. Dean grinned against Cas' skin, unable to keep his smile contained. The blue eyed boy across from him was so beautiful, and he didn't know it. He practically shone; his soul glittered with something blue and white and Dean wanted to wrap himself in it. Something like God's grace, something like the blue and green smudginess of sea shells or glass bottles.
"I just - I like songs about love," he breathed a laugh, and Dean wrapped that laugh around his finger like a lace ribbon. Songs about love he hadn't cared about before, but now, he wouldn't have said anything but that. He wanted another smile, he wanted another dreamy look in Cas' eyes, so he'd sang along. He had wanted him to fall more in love, because nothing was going to hurt anymore if that happened. He had convinced himself, young, and stupid. This boy was going to make this world turn and stars would fall like rain.
Dean had heard it before, hadn't he? On the radio. Somewhere. Somewhere before, but at that moment Cas was looking at him and Dean had never loved him like he did sitting across the table, watching him drift away, listening. The one he hummed as he traced Dean's arm when the fell asleep, the one he played 'til he ruined the record.
"Remember?" he hushed. "You remember that? In that little apartment? You know I still - I still can't remember where I heard that song. I just sort of knew the words though." Cas breathed harshly again and Dean adjusted his sweater a little, smoothing it down with his palm. He watched his own hand and couldn't bring himself to do it again for a moment.