Chapter Text
(Dean POV)
When Dean comes to, the first thing he notices is there's a sense of... wrongness to it. The disconcerting, misaligned feeling he always gets when he switches between realms, like his soul is adapting to the environment on a metaphysical level. It's the same kind of feeling, whether it's Hell or Heaven or Purgatory, whether he's coming or going.
The funny thing, though, is there's a kind of... peace beneath it all. There's a panic in his body- in the physical- adrenaline and fear chugging through his veins, his heart beating like a war drum, but in the center of him, deep down in his very soul there's a warmth. A calmness, like he somehow knows, despite his terror, that he's safe.
The next thing he notices, then, is that he's falling, and a second later that he's hitting the ground. It smacks hard against his side- some sort of smooth, flat rock, though he's not going to try to guess what kind until he at least figures out what realm he's in- but there's something soft and warm wrapped around the front of his body, offshoots of it separating his waist from the rock, poking between his legs, going into his shoulder.
The sound seems to begin all at once, scuffling and crackling and chanting. A second later, pain- something he'd been blissfully free from just moments before. It feels like he's hit the ground, sure, but there's more than that, layers of agony so deep and so sudden he cries out. His voice only starts halfway through the scream.
Finally, light floods his vision; he's suddenly aware his eyes have been open the entire time, unseeing. It's hazy, but he recognizes it regardless- it's the bunker's dungeon. And then he remembers.
**Before**
"Why does this sound like a goodbye?"
It's his voice, but it doesn't feel like it's coming from him. He's floating, somewhere, drifting away from his body. He's watching the scene before him play out, as if he's not a part of it. He's turned away, left it behind, but it still plays out in front of him, unchanged, unaffected. The dread sits heavy, an immutable fact of the universe, yet distant as a dream.
"Because it is," Cas says. And then, "I love you."
"Don't do this, Cas." The room presses in on him, feeling too small, even before the goo from the Empty begins to drip through the walls, before the door gives way to Billie.
Cas' hand has barely touched his shoulder when his body, his whole being, just snaps, moving all at once. He wraps himself around Cas, refuses to let go. Cas tries to push him away, but he doesn't relent, not sure he could if he wanted to.
He doesn't want to.
The black goo slides over where his legs touch Cas'. There's a cracking sound in Cas' chest like a rib breaking. The Empty latches onto his back, tries to pry them apart. Tries to push between them, tries to yank him back. He doesn't let go.
The goo envelops him, and then it is him, his body, his self, all melting away into sludge. Deliriously, he thinks, they don't call it a death grip for nothing. And then, after one final moment where Cas holds him back, they're gone.
**Now**
He's still gripping Cas tightly, chin tucked against his shoulder like he's trying to dig into him and bury himself there. Maybe he is.
Cas has stopped struggling- has stopped moving at all- but something is still trying to pry them apart. Sounds of movement come from around him, blurred shapes pass through his vision. He doesn't really process any of it. He doesn't let go, either.
A burst of energy hits him, and everything returns to blackness once more.
*****
When Dean comes to, the first thing he notices is that Cas is gone. He moves before he thinks, only to be yanked back onto the thin mattress he was apparently on. Is apparently on, handcuffed to the rusted metal bed frame where it sits against a wall.
His movements become no less frantic, but he does focus them on the link to the bed. The metal bars don't give, nor do the chains, but the bed shifts a few centimeters. That's something. He can drag it with him, if need be.
Sam's voice comes from close behind him, catching him off guard. "Woah woah woah. Dean. Calm down."
He doesn't, but he does stop trying to rip his arm free, at least for the moment. Snapping his head towards Sam, he asks, "Where's Cas?" Desperation is clear in his voice, but he doesn't care. He has a singular purpose that breaks through the panic, the unsteady feeling like he's not quite here. He needs to get to Cas.
"He's right there, Dean." Sam points a short distance across the room- which is still the bunker's dungeon, apparently- to where Cas lies on an identical bed, notably handcuff-free. "He's still sleeping- still healing- but he's going to be fine."
At that, he relaxes- somewhat- and allows Sam to guide him back down onto the bed, and again succumbs to sleep.