Oof, bet Mary's hoping the rest of her day's gonna go better than the first part? Finger's crossed folks!
"Michael?!" Mary exclaimed, hand moving on automatic to snatch as much pajama front as possible in the split second it had to stop the archangel from falling headlong into a wall solid enough to crack skull.
Then the hunter stood there, slightly shocked at who she'd prevented exactly that happening to, and just held on, half nervousness and half curiosity, as the body in front of her started to slump. Grip only slackening when the weight of the wilting ex-warlord became enough to make the seams of his pajama shirt creak.
Before she knew it, the archangel was collapsed in a heap on the recovery ward floor. And it didn't look like he'd be getting up anytime soon.
Then, as she moved to give the heap a cursory 'is he faking it?' poke with the toe of one boot, there came the sound of pounding footsteps from right outside and Mary had only time enough to turn halfway around before the ground eating strides of both her youngest son and her closest coworker had brought the two inside the ward.
"I sensed a disturbance," explained a lightly winded Castiel. "There was an unusual spike of angelic energy followed by-"
The explanation cut off as a pinched brow furrowed further and the one who'd been speaking took a moment to assess the space.
"Wait, Mom, what happened? Are you- Is- is Michael- Oh my God," said a Sam suddenly two shades paler. Somehow managing to go a shade more when Mary finished her turn and moved herself a step towards him. In the 'not within arm's reach of an archangel', direction.
"He just collapsed; I'm trying to figure out if he's faking or-"
But before she could finish, Mary found herself quick stepping to one side to avoid a certain trench coated shoulder smacking her when the angelic hunter made a sudden bolt past her. Surprising her all the more when he skidded to a crouch right in front of the lopsided lump on the floor.
"Mary, what've you done?" Asked a Castiel who, even as he glanced over a shoulder at her, was checking the unmoving archangel for a pulse.
"I- I didn't do anything. He probably just used too much of his-"
"I knew you bore a grudge against Michael, but I never thought that you'd be so- so- unscrupulous as to act upon it while he was cooperating with us," cut in the angel, crouching further to rearrange the practically boneless body by his feet into something resembling a recovery position.
"No, I didn't- He did that to himself," Mary insisted, eyes darting from the twin angelic figures by the wall to the man stood still some several strides away.
"But… we caught you red handed," her youngest said with a halting gesture in her direction. Tone incredulous as it was… sad.
"What? What're you talking about? Sam, Michael was practically on top of your brother when I came in here- It looked like he was going to kill him! All I did was make sure he didn't," the mother reasoned, splitting her attention between her behemoth of a son and the heavenly hunter whose concern seemed to grow when a tap to the scourge's cheek got less than no reaction.
"But, Mom, we literally caught you red handed."
"No, I didn't-"
"Look, your hand, it's covered in blood. Michael's blood," her son said, eyes flicking down in indication.
"Your knife as well," added the angel bent low over his heavenly relation. Surprising Mary just that last bit more when he nodded once to himself and proceeded to scoop the archangel from the floor. Looking as he did, as if the feat had cost him exactly no exertion at all.
"I have no idea what you two are talking about," Mary asserted, moving her hands up into easy sight to prove to the two that they were just plain being all kinds of ridiculous and that- that…
"Holy shit," the mother swore, not quite able to believe what she was seeing. Nor understand how she hadn't seen it until then. Nor even felt it, for that matter. Not until it had been pointed out to her.
"'Holy shit' indeed," agreed Castiel, moving to put his unmoving burden back in the currently unoccupied bed.
A burden whose pajama shirtfront Mary was shocked to see now dribbled with a goodly amount of blood.
What really shook the hunter though, was the jagged red line painted across the archangel's throat. Right where she'd been holding her knife. Where she'd been sure she hadn't broken skin.
"There's- there's some on Dean too," Sam said, rather incredulous, from where he'd moved to check on his dozing brother.
"That's what I've been trying to tell you! Michael was over him- I thought he was trying to kill him," started again the hunter still trying to piece together exactly how and when the angelic blood and injury had come into it. "But then he gave his word that he wasn't- said he was actually trying to help him. So I let him. And then he just… collapsed."
"Wait, are you saying that you allowed Michael to lay his hands upon Dean? And that when he did, he truly did appear to attempt to heal him?" At the bob of the head Mary sent him, Castiel's eyes nearly doubled in size. "But why would he attempt such a thing? He doesn't have access to his divine powers."
"That's what I told him, but he said he could still do it," Mary said with a shrug. Trying as she did, to not let the feeling of blood drying all over her hand distract her from current, somewhat more important affairs.
"Regardless, I must see to Michael," said Castiel with a firm nod, hands moving to cover both the archangel's forehead as well as his chest in a move that Mary, to her horror, now recognized well.
"No, you can't!" The mother all but shouted, heart suddenly in her throat.
"And who are you to tell me that I can't? The one who delivered him to this state to begin with?" Demanded the angel, shoulders bristling as his face morphed to show the extent of his perceived betrayal.
"No, Castiel, I mean that you haven't recovered yet! You could- you could die using that much-"
"Oh my, 'die' she says? Let's see if we can't prevent that, shall we?" Trilled a voice from out in the hall, turning all heads to the entrance in perfect time to catch the arrival of one fashionably late to the party witch.
"Now, what seems to be the drama, dearies?" Asked she as she approached, supercilious gaze sweeping the suddenly rapt group as she came to a preening stop at the ward's center.
"We're not actually sure," Sam started, looking uncomfortable when the words inadvertently drew all eyes to himself. "Uh, Michael was unconscious on the floor when Cas and me got here… and Mom- eh, Mary was standing over him with blood on her hand and- and her knife. She says it looked like he was trying to kill Dean, but that Micheal said he was actually trying to heal him," Sam surmised. Winning himself a raised eyebrow from the Scot for his troubles.
"That must have been quite the sight," observed the witch, giving Mary a studying look as she did.
"Rowena, Michael is painfully weak and requires immediate attention," insisted a Castiel who hadn't backed away from the bed. Hands still where he'd put them on the drained archangel.
"No, Castiel, you do what you're thinking of doing and you'll be needing immediate attention," Mary pleaded, trying not to be phased by the unhappy, narrowed eyes it got her.
"Well now, I doubt it could possibly be all that bad. In fact, why don't we all take a moment to calm ourselves, collect ourselves, and just breathe," suggested the Scot. Leading by example as she took a long, slow breath in, and then out. Smiling when, by the third repetition, even Mary couldn't help but follow along.
"There, that's better. Now I'd like everyone to take a big step back," she began with a grandiose sweep of her arms which Mary was somehow perfectly content to comply with, "and let your knight in shining armor take a wee peek and see what she can't see?"
Then, surprised to find even a slightly befuddled Castiel now stood a good few steps off from the beds, Mary refocused her attention and watched on in begrudging fascination as the witch positioned herself for a clear view of both recumbent figures. And proceeded to do nothing more impressive than stare at them. Probably gearing up to use her whitchy powers to 'glean the truth' by 'peering through time', or something equally as far-fetched and-
"Oh, yes, that was quite the scene indeed. I can see now how you would've thought your poor boy in trouble, my dear Mary," the Scot informed as she continued to do apparently nothing but stand there and stare.
"Oh my! You've a bit more fight in you than I'd expected," said a Scot who Mary thought sounded far less surprised than she did… amused. Making her wonder just what it was the witch was seeing any- "Ah, so that's how he did it!"
"How he did what?" Asked Castiel when the clairvoyant didn't immediately explain on her own.
"Pull the wool over this perfectly proficient hunter's eyes, of course," supplied an uncommonly complimentary Rowena. "You see, what with Michael no doubt still fancying himself a proud and powerful archangel, it stands to reason that he would have wanted to preserve his dignity, especially in the face of a well armed enemy, so the beasty went and hid his injury and any evidence of it with a wee, perhaps even instinctive, miracle."
"What?" Mary asked, not at all sure she liked the sound of that.
"Yes, it appears, unbeknownst to our sweet Mary, that the wretch was cut from the first," said the witch, accompanying nod rather solemn.
"But I was positive- I- I wasn't even pressing that hard; I shouldn't even have nicked him," Mary argued, knowing the point was about as moot as moot got. Considering the blood she could feel crusting across her fingers.
"Yes, well, you hunters are so used to dealing with otherworldly entities and superpowered monstrosities, I'm sure it's been quite some time since any of you have held a mere human at knifepoint," Rowena reasoned, still not breaking from her stand still and stare routine.
"Rowena, do we really have time for this?" Asked a Castiel who appeared to barely be holding himself back from marching right back up to his relation's bedside and picking up where he'd been begged to leave off.
"Yes, Castiel, I'm afraid we do 'have time for this'," insisted the Scot, unnaturally confident air growing impossibly more confident as she did. "In fact, why don't you take a moment to gather a few things for a non-miraculous type of healing? I sense that yer relation's condition puts him in no immediate danger," she reassured when the angel made no move to comply with her suggestion.
"You're sure he'll be alright?" Castiel pressed, shoulders taught as he flicked his gaze from the bed to the redhead.
"Yes, yes, I'm sure he'll be just fine. Though perhaps not quite so soon as you'd like, considering he's gone and overdone it yet again."
"What do you mean, 'overdone it'?" Queried the concerned angel.
"I mean that the blighter's gone and popped himself right back into his coma," informed the unconcerned witch.
"Coma? But you said-"
"And I meant what I said, Castiel; he's only drained himself. All he needs is a few wee days of uninterrupted rest and he'll be right back to shouting orders in no time," informed Rowena, more insistent than ever.
"…And Dean?" Asked a Castiel Mary could practically see mentally weighing the witch's argument.
"Oh, the lad's exactly as he was when last we came to… Oh my."
At the surprise on the witch's voice, Mary's heart skipped a beat. And then another when the Scot took one ever so slightly staggered step forward, carriage no longer quite so absolutely confident.
"Castiel, have you had a look at yer friend yet?" Asked on a brogue no longer quite so drenched in that same infuriating sort of superiority Mary'd come to expect of the Scot.
"Unfortunately no, I've been a little preoccupied," said the angel whose attention Mary noticed had returned to his relation's incapacitated form.
"Well, you'll have to find the time, because he's done it- Michael's done it," the witch said with much incredulity.
At that, Mary once more had to dodge as a certain frazzled angel bolted past her, bringing himself to Rowena's side in little over an instant.
"He's injured Dean after all?"
"Och, you'd have known within seconds if he had," reassured the redhead. "No, our resident rogue has done it- He's found the last piece to our Dean's oh-so delicate spiritual puzzle. And he's glued it back in place so it can't be lost again."
"Are you saying-"
"I am indeed, Castiel. In fact, I'm quite pleased to announce, with all due certainty, that when next he wakes, Dean will be with us once again," said a strangely subdued witch. Throwing a glance to first Castiel and then backwards to Mary that had the mother double taking. For she'd never have expected to see what she caught not quite hidden behind the woman's smug 'told you so' expression: relief.
A relief Mary was just starting to process for herself.
A relief so strong her legs almost shook as the urge for a stiff drink hit her upside the head.
A relief so strong it almost hurt.
After all, her boy was going to be okay. Dean was going to be okay.
And it was all thanks to Micheal's uncharacteristic… seemingly benevolent intervention.
At that thought, the mother couldn't help but to look to where the archangel in question lay, right where Castiel had left him. Unconscious and bloodied and showing absolutely no signs of coming out of it any time soon.
…And there wasn't a thing she could do about the pang of guilt that hit her at the sight. Nothing except accept her part in what had happened and do her best to move forward from it.
And the first move the born and bred hunter made was simply to look away. Because she'd learned a long, long time ago that dwelling on mistakes and misdeeds that there wasn't anything you could do about wasn't going to help anybody. Least of all the one you'd wronged.
"This- this is remarkable," the words that brought Mary's gaze back to the far less depressing of the revelations before her. "I can't quite make out the finer points of what he's done, but there's no denying it," reaffirmed a Castiel now bent over his sleeping friend, two fingers set gently to the man's brow, "he's reestablished the connection."
"And the confounding thing about it is that were this to do with almost anything else under the sun, I'd have had it figured out in a Jiff. But the miraculous minutiae relating to the reconnection of a bloomin' human soul? I'm afraid the bleeder's lost even me on this one," admitted a Rowena who sounded like she hardly believed the words coming out of her own mouth.
"Another point I can't quite parse though is why he did it?" Offered a befuddled Castiel. "Why risk putting himself back into such a depleted state if it was obvious Dean was already well on his way to healed?"
"Maybe because I had a knife to his liver?"
At her admission, Castiel threw over his shoulder a look that nearly had Mary flinching. Part blame, part outrage, part dismissal, and all kinds of things she'd never expected to see from the angel.
The simultaneous look the witch sent her was several degrees more palatable, considering it was far more closely related to her normal supercilious sort of assessing. Though, thought Mary as she caught herself double-taking, she could have sworn she'd seen a hint of something unexpected hiding around the edges of the Scot's greener than green eyes. Something strangely similar to… pity. Or maybe even sympathy
Whatever the case, the reactions had that old guilty feeling flaring right back up, leaving Mary feeling frazzled and rejected and altogether ignored as the two magic users returned their full attentions to their patient and proceeded to discuss amongst themselves the implications of what they'd just discovered. As well as something about how they might need to go back and restudy the schematics they'd used to build and design the wardings for Michael's new-
And then Mary's attention was caught by something completely different. Or, by someone, rather. Someone who she was slightly ashamed to admit she'd all but forgotten about until the sound of a shutting door brought the man back to her attention.
She looked over to where her son had indeed just closed the door to the tiny closet-like washroom built into a wall near one far corner of the ward, and tracked her youngest's quick though careful progress from there. An arm and both hands full with a tidy heap of washcloths and a dish of what appeared to be freshly sanctified holy water. If the rosary dangling halfway off one side was anything to judge by.
As he passed where Mary was still standing dumbly a few steps from the two pseudo physicians' backs, the son slowed just enough to pass his mom a dampened hand towel. Offering the smallest, saddest smile she could recall the man ever having offered her as he did.
Then he was off and over by the archangel's bedside in barely a blink, bending to set the dish and all but one washcloth by the pillow at the head of the bed.
From there it was only a protracted moment before the soft sound of water being wrung from fabric caught the attentions of the two supernatural physicians. Both of whom turned to the noise, looking almost as if surprised to see another person in the ward at all.
By the time either of them had regained their composure, Sam was already redipping a slightly reddened washcloth and was reaching once again for the throat of someone who'd, up until very recently, been considered among the most powerful forces in two separate dimensions.
"Oh, Sam, I- That is, thank you, but I can do that," said a Castiel suddenly just as worried as he'd been when he'd first skidded to his relation's side.
"It's fine, Cas, I have more experience with this kind of thing," said the man crouched far closer to the comatose archangel than Mary was strictly comfortable with. "Dean and me used to patch each other up all the time. After a hunt."
"The lad's right, Castiel," chimed in the witch. "I say we leave him to his work and make ready for the next part of yer poor brother's healing."
"He doesn't like being called that," a bowstring taught Castiel pointed out as his watchful gaze tracked every movement Sam made in his continued task of coaxing the dried blood from the angel's relation's throat. Seeming to relax some when he realized the giant's ministrations were every ounce gentle and unhurried enough so as not to reopen whatever wound lay beneath the ugly mess.
"Och, but it's only the truth, isn't it? Born of the same Father and all that?" Pointed out the Scot who too seemed rather mesmerized by the care the hunter was taking with his task.
Then, realizing this was likely to be her best chance at not looking like a complete ass for doing so, Mary tore her own concerned gaze from the scene, turned a respectful few inches to one side, and began the task of cleaning the archangel's blood off her hand.
As well as off her knife.
The knife she'd forgotten was still clutched in her dominant hand.
The razor honed hunting knife no one had so much as tried to take from her since they'd rushed in there and labeled her the aggressor.
Hm, the mother thought with just a glint of pie in the sky hopefulness, maybe she hadn't absolutely ruined her reputation as a trustworthy, levelheaded caretaker after all.
Or maybe everyone had just been so busy with everything else that they'd also failed to readdress the continued presence of the bloodied deadly weapon in the middle of the recovery ward.
Either way, Mary didn't want to stand around holding the thing any longer than necessary, now that she'd remembered it was there, so the perfectly proficient hunter put the rest of her attention to her discrete as possible scrubbing.
Hoping the while that the others were plenty occupied until such time as she'd managed to get herself back to looking halfway presentable.
Duuuuude… me thinks Mary might be in a bit of a pickle. Especially where Cas is concerned. Hopefully he can understand where she was coming from when all of that craziness went down!