Chapter 10

"Come on. We'll take you back to your motel," Sam said.

Beside him, Dean remained silent, looking anywhere but at the fallen angel. That hurt more than all the scrapes and bruises and cracked bones combined. Castiel wondered why Dean let Sam make the offer at all when it was clear he would rather be anywhere else.

Castiel followed them back to their car, limping slightly as his body realized how much damage it had taken. He licked his lips and tasted fresh blood.

The car he was confronted with was considerably smaller than he'd been expecting. And it was orange. "This isn't your car," Castiel said. He glanced around but saw no sign of the sleek black Impala. Dean tensed.

"The car is… in storage," Sam said. "We have to keep a low profile."

Castiel didn't know what profiles had to do with anything but he didn't question it further. He looked at the little two door car with misgivings. It didn't seem large enough to fit them all. Sam opened the passenger side door with a squeal of metal and reached in to fold his seat forward so Castiel could get in.

"Need help?" Sam asked when Castiel just stared.

He shook his head. He didn't like the looks of this car. It was also decidedly less comfortable than the last bus he'd ridden. Castiel instantly missed the Impala. But he tucked his knees as close together as they would go and made himself small while the Winchesters climbed into the front seats. Dean started the car and turned it towards the parking lot exit.

"Where are you staying?" Sam tilted his head towards the backseat but didn't turn around.

Castiel told him and they drove in silence, Dean a tense and silent shape in the darkness.

The ride was blessedly short. Castiel spent the majority of it staring out the window and wondering what he could say or do so the Winchesters would finally meet his eyes again. There seemed to be nothing.

The tires crunched over the black top of the motel parking lot as they slid to a stop. Dean was out his door in seconds. Castiel was held prisoner in the backseat until Sam unfolded himself onto the pavement. They made a strange procession to the motel room, Castiel in the lead as he tried to pry the room key from his pocket with shaking fingers. Sam and Dean followed close behind, silent guardians.

Castiel unlocked the door and threw it wide. "Please come in."

He turned on the lamp and looked around. Everything was as he'd left it an hour before but he checked it anyway. Lines of salt, trio of angels beside the bed, bag of folded clothes on the dresser. He set the key on the nightstand beside his angels, waiting anxiously for the sound of footsteps behind him. It wasn't until he heard the door shut that he turned around. His room seemed so much smaller with the Winchesters inside of it.

He tugged at the buttons of his wool coat with his good hand but they slipped through his fingers time and time again. The effort sent a shiver of pain through his ribs. He was quickly losing patience with this body.

"Jesus," Dean snapped before batting Castiel's hand away. He yanked the buttons free of the buttonholes in quick succession. Then he headed for the door. "I'm gonna get some ice." He pointed a finger at Castiel. "Get him cleaned up," he said before slamming the door behind him.

Castiel and Sam stared at the door.

The silence in the room was more than deafening but Castiel didn't have the courage to break it. He seemed to have expended his supply already. So he busied himself with shrugging out of his coat. It slid down his arms with an effort, snagging on his shirtsleeves repeatedly. His ribs protested every movement. He draped his coat over the bed.

His eyes fell on his angels and his anxiety eased ever so slightly. They were three now, a family in miniature. He ran a gentle hand over their heads. His first with animals gathered at her feet. The second from Bonnie. And then the newest. It was of a stockier build than the others. Less delicate, with stubby wings protruding from its back. It was a clumsy little thing but he liked it all the same. Still, the first always sat proudly at the front. Pride. What a funny emotion it was.

"It was a terrible thing," Castiel said before he realized he meant to speak. "What I did to you, Sam. I can't begin to apologize. But I… regret it. I would fix it if I could. All of it."

Castiel sighed.

He hadn't expected forgiveness. Not really. But perhaps he had started to hope.

He raised his eyes to Sam's but the expression there was impossible to read. Something fluttered behind his eyes and disappeared.

"We should get you bandaged up," Sam said with false cheer.

Castiel found Sam to be an adequate doctor. He was kind and thorough. But once Sam had finished inspecting and diagnosing Castiel's myriad injuries they were left to stare at the walls again. Dean still hadn't returned with ice but their 'borrowed' car was still in the parking lot. He couldn't have gone far. He wouldn't leave Sam behind.

Castiel inspected his wrapped fingers for the fifth time. Sam had pinned Castiel's third and fourth fingers together in a makeshift splint made out of popsicle stick. Castiel had no idea where the stick had come from. One finger was still a distressing shade of purple, sore and puffy like a rotten sausage. Castiel didn't care much for sausage, especially when it was taking the place of a functional finger.

"How's it feel?" Sam asked, looking from Castiel to his hand and back again.

"Painful." There were plenty of other words he could have used. Throbbing. Sore. Excruciating. Awkward. But he didn't want to complain.

Castiel heaved himself up off the bed and shuffled towards the bathroom with his body protesting every movement. When he looked in the bathroom mirror, the sight that greeted him was worse than he'd expected. Blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth already drying to a brownish crust. One cheek had turned a vibrant shade of bruised. A crosshatching of scrapes covered the other. No doubt his body would be a similar patchwork of black and blue. And he had been correct. His hair had grown too long again. It stood up in clumps from the fight. He ran his good hand through it, trying to smooth the unruly hairs back into something more presentable. With his hair off his forehead, he uncovered another set of scrapes running along his temple. Castiel yanked the hand towel from the rod. He ran cold water over it and set to work cleaning his face with careful dabs and pats.

Before he'd quite finished, a gentle knock came at the door. "You okay in there?" Sam asked.

"Yes." Castiel scrubbed the last of the blood from his face and left the towel on the side of the sink.

Sam still hovered just outside the door. "You should get some rest."

Castiel nodded. He was finding it hard to ignore the complaints of his body any longer. His stubborn body.

He dropped onto the bed and toed off his shoes, still caked in grave dirt. That seemed like so long ago already. His shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry, Sam," he said. "You're welcome to stay of course. But I'll understand if you're gone when I wake up. It was good to see you again." Castiel gave him a long look over just in case. He tried to memorize every detail but he knew it was a wasted effort. He'd begin forgetting again by tomorrow. "I need to sleep." He laid himself out carefully, trying not to jostle his ribs any more than necessary, and closed his eyes. He wanted to lie still and listen, to wait and see if Sam would leave him, but he fell into sleep anyway like a trap laid out especially for him.

His sleep was fitful, a fever dream of his wrong doings wrapped in fear for the future and tied with a bow. The slam of the door broke him from sleep. He sat up, instantly awake, and found his body a riot of aches intensified by hours of inactivity. The curtains were drawn against the morning sun but he didn't miss the silhouette beside the door. Dean sat in a chair there, arms folded over his chest, watching him like a guard on duty. Maybe he was.

Castiel blinked at him. "You're still here," he noted. "Where's Sam?"

"Getting breakfast. You look like hell."

Castiel nodded. He didn't doubt it.

Silence descended like a heavy metal curtain. Absolute. Unbreakable. Castiel looked at Dean. Dean looked back.

Finally Castiel tore his gaze away. Tugging back the covers with his three good fingers, he climbed from the bed. He hoped that some time spent in the shower would be enough to ease his discomfort. Blood and grime still hung on him like a film.

"So where were you?"

Dean's question stopped Castiel in midstride. He cocked his head. He wasn't quite sure what answer Dean expected. What was it that he wanted?

"All this time. We thought you were dead. You walked into that reservoir and…" Dean made a sweeping gesture with his hand. "Game over."

"The Leviathan… they overwhelmed my vessel," Castiel said haltingly. It was difficult to explain when he didn't fully understand it himself. "I'm not sure what happened. How long it took to rebuild myself. I woke and everyone, everything, was gone. My powers. I haven't heard the call of Heaven since. I suppose that makes me practically human." He licked his lips, mouth gone dry. "I intended to keep my distance. From you. And Sam. I nearly destroyed everything. I've done enough damage."

"Then why didn't you?" Dean's face was hard. His stare pinned Castiel in place.

Castiel slumped, ignoring the ache in his side and the throbbing in his head. The pain in his heart was greater. "I suppose I'm still selfish after all. I can't fix what I've broken. Not like this. But I hoped… I wanted to make amends. I realize it's probably impossible."

He stood waiting for the rejection that was sure to come. When it didn't, Castiel looked up. Dean stared at the wall as if he could burn a hole through it with willpower alone. The door opened beside him and Sam came in carrying a bag of food. The smell of it enticed and repulsed Castiel at the same time. His stomach had knotted itself so tightly he didn't think he would eat for days.

"How are you feeling?" Sam asked.

"Better. Thank you."

Castiel disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door carefully behind him. It would have been easier if Sam shunned him openly. Yet he didn't. He looked at Castiel with consideration though it must have pained him to do so. Castiel had brought such harm to Sam. With his own hands he had broken him. Castiel felt much more comfortable with Dean's stubborn belligerence. He'd had months to prepare for that.

He took his time showering, trying to forcefully scrub away the memories and the distress he was feeling. This was what he'd set out for. Forgiveness or rejection. It was what he had wanted. With the hours spent in the confessional, praying to God. In the park, while the children played. He supposed this was what humans meant when they said 'be careful what you wish for.'

Castiel shut off the water, annoyed with the cowardice he was showing. He had faced down hordes of demons in Hell yet these two humans, Sam and Dean, they terrified him. His brothers and sisters would laugh if they knew of it. But he wouldn't run from judgment. It was useless to try anyway.

The Winchesters looked up in unison when Castiel left the bathroom. They were sitting at his little table eating their fast food breakfast. Dean held out a bundle wrapped in paper.

"Here," he said.

Castiel stared at the wrapped mystery food as if Dean had just offered him his own heart.

"You got a problem with biscuits or something?" Dean waved the food at him. "Take it."

"What?" Castiel blinked hard. He felt like he had missed an important part of the conversation.

Dean grumbled and tossed the breakfast sandwich at Castiel. "Eat. Then pack your toys. We're leaving."

Author's Note: And so ends another long(ish) chapter. Another difficult chapter to write as well. I never figured that Sam and Dean would dump Castiel and I hope you all agree. I mean, seriously. The poor guy just took a severe beating and, like Dean said, they were family once. You can hardly call yourself a Winchester until you've brought down an apocalypse on the world. (: Of course, Castiel still has some work to do before he's off probation. And thusly more chapters will come.

Now onto the most pressing matter at hand. Season 7 finale. Have you all seen it yet? I believe a resounding WHAT? is in order, don't you? And now we sit and wait until October. And twiddle our thumbs. Or in my case, split time between thumb twiddling and writing fanfiction about Castiel instead of doing my real work.

And once again, we conclude by saying: reviews make me write ten times faster and make me smile like an idiot. All day long. Hope you've enjoyed the chapter.