A/N - omg thank you so much for all the comments! Such great feedback! It really keeps me going, thanks so much. Onward:
Step 4, thought Dean. What's Step 4?
The Impala purred along through the dark night, both brothers quiet now as they tried to think of what the next step was. Sam kept his hand on Cas's wing, Cas's wing kept its strange feathery hold on Sam's hand, and Dean just drove. Thinking, Where on earth do we take him? Who can fix an angel wing?
A thought struck him, and he said to Sam, "Maybe Gadreel? He healed Cas before."
Another whisper from the back: "Not... wings," said Castiel softly.
Sam craned his head around toward the back seat. "What's that, Cas?"
"He can't... fix... a wing," said Cas, each word slow and faint. "Nobody... can."
The effort of speaking seemed to wear him out, and he said nothing more.
Dean found he simply refused to believe that. He said, toward the back seat, "Cas, don't try to talk. Just stay still, and hang in there, okay?"
And then Dean leaned over toward Sam, and hissed, very quietly, "Angels aren't always right, you know. Like... angels thought free will was impossible, and they were wrong about that."
"Yeah," said Sam.
Dean added, still whispering, "They've been wrong about other things too. They were wrong about—" He stopped short. He'd been about to say "they were wrong about God caring about anything, and they were wrong about how only an angel can kill another angel. Cause it turns out God doesn't care at all, and there are lots of ways to kill an angel!"
But it occurred to him that maybe those weren't the most encouraging examples to bring up at the moment.
After an awkward pause, Dean finally finished, "... They've been wrong about lots of stuff."
There HAS to be a way to fix a wing, he thought. There HAS to be.
"Crowley?" whispered Sam.
"Last resort," whispered Dean back. "Probably he'd just quadruple-cross us." Not Gadreel, not Crowley.
Then who? Where should they go?
Dean was so lost in thought that he was taken by surprise when the little road they'd been on came to an abrupt end, in a T-intersection with another, wider road. Dean tried to brake gently, but even so Cas's wing gave a big twitch and lifted up ominously, carrying Sam's hand up with it. Sam immediately twisted around, patting the wing and saying, "Shh, shh, Cas, you're not falling— I got you. I got you."
The wing gradually lowered.
Dean managed to bring the Impala to a relatively smooth stop, right at the intersection, without any further wing-twitches from Cas. It turned out they'd arrived at Utah State Route 15. Route 15 headed off in both directions, to the left and the right, straight as an arrow. There was a clump of little tourist shops here, along with some restaurants, a bar, and a brightly lit gas station. A man and woman were walking into the bar, and a few other people were heading into one of the restaurants, laughing and chattering as they went in. It seemed astonishing to see people just walking around like normal. Dean checked his phone and was amazed to find it was only seven-thirty at night.
He'd felt like they were on another planet entirely, up there in the clearing with Ziphius. But down here it was just a regular night; just another evening, in late fall, on Thanksgiving weekend.
A few cars were even zooming back and forth on Route 15. And there was a big green sign right across the road from the Impala that read, in white letters that glowed in the Impala's headlights:
- LAS VEGAS 155 MILES
SALT LAKE CITY 270 MILES -
Dean and Sam both looked at the sign for a moment.
"Vegas?" whispered Sam. "Two hours instead of almost four, basically."
Dean bit his lip. He gave the Impala a little gas and pulled into the gas station, saying loudly, "We gotta gas up first, Sam." He cut the motor and caught Sam's eye, nodding toward Cas. Sam got his meaning and reluctantly pulled his hand away from the wing, giving it a quick pat and saying, "Back in a sec, Cas. We're just getting some gas. Hang in there."
They both hopped out and closed the doors quietly. Dean started gassing up the car and then pulled Sam a little bit further away for a quick discussion.
Dean whispered, "He really needs a hospital, but we can't take him to a hospital. They'd completely freak. They'd take him away or study him or something, you know they would." Sam nodded, and Dean dropped his voice even lower, so low that Sam had to lean close to hear, whispering, "They might even try to amputate the wing or some goddamn thing. Or both wings, even. We just can't let that kind of thing happen. And we can't let them take him away from us."
Sam nodded again, whispering back, "A hospital's way too public. Too many people would see. Too many people would freak. We need some place smaller."
"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Maybe a little clinic? Somewhere where there's just a few people. But, Sam, it's gotta be somebody who has some clue about angels. Or about wings. You know... there's got to be somebody we know who'll have some idea what to do."
They were both silent a moment, thinking.
Then both brothers spoke at the exact same moment. Dean said, suddenly excited, "Sarah!" And Sam said, in a much quieter voice, "Amelia."
They looked at each other.
Sarah was the ICU nurse they'd met recently in Wyoming— and she actually knew that Cas was an angel. Just a month ago she'd helped treat Cas's most recent round of injuries. (Though she'd never seen his wings.)
And Amelia, the veterinarian! How on earth had Dean forgotten about this? Sam had once had a girlfriend who was a veterinarian! (And therefore she probably knew something about wings.) She was the girlfriend Sam had been with for practically a solid year, back when Dean and Cas had both been stuck in Purgatory.
The girlfriend Sam had cut all ties with, and had never talked to since.
And Sam was suddenly looking pretty grim about it.
"Right. You try Amelia, I'll try Sarah," said Dean, as matter-of-factly as he could. Sam nodded, his mouth tight, and they both pulled out their phones.
Though, Dean noticed, Sam didn't seem all that eager to actually place the call. Instead Sam flipped through the phone numbers on his phone, and hesitated a long moment. Before placing the call he walked away from the Impala, toward the edge of the gas station's little parking lot, staring down at the screen of his phone.
Dean sighed, and hit Sarah's number on his own phone, turning his back on Sam to try to give him a little bit of privacy.
Dean's phone was blinking "Low Battery"— apparently twenty-four hours on a mountaintop in Zion National Park, with the poor phone probably searching endlessly for a cell tower, hadn't really done it any good. But it was hanging in there at 10%, and a few moments later Sarah's number was ringing. And, hallelujah, Sarah actually answered! She must have had Dean's name in her phone contact list, for she answered with a puzzled "Dean? Dean Winchester?"
A huge rush of relief washed through Dean the moment he heard her intelligent, alert voice. He'd reached Sarah! Sarah would know what to do! Dean said rapidly, "Yeah, Sarah, hi, how you been, look, Sam and I got a situation here, um, Cas broke a wing."
Sarah said nothing. Dean could hear some sort of hospital-type beeps in the background.
Dean said, "Sarah? You there?"
"Yes..." said Sarah.
"Cas broke a wing, did you hear me? He broke his left wing and it's bad, Sarah, there's this, ah, big wing bone sticking out and all this blood and the wing was all twisted, but I straightened it out, but, he's really messed up and we don't know what to do."
Another long pause.
Dean said helpfully, "You remember Cas, don't you? Castiel? The angel?" Belatedly he thought of adding, "Buddy?" — the name Cas had been using in Wyoming.
"Yes... I remember Buddy," said Sarah faintly. "But he didn't... have... wings." Another little pause, and she added, "I would have noticed that."
"Yeah, well—"
"I definitely would have noticed that," added Sarah firmly.
"Yeah, he didn't have his grace then," Dean explained, "so, no, he didn't have wings then, but he does now. Actually... usually they're in this other wing-dimension place anyway, this, like, other plane of existence or something, but anyway, he has them now and they're BIG, Sarah. Like, great big wings with feathers. Anyway, this crazy angel hit him with a big flaming sledgehammer and broke his wing. It's his left wing and he's seriously messed up, Sarah, do you know how to set wing-bones?"
Yet another pause.
"Um..." said Sarah, "Crazy... angel?"
"The crazy angel's dead, don't worry about her. So, we're near Zion National Park and it's a hundred fifty-five miles to Vegas and two hundred seventy to Salt Lake, you got any ideas where we could go?"
"What about... the... flaming... sledgehammer?"
"A demon took it. I think he's going to sell it on the black market in Hell. Look, Sarah, anyway, we're near Zion—"
"A demon... took it?" she said. Dean was finally starting to remember that even though Sarah knew Cas was an angel, she didn't really know the whole story. About, well... anything, actually.
Another little pause, and Sarah said, "Zion was having that lightning storm, right?
"Yeah, that was the crazy angel but she's dead, look, never mind about the crazy angel, or the demon or the sledgehammer or the lightning," Dean said rapidly, starting to feel a little desperate. He went on, "The point is, do you know how to set wing-bones? Or where we should go? Vegas or Salt Lake? Seriously, Sarah, Cas is really in trouble. He keeps passing out, he lost all this blood, he looks like he's really hurting, and, and, we, please, we're kind of desperate here."
"Salt Lake," she said suddenly, her voice sharpening. "Go to Salt Lake."
"Why Salt Lake?"
"Because I can meet you in Salt Lake. It's only four hours from here. Vegas would take me seven. Start driving and I'll meet you in Salt Lake."
Sarah was coming to meet them again! Like she had in Kansas last month! This was completely awesome news, and news that Dean had not really been expecting. He heaved a huge sigh, saying, "Oh, man, Sarah, thanks so much, that's great, you totally rock! You get off from work soon, then?"
"No," she said shortly, "But I think I can get Lydia to cover. It's a slow night anyway and I'll tell them it's an emergency." She paused. Dean heard the beeps in the background again; she was still at work.
"You sure you can come?" Dean said, already getting worried again.
Sarah said, "I'm thinking. I'll... I'll tell admin that my weird Kansas cousins — that would be you guys — have had a relapse of pneumonia. Or maybe TB. You all had TB last time, in case you didn't know. That also gives me a reason to not come back to work till I get TB-tested. But... " she paused a moment, and then said, "Dean, do you mean he has literal wings? With literal feathers? Like a bird?"
"Literally. Really. Truly," said Dean, glancing back over at the Impala, where Cas's black feather tips were still sticking out of the window. "Shaped just like bird wings, feathers and everything. Except about fifty times bigger. But otherwise he's still human— totally human body like you saw last time. Just with wings added now."
Sarah gave a shaky laugh. "Right. Human but with wings added. Simple!" She paused a moment, and added, "Dean, I'm trying to get my head around this. I've gotta think of this as purely a medical problem... give me a second." Another pause. Dean drummed his fingers impatiently on the gas pump. The Impala had finished gassing, and he hung up the nozzle. Sarah finally said, "Here's what I'm thinking. If he's got an exposed bone he's going to need surgery, Dean... and..." She paused, and said, "You know, this really could be tricky."
"Tell me about it."
"No, I mean, it's tricky medically. The anatomy's going to be different, so you probably need a veterinarian, for the wing itself, but —"
"We're on that already. Sam's talking to a vet." Dean glanced over at Sam, who was staring at the ground, his phone to his ear, his other hand pressed to his forehead. Hm... it didn't really look like that conversation was going all that great.
"But," continued Sarah ominously, "If the rest of him's human, then you'll need a human doctor also. Because the anesthesia and meds are probably going to need to be for a human body and those things are very different for different species. So... you need a veterinary surgeon who knows wings, and a doctor who knows human anesthesia, I'm thinking. Difficult combination to find in the middle of the night."
Dean's heart sank. Somehow he'd thought Sarah would have the miracle cure - not that she'd be pointing out insurmountable problems.
Sarah said, "Dean, can't he do that miracle-healing thing again?"
"It was another angel that did that," Dean said, feeling even lower now, "and apparently that angel can't help this time. Since, it turns out, broken angel wings are..." Impossible to heal. "... kinda hard to heal."
"Don't lose heart," said Sarah, somehow detecting Dean's discouragement. She said, her voice suddenly bright and firm, "An angel with a broken wing— we can't give up on this one, can we? Look, meet me in Salt Lake and we'll figure something out. Worst come to worst, we'll do it pioneer-style— stick the bone ends together, sew it up, pump him full of fluids and antibiotics. Ranch-doctoring. My dad used to do that kind of stuff on his cattle, and I used to help and it actually worked pretty well. But, try to find a vet, and a doctor, as a first plan, since that'd be best of all. So, you start heading for Salt Lake, I'll set out from here, we'll meet there and we'll come up with something. Okay now, tell me some more details. Is he awake or talking? How's his pulse and resp?"
Dean told her everything he could, and Sarah began to give her usual crisp list of instructions. By the time Dean hung up he felt much better.
He knew, of course, that Sarah had probably just been acting confident to try to give him hope, yet somehow it had worked. He had a little list of things to do now, Sarah was coming to meet them, and he knew which direction to drive.
And he knew what they needed to look for: a vet and a people doctor.
Or, worst come to worst... Ranch-doctoring. That didn't sound half-bad, actually.
Dean hurried into the gas station's mini-mart to buy some water and food (on Sarah's instructions). By the time he got out, Sam was standing by the Impala with a grim expression on his face.
"Cas okay?" Dean said, his stomach suddenly knotted.
"Yeah, yeah, just checked, he's the same. Kinda half-passed-out, but still breathing."
Dean took a breath. What was Sam looking so grim about, then? "You reach Amelia?" he asked.
"Yeah," Sam replied quietly, not meeting Dean's eyes. He walked around to the back and popped the trunk, and started rummaging around. "She said, if we have any first-aid supplies, we should — Oh, look, Dean, there's a whole change of clothes in here. For both of us. Jeez... Cas must have brought these for us... Look, he brought my laptop... " Sam paused a moment while they both looked at the supplies in the big duffel.
Supplies Cas must have brought for them. When he was trying to rescue them.
Well, he had rescued them, in the end, hadn't he? He'd killed Ziphius, and he'd brought them the angel-blade. He'd saved them both. Yet again.
They were both looking at the clothes and laptop in kind of a trance. Sam finally started poking around in the duffel, saying, "I just wondered if we might still have the first-aid bag — Hey! Oh wow, Cas actually brought it! The first-aid bag! Awesome. LOOK! It's still got the saline in it from last month! This is perfect."
Sam pulled the bag of sterile saline and a box of gauze out of the first-aid bag, saying, "So I told Amelia we'd found an eagle with a broken wing by the side of the road. She said, call Fish and Wildlife, which obviously we're not going to do; then she said it's a federal crime to keep an eagle, can you believe that? Not just a little ol' state crime but a federal crime! Obviously we can just ignore that."
Dean nodded and said, "We can just add that to our federal rap sheet. Unlawful possession of an eagle."
"Yup," said Sam, fiddling with the saline bag now. "But then she said, get some saline on the exposed bone, if we have any. She was thrilled to hear we might have saline."
"Awesome," said Dean. "Sarah said the same, actually. Saline over gauze?"
"Yeah, saline poured over sterile gauze. But, Dean, she said we really need to find a bird vet. An exotic-animal vet. She said most vets will be absolute crap at setting a serious wing break. I guess birds are a specialty. And she's too far away herself - she's in Texas. So she said, best bet is to get to a major city and look for a bird vet. But the thing is, Dean..." He paused, stopped trying to open the saline bag, and dropped his voice very low, whispering, "She also said, um, she said... she also said..."
"What'd she say, Sam," said Dean, putting his hands on his hips.
Sam's glance flickered to the back seat. And the open window, where the black tips of the damaged wing were still sticking out.
Sam leaned right over to Dean's ear and whispered, extremely quietly, right into Dean's ear:
"She said a bird with a broken wing will never fly again. And..."
He paused, leaned close again, and added in an even fainter whisper, "she said... she said, when she was in vet school... if they got a bird with a wing break with a compound fracture like this, with the the bone sticking out?... She said they almost always put the bird down."
Sam stood back upright. And then just stood there staring down into the open trunk.
Dean slammed the trunk and hissed back into Sam's ear, "So we'll just have to break the rules again. We'll make up our own damn rules. And he's not a bird anyway, you know that. He's gonna be different. You'll see. Plus, Sarah says we just need to find a combo of a vet and a doctor and he'll be fine." Which wasn't really what Sarah had said, but, close enough. Dean straightened back up and said, "C'mon, let's get that damn bone wrapped up and Sarah said we should get him to drink some water and then we'll hit the road to Salt Lake."
"Not Vegas?" said Sam.
"Nope. Salt Lake," said Dean with a grin. "Sarah's going to meet us."
"Oh, thank GOD," said Sam, with the first glimmer of a smile he'd shown in a while. "Or, thank Sarah, I mean."
But first they had to get the gauze and saline onto the broken bone. Dean instantly discovered that he had a much weaker stomach than he'd thought. He'd been able to deal with the thought of the broken bone (barely) as long as he didn't have to actually look at it directly, but the second he tried to lean in over Cas's head and put some gauze on it, suddenly Dean got so light-headed he felt like the car was tipping around him. He hurriedly backed out and shoved the box of gauze at Sam, saying, "Hey... how about you do it and I'll hold the other wing?" Sam took the box with a little half-smile, while Dean scrambled into the driver's seat and leaned over it to hold Cas's good wing, while carefully not looking at the bone.
Cas had seemed unconscious, but as soon as Sam started dripping some sterile saline right onto the exposed bone, Cas stirred, the other wing shuddering and his hands scrabbling at the seat. Dean just kept saying, "Stay still Cas, stay still, don't move," trying to hold the good wing still. Sam managed to get a nice big wad of gauze wrapped all over the injury site and all around the bone, and then dripped a healthy several cups of sterile saline all over the whole area, completely drenching the gauze. Last of all Sam set a plastic bag gently over the whole thing. "Amelia said to do this," he whispered to Dean. "I guess the point is to keep it from drying out."
They then ran rapidly through Sarah's list: checking Cas's pulse and respiration, tucking a blanket over his legs, loosening the rope that was holding the hurt wing to his shoulder (this was so he didn't lose circulation to his arm), and finally offering him some water. Cas seemed out cold again and Dean was certain he wouldn't be able to drink anything, but the second Dean held a water bottle to Cas's lips, Cas snapped awake, clutching at the water bottle almost desperately with one hand, his good wing even coming forward to press at the bottle too. Dean had to get Sam to hold the wing back before he could get a drinking straw in place and get the bottle positioned so Cas could drink out of the straw. And then Cas sucked the entire bottle down in about ten seconds. Goddam, Sarah was right, thought Dean. All that blood he lost — he's about dying of thirst and I didn't even realize. Sam ran into the mini-mart for a couple more bottles, and Cas drank down almost an entire second bottle before he finally stopped drinking. Then his head sank back down onto the Impala seat and his eyes drifted closed again.
Dean gave him a little pat on the head— and then a little stroke on the forehead, too, like he'd done a few weeks back when Cas had been suffering from nightmares. Just in case it might comfort him. Cas didn't show any reaction, but Dean said, "You just hang in there, Cas. Sarah's gonna meet us and she'll take care of you."
"Sarah," muttered Cas, his eyes closed.
"Yeah, Sarah! Remember Sarah? She'll take care of you. And you'll be fine. You just hang in there."
Sam and Dean clambered back in their own seats in the front and buckled in. "Next stop, bird vet in Salt Lake?" said Sam.
Dean nodded, and then found himself giving a little huff of laughter.
"What?" said Sam, frowning, as Dean pulled out of the gas station and turned toward Salt Lake.
Dean whispered, "I know I shouldn't be laughing. But I was just picturing a vet who mostly deals with budgies or something— canaries and parakeets— and we walk in with Cas here. Six-foot-tall Cas and his eight-foot-long wings, or however long those things are."
Dean snorted again. But Sam just nodded absently. Dean snuck a glance at Sam, and realized that Sam's expression looked very blank.
"You okay?" Dean asked.
He was expecting the customary "I'm fine," (which of course, was always code for "I'm not fine, but I don't want to talk about it"). But instead Sam said, "I didn't even have her number anymore. I had to call her clinic in Texas and get her emergency number."
Oh, right. The ex-girlfriend thing. Well, at least it was a distraction from Cas's situation, maybe? Maybe it would be a good distraction to talk about it?
Dean said, "Well, at least you reached her! And don't worry about... about what she said. We'll find a way."
"She couldn't talk long. She had to go feed her kid."
And instantly memories of Lisa and Ben were flooding back. Surprisingly vivid memories.
Surprisingly painful.
Dean said, "Uh... kid?" thinking rapidly, Okay, which kind of crisis is this? How old is this kid exactly?
"Couple-months-old baby I guess," said Sam, resolving that question instantly. (Sam hadn't seen her for a couple years.) "Her husband was there too. So... she couldn't talk long." With that, Sam abruptly shut up, turning to stare out the window, folding his arms tightly around his chest.
Okay, so at least it was "just" that kind of crisis. The I-wish-I-had-a-normal-life kind. The what-would-it-be-like-to-have-a-family kind. (Not the is-the-kid-mine kind.)
But... still not that great a feeling, really, Dean knew.
And all Dean could come up with was a totally lame, "Huh... well... Yeah."
Sam didn't say anything further.
They drove on for a minute, Dean trying to kick himself into gear to say something more coherent. Some cheery brotherly advice was what Sam needed. Maybe something like: "Well, at least you got us! The messed-up, mostly-alcoholic brother and the messed-up, broken-winged angel who's your only other friend and who's probably going to die! And a life where you get tied up by insane angels now and then and killed by lightning repeatedly. That's way better than having a girlfriend and a kid, right?"
No, that wasn't going to help at all, was it? But Dean actually couldn't think of any other way to phrase it.
He cast around for something better to say, and thought of: "There's a faint chance Cas might survive! If we pull off a miracle!"
No, that wouldn't really be that good either, was it? How about: "I bet Ziphius and Amelia are both wrong about broken wings never healing!" No, no, that wouldn't help, but how about: "Maybe by Christmas none of us will be in imminent danger of death!"
Nooo... that wasn't going to do it either.
While Dean was floundering around trying to thinking of something even slightly encouraging to say, Sam reached back over the seat again, and put his hand back on Cas's wing. Dean glanced in the mirror and saw the little black feathers fold over Sam's fingers again.
And saw them sort of tighten down. And he heard Sam gave a quiet little sigh. He looked over, and realized Sam had relaxed, a bit, somehow.
Dean knew Cas must still be disoriented and in awful pain, and that he was probably just hanging on to Sam out of desperation. But nonetheless Dean was certain that it was Cas who was comforting Sam, right now, and not the other way around.
"We gotta stick together," was what Dean finally said. "All three of us."
Sam nodded, and he kept his hand on the wing.
The miles ticked by. Periodically they passed signs showing the distance to Salt Lake City, which began to decrease, slowly. First "SALT LAKE CITY - 250 MILES" and then, a while later, "SALT LAKE CITY - 235 MILES." Slowly, but steadily, mile by mile, they were getting closer.
Sam actually drifted off to sleep. Dean was relieved to see Sam's eyes shut; last night hadn't really been the most relaxing night, and Dean had already been starting to worry about how they'd keep their energy up enough to get through the brand-new crisis tonight with Cas. Every little bit of sleep would help.
So when Sam woke an hour later and insisted on taking a driving shift. Dean agreed, for once. He checked Cas quickly while they were stopped. Cas was semi-awake again, his eyes flickering open briefly when Dean spoke to him, but he really didn't look that good. Pale and wan, taking short, rapid breaths.
Dean offered him a little more water, but could do nothing for the pain. All he could do was give Cas another pat on the head and whisper, "Not long now." And hope like hell it was true.
When Dean settled himself in the passenger seat, he tentatively reached back and felt for Cas's wing. He was relieved to feel the soft, cool little feathers grab on immediately.
"Hang in there, Cas," he said over his shoulder. Cas said nothing, but Dean felt the little feathers actually tighten their grip. Good to know Cas still had enough strength to be able to do that at all. And... it really did feel sort of like holding hands. Sorta. Kinda. If the fingers of the other hand were covered with feathers, that is. It was a little strange, sure. But kinda cool.
And it was damn reassuring. As long as Cas' feathers were tight on Dean's fingers, Dean knew Cas was still alive. And still breathing.
Dean let his head sink back on the seat, keeping hold of Cas's wing, and feeling those cool, soft little feathers holding on. Just as he was thinking, There's no way I'm going to get any sleep, he dropped asleep.
He woke an hour later feeling only slightly refreshed. Cas was, somehow, still holding on. Dean swapped again with Sam for the final drive into Salt Lake City.
Soon they began to see the city lights ahead of them. Sam broke the silence to say, quietly, "Hey Dean, we're finally back in cell range. I'll start googling bird vets."
"Right," said Dean. "But, Sam — " He dropped his voice again, whispering, "Remember what Sarah said." About how we also need a human doctor.
"One step at a time," muttered Sam, fiddling with his phone.
A vet and a doctor, Dean thought. A vet and a doctor. Maybe some small medical clinic that didn't have a big staff? That was... conveniently next door to a bird vet?
It was just past midnight. Most clinics and hospitals'll be closed, thought Dean. Soon they were driving through increasingly dense suburbs, and Dean still had no idea what to do. A vet and a doctor, a vet and a doctor. Wings and human. Wings and human... We need someone who can deal with a combination of wings and human.
"Any luck?" he asked Sam.
Sam snorted. "Not unless Cas needs a beak trim," he said.
"No," said a hoarse whisper from the back seat. Dean had to stifle a little snort of laughter. He knew it wasn't funny, but... well, it was kind of funny, actually.
"We shouldn't be laughing," hissed Sam under his breath to Dean. "Honestly that's all I'm turning up. Clinics that do beak trims on parakeets. And sell Pretty-Bird Bird Chow. And... let's see... claw trims too. And DNA sexing tests for unknown-sex birds."
Suddenly they were both quietly, desperately stifling another helpless fit of giggles at the thought of trying to do a DNA-sexing test on an angel.
"I don't even know what the answer would be," hissed Dean. He hadn't even meant it as a joke — he truly didn't know — but they both buckled up in another guilty, silent fit of giggles.
But the silent-giggle-fit died out a second later when Sam finished scanning all the results on his phone, and reported tensely "No dice, Dean. No hits." They were both trying to keep their sentences short and cryptic, knowing that Cas might be listening. But Dean knew Sam must mean that none of the twenty-four emergency-vet-clinics in Salt Lake City had a bird vet on staff.
"None?" Dean asked, just to be sure.
"None," whispered Sam back.
Dean muttered, very very quietly, "Find something."
"Trying," hissed Sam back.
They'd crossed the city limits now, and they were starting to see signs to some of the local attractions. And all of a sudden Dean spotted one sign in particular that read:
SALT LAKE CITY ZOO - NEXT EXIT
Dean veered off into the right lane, and took the next exit.
"Dean, what the hell?" hissed Sam. "They won't even be open! A zoo isn't a vet clinic! Or a hospital! It's neither one!"
"It's both," said Dean. "At least, I'm hoping it's both. Hold on a sec." He steered the Impala through a complicated series of ramps and turns, following the "SALT LAKE CITY ZOO" signs at every intersection, and finally emerged into a large, empty parking lot with brightly colored animal banners marking the different parking aisles. It was deserted, faintly illuminated just by a few rows of dim yellow streetlights. Up ahead there were big rolling gates pulled shut across the main zoo entrance, which was completely dark.
"It's closed, Dean, see?" hissed Sam, gesturing at the gates.
"Listen, Sam," hissed Dean back. "They've got gorillas and monkeys here, right?"
"Yeah?" said Sam uncertainly.
"GORILLAS, Sam. MONKEYS."
"Oh," said Sam, his eyes widening. "Primates. Like humans."
"Exactly! AND they have big birds here, right? Eagles and stuff. They've got primates, AND big birds. Wouldn't the zoo vets have to know how to deal with both?"
Sam blinked. "Oh man. I see what you mean. Huh." He considered that, looking around the parking lot. "Actually... Dean, you're right, maybe a zoo vet is exactly what we need. But... it's the middle of the night. There won't be anybody here."
"But what if a gorilla or an eagle gets sick in the middle of the night?" said Dean, peering at the closed zoo entrance... which, granted, was looking a lot more firmly closed, and a lot darker, than he had been hoping. "They're endangered species, aren't they? There must be somebody who sticks around. What if there's, like, a pregnant elephant giving birth or something, don't they gotta have a night vet or something? Or somebody on call."
Dean looked all around the parking lot, but all the zoo buildings looked dark. The Impala's grumbling idle seemed the only sound in the quiet parking lot.
Then a pair of headlights appeared in the distance, cruising slowly through the lot.
"Damn. Security," said Dean. He hastily put the Impala in gear and pulled out of the main lot, saying "Hopefully they'll just think we were lost." He spotted a little side driveway that headed out of the main lot down a little hill, and on impulse he turned onto it, saying, "Let's just duck down this driveway for a sec and figure out a plan. If we could just find the name of the vet or something — Whoa." Dean had spotted a little sign up ahead. "Holy hell. Sam. Look!"
For the little driveway he had just snuck into turned out to lead directly to a low, modern-looking building with a neatly lettered sign out front that said:
ANIMAL HEALTH DEPARTMENT
"Ha!" said Dean. "See? I totally knew what I was doing."
"Why the hell is their animal health department outside the main fence?" said Sam.
"Dunno. Maybe we've actually caught a break for once." He snorted. "Caught a break... for a break... get it?"
"Not funny, Dean," said Sam. "Not even slightly."
"Sorry," said Dean, feeling instantly guilty. "Anyway, look, there's a little driveway going around back, behind that gate. Can you see if we can get through that gate?"
Sam grabbed his lockpick set out of the glove compartment— and grabbed his pistol, too, for good measure— and ran up to the gate, which was chained shut with a little padlock holding the chain in place. In less than a minute Sam had picked the padlock, and a moment later he was swinging the gate wide open. Dean steered the Impala through and pulled it around the corner of the building (slowly, so Cas wouldn't flap). There turned out to be a tiny employee parking lot here, which Dean could only hope was out of view of any security cameras. Sam, meanwhile, had trotted over to the little building and was peering into a window. He looked over at Dean a moment later and gave him a thumbs-up ("all's well"), a zero sign ("nobody in sight"), put his palm up toward Dean ("stay put, you don't need to come with me, I got this"), and finally he pointed to himself and drew a little circle in the air ("I'm gonna do a perimeter recon around the building."). Dean nodded, Sam darted around the corner of the building, and Dean finally had a chance to check on Cas.
He cut the motor, popped his seatbelt off and twisted around in his seat, getting up on his knees. He couldn't even see Cas's face now — the "good wing" was folded in so tightly now that the bend of the wing was totally hiding his face. Dean gently touched the wing, saying, "Cas? How you doing?"
The wing twitched slightly.
Dean put his hand on it tentatively, touching the big black flight feathers this time. He was surprised at how soft, yet strong, the gleaming feathers felt.
The wing nudged Dean's hand, pressing up at him slightly.
This really is so friggin' surreal, Dean thought.
"Cas, we're getting you some help," he said, "You're gonna be fine. We're gonna get a vet who can fix up wings."
To his surprise (and relief), it turned out Cas was awake. But what Cas said, his voice slow and faint, was:
"This... can't... be... fixed."
Dean said, faking a certainty he did not at all feel, "Sure it can."
Cas said, one word at a time between ragged breaths, "A... broken... wing... cannot... be... repaired." He paused, and added, every word coming with difficulty, "Ziphius... told... the truth."
Dean opened his mouth and took a breath, to try to say something reassuring, but he realized he had no idea what to say.
Because... what if Cas were right?
While Dean was crouching there, trying to come up with something to say, Cas said, "Dean." Cas turned his head slightly and opened his eyes, looking up at Dean for the first time all evening.
Dean was shocked at how weak Cas looked— how ashen his face was, how hard it seemed for him to even hold his eyes open. Dean rested his hand on Cas's good wing, a little uncertainly, hoping to comfort him somehow, but a wing-pat hardly seemed like it was going to help.
Cas took an uneven breath, and said, "Thank you for... trying.. to help. But. Please... don't let... this... go on... too long." He took another breath and added, with effort, "Please Dean."
Dean's hand tightened slightly on the edge of the wing. What exactly was Cas saying?
"Give us a chance, here, Cas," said Dean. He wasn't totally sure what they were talking about... and wasn't sure he wanted to know. He repeated, "Please, just, give us a chance. We've pulled off some unlikely wins before, haven't we? You and me, and Sam?"
Cas gave a tiny nod.
"We've done it before. We'll do it again. So you just hang in there, okay?"
Promise me you won't just give up and stop breathing, Dean thought. We just got you back. We just got our memories back, we just got YOU back. We can't lose you again.
"Promise me you'll hang in there," Dean pleaded. "Promise?"
Another tiny nod, and the wing pushed up into his hand again. Dean put both hands on Cas then: one hand still patting the wing, and the other gently stroking his dark hair back from his face. Just as Dean had done a few times before, when Cas had been nearly dying, and when Cas had had his awful nightmares later; and just as Cas had to both Dean and Sam, too, when they'd both been gravely ill themselves. An affectionate stroke-of-the-head, for special circumstances, Dean thought, remembering Cas trying to figure out what the gesture had meant.
"You're family, Cas. And we're not gonna give up on you," Dean whispered to him. For that, in fact, was what it meant. "We're not gonna give up on you," Dean repeated. "We're just not."
Dean was so intent on Castiel that he flinched when Sam rapped on the window. Dean cracked his door open and Sam said, "Gimme the wirecutters."
Sam dashed off with the wirecutters, and soon he'd disabled the Animal Health Department's ridiculously-basic alarm system and had broken inside. Just minutes later he was back again— this time with a pink post-it note in his hand.
"Name and number of the vet on call!" Sam said, waving the little pink post-it triumphantly. "Looks like there's nobody here right now, but there's this 'vet on call tonight' sign on this big whiteboard in the lobby and this name and number was written right underneath. It says, Dr. MacElroy—" and here Dean snatched the post-it right out of Sam's hand before he'd even finished talking. Dean was scrambling out of the car and dialing the number while Sam was still grabbing for the post-it, saying "Hey, wait, I was gonna call!"
Dean waved him into silence, for someone was answering the phone.
A gruff, sleepy man's voice answered the phone, saying, "Yeah, what's up?"
"Dr. MacElroy?" said Dean, reading the name from the post-it as Sam leaned in close to listen. "You're on call tonight?"
"Yeah, this is Mac. Who is this?" Dr. "Mac" cleared his throat sleepily.
"This is, ah, Jake from the zoo. I'm the new night-security guy," improvised Dean. "Sorry to wake you, but we, uh, we've got a situation here. I think you need to come in right away."
"Tell me it's not the snow leopard cubs," said Dr. Mac, suddenly sounding much more alert.
"It's not the snow leopard cubs!" said Dean. "No, no, actually it's, uh, one of the birds broke a wing. One of the big birds. It looks like a pretty bad break. I think you gotta come in."
"Oh, classic," said Dr. Mac with a big sigh. "Midnight. Never fails. Who broke a wing?"
Dean almost said, "Castiel." He swallowed, and said, "I... uh... don't know its name... It's... one of the big birds. A really big bird."
There was a short pause.
"Who is this again? Where's Roger?"
"This is Jake. Uh, Roger's busy with the bird. He asked me to call," said Dean. "Like I said, I'm the new guy. I just started. It's my first night, actually. Sorry, I don't know all the types of the birds yet. But like I said, it's one of the big birds. An eagle, I think he said?"
"Which eagle?"
Dean hesitated, and Dr. Mac, sounding kind of impatient, said, "White head or kind of gold speckled?"
Dean actually found himself glancing over at Cas and thinking, He does have some gold speckles. "Gold speckles, definitely," he said. Mac said, "Dammit. That's the imperial eagle then. It's really big? Gigantic wings? Kind of a cool wing pattern, black outer feathers?"
Sam, who was overhearing all this from about six inches away, gave a quiet little huff of a laugh and glanced at Dean.
Dean said, "Yeah, that's definitely the one. The imperial eagle."
"Damn. They're endangered. How bad a break?"
"Pretty bad. Bone's sticking out. The wing was sort of flopped over. Lot of blood."
"Well, fuck a duck," said Dr. Mack calmly. "Is Tom there yet? Is he bringing it to AHD?"
Tom? AHD? Dean went blank for a moment, till Sam hissed under his breath, "Animal Health Department." Oh, right.
"It's already at AHD," said Dean. "We're there now. Tom says, how soon can you get here?"
"On my way," said Dr. Mack. "Be there in twenty minutes. Bring him, the eagle, around to the surgery doors if you can. The big bay doors. Get him inside if you can; if you can't, just keep him quiet in the zoo truck. Oh and— don't move him around any more than you have to. If his wing is broken he might start flapping, 'cause he'll be feeling really unbalanced. And with a big bird like that, flapping's bad."
Sam was totally unable to restrain a laugh, and Dean almost laughed himself. "Yeah, we kind of found that out," he said.
"Okay, if he's trying to flap at all, just try to keep him calm; cover his eyes if you need to; and leave him in the vehicle if you just don't dare move him. I can help move him when I get there."
"Um, by the way," asked Dean, "Do you also know about primates? Like, gorillas? Like, how to anesthetize them?"
"Please don't tell me there's something wrong with the gorillas," said Dr. Mac.
"No, I was just kind of wondering... do you really take care of all the animals? Birds... and primates? Y'know, all of them?"
"Yep. Gorillas, leopards, birds, elephants. Jack of all trades. That's what makes it fun. Actually we just did a cataract surgery on one of the gorillas last week. She came out fine."
"Awesome," said Dean, truly meaning it, and he gave a thumbs-up to Sam, who'd overheard the exchange and had a big relieved smile on his face.
"That's why they pay me the tiny bucks," said Dr. Mac cheerfully. "Not that I actually know what I'm doing. But we learn to wing it. HA HA!" This was really not that reassuring, but Dr. Mac continued blithely, "Just kidding. We fake like we know it, and that's half the battle. Oh, by the way, you're not squeamish or anything, are you?"
"Uh...not usually,"said Dean, suddenly feeling a little unsure about this.
"Good. Cause you're gonna run anesthesia."
"Uh," Dean said, "Um... Don't you need... like... a license for that? Don't you need to know... about anesthesia?"
"I'll tell you what to do and I'll set up the machine. You just need to watch the numbers."
"But don't... I ... need a license?"
"This ain't Mass General Hospital, kid. And you signed on as a night keeper, didn't you? Well, this is what night keepers do: any damn thing that has to be done. Don't worry, you'll be fine, we'll get by... on a wing and a prayer! HA HA HA! Heh. Anyway, bring it around to surgery, keep it calm, don't let it flap and I'll meet you there. Oh and— watch out for the talons. But I'm sure Tom's told you all about that. See ya. And— welcome to the zoo." He hung up, and Sam and Dean looked at each other.
Dean was speechless, but Sam said, cool as a cucumber, "Right, Jake. I'll call Sarah and tell her where to come. And then let's get that imperial eagle into surgery."
A/N -
So those of you who suggested that Step 4 should involve Sarah, Amelia, a vet, or a wildlife ranger... spot on! I figured, a zoo veterinarian is basically all those things wrapped up in one, right? And I figured Dean would be sharp enough to put that together — and also that he would be able to think of a way to actually get a zoo vet to come check out Cas.
BTW the layout of the "Salt Lake City Zoo" here is actually based on the zoo in Seattle, which indeed has its animal health department OUTSIDE the main perimeter fence for some odd reason. (the real Salt Lake zoo is actually called the Hogle Zoo)
But what is Dr. Mac going to think - and do - when he sees the "imperial eagle"? This may not be as easy as they're hoping. Stay tuned! And as always, please drop me a note if you liked this. And if you had a favorite part— an idea or a setting or character or bit of dialogue that you liked— let me know what it was. :)
PS - Private message to Cruelest Sea, ME, Pips and Lisa - in case you didn't know, you all either have private messaging turned off or did not log in, otherwise I would've replied to your comments. Thanks so much for commenting!