Dean wasn't quite sure that he had heard Castiel correctly. Those two words hung in the air like nukes, hot and ready to blow open a can of worms he wasn't entirely sure he was ready for.
"You fell," Dean repeated. "Into what, a pile of rusty knives? What do you mean you fell?"
Castiel didn't look at either of them, his eyes ruefully fixed on the gaudy floral print of the thin, pilled motel blanket, hand still lightly clamped on Dean's forearm just above his wrist.
It was a little after four in the morning. Dean had pulled up a chair to sit beside the bed and keep an eye on the battered angel that had been so abruptly delivered back into their lives with the predictably vague order from Inias to protect him.
At some point, maybe an hour or two before, Dean had nodded off with his head lolled against the backrest as he slouched.
He had woken to an odd sound, put off at first by the odd position he had found himself in, not immediately remembering how he had gotten into the chair, or why he was there, seated beside the bed instead of in it. Then he saw the shape beneath the covers, tossing lightly in a restless sleep under the faint glow of the security light that filtered through the room's curtains.
He pulled himself upright, watching Castiel, listening to the plaintive whimpers that punctuated each movement, heard the angel occasionally murmur a half spoken negative or something that the hunter was vaguely aware must be Enochian. He was curiously disturbed by the scene. He had rarely seen the angel show anything akin to emotion. Passion, yes- passion in battle, sometimes anger, faith, devotion- but this was new, and it kind of scared the shit out of him. What had happened to Castiel that was so horrible to cause this?
He found himself wanting to move to the restless lump of bruised and broken flesh, to put his arms around this broken celestial creature if only it would stop what he was seeing and hearing now. It tore him in two, what he was feeling, watching his best friend suffer not-so-silently with whatever nightmare was currently plaguing him.
He nearly jumped out of his skin when Castiel screamed, thrashing suddenly beneath the blankets and only succeeding in tangling himself further in the heavy, frayed cloth.
"SAMANDRIEL! NO!"
Dean's breath caught in his throat, and he was dimly aware that Sam was now awake, as well, reaching over and struggling for a moment with the switch that sent light blazing through the room.
"What the," his brother muzzled out thickly.
Dean got up, pulling the blankets off of his panicking friend as gently and quickly as he could manage, sitting on the edge of the bed and putting a hand on Castiel's shoulder, looking down at him as the worry inched its way through him.
Something stabbed his gut as Castiel jerked his head away from the sudden light, raising his hands as though to ward an attack. Dean strained to hear the half mumbled words tumbling out of the angel's mouth- "she's caught up to me.."
"Who's caught up to you, Cas?"
He saw the wide, frightened blue eyes turn toward him. For a pained moment, Dean thought that the look in those eyes lacked recognition, and his heart tried to claw its way up into his throat.
The next few moments were tense as he watched Castiel struggle in vain to calm himself from the remnants of whatever nightmare he had been having. Dean was relieved when his fears had been assuaged- Castiel did remember them, but he didn't seem to be aware of how he had come to be in the motel room with them. No one brought it up, but Dean could see the confusion in his eyes, not knowing where he was, but content that he was safe, evidenced by the fact he had finally slowed his breathing and calmed himself to the point of merely looking tired and miserable.
And then Castiel had spoken those two, broken words that had stilled the room to an uncomfortable silence. I... fell. There was a weight to them that Dean knew meant he didn't mean literally, but then, looking at the state of the man that sat, trembling from trauma and fear and God knew what else was running through his mind, Dean had to wonder if it wasn't just a figure of speech.
He almost smiled when Castiel narrowed his eyes, stilling for a moment to give the hunter one of his trademark looks. It was comforting to see the hard, steely look there, to forget the trembling mess of cuts and bruises that had been in its place moments before and negating how small and frail Cas looked in his old, tattered t-shirt.
The moment didn't last long, however, the hard edge melting away into something melancholy and so fundamentally broken that Dean had to turn away, seeking solace in his brother to gather his nerve before he could face Castiel again.
"That," the angel said, his tone measured. "May have been more pleasant."
"So," Sam was working it out as he spoke. Sam always was the smart one, Dean thought to himself, while he was the stubborn one. Dean knew it was right there, but he was adamantly pushing it away. "Like, you're cut off again? Like when you helped us before?"
Dean could hear the stain of guilt in his brother's voice, and realised he felt it too. If Castiel had been cut off again, attacked by his own kind as he had been when he fought at their side during the Apocalypse, Dean wasn't sure if he could forgive himself again. Hell, he still felt guilty for what Cas went through the last time.
"No," Castiel said simply.
"No?" Dean raised an eyebrow, waiting for the rest.
The angel- no, former-angel, Dean corrected himself, looked up at Dean, his throat working as his eyes kept trying to move away, forced back to the hunter's own by sheer force of stubborn will.
It was a long moment before anyone spoke, and the silence felt tangible to the hunter.
"To be... 'cut off'," Castiel broke the silence, accentuating the term with finger-quotes that almost, almost made Dean crack a smile if this wasn't so messed up, if he wasn't so concerned. "Is a punishment, meted out by Heaven. To fall..."
Castiel looked away again, biting his lip.
"It was a choice," Sam finished, his voice strained and tinged awed.
Castiel only nodded.
"So," Sam continued the train of thought. Dean was sure his mind was travelling to the last time they'd encountered a 'fallen' angel, Anna Milton. But this wasn't the same. Cas was still Cas, just... "you're human."
Dean felt the heat rise from the pit of his stomach, angry and again not really sure why. Why would Cas do this to himself? Sure, he'd turned his back on Heaven, but he had seemed content just to sort of drift with the wind until now. Did it have something to do with Alfie? Was he again punishing himself for something that Dean trusted was beyond his control? Sure it was pretty fucked up, and he was worried there was more going on than Castiel had said- but that was mostly because the angel had seemed so out of sorts after he had killed Samandriel. Oh, and the creepy bleeding eye thing. That kind of helped the unease, too.
"So, what," Dean said, trying and failing to keep the clipped edge from his tone. "You just throw yourself at Earth, then? Hope you don't just get turned into a friggin' pancake?"
Maybe Dean was losing it, but he thought he saw a faint smile tug at the corners of Castiel's mouth, breaking that tragic, mostly stoic expression.
"More or less," Castiel shrugged.
"Why," Sam asked, voicing the question that was on both of their minds. Despite his genuine concern, Sam was the analytical one, the one that had to understand.
Castiel's brow furrowed, as if he was asking himself the same thing, not quite certain how to answer. "Because," he started, his eyes moving in a way that Dean found troubling. "Because I deserved to. I have wrought so much destruction, and it has gone all but unpunished. Even the things I try to save..."
"And you thought you'd just go ahead and punish yourself," Dean huffed, finishing the thought for him. "Cas, you moron! You're still such a child... You could have come to us, asked for help. You and your damned pride... you stupid bastard..."
He saw the angel tense as he dished out the harsh reprimand, setting his jaw. He also saw the glistening of tears as they gathered in his eyes, the already stunning blue becoming azure oceans of pain and regret. Dean instantly felt guilty. He had never seen an angel cry, hadn't thought they were even capable. But Cas wasn't an angel anymore, was he? Damn it, Winchester, you idiot! Dean cursed himself inwardly as he stood, running his fingers back through his short-cropped hair and stomping away from his brother and his best friend, yanking his boots on and grabbing his jacket and car keys.
"Dean," Sam protested, trying to follow him to the door.
"I'll be back," Dean muttered, almost growling under his breath.
He exited the motel room, slamming the door on his way out.
He wasn't sure where he was going, but he was pissed. Pissed at himself for being such a jerk. Pissed at Castiel for pulling the self-loathing shit- that was his gig. Pissed at Sam for being the one who seemed level about all this crap.
So he decided it was better to be out on the road, Sabbath blaring out of the Impala's speakers as he let the heat of his anger radiate off of him in waves like the aftermath of a nuclear meltdown until it was out of his system, instead of being in that room where he might contaminate everything he cared about with the hot poison pumping through his veins.
He felt like the world's biggest asshole. Cas had done something reckless, but he had to have had his reasons, right? What he had done was a step short of suicide, and that, Dean surmised, was the thing that pissed him off the most. Was that what Castiel had wanted? Was he trying to kill himself? Or was he running from something? Did it have something to do with whoever she was, whoever it was that had caused his friend to cry out from whatever nightmare he was having?
As he drove down the empty small-town roads, not giving a damn if he was well above the speed limit, Dean silently promised himself that he would help Castiel get through this. He felt obligated, in a way. He was responsible for the angel's rebellion, after all. He felt another pang of guilt, feeling now responsible for where Cas was now, broken, distressed, mortal. He had sullied that powerful being, corrupted him irreparably, and now he had an obligation to keep him safe.
