I Keep Your Picture


Disclaimer : All characters belong to the owners and creators of the two TV shows, Leverage and Supernatural and no gain is being made out of this endeavor and no offense is intended.

Author's Notes : This story was written for a challenge at the LiveJournal community "pictures2words" in which artists created a piece of art and then writers wrote a story inspired by the art. To see the art in question, check out the Livejournal user davincis_girl for the title "I Keep Your Picture".


Chapter 1

Dean stood at the window, leaning awkwardly against its frame, looking out into the woodland beyond the cabin. Nothing to see but trees, no sign of humanity beyond the four walls of the ramshackle cabin. He looked upward, taking note of the diminishing daylight. It was difficult to pinpoint the time, given the godforsaken weather and the coverage of branches. The rain hadn't let up in days, the Impala was stuck in the mud outside and if Dean had felt even a fraction better than he did, he'd have been at least thinking about the need to dig her out. She was too beautiful to be left adrift like that. He'd have to have words with Castiel next time he was here, if he came back . . . iwhen/i he came back, Dean reminded himself.

He shivered, feeling the drop in temperature already. Awkwardly, he pushed himself away from the wall where he'd been leaning and turned, limping slowly to the other side of the room. He carefully lowered himself down on to the chair in front of the small wood-burning stove and set the wood there alight, sitting back and waiting to be sure the flames caught so the room would begin to warm. He sighed and shifted in the chair, trying to find a comfortable position, becoming aware of the uncomfortable pressure of his wallet in his pocket. Fat lot of use that was right now, when he couldn't leave this damn prison . . . cabin . . . respite home for the sick and weary . . . whatever. He shifted his weight again, pulling the wallet free. He was about to toss it across the room, back toward the bed, when he saw the corner of a faded photo peeking out from its folds. He pulled it closer to him, closing his eyes as he held the wallet to his chest. He bit his lip and held his breath, waiting . . . waiting for the feeling to pass. Bringing one hand to his face, he wiped it across his eyes. God knows what was going on but he was overly-emotional right now. He sneered at himself, freaking bitch, pathetic and useless. He pulled himself up straighter in spite of himself, tugged the photo free and looked straight at it.

"God, Eliot! So much has changed?" he murmured to the picture. "Where the hell are you, man? 'Cause you know, right now . . . right now the sight of your sullen ass would be good." He shivered, rose and dropped the photo onto the seat before moving cautiously across to his duffle. He sat down on the bed beside it and ripped the zipper back so that he could drag out another thick shirt and a hoodie. He pulled both on with difficulty, wincing at the pain lancing through his side and choking back a gasp, head dropping forward.

Shakily he reached out for the bottle of water and meds beside the bed, then made his way back to the seat in front of the stove, hoping the warmth would seep into his body and relax the tension there. Thank heavens Castiel had thought to lift his duffle from the floor so that Dean hadn't had to bend down to hunt through it. The more thought he gave it the more it occurred to him that it wasn't the only thing Castiel had thought of. The meds and water by the bed hadn't been there when he'd fallen asleep, Castiel had obviously been hoping he'd stay in bed, part of Dean wished he had, but the cold was invading his every pore and getting up and dressed had seemed like a solution.

As he turned ready to sit back in the chair, he caught sight of a pan to the side of the stove and limped towards it, leaning down far enough to nudge the lid to one side to see what was inside. He leant further forward to grasp its handle and lift it to the hot plate. As he let go, he dropped back to the chair. His head dropped forward as he tried to calm his breathing and let go of the pain.

"I was coming back," said a calm voice behind him. "I was coming back so you didn't need to get up."

"I was cold and there's only so long I can take lying on my ass," Dean gritted out without lifting his head.

Castiel sighed as he moved forward, closing the door firmly behind him. "You're in pain."

"What's new?" Dean muttered in response. "We know that, it's why you left painkillers and water beside the bed."

"I am sorry, Dean. I – I would heal you, if only. . ."

Dean's head snapped up, glaring, "No! You got that! We're not going to keep having this argument, Cas. No! You've done what you could, it was enough, I can – I can recover from this. It's just going to take a bit of time." He stood awkwardly, turning so he was face to face with the angel. "You've got to stop believing that this is your fault, it isn't and the healing is not your responsibility."

"I should have pro-"

"You dare say protected me and so help me, God . . ." Dean snapped. "Just . . . just drop it, Cas. Let's eat and then . . . maybe I'll sleep some more. Maybe you can keep me warm or something."

"Dean, I'm not sure that would be appropriate." Dean smirked at Castiel's assumption. Sometimes he was just too easy to wind up. Dean lowered himself back onto the chair, unwittingly knocking the photograph he'd been looking at earlier to the floor. Castiel bent to pick it up, intending to pass it back to Dean, but as he stood he realized he didn't recognize the person in the picture. He looked at Dean for a moment, saw the guilty expression. "It is not Sam."

"No, it's not Sam," Dean answered, looking away towards the window.

"I am not aware of this . . . person. He is not your brother, yet you keep his picture as if . . ."

"His name's Eliot and he was a friend," Dean said quietly. Castiel hmmed as if considering this information and pondering further questions. Dean continued speaking, rather than waiting for the interrogation, "We were friends a long time ago. I've not seen him since . . . since you brought me back."

"He thinks you are dead . . . this is why you have not been in contact? He would not understand."

Dean shook his head and started to rise with difficulty until Castiel moved to stop him. "You do not wish to talk about this Eliot. We shall talk about something different. I noticed on the weather report that the rain will still be continuing for some time."

"Yeah, about that. We need to do something about getting the Impala out of that mudflat you've parked her in."

Castiel's head tilted to one side as he considered Dean's words, "We do not need to be doing any such thing, you must rest or you will not heal and I did not park the car in a mudflat. It is parked outside this cabin. I shall help you to the window shortly to put your mind at rest about the car."

"I've seen where you parked her and she's being swamped by mud!" Dean growled in annoyance, only to find himself being glared at in return as Castiel demanded an explanation as to how he had seen the car. "I'm not – not- not made to be cooped up inside some cabin in the middle of freakin' nowhere," he defended, wilting under Castiel's even gaze.

He couldn't move away as Castiel's hand came to rest on his forehead. He made his disapproval clear until Castiel stepped back, "You are cold, yet your temperature is elevated again. This is not a good sign. You need to keep warm; this is why you should be in bed."

"Listen Cas, unless you can magic up some amazing way for me to restock the stove with wood when you're not here, then this cabin is fuckin' freezing!"

"My apologies. I did not account for the wood burning through before I returned."

The conversation was interrupted by the trill of a cell phone. Both men turned to look around the room. "Yours or mine?" Dean asked, as he watched Castiel search in the pocket of the jeans he was wearing. It was something else that had changed. The last foray and Castiel's attempts to heal them both had left the angel weakened. There were more things he had to do the i'human way'/i, now.

He now had to wash and change his clothes because it was too much of a drain on his limited energy to keep his clothes in pristine condition. Rather than the suit and trench coat he usually wore, he now had an admittedly small wardrobe that bore a remarkable resemblance to Dean's. Dean's advice had made sense when he first tried to purchase clothes. The choices were far more robust than what he'd worn previously and they didn't show dirt as easily as the pale apparel he had been wearing. Yet to Dean's eye, Castiel didn't yet seem comfortable, or at ease, in his new wardrobe, even though he had accepted the need to wear them.

He looked up as Castiel held his own cell phone out to him. Reaching out cautiously, not lifting his arm too high, Dean was grateful when Castiel lowered it so he didn't need to stretch. He could see the concern in Castiel's eyes and looked away, knowing his unwillingness to rest wasn't helping - although it wasn't the real reason for the pain.

"Yeah?" he said, surprised to hear Bobby's voice on the other end of the line. As Bobby began to talk, Dean forgot all about his own injuries, the car stuck in the mud outside and the disagreement - of sorts - with Castiel.

"Eliot! He's come to you?" Dean choked out. "Why?" He felt Castiel's hand drop to his shoulder in support as the lump formed in his throat. Even before he hung up, he knew he was going to have to tell Castiel who Eliot was.


They'd been arguing for at least thirty minutes. Dean knew if he couldn't find some way to quickly convince Castiel that they should go, he was going to prove Castiel right - that he was in no fit state to travel – by collapsing.

Climbing to his feet, he faced Castiel, man to man . . . angel . . . whatever. "We have to leave . . . Bobby said Eliot's there. I've said we'll go there. He's looking for me . . . You don't under-" but any point he was going to make was lost when he paled and his knees began to buckle.

Castiel frowned and reached forward in time to catch Dean before he fell. He lowered him into the chair. He looked at Dean, concern clear in his eyes, and spoke simply, "I think you have just proved my point very well. You are right, I do not understand, so I will suggest this . . . I will telephone Bobby to say that we will come, but we cannot leave tonight and it will take us several days to get there. You will eat the stew and then you will let me check your wounds again before you return to bed and to sleep. In the morning, providing your temperature is lower, I shall dig the car out of the 'mudflat' and I shall begin to drive you to Bobby's. We will be stopping when you are tired - when your temperature begins to rise - or if you are in discomfort. We will take the journey in stages so that you can continue to heal. I do not know this Eliot, but he is clearly important to you, he is not, however, important enough to me to risk your health further."

Dean nodded. Given the way he had just almost collapsed it was a pretty good compromise, better than he'd expected.

Castiel returned to the stove, adding more wood before stirring the stew which was beginning to bubble. He moved around the room, retrieved a blanket from his own bed and settled it over Dean. He reached out to check his temperature again, until Dean growled and knocked his hand away.

It wasn't long before he served up the stew, sitting in silence and beginning to eat after handing Dean his own bowl. It was Dean who broke the silence, "So, ask me about Eliot."

Castiel cocked his head to one side, "I have not asked anything because you did not wish to speak of him."

"Seriously?" Dean raised his eyebrows. "I wish I'd had you around instead of Sammy growing up. He was always pestering me with questions. Still does –" The final statement led to an awkward silence as both of them considered the current disagreement between the brothers and Sam's absence. It was a while before Dean spoke again, "I met Eliot when Sam was at Stanford. We were close for a while. He – " Dean considered his words. "He was at Bobby's, knew a little about hunting but wasn't a hunter himself. He was a friend, a close one." Dean's eyes flicked across to Castiel warily as if bracing for a reaction.

Castiel regarded him quietly. "And . . ?"

"And we were close. We stayed in touch. Saw each other as much as we could, but since Sam came back," Dean shrugged, "it's been more difficult. Sam doesn't know about Eliot. I mean, he's met him, he just . . . he doesn't know that he's more than an acquaintance I met through Bobby."

Castiel frowned at Dean's words and tried to make sense of them. "Why did you not tell Sam about Eliot?"

"I just didn't. There are some things he just wouldn't understand and . . . and Eliot's one of them." Dean sighed, "Look Sam's . . . Sam. You know how he is. He sees me one way and . . . and that used to be even worse. There's never been a good time to tell him that . . . There's never been a good time to tell him that I'm not the man he thought I was."

Castiel didn't say a word. There was no point. He had come to understand Dean's opinion of himself was low. Whatever he said would do little to change that. Sam's words usually meant more but right now, Dean didn't think much of Sam's opinion either. It gave Castiel more to think about, though. He could not work out how having a friend would make Dean less of a man in Sam's eyes, perhaps he needed to meet this Eliot for it to become clear.


Dean slept well after another dose of painkillers in his system, when Castiel finished checking his wounds. Castiel was pleased to see they were still healing. He sat on the bed alongside Dean, reconsidering their position. He and Dean had been abandoned and ambushed. There was no other way to describe it. The other angels had not appeared and Sam had called to say he couldn't make it only minutes before they were attacked. Castiel knew Dean suspected that somehow Sam had been distracted from the fight, or that his priorities had changed because of the imminent arrival of the demons. Dean believed Ruby had been involved. He couldn't deny it to set Dean's mind at rest. Too many of Sam's actions and intentions were hidden from him.

He leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes and prayed for guidance. He prayed for the way to be clear before him and offered up his experiences and adoration in thanks for all he had been given. He was thankful, even in these hard times, that God spared him some consideration, enough that he had been able to heal most of his own wounds and partially heal Dean. It had been a hard decision to make. Everything in him screamed to heal Dean's wounds fully before considering his own, but the battle had taken much from him and he needed to be able to protect them both before the next onslaught came. He knew Dean would not be able to do that for him. Castiel would have been a burden to Dean injured a greater burden than Dean ever could be to him. He had enough strength left to hide them in this wood, conceal them from prying eyes - although clearly not from cell phone reception.

The battle had been hard, barely won, if you could even call it victory. In the end, Castiel had had to be satisfied with them having slaughtered enough of the demons to survive.


Castiel cleared the area around the car and ensured he would be able to pull the car away from the cabin with ease. Unlike the last time he had driven the car with Dean as a passenger, Dean was conscious and watching. Castiel knew that this was Dean's most prized possession, knew the car meant something, and he did not want to anger the young man by appearing to mistreat it.

He helped Dean from the cabin and eased him down into the passenger seat of the car before fetching the final items he intended bringing with them. He could use Dean's eagerness to get on the road to ensure he complied with more of Castiel's wishes. This, in turn, would hopefully ease Dean's suffering and aid his healing further. Castiel had enough concerning him about this drive without adding greater worry about Dean's health. The time he had spent with the young man had taught him the need to think through his actions carefully in order to get Dean's agreement most easily. It wasn't deceit he had decided, it was . . . practicality.

He shut the cabin door still wondering if he would be able to get them to Bobby's in one piece without a demon attack en route. It was one thing to shield a cabin already concealed by woodland, but he did not have the energy to conceal a car moving through an ever changing environment, or a room in a motel. Once they were ensconced in a motel, he would be able to ward the room to discourage passers-by from trying to enter or disturb them, but hiding the room completely was unlikely unless he managed to get one at the end of a row.

Reaching the driver's seat, he handed Dean a blanket and insisted he wrap himself in it. He then placed a pillow between Dean and the door, to give further protection against accidental jolting. When he held out a bottle of water and painkillers, he saw Dean's eyes flicker as if he was about to object before silently taking the bottle and reaching for the pills. "You do realize I'll likely be asleep soon if I take these now. I won't be able to read the map for you, give you directions or anything."

Castiel gave a hint of a smile and nodded, reaching instead for the box of tapes below Dean's seat and pulling it forward. He took a tape out, held it in front of Dean for his approval then slid it into the tape deck. Castiel held out a pair of sunglasses as he took the bottle from Dean.

Dean gave a snort of amusement, "You're too smart for your own good, Cas. It'll come back to bite you in the ass one of these days."

"Rest, Dean. I can handle this," was the only reply he gave.


It was amazing, he'd slept through almost the whole day's driving and here they were at a motel and he was yawning and ready for more sleep. He cast a suspicious glance at Castiel, "I thought we agreed - no mojo!" Castiel's expression was one of utter confusion and Dean wondered whether he'd completely misjudged the angel's interference in his sleeping patterns. Dean reached two fingers out to Castiel's forehead and said, "Sleep," watching Castiel for a reaction.

"No mojo. Your body needs rest in order to heal. When you do not make excessive demands on it, it will take that rest and concentrate your energies where they are needed most," Castiel answered simply.

Dean shrugged acceptance of Castiel's explanation, pushing the remains of the pizza away. He looked at Castiel who was just wiping his fingers on a napkin. A look of puzzlement crossed his face as he said, "So do you actually need to eat now as well or . . .?"

"I have observed your eating patterns . . . You eat better when someone eats with you. On your own you have a tendency to ignore the need for food until it overwhelms you and then you overeat. I was watching a television program while you were sleeping that emphasized the need to eat when you are first hungry and not to allow your body to swing between extremes. It is bad for your health. When you have Sam with you, you are always considering whether he's going to be hungry and so you are aware of where the next diner or gas stop might be, but you ignore all the same information for yourself. I figured that perhaps I could fulfil that role for you."

"Kinda spoilt it now though by telling me you don't actually need to eat, but hey, thanks for the effort. So you're not going to be offended if I turn in now, are ya?" Castiel shook his head, standing up and moving to Dean's side to help him ease himself up from the chair. "You do know I can get up on my own?"

"I do, but when I help you, you are less likely to rush, less likely to aggravate the healing, so it is a small price for us each to pay," Castiel replied. "The demon's poison is leaving your system; the wounds should begin to heal more effectively when that stage is passed. You will feel much better then I think. Sleep well tonight and I shall wake you early tomorrow so we can progress further in our journey."