I swear everything I write for this pairing is either crack or pretentious angst, but these two just kill me! So here I go again with the angst.

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Castiel has always known he's going to die for Dean.

He's known this since the moment he stretched out his burning arms in the bitter pit to raise Dean up, since the moment he remade Dean's shattered soul and span Dean's body anew with the threads of his own grace. It's a simple fact of his existence, the one constant he clutches at, the only answer he has to fill the ragged hole of unknowing left by his rebellion.

Castiel will die for Dean. The question, rather, is when.

Of course, Castiel has already died for Dean. Multiple times. Dying for Dean seems to have become somewhat of a tradition among certain circles.

The thing is, one day someone's going to stop bringing him back.

And then there'll be a demon, or a witch. A hunt gone wrong, someone too powerful, or something they didn't prepare for. Or maybe something banal, human – a fast car, a crack in the pavement. Then Death will stretch out his thin, greedy hands and once again Castiel will push Dean aside, and say no, take me. And this time it'll be the last time.

So the words, when they finally need to be said, come easily. Naturally. They slip from his tongue ready formed, and they're smaller than he thought they'd be. The aerico isn't particularly powerful; neither did she take them by surprise. It was pure bad luck. But the disease demon only needs one man's blood, and Castiel's runs warm now. He pulls apart the collar at his neck, angling himself towards her from where he lies crumpled against the wall.

'Take me instead.'

The aerico's knife pauses at Dean's throat. Hunched over Dean's body like a cat, she stares at Castiel, pale and wild. Dean's eyes are anguished but Castiel knows his shattered legs prevent his body from moving.

'Cas,' he gasps, and his fingers grasp desperately at something in the air, for succour Castiel cannot give this time, because now it is Castiel's turn.

'Let him go, and take me.' He coughs. 'I used to be an angel. I'm worth the blood of ten humans.'

The aerico stands, slowly, and Dean cries out as she knocks him. Castiel doesn't look at the demon, he looks at Dean, because he didn't expect this to feel this hitch in his own breath, this very human fear, and the man on the floor, beautiful and broken, reminds him why this always had to end this way.

'No,' Dean clutches at the floor, tries to heave himself upright. 'Cas, don't -'

The aerico crouches in front of Castiel, blade poised in her yellowing fingers. Her stench is foul, but her smile is worse.

'I gave you life, Dean,' he says, and smiles weakly. 'You think I'm going to let you lose it to this second rate demon?'

'You bastard, Cas,' Dean's on his elbows, gasping, struggling, twitching. Raging at his own helplessness.

The aerico's touch on Castiel's cheek is like so many brittle bones as she leans into him, but Castiel does not shudder, even as he feels the blade's cold edge touch his neck. He will not look away from Dean, and the living fury of Dean's eyes will be last thing he remembers.

And then Dean's screaming because he's on his feet, swaying, and he's throwing himself forward into the demon. Castiel's head smacks back against the wall and momentarily his vision is black, but he still feels the scuffle and hears the scream, the aerico's this time.

And then strong hands clasp his own and pull him to his feet.

The world swims in to muffled colour. Dean's eyes blaze, a smear of blood tracking across his cheek, and there's grit on his palms as he presses Castiel to him, presses his face to Castiel's hair. Even adrenaline and a Winchester can't keep broken bones moving long and he's sinking down, dragging Castiel with him.

'I was going to die,' Castiel says. 'I was ready.'

'Not today, Cas,' says Dean fiercely, his shuddering breath warm on Castiel's neck. 'Not today.'

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