Getting Castiel out of the Impala and into the motel room was easy. He followed a step behind Dean who squared his shoulders against the final flurry of rain and made a bee line for Room 7. Castiel's ruined shoes squelched and flapped on the concrete. The room was spacious, well kept and decorated in neutral tones. Dean surveyed the exit routes and places needing salt lines. He realized he could no longer sense Castiel at his shoulder. He swung round. Cas was standing on the threshold like a B-movie vampire waiting for his invitation.

"Come on in." Dean encouraged, trying to keep the spark of annoyance out of his tone. "Take a seat Cas."

Dean's gesture towards the dark wood round table and chairs in the far corner went unseen. Castiel passed him and sank onto the edge of the queen bed's soft mattress.

"Right. Good." Dean was at a loss. He had intended to deal with Cas's cuts and scrapes at the table. An audible rumble from Castiel's stomach focused Dean's attention.

"Have you eaten yet today?"

Dean berated himself for not thinking that Castiel might be hungry. There was a headshake in response.

"Yesterday?" Dean wasn't sure he wanted to play this game if every answer was negative.

"The day before?"

A slight nod without any conviction made Dean narrow his eyes. "A meal?"

Castiel patted his pockets for the notepad. It was still somewhere on the backseat of the car. He looked up and gave a Sammy trademark bitchface.

"Ok calm down Colombo, I'll get your book. I need to bring in the emergency duffel."

Stalking with loud pounding steps across the drying parking lot, Dean's nostrils flared. He wasn't sure that he was angry at; himself for forgetting to pick up the little book, or Cas for needing to use it. He slapped a hand down on Baby's roof. Why did Castiel have to go through this? Couldn't they catch a break for just once?

He had raced out of the bunker the previous night without packing a bag, so there was only the reserve duffel that lived behind the passenger seat. Castiel's notepad was wedged between it and the seat. He flipped it over. A small sticker for $2 had WALLACE OF SHERIDAN type printed above the price. He deduced that Castiel must have journeyed southwards. Where had he landed? What had he been doing?

Dean passed the notebook into Castiel's outstretched hand when he returned to the room. He got a small close lipped smile of thanks and then Castiel turned over the page with Thank you on it.

"Yeah man, got it." Dean hefted the bag onto the table and proceeded to unpack. Castiel watched impassive from the bed.

Salt, holy water, rosary beads to make more, borax, the grey towel, spare silver knife, first aid kit, bottle iodine, bottle peroxide, hex bag, goofer dust, a stash of granola bars, the John and John Smith IDs and $200, were followed by a change of clothes for Sam and for Dean. Dean curled his lip in disgust at the blood stain on Sam's jeans. He wasn't letting his little brother do the packing again. Sam's moose sized plain white tee was clean and he laid it over the back of a chair. No way could Castiel put back on the clothes he was currently wearing after he showered. Dean replaced the unnecessary items and then salted the door and windows.

"Cas?"

The former angel looked up.

"Why don't you help yourself to a few granola bars and make a coffee?" Dean waved vaguely at the hotel supplied tea/coffee maker. "Have a shower and put on Sam's old tee as bed wear and have a rest?"

Castiel pointed at Dean, then the door and raised his brow in query.

"Me? I'm going shopping." Dean gave him the full pearly whites, a pat on the shoulder and the TV remote.

As he closed the door behind him, a little voice told Dean that he should stay and keep Cas company. Dean ignored the ridiculous thought that Castiel needed Dean with him more than new shoes and fresh bagels.

There was a goodwill store back the way Dean had come. The sign on the door said it opened at 9am but there was a middle aged stout lady with jet black curls setting up their cashier point. Dean tapped on the glass and pressed his FBI badge against the pane. She hurried to open the door, fumbling with the keys.

"How can I help you officer?" Her Wyoming accent was strong and her voice earnest.

"I have a young male in custody, ma'am, and I need a change of clothes for him. Can you assist me?"

Mindy Perkins, mother of two tear-away teenage boys, quilting circle coordinator and three day a week volunteer, set Dean up with a pair of khaki combats and a plain rust brown v-neck Henley. He snagged a deep-red over shirt and a packet of unopened donated briefs. He left a twenty dollar donation to cover the items. Mindy told him she was glad to assist the law and offered to pray for the young man who had lost his way.

Outside he realized he owned the same shirt and that he hadn't gotten shoes. There was a discount shoe store next door. He had a few minutes to kill before the shutter went up, so crossed the street to the bakery. He was tempted by the freshly baked pies and picked up two slices of apple cinnamon for lunch. Cream cheese bagels with crisp bacon would be breakfast. He didn't know what Cas would like. He got him the same.

His cell rang as he jaywalked back to the shoe store.

"Hello," he barked, keeping the cell wedged between his hunched shoulder and jaw.

"Dean? I got your message. Is Cas there with you?"

"Took a motel room for a few hours. We'll head back later. All good there Sam?"

"Yeah yeah, good." Sam answered impatiently, "Why'd you need a motel room? What kind of motel? One that does hourly rentals?"

Dean could hear the conclusions being jumped to, "We are in Casper not Vegas." He hoped Sam could hear his eye roll.

He put down his bakery bag to feel the quality of some lace up hiking boots. He thought Cas was one size smaller than his own feet.

"Can I speak with him?"

"Huh?" Dean was wondering if Cas was two sizes smaller.

"With Cas-Tee-El, Dean, hello?"

"Sorry, just buying some boots." Dean bought the larger size and picked up a couple of pairs of thick socks from a display stand. Cas could double up on the socks if the boots were too big.

"Dean." Sam's exasperated tone got his brother's attention.

"One minute." He paid for the boots with his latest credit card and waited until he was outside to resume the conversation, "Word is…. Cas is not doing so good. I need to see to him before we drive back."

"What does that mean? What are you not telling me?"

Dean licked his lips, "Cas is mute, OK? And human alright? And filthy and covered in small wounds, and I don't think he has had a meal in the last three weeks and I'm going to take care of him before we come home."

There was silence, except for the sound of Sam's nasal huff.

Dean waited for an explosive reaction but Sam didn't combust instead he got a "Take care of yourself too Dean and tell him I'm happy he is back."

"OK." Dean blinked. Maybe Sam didn't pick up on the mute bit or the human part.

"Can you pick up some milk, spinach, bread rolls and wieners on the way back? Crowley never tried them."

"Huh?" Sam was cooking for Crowley now?

"We good? Good." The line went dead.

Dean made a mental note to let Castiel know that Crowley was their prisoner/ Sam's guest.

With the bagels and couple of slices of boxed pie in one hand and the clothes bag braced between his hip and the wall, Dean knocked on the motel room door, before he poked his head in. Castiel hadn't moved. Dean's jaw dropped. He was still sitting bedraggled at the end of the bed. The TV remote held loosely in his hand.

"Cas?" Dean spoke with a querying but not interrogating tone.

His head looked up. Dean almost heard the 'Hello Dean' or the 'Yes Dean?' but there was silence. The TV was off.

"Have you….?" Dean took a deep breath. He placed the pie and bagels next to the untouched energy bars. "Would you like me to help you?"

Dean came over and put a hand on the former angel's forearm. Castiel shrugged it off, not violently but as if it pained him. Dean could almost hear the unuttered falsehoods of 'I am fine Dean' or 'You can't save everyone Dean'.

"Let me help you Cas." Dean pleaded with his eyes for Castiel to accept this small thing that he could offer a former Angel of the Lord, who had been cast out of what his nightmare future self called a 'much better club'.

Castiel permitted Dean to help him to his feet. His movements were slow and jerking, reminiscent of someone who had stood up after a trip and fall. He painfully pulled his right arm out of the trench coat. Dean saw the ripped hole in the coat elbow was matched by ones in the suit jacket and white shirt. Castiel's arm was black and blue with old blood pooled under the skin. His other arm came out easier, sleeve still ruched up, and the only injury the latest one from Dean's silver knife. Castiel handed Dean the ragged coat. He resisted the forceful urge to bring it to his face and inhale Castiel. It was too close to all those days when all he had was a trench coat to transfer from the truck of one stolen vehicle to the next. He reverently folded the cloth and placed it on the twin bed.

By the time he turned round Castiel had his jacket, tie and shirt off. His back was a mess. No wonder he had winced when moving at times. It was all shades of bruising from black to green and yellow.

"Geez Cas. What the fuck happened to you?" Dean reached out a hand and lightly, tenderly, stroked the damaged skin with his finger tips. It must have been tortuous when Dean clapped his back behind the carwash.

Castiel turned to face him. His eyes were full. Dean couldn't cope with seeing his strong ally so broken and he pulled him in close, holding him by the upper arms. Castiel was rigid for the first few moments but Dean didn't let go. Castiel's posture relaxed.

Dean moved his right arm to cradle the back of Castiel's head. He didn't care about the greasy matted hair under his hand. Castiel ducked his face into Dean's shoulder. "Shush," Dean whispered to the man who wasn't saying anything. For the length of five breaths they stayed there. Cas made a tiny movement and Dean released him.

"You good for the shower? Ya know."

He got another bitchface in response. Castiel must have been taking notes from Sam all these years.

"Yeah, yeah, I guess you had to shower before the apocalypse when we holed up at Bobby's," Dean wondered what the old man would say about them now. Idjits most likely, "And then when you were Emmanuel, I suppose you needed to shower and shave."

Castiel had his shoes, socks and pants off while Dean rambled. Scraped knees and another bruise on his hip. He put his fingers in the waistband of the boring grey briefs.

"Whoa, take it to the bathroom." Dean laughed and steered Castiel to the tiled room, "towels there on the rail. Take your time. I'll have the first aid kit ready for you."

Castiel raised his hand and ran a finger down Dean's cheek. He traced the line of his jaw and then closed the door, putting wood panels between him and a totally frozen hunter.

Finally Dean swallowed. He raised his own hand and pressed the skin along the route Castiel's finger had taken. What was that? Why did it feel so good?

Dean heard the shower power up. He retreated to the middle of the room. There was no saving the suit, shoes or shirt and he stuffed them in the garbage. Then he took a seat at the table. He lined up the iodine, peroxide, gauze and medical tape. He found two oxycotin in the box of surgical thread. Then he made coffee, put the bagels out on two napkins and waited for Castiel to emerge.