After Castiel had explained to Gabriel his urgency to get back to the farm, they were off on a full gallop, the worry still nagging in the back of his mind. He couldn't quite place why he was so worried, as there wasn't much that could go wrong now unless Dean moved, but even through this rationalization he couldn't shake the feeling.

Luckily, he didn't have to be worried for long, as they arrived at the farm in a little under an hour. "Do ya know where the barn is?" Castiel asked, dismounting from the tired horse. Gabriel nodded, readjusting his hat. "Yeah, I'll go take care of 'em." he replied, taking the horse's reigns. He almost turned to comment about how worried the other man was, but at one glance at the concerned, almost grief filled blue eyes watching him intently, he decided against it. Castiel murmured a quick thanks as he turned and headed into the house, feet leading him back to Dean's room.

"Dean?" He called quietly, opening the door to find the farmer asleep. Worry dissipating slightly at the blessedly peaceful look on the farmer's face, Castiel headed over to the window and opened it quietly to ease the stifling air in the room. Satisfied then with the cooling breeze that came of his efforts, the blue-eyed man made his way over to the side of Dean's bed, gaze wandering over the farmer's face in an effort to spot any sign of distress. Seeing little to be worried with, he slowly removed the damp cloth from Dean's sleep relaxed fingers, his brow furrowing in concern when he felt the temperature of his friend's skin as their hands brushed.

Gently, as to not wake him, Castiel placed the back of his hand against Dean's sweat damp brow, finding the skin hotter than what it should have been. Worry coming back full force, Castiel turned to the wash basin and dipped the towel in fresh, cool water, taking a seat once more beside Dean's bed. He hoped not to wake the other man, and went about his task slowly, pressing the damp cloth to Dean's cheeks and forehead gently to cool his fever.

"It's alright, I'll take care of ya." Castiel reassured, his voice barely audible as he rested the folded cloth against Dean's forehead. Watching the farmer's face carefully, he saw a line of discomfort leave Dean's brow to make way for total peace as he shifted ever so slightly in sleep.

Curious to see if the fever had cooled, Castiel pressed the pads of his fingers against Dean's stubble flecked cheek, relief flooding through him at the once again cool skin. Then, as he was pulling his hand away, his eye caught on a spare drop of water slowly trailing down Dean's face from the towel above. Not wanting this tickling sensation to wake the thankfully sleeping farmer, Castiel found himself brush his fingers along Dean's cheekbone, wiping away the drop of moisture. However, this time, instead of relief he felt at the coolness of Dean's skin, he felt something else rush through him, a soft sensation that began at his resting fingertips and dove straight into his chest.

Puzzled and slightly disturbed by the feeling he knew, he drew his hand back as if he had been burnt, staring at his own fingertips in shock. That feeling, he knew it all too well, had felt it far too many times when he looked over to Kate in their short time together. Except now, instead of allowing the feeling to overcome him in pleasant bliss, he pressed it away, guilt twisting at his stomach. That feeling, the nearly electric sensation at the tips of his fingers, that had been adoration, fondness, happiness, hope, relief, and joy; that had been love.

Shaking his head quickly, as if he could deny the knowledge he had stumbled upon due to his own reaction, Castiel placed his head in his hands and took a few still quiet, deep breaths, trying to push the thoughts of Dean, of Kate even, from his mind. He just needed to be alone and stop this whole thing at its core, figure out why on earth he was feeling anything further than slight friendship for Dean.

"No, damn it, no." Castiel whispered to himself, clenching his fists in his hair for a moment of blessed silence before he heard someone clear their throat behind him. Startling at the noise, he turned, finding Gabriel leaning against the door, concern creasing his brow.

"Is somethin' wrong?" The honey-eyed man asked, frowning as he looked upon the sick form of Dean lying immobile and sleeping on the bed. Castiel got up quietly with one last look towards Dean, exiting the room and shutting the door softly as Gabriel moved. "Everything's fine, he's just got a slight fever." He replied softly, leading the other man from the house so they could speak at a normal volume.

"So, I guess we should just start in on the farming." Gabriel offered at the strange silence between them, walking on the path towards the wheat field. Castiel was pulled from his frantically disturbed thoughts by Gabriel's voice and nodded. "Once I know how to work everything, we can get a routine set up so your work load won't be so big." "Sounds fine to me." Gabriel said with a slight smile, which was oddly close to a smirk. "So, what happened to Dean, anyway?" He asked after a moment, the question too pressing to leave alone.

Castiel hesitated to answer, the memory still raw and painful for him to recount. But, there was no reason it should be, and with this resolve, he began telling Gabriel his story, beginning with discovering Dean. Quickly, he filtered through all the facts, not including anything of his own struggles or worries; Gabriel, or anyone for that matter, didn't need to know about those.

At the end of his story, Gabriel's face lit up with recognition. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to have been that crazy guy that came busting into the general store yesterday, were ya?" He asked with a smirk, not accounting for the impact his words might have. "Boy, did Mr. Whitney have a story about that! He went on and on about this crazy lookin' guy with his shirt half done, blood covering his hands, frantically demanding to know where Dr. Sing-" he went on, his words halting and smirk falling when he looked over to notice Castiel's frown, which looked angry, almost hurt. Ducking his head, Gabriel cleared his throat. "Sorry," he mumbled, thankful they had arrived at the field. Castiel nodded in response to the apology and schooled his expression, looking down to the damp dirt at his feet where the small green sprouts reached boldly up to the sun.

"So, the first thing about growin' wheat you need to know is that you don't need to worry it, it's a pretty hearty crop and can take care of itself most of the time." Gabriel began, bending down to brush his fingers along one of the smaller sprouts. "You've gotta watch to make sure most of 'em are healthy, cause if all of 'em start to brown up and die off, you know you've got a problem. I don't think that'll happen, though, Dean's got lucky with his land." Castiel listened intently, taking in all the information as his eyes scanned the large field.

"Mostly what you've gotta do is care for the soil, make sure it isn't dryin' out too much or getting too overrun by weeds." Gabriel finished, standing. "It seems like a lot of work, searchin' for the weeds everyday, but it gets easier with time," he explained, a smirk coming to his lips, "a lot like women." Castiel smiled hollowly at the joke, nodding as he motioned towards the barn. "You know what you'll be doing in there and out in the garden?" "Yeah," Gabriel responded, dusting off his hands, "I've worked with Dean before, back when he could still pay people to help."

Castiel looked to Gabriel, puzzled. He knew it wasn't proper to ask, but his curiosity got the best of him. "Why did he stop bein' able to pay people?" Gabriel's face went slightly more serious at the question. "It's a pretty sad story," he began. "Ya see, Dean used to have a brother, who got real sick with tuberculosis. He had a lot of money saved up at the time, used to say it was for when he found himself a wife. Anyway, he used damn near all of that money to send his brother out to one of the bigger towns back east, to get him into a proper hospital, but the poor boy ended up passing on anyway."

Castiel felt a wave of fresh guilt and empathy wash over him at the story. "Oh god, I didn't know..." Gabriel shrugged, reverting back to his light, nonchalant self. "He doesn't like to talk about it much." Nodding in understanding, Castiel turned back towards the path. "I uh, guess you can just finish up today by milkin' Sunshine and checking the garden." "Sounds fine to me." Gabriel said, patting the pocket he had put the money in.


After the first day of hesitant work he did, Castiel found himself falling into a routine. He would wake earlier than normal to clean Dean's shoulder, then cooked a light breakfast for the both of them. After that, he would head out to the field most of the day, sometimes checking in with Gabriel in passing to see how his work was going. It would be late afternoon by the time he would come into the house to do the cleaning, so he would often skip dinner and let Dean sleep clear through until night, when he served them both supper.

Dean seemed to be in good spirits about it all, although he almost always had a look of pain glinting in the back of his eye. They hadn't talked much about the injury itself, or about how debilitating it was, for whenever Castiel began to broach the topic, Dean would quickly change the subject, obviously cautious to admit he may never fully recover.

Everything seemed to be improving, and for three days after Gabriel had come to help, Dean's shoulder continued to improve. That is, until the morning of the fourth day. Castiel got up as he usually did, knocking before he entered Dean's room to tend to his wound.

"Mornin'," he greeted softly, lighting a lamp on the farmer's nightstand. "Good mornin'." Dean responded, voice almost fully recovered as he clenched his hand in the sheet beside him, preparing for the pain as Castiel slowly began to unwrap his shoulder.

"Gabriel came back from town yesterday with word from Dr. Singer, he said he'd be around today to come and have a loo-" Castiel began, his words cutting off as his eyes fell in horror upon the now unwrapped wound. Instead of the skin around the charred puncture wound being red and raw like it had been the first day, it had now adopted a purple, almost black hue, covered in a sickly mixture of clear fluid and what he could only assume was rotting flesh by the smell.

Dean looked over to the wound with wide, pain filled eyes, forcing himself to see the damage as the unsettling smell filled the air around him. Instantly gagging, he barely held down his dinner from the night before and began breathing heavily, fear gripping him. "Cas, what's wrong, why does it look like that?"

Castiel wanted to step back, wanted to cover it back up and never look upon the wound again. But, instead, as the sound of Dean's panicked breaths pulled him back into a neutral focus, he shook his head. "I don't know," he responded truthfully, placing a strong hand on Dean's chest to stop him from moving about too much.

"Hey, look at me." Dean did as he was told and looked up to where Castiel was standing above him, his breath still coming in short pants. "Just breathe with me, alright? Come on, deep breaths, there's no need to worry, Dr. Singer's gonna be here in less than three hours." Castiel reassured shakily, grateful when the farmer's breaths began to slow with his own. "I'm just gonna clean it like normal, then we'll see what he says." Dean nodded, his every muscle clenching in an instant reaction at the mention of the pain to come.

It went quickly, as it always did, but the pain was no less this time. In fact, it was much worse somehow, causing Dean to become light-headed, almost ready to pass out as Castiel wrapped the last of the gauze around his shoulder.

"Do ya feel like any breakfast?" Castiel asked, aiming for normalcy as he handed Dean a wet wash cloth, as he always did after cleaning. Dean shook his head as he had done the first day. "Just water."

Bobby arrived later that morning, black bag in hand as he knocked on the cabin's front door. "Howdy." Castiel greeted, opening the door to let the doctor in. He had decided against going out into the field that day, figuring one day off would be fine in order to watch Dean closely with the new development.

Bobby nodded in greeting as he stepped inside. "Howdy. How's Dean doin'?" Castiel sobered at the question, shaking his head. "I don't know. He seemed to be doin' fine, was even seeming better, but this morning when I took off his wrappin'..." He paused, not sure he was ready to describe what he'd seen without getting sick. "I don't think it's good."

Bobby's features were instantly lined with concern, a diagnosis already thrumming in suspicion at the back of his mind. "You don't have to come in now. I'll be back out in a few minutes." Castiel gave Dr. Singer a hollow yet still grateful smile, sitting on one of the chairs as the older man disappeared into the back room. He knew he should be in the room to support Dean, but at the moment he just couldn't handle it. Worry clenching at his stomach as he waited, he fidgeted with his hands, looking to the half-open door leading to Dean's room.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long until Bobby reemerged from the room. However, instead of the look of reassuring comfort on the doctor's face he had hoped to see, Castiel instead saw a look of solemn resignation. "What's wrong?" Castiel asked almost instantly, standing from his chair. Bobby shook his head, meeting Castiel's eyes in what almost seemed an apology. "He's got gangrene, which means his body's basically fighting back and killing the skin around his wound.".

Castiel felt his fists clench at his sides as he fought to remain neutral, and nodded, urging Bobby on. "Normally, I would deep clean the infected area and try to cut away as much of the dead skin as possible, but in Dean's case, I can't. His injury is awful close to his heart, and if the infection gets any worse, it'll poison his blood and he'll be gone within a day.".

Castiel felt dizzy at the news and placed a hand at the edge of the wooden table, breath wavering. "What are you sayin', then?" Bobby folded his hands before him, dreading what he was going to have to tell the obviously panicked man. "We've got to amputate his arm."

Castiel stepped back, the dizziness only getting worse as anger and denial welled in his chest. "No," he said, as if the simple word could stop what had to be done to save Dean's life. "No, ya can't, he was gonna get better, he was gonna have at least a little use of that arm," he rambled, looking up to Bobby as he felt tears sting at the back of his eyes. "He thought he was gonna get better," he nearly whispered, the words that used to be hopeful now bitter upon his lips with what had transpired.

Bobby reached up and squeezed Castiel's arm gently, letting his hand drop after a few moments. He had to keep it brief, to get all the information out. "It has to be today," he explained. "I haven't told him yet, I figured you might want to."

Castiel nodded, setting his jaw against his anger at the doctor. He knew Bobby couldn't have done anything to prevent it, but somehow rage still settled under his skin. "I'll tell him," he confirmed, brushing past Bobby to make his way towards Dean's room, taking a few calming breaths before he entered.

"Cas? What did he say?" Dean found himself asking almost instantly, not liking the pale look to Castiel's skin as he entered. Castiel crossed the room to sit on his chair next to Dean's bed, meeting the other man's eyes for a moment. "He says you have gangrene, says it's an infection," he began, unable to watch Dean's face drop in realization before he had even begun to explain what was to happen. "He said the wound's too close to your heart to try and treat it, and that he would have to," he paused, swallowing around the lump in his throat, "have to amputate.".

Dean turned his face away from Castiel's view at the words, his head echoing them almost in mockery. Infection... Too close to the heart... Amputation. Feeling a wave of sickness, anger, and grief wash over him all at once, the farmer closed his eyes against his tears, finding the action unsuccessful in suppressing them as they slipped through his lashes.

When Dr. Singer had told him that first day he may never regain use of his arm, he had refused to accept it, and instead took the optimistic route, sure he would make at least a partial recovery. But now, all the thoughts that held a mixture of denial and hope for his arm were lost, instantly decimated by the one word he now knew would haunt him for the rest of his days: amputation. He would never be able to farm as he used to, eat as he used to, do anything as he used to. Now, he would never even be able to play guitar again, would never have the ability to relax into the soft rhythm and forget all of his troubles.

"When?" Dean found himself asking suddenly, eyes still closed, fingers clenched in anger as he choked the question out. Castiel looked on in pain as his words impacted Dean, and paused before answering, knowing the answer would only complicate things. "Today." "Son of a bitch." Dean breathed out in a near choked sob, trying to keep himself composed. All this meant was more pain, more complication, more relying unfairly on Castiel to help him run the farm.

Castiel hesitated at Dean's reaction, but placed a hand on his forearm, ignoring the sparking feeling as it tried to rise once more. "I'm sorry, Dean." "Sorry?" Dean asked with a dry, humorless, grief filled laugh. "What will sorry do now? I'll be useless."

Castiel removed his hand quickly at the words, pushing away his own tears. It was understandable, why Dean was reacting this way, and he knew it was nothing personal, but the harsh words had still stung. "Dean," he began, unsure of what he could say, "I haven't known you for long, just a little under a month. But in that time I've seen how hard you work, how honest you are and how good a man ya really are. You've made it this far," he continued, ignoring the shake of his voice, "and I know you can make it just a little more. I'll be here to help you, with whatever you'll be needin', but please, don't think you'll be useless."

Dean found himself tear up more at the words and nodded, barely accepting Castiel's small speech as truth. "Thank ya," he said after a moment, words clipped and wavering in an attempt to stop the sobs welling up in him. Then, in a moment of desperation, he reached out, squeezing Castiel's hand briefly before he got his wits about him and realized what he was doing, pulling away.

Castiel nearly flinched back at Dean's sudden gesture but forced himself to think nothing of it. The man was broken and battered, obviously he wouldn't be thinking of the implications reaching out blindly for any sort of comfort may hold. "Do ya want anything before..?" Dean shook his head. "I just want to get it over and done with," he replied, wiping at his face.

Castiel felt his stomach twist at Dean's words, but knew it was probably for the best. "I'll talk to Dr. Singer," he said quietly, handing Dean a wet towel to clean his face on before he exited the room, suppressing tears.