Febuwhump Day 28: Friendly Fire. Dean tends to Cas's wounds after grazing him with a bullet.

Title: Flesh Wound

Dean wished he could say it all happened so fast it was a blur, be it hadn't. He pulled the trigger with close intention and aim honed by decades of practice. It wasn't like he had intentionally hurt Cas before, back when he was an angel and he hardly registered pain from a common bullet or ordinary knife. Still, he took a great deal less heed when it came to accidentally scraping up Cas in an attack. The times that he had to roughly slam his friend to the side or elbow him while in close quarters with an enemy, he winced and swallowed down guilt, reminding himself that Cas was fine. It was nothing more than a tap to the powerful man.

So it wasn't pain or confusion that made him pull the trigger when Cas stood in front of the werewolf. The creature was hunched behind him, already toppled to all fours with the first bullet to its stomach, head ducked behind Cas's thigh. Dean squeezed the trigger, then froze, the realization setting in his head a split second too late.

Cas cried out and crumpled to the dusty barn floor.

"Cas!" Dean shouted, immediately beside him. Cas ground his teeth and reached out to touch his leg, hand immediately pulling back like he touched a burning stove. Dean could see his palm coated in blood. Dean adjusted Cas on his back and cupped a hand beneath his head as he lowered him. Cas was in little control of his body and could not easily move without assistance. It was the least Dean could do to stop from hurting him again.

Cas clutched Dean's leg as he crouched beside him, desperate for something to close his hands around while he fought against the pain. Dean barely noticed the fingernails scraping his skin beneath the denim. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a knife, cutting open the fabric of Cas's pant leg to reveal a smeared mess of blood on his thigh. He searched for the bullet hole in the light that filtered through the barn door and cracks in the wood panels. He let out a sigh. "It grazed the side of your leg. It hurts like a bitch, but you'll be okay. I'm gonna have to sew you up," when his eyes landed on Cas's face, he saw that he was teary-eyed and grinding his jaw, probably wearing down his teeth if the acute tension in his expression was any indication. It occurred to Dean that Cas wasn't accustomed to human pain. Maybe it was a whole new strain of agony he had not yet developed a tolerance of. By the look on his face and the hands clutching Dean's leg, it would appear so.

Dean moved to stand up, but Cas caught his arm.

"I'll be right back," Dean promised, sensing Cas's plea for him to stay, "It'll just be a second. I need the kit."

Reluctantly, Cas released him.

Dean moved as quickly as he could, sprinting to the car, shoving the key in the trunk, and sifting around for the rusting white tin that was the first aid kit. He flipped it open and silently thanked Sam for being responsible enough to keep it well stocked.

He raced back to Cas, who had been squirming on the floor, but stilled at the sight of Dean. Dean wondered if he was trying to hide the pain or if his presence soothed the angel.

Dean sat with his legs folded beneath him and inspected the wound closer. The bullet had cut through like a knife slice, but Dean couldn't help but be grateful at the placement. If it had hit the vein in his inner thigh, there was no amount of makeshift stitching he could do to keep Cas from bleeding to death.

Dean drew a cloth, needle, surgical thread, and forceps, closed the box, and set them neatly atop the tin. He had done this a hundred times, but never on Cas and it brought him fresh anxiety like he hadn't experienced since he first learned how to stitch someone up.

He wiped blood away as best he could as more drained from the wound. "I'm going to go as fast as I can, but it's gonna hurt," Dean warned.

"Dean, I've been tortured many times before. I can handle it," the words were confident, but the raspy, hoarse sound of his voice gave him away.

"You can hold on to me," Dean said. Cas considered it for a moment, but when Dean aimed the needle into his skin, his hand shot out and grasped Dean's knee. It was strange, seeing the angel who so rarely outwardly displayed his pain, had never needed to hold onto anyone to manage physical pain, clutching him with white knuckles.

Despite his previously shaky hands and the anxiety echoing through his body from his chest, his hands became still and as he began his work, he moved only with fluid, delicate motion.

Cas let out small sounds of hurt, whimpers or gasps, but Dean ignored them. He was focused, his work taking up his concentration, but in the back of his mind, somewhere faraway and subconscious, he was mesmerized by his power over the angel. There was something about those stifled noises Cas tried to keep down that intrigued him. A man generally so unflappable revealing his private weakness.

Dean worked silently. Not even the sound of his breath could be heard. Cas's grip loosened as he set down the instruments and regarded the stitches. "Done," he announced. Cas exhaled deeply.

Dean took another cloth and doused it with alcohol, dabbing carefully near the sutures, then rubbing Cas's leg to clean off the mess of blood there. His movement slowed and he curiously ran the fabric across his skin, feeling the shape of Cas's thigh.

When he realized what he was doing, he tried his best to look casual when he removed his hand, but his instinct was to yank it away.

Cas watched him. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. I shot you," Dean laughed, but there was no humor in it, "I'm sorry, Cas."

"You were only doing what needed to be done."

Dean shook his head. "No," he wanted to continue, to explain himself and apologize again even though Cas forgave him the moment it happened, but he remained silent.

…

Dean sat in his room with his computer on his lap and a pen pressed against his lips. His face was lined with concentration. Normally Sam found them cases, but he was depressed recently and had been less than prolific in his searches. Dean already tried to talk to him about it once and he brushed it off. He would broach the topic again tomorrow, but Dean had never been inclined to talk about his feelings and he needed a day to prepare for any emotional conversation.

There was a soft knock at the door and Dean wondered if Sam was actually ready to talk about it without his prodding.

"Come in."

The door opened to reveal Cas, looking almost shy. "Hello."

"Hey," Dean put the computer to the side, "What's up?"

Cas shifted and Dean was sure he recognized insecurity now. "It seems my wound has healed. I watched some YouTube videos on the process, but I am wary it is more complicated in practice."

Dean smiled. "Let me do it. Safest that way. Do you have my stuff?"

"I didn't want to be presumptuous."

Dean chuckled. "Get the kit," he instructed and climbed off the bed to wash his hands while Cas retrieved the first aid kit they kept in the kitchen.

When Cas returned, he hovered in the room, unsure where Dean wanted him. Dean enjoyed this dynamic, being confident and commanding to a tentative Cas. "Lay down," Dean directed.

He took the kit and pulled out scissors and forceps. He settled on the bed beside Cas. "You realize I can't do this through your pants, right?"

"Of course," Cas mumbled. It was amusing that an angel had learned to be embarrassed by nakedness, a distinctly human trait. He unbuttoned his slacks and dragged them below his thighs, resting above his knees. He wore white briefs that hugged him. Dean pretended not to notice, but when Cas looked away in embarrassment, Dean flashed a quick glance.

Dean took each step slowly, noting every twitch of his leg, the way that his breathing moved his body, and when he allowed himself to look, the intrigued expression on Cas's face.

When he had pulled out each stitch, he took an alcohol pad and ran it delicately across the wound. He was done, he should have drawn away. There was no need for his hands to remain, but as soon as he rescinded them, he would no longer have an excuse to touch Cas.

"I'm sorry."

Cas raised an eyebrow. "For what?"

"For shooting you. I keep forgetting you're human now. I really didn't mean to hurt you. I never mean to hurt you," his face was warm with the admission.

"I know, Dean. I don't blame you," Cas licked his lips as he observed Dean's fingers lingering on his leg, "It wasn't your fault."

"It really was."

"It was a mistake," Cas reminded him.

Dean finally pulled away his hand and tossed the pad to the side to run a hand through his hair. "Yeah, I seem to be making a lot of those recently."

"So have I."

Dean stilled at this, realizing it was true. Cas shared in this frustration with him. "You haven't shot me though," Dean tried to laugh, but the self-hatred was evident behind it.

"I've hurt you."

Dean's mouth twisted. "I let all that go."

"But you can't let this go."

"No. What if I killed you over some stupid werewolf? I could've got another shot. Hell, even if it got away, I could find it."

"And what if it had attacked me before you could take that shot?"

Dean frowned, eager to berate himself, but having difficulty finding a hole in the logic.

"You never give yourself enough credit."

"I give myself plenty of credit. Just for the bad shit," Dean didn't bother forcing a laugh this time. They both knew he meant it.

"Dean," Cas said seriously. He moved to sit up, but found his pants in the way and awkwardly pulled them up.

"Dean," Cas said again, pulling him back to his blue eyes, "Everything you do, you do out of love. You pulled the trigger because you were trying to protect the world from a monster. You don't hunt because it's what your father taught you or it's what you were made to do. You hunt because you care about those you don't even know. You make mistakes along the way. I made mistakes. Sam made mistakes. But you always keep going. I admire that about you."

Dean was caught off guard. An angel of the lord admired something about him. He didn't think that anyone should see value in any part of him, but somehow Cas did. "Admire?" Dean repeated.

"Yes, admire," Cas smiled softly, "I've always admired you. It is why I fell for you. You think that there is nothing worthy in you, but it's not true."

"'Fell for me.' Sounds romantic. I mean, you- you fell for humanity," his heartbeat quickened. A few minutes ago, he had felt like the confident one in the relationship and now he was trying to hide his bashfulness.

Cas's hand wandered to his knee like it had the day in the barn. "I learned humanity's worth because of you. You showed me things I never understood before. But I would have fallen if it was for all of humanity or if it was just for you."

Dean was breathing heavier now. It almost made no sense to him, but in another way, it was like he already knew. Or perhaps he didn't know, but wanted it to be true. "Why?"

Cas's face moved closer to his and Dean's eyes flitted down to his lips.

"I love you."

Dean couldn't stop himself. Magnetically, he pulled closer to Cas, yearning to feel his lips. Cas easily melted into him and it felt natural. Dean hazily tried to remember why they hadn't been doing this for years. The angel that he loved, craved more than anything, had always been here and willing. Dean's self sabotaging and blind self-loathing had stopped him from seeing what was right in front of him. Of course he loved Cas.

A/N: I actually completed a writing challenge! A couple of them actually turned out quite well. I might end up re-writing a few. Thanks for reading!