It took Cas a while to realize why he was always pulled to Dean. It took him years to notice the string that attached his wrist to Deanâs. It took him longer to confine in Sam about it. Because Cas knew what the string meant. Cas knew the fates. He knew what they did to soulmates. He knew that they attached bright red strings to them.Â
He also knew that some mates never found each other, and the longer they were away from their mate, the string would lose its glow, and the people would be thrown into a deep depression.Â
Which is why he got so scared when Dean didnât get out of bed for a whole week. He knew how suddenly the depression could hit. He knew what it looked like. So when he walked into Deanâs room, seeing the man curled up in the bed, the covers up around his body, pillows surrounding him, pieces of Casâ clothing in the bed, he knew.Â
Deanâs part of the string was a deep blood red. It wasnât glowing. It looked like it was fraying. And Cas couldnât move. Because the string was fraying. And Cas knew what that meant.Â
When one of the soul mates string began fraying, turning a blood red, it meant the mate was dying.Â
And then Casâ mind ran to the hunt Dean had recently gone on. How heâd come back to the bunker, not looking at Cas, his arm pressed roughly to his side. Cas felt himself go pale.Â
And Cas couldnât even heal it now, because he was human. He would have to watch DeanâŠhe would have to watch it all without being able to heal his mate.Â
Because whether Dean knew it or not, he was going to die.Â
And Castiel - a former angel of the lord, a solider of the former heaven, brought back to life by god himself multiple times, the only thing that had ever protected Dean Winchester, a god at one time, taken over by Lucifer, the angel who went against god, the angel who went against heaven, the angel who went against hell - was going to have to watch the love of his life die.Â
Was going to have to watch the love of his life go, so slowly, because he couldnât heal him.Â
He couldnât do anything.
Cas turned out of the room and walked back to his, sitting on the edge of his bed silently. He bowed his head. He couldnât even pray, because there was no god. He was gone, and there was no one else Cas trusted enough to heal Dean.Â
The angels, anyways, would kill Cas on sight.
He couldnât heal his mate.
And all he could think of was âthere is no godâ.
It took him a minute before he stood again, walked himself back to Deanâs room, and crawled into the bed.Â
He wasnât in his usual trench-coat and dress suit - instead in the only pair of sweats he owned and a shirt Dean had got him.
He pulled Dean close, and he heard the sharp intake of breath from the other man.
They had almost no time, so just being close, after all these years of denial, was as much as they were going to get.Â
And Cas couldnât do a thing about it.Â
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