7 - The Injured Angel

When Bobby Singer finally pushed his way through the door, Dean nearly broke down and wept. As it was, he threw himself into the older man's arms. "Bobby," he moaned. "Thank God you're here."

Bobby's arms were tight around him. "Of course I'm here," he soothed. "Don't ever think I wouldn't come when you called. Now tell me what happened and what I can do."

"I fucked up," Dean moaned into his surrogate father's shoulder. "I fucked up bad, Bobby!"

It had all happened so fast. Dean, horrified, had charged into the pool after his angel, screaming Castiel's name, only to find the angel wasn't breathing. Meanwhile, the homophobe had fled while the other trucker immediately called 911. Dean had been too busy breathing air into his angel to be aware of any of it. Please, Castiel, he'd prayed as he'd worked. Please, just breathe!

Suddenly Castiel gasped. Blue eyes flew open wide, blinked, and fixed on Dean. Dean, relieved, had unthinkingly gathered the angel into his arms. "Castiel, thank God! Speak to me. Are you alright?"

Castiel's eyes flickered from Dean's eyes and down to his lips. "You kissed me."

Dean sputtered. "I… What?!"

"You kissed me, Dean."

"No I didn't!" Dean's cheeks were flaming.

Castiel simply watched him. "Can you maybe kiss me some more? It was nice."

Flabbergasted, Dean shook his head. "Cass, you don't even know what you're saying. You're hurt! You hit your head and stopped breathing for a moment."

"I did? Oh. Well, it's ok. I'm fine." Castiel immediately proved it when his eyes rolled back in his head.

"Uh, no, you can't fall asleep!" Dean quickly patted the angel's cheek, bringing him back around. "You need to stay awake, ok?"

The angel grumbled something, but at least his eyes were open again, fixed on Dean.

The helpful trucker jumped down into the pool. "An ambulance is on its way," he advised. "They said try not to move him, because he could have a spinal injury."

That made Dean stop breathing. He'd gathered Castiel up, but so far, the angel hadn't moved on his own except to speak to Dean. Castiel was part human now. What if Dean's carelessness had injured him even more? What if Castiel was paralyzed now? "What do I do?" Dean asked, panicking once again. "Should I lay him back down?"

"No," the trucker urged. He moved himself into position, ducking beneath the broken wing to a point where he could help support the bleeding angel. "You just keep holding your boyfriend like that. I'll help you. I'm sorry, guys, about that asshole and for intruding like this, but he's gotta keep as still as possible and you're going to need help holding him."

At this point, Dean couldn't be bothered to care to correct the man. His attention was fixed on his angel. "Hold still, Castiel," he ordered, trying hard not to break down. "Don't move."

For once, Castiel obeyed without question. The blue eyes simply observed Dean, the angel apparently content to just be held.

The paramedics had arrived in record time. Castiel frowned when they'd placed a C-collar on him. He'd frowned even more when he was strapped to a backboard. "Dean, I don't like this!" he'd complained. "I don't want to be strapped down, and my wings are getting pinched!"

"Just hold still," Dean had advised. He eyed the medics. "Um, how about I come with you in the ambulance and help stabilize his wings, at least his broken one? Keep the other one tucked in as close as you can, ok, Cass?"

"Fine," the angel grumped. At least he'd obeyed, tucking his good wing close to his body, grimacing when the feathers caught in the straps of the backboard. Dean quickly freed them.

The paramedics were professional, but it was clear they were flustered by the unexpected presence of the gigantic appendages on Castiel's back. To their credit, they hadn't said anything beyond a gasp and a muttered "What the actual fuck?" from one of them. Dean's presence holding the injured wing made the ride in the back of the ambulance extremely crowded, but it minimized the angel's pain and freed up the paramedic to work. By the time they were at the hospital, Castiel had an IV in place and his head wound treated. Dean had just enough time to frantically whisper to his angel not to use any of his powers before they were pulling up to the ambulance entrance.

Apparently, they'd called ahead. The hospital staff had opened the doors as wide as they could go and were ready with not one, but two stretchers. Castiel was carefully transferred to one, with his injured wing supported by the other and stabilized by helpful staff. Gawkers lined the halls, watching the unusual sight of a winged man being transported into the ER. Dean ignored them and stayed close, holding tight to his angel's hand until he was shooed out by staff.

Since then, it had been a nightmare. Castiel had announced that he was an Angel of the Lord the first time his name was asked. That resulted in a psych consult. Dean was no help at all, unable to tell them any medical history or even Castiel's last name. He was humiliated when the staff pulled a wallet out of Castiel's trench coat and found the name "James Novak" along with an address on the driver's license. Belatedly, Dean remembered Castiel saying that he had a human vessel. Up until that point, he'd never even considered the fact that his angel was essentially wearing a human being, a man with a home and a past and possibly even a family.

It was also the point when he realized just what a colossal mistake he'd made by bringing his angel to a hospital. Now Castiel was subjected to doctors, psychiatrists, and the police. He half expected the men in black to roll in at any minute. After all, the doctors were puzzled by Castiel's "mutation." While extra limbs occasionally happened, fully formed and functional wings, complete with feathers, were a whole other ball game. Dean imagined someone somewhere would be writing a paper about this. At what point would Castiel catch the attention of someone in the government?

By the time Bobby arrived, the police had been in to interview Castiel. The angel was diagnosed with traumatic brain injury and admitted for observation when he continued to insist he was an Angel of the Lord. Dean tried his best, saying that this was actually the second time Cass had been subjected to a head injury and he was only confused. But that backfired horribly when Dean couldn't produce the name of the doctor or hospital that had treated his original injuries. Meanwhile, Novak's license was over two decades old, bearing the name and birthdate of someone who should have been in his fifties. Naturally, it was assumed to be a bad forgery. The police had been notified. Now James Novak's daughter was on her way, expecting to confront Castiel about her father, who had gone missing twenty-five years ago. What would she do when she was confronted with a man identical to that same man? Dean had no idea what he could do to try to explain why he hadn't aged and had somehow sprouted wings from his back.

As usual, Bobby simply let Dean talk. Dean engaged in frantic verbal diarrhea, words tumbling over each other until he could finally collect his thoughts enough to speak clearly. The older veteran listened to Dean pour out the whole story while they waited in the visiting area for the social worker and psychiatrist to finish with Castiel. The police might want to arrest both of them at any minute and Dean was completely at a loss.

When Dean finally finished, Bobby didn't move. He sat as he was, clearly mulling over what he'd just been told. "So he's an angel," he said at last.

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"The same angel that saved you back at the base, wings and all."

"Same one."

"He's been watching over you all this time, saving your fool ass all the while."

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, feeling guilty. "I guess?"

"And for his pains, he got himself stuck between human and angel forms, got his noggin knocked and his wing broken, and now is probably heading for the psych ward?"

"If he's not arrested! I never should have brought him here," Dean groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Like I said, I fucked up. Now this Novak guy's daughter is coming, the cops are giving me the side eye, and the staff thinks he's crazy and running around with a shitty forged license, and…!"

"Calm down," Bobby ordered. "You had no choice but to bring him here. He was hurt, Dean. He wasn't even breathing for a moment. This wasn't something Benny's doc could fix. He needed a hospital, real care that you couldn't provide for him. So first thing is that you need to knock off the self-flagellation."

"But what am I supposed to do now?" Dean pressed. "How am I supposed to get my angel out of here?"

"Cross that bridge when we come to it." Bobby stiffened. "Think this might be Ms. Novak coming now?"

Dean looked up, seeing a woman in her thirties walking rapidly in their direction. She looked upset. Swallowing hard, Dean stood up. "Um, Ms. Novak?"

"It's Mrs. Claire Daniels now," the woman spat. "Are you the guy who found the son of a bitch with my dad's license? I can't believe he was so close! Has he been here all this time?"

"Well, about that…"

Dean had no idea what he would have said, but fortunately, Bobby was smooth as ever. "Excuse me, Mrs. Daniels," he said, hat in hand and a pleasant smile on his bearded face. "I'm afraid there's been a mistake. You see, I'm a private detective, ma'am."

The woman narrowed her eyes. "What's the mistake?" she demanded harshly. "They told us this man had my dad's wallet, and his description and the picture on dad's license matched, except some sort of tumors on his back?"

Bobby turned an understanding smile on her. "I can certainly understand why you're feeling upset."

"You have no idea what I'm feeling," she spat. "I want to see this fucker and ask him about my father! He vanished without a trace when I was barely old enough to remember him. If he knows anything…?"

"That's the problem." Bobby's face grew serious. "I've been tracking this man for a few years now, hired by his family, and I'm afraid this wasn't the first stolen identity he's used. He's not right in the head, you see, believes he's an angel. He's been traveling around, telling anyone who listened that he's trying to find his way back to Heaven. But he's younger than you are, Mrs. Daniels, which means he would have been a baby when your father went missing. Whatever happened to your father, he's not involved."

"Of course not. I should have realized." She looked crushed. "I just… We hadn't heard anything about my dad for so long. Now, suddenly, his ID shows up, only a few miles away from where I live? I shouldn't have come here, but I just had to know."

"I'm sorry," Bobby said gently. "But unless James Novak somehow stopped aging for the last few decades, there's no chance this is him."

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Daniels," Dean added, sympathetic.

She smiled at him. "Just call me Claire, Ken doll."

"Claire, then. Again, I am so sorry." Dean couldn't tell her how sorry he really was.

Fortunately, Claire appeared lost in thought. "He always went by Jimmy," she said. "I think part of me knew it wasn't really my dad. I mean, in retrospect, how could he still look like his driver's license after twenty-five years? Obviously, the license is altered. But it's hard to let go of hope, even after all this time."

Dean shifted his weight awkwardly. "I can't even imagine."

Claire was visibly fighting back tears now. But the glare she leveled at the two men was hardened steel. "Thank you for sparing me the pain of actually seeing this guy," she said politely. "We've tried to go on with our lives, and that phone call brought up a lot of things we tried to forget. My dad left us without a word. He was sick. He had schizophrenia, and refused to take his medication. I don't remember much about it, but my mom said that towards the end, his illness was all but unbearable. He was saying crazy things, that an angel was talking to him and had some grand purpose for him. Mom even caught him once with his arm in a pot of water on the lit stove, insisting that he wouldn't burn even when it boiled."

"Mental illness is a terrible thing, Claire," Bobby agreed softly. He suddenly looked years older. "My wife had it herself, schizophrenic, just like your daddy. She ended up killing herself, believing she was possessed by a demon. And I've dealt with a bit of mental illness in others as well."

Dean kept himself from kicking the older man with an effort.

Claire smiled at Bobby. "Thank you," she said tearfully. "I'm so glad I met you here, before I went in there. Not many understand what we've been through I don't think I could have handled it if I'd actually seen this monster trying to pretend to be my dad!"

"That's why I stayed here, ma'am," Bobby replied gently. "Now don't you worry. I'll take care of this bastard, get him back to where he belongs. Just go on home, and Claire? You take good care of your mom."

"I will," Claire assured. "Thank you again, Mr…?"

"Turner," Bobby said. "Rufus Turner."

"Thank you, Mr. Turner."

The woman turned to go. When the elevator door closed behind her, Dean leveled a flat look at Bobby. "What's Rufus going to say when he finds out you're taking his name in vain?"

"I don't give a shit," Bobby informed him. "I think he's in jail right now anyway, so it's pretty obvious to anyone who looks that he wasn't here. No trail, nothing to follow, as long as you didn't give your real name?"

"I gave my name as Robert Plant."

Bobby rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Now, let's go talk to that social worker."

Persuading the social worker was considerably harder than Claire. She was deeply suspicious, insisting on seeing Bobby's identification. Fortunately, Bobby had the presence of mind to bring his fake PI identification. The fact that Bobby still occasionally took jobs for Benny was coming in handy, as the ID could have even fooled Dean. Why he'd chosen to get a fake ID in Rufus's name was another story, but right now, Dean didn't want to know. Bobby had to put on his best face, repeating his story about searching for the confused man who'd been traveling from town to town using stolen identities as he tried to find his way back to Heaven. She didn't like the idea of Castiel not being sent to an inpatient facility for psychiatric care. But in the end, she had no cause to hold him. He wasn't a threat to himself or anyone else, James Novak's daughter had informed the police that her family wasn't pressing charges, and Castiel himself was refusing to be admitted. With great reluctance, she agreed to discharge him, on the condition Castiel agreed to go with them.

Dean was finally permitted to go in and see his angel.

Cass was sitting up in the hospital bed, wearing a hospital gown with his bad wing supported on another bed and a scowl on his face. "They cut my clothes," was the first thing he said when he spotted Dean. "They couldn't get them over my wings, so they cut the openings wider. Dean, I didn't want them to cut my clothes."

"Ok, ok, I'm sorry," Dean soothed. "I'll get your stuff back and we'll try fixing them up. But honestly, they need washed anyway." Dean grimaced. "I didn't know how to tell you. You could do with a good hot shower, too, because you kind of reek of insect repellant."

"That's from you, Dean. You had it all over you!"

"I know, but it's on you, now, too. Doesn't matter. We'll just have to figure out another way to clean your bad wing that doesn't get the cast wet. As long as you hold it out of the water, it should be fine."

Fortunately, Castiel didn't seem offended by this. He was poking thoughtfully at his bad wing, wincing. "It hurts."

"I bet it does," Dean agreed. "You're late with your pain medicine. I'll see if they can't give you anything good before we leave, since you've still got that IV in you."

"I didn't like the morphine."

"Ok, we'll ask for something else."

"Will you kiss me again?"

Dean sputtered. "What?!"

"Will you kiss me again?" Cass repeated. "I would like that very much."

Dean stared at his angel. Cass only looked back, innocent blue eyes hopeful as he watched Dean. Dean's initial instinct was to refuse, but the way the angel was looking at him, combined with his own undeniable attraction?

Fuck it. Dean approached the bed, bent at the waist, and planted a chaste kiss on the angel's lips. He hadn't meant for it to be more than a quick peck, but Castiel's hand was suddenly pressing against the back of his neck, holding Dean in place as the angel deepened the kiss. Dean responded in spite of himself, leaning closer to chase Castiel's lips.

"Dean, what in tarnation are you doing?!"

Dean never could have nice things. With a gasp, he pulled himself away from his eager angel and turned to face Bobby. "Um, it's not what you think," he sputtered. "When he fell, I had to do CPR on him, and now he's…"

Bobby shook his head, holding up a hand to stop Dean's rambling. "Just go tell the nurse he's ready to leave, would you?"

"Right. He needs pain medicine, too, so I'll… Right." Face flaming, Dean headed for the nurses' station.