A/N: This is way longer than a "ficlet" should be, but I wrote it with the intention of it being one, so here is where I post it. Thank you guest Kathy and Cruelest Sea for your reviews!
"Wounded"
Dean stands on one side of the room, antiseptic wipes and bandages held idly in his hands. Next to him, Sam's got rags and the suture kit, but he doesn't move, either, and throws a questioning look at Dean. Like he knows how to handle this.
Cas is huddled in the far corner, pressed against the wall with his knees drawn in. His coat and suit jacket are torn and stained with blood. It took a lot of effort to get him from the Impala to the motel room, but after that he had pushed himself away from any assistance and has burrowed in, closing himself off.
Shaking his head, Dean tries approaching again, cautiously. He hadn't gotten a good response the first time.
"Don't," Cas growls, and Dean halts. He grinds his teeth in frustration, yet somehow manages to keep a calm exterior.
"You don't look so good, man," he says gently. "Why don't you let me and Sam patch you up?"
"I said no." Cas shoots him a murderous glare.
Dean doesn't back down. He never would have imagined he'd find himself in this situation. Cas usually heals up pretty quickly from injuries. But these had been dealt by demons who had held Cas captive for days before the Winchesters just happened to find him while chasing Apocalypse omens. Dean gets the feeling that if it weren't for how badly Cas is hurt, he would have flitted off already to nurse his wounds by himself.
The dark mass tucked behind Cas shifts, and the angel bites back a strangled sound. That's another thing Dean is having trouble wrapping his head around. Bunched up as they are in the dim light of the motel room, the wings don't look so dissimilar from the shadows Dean once saw in a barn a year ago. But the tattered feathers scraping the floor are obvious, as is the gash high up on the shoulder. There's a dark smear on the wall from where they've been pressed for the past half hour.
Dean throws a look at Sam for help, but his brother just fidgets uncertainly where he stands, brow creased with concern. Dean sighs.
"Cas…"
Cas flinches away from him, his dilated pupils flashing dangerously. He has never looked so not human as he does now. Granted, Cas isn't human, but Dean's used to thinking of him as a nerdy guy with super powers. The wings, however, and the current, feral disposition makes Dean's perceptions shift. Cas is more like a wounded animal right now. And he needs help, whether he wants it or not.
Dean slowly lowers himself to the floor, putting himself on the same eye level. "Why are your wings visible?" he asks. He thinks that's part of the problem, part of the reason Cas has turned so hostile toward them. To confirm it, the black appendages ruffle as they try to fold tighter against Cas's back.
"The demons had a spell," Cas replies, voice coarse with gravel. "Don't touch them."
Dean holds his hands up where Cas can see them, still clutching the first aid supplies. "They're bleeding," he tries to reason with the angel.
Cas makes a garbled noise, face scrunching up. "They'll heal on their own," he spits.
"When?"
Cas doesn't answer. Dean takes a breath, trying to remain collected and understanding. It's hard, though, because Cas is bleeding all over, and insisting he's fine is stupid.
"We just wanna help," Sam speaks up.
"Then leave me alone."
"Can't do that," Dean says, matching his brother's soft tone. "You're hurt, and we do not turn away from friends who need help."
Cas's eyes are dark and glassy when he jerks his gaze toward him, and Dean gets it, understands the tension and terror he sees there. But there's also more, something on the verge of a different kind of fear and trepidation. Cas has never been wounded like this, not that Dean has seen. And he's cut off from Heaven, his mojo running low. Maybe he can't heal himself like usual. And there's no other angel in Heaven or Earth who would help him.
"Cas, do you trust me?"
Cas is silent, but something in his expression wavers. "I can't put them back on the ethereal plane yet," he mumbles.
"That's fine," Dean says carefully. It's clear they're making Cas feel vulnerable and exposed. "Because they look like they could use some patching up."
"We'll be careful," Sam adds, still staying on the far side of the room. "Please, let us help."
Cas's eyes shimmer with indecision. Dean doesn't move from where he's squatting on the floor, afraid of spooking the angel when they finally seem to be making some headway.
Finally, Cas gives a very slow, very measured nod. He still eyes Dean like he's a cobra, even with the permission, and Dean takes great care to not make any sudden movements and to keep his hands where Cas can see them as he inches closer. He coaxes Cas into uncurling and letting him see the wounds better. There's an assortment of lacerations and burns. Some are going to need stitches and that won't be fun. Dean thinks about giving Cas some whiskey, but it would probably take a whole bottle just to make him tipsy.
Sam takes several long seconds to eventually join them, getting down on his knees as well. Cas is coiled like a spring, but doesn't snap as they gently and methodically check over his wounds, applying antiseptic where they can reach. This is going to be a bigger task than either of them had realized, complicated further by the inability to get Cas's coat and shirt off, not with the wings protruding out the back of the fabric.
"Will you let us do the wings first?" Dean asks. "Maybe after they get patched up, you'll be able to put them back?"
Cas's eyes narrow a fraction, but he doesn't say anything, just shifts to half turn toward them. His jaw his tight, though, as are the white knuckles gripping his knees. But if there was ever a sign of trust between them, this is it.
Dean hesitantly reaches out to touch one wing, but pauses. He starts talking, keeping his voice low and level, telling Cas everything he's about to do before he does it—where he's going to touch, when he's going to use the antiseptic which might sting. The wing twitches, but Cas doesn't turn on them. He's a lion with a thorn in his paw- er, wing, and Dean is the mouse trying to pull it out.
Patching up an injury has never taken this long, yet Dean doesn't rush. He knows he can't, not this time. So he takes it painstakingly slow. Sam doesn't scooch forward to examine the other wing, but settles for handing Dean the various first aid items as he needs them.
Cas doesn't say a word. Sometimes he sucks in a harsh breath or hisses, but other than that, he barely moves. It's weird for Dean to drone on like this, narrating his well-rehearsed movements. He's more used to telling a random story, or trying to make casual conversation to keep the patient's mind off the pain. But that won't work with Cas.
"I've got three more stitches to put in, then I'll tie it off."
Cas shudders with the nip and tuck.
Finally, Dean finishes. "I don't think I can bandage it," he admits. "But the stitches should hold if you don't exert it. I guess that means no flying for a bit. You'll have to ride around in the Impala with us."
Cas doesn't respond. Dean didn't really expect him to. There's a sharp intake of breath, and then the wings shimmer before disappearing completely. Cas slumps forward against the wall.
Sam looks at Dean in bewilderment.
"How you doin', buddy?" Dean asks.
Cas inhales again. "I'm…alright," he says, and sounds nothing like the being that was on the verge of violence several minutes ago.
"Think you can move to the bed? It'd be more comfortable for us to check over your other wounds."
Cas turns his head and pries his eyes open. "Very well," he says so softly that Dean almost doesn't hear him. The wild animal is gone, and now it's just Cas, the nerdy guy who stoically endures discomfort without complaint.
But Dean's not likely to forget what's simmering just beneath the surface, the wild, untamed creature. He'd seen the dead demons in that warehouse. Even bound and tortured, Cas had still managed to kill off half of his captors before Dean and Sam had even arrived.
As he tends the rest of Castiel's wounds, Dean has to remind himself that just because he'd become friends with an angel, did not make that angel tame.