RATING: R gen, pre-slash Dean/Castiel

SPOILERS: For the Season 4 finale, and not beyond

CHARACTERS: Sam, Dean, Bobby, Castiel, Zacharia
SUMMARY: Post 4.22. What might have happened after the "to be continued" whiteout. With extra helpings of h/c.

WARNING: Graphic violence

Disclaimer: Supernatural is owned by it's creator Kripke and the CW network, and I am in no way affiliated with them.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This fic is complete, and will be posted one chapter a day. Muchas gracias to Starrylizard for betaing the whole thing!


"I can hide," were the first words Castiel said to them after about forty minutes of running blindly away. He had gradually uncoiled his muscles, and now only looked supremely uncomfortable, which was a definite improvement over 'utterly miserable'. "You too. It'll be easier in a deserted area."

When they stopped to grab a burger-to-go, Dean surreptitiously checked the upholstery, but there was no blood. There was none on Cas's back either, which relieved him more than he was ready to admit. They had reached a medium-sized town and went directly on to search the outskirts for an empty house to squat in. It was depressingly easy to find one.

"Do you think the apocalypse's got something to do with the recession?" Dean mused while they inspected the decay around them. The ground floor was perfectly hospitable, though the kitchen was useless. There was even a few pieces of furniture left rotting, including a moldy couch which they 'generously' left to Cas while they hunkered down with their army-surplus blankets in the front room.

"Twenty-ninth seal," Castiel deadpanned. Privately they would argue whether he was joking or not.

The angel pronounced the house 'suitable' and set to work with some chalk he lifted off them, scrawling symbols on each wall and on every door. He moved stiffly around, but refused any offer of help.

"You still in pain?" Dean finally asked.

"Yes."

Dean thought of the clumps of feathers lying around bloody in the motel room, like somebody had grabbed handfuls of them and pulled, and of the blood that had seeped through three layers of clothes on his back. "And… the wings? How are they?"

Castiel closed his eyes for a moment and twitched. "Shredded," he said tonelessly, like it didn't regard him.

"Oh god," Sam murmured, "will you be able to heal? Is it permanent?"

Castiel paused, and considered his answer. "This isn't the first time it's happened to me. Remember that I am- that I was a soldier of Heaven."

Just as Dean realized that he hadn't really answered them, the angel stepped back and declared the wards done. Then he turned and ordered Sam to take off his shirt.

"Hum, what??"

"I believe you'd like some help with your withdrawal symptoms, correct? I've been pondering the matter, and I believe I've come up with a spell that could relieve them. Now take off your shirt and sit down on the ground," he fished Dean's back-up blade that he'd borrowed the day before out of his breast pocket. Sam gulped, but did as he was bid.

The angel examined Sam's naked back, frowning seriously, ordered him to stay still and keep his spine straight, and then slashed his own palm open, blood welling up and starting to drip. Dean winced, seeing clearly the way two fingers had jerked in the wake of the blade. Tendons had snapped. This 'instant healing' thing kept making Castiel treat his vessel with a certain reckless abandon that could make him uncomfortable to be around.

Castiel started to paint a methodical series of symbols on Sam's back in a confident hand, explaining that he was combining two spells. "One is used among my… kin, to help heal our human vessels if the angel cannot on their own. The other is used to subdue demons and their influence on their hosts." He added a few strokes, then sat back and examined his handy-work before continuing. "As you know we can influence time… bend it on occasion. We can also slow it to a crawl, or speed it up. I cannot undo what is already done, but I can stop the changes that are happening now."

He circled around and crouched in front of Sam, raising up his hands, no longer bloodied, to cradle the human's face. He looked him deeply in the eyes, expression kind. Sam's eyes widened, and his mouth went slack, a look of awe stealing across his face. "With my blessing, Sam Winchester," Castiel finally murmured, swiping his thumbs gently under Sam's eyes, and kissed him on the forehead.

The angel straightened and looked sideways at Dean. "It is done," he confirmed quietly, before offering the knife back. Dean shook his head. "It's yours. In fact, here, take this too," he grabbed his duffle and got the sheath out, and offered that instead. Castiel tilted his head to the side, looking at him quizzically. "Come on, you need your own knife! You'll never know when you'll need to do some of these blood spells of yours."

Castiel took the sheath like it was something precious, which embarrassed Dean. Even without considering the demon-killing knife, this one still wasn't one of his best blades, but it had served him faithfully as a back-up for the last ten years, and he considered it a reliable knife.

"Thank you," Castiel said seriously. He slipped the knife in the sheath and put it back in his breast pocket. He grimaced, rolling his shoulders stiffly.

Dean was about to ask him again how he was when Sam shook himself and let out a breathy "oh!" Holding up a finger to stall the angel, Dean turned to his brother, checking him over. Sam seemed dazed, even stoned, but in a happy, relaxed way that he hadn't been in far too long. Dean felt himself smile and something lodged deep in his chest easing at the sight.

"Hey, Sammy? Feeling better?"

Sam blinked and smiled lazily. He nodded, stretching his arms up and arching his back, popping his spine with a satisfied smirk. "What does it look like?" He asked, trying to peer over his shoulder. "Hey!" He exclaimed, grabbing Dean by the arm and bugging his eyes, "do I have to keep the blood on? Can I take a shower or is it going to break the spell?"

"Moot point, kiddo, no showers for anyone while we're holed up here," Dean replied, looking around to ask Castiel but finding the room empty of supernatural beings. "Sam, why don't you get comfortable here while I find out?"

He left his brother to his own devices, and went looking for Cas. He found him sitting on the sagging couch, elbows planted on his knees and chin tucked between his fingers, staring contemplatively out in space. Dean went to sit next to him, and the cushions gave way with a sluggish, wet groan, depositing him much closer than he had intended, practically plastered against his side. He tried to adjust, but that proved even more embarrassing, so he simply stopped, leaning rigidly away. Castiel didn't seem to mind either way.

"How much of what you did was real angel mojo and how much was just make believe?"

Castiel blinked, surprised, then he cut his eyes sideways and gave half a smirk, same as he had once on a park bench, so many months before. "About half and half. Your brother is strong, but he was giving up his fight. Hope, faith… it can be a very powerful force, for humans."

"What about for angels?"

"That's very nearly all we're made of."

They sat in silence for a bit. Dean was even starting to feel less awkward. "Cas, how long is that spell going to hold?"

"I'm not pretending that it isn't just a temporary reprieve… It does not cure, just delay. But we'll keep casting it every time it fades. I've been thinking about a more permanent solution, but purifying a soul isn't easy, or common. The way we- the way the angels usually do it, it's too traumatic, too sudden. There is no definitive evidence, but I doubt he'd survive. The only other entities that hold comparative powers are Earth spirits."

"What, ghosts?"

"No, no, you misunderstand me. You might know them as… demi-gods, though that term is incorrect, they're more… guardians of creation, here on Earth. They rarely interact with humans, now that they're no longer openly worshipped, but they're still here, and their powers are immutable."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold it right there, Cas. We've met some of these pagan gods, and they were all bad news, killing people, eating them… I don't see how we could get anything helpful out of those sons of bitches."

Castiel gave a little, exasperated sigh. "Have some faith, Dean. The life you've led has skewed your perception of the supernatural, but there are benign beings out there. The natives to this country practice many cleansing rituals that could help, but… the hurdle I haven't been able to get past is that these are tied to the land, to specific places, and you and your brother… you have no place that owns you."

Dean snorted, shaking his head. "If the Impala had a guarding demi-god we'd be set," he chuckled, and bumped his shoulder against Cas, who went very rigid and clenched his jaw. "Oh, shit! Sorry, sorry, is it your back? Listen, Cas, do you want to try a painkiller?"

The angel turned his head to look at him, eyebrows knotted tightly. "Pain… killer?"

"Yeah, you know, pills, or- I think we still have some shots. I'll need to check, if not I'm sure we can score something in the town; we need to re-stock badly anyway-"

"Chemicals would have no effect on me."

"Oh. Well. That sucks." He scratched the back of his head. "Checking doesn't seem to have done you much good. I mean, you were better before this morning."

"I think confronting the evidence merely made it more difficult to ignore. I wasn't… very lucid when it happened. I didn't think- I wasn't expecting my reaction to be so disrupting, or I wouldn't have done it near so many innocents. Or risk you being detected in my company."

"Hey, no worries, besides, the magic vapor vial worked, right? A little fire and a lot of insurance, and we're scot free from the people too."

Castiel grabbed him by the forearm. "Dean, listen to me. It's very important that Zachariah doesn't find me with you. It would give him great power over you. If I grow too weak-"

"Ok, stop it right there. What kind of power are we talking about? And isn't there anything we can do to help you heal quicker?"

"The kind that you do not want him to have. And unfortunately no, there is a blood spell, but only another angel could perform it. It wouldn't work on myself."

"What if we could get word to Anna?"

Castiel closed his eyes, bowing his head. "She cannot help either you or me anymore."

The news shot a pang through Dean's heart, but he didn't ask for details yet. The grief and disappointment was enough at the moment. "So, you need an actual holy presence or just the blood?"

"Both. Either, it's not- important. I can't have it, so there is no use discussing it further." And with that he hunched in himself, looking stubbornly at his feet, which were still bare. They should have gotten him some new shoes while they were still at the mall, where it would have been easier.

Dean made a resolution to hit the town, get a few supplies, and check out an idea that had started to form in his mind. "Oh, just one more thing: do those symbols need to stay on his back, or can Sam wash them out?"

"Either shouldn't affect the spell," Castiel said dully.

Dean nodded and went back to the other room. Sam had sprawled face down on his blankets, letting the blood dry on his back.

"Bad news, bro, no shower for you for a very long time, looks like. Cas says those need to stay on."

Sam groaned in his balled up jacket, and Dean grinned.

oooooo

Dean paid a thorough visit to a 7/11 and a CVS, and then sneaked through a church with a couple of gallons of water. He got to talk with a priest, a Franciscan who had served in a slum outside Rio for fifteen years before his superiors deemed his methods too 'eccentric' and had returned him to the heartland for a loving re-introduction to 'civil' Christian society. He told some pretty good jokes, and even though he didn't tip his hand one way or the other with regards to hunting and the supernatural, he let Dean go with enough blessed water to bathe in and a little extra something that Dean presented to Cas the moment he got back.

"Blessed oil and consecrated wine from this morning's Mass," the angel recognized the moment Dean produced the items.

"How the hell did you know that?"

Castiel looked at him like he'd just asked something very obvious. "I can tell."

"Right. Well. So, I was thinking we can try and make our very own holy blood substitute. If you draw me a diagram I'll paint it on you… unless your spell works differently?"

Castiel looked at him. He was holding tightly onto the two little bottles and, though not smiling, his whole face had lit up.

"It's worth a shot, isn't it?"

He inclined his head, almost a little bow. "Thank you, Dean."

"Hold on a sec," Sam called, rummaging through the food bags. "Are you calling dibs on anything? Because I'm starving, and if the price is gonna be you whining about it after-"

"Cheetos and beer are mine. You can have your healthy water and rabbit food."

"Jerk."

"Bitch."

Dean looked with a little trepidation as Sam cracked open one of the water bottles he'd glued closed and took a healthy swig.

Sam squinted suspiciously at the brand. "This isn't Mountain Spring, it's got too much calcium!"

"You cannot possibly taste that, you ginormous geek!"

"Dean, I know what mineral water tastes like, and this ain't it. You've been gipped. Must be pipe water," Sam replied smugly.

"Well, yeah, whoever heard of blessing mineral water? It's a waste," Dean countered, smile slowly reaching full wattage at the dawning realization stealing across Sam's face.

"It's… holy water? I just drank-"

"Told you it was only temporary. You need to trust your older brother a bit more, you bitch."

"Yeah," Sam nodded, eyes going suspiciously bright, "yeah."

"You're such a girl. See if you can find a way to heat up a couple of those soup cans while I play paint by the numbers with our resident angel, will you? I brought you a pink apron to match your girly mood swings."

Sam threw him one of the water bottles, and despite what the black eye may suggest, Dean was totally quick enough to dodge it.

oooooo

Cas insisted that Dean needed to learn the order in which each stroke of the sigil had to be made and had him practice on a piece of paper while he mixed up the oil and the wine to make something with a consistency comparable to actual blood.

"You sure you don't wanna add your own to it?"

"It would defeat the purpose."

"What about human blood? Would that help? I could give you some of mine, if you want," Dean offered. Cas didn't reply, but when Dean turned to look at him he found the angel regarding him with such gratitude that it was frankly downright embarrassing.

"Oh, don't you go and turn into a girl either, now. It's not a big deal, a few drops of blood."

Castiel frowned. "Do you consider me female? Because your gender differences don't-"

"Oh, god, we're not having the angel-sex talk right, now, ok? In fact, ever. Just hand over the knife and get those clothes off- goes on your back, right? Like Sam's."

The design wasn't simple but Dean had done much harder things in his life. The black bruises running up and down Cas's back did make him falter, once the angel had taken off his shirt and sat down backwards in the only high-backed chair in the house, arms resting up. No wonder he'd been in pain.

Candle light flickered warmly, bathing the room in a soft orange glow, while Dean stirred his own blood in with the oil and the wine. It felt not exactly holy in any way that a bible thumper would recognize, but ancient and sacred beyond books and human language.

Dean crouched down behind Castiel and began painting the mixture with his fingers, keeping his touch as gentle and feather-like as he could. Every time he passed over a bruise the angel shuddered, but didn't say anything. The muscles in his back were visibly knotted up and rigid with tension.

"Is it working?" Dean whispered, once he'd gotten through half of the diagram. Sam was in the next room, getting dinner ready, but between the darkness and the silence what he was doing felt incredibly private, even intimate.

"I think… yes. It's having some effect. Please continue." Castiel inclined his head, resting his cheek on the back of his hands. Dean kept going, slowing down now, fascinated by the process and somehow unwilling to actually finish. Once he realized that he was stalling, though, he picked up the pace again, annoyed with himself.

He gave the last stroke and Cas took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and sagging in the chair.

"So, it's done? How you feeling?"

"You have to give me your blessing now," Cas murmured.

"My… what? How? Like you did with Sam?"

Castiel raised his head, and shot him a look. He seemed half asleep, eyes heavy-lidded and dark in the flickering light. "It's your blessing. You can give it however you deem it suitable."

Dean gulped, and nodded. He had no idea what his… blessing, of all things, would be like, but Castiel's way had looked… suitable enough that afternoon, so he went for that. He cradled the angel's face in his hands, swiping his thumbs under his eyes and over his cheeks, once, then twice for luck, mumbled "with my blessing, Castiel," and brushed his lips lightly over his forehead. He couldn't bring himself to do an actual kiss, but it seemed enough. Cas closed his eyes and let his head fall back, lips slightly parted.

Dean took it as a sign that the spell had worked.

"Mmmh," Castiel mumbled suddenly, frowning, "I feel… weird."

oooooo

The art of cooking soup cans on an open fire: a joy shared by cowboys, bums and Winchesters. Sam wasn't the best of cooks, but this was the kind of thing that could be called a success just by virtue of not letting the can explode under the heat and not burning down the house; ergo his dinner was a success.

He was contemplating the problem of spoons when Dean joined him, grinning in a way that was anything but reassuring.

"You've got to see this one, Sammy," he asserted, grabbing his brother by the shoulder and tugging him to the back room. Castiel was there, standing shirtless and squinting at a wall.

"Did you do it? Did it work?" Sam asked.

Dean jerked his chin towards the angel in reply.

"Huh, Cas? Did the spell work?"

"I have to check the perimeter," Castiel replied, slurring his words badly and listing alarmingly to the side. Dean snickered. The angel glared. "I am experiencing some side effects," he enunciated slowly.

"He's totally plastered!" Dean announced gleefully.

"I'm checking the perimeter," Cas countered indignantly. He tried to take a few steps towards the middle of the room but he tripped on his own bare feet and landed on his ass.

Dean started laughing out loud, while Sam was a little more mindful of what the angel would do once he was in full control of himself again.

"Come on," Dean coaxed, going to retrieve him from the floor without an ounce of self consciousness, "just take a nap while the high wears off, ok? We'll keep guard."

"This isn't acceptable," Cas grumbled while Dean manhandled him to the moldy couch, "I can't stay like this. I demand you break the spell immediately!"

"How are we supposed to do that?" Sam asked, suddenly more aware of the itchy symbols on his own back.

"With the… with the…" Castiel made whirring motions with his hands, "with the thing!"

"All right, all right, you lie down now and we'll get the thing, kay?" Dean deposited him face first on the couch, then loped out of the room, Sam in tow. "Dinner! Awesome, I'm starving!"

"Dean… are you sure we should leave him like that?"

"Hey, we still have that TV in the car! If we manage to sneak some electricity in here, d'you think we can keep Cas from exploding it?"

oooooo

Dinner was a torturous affair. Twice Castiel wandered out to their room, looking dazed and confused and worrying about the perimeter, and twice Dean had to stop slurping his soup directly from the can and steer him back to the sofa.

The third time the brothers had finally managed to finish their meal, and Cas was starting to look a little less punch-drunk.

"For the last time, the perimeter is fine! Lie down and stop worrying so much."

The angel narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. If it wasn't a pout, then it was a damn good impression of it. "This isn't right… the spell shouldn't have affected me like this," he groused, knuckling his eyes like a sleepy kid. "I'm serious, Dean, I'm far too open to attack, I can't even- this is dangerous for an angel. I could harm you without even realizing it."

And that pretty much put an end to any protest the humans could make.

Dean went back with Cas and retrieved what little mixture had been left over. "Erase the symbols," Castiel instructed, straddling the chair backwards again and resting his arms and his head on the high back. "Start from the last one and work your way back."

Easy. Dean scooped some of the oily substance with his fingers and rubbed it all over the last symbol, which was still faintly visible. Castiel hissed a breath, then asked him to continue.

"Have your wings healed at all?"

"I can't fly yet," he non-replied. "I will be fine. Keep going. I'm already feeling more alert."

Dean coated his hand and pressed it, open-palmed, on the next symbol. Castiel gasped and started trembling.

"This is ridiculous," Dean said, getting annoyed, "having you in a little ball of pain is not going to make you or us any safer. You absolutely sure a pill wouldn't help?"

"Yes," Castiel hissed, shuddering. Dean could actually feel the muscles coiling tighter and tighter under his fingers.

He undid the five last symbols quickly and bowed his head, hand lingering between the angel's shoulder blades. He pictured the wings sprouting from there, whole and huge the way they had been in the illusion masking the truth in the angel prison.

"Here's another thought: do you know how many times my dad threw out his back over the years, hunting? I mean total, cannot-move-to-save-his-life throwing out?"

"Seven."

"Aha! Nope, six."

"That you know of."

"Ok, forget my dad. What I mean is that doping him up wasn't enough, and it's not like we could afford a physical therapist every time, so I learned some moves. Got me in a few girl's- ok, that's another story. The point is: wanna try? I can't do anything for your… wings -god, that's freaky- but your muscles have to be hurting, man: they hurt just to look at."

Castiel's shoulders shook, but Dean could swear that the angel was laughing. "So now I'm male?"

Dean went to get up and leave, but a soft calling of his name made him stop.

"Any help that doesn't put me out of commission is… greatly appreciated."

Dean settled back down, waited for a moment for some kind of smart-assed remark, and when none was forthcoming he gently put his hands on Castiel's back. The bruises had faded to a muted yellow, but Dean was still mindful of them as he started kneading the muscles.

Castiel kept still and didn't make a noise, but Dean could tell from the way he was breathing that it was hurting him. He started gentle at first, to let him accustom to the feeling and to remind himself of what he needed to do here –it had been years since the last time he hadn't used a massage as nothing more than foreplay with some girl- but once he got in the groove of it, getting a rhythm and testing out a good balance between pressure and muscle yielding, he started to work with more purpose, losing himself in the task.

Gradually the muscles began to relax and the knots to undo right under his fingers; Castiel started to straighten his spine, pressing into Dean's touch, and finally arched his back with a satisfied sigh.

Dean ran his fingers up and down, checking to see if there were more knots, and the angel shivered under his touch.

Interesting, Dean's mind supplied, and he tried again, eliciting the same reaction. Just then his treacherous subconscious reminded him of doing something similar in his infamous dream, which stopped him dead in his tracks. Good thing it was so dark in the abandoned house, because he was blushing like the proverbial bride.

"I feel weird again," Castiel mumbled, half asleep in his chair.

"Yeah, that can happen with massages. Sorry. Please don't freak out again."

"Of course not. Thank you Dean."

"Anytime. Huh, I mean- whatever. Don't tell Sam."

oooooo

That night Dean was ready to settle down with a vague sense of accomplishment until he spied Sam sitting up in the incomplete darkness, hugging his knees loosely and staring at nothing.

"What, not tired?" Dean grumbled.

Sam shrugged, the movement barely visible by the light of the moon creeping in past the drape-less windows. "I was just wondering where we go from here," he whispered.

Crap, Dean thought. Of course now that his brother didn't have his imminent fiery death by angel or by withdrawal to obsess over, he was free to brood and worry about everything else.

"We sleep," he groaned exaggeratedly, pretending he hadn't understood.

Sam was silent for a while, then he simply laid down and curled on his side, away from his brother.

Dean dreamt. He was standing in the attic, looking at Cas, who sat staring out at the starry sky from a box window. The angel was in his shirtsleeves, barefoot, and he had his wings at his back.

"Go back to sleep, Dean," he said, barely moving, still staring at the stars.

"I am asleep," Dean countered. "How could I get up here otherwise? The stairs have collapsed. Did you fly up? Everyone's brooding tonight-"

Castiel turned to regard him. His eyes looked strange, blue without pupils. He raised his hand, fingers outstretched, and poked Dean in the forehead.


final chapter will be up tomorrow!