Broken
- Daianta
Hello! Another one shot... I wrote this during my Animal Welfare lecture, because my lecturer keeps on changing topics so it feels like we don't get anything done. I really like this one, but it might just be me. This is hinted Destiel, but really, knowing me, do you need to squint hard to see the man love? :3
Just lettin' you know I don't have any rights to Supernatural, 'cause if I did, Castiel would be back and there would be a lot of loving going around...
Word Count: 1,250
Too blue eyes were dimmed with pain; their limitless depths, once an ocean now a puddle, were lost and forlorn. He was slumped against a window, captivated by the snow, breath ghosting and condensing on the pane. He looked as if he had never seen snow before. A hand was splayed against the glass; if one was to look, you would see his hands shaking.
He was wrapped in a familiar old trench coat, one that had seen better days. It was scuffed in places, especially around the wrists, and there were bloodstains on the front of it, along with a few holes that looked big enough for bullets.
He looked broken.
He had blood congealed near his temple, rivulets dried across his nose and by his mouth, a part of it smeared by his own, equally bloody hand. Castiel would not speak, he simply stared out of the window until Dean had given up and retreated into the safe haven of the kitchen. Maybe Castiel would come out of the shell he had placed himself in and speak to Dean, maybe not. But Dean didn't want to see his angel looking that broken and beaten.
Sam and Gabriel, who had recently moved in together, had vanished from the house in an attempt to track down whoever had done such a thing. Dean and Sam had spoken briefly on the situation the angel had found himself in, but none of them understood it. At all.
Castiel moved his head an inch, rolling blood from his temple onto the window. His eyes were locked on the doorway to the kitchen where Dean had hidden himself. He found he didn't have the strength to care. He hurt; every fibre of his being was telling him to let go of his hold on the physical plane and slip over to the other side. This is what it felt like to want to die. It wasn't that he had given up on life; he was an angel, of course, but the pain was so unbearable it threatened to consume him. He wanted to curl up and cry, or to hug someone and never let go until the pain faded.
Of course, he wouldn't do so. He was a holy being, and letting pain overcome him wasn't holy at all. He sighed, wincing in pain when his ribs cracked, and turned back to stare at the snow outside. The snow wouldn't judge him like the occupants of the house had done.
Bobby watched the situation with a critical eye, and a heavy heart. He didn't know what went on inside the angel's head, but he could understand why Castiel was so resigned, and why he looked so broken.
The angel had been attacked, probably by another angel, for doing something the old hunter didn't understand, or want to understand. All he knew was that the blue eyed, innocent looking man needed help, even in a simple sense.
He brought in a bowl of warm water and a towel, and set them in front of Castiel, whose degenerate eyes followed him wearily. He didn't say anything when the man removed the tan coat, merely closing his eyes when his muscles or bones screamed for him to stop. It was awkward for the pair of them, and Castiel knew he wanted Dean to be the one to help him. But the man was totally unforgiving today, so Cas had to stick with Bobby. It was unusual in that the hunter was cleaning him up; Castiel would usually do it himself.
"I really don't know what happened, but you gotta take better care of yourself, kid."
Castiel didn't reply, merely looking out of the window again. He heard the distinct sound of dripping water as a towel was wrung out, and his head was forcibly turned to face the human. He was wearing a mask of indifference, Castiel could see, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes, like a father would show to his child when he had fallen and grazed his knee. He felt like a child; Castiel realised, and he wanted to bow his head. He was an angel, and here he was, being mollycoddled by a man who was lucky to have reached the age he was with the job he had.
The movements were slow and controlled, restrained, as if the angel would fall to pieces if he pressed too hard. But Bobby was determined to help the angel who seemed so lost.
By the time he had finished clearing the blood from Castiel, the water had gone cold and vivid red. The towel had not fared much better, but at least the angel looked cleaner. He was sitting with his hands in his lap, head bowed, hair damp. His shirt had been removed to clean the bullet wounds that had been left behind, along with a few slashes and grazes. Whoever had done this had really gone to town on Castiel.
On the edge of his periphery, he could see Dean hovering, arms hung uselessly by his side, unsure what to do.
Bobby relaxed back in his seat, throwing the towel in the water.
"Dean, come look after him. I'm gonna find him some old clothes."
Dean looked panic-stricken, but followed dutifully, like an obedient son, and sat next to Castiel on the window seat. Bobby took the water and left, leaving the pair of them alone.
"Cas..."
"Don't."
"C'mon, man, you look like freaking death warmed up. What happened?"
"It doesn't concern you, Dean." Castiel said sharply. His hands were beginning to shake again.
"Yes it does," Dean spat back, leaning against the angel's solid form. He felt warm, "You're my friend Cas. Friends look out for each other. I know Heaven didn't exactly treat you like a person, but down here we do, and Christ, you look so beaten."
Castiel closed his eyes, lashes kissing his skin delicately. His mouth was twisted into a frown, almost not breathing. He was still shaking, Dean put an arm around him.
They didn't have to say anything. It wouldn't matter anyway. Castiel still struggled with human emotions, and this wasn't the easiest emotion to decipher. Dean would literally do anything for him, Castiel. And he would do the same for the human.
"They were planning on attacking you. I couldn't allow that to happen."
Dean looked down at the angel, "What?"
A nod, "They considered you a liability. You... make me weaker. They sought to remove the problem, and tried to remove me when I objected."
"That's not fair, Cas. Why would they do something like that?"
Castiel smiled asymmetrically, finally looking up to meet Dean's shocked eyes, "Because they know of the profound bond we share."
"Well screw them." He replied, defiantly.
Dean pulled the angel into another hug, one that was considerably warmer and comforting than the others.
"Listen. You fixed me back together when I was in hell. Let me help. I want to be the one to fix you, Cas."
It was the closest Dean would ever get to sentiments, but Castiel wasn't going to complain. Resting in Dean's arms, he felt safe and warm, and he was overcome with a sense of home. He belonged here, with Dean, with Bobby, even with Sam and Gabriel.
Castiel closed his eyes, and let out a small smile. Down here, Heaven couldn't touch him.