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Dean grips Castiel's arm lightly, ignoring his wincing as Dean douses the wound with a shot of vodka.
“Shouldn't be so fuckin careless next time.” Dean murmurs as he wipes it clean, tugging away to retrieve bandages. Since Cas lost his grace he's been nothing but a goddamn trainwreck. It's 20 fuckin’ 20, he should know better by now. Dean is tired of cleaning up his messes, of patching him up every time he gets a scrape. The guy genuinely has a screw loose. Dean guesses it's his fault for always indulging this, whatever it is. He thought an apocalypse would drive people apart, but it's only pulled them disturbingly closer. Close only in secrecy, away from the prying eyes and desperate hands of the rest of the world.
Castiel's eyes roll in protest. “I was trying to protect everyone else.” He grumbles, indignant towards Dean's criticism. “I thought that's what you'd want me to do, seeing as I don't… “pull my weight” anymore.” He quotes.
Dean just exhales at his quip and returns to him, beginning with wrapping the bandages. He pulls it too tight at first, and maybe it's on purpose, but after the first two he loosens up. His hand holds Castiel's forearm again, gentle and steadying. “You know Cas, you can either be a stoned out jackass, or you can be a reckless jackass. Can't be both.”
Castiel laughs, amused, and shakes his head. “You're a tender lover, but also a fierce leader. So why can't I be two things?”
“Only thing tender about me is my sweet ass.” Dean replies, although sarcastic his voice is completely monotonous. His eyes remain on Castiel's arm, watching the blood seep through the bandaging. “Damnit, won't you ever learn? Too fuckin’ sacrificial.” He whispers.
“Ironic, coming from you.” Castiel says flatly, his eyes burning through Dean's skull. “Sacrifice after sacrifice, you believe you still haven't done enough for everyone.”
Dean glances up, but he can't take the heat of Castiel's gaze. He continues with the wrapping.
“You should be more careful, Cas.” Dean adds, his tone more gentle as he winds the bandaging around his elbow.
“I'm perfectly capable of bandaging myself.” Castiel hums, but doesn't make a move to prevent Dean from continuing.
“Jus’ shuddup and stay still. Idiot… ” He grumbles.
“...Fine.” Castiel concludes, sighing, without any real malice in his tone.
Dean finishes, wrapping and tucking it tight, fixing it into place. It's clear he's overdoing it, worrying too much about how sturdy of a job he's done. Castiel's hand lands on top of Dean's, pressing down. They remain silent, they don't need words for this dance they've done a million times before. Dean draws his gaze up, and is met with blue.
A rough palm lands on Dean's cheek, and cold, chapped lips plant on his mouth.
It's all over much too fast.
“Thank you.” Castiel breathes.
“Mm.” Dean hums.
This, each other, is the only good thing they have. Maybe that's okay. As the world falls apart, they'll hold on tight. Find sanctuary within their secrecy.