A/N: Here, have some major pain and angst this lovely Wednesday.
This was supposed to be a "one shot" but ended up being over 10,000 words. So I'm going to be spreading it out over today and next Wednesday, but don't worry, I didn't leave it at a mean cliffhanger.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Thanks to 29Pieces for beta reading!
"Ruination"
Part I
Castiel stepped off the bus into a half empty parking lot, and immediately wrapped his arms tightly around his torso. The beginnings of a nippy autumn breeze wormed its way under the thin layer of his hoodie, adding an outer numbness to the one he already felt on the inside.
Disembarking passengers bumped against him when he didn't move out of the way. Castiel started, and finally sidestepped so as not to obstruct traffic. Other than that, though, he had no idea where to go. He had no direction, no goal like after he'd first been cast down to Earth, human after Metatron had cut out his grace, when he'd then spent a few harrowing weeks navigating his newfound mortal existence and dodging angry angels, all while trying to make his way to the bunker. To Sam and Dean.
"You can't stay here."
Castiel was still reeling with shock and confusion at Dean's abrupt dismissal. Why? Why had the Winchesters brought him back to the bunker after rescuing him from the reaper if they had no intention of letting him stay? Did they think it a kindness?
Castiel, however, felt it a cruel and crushing blow, the final nail in the coffin, so to speak, to cement how he had truly and completely fallen.
His latest screw-up was the final straw in a long line of screw-ups. He'd wrongly trusted Metatron, caused the angels to fall, wasn't there to help Sam, who had apparently barely survived abandoning the Trials. Given Castiel's already precarious position after nearly beating Dean to death and running with the Angel Tablet, not to mention his grievous sins with the Purgatory souls, of course he had to earn the right to come back. He couldn't expect Sam and Dean to take him in, shelter and teach him at their inconvenience until he had earned his place again.
It just…seemed impossible, now that he had no wings, no powers, no viable means of even starting to redeem himself to anyone, on Earth or in Heaven.
So, the Winchesters' rejection was justified.
But it still hurt.
A cold, wet droplet hit Castiel's cheek, and he tilted his head up toward the pewter sky. The last thing he wanted was to get caught in the rain.
The bus's doors shut with a small 'phsw,' and then it was pulling away. Castiel watched it go longingly, but he had only purchased a ticket to the nearest city away from Lebanon. Dean had given him some cash after dropping him at the bus station, but after those initial weeks on his own, Castiel knew he had to use that money sparingly. He should probably try to get further away in order to keep any angels hunting him as far away from the bunker as possible, as that had been one of Dean's concerns. Sam was still vulnerable.
But Castiel thought he should have a plan first. He didn't want to spend all his money on a ticket across the country and not have anything left to buy food with. However, his immediate problem was finding shelter. Gray spots were peppering the concrete as the sky opened its floodgates.
Castiel hugged himself tighter and looked around. There was a shopping mall across the street, so he made his way toward it. As he got closer, he noticed that the parking lots around the establishment were oddly empty, whole sections overgrown with tall clusters of weeds. His heart began to sink, but the rain was getting worse, so he pressed onward. Maybe he could find an alcove to at least sit under.
As he walked around the back, however, he started to see a few cars. The doors to the mall were unlocked, so Castiel hurried inside. He was immediately struck by a sense of emptiness. The stores along the entrance corridor were dark, with signs saying the businesses had either closed or moved. When he reached the inner heart of the mall, Castiel found every store was like that. The place was a ghost mall.
So why had the doors been unlocked? He meandered down one direction, and discovered there was, in fact, life in this otherwise deserted shopping center. A movie theater nestled in the far corner was still operational, and a couple people could be seen buying tickets at the window. Castiel turned around and went the other way.
His footsteps echoed hollowly across the floor. It was almost eerie, walking through a consumerism graveyard. Most of the stores were completely cleared out, though some had left mannequins or posters. A few even had some merchandise just lying on the floor behind the drop-down security gates. There was a sweatshirt in what used to be a sporting goods store, and Castiel paused, wishing he could just reach in and take it. It wouldn't be stealing if it was abandoned property. But he didn't know how to pick the lock on the bars, and with the movie theater just down the way, he didn't think it a good idea to try smashing the window.
He was surprised to find a single shop still open in this dead mall—a tattoo parlor. Castiel didn't see any customers inside, though. He went past it, as he didn't need any more protective ink.
He came to a food court, sectioned off with yellow construction tape. It was dark in this part of the mall. Castiel cast a glance around, and then ducked under the tape. The air was thick with the odor of French fries, the aroma having seeped into the very walls.
Castiel picked his way around a few installations before finding a low counter, which he then climbed over. The smell was worse on the other side, but he sat down, thinking he could at least spend the night here without anyone noticing. With the movie theater and tattoo shop still open, there was probably at least one security guard on duty, at least until closing. Castiel would have to lay low until then.
The cloying miasma of greasy food reminded Castiel that he would be hungry soon. Those two burritos he'd eaten back at the bunker had been so satisfying, but the truth was he probably could have eaten a third, if Dean hadn't dropped that bombshell on him. Staying here with the ghost of old food might prove tormenting when the hunger pains struck. Castiel's stomach almost cramped with the knowledge that he would be facing those again soon enough.
He would need money to buy food, which meant he'd need a way to obtain money. For most humans, that meant finding a job. Castiel almost considered inquiring at the movie theater, but he wasn't far enough away from Lebanon yet.
Also, he somehow didn't think it would be that simple. There were a lot of things Castiel still didn't know how to do as a human. Learning to take care of his bodily needs and stay alive had taken up most of his attention, and he had hoped to learn more about what it meant to live as a human from the Winchesters…but that was not going to be the case.
His mind turned to that lone tattoo shop. Perhaps he could ask the owner some questions about how to obtain employment and how to procure a place to stay that wasn't under a bridge or in a homeless shelter. Presumably, if Castiel found a job, he could then pay for a motel room or something. He should have paid more attention at the homeless shelters when such advice was being given to those staying there, but as he'd been focused on getting to the bunker, he'd dismissed those lessons as unnecessary at the time. He was rueing that now. And he'd rather not find another shelter, as he didn't want to endanger people around him, not until he figured out a way to completely hide himself from angels. It seemed that while larger cities intuitively felt more secure, more easy to disappear into, it actually meant there was more chance of running into an angel. Castiel would probably need to find a smaller town to hide in.
But first, he needed to plan better, and in order to do that, he needed some information. So he stood up from sitting cramped behind the service counter, and slid over the top to the other side again, making his way back to the tattoo shop.
It actually seemed an odd type of business to remain open in a dead mall. But, there was still the movie theater. Perhaps the owner was that stubborn, or perhaps just that resilient when all other stores had died out.
Castiel entered the small shop, which consisted of a few waiting chairs, and then two reclining chairs with privacy screens erected around them. The walls were decorated with a collage of tattoo photos.
"Hello?"
A figure moved out from the back of the store. He looked like a walking advertisement for his craft—every inch of him was covered in ink, including his bald head. There were so many designs and colors that Castiel couldn't begin to distinguish any of them without staring.
"Yes?" the tattooed man said. "You here for some ink?"
"Um, no." Castiel shifted in discomfort. "I'm, uh, new in town. In this country," he added, because he was technically a foreigner. Just of celestial origins. "And I was wondering if I could…ask some questions. About…navigating things."
The shop owner gazed at him for a long, assessing moment that made Castiel suddenly distinctly aware of his vulnerability. "Down on your luck, huh?"
"Um, yes," Castiel admitted, recognizing the phrase from fellow homeless gentlemen at the shelters.
"Got any friends or family you want me to call?"
Castiel's chest constricted. "No," he answered in a low, despondent voice. Not anymore.
The man nodded thoughtfully. "That's good."
Castiel quirked a confused look at him. How was that good? The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as the shop owner's eyes took on a predatory gleam. And then Castiel noticed the blue tinge to his eyelids…places that normally wouldn't be given tattoo ink.
He dropped his gaze to one of the tattoos curling around the man's neck, black whorls and curls that ran throughout the other brightly colored skin art, practically made unnoticeable by it. But Castiel saw the markings now.
He swallowed hard and slowly lifted his gaze back to the man's face, which had hardened a fraction in suspicion. Castiel took a step back.
"I'm sorry to have bothered you."
"It's no bother. Thought you had some questions?" He took a menacing step forward.
Castiel edged toward the exit. "Actually, I think I'll just…"
He spun around to flee just as the shop owner lunged at him. A heavy weight tackled Castiel to the floor, and his chin smacked on the linoleum. He rolled onto his back and kicked out, catching the guy in the chest and shoving him off. He then scrambled to his feet and whipped out his angel blade from the back of his waistband. Castiel swiped as the shop owner threw himself forward again, scoring a gash across the chest.
The man howled and twisted around to the side. Castiel thrust again, but his opponent torqued out of the way and caught Castiel's arm between his own. Blue light began to glow from the swirling black tattoos.
Castiel's heart seized, and he tried to wrench away, but his now mortal strength wasn't comparable to the djinn's. And it was too much to hope that someone would hear the commotion and come investigate, as the movie theater was on the other side of the mall.
The azure poison seeped down into Castiel's arm, anesthetizing it with icy tendrils that dove down to his marrow. Castiel jerked again, but the djinn merely stepped into his space and planted a crackling blue hand across his forehead. Numbness dug its claws into his brain, slowing his mind and muscles. Darkness descended.
.o.0.o.
Castiel opened his eyes to a star-studded sky. He blinked, disoriented, and turned to survey his surroundings. He spotted the Impala parked in a dirt drive, and behind him was a large mound of earth. The Men of Letters bunker. Glancing down at himself, he realized he was wearing his old trench coat, the one he'd had to abandon at the laundry mat.
"What are you doing out here?"
Castiel whirled sharply to find Dean coming up the stairs from the bunker entrance, and he instantly tensed, an apology ready on his tongue because he knew Dean had said he couldn't stay.
The Winchester gave him an odd look. "Dude, chill. Jeez, you've been jumpy lately."
Castiel frowned. Lately? "I have reason to be," he said carefully.
He felt strange…no, he felt…normal. He had his grace, his wings. But that was impossible. He was human now, banished from the bunker, hated by his own kind.
So this was a djinn dream, a wish fulfillment. He'd been caught in that tattoo shop, in the skeletal remains of a ruined mall where he'd sought shelter because he was bereft and alone.
Castiel's heart gave a pang of curiosity. "Dean," he began, then paused. "What happened with Metatron?"
Dean quirked a confused look at him. "What do you mean what happened? The bastard took over Heaven and cast the angels out."
Castiel's throat tightened. But- that didn't explain… "Why do I still have my grace?"
Dean shrugged. "Beats me. You and Sam already figured that it was probably because you were already down here with him and me when it happened. You didn't fall from the sky like the others did."
Castiel's frown deepened. Was that his wish? That he'd stayed with Dean instead of going after Metatron? But, the angels had still been cast out… Metatron must have stolen someone else's grace for the spell.
"And Sam, he's alright?" Castiel asked.
Dean was looking at him funny again. "Yeah. You healed him. Cas, what's up with you?"
Castiel tipped his head back toward the sky. "Nothing. I just…have a lot on my mind."
Dean continued to gaze at him skeptically. "Well, we're working on the angel problem. So come inside."
"In a minute."
Dean hesitated for a moment before shrugging and turning back toward the door. Castiel waited until he disappeared inside and the heavy metal slab grated closed behind him. Then he drew out his angel blade.
If only he had stayed with Dean to go after Sam that night. If only he hadn't trusted Metatron. Maybe it didn't actually fix everything, as Metatron still would have found a way to cast the angels out of Heaven. But he hadn't used Castiel to do it, and Sam and Dean hadn't kicked him out because it hadn't been his fault.
But this wasn't real.
Castiel pressed the tip of the blade over his heart and drove it home.
.o.0.o.
This time when his eyelids fluttered open, it was dark. His head ached, as did his arms, which he realized were suspended above his head. His toes barely scraped across the floor, so getting any leverage would be nearly impossible. Not only that, but he felt incredibly weak, not unlike those times he'd gone a few days without a proper meal. Coarse rope fibers pinched and grated against his wrists. As his eyes adjusted to the dimness, Castiel spotted rolling shelf units and cardboard boxes.
A hiss sounded to his left, and Castiel couldn't help but flinch when the djinn appeared right in front of his face.
"Aren't you the interesting catch. A fallen angel, but not like the others. You're mortal."
Mortal and weak and vulnerable. Castiel tried to move, but all he could manage was to swing slightly from his bonds.
"I'm surprised you left the dream so quickly," the djinn went on. "It was much better than the circumstances that led you into my shop. You were planning on sleeping in the back of the food court tonight."
Castiel fixed him with a dark glower. "I know what you are. Did you really expect me to just lay down and die?" he growled.
The djinn shrugged. "Your mind is full of anguish and regret. I thought you'd recognize the futility of your situation and enjoy the wish fulfillment. You can live out an entire lifetime where your friends didn't abandon you."
Castiel's throat constricted with pain and remorse, but he steeled his jaw. "Then you didn't look deep enough into my mind to realize that will never happen."
The djinn's mouth twisted into a smug moue. "Maybe. But like I said, there's a lot of potential wishes to grant. Maybe I just have to find the right one."
"Why bother?" Castiel countered. "I will never submit."
The djinn's eyes sparked blue. "I don't like chatty food." He raised a glowing hand to Castiel's face.
Castiel tried to jerk away, even as he knew it was futile, and the djinn poison pulled him under once more.
.o.0.o.
Sam worked his jaw as he considered the array of car keys in the bunker's garage. Dean was currently passed out after another night of drinking, which made this a good time to take off. Because Sam did not understand how Cas could just leave like that, after they'd finally found him and brought him home.
Dean's explanation that Cas didn't want to draw the angels to them was lame at best. For one thing, the bunker was the safest place on the planet, warded against everything. If Cas wanted to stay off angel radar, this was the place to be. And for another thing, why had he left without saying goodbye to Sam? None of this was making sense and he was worried. But since Dean was brushing off the issue, Sam was gonna have to take action without his brother.
Making up his mind, he grabbed a set of car keys and headed for the Bentley. He wouldn't take the Impala and piss Dean off more, but Sam wasn't just going to let this go. Cas was new to being human, and shouldn't be out there on his own. He hadn't even sounded like that had been his plan when he'd gushed over the bunker's amenities and said Sam and Dean would be good teachers. So what the hell happened?
Sam also couldn't believe Dean hadn't even given Cas a phone or credit card. At least those would have made him easier to trace. Sam was gonna have to go on logic and legwork. Starting with transportation methods.
Sam headed for the nearest bus station, figuring that was the most likely place Cas would have gone. He wasn't wearing his FBI threads, but he still took his fake badge with him to the ticket counter when he asked about someone matching Cas's description buying a bus ticket. The good thing about it being a small town was there was a small number of employees, so if Cas had been through here, one of them would have seen him.
"Yeah, I remember him," an older gentleman said in response to Sam's question. "When I asked him where to, he didn't seem to know. Put some cash on the counter and asked how far he could get on it. Sold him a ticket to Cloverville."
Okay, that was only a couple of hours away. But Cas had a big head start, and the further away he got, the harder it would be to track him down. Sam still wasn't entirely sure how Dean had found him in that reaper's apartment.
"Thanks," he said, and went back to his car to head to Cloverville.
.o.0.o.
Gadreel was not happy. He was trying to stay hidden from the angels, and here his vessel was actively going out in search of their most wanted fugitive. Aside from him, of course, though he suspected no one had realized that the spell casting all the angels out had opened his prison as well. And he wanted to keep it that way.
But unless he wanted to wipe Sam's memories or exert full control, neither of which appealed to him, there was little Gadreel could do to stop Sam Winchester from looking for Castiel. All he could do was hope that they wouldn't find him.
.o.0.o.
Castiel jolted awake with a gasp, and immediately moaned from the brutal throbbing in his shoulders. His head was also pounding, and opening his eyes made the room spin. Or maybe he was spinning. His wrists felt as though they were on fire, skin rubbed raw from the rope twined around them, leaving him to dangle like a lead weight in the air.
A rough hand grabbed his chin. "You are trying my patience," a harsh voice hissed. It took Castiel a moment to place it. Oh, right, the djinn.
That was why Castiel had killed himself, despite having defeated Raphael without opening Purgatory. And before that had been Castiel breaking Naomi's hold before she had forced him to nearly kill Dean, and he hadn't run with the Angel Tablet. All of his past mistakes paraded through his mind, but fixed.
Yet it wasn't real.
"It will be easier on you if you just accept it," the djinn spat, fingers digging into his jaw with bruising force.
Castiel barely managed to lift his head. "No," he rasped.
Though, if he were honest with himself, a small part of him had to wonder just what he was trying to accomplish by resisting. No one was looking for him, except angels who wanted his head. And every time he woke was more painful than the last. He couldn't even be sure of how much time had passed in the waking world, how long the djinn had been feeding on him. How close—or how far—was his now frail, mortal body from expiring?
Castiel sagged when the blue light filled his vision again, blotting out everything else.
.o.0.o.
Sam pulled into the parking lot next to the bus stop and got out of the car, trying not to let defeatism get him down before he'd even started. But tracking Cas down after he'd gotten off the bus wasn't going to be easy.
His phone rang, and Sam pulled it out with an eye roll. "Hey," he answered.
"Where the hell are you?" Dean snapped.
"Out," Sam retorted.
"Out where?"
"What, are you my babysitter now?"
"Dammit, Sam! You're still healing from the Trials."
Sam let out a derisive sound. "I'm not an invalid, Dean."
"Would you stop being an idiot? We've got Abaddon and angels and a crapton else to worry about right now."
Sam's expression turned flinty, though his brother couldn't see it. "Where's the worry for Cas in all that?"
Dean hesitated for a beat. "What?"
"You just let him take off when there's Abaddon and angels out there, a lot of whom are hunting him."
"Of course I'm worried! But Cas thought it was best—"
"Since when do you care what other people think is best?" Sam cut him off, then shook his head. "You know what, I'm not doing this right now. I'll be back later."
He hung up. If Dean really wanted to, he could trace its GPS and come looking for him. But Sam was not leaving until he'd found Cas and convinced the idiot ex-angel to come back with them. Because going off on his own to 'protect' the Winchesters was just stupid. And Sam was still pissed Dean seemed to agree, which his brother never would have done in the past.
Sam pushed his anger aside and focused on the task at hand. Where would Cas have gone after getting off the bus? He didn't have a lot of cash, it sounded like, since he hadn't bought a more expensive ticket. So he was either probably still in town, or maybe had tried to find a ride hitchhiking. Sam hoped not for the latter, and hopefully Cas recognized the danger in doing that. So maybe he was still in the area. And if so, where would he have gone?
The ground was wet. If it had rained last night, Cas would have needed to find a place indoors to take shelter in. Most businesses wouldn't allow loitering. Sam could try the local shelters. Yet when he lifted his phone to do a browser search, his gaze caught on a shopping mall across the street, one that looked old and decrepit…and like a good place to squat.
Well, it was a place to start.
Sam crossed the street and made his way around the perimeter in search of an entrance. He found one in front of a small lot with a few cars. Maybe the place was open after all.
Open, but totally empty. That wasn't creepy at all.
Turned out there was a movie theater at one end, and Sam pulled out his FBI credentials as he made his way to the ticket counter.
"Hi," he said to the teenage girl behind the glass window. "I'm Agent Cooper, FBI. I'm looking for a missing person and was wondering if maybe you've seen him come through here. About six feet, dark hair, blue eyes. Last seen wearing a red hoodie."
The girl shook her head. "Sorry, not that I can remember."
"Was anyone else working yesterday I can talk to?"
"I was at the counter yesterday too," she replied. "So, FBI…does that mean there's a serial killer here?"
Sam shook his head. "I'm just looking for one missing person," he assured her.
She quirked a confused look at him. "Oh. I thought you were here because lots of people go missing around here."
Sam straightened. "What?"
"Didn't you know about that?" she asked skeptically.
"Uh, I think there was a memo. Our office has just been swamped lately with recent events," he quickly covered. "These disappearances also start after the meteor shower?"
Crap, if angels were here, then Cas could be in serious trouble already.
The girl shook her head. "No, they've been happening for years now. Ever since I can remember anyway. Not a ton, I guess. I mean, someone every few months or so? It's not a big town, so the police usually just assume they left." Her throat bobbed nervously. "But if the FBI is here, should I be worried? I need this job, but I don't want to be working nights in a serial killer's playground."
"I'll look into it," he promised. "But no bodies have been found, so I wouldn't get worked up over nothing."
She didn't look entirely reassured, but Sam thanked her and excused himself.
A pattern of missing people, huh? But if it'd started years ago, then that ruled out angels, which was actually a relief. Sam debated whether to head down to the local police station and ask more questions, or continue looking around the mall. Finding Cas was still his priority.
And…what were the chances Cas had run into a run-of-the-mill monster out here? Normally, Sam wouldn't have worried about that, but Cas was human now. Presumably he had his angel blade, and he knew how to fight, yet Sam couldn't dismiss the sick feeling worming through his gut. He decided to take a look around.
Yeah, the empty mall was definitely creepy, not a soul in sight as the movie theater receded behind a bend. Sam could easily imagine a monster setting up a nest in the ruins of this place.
He could also imagine Cas coming here to find shelter from the cold. Again, why had he left the safety of the bunker?
Sam's attention was drawn to some light coming from one of the shops. Weird, one was still open? He found a tattoo parlor, which was strange. Sam entered and looked around the empty store.
"Hello?" he called. "Anyone here?"
He heard shuffling in the back, and then a man with a gazillion tattoos was coming out.
The guy pulled up short…and looked downright flabbergasted at seeing him.
Sam quirked a brow at him. "Hi, I'm looking for someone. Was wondering if maybe you saw him wandering around out in the mall yesterday…" He trailed off.
Warning bells were suddenly going off in his head, screaming djinn at him. Which he couldn't explain, because there was no reason for him to suspect a djinn of all things. And yet, the tattoos…Sam's eyes widened as it hit him. The perfect camouflage.
"I don't believe it," the man hissed. "You aren't supposed to be here."
Sam didn't have time to wonder at that because the djinn was charging at him. He whipped out his angel blade and ducked under the djinn's first swing. He couldn't allow the creature to touch him.
With a raging bellow, the djinn lunged at him again. This time Sam flung himself forward straight at him, plunging his blade into the djinn's chest. The monster had just grabbed his neck to infuse some poison, but with a gasp, the light in his eyes instantly died, and he fell to the floor with a thud.
Sam stumbled back, breathing heavily. Okay, maybe he wasn't exactly fully recovered from the Trials, but Dean could take his worry and shove it up his ass.
Sam grabbed the djinn's arms and dragged the body behind a counter, just in case anyone happened to meander past the store. He then straightened and turned toward the back storeroom. A djinn explained the disappearances every few months, and this was the perfect place for one to keep its victims and feed off them without anyone finding them.
Fear prickled at the back of Sam's mind, because he could have sworn the djinn recognized him personally. Which meant…
He hurried into the back room, and sucked in a sharp breath when he spotted a familiar figure suspended by ropes in the back of the storeroom.
"Cas!" Sam rushed forward and reached up to cut the ropes. He had to saw through them with the angel blade, but eventually got through. Cas dropped like a dead weight, and Sam lunged to catch him, guiding him carefully to the floor. Oh god, he felt too light, and his pallor was far too pale. The skin around his wrists was also completely shredded.
Cas moaned, his eyelids fluttering. Sam felt a wave of relief that he must have realized he was trapped in a djinn dream and committed suicide to wake himself up.
"Cas, hey, can you hear me?" Sam patted his cheek. "Open your eyes."
Cas slowly dragged them open, cloudy and dazed. His brow furrowed in confusion. "I don't understand," he wheezed. "I was…supposed to wake up…"
"You did," Sam assured him. "I killed the djinn. He's just outside."
Cas gazed up at him blandly. "You aren't supposed to be here."
Sam frowned. Wait, hadn't the djinn said that? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
"Cas, I came looking for you. Why'd you leave the bunker, man?"
Cas squinted. "What do you mean?"
Sam's chest constricted at his coarse voice. He needed to remember that Cas was human, and had basically just been fed on by a djinn for however many hours. Maybe even a full day or more. Sam needed to get him out of here.
He slipped an arm behind Cas and started to pull him up. Cas's knees buckled, barely able to hold his own weight. Sam slung one of Cas's arms over his shoulder to support him and started to make their way out of the storeroom. He spotted a glint of silver on a shelf that belonged to an angel blade. Probably Cas's. Sam snatched it up.
As they shuffled into the outer parlor, Cas staggered to a halt to gaze at the dead djinn. Sam watched his face worriedly.
"Is…is this real?" Cas whispered.
Sam's gut clenched, and he tugged Cas away. "Yes, it is. Cas, seriously, why did you leave? The bunker is the safest place on Earth."
Cas lolled a confused look at him. "But, Dean said…"
Sam pulled up short. "What did Dean say?"
Cas ducked his gaze. "Nothing."
"No, what did Dean say?" Sam demanded.
Cas looked uncomfortable. "He told me I couldn't stay. He had a lot…on his plate," Cas said carefully, as though unsure of the idiom. "With you recovering. And I've screwed up so many times. I know I have to earn the right to come back…"
"Dean said that?" Sam sputtered in outrage and horror. What the hell? And he'd lied to Sam, saying it was Cas's idea? What the actual hell? Sam knew Dean had been pissed after the Angel Tablet thing, but he thought they were both just so damned relieved to have found Cas before that reaper could kill him. What had Sam missed?
"He was…worried about you," Cas said faintly, sagging against Sam.
"That is no excuse for this," Sam said darkly. No excuse at all. Sam didn't know what he was going to do when he saw his brother again, but it was not going to be nice.
First things first, though.
He half carried, half dragged Cas out of the mall and then veered toward where Sam had parked his car. It was a long way, and he could tell Cas was fading, but he was loathe to sit him down somewhere and leave him, even if it spared Cas the agony of walking. But they finally reached the Bentley, and Sam guided Cas around to the front passenger seat where he opened the door and eased Cas inside. Cas was shaking, and immediately slumped in the seat.
Dammit, he looked on the verge of hypovolemic shock. Sam hurried to the trunk where he deposited the angel blades before he grabbed a water bottle from his bag. He then rushed back to hand it to Cas. He had to keep one hand on the bottle, as Cas was shaking too badly to hold it steady.
After the first sip, Cas started to gulp the water down. Sam let him take a few before pulling the bottle away. "Okay, easy, not too much at one time."
Cas thunked his head against the seat again. Sam wondered whether he should take Cas to a hospital. But mostly, he just wanted to get the ex-angel home, and the bunker's infirmary was equipped with the stuff they'd need to treat blood loss, anyway.
Sam capped the water bottle and placed it in Cas's lap, then bent down to tuck Cas's legs into the car so he could shut the door. He then sprinted around to the driver's side and climbed in. As he started up the Bentley and pulled out onto the road, Cas's head lolled to the side and his eyes closed in exhaustion.
Sam's phone rang, but he ignored it. He'd have words with his brother when he got home.