A/N: I don't own Supernatural.
Dean awoke to the sound of a car horn.
"Goddamn punks," he muttered, putting his scratchy motel pillow over his head to muffle the beeping. "It's two in the morning. Go to bed."
Suddenly he sat upright, blinking sleep from his eyes. He would've recognized that sound anywhere, and that wasn't just any car.
Dean hastily tugged on his boots, flung open the door, and ran out to the hotel parking lot. A '67 Impala sat on the asphalt, looking wet from the rain but otherwise unharmed. It beeped once more, then stopped.
"Baby," he cooed, running a hand along the hood of the car. He opened the door and took a look inside. "What happ-" He froze.
A person in a muddy trenchcoat was curled up in the backseat of the car.
"-ened to you?" Dean finished. He squinted through the darkness. "Cas?"
The person's head lifted from their lap. It was indeed Cas, but he didn't look so good.
"Hello, Dean," he said in a small voice.
"Cas, what are you doing in my car?"
"I, uh, came to seek your help. I got in a bit of trouble down at that bar you told me about the other night..." His voice trailed off.. Dean saw blood on his coat and opened the side door. He held out a hand. "Come on," he said. "You'd better get inside."
Castiel looked to him, then to the outstretched hand. He rested an arm on his shoulder as they walked the short way to the hotel room.
As soon as they got inside and Dean stepped away to get towels and a first-aid kit, Cas swayed unsteadily on his feet and sat down on the bed's striped puke-orange comforter to keep himself from crumpling to the floor. Having the same amount of strength, endurance, and pain resistance as a human was even nastier to adjust to than he had imagined.
"Cas, if you don't mind my asking, why did the car alarm go off?"
"I sat on the horn," Castiel said simply.
"Okay. Yep."
"When I got into your car, I accidentally pressed the button which makes the beeping sound-"
"I know how car horns work," Dean cut him off, slightly offended. "How did you get into my car, anyway?"
"Sam showed me how to pick a lock." He seemed pleased with himself at that.
Dean snorted. "Of course." He came back to the bed, looking over the ex-angel's damage. His clothes were torn in a few places. His eye was starting to swell shut and darken, his nose bloody. There were a few bruises and cuts here and there, but nothing too serious. His clear, blue-as-a-summer-sky eyes observed as Dean took a towel and ran it under the sink. He had strong hands. Hunter's hands. Castiel knew what they were capable of. They could kill, they could stab, they could mangle and maim and cut and hurt. Dean was as tough as nails, but Castiel also knew that those hands could be used for other things. Things like wiping away tears and holding bodies close and patting backs.
"You said this happened at a bar."
Castiel nodded. "Yes."
"What did you have to do to get this?" He started to clean up his face, gently removing the blood and grime with a washcloth.
Cas drew in a breath when Dean's fingers brushed against his stubbled jaw, watched the hunter's sandy eyebrows furrow with each swipe of the rag. He looked mad, clenching his teeth in that way he did. Castiel didn't understand. Was he mad at him?
"I came across a group of men. They said some things. They were clearly intoxicated, so I know they didn't mean them. But they got angry at me for some reason."
"You couldn't just zap your way out of there? You don't have to try and be brave all the time, Cas." He rolled his eyes.
"Have you forgotten, Dean? I'm no longer an angel. I can't 'zap' my way out of anywhere."
"Oh. Right. What were they saying to you?"
"Nothing of importance. Just some things meant to hurt me."
"Like what?"
"They called me some words synonymous to homosexual. I don't understand. Why should someone's sexual orientation confirm what kind of person they are? How could that be a reason to be cruel?"
Dean sighed. "I don't know, Cas. It just is here." He took a fingertip's worth of antibiotic ointment and spread it on a small cut on the other man's cheek.
Castiel jumped. "That hurts."
"Hold," Dean said, trying to apply more ointment, "still! Stop moving!"
After Castiel got clean and fixed up with band-aids, he felt himself slipping away. It was late. Very late. Bar fights are enough to tire you out, but walking all the way to a hotel in the middle of nowhere is what made him really exhausted.
"Wait," Dean said. "Cas. Wake up. You can't sleep in those. Here, you can borrow some of my stuff." He threw a t-shirt and a pair of pajama pants at the nearly-sleeping Castiel.
He woke up enough to take off his coat and tie. As the t-shirt came off, Dean saw purple bruises forming on his side.
"Son of a bitch," he said quietly. "Look at you. You sure you're okay? You got beat up pretty good out there."
Castiel nodded drowsily, then changed into Dean's clothes. He laid his head down on the pillow, then his body slackened, ready to plunge into sleep.
Dean only then realized that there was only one bed. He shrugged. Hell, he didn't even care anymore.
"Scoot over," he whispered.
Castiel complied. "Dean?"
"Yeah?"
"Why did you come out here? Without Sam?"
"I... just needed a break. You know? I'll come back to him. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. We'll see."
"Oh. You're not running away, are you?"
"What? No. As annoying as that little nerd is, I could never leave him."
"That's good. Team Free Will, right?"
Dean chuckled. "Right."
They laid together in comfortable silence. Dean had thought Cas had gone to sleep, but then he spoke.
"Thank you," he said softly. "For taking care of me."
Dean smiled and pressed his lips to Castiel's temple. "I'll always take care of you," he said. "Baby."
