Author's Note: After 'you never let them have a happy moment, you sadist!' Mrstserc hands me this chapter. I think I've ruined her. I mean, apart from making her a Destiel fan (mwahaha, everyone shall join me on my ship), I have her doling out The Pain to our characters.
One more, we think. Please, please review!
...
The PISA intern just barely recognizes Castiel, when he and Sam come jogging up to the outside door. He has to talk fast when, barely slowing, the other man pushes him gently to the side from where he's stepped in front of him. Fortunately the intern's first words are enough to catch their attention. "Your brother…"
"What about Dean? Where is he?" Sam's normally friendly face turns dangerous as he demands answers. Sam and Cas both look like they've been mud fighting in a barbeque pit, and they smell like it was a septic pit instead, but it's the expressions beneath the muck and the blood that are chilling.
"Mackey told me to make sure you get your things…"
"Where is Dean Winchester?" growls Castiel, threateningly.
"…he said not to let you go upstairs cause you don't want to go until the police are gone," the young man stammers, trying to stick to the information given to him and feeling more frightened by their darkening glowers by the moment. "We grabbed your duffels from the motel. For that matter, we emptied the rooms for you in case the police go looking. Most of your stuff's in the Impala over there. Oh, here's the other, uh, the hurt guy's phone. Here's your key," His nervousness has the intern giving information in the wrong order and stuttering, and Sam, who recognizes the problem pulls on a commanding demeanor and starts asking questions that can be answered simply.
Is Dean alive? Yes. Was he injured? Yes. How badly? Bad. Was it Rivera? Yes. Is Rivera in custody? No. Which hospital is Dean at? Mackey knows. Where is Mackey? With the police upstairs.
"Mackey said to tell you to use the conference room and restroom down here to wash up, and that he'll be in to see you and lead you to the hospital as soon as he can get rid of the police," by then the young man has led them inside the building to the restrooms where their duffels wait. It's apparent the moment they look in the mirror that they'd draw attention appearing anywhere until they were cleaned up, and only delay getting to Dean longer by being arrested.
Blood and muck swirls down the bathroom sink as both men give a cursory scrub-down to their faces and hands and then change clothes, quickly, without discussion, as if they are racing the clock. Both aware that it's possible they are. Mackey still hasn't emerged from questioning with the police, and so they're led back to the conference room, where with a shaking hand the young intern clicks the mouse to begin a video on the screen before them.
"I. . . I started filming it, when the fight started. I thought maybe we could use it as evidence, or maybe that he'd stop if he knew he was on camera. I don't. . ."
The first slur, voices reedy through the computer speaker, makes him flinch and step away. Cas and Sam become deadly quiet, both at the verbal and vicious physical assaults, each winces with every kick as Rivera aims squarely at Dean's limp body again and again. Mackey shows up toward the end of the video, grimacing to see the violence on the computer screen. "The police are considering it a hate crime," Mackey tells the two Hunters, the old man looks at the puzzled face of the young giant in front of him. "Because of all the homophobic ranting."
Mackey can see how his words affect them. With a stricken look, Sam reaches out and clicks off the screen as if he can belatedly preserve his brother's dignity, to keep them from seeing the scene again and again. Castiel's hands bunch into fists at his side and he turns away from them, drawing a slow breath that betrays his devastation in the shuddering exhale.
They're barely holding it together as Mackey introduces himself to John Winchester's youngest, finally, reaching out his hand toward this towering man whose expression seems hardened and ageless. Mackey says he is sorry to meet Sam in these circumstances, but everything these last three days seems to have happened too quickly. Mackey isn't used to it, and wonders if Hunters' lives are always at such a hectic pace. He fills them both in on why Dean was at the PISA building, telling them everything that Dean said he had found out, and handing them Rivera's journal.
"Enough. We need to get to Dean." It's Castiel's voice, and he turns back to them again. The composure is a lie, the already thin strand of patience has worn away. Mackey is a good man, who worked to save Dean, but every moment they linger is a moment they don't know what's happening to Dean, and neither can tolerate it.
With a look at the two men before him, Mackey nods in understanding, drawing his keys from his pockets. "Alright. Follow me."
...
The Trauma Center at University Hospital in San Antonio prides itself as one of the few Level I centers in the state. Their workers are trained professionals who thrive on the challenge of stabilizing the worse injuries in thirty-five counties.
One trauma team has its hands full of that challenge today as what appears to be a previously injured, extremely ill man who has been badly beaten arrives in an ambulance. It's like they are dealing with layers of damage that they have no answers for because the battered man was unaccompanied, has no identification, and is unconscious. Complicating matters further, his temperature is 104.7, seemingly from badly infected animal bites on his arm. He is wearing a leg brace and his knee is swollen.
They quickly strip him and unstrap the leg brace which is bent and digging into the leg. The emergency room doctor orders blood work, urinalysis, CAT scans, X-rays and ultrasounds as triage continues. A trauma surgeon joins them. Bleeding from a head wound leads to a skull fracture; some swelling but no splintering of the bone means that can wait. Besides external bruises and swelling, he has internal injuries, even before the results are in they doctors can see the internal swelling. He has at least one broken rib which has punctured a lung, three other ribs are cracked. Surgery is required to reposition the rib. He has contusions to his spleen, kidney and liver, and they will have to check for any ruptures and stop the internal bleeding.
With all the older injuries made apparent by the tests, they wonder if they are dealing with a military man or a veteran. They prep this John Doe for surgery and start him on fluids and intravenous antibiotics, hoping when he wakes up – if he wakes up – he'll be able to supply some answers.
...
Dean is still in surgery when Mackey and the Hunters arrive at the hospital. The emergency room doctor escorts them to the surgery waiting area and gives them an update, stressing that they won't know the full extent of the head trauma until they can assess him, and they can't do that until he is conscious. He refuses to offer a prognosis, saying that the fever and head injuries are the two variables, that the trauma team will have the other injuries taken care of in a few hours with the surgeries.
A hospital insurance clerk arrives to get information from the family, reminding Sam that Bobby needs to be told. Sam tackles the paperwork, handing his phone to Cas for him to call Bobby, and he just. . . can't. He is sitting here, useless, surrounded by pain and chaos and scurrying medical teams and Castiel is supposed to be able to fix this and he can't. Sam glances up when Castiel stands, palming the offered phone, but nods in understanding. However Castiel thought of it. . . that was a very human reaction. Sam hated waiting rooms too.
The hospital chapel is a featureless, soulless room—too politically correct to be anything but a quiet, empty room with low pews and no religious iconography, allowing the desperate people of the waiting room somewhere to reflect regardless of their religion or denomination. There is no pull, here, to enter. Instead, he steps through the next door into the long, narrow courtyard tucked between the ER and the rest of the hospital. Serenity Garden. Low stone benches look out over carefully maintained shrubs, rock gardens, small flowers native to South Texas.
He can't wander far. He won't. A shout out of the door to him would bring him back, and he makes sure Sam sees him go so that he won't be forgotten as he tries to find an area where he can sit and not feel confined. Keep breathing, he reminds himself, because every inhalation feels forced. The weight of the phone in his hand reminds him of his purpose, and he brushes his finger across the edge of the screen to clear off the remaining blood that Sam's hasty swipe missed. He's not sure what he is going to say to Bobby Singer, but he has seen this man be a better father to the Winchesters than their biological father ever was.
Bobby thinks it's Sam calling back because his brother has told him too. "What the hell's up with your brother," he asks in lieu of a greeting. "He was sounding like a mixed-up blonde bimbo this morning."
"Dean is in the hospital. Sam is filling out paperwork."
Bobby's words becomes more formal when he understands that it is Castiel, not one of his adopted sons, on the phone. "Just tell me everything."
Castiel's voice is forced and leaden at first, his guilt over the Grigori spawn cutting him deeply, his concern over Dean causing him anguish. His voice gains in volume and anger as he continues. He relates the details of Sam's and his confrontation with the spawn; then he explains how Dean, although he was supposed to have a quiet day, had managed to find Rivera's journal and have a physical confrontation with the hunter. He tells Bobby that Dean is in surgery, listing the injuries the doctor has revealed.
"Dean Winchester was sick this morning, feverish, but said nothing to either his brother or to me. His secretive nature has complicated his injuries." Anger makes Castiel's voice louder, and Bobby interrupts.
"What would you have done if Dean told you he was sick?" he snaps. "Not gone? Allowed others to be murdered by the monsters? Don't you think Dean knew that? Now, I admit he should have taken it easy, but it sounds to me like, for a change, Dean wasn't looking for trouble. Just his luck that it found him anyway. Now, calm down and tell me who really has you riled besides yourself and Dean."
No wonder the Winchesters hold Robert Singer in their hearts so fondly, Castiel muses. He has cut through the confusing emotions clouding my mind.
"I want to kill Rivera." Castiel's gravelly voice leaves no room to imagine that he means this metaphorically. "I want to break his ribs and pound them into his lungs. I want to crush his head beneath my boots…."
"But you know you can't because we are Hunters, not vigilantes, not murderers. Right, Castiel?" There's an edge to the question, the voice of a man who watched Castiel spiral without being blinded by the affection his boys held for the angel. "You know we walk a fine line and crossing it makes you as evil as the things we hunt? You know that Dean and Sam never even went after Roy and Walt, the two Hunters who shot them, right?" Bobby is being patient; he's never been a big fan of the angel, but he's willing to accept that Cas is important to the boys and a Hunter. Both things make Castiel, the man, part of his extended family. He lets the silence at the end of his questions work. Makes the former angel think.
"Is he not as evil as some of the other monsters we kill?" Castiel finally asks, and Bobby knows this is a point every Hunter faces sometime in his career. There isn't an official school for Hunters, but those who ignore the purpose and ethics aren't welcomed by the community. Hunters kill monsters and those that use the supernatural to commit evil. They leave evil men to law enforcement. "The boys will tell you the same as I have," Bobby says softly but with certainty. The Winchester boys are heroes.
When Castiel hangs up he continues to sit in the garden, trying to allow the quiet to calm him, knowing that Bobby is right and he cannot exact revenge on Ruben Rivera. He is trembling as he looks to the sky as he prays. "Father, brothers, I know what I've done. I'm not worthy of any consideration. I have fallen so far, but, please . . . don't test me so far this soon. I'm struggling to live this mortal life without losing my purpose, without becoming something counter to the nature for which I was created. Please, help me. Please do not allow Dean to die. I am not ready to do this without him."
Silence answers him, in his mind and in the solitude of the garden. Bowing his head, Castiel closes his eyes, swallows his pride, and quietly pleads for something he should never have had in the first place, until Sam calls for him.
...
Later, Castiel and Sam sit side by side next to Dean's bed in ICU. They listen to the mechanical beeps and whoosh of squeezed air from the machines that are monitoring Dean's vital signs, pumping fluids and medication into him, and working his lungs to keep him alive. It has been seven hours since Dean was brought into the hospital. The doctors say the surgery went well. The fever has been going down, 102.3 at the last check. The antibiotics they are using will defeat the infection, rest and care will heal the rest of his injuries – six weeks is the recommendation, and neither Sam nor Cas doubts they will make him take that time. Even after that, his knee will require physical therapy to heal completely. The real issue - how badly has his head been injured. He could be facing brain damage, loss of memory or motor skills. The doctors don't know because Dean still has not regained consciousness.
What they can see of Dean looks bruised. He has bandages on his head, his arm, over the surgical incision on his abdomen; his leg has been cast with a slight bend in the knee to make him unable to put weight on it. It's as though the doctors knew him well enough to know they would have to force him to stay off the leg, thinks Sam. Maybe how badly he mangled the brace was a clue.
Sam sighs loudly enough that Cas breaks away from his meditative pose to ask him what is wrong. "I've been worrying about Dean for weeks, Cas. I thought he had Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I thought he was headed for some kind of mental breakdown, and now – it's that bastard Rivera's words. I just don't know if he's going to be okay when he wakes up, I mean even if he's going to recover physically, you know."
Castiel's blue eyes are intense as he peers at Sam, and his words are slow and confused. "I don't understand what you're saying, Sam. My biggest concern is the head injury. I have not even thought of what Dean's emotional state might be. Why is this a concern?"
With a sad smile and a shake of his head, Sam continues. "Cas, you've been good for Dean. Yeah, he's still drinking too much and not eating right, but he's also happier than I've seen him in a long time. He's smiling and joking again. I just. . . I'm not afraid anymore that I'm going to walk into a motel room and find that he's eaten a bullet."
Sam can see what he is saying is shaking the angel, but he feels like he has to finish. "I think he was just getting comfortable with it, coming to figure out he was wrong about what being in a relationship with another guy might be like. Our dad was pretty vocal about homosexuality, called it wrong, called it. . . a lot of things." Raking a hand through his hair, fingers tangling in the burned and ragged ends, he puffs his breath out quietly, looking at his brother. "I mean. . . Cas, you two've been dancing around each other for years and he just started to get over it, and he still won't even talk about it with me. And he just got his ass kicked by someone while being called something he hasn't even let himself say out loud. He didn't even fight it. He fought, but he never argued."
Castiel freezes, his hand tucked around the edge of the bandage on Dean's hand still, blue eyes flicking up to the unconscious man's face. This man, who offered an insult to everyone, hadn't given a single retort. Perhaps because, deep down, he believed it of himself.
He might lose Dean even if his friend pulls through this beating alive and without brain damage - Sam is attempting to steel him for that fact. The walls close in on him so swiftly that he can't move. He's being crushed, he is crushed, and he can't focus. Selfish. He's selfish, and he knows that he needs this, needs Dean. If Dean wakes from this and turns away from the only comfort the fallen angel has found in this life, he wonders if it'll be him eating a bullet. Everything. He's given up everything to get here, and now 'here' is everything, this life with Dean and with Sam. Co-dependent, the boys had been called, and now he's tied into that and maybe he has been for years.
Sam's wide hazel eyes are fixed on him, and he knows he's panicking when the younger man speaks and he doesn't hear it. Sam's trying to find something to help Cas deal with what looks like a anxiety attack, then he hears that flutter of wings that at one time meant Castiel had arrived.
"Oh, pipe down already, Cassy. You're giving me a headache."
