The New Messiah

((This wasn't requested or anything, but I've had this idea for ages now, and so yeah. It's not that great, but whatever, I hope you enjoy! Based on the song "The New Messiah" by the Philosopher Kings.))

Dean looked--to be frank--pathetic. Castiel traced the tubes from his best friend's mouth, back to the rattling machines, breathing for the hunter's broken lungs. It made the angel's brain revolt with a pool of grief, sickness, and pure rage. Low curses seethed through Cas' teeth as the machine keeping track of Dean's heartbeat hiccuped and spat a dull tone, catching itself before it let out a constant note.

Castiel jumped when he heard Sam let out a defeated breath. He nearly forgot the younger brother was on the couch behind him, holding tears behind red, glossy eyes. The taller hunter rose to his feet and rode the floor with heavy steps to the door, barely taking the effort to wave a blind hand at Cas. "I'm gonna get food. Y'know, for when Dean wakes up."

He was gone before Cas could protest. Everyone in the room--the angel, the moose, and the brain dead rebel with a bullet in his head--were all aware that Sam was playing himself. Dean wasn't waking up. There was nothing Heaven, Hell, or Cas could do to change that; and that's what hurt the worst.

Cas was so aware he was useless it crushed him. It twisted his throat and let his stomach open up to swallow his heart. There was nothing he could do that could take that bullet out of Dean's brain.

So he stood there for a long while, watching the artificial rise and fall of his friend's chest, just waiting. He didn't know what he was waiting for, but he hoped something--anything would happen. Either Dean pulled through or he fell under; either was far less painful than this comatose bullshit. Castiel realized while waiting that, while he was expecting a reaction from Dean, he was, in fact, waiting for Sam's return. But it he never came.

Sam must have left, or he was hiding. Hiding from what Cas assumed to be the reality of everything. And Castiel couldn't blame him in the least. If it were an option for him, he'd be cowering, too. Dean was dead. Sure, life still sucked at the hue of his skin, but everything about him--his personality, his opinions, his laugh, and his eyes--he was dead.

Castiel finally stepped forward, scowling as he felt himself break an invisible, unsaid barrier that hung in the air. Too many times he'd let himself hesitate touching Dean, but there was no chance, no use to hesitate now.

He rested a gentle hand on Dean's cheek, brushing lightly at the hunter's jawline. Cas ignored the too-obvious bullet hole, the one they didn't bother grooming around or operating in because it was "too hopeless". Too damn hopeless.

"Dean," Castiel felt his own voice strangle him, "Dean I'm sorry. I'm aware this is my fault, if you think this a game: I am utterly unamused." Cas' throat closed, strained to hold back any sadness. "Dean."

He felt the same emotion well up inside, the one that occurred all too often in Dean's presence. It was nearly impossible work to ignore, but now, with it being just them two, why even try?

Look at him, at Dean. Face soft and slim with hunger. Lips still so full and eyes gently closed. He looked like a decorated corpse. Although, Cas supposed he always did. It was too literal an example, though, something that made Cas even sadder. The angel pushed the notion aside and softly fisted Dean's limp hair from his face with a shaky breath before leaning closer. He gritted his teeth at the tubes that occupied the other man's mouth, and moved to Dean's forehead, leaving a gentle kiss on the cold skin. It was all he could manage if he kept any hope to stay silent.

A few tears finally pushed past Castiel's close eyes, crawling down his cheeks with burning intent to be real, no matter how hard Cas tried to pretend they weren't there.

There was a sputter in the machine, a choke of life that made Cas step back and look expectantly at Dean. His hope was faux, but didn't falter as Dean's eyes shifted under their lids. Another few seconds and the two men--angel and hunter--were staring at each other, both utterly disbelieving. Dean moved his hand in a weak attempt to reach for Castiel, who promptly slid closer, grabbing the hand. The hunter just looked at him.

Cas could swear it was getting better. Maybe he had been able to save his best friend. Maybe...

But Dean's other hand--the one that wandered to his face; a movement that Cas had so blindly thought was to feel the wound, began pulling at his oxygen mask. His fingers stumbled as they tore the machinery from his mouth, and suddenly his body was labored with an inability to breathe. Cas leaned forward in panic, reaching to get air into Dean's lungs again, but as he passed Dean's face, then hunter balled Cas' shirt in his shaking fist, dragged him closer, and brought dry lips to dry lips.

The angel melted into the kiss, forgetting all he shouldn't have forgotten, because the kiss was over all to soon, Dean couldn't keep it. The lighter-haired man taxed himself, scratching at his throat as he felt it close.

"Cas--" Dean struggled, wanting nothing more that the angel's touch. That's exactly what he got as Cas gripped his shoulders in his arms. He knew it was over, and both men looked into each others' sad eyes. "Cas, I-- I'm sor--rry. I l--love y--"

It was that last breath. A last breath that Cas wished with all his heart would find its way back into Dean, just long enough to hear the end of that sentence. But Dean grew colder and stiller. If Cas didn't know better, he'd had said that Dean's death was unfair, that it should have been him; but the angel knew all too well how hollow those words were, so instead he stayed silent, gripping to what little there was left of the life Dean Winchester used to possess.