Dean woke, squinting slightly in the dark, and he looked around the not quite empty room. Sam's bed hadn't been slept in, but there were a few empty beer bottles in the waste basket that hadn't been there before. He grunted and sat up, stretching and yawning a little- how long had he been asleep for? After a good five minutes of staring blearily at a stain on the wall, Dean rolled off his bed and trudged over to the bathroom, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from his face. A shower would be good. Really good.
Stripping down and stepping into the stream of hot water was bliss, his clammy skin freshening and reddening in the scalding spray. Though slightly painful, Dean liked the heat. The burning trickle down his spine and over his toughened flesh was soothing, even though it stung slightly when it trickled over the peeling handprint burnt into his shoulder. It had been such a long time since he had gotten that burn, since he'd stared in fear at it in a grimy mirror. He chuckled, ah nostalgia. How long'd it been since he'd seen Cas? He'd been keeping to himself lately, chasing a god who honestly didn't seem to give a fuck about his planet anymore, not even that his kids were screwing it to hell.
Dean sighed. Angels. If someone asked him to describe them now, his answer would be shockingly different to what he'd have said a year or two ago. No fluffy white wings or glittering halos, no white silky robes and porcelain faces; They were just creatures, a generally douchey, uptight and righteous group of creatures, but creatures all the same- not the glowy, harp playing, do-gooders society had made them out to be. Maybe they weren't always self righteous pricks, and maybe some of them were actually kinda friendly, but most of them were just as bad as, if not worse than, plenty of the demons he'd sent back to hell. But hey, thought Dean, stepping out of the shower and grabbing a towel, Cas isn't all that bad.
Dean's ponderings were interrupted, however, by a whip of wind and a loud thump.
Dean nearly cracked his head open on the shower frame as he jumped and slipped in shock. After scrambling to his feet and letting loose a stream of profanities, Dean yanked a towel off the rack and haphazardly wrapped it around his waist before leaving the room, still dripping with soapy water.
Before him lay Castiel, twitching and shaking, face down on floor. Dean gasped in a terrible mixture of awe and revulsion. Sprouting from the angel's back were two huge wings, coated in thick, black plumage. His bloodied feathers filled the air, and the wings were bent in grotesquely unnatural contortions. Yet, despite their broken look, they continued scraping against the floor, leaving smears of ruby red blood and black feathers on the shaggy carpet like some kind of crude paint.
Dean staggered over to him, dodging the wings as they continued their violent spasm. Cas was hurt- and it was bad.
"Cas- can you hear me? CAS!" Dean shouted, finally reaching Castiel's trembling shoulders, large spots and smears of shining red blood began to seep their way through his frayed trenchcoat.
Castiel's writhing faltered, his wings froze temporarily, his chest contorted as if to speak, but the only sound that escaped his lips was something halfway between a sob and a pained wheeze.
"Fuck- shit- I-" Dean couldn't put together his sentence; "Cas- what can I do? Hold still! Dammit Cas! You're just gonna make it worse!"
In response, the writhing eased a bit, but it didn't stop- at least Dean could look at what harm had been done. On gently pushing Castiel onto his back, pulling back the trenchcoat and unbuttoning the now scarlet shirt, Dean could take in the gaping slashes and tears in his side and chest. The angel's body moved sharply in and out, blood trickling out of countless incisions with every cutting breath- some wounds so deep that Dean daren't look into them. But worse of all, a thin, silver sword was jutting out of his hip, accompanied by two horrible shards of fractured bone. And, like the product of a weak torch, a ray of white light leaked from the slash and into the air.
"Oh god-" Dean was panicking, could he get it out? Would it just hurt Cas more? But as he was, the sword was in an incredibly dangerous position- right next to his vitals. "Cas- please just-try to hold still- don't move, this is gonna hurt"
Gingerly, Dean gripped the hilt of the sword- Castiel froze. Dean placed his other hand on Castiel's hip and began to gently pull out the blade. Blood and light shot violently from the wound, splattering over Dean's skin and making him shut his eyes for fear of going blind. Castiel screamed in agony; but his voice constantly cut out as he choked on and spat out mouthfuls of blood. The rest of his body was tensed and he was breathing in short, sharp bursts in between his screams. His wings were jerking up and down, knocking over furniture and tearing down curtains His cries strengthened, begging Dean to stop, to please let go, to just kill him now- tears streamed from his eyes and his screams became more choked and pained as Dean drew out the sword at a horribly slow pace; but he daren't go any faster, one slip of the wrist could end his friend's life.
And so it went on for what felt like a year before Dean finally tossed the bloodied blade aside. Castiel's mutilated skin instantly began to heal, slowly, but fast enough to be seen. Dean left his side and grabbed a few towels to wipe the blood from Castiel's mouth and stem the bleeding. By the time he returned, Cas was crying softly and shaking, the only wound that seemed not to be healing at all was the jagged incision in his hip, which still emitted a weak beam of pure light.
Knowing he had done all he could for the time being, Dean swiftly vaulted to the bathroom where he had left his clothes, and he pulled them on roughly without bothering to wash off the huge smears of crimson that covered is front.
Upon returning, Dean could see that all of Castiel's other cuts had filled slightly and bled a little less, even the bare patches on his wings were dusted with dark, velvety down. But the healing was weakening, and after a visible shallowing of wounds and growth of feathers; it seemed to slow to almost a complete stop, and the bright ray emitted from his side seemed to strengthen. And with every passing moment, Castiel looked fainter and fainter.
Not knowing how to stem the flow of bright light, he reached for his cell phone. Maybe Bobby knew something he didn't.
"Come on, pick up the fucking phone" he muttered angrily.
"Dean? What is it?" Bobby finally answered, he sounded a bit groggy, what was the time?
"It's Cas, Bobby" Dean spoke fast and feverishly, "He just zapped in here- all bloody and broken- I don't know what to do" his voice cracked and he could feel tears welling in his eyes"- I think – oh god" Dean stopped and ran a hand over his face, damnit Dean, he thought to himself, pull yourself together, you're no use to Cas like this, "there's light, I think it's him- leaking out of – him- like some kind of energy, the brighter it shines, the deader he looks- He's been cut up real bad, Bobby- please- tell me you know something"
Bobby was silent for a little, "Dean, you need to calm down- how bad is he?"
"Someone's really shredded him- the blade was shoved right into him when he got here- oh god- and he's got- I mean I can see his wings, is that bad?- I-Bobby- I need help " Dean wanted to hit himself, he sounded like a child.
"Look son, I barely know anything about angels, at least nothing more than all the bibles I could find had to say about 'em" He sighed wearily, "I think your best bet would be to try asking him- is he conscious?"
"Barely- he doesn't seem to be in the state to talk" Dean paused to look at Cas for a second, his eyes were closed and his breathing irregular, and his body shook with silent sobs. "But I'll give it a shot- hold on for a second-"
Dean put down the phone and placed his hand on Castiel's shoulder. Cas flinched a little in response, but he didn't make a noise or open his eyes. As softly as possible, Dean nudged him into consciousness. His eyelids flickered a little and he let out a choked sob, whispering something indistinct- Dean wasn't even sure if Cas was speaking English.
"Cas- I need you to wake up man- I don't know how to help you" His voice was breaking and he swore under his breath- "Please just- say something- anything"
The angel's breathing faltered again and he opened his mouth- this time saying something intelligible "Dean-", He moved his left arm slightly, loosening his rigid fingers.
"Cas" Dean put his hand in Castiel's, which gripped it weakly, staining it with sticky, hardening blood. If keeping Cas in the land of the living meant Dean had to hold his hand, then god forbid, Dean would hold his fucking hand. "How can I help?" Dean waved his other hand in the direction of the stab wound.
"If I can get –" Castiel coughed erratically, blood trickling from his nose and the corners of his mouth- "Energy- I-", the rest of the sentence was lost in another fit of dreadful hacks, followed by more sobs of pain.
Energy? Power- thought Dean, Unable to understand and finding it unbearable to watch his friend in so much pain, Dean simply pressed his bare hand firmly against the unsightly gash. Suddenly he felt a strange, stabbing heat burn through his palm and fingertips, spreading like wildfire through his veins with every pump of his heart. It gave him an almost sickening feeling of weightlessness and his stomach churned.
Dean closed his eyes and tried to pull his hand from the wound. But to no effect, his hand had become rigid and stuck on the glowing slash. When he opened his eyes, his vision had become blurred, the room was spinning- the bloodstained carpet and the black of the feathers swirled together in front of him, the walls seemed to be closing in, bending and pulsing. Dean was suffocating, his chest was caving in on itself, there was no air to breathe. He felt almost torn from reality, as if we was separate somehow; it was agonizing to cling to consciousness. He couldn't do it any longer. The blackness crept in from the corners of his vision and filled up the distorted room, snaking into the cracks and sucking out the colour. The floor came crashing up to meet him and he sank into it, he wanted to scream for help but his mouth wouldn't open, he wanted to run and hide, but his legs refused to move. Soon the dark reached Dean's eyes and seeped through them; he was sucked into the centre of the vortex and swept into numbness.
