Chapter Text
It’s dark. There’s rain everywhere. Or maybe it’s the waves. Impossible to know, all the water is mixing and surging from every side. The wind is strong and works with or against the water, depending on which one is wining the fight.
Between the noises of the nature unleashed, men’s voices are perceptible. Impossible to know what they say though. Mostly they’re screams or unrecognizable words, silenced by the clatter of nature's fury. It’s cold and wet and there’s this feeling of emergency.
Then a dull pain on the head. And back on what seems to be a boat and people running everywhere, scared. It reeks salt and fear, and there’s this need to do something too. This responsibility. This weight. Or maybe it’s just the thing on the head that still hurts.
The salt in the air is suddenly replaced by the smell of food. There’s nothing wet anymore, just warmth and comfort. The pain is weirdly still here, but more bearable in this context, what’s not is the hunger. The one that feels like the stomach is eating itself. The smell of stew-like food doesn’t help.
It’s soon forgotten when the screams of those men ring again. Louder this time and there’s this voice. This recognizable voice that makes this fear grow stronger, because it sounds scared too. And this feeling of powerlessness starts taking all the place in this dark and hostile environment.
The dark darkens and there’s that heat again. It’s not the cold and damped clothes sticking to the skin anymore, it’s the comfort of dry and soft blanket and pillow.
There’s a dim, yellow light but it’s too much. Too bright compared to the previous darkness.
///////
“Sam.” It’s called, lowly. In a voice so rough and raspy it hurts to be spoken and to be heard.
But it draws Castiel’s attention even though he’s making noises while he cooks, one of his final tasks of this endless day. It catches his ear anyway since he’s not used to hear another human voice here. Especially this one.
First, he thinks he’s hallucinated it, believing his tiredness is starting to weigh on his sanity. But then hope takes over. He turns around and hears a groan. This time he’s almost sure this is not his imagination. It’s the stranger in his bed, he’s moving. At least he thinks he’s seen him move.
In this entire day of waiting, hoping and imagining how this situation would turn out, he never thought about what he would say to that man who would eventually wake up in an unfamiliar place.
He pictured what he would do if he died. He visualized him waking up and screaming, or just leaving without Castiel noticing. He imagined him thanking the man who saved him from a certain death.
But he never thought about him waking up while Castiel was there and the survivor calling another name.
He approaches slowly, carefully, letting him some time to wake up. It’s good to have some time for himself anyway, to think about what he is going to say.
“Hello, I’m Castiel. I’m the one who carried you here and healed you.” Castiel starts but sees how that man looks at him with puzzled eyes. “How are you feeling?” Castiel adds then.
“Like shit.” The man answers, after clearing his throat, his hand hesitant as he lifts it and rubs his face with it. His finally moving face.
“I’m not surprised you’re feeling like – that, after what you must have been through –“ Castiel doesn’t know what to do with himself, he’s not used to having a guest, especially one lying in his bed half naked and injured. He stands there, his hands fidgeting with the cloth he usually uses while cooking. His eyes deeply planted in those green ones he can finally see.
“Dean. And thanks for – you know, saving me and all.” Dean says, squinting his eyes in pain. Castiel approaches him to help, even though there’s nothing he can really do. “Castiel, right?” Dean asks between two groans as he tries to get up, stopping Castiel in his tracks.
“What are you doing?” Castiel studies him with wide eyes.
“Look, Castiel. I've got to borrow a boat and set sail. ” Dean tries to lift his upper body but reality catches him back. “Argh!” He groans. “I’m sure you have that somewhere.”
“Dean.” Castiel notices how this name feels on his tongue. It’s unusual. “This is not reasonable. You should keep lying down and rest.” He approaches, his hand pressing on Dean’s shoulder to make sure he lies back down. Dean doesn’t fight back, he can’t anyway, at least physically.
“Hey.” Dean retorts. “I have to go. My mates, they – I need to know what happened to them.” Dean raises his head trying to get up but suddenly everything is spinning around him. “Wow.” Dean has never felt sea sick on a boat before but maybe he’s starting right now, wherever he is. Castiel notices him turning green and hands him the bucket that was carefully settled next to the bed by him in case anything like this happened. Dean pushes it away, closes his eyes, swallows hard and lies down again.
“You can’t go anywhere, not in that state of yours. Stay here.” Castiel leaves his side and comes back with a glass of water. “Drink that.” Castiel doesn’t need to insist, Dean swallows it all really fast as Castiel watches him until the last drop. His Adam apple bobbing up and down until he finishes the whole glass, not taking a breath between the sips. When he's done, his lips are glistening, wetted by the water. Castiel takes the empty glass back, his fingers brushing Dean’s in the process.
“Where am I?” Dean asks, studying the room around him for the first time. It’s really warm here, no wonder he felt it before he came back to himself.
“In my lighthouse.” Castiel answers as he goes back to finish cooking, turning his back to Dean.
“So, you’re a lighthouse keeper.” Dean observes, and Castiel doesn’t note the simplicity of this deduction, given the state of the man.
“I am.” He simply answers.
“Must be lonely.” Dean states.
“It depends.” Castiel glances at him. After a silence between them, Castiel finally remembers what Dean’s first word was. “Who’s Sam? One of your mates?”
“Kinda. Yeah.” This is all Castiel will have as an answer, before Dean fakes going back to sleep and ends up doing so anyway.
“Dean, are you hungry?” Castiel asks softly, waking him up with a hand gently touching his shoulder.
“No, I’m fine.” Dean lies, because he knows he can’t get up to eat. But Castiel sees through it, he knows how little he ate since he ended up on that beach.
“I’ve made enough for both of us. I can feed you.” Castiel offers, a genuine gaze on his face.
“No.” Dean says, a little too loud, which unsettles Castiel. “No need.” Dean adds more softly. He hates himself for behaving like that with the man that probably saved his life. Castiel doesn’t deserve to be treated like that.
After that, Castiel eats quietly while Dean falls back to sleep. He finishes quickly and tidies the small kitchen before going upstairs to check on the fire. He climbs up the three floors and since there’s nothing wrong, he goes back downstairs in his living quarters.
He finds Dean half on the bed and on the floor, with blankets that he dragged down with him.
“Dean! What did you do?” Castiel hurries to help him.
“I just tried getting up.” Dean sounds annoyed. He just lay on his side and tried to tip over into a sitting position using the weight of his legs to sit up on the edge of the bed, but as soon as he found himself sitting up, he saw stars. Especially when his right foot hit the ground and he tried lifting up from the bed. In addition to the stars, his ankle was hurting like hell, causing him to fall to the ground.
“Keep your arms on your chest.” Castiel orders and lifts him almost like he waits nothing. Dean is impressed and realizes that it’s nothing compared to his dead weight Castiel had to carry from where he arrived to this bed, wherever he arrived it ain’t inside anyway. Then he is suddenly aware of his own nakedness as he feels Castiel’s hands on his back and thigh. As soon as he is back in the bed, he covers himself with the blankets with Castiel’s help.
“I’m – I’m hungry.” Dean closes his eyes as he admits it, feeling ashamed. He’s almost naked. He can’t get up. He has to be carried by a man he met today to go back to bed. He can’t just leave the bed and eat by himself.
“I’ll feed you.” Castiel offers, like it’s nothing. Dean feels like Castiel knew him before he did, which he finds weird. That guy seems weird anyway. He’s working there, alone all day. Who choses this life and why?
“No, just – just help me sit.” Dean looks at the wall to his other side. “Please.” He adds, whispering. He can’t accept being fed by someone else. By someone he just met. Castiel has already done enough. Dean will leave as soon as he’ll be able to.
“Okay.” Castiel agrees. He takes two more pillows that were settled at the end of the bed. And he places himself above Dean, pulling down the pile of blankets covering him, enough to slide his hands under the man’s upper back and lift him. He puts those extra pillows under him and lies him back down. Dean realizes how gentle Castiel is while he handles him, carefully cradling the back of his head to lift it and delicately resting it back on the pile of pillows. Nobody ever treated him like that before. Maybe his mom but it was a long time ago, barely a faint memory. Dean hates how it makes him feel.
“Are you alright?” Castiel makes sure Dean can handle this new half sat position.
“I feel like I’ve been through a storm. But I’m fine.” Dean jokes, his own mouth turning into a grin, but Castiel doesn’t laugh. Weird man, Dean thinks. “I’m fine.” He repeats to make sure the lighthouse keeper understood that part at least. “How long?” Dean asks. And Castiel’s gaze makes him realize he has to give more details for him to answer that question. “How long you had to, you know, play the doctor?”
“I found you on the beach outside, early this morning.” Castiel explains, showing his back as he rummages in the kitchen drawer.
Dean lost track of time anyway, so he couldn’t tell if it’s true or not, but he feels like Castiel wouldn’t be the type to lie, at least not about this. “I gave you water the best I could to keep you hydrated. But you must be starving.” Castiel remarks as he prepares a plate for the survivor and Dean’s stomach growls at Castiel’s words, giving an answer for him.
Castiel approaches with the food. “I made a stew with potatoes, carrots and some salted meat.” Castiel explains. It smells good. It doesn’t seem much but Dean is used to eat things like that on the boat where he works, sometimes he even helps in the kitchen. He likes doing that, so he knows how to make a pretty damn good stew.
“Thanks.” Dean smiles, slightly embarrassed when Castiel comes closer and hands him the plate and a fork. Dean doesn’t wait any longer to dig in, planting his fork in a potato to bring it to his mouth.
Having warm, salty food in his mouth feels like it’s bringing him back to life.
This stew is not that good though, but Dean has to act like it is since the man is still standing near the bed, watching him eat. That's fine because Dean's too hungry and thankful to say anything about the food, the staring or the closeness but on a regular day he wouldn't eat this, would tell him to look away and teach him about personal space. He focuses on the plate in front of him instead.
The thing about the stew is that it’s not very tasteful, there’s too much water somehow. But at least he’ll stay hydrated and it’s mostly solid food. Something he apparently didn’t have for at least a day, so it’s improvement.
“No need to thank me, Dean. That’s part of my job.” Castiel answers, with what seems to be a smile on his face. Dean thinks he saw something resembling it when he glanced up. A slight quirk up of the mouth and barely squinted eyes, but he’s not sure. He swallows what’s in his mouth and puts the fork in the almost empty plate. His hand approaches the wound on his head carefully.
“Did you stitch me up?” Dean asks, wincing after touching.
“Yes, and I also stitched up this.” Castiel leaves Dean’s side and fumbles in one of the cupboards next to the oven. When he turns around, Dean recognizes the pants he is not wearing anymore. “They had holes and were torn at the ankle. I fixed that.” Castiel carefully lays the folded piece of clothing on the bed.
“Thanks, Castiel.” Dean says, looking at the pants. “For both.” He continues, speaking about the stitching up of his head too.
Castiel doesn’t seem to be like other people. He’s definitely not like Dean’s mates, joking all day, loud and rough, but solid and joyful. Castiel seems quieter, more observing, more silent, but also softer and more careful. He seems solid too, but weirder, more unsettling.