The Sun Doesn't Rise in Heaven { Destiel }

6 ' In Which the Stranger Has a Story to Tell

Dean, Prince of Adventure, Lord of Travel, self- proclaimed ladies man, has decided that he hates Castiel. The fact that he takes up his nights infuriates him. The fact that the man's lips had even crossed his own makes him shudder. Dean had even called him pretty. He wishes for Cas to wake, solely so he can tell him how much he hates him.

Cas does not wake. Now the only book Dean brings to the sickbed at night is the journal. He scours the pages, reading every word, telling himself he is searching for more reasons to despise Cas.

These writings are not a complete catalogue of his adventures, but merely snippets. They tell him tales of other worlds beyond the nine realms, that he did not know existed. They speak vaguely of wars and loss. There is pain hidden here. He relishes in the misery, finding an odd form of comfort in it. This Castiel is as alone as he is.

He imagines what will happen when he wake, based on his writings. Cas seems cold, and harsh. The man will probably demand to know who he is, and what he's doing here (for he's always the one present). And he will laugh in Castiel's face, and tell him that he has been a burden on him. That he owes him, and paying a debt to a god is never an easy task. He imagines eyes narrowing, glaring at him, although there is a certain fear behind them. He waits for this.

Yet still, Cas does not wake. The nights pass, each one as uneventful as the last. Dean's read the journal three times, and cares not for its contents anymore. Mary tells him one evening that Castiel has finally reached stable condition, that the wounds are no longer gaping, but scarred over. His body will heal naturally from here, without the need of magic.

And still he waits. Dean is stubborn, infuriatingly so. He continues his nightly vigils by the bedside, sitting sideways in his chair as he reads a new novel.

There was no mention of the name Cas had called him in his writings. He'd been searching for it, hoping to torture Castiel with it when he woke up. It had to be the name of someone long dead. He glares over at Cas, hoping the memories sting.

Days pass. Dean has already started a new book. Castiel has begun quietly muttering in his sleep, and at every noise Dean thinks he will startle awake. He's disappointed each time.

It's during the next couple of nights that he realizes he is studying Cas's face. Even in his sleep, he can see the killer that hides beneath the mans eyelids. His face is hard, mouth turned down into a natural frown. He wonders if Cas is ever happy, and guesses that he is not.

He is reading in the early hours of the morning when Olav enters the room. The man gives the prince a look from the corner of his eye.

"No changes," Dean mutters darkly from behind the pages of his book.

Olav wants to tell the wretched prince that he didn't ask for an update, but he smartly keeps his mouth shut. The nurse leans over Cas and places a hand on his forehead. His magic tells him that his body temperature is normal, although dregs of the poison still sit heavy in his veins. Mary had told them she guessed his body would have to work that out on its own.

Olav puts his hand on his wrist to check Cas's pulse.

---

Cas hadn't been dreaming, which for him, has been a respite. He always has nightmares, always mutters about them in his sleep. He can feel himself slowly come back to consciousness, as if from a pool of molasses. Sleep wants him. It's had him for a long time, and it isn't quite ready to give him up. He can hear a voice in the distance, as if from the end of a tunnel.

And then someone is touching him.

The alarm is what shakes him from his rest, makes him pull away from the viscous darkness. Cas erupts back into the world of sight and sound with a gasp, feeling a hand on his own.