forthedog | Sung by a dying swan

Entry tags:

darrow,
neil

Sung by a dying swan

He waits until they're in their bedroom, girls sleeping next door, everything blessedly, mercifully quiet, to let himself collapse.

He doesn't make it to the bed. He goes down onto the floor in a kind of controlled slide, jacket half off, still in his boots, eyes closed because the lids literally feel too heavy. He's shaking. He might be weeping with relief and release if he had the energy. As it is he feels almost comatose, on his knees on the floor with his head tipped back, one hand bracing himself against the foot of the bed.

He just needs to stay here a few minutes. Just needs to get himself together enough to get naked and fall into bed. Enough to be here and present for Neil, because he's not the only one who watched Dean Winchester die tonight.

Just needs to try to understand what it means that this is finally over.

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I can't even remember how we got home. It just... happened. We were in a hospital waiting room, then we were here, sending Spike off home before the sun came up, looking in on the girls, the apartment seeming too small and quiet. It'd be eerie, if it weren't so welcome.

Following Mike into the bedroom, I watch that ungainly slide to the floor, and then I'm right there with him, sitting down on the carpet with my legs folded awkwardly under me. My head tips over against the mattress and my hand slides inside his coat, splaying out on his chest and over the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

He curls his arm around Neil's shoulders and lets that steady him instead of the bed, holding on, face buried in Neil's hair. They both need to shower. They both need to eat, hydrate, sleep. They haven't been doing enough of any of those things in the last few weeks.

But it's over.

"Jesus," he breathes. "Jesus fucking Christ."

"Hey," I whisper, my hand curling around the back of his neck and feeling like something in my chest is cracking open, the tight coil of tension I've been carrying with me for weeks snapping in two. My breath hitches and my cheeks are damp, but all that seems to fade into the background.

"Hey, we're okay," I whisper, and I don't just mean the two of us. I don't know how we managed it, but we're all okay.

"I know. I know, I just." He turns his head, presses his lips to Neil's cheek and tastes salt. He settles further onto the carpet, pulls Neil against his side. All that shit they should be doing, and sitting on the floor tangled up with his goddamn husband feels like the most appropriate and the most important item on the list.

"I don't even know what the fuck I should be feeling right now."

"I dunno, man," I whisper brokenly, "I'm goin' with relief."

But he's right. It's not as simple as that. I don't know what to think about what we saw last night. All I know is that Dean's safe, now. And maybe he finally gets it, how many of us would do just about anything for him.

He laughs softly, fingers working through Neil's hair. "Yeah, that probably works." And then he's silent again, feeling Neil against him, feeling how warm and solid and alive he is, how much they've both risked and how much they have.

He was never afraid, not at any point. That doesn't mean he doesn't feel like he can finally breathe again.

"We gotta get off the floor. Right?"

"Probably," I murmur, my face hidden in the crook of his neck, both arms winding around him.

"You're too old to sleep on the floor, right?"

"I'm too fucking old for all of this." He still makes no move to get up. He thinks he could probably sleep right here, if it came to that. Sleep very well.

"I was actually gonna shower, I feel disgusting." Before he hadn't been sure he could. Now he thinks it might be possible. Maybe.

"You gonna let me come, too?" I ask, butting my nose against the curve of his jaw and making a half-assed attempt at pushing his coat off his shoulders.

"I need you to help me stand the fuck up." He shrugs the rest of his jacket off and lets it fall aside. He'll pick it up when he wakes up. Whenever that is.

"C'mon." He reaches over and braces one hand against the bed, shoving himself vaguely upward. "If we don't go now I'm gonna pass out right here."

"You don't wanna do that, man. I'll just leave you. Take the bed all for myself," I murmur, teasing him for the first time in what feels like forever. Three weeks... not even that long.

Unsteady on my feet, I tuck myself in under his arm, letting him lean on me, my own arm slipping around his waist.

There hasn't been a lot of time or space for weakness. For letting himself do a lot of leaning. So he sighs, fits himself against Neil's body, starts toward the bathroom at something that isn't that far from a stagger.

"You gonna get me naked, too?" There's a ghost of lasciviousness there, but only just. Fucking of any variety feels entirely beyond him. He can't imagine himself capable of much more than leaning against Neil under the warm spray, feeling both of them breathe.

"That was the plan," I say, leading him into the bathroom and turning sideways to fit us both through the door. Inside, I all but prop him up against the sink, shoving his t-shirt up 'til it catches under his arms.

"Up," I murmur.

He obeys with a faint smile pulling at his mouth. Normally this would get him instantly hard, and now it's weirdly comforting, doing what he's told. Simple. Which they could both do with more of for a while.

"I had no idea how that was gonna end," he says quietly, almost meditative, as he toes weakly at his boots. "Not really."

"You sounded so fuckin' sure of yourself, before," I say with a soft huff of laughter as I toss his shirt aside and then drop into a crouch to help him out of his boots.

"I was." He slides his fingers into Neil's hair and strokes more than he leans, one hand braced on the lip of the sink behind him as he tugs his feet free. "I was sure the fucking thing would lose. I just wasn't sure what we'd lose along with it."

He lets out a long breath. "Never underestimate an angel in love, I guess."

"We would've been fucked without him," I murmur, not wanting to think too hard about those long few seconds where Dean lay there on the floor of that chapel, his heart silent in his chest.

Shoving his boots aside, I move on to his belt and his fly, my hands grazing his skin just to remind myself that all this is real.

"Well, we weren't." He sighs again, briefly considers trying to give Neil a hand before deciding that he'll probably just get in the way. He lifts a hand to scrub at his face, noting that it's shaking slightly with weariness and spent adrenaline.

"Wonder what happens now."

"He heals, and Cas stares at him like a fuckin' creeper, the whole time," I snort, shoving his jeans down to his feet and then pushing to my feet so I can strip out of my own clothes.

"Other than that? No fuckin' clue."

"Sounds about right." He huffs out a laugh, stepping out of the last of his clothes and sliding past Neil to turn the taps on.

"This is the part where I think it starts to be okay."

"I dunno if we can take any more if it not bein'," I point out, stepping awkwardly out of my boots and fumbling at my waistband as I let myself teeter over to lean against the wall.

"We can take a lot," he murmurs, more to himself than anything else, stepping under the spray and leaning into it, braced against the wall. It's a surge of tired comfort in him, everything loosening and shedding, and he moans softly.

"Speak for yourself," I mutter flatly, but he's right. We can. I just don't want to think about it, right now.

Following him into the shower, I crowd in close behind him, my arms loose around his waist and my chin on his shoulder.

He sighs and leans backward, one hand closing over Neil's. Getting here took some doing... But yeah, it was worth it.

The problem will be when it's time to move again.

"I always knew he was an angel," he says softly, after a few moments. "But it's... different. To see it."

"Yeah. I mean, I've literally touched his grace. Had it like, spilling out into my hands, but this was... different," I agree.

I'm quiet for a second or two, just letting the water beat down on my shoulders, then I snort out a laugh. "That sounded a lot kinkier out loud, than it really was."

He echoes the laugh, soft and tired, tipping his head back against Neil's shoulder. "It does. It sounds really fucking kinky. Should I be jealous?"

He reaches up and back, combs his fingers into Neil's wet hair. "What was it like? Could you feel it?"

"Honestly? I was kinda distracted by him dying. But it was warm. Like... energy, instead of something actually solid," I murmur, my lips grazing the crook of his neck, teeth scraping gently.

"And yeah, man. It was really hot, stitching up a dying angel. The tears made it even better, and him makin' me promise to save Dean, if he didn't make it? Total fuckin' wet dream material."

"Jesus," he breathes, laughing again - at some point you have to laugh at things like this, because you can't really do anything else. "That's..."

He opens his eyes slightly, the spray breaking up his vision. "Things need to not be totally shit for a while."

"We're gonna be okay, remember? You said so," I say, teasing just a little bit, my hand sliding over his chest, up to curl gently around his throat.

"This whole thing could've gone a whole lot worse. We were lucky."

"Just 'cause I say it, doesn't make it so." He reaches up and closes his hand over Neil's at his throat, just holding it there. Like everything else, it's strangely comforting.

"Anyway, no shit. He could still be dead right now." He's quiet a moment, thinking. "One of us should go back to the hospital tomorrow. I dunno if they'll let anyone see him yet, but..."

"I can go in the mornin'. After like... at least twelve hours of sleep," I murmur, reaching blindly for the bar of soap in the dish and lathering up my hands.

"Cas is probably still there. He'd probably sleep curled up at the foot of Dean's fuckin' bed, if they let him."

"Not sure how they'd stop him if he really wanted to." What he'd seen in the chapel... He's not sure he'll ever look at Castiel in quite the same way again.

"I'll stay with the girls." He pauses a beat, then, "I wanna spend more time with them.I want... I guess I want to be about life for a while."

"Good. I think they were startin' to miss you again," I murmur, rubbing my hands over his shoulders with enough force to work some of the kinks out.

"Last couple weeks can't have been good for 'em. Even if Spike wasn't such a bad sitter."

"Hasn't been good for any of us." He's been focused on death for so long. What he's thinking of now, loosening still further under Neil's hands, is his garden back on the island. His flowers. On his knees with his hands in the cool soil, making things grow.

If he's truly accepted all parts of himself, that means not neglecting any of them.

"It's spring," he murmurs. "I almost didn't notice."

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Sung by a dying swan

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