epilogue
The world is still ending.
The world is ending in a mess of hurricanes and plagues and monsters and demons, running itself deeper and deeper into the ground, and trying to stop it is like someone shouting at the TV for the characters to just fucking kiss already, goddamnit, when it’s a re-run and you know the ending can’t change (which Dean totally hasn’t done, ever, because he totally doesn’t think Kirk and Spock are hot for each other. At all). Or something. Impossible, anyways, and also insane.
The world is ending, and it seems kind of pointless to get an appendectomy just to live a little while longer. It would make more sense for the doctors to just anesthetize the entire population right fucking now and let them sleep peacefully through the End of Days without suffering any.
But Cas is waking up anyways, with a neat new scar tucked away somewhere beneath his hospital gown, so Dean’s going to be there.
“Hello,” Cas says groggily.
“Hi,” says Dean.
Silence.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Okay,” says Cas, which Dean takes to mean fuck-all horrible.
More silence. Dean wonders if he should just leave Cas to rest. They’ve got some time. Not a lot, but some. Enough.
“Dean…”
“Yeah?”
“I hope this does not make you uncomfortable, but I would like you to know that I feel you greatly improve my quality of life.”
Dean smiles, though the action seems to take his sleep-deprived muscles a lot more effort than it should. “Thanks, Cas. Same here.”
Cas frowns and points out uncertainly, “That seems rather self-explanatory and also slightly narcissistic…”
“No, dumbass, I meant the same thing you said but… like… backwards. Or whatever.”
“Oh. Thank you. I’m glad it’s mutual.”
“Yeah, well… yeah.” Dean shifts his position for want of anything better to do as a distraction from the terrifying possibility that he might actually be nearing something vaguely resembling an emotional conversation with Cas, and notices the dog-eared book left beside Cas’s bed by Sam when he was in here earlier, waiting with Dean for Cas to regain consciousness. “Hey, you want me to read this to you? I guess I could read this to you, maybe…”
“Really?”
“Jesus, I wasn’t expecting you to take me up on it. Fuck no. Harry Potter can go screw himself,” says Dean, who is extremely sick of magic and the Power of Love and idiots flying around on broomsticks.
“I don’t criticize your interests, Dean,” Cas says resentfully.
“Sorry. But I can’t read it to you because, uh, because… I’m illiterate.”
Cas is wrinkling his nose in confusion and wait for it, wait for it, here it comes… and yes, there’s the head-tilt. “No, you’re not. You read menus all the time.”
“Yeah, um, sudden onset.”
“You are being extremely idiotic right now.”
“Yep,” Dean agrees. “I could suck you off to make up for it, if you like.”
“As much as I appreciate the offer I feel that immediately following abdominal surgery is not the ideal time for sexual activities of any kind.”
“Okay. Maybe later.” Dean gives the woman in the bed across from Cas, who appears to have been listening in on their conversation if her affronted expression is anything to go by, a friendly smile. He thinks about what Sam said earlier, even though he doesn’t want to, and even though he really doesn’t want to he can’t help admitting to himself that even without the sex he’s going to kind of miss having Cas in bed with him while Cas recovers here. He keeps thinking about what Sam said earlier and realizes it’s a lot easier, now, to just say stuff and do stuff because he wants to, without worrying about how it looks to Sam or to anyone else. And on that note he wonders what the normal couple thing to do here would be, but since he can’t figure it out within the first five seconds of consideration he gives up and just ends up staring around the room for a moment before saying, “D’you want to play I Spy instead, then?”
The world is ending, and playing a stupid game in a stupid hospital room with his best frie… boyfr…Cas seems kind of, well, kind of stupid. Kind of bad timing. This is the time for last-ditch saving-the-world-attempts, or desperate passionate I-can’t-live-without-you sex, or valiant last stands, not for trying to guess in a clinically bland hospital what Cas might possibly see that is “white”.
Then again.
Then again, the world is ending, so when else is Dean going to get to sit here with Cas guessing walls and floor and bed-sheets and come on, are you sure it’s not the bed-sheets? Because it’s not just playing I Spy, it’s playing I Spy with Cas; it’s getting annoyed with an angel who doesn’t know the rules, it’s making dumb jokes, it’s sneaking a kiss before Sam drags Dean away so that all three of them can get some sleep. It’s enough.
More than enough, really.
And if Sam sings along to one more fucking Taylor Swift song while he’s driving, Dean is literally going to beat him to death with that weird-looking dildo neither he nor Cas has dared to touch. Goddamnit.
The world is ending in a mess of hurricanes and plagues and monsters and demons, running itself deeper and deeper into the ground, and trying to stop it is like someone shouting at the TV for the characters to just fucking kiss already, goddamnit, when it’s a re-run and you know the ending can’t change (which Dean totally hasn’t done, ever, because he totally doesn’t think Kirk and Spock are hot for each other. At all). Or something. Impossible, anyways, and also insane.
The world is ending, and it seems kind of pointless to get an appendectomy just to live a little while longer. It would make more sense for the doctors to just anesthetize the entire population right fucking now and let them sleep peacefully through the End of Days without suffering any.
But Cas is waking up anyways, with a neat new scar tucked away somewhere beneath his hospital gown, so Dean’s going to be there.
“Hello,” Cas says groggily.
“Hi,” says Dean.
Silence.
“How’re you feeling?”
“Okay,” says Cas, which Dean takes to mean fuck-all horrible.
More silence. Dean wonders if he should just leave Cas to rest. They’ve got some time. Not a lot, but some. Enough.
“Dean…”
“Yeah?”
“I hope this does not make you uncomfortable, but I would like you to know that I feel you greatly improve my quality of life.”
Dean smiles, though the action seems to take his sleep-deprived muscles a lot more effort than it should. “Thanks, Cas. Same here.”
Cas frowns and points out uncertainly, “That seems rather self-explanatory and also slightly narcissistic…”
“No, dumbass, I meant the same thing you said but… like… backwards. Or whatever.”
“Oh. Thank you. I’m glad it’s mutual.”
“Yeah, well… yeah.” Dean shifts his position for want of anything better to do as a distraction from the terrifying possibility that he might actually be nearing something vaguely resembling an emotional conversation with Cas, and notices the dog-eared book left beside Cas’s bed by Sam when he was in here earlier, waiting with Dean for Cas to regain consciousness. “Hey, you want me to read this to you? I guess I could read this to you, maybe…”
“Really?”
“Jesus, I wasn’t expecting you to take me up on it. Fuck no. Harry Potter can go screw himself,” says Dean, who is extremely sick of magic and the Power of Love and idiots flying around on broomsticks.
“I don’t criticize your interests, Dean,” Cas says resentfully.
“Sorry. But I can’t read it to you because, uh, because… I’m illiterate.”
Cas is wrinkling his nose in confusion and wait for it, wait for it, here it comes… and yes, there’s the head-tilt. “No, you’re not. You read menus all the time.”
“Yeah, um, sudden onset.”
“You are being extremely idiotic right now.”
“Yep,” Dean agrees. “I could suck you off to make up for it, if you like.”
“As much as I appreciate the offer I feel that immediately following abdominal surgery is not the ideal time for sexual activities of any kind.”
“Okay. Maybe later.” Dean gives the woman in the bed across from Cas, who appears to have been listening in on their conversation if her affronted expression is anything to go by, a friendly smile. He thinks about what Sam said earlier, even though he doesn’t want to, and even though he really doesn’t want to he can’t help admitting to himself that even without the sex he’s going to kind of miss having Cas in bed with him while Cas recovers here. He keeps thinking about what Sam said earlier and realizes it’s a lot easier, now, to just say stuff and do stuff because he wants to, without worrying about how it looks to Sam or to anyone else. And on that note he wonders what the normal couple thing to do here would be, but since he can’t figure it out within the first five seconds of consideration he gives up and just ends up staring around the room for a moment before saying, “D’you want to play I Spy instead, then?”
The world is ending, and playing a stupid game in a stupid hospital room with his best frie… boyfr…Cas seems kind of, well, kind of stupid. Kind of bad timing. This is the time for last-ditch saving-the-world-attempts, or desperate passionate I-can’t-live-without-you sex, or valiant last stands, not for trying to guess in a clinically bland hospital what Cas might possibly see that is “white”.
Then again.
Then again, the world is ending, so when else is Dean going to get to sit here with Cas guessing walls and floor and bed-sheets and come on, are you sure it’s not the bed-sheets? Because it’s not just playing I Spy, it’s playing I Spy with Cas; it’s getting annoyed with an angel who doesn’t know the rules, it’s making dumb jokes, it’s sneaking a kiss before Sam drags Dean away so that all three of them can get some sleep. It’s enough.
More than enough, really.
And if Sam sings along to one more fucking Taylor Swift song while he’s driving, Dean is literally going to beat him to death with that weird-looking dildo neither he nor Cas has dared to touch. Goddamnit.