Summary:

Castiel Krushnic is the weirdest guy in the 11th grade. Hell, he's the weirdest guy in the whole damn school. His stark good looks against the all black clothes, his thick-soled stomping boots, and the fact that he almost never speaks to anyone except his girlfriend Meg makes him an enigma. It seems like every time Dean turns around, the guy is there—looking at him or doing something bizarre. Dean shouldn't care, but he can't get Castiel out of his head.

As spring comes to Sioux Falls and the days get longer, 17-year-old Dean Winchester has more time to spend with his semi-girlfriend Lisa and collection of delinquent friends. Between working at his Uncle Bobby's garage and shuttling his little brother around in his prized possession, his father's Impala, time alone is a rare luxury. When he treks out to an abandoned trainyard alone and ends up seriously injured, it shouldn't be a surprise that Castiel is there to save him.

Now, Dean has one more weird thing about Castiel Krushnic he can't explain and a gnawing need to know more.

AUTHORS NOTE: I hope to update this story at least 2ce a week.
AUTHORS NOTE: Special thanks to the_communist_unicorn, WingsUnbound, and Masonic-You know what you did.

Dean sat slumped in his chair, leaning against the wall and gazing out the window. Their teacher droned on about Grapes of Wrath and the American Depression and something about the religious symbolism and the apocalypse. Dean wanted nothing more than to be able to just transport himself out of here and into his car so he could drive aimlessly, enjoying the beautiful early spring day.

But no, the Impala would have to wait. He was stuck here listening to the wah wah wah of his teacher's voice and trying to ignore this feeling of someone watching him. It followed him around these days, everywhere he went, a sense of eyes on him. Sometimes it was a lingering sense in the back of his mind, sometimes it was a brutal shock to his system, like all of a sudden someone's eyes had turned on their hidden laser abilities and turned them against him.

After class, he met up with Lisa, slung his arm over her shoulders loosely, and got their lunch before walking to the outside eating area that had just opened back up as the weather finally improved. Dean popped a chicken nugget into his mouth as he sat down with the collection of outcasts he loosely called his friends. The cafeteria food here may suck, but it's free, so Dean tried not to complain too much, especially on Nugget Day.

"Hey Victor, can I grab your notes from English?" Dean asked with a mouthful of food. Just because he couldn't be bothered to pay attention didn't mean he actually wanted to fail.

"Dude, we just walked outta that class. What were you doing all period?"

"I just couldn't get into that shit today. It's hard enough having to do all the work, but then listening to her drone on and on about all this crap I don't give two fucks about is more than I could handle."

"Yeah, yeah, you can have them. There's a test next week." Victor shook his head.

"Thanks, man." Dean nodded, smearing his finger with ketchup before booping Lisa on the nose with it just to hear her squeal. He tickled her and loomed above her seat, trying to lick the ketchup off her skin as she giggled and swatted him away.

"So gross," Ruby said, rolling her eyes and sitting on Gordon's lap. He fed her a french fry that she sucked out of his hand like the best cock she'd ever seen. Dean laughed. He wasn't sure if it was with her or at her. Ruby never struck him right. She was too eager and demanding. Not like Lisa, who tucked in against his side like she was made for him.

"So Adam Milligan's having a party Friday night. You guys going?" Ruby asked, looking around at the little group of teenage wastelands who had banded together.

"Milligan? He's such a loser." Victor snorted.

"Yeah, but there'll be beer," Ruby smirked, snaking her arm around Gordon and snuggling into his side. "He's got some stepbrother or something who helps him out and provides quality libations for his parties. Probably knows that's the only way anyone will talk to the kid."

A round of less than kind chuckles went through the group.

"Sounds good to me," Dean chimed in. "I mean, worst case, we get wasted and hang out just us, right? Who knows, maybe it'll be fun."

"Uggh, just don't get shit-faced again, Dean. I don't want to have to drive that stupid ass car of yours home." Lisa whined

"You shut up about my baby. It was a joy and a privilege to get to drive her!" Dean scolded, rethinking his warm feelings toward her. Disparaging the Impala was a capital offense in his book.

"Well, I'm in, but I'm driving myself, so I can bail if it sucks. I don't want to be stuck with you dipshits all night unless there really is booze and bitches. Not all of us can make friends just by flashing a pretty smile their way," Gordon sneered.

"Oh, but don't you wish you could?" Dean smirked before flashing his biggest, most charming smile. "If only you were as pretty as me, you wouldn't be saddled with Ruby of all people."

Ruby threw a nugget at him, but Dean caught it in his mouth and munched on it smugly.

Behind Gordon, Dean saw Castiel Krushnic walk outside. The slight, dark haired boy had on a black button-up short sleeve shirt, dark jeans, and no shoes. What the fuck . He strode confidently to a patch of grass and stood there with his eyes closed, wiggling his toes, his face turned up to the sun.

"What are you looking at?" Lisa asked, running her hand up Dean's thigh.

Dean shook his head, trying to get the weird ass image out of his head. "Nothing, just Krushnic being weird again. Dude thinks he's photosynthesizing or something. What's his deal?"

"Showed up out of nowhere at the beginning of the school year, rumor was he didn't talk at all at first and didn't remember anything but his name," Gordon said.

"All I know about him," Lisa offered, her conspiratorial whisper making Dean chuckle, "is that he lives in some kind of boys home, he's an orphan, never knew his parents."

"Isn't that tragic," Ruby said with a singsong voice reeking of insincerity.

"Bet he misses his mommy," Victor cracked and the whole table laughed, including Dean.

But Dean didn't mean it. He knew what it was like to not know a parent. He lost his mom when he was four. He basically lost his Dad the same day. Growing up with no real parents, Dean knew that story, and it fucking sucked. He'd mostly raised his brother when they were with their Dad and even now since he dropped them off at their Uncle Bobby's place when Dean was twelve and never came back. He'd managed to figure out how to act like a fucking human being. What was it that made Castiel think he could just say or do whatever the fuck he wanted, whenever he wanted?

He couldn't decide if he was annoyed by the guy or impressed.

When he looked back over, Castiel's eyes were locked on his and that feeling, like a lingering touch, returned. Weird.

Dean skipped 5th period and sat on the roof just outside the boys' bathroom, smoking a cigarette. He couldn't concentrate on a single thing right now, his brain spinning out from one thought to the next, never solidly landing on anything long enough to make a coherent point. He hated it when he got like this. It was like his brain belonged to some sadistic prick who was messing with him just for the fun of it. He wanted to skip out, run out of here, and just fucking drive until his head was clear. But instead, he was stuck at school, trying to find calm but he couldn't even be alone right—no wonder he was failing half his classes.

He took a long drag and dropped his forehead to his knees. He was such a fuckup, just like his Dad always said. That was why they were stuck here in Uncle Bobby's house with more antique books and crucifixes than food. That was why Sam always looked a little afraid and sad. That was why he always felt so fucking alone even though he had friends.

"Cut it out," a rumbling voice said in the boys' bathroom behind him. It was low, dark, and eerily familiar.

"Come on, hot wings, you know it helps us both get through the day." A sultry feminine voice drifted out the window.

Dean wanted to look. He wanted to see who was fucking around in the bathroom in the middle of fifth period. And if he didn't admit out loud that he wanted to see who that voice belonged to, then it hadn't really happened. Dean felt his brain come into sharp focus as he strained to hear more.

"Meg, I'm serious. I'm not into it… uggh…" Something apparently changed the dude's mind, whoever he was. Dean knew that sound, and it wasn't one that was saying no.

Dean imagined what it could be. A kiss? Someone bringing that voice's hand to her breast and letting him feel the soft curve. He turned and peeked only to see Castiel Krushnic leaning back against the sinks, his wide mouth slightly open. Meg Masters had one hand down his pants, the other pushing up under his tight-fitting black shirt.

"It feels to me like you're into it," Meg leaned forward and tried to kiss him, but Castiel kept his eyes shut and turned away.

"I'm not responsible for my body's reaction to stimulus. Just because something feels good doesn't mean I want it." Despite the words, Castiel's voice came out in a pant and his hands were fisted against the sinks.

"Alright," Meg purred. Dean could barely hear but watched as she ran her tongue up Castiel's neck. "I'm stopping." She pulled her hand out of his pants and sucked on a finger.

Castiel's eyes widened and Dean isn't sure he's ever seen anything quite so blue.

Fuck, why am I watching him when she's the one sucking on her finger?

"I love you," Castiel sighed, pulling her into a hug. She dropped her head against his chest and the whole mood of the room changed. Suddenly Dean felt like he was in the wrong. Before, it was hot and he thought he might get a show to file away for later, but now, there was an intimacy between them.

"I don't know why," Meg said with shaky breaths. "Why do you put up with me? I fuck everything up. I just can't figure out why you're so sweet on me."

Castiel kissed the top of her head and it's anything but sexual. "All that thorny pain, so beautiful," he inhaled loudly and tightened his hold on her.

"I'm sorry." Meg shook her head against his chest and took a deep breath before looking up at him. Dean's heart beats in his ears and his breath comes quickly as they look at each other with such open affection. Castiel brushes a hand down her cheek.

"Me too. You'll find someone who can love all of you someday."

"Oh Clarence, there ain't no one strong enough to handle all of me." Meg smiled and wiped away her tears.

"I still don't understand why you call me that." He smiled.

"I should go back to class."

"Of course," Castiel kissed her forehead and watched as she left.

Once the door shut behind her, he turned and looked directly where Dean was hiding, catching his eye with large intense blue ones. "You know who spies on people, Dean?"

Dean sucked in a breath as Castiel's gaze bore into him.

"Spies," and with that bizarre non sequitur, Castiel left the bathroom, presumably to return to class.

Dean leaned back against the brick wall and took in some deep breaths before pulling out another cigarette with a shaking hand. What the fuck had just happened? Krushnic was weird, yeah, but there was something in his interaction with Meg—who he'd always thought was the dude's girlfriend—that made no sense. He'd been firm and tender and so fucking hot with that voice too deep for a 17-year-old.

Fuck. Dean rocked his head back hard enough for it to hurt. He closed his eyes to try and sort through all the confusion in his chest and the growing interest in his pants, but when he did, all he could see were bright blue eyes. He knew he'd intruded on something personal, and he hadn't looked away when the conversation turned from a potential hookup to something tender.

Why hadn't he looked away?

Why had Castiel's kindness struck him so much deeper than the idea of watching Castiel get blown or Meg get finger banged against the bathroom sink?

At the next bell, Dean returned for his last class of the day, but other than sitting in the back of the room and throwing torn up erasers at Victor's head, he can't say he did much.

After school was a mad dash, he had to get all his shit, get to his car, pick up Sammy from middle school, and get back home before his shift at the garage started. He didn't do much yet, but Bobby let him take on more work as he could handle it, and three shifts a week wasn't so bad to earn some spending money and take care of himself and Sam as much as he could. Fuck knows his dad didn't send any cash to Bobby for watching them.

The halls were stuffed full of laughter and bodies. Couples made out against lockers and big kids shoved smaller kids out of their way, and sometimes Dean couldn't believe he was the same species as all these walking talking stereotypes.

He spotted Castiel and Meg sitting under one of the trees lining the school's front sidewalk on his way out. He held her hand in his lap and gazed at it with such intensity you could almost believe he was performing some kind of x-ray vision dissection. His hands were strong and his bent shoulders were broad. Why had Dean always thought of him as a skinny little dude? He was actually pretty stacked.

Dean shook his head and sprinted to the Impala. What the fuck was wrong with him today. That was the third time Castiel Krushnic had overtaken his rational brain. He barely even knew the guy.

At the middle school, Sam climbed into the Impala and slammed the door with a frown.

"What crawled up your ass?" Dean shot at him as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward Bobby's. He still couldn't bring himself to call it home.

"Nothing," Sam reached down and turned up the radio. Dean had a new tape Gordon had copied for him, something heavy and hard and angry. He mostly preferred the box of tapes his dad had left when he left him the Impala but he liked knowing what his friends were talking about, so he tried to listen along at least a little. The thing was, he knew Sammy hated this kind of music. He was all about the melody and the words—little dweeb. But turning up The Kills was a sure fire way to tell his brother was NOT ok.

Dean let it go, though, not in the mood for his brother's middle school drama. Thirteen fucking sucked, and for Dean, it had sucked double because he had a nine-year-old to parent, so if Sam didn't want to talk now, Dean would corner him later about it. Sometimes you just need some time to think.

And like that, Dean's mind is back to Castiel and how he never wears colors. Even his jeans are black or so dark they might as well be. Matched his hair. And the contrast with his lightly tanned skin made his eyes pop that color blue Dean couldn't think of the right word for. Cerulean? Azure? He didn't know, but blue definitely wasn't enough of a word to describe how they just drew you in.

Damn it. What the hell?

Dean shifted in his seat, tapped his fingers to the music, and gripped the steering wheel tighter. He needed to get out of his head.

At Bobby's, Sam hopped out of the car and ran inside before Dean could say anything. He watched to make sure his little brother got into the house alright before pulling out again, going around to the second entrance of the property to the garage.

This afternoon he was on oil change duty. The kind of work even he could do in his sleep, but whatever, it kept him busy and made him some cash. He changed into his overalls and work boots and started in on the line of cars waiting for him. It kept him busy for the whole three hours he was there, his brain not having enough time to even try to think about anything else.

When his shift was over and he checked his phone, Bobby had sent a note that he was ordering pizza for dinner, which was awesome. Dean liked to cook, but it was a chore just like anything else and he ended up cooking for the three of them most nights. Instead of heading home right away, he decided to take a drive. It was finally staying light out longer and he'd been stuck either in a classroom or under a car all day. He needed to stretch his wings a little.

He drove a little ways out of town and down an old abandoned emergency route that he could hit the gas on and feel the power of his good old American muscle car. He loved opening her up, feeling the engines' vibrations and the bumps of the unmaintained road in his bones. When he got to the old railroad tracks, he stopped and climbed out. There was a tunnel ahead that dipped down into the ground where he'd heard a lot of people talk shit about hauntings and he knew at least three people had been killed down there.

He was intrigued. He wasn't sure if it was all the hunter crap his Dad and Bobby were always lecturing them about. How dangerous ghosts and ghouls were and to never try to hunt alone, that Dean wasn't old enough, hadn't been trained yet. If Bobby had his way, he'd never hunt. He didn't really think the tunnel was haunted, but he was just a morbid son of a bitch, and felt calm here like something called him to this place other people shied away from.

He scrambled around on the tracks for a while then climbed up one of the shallower banks to walk along the path toward the tunnel.

Up ahead, with his legs dangling over the edge of the precipice, was fucking Castiel Krushnic, once again sans shoes. What the fuck? Was his life some kind of goddamn joke?

As he approached he lit a cigarette.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel said without looking up as Dean approached.

"How'd you know it was me?"

"You have a distinct presence. It's hard to miss." Castiel sat with a spiral notebook folded in his lap and a pen bouncing against his lips. He still hadn't looked up and Dean stood awkwardly, should he stick around? It's not like they were friends or anything. But here they were talking twice in one day after going the whole year without ever exchanging a word.

"What are you working on?" Dean finally asked, fidgeting with a hand in his pocket.

"A creative writing assignment. If I'm not mistaken, I believe you have the same one." Castiel looked at him finally, with bluer than blue eyes and raised an eyebrow.

Dean covered the effect Castiel had on him by taking a drag on his cigarette.

How had he never noticed how unbelievably hot Castiel was? Probably because he kept that part of himself buried most of the time, to begin with, and doubly so around his asshole friends. Seventeen was old enough to know nothing good came from coming out when the only people you talked to were dickbags.

Castiel sighed. "What is it that you want, Dean?"

"What? Nothing. I didn't know you were here, man. I was just fucking around."

"Hmmm." Castiel goes back to his notebook. "Then please continue to fuck. I'm busy."

Dean snorted and Castiel looked up at him with a squint. "That's not how you say that, dude. It's fuck around , not just fuck. That's something else entirely."

"I'm aware of what fucking is."

Goddamnit if that didn't give Dean a shiver. His spine straightened and his chest got a little tight at the sound of such a vulgar word coming out of that mouth using that deep graveling voice. Well, shit, now he has to fidget to keep his half stiffy from showing. Not cool.

"Jesus, Castiel." He took a final drag on his cigarette and threw it into the pit.

Castiel raised one eyebrow at him again and quirked half of what one might consider calling a smile. If you were generous.

"What'd you write so far?" Dean asked, unable to get himself to turn away. He walked to the edge and balanced himself along the drop-off, arms out. It gave him something to do, at least.

"Nothing of import. Is there a reason you're bothering me for a second time today?"

Dean stumbled but maintained his balance. "Fuck, you can't just say stuff like that. It's rude as shit."

Cas shrugged. "So are you."

"Look, I'm sorry about earlier. I was out on the ledge skipping class. It's not like I planned on hearing you with your girlfriend." Dean blushed slightly, looked down at his feet as he tried walking backward.

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Oh, it sounded like…" Dean trailed off, not sure what he had overheard.

"Meg is my friend. It makes her feel safer if people think we're dating. That way, she doesn't get asked out and people leave her alone."

It was the most words he'd ever heard Castiel say, even in class, and the most personal information he thought anyone other than maybe Meg had ever gotten about him. Dean stopped his balance beam act and just looked at him.

"But then everyone thinks you're dating."

"Precisely."

"Which means you can't date anyone else."

Castiel shrugged again and pinned Dean with his eyes, locking him in place and refusing to let Dean look away. "That's inconsequential."

"Seriously? Don't you want to be with someone, or at least you know, scratch that itch once in a while?" Dean waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"No part of me is itchy, Dean."

"I mean like sex. You do like sex, don't you? I mean, you've had sex."

"I've never had occasion."

"But you and Meg…"

"Are not dating. I thought I was clear."

"Krushnic, I was there this afternoon. She had her hands down your pants and was all over you. And I'm like 85% sure I've seen you two making out in the hall before." Dean's suddenly super invested in Castiel's sexual experience and personal life. How the fuck is a guy who looks like that, who is for all intents and purposes the definition of tall, dark, and handsome, not getting any? Fuck, even GARTH was getting some, and that dude looked like a muppet.

"Dean, how is this any of your concern? My relationship with Meg is complicated, but no, we have not had sex, nor will we."

"Are you gay?" Dean's eyes shot to Cas, opening wide as he realized what just popped out of his mouth. Shit. Fuck. That was none of his damn business and he knew it. What was he thinking? You don't just ask people that. "Shit, Castiel, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean. Don't answer that. It's none of my business and–fuck–I really am sorry, ok?"

"It's fine. I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation." Cas looked back down to his notebook as Dean stammered a little, his whole equilibrium set up. What the fuck does that mean? Indifferent to sexual orientation. Did that mean he's like Pan or Ace or straight or what? And why the fuck did he suddenly care so much to try to nail down that point?

Dean continued to stumble around on the edge of the dropoff down to the old train tracks when his foot slips on a loose rock and despite windmilling his hands and trying to pitch himself back toward solid ground, he goes careening down the side, his leg landing with all his weight against one of the tracks. The rest of his body tumbles uselessly to the ground.

Pain filled every part of his existence. It was sharp and stunning before spreading out and overtaking his entire body. His head swam, dizzy, and tears streaked down his face even though he had no idea what happened or even what was going on or where he was. All he knew was the all-consuming, all-encompassing agony coursing through his body. He half felt like he was going to piss himself and his mind couldn't get his eyes to focus and his breath was ragged.

He heard a rush of wind and Castiel was there at his side. How long had he been there? How had he gotten down here so fast?

"Dean, are you alright?"

"What?"

"Look at me, are you alright?"

Dean started to shiver. When did it get cold? "Are you cold? It shouldn't be cold. My leg… My leg hurts."

"You broke it. The fibula is definitely broken, I can see it poking out of the skin, but I'm not sure about the tibula.

"What?"

"The bones, Dean. I think you broke your leg." He looked around a crease of worry in his forehead. "Do you have a pocket knife?"

"You gonna do surgery on me, Castiel?" Dean snickered before groaning as another wave of pain overtook him and he had to close his eyes and breathe or risk throwing up all over Castiel.

"A pocket knife, Dean." He said again calmly, making Dean hate him more than a little.

"Yeah, yeah, in my boot."

Castiel reached for his other leg, jostling him a little as he felt around to find the knife stuffed in an inside pocket.

Dean risked a moment to look down. His leg was covered in blood and his jeans were ripped. Something warm and thick oozed down his face. Shit . How the fuck was he going to get out of here? Castiel couldn't carry him all the way back to the car and he had no idea how he'd gotten here. Was he going to be stuck in the woods with some fucking wood splint as he tried not to pass out from the pain? Actually, passing out doesn't sound half bad… That would be kind of nice.

"Dean? Don't close your eyes, ok. I need you to stay awake." Castiel's voice was muzzled behind something thick.

"Dean!"

His body shocked awake, looking up at Castiel with wide eyes. "Yeah, I'm here."

"Stay awake. Talk to me. Why don't you tell me why you're so interested in my sex life."

"Or lack of one," Dean laughed through the thickness, trying to cover his body. Fuck, he was going into shock, he could spot all the signs his dad had taught him to watch out for.

"Yes, that. If you're so interested, tell me why, or ask me what you want to know. Just keep talking to me."

Dean felt as the knife sliced up the leg of his jeans, all the way up to his thigh. He'd be embarrassed if he weren't so fucking tired. "Ok, so you don't fuck Meg, but you let her put her hands down your pants? That's a weird line." Dean tried to focus on Castiel, straining to hear what he said.

"I didn't exactly let her. She just did it. There was a time in the beginning when we were more physical, but I'm no longer… interested isn't the right word… maybe capable?... of that anymore. We're still very tactile, though, and we both enjoy that."

"You're weird," Dean said.

Castiel's hands touch Dean's leg and he hisses and tries to pull away. The movement caused blinding pain to white out his vision and Dean definitely felt like he was going to throw up.

"Okay, Dean, keep breathing. Ask me something else."

"Meg is smoking hot. A bitch, yeah, but if that doesn't bother you, I think you're crazy not to be hitting that."

"I would never hit Meg. And your leg is broken in at least two places. I'm going to check the other one."

"I didn't mean hit, I meant—fuck man, you know what I meant, no one is that literal. I meant have sex with her."

"Reducing sex to violence is vulgar, Dean. You're better than that." Castiel straightened his other leg and it forced Dean to lay back on his elbows with Castiel squatting between his legs. Any other time and this would be awkward.

"You don't know me, Castiel. You don't know shit about me."

"Hmmm," Castiel replied as he sliced the other pant leg. "This one is banged up and will bruise badly, but I think you're okay. How are your hips," Castiel leaned forward and placed a hand on each of Dean's hips, bringing his face uncomfortably close to Dean's crotch. Fuck, even a broken leg couldn't steal how good Cas looked right now, looking up at him from between his legs. Damn it all. If he hadn't lost so much blood, he'd be getting an erection.

"Cas… I'm really tired."

"Dean, stay awake. Um, who else would you 'hit' if you had the chance? You and Lisa are a thing, right? Are you 'hitting' that."

Dean chuckled at Castiel's phrasing and tears started to fall again. His leg hurt so fucking much. "Yeah, sometimes, it's not like all the time or whatever."

"Okay, who else? Ruby?"

"Fuck no," Dean moaned both in response to the question and to Castiel running his hands up Dean's sides, poking and prodding his ribs with a firm finger that makes Dean wish he could arc into them. How was it possible that the only way to get Castiel to feel him up was when he was in shock? Some of the spots he touched flare up with pain, though, which can't be a good sign.

"Okay, who else do you hang out with, um, Victor?"

"Castiel, Victor's a dude."

"So?" Castiel asked, his hands now on Dean's shoulders, his body pretty much hovering over Dean's and it's all kinds of hot except the pulsing pain running from his leg up to his gut and wrenching around his nervous system was ruining the moment.

"I don't fuck dudes."

"That seems limiting. Have you ever thought about it?" Castiel wasn't letting this go and Dean didn't know why other than this was probably the most coherent Dean had been since falling down here.

Castiel moved around to behind Dean and felt one arm and then the other before looking at his head. He touched a particularly tender spot and Dean jerked away. "Hold still and answer my question."

"No, I've never thought about fucking a guy."

Cas let out an amused exhale. "I'm pretty good at telling when people are lying to me, Dean." his hands traveled down Dean's back, feeling his spine all the way to the bottom, so his hand practically rubbed Dean's ass. "You're lucky you landed on your leg and not your back. I don't think you broke anything else."

"Castiel?" Dean whimpered, searching for those blue eyes. "How are we gonna get me out of here. I'm so tired. I don't think I can walk and there's no way you can carry me and, shit, I don't want to be on the tunnel's death toll."

Castiel set his mouth into a tight line and stared back at Dean for longer than should be comfortable, but it made him feel like at least he won't die alone, and he's so tired. Spots started to float through his vision. Maybe if he just rested a little, he'd feel better later. He could just deal with this later when he could think clearer and that would be okay. Yeah, that's a good idea.

Dean's eyes fluttered shut.

"Shit," Castiel spat and the next thing Dean knew, two hands were gripping his leg painfully.

He jolted up, eyes shocked wide open, and screamed as he looked down at where Cas was touching him. He hadn't looked before but the blood flowed steadily and he could see part of the bone sticking out of his leg. Nausea rose in his throat, and suddenly, everything felt cool. Like spring water. Cool and fresh, and the pain floated behind the rush. He looked back down at his legs and watched in horror as his bone popped back into place and a bright light coming from Cas's hands worked its way into his muscles. He could feel them knitting back together, the bone refinding its place and locking back together as strong as it ever was. It didn't hurt. Why didn't it hurt to put it back together when it hurt so much coming apart?

All Dean could feel was the wash of cool calmness spreading through his body, soothing the bruises blooming beneath his skin, and the aches in his muscles. Even the spinning of his head eased off. Now that he could think clearer, he watched his skin close over the wound, new and perfect like it had never happened.

"Castiel?"

He looked up and Castiel was looking away, staring only at his leg and the light that was somehow coming from him.

"Cas? Look at me. I'm kind of freaking out."

He looked up, but his eyes were shining, rings of blue bright with an internal light that made Dean wince away from the intensity.

Castiel frowned. He turned back to Dean's leg and when he was satisfied, he looked straight at Dean as the light in his eyes dimmed and all Dean could see were the blue ones he'd gotten strangely used to.

"You can't tell anyone. Please, Dean. I was never here. Promise me." Castiel said, his voice husky and somewhere between desperate and dangerous.

"No, no, of course not. You weren't here."

"Go home and throw all these clothes away, and then just go back to normal. You don't know me and I don't know you and this never happened."

"I… Okay, Cas, whatever you say. Um… Thank you."

And with that, Dean heard a whoosh and impossibly, Castiel was gone.