8 - Basic Human Needs

Bobby got his own room at the last hotel they stopped at, leaving Dean and Cass alone in theirs. Dean chose not to think too hard about that.

Dean woke up early the next day, well before his angel. In the early morning light streaming from the window, Castiel was sprawled over his bed like a starfish clinging to the edge of a rock. Dean had suggested pushing the table next to the bed for the angel to rest his wing, but Cass had refused. Apparently, he'd gotten used to sleeping on his stomach and preferred that over having his wing propped up. Now his good wing was draped down off the side of the bed as usual, resting on the floor while his bad wing took up most of the bed. It forced the angel to sleep on the edge of the bed, one arm and leg dangling over the side, the others spread over the bed under his wing. Cass, now able to remove his recently-cut clothing, was in the new pair of boxers Bobby brought him. The sheets were tangled around his legs, both feet sticking out and the tops of his boxers visible. The golden light made the jet black feathers gleam, which made the bald portion and cast on his broken wing all the more visible. He'd developed multiple bruises, especially on his left temple. The discoloration was plainly visible, with the way he was lying.

Castiel was drooling a bit onto his pillow as he softly snored.

His hair was a complete mess. The night before, Dean had talked his angel through taking a bath, Dean standing outside and shouting through the closed door. Castiel had managed to wash his body, dry, and dress in the boxers using only his good arm, miraculously managing not to get his cast wet. Then Dean had washed his hair in the kitchenette sink, removing the remaining dried blood from his injuries. Cass seemed to enjoy that a little too much, nearly falling when he'd nodded off. Ok, Dean admitted to himself, maybe he'd enjoyed sudsing and rinsing Castiel's hair a little too much and had taken far longer running his fingers through the dark strands than was strictly necessary. But after that, the angel had put up with being towel dried and then flatly refused to let Dean comb it out. By then, his pain medication had kicked in again and all he'd wanted to do was sleep. Cass had climbed into his bed and had been there ever since. Now the dark locks had dried into what could potentially qualify as a disaster area.

Despite everything, in this light, Castiel was simply beautiful.

Stop it, Dean! You already know you're teetering on the edge of Hellbound for all the shit you've pulled in your life. Do you really want to add "Having Sexual Urges Towards A Holy Angel Of The Lord" to that list? That'll get you roasting for sure, idiot!

Coffee. That was what he needed.

Dean quickly crawled out of bed, filling his mind with whatever boner-killing thoughts he could manage. Imagining Bobby and Sam pole dancing in thongs did the trick. With a shudder, Dean got the stupid little coffee maker in their room brewing.

Now more in control of himself, Dean picked up his phone from its charger. He'd put it on bedtime mode last night, not wanting his angel to be disturbed once the good hospital pain meds had finally eased his discomfort. Now that he'd switched off bedtime mode, he saw several texts from Sam, all urging Dean to call as soon as he was awake.

That was rarely a good sign.

Not bothering with wondering what time it was in California (Sam had said as soon as Dean woke up, after all), Dean grabbed his coffee and dialed his brother, stepping out of the room so as not to disturb his angel.

Sam answered on the second ring. "Dean, what is this about an angel?"

"Hello to you, too, bitch," Dean grumbled.

"Don't be a jerk, Dean, this is serious," Sam insisted. "Bobby called me, said you'd found some guy and decided he was the angel you hallucinated back when the base blew up?"

Dean took a drink of his coffee to keep himself from saying exactly what he thought about Bobby blabbing to Sam. The coffee, he quickly decided, would make a fortune if it were bottled and sold as an engine cleaner. Of course, the next time he cleaned Baby's engine, he had every intention of wiping off his hands on Bobby's favorite hat. "Tell me everything he told you," Dean growled into the phone.

"He said that you found this guy that seems to have wings growing out of his back," Sam began. "You immediately decided this was the angel you hallucinated six years ago and you haven't let go of that fantasy, not even after you had clear proof he was just a con artist traveling around with a false identity!"

"What?!" Dean hissed, mindful of his sleeping angel just inside the door. "What proof?"

"He had an obviously fake ID? The one with a birthdate that would make him twice his age?"

"It wasn't a fake ID," Dean explained. "James Novak is the human whose body he's using. Since angels don't age…"

"And you seriously believe this," Sam said, speaking slowly, "over the far more logical explanation that he's traveling with a fake ID?"

"Of course! And if Claire Novak had actually seen Castiel, realized that he really was her father, or at least her father's body?" Dean shuddered. "Let's just say it's a good thing Bobby talked her out of going in to talk to him."

"Ok, see, this is why I'm worried," Sam insisted. "I already called my academic advisor, told them I needed some time off to tend to a family emergency. They know your history, Dean, so I had no trouble getting permission."

"Sammy, no!"

"Dean, yes. The last time you thought you had real proof of your angel delusions, you tried to kill yourself and ended up…"

"I'm fine, alright? That wasn't a suicide attempt and this isn't another breakdown!" Dean barely resisted the urge to throw his cup, bad coffee and all, across the parking lot. "Besides, Bobby is with me, and I'm going back to Sioux Falls to stay with him until he's sure of that."

"I know," Sam replied. "I'll be heading out there from the airport to join you."

"You're not heading out there from the airport because you're not going to any airport!" Dean ordered. "You're staying right there, in school, and going to class as usual."

"Actually, I'm calling you from the airport out here," Sam informed him. Dean didn't miss the note of satisfaction in his brother's voice. "Bobby already got me my ticket, after I nearly choked when he told me you were making out with this guy in his hospital room."

"I wasn't making out with him!" Dean made a face. "Ok, yeah, I was making out with him, but…" He shook his head. "Don't you dare come out here, Sam!"

"I'm coming. I'm already at the gate, getting ready for boarding, so I'm switching my phone to airplane mode. See you soon, Dean." Then the bitch hung up before Dean could start swearing.

Dean swore anyway, shoved his phone into his pocket, and gulped down the rest of his coffee, wincing at the burn. Part of him wanted to kick Bobby's door open and start what would no doubt quickly degenerate into an epic screaming match. Only one thing stopped him - Castiel. Bad enough that Dean now knew Bobby didn't believe his story. What would Cass think, hearing Dean's pseudo father and his brother calling him a con artist? No, Dean wasn't touching that one. Dean loved Bobby, but if there was one bad trait the veteran had, it was stubbornness. Not even John Winchester could match Bobby Singer when it came to sheer bull-headedness.

Fine, Dean decided. If Bobby and Sam wanted to embarrass themselves by calling an Angel of the Lord a con artist, then who was Dean to deprive them of their fun? Dean wouldn't interfere. He'd sit back and let it happen, then smile and be ready with a quick "I told you so" when Cass did something undeniably angelic and it all blew back in their faces. Dean imagined the looks Castiel would get when the angel did his magic glowing eyes trick or used his mojo to change Bobby's radio off of that damned country station he was so addicted to. Yes, he decided, that would be worth watching the two of them tiptoe around, trying to convince Dean he was insane. If nothing else, it would keep Dean entertained until Benny decided things had cooled off enough for Dean to start working again.

Pleased with his plans, Dean headed back in. Cass was just starting to stir. All of his bruises were at their darkest now. He looked like he'd been in a car accident. It seemed that he flinched every time he made a move. Guilt washed over Dean. All of Castiel's pain was because of him. Well, Dean decided, he'd just have to take care of Castiel. He'd do whatever it took to get his angel back on his feet.

Castiel was sitting on the side of his bed when Dean went back in. Good, he was awake. Dean got a pain pill and poured it with some bad coffee into the angel, grateful for the first time that Cass couldn't really taste. Next he pulled out his pocket knife, found an old t-shirt he was willing to sacrifice for the cause, and cut out the back of it. Getting it on Castiel took some doing. Once the bad wing was in, Dean quickly discovered it was impossible for Cass's good wing to bend back enough to actually get into the shirt. He finally gave it up as a lost cause, threw the shirt out and reluctantly doctored one of his button-down flannels. By slitting it in two places from the bottom up, Dean was able to create a flap that dropped down between Castiel's wings. After that, getting Cass's arms into it was simple. Once he got home, Dean vowed, he'd get some velcro and fix the shirt properly, the way Castiel's other shirts were doctored. For now, Cass would have to put up with the shirt flapping in the back. At least his coat would cover it. The trench coat was the only thing the hospital hadn't ruined. Dean dug it out of Cass's hospital bag and tossed it onto the bed, then tossed the angel's shoes on the floor. The rest, he'd have to borrow from Dean.

The angel frowned and cocked his head at Dean the entire time, allowing Dean to maneuver his limbs without protest. He watched Dean button the flannel over his stomach and chest. He even obediently lifted his legs when Dean, fearful that Castiel would hurt his arm trying to pull them on, tried to help him into the jeans. But Castiel frowned more when Dean attempted to pull them up. "They're too tight, Dean," he said. "I don't think they're going to fit over my thighs."

"That's because you have thighs like a damned marathon runner," Dean complained, pulling the jeans back down. "Ok, that's not going to work. I'll have to let you use a pair of sweat pants. That's probably better anyway, to be honest. At least then you won't have to try to undo them to go to the bathroom because they won't have a zipper. You can just pull them down enough to do your business."

"I did well enough with the zipper on my other pants," Castiel pointed out as Dean took the jeans back to his bag and dug for the sweat pants.

"Yeah, but sooner or later, you're going to have to go number two again," Dean countered. "You remember how hard that was when you had to get your pants completely down?"

"Oh," the angel said, nodding. "Yes, you were very uncomfortable when you had to help me with that." He smiled at Dean. "Thank you, Dean. You're very thoughtful about these things."

Dean ducked his head, mumbled something inane under his breath, and produced a comb. Climbing up on the bed behind his angel, Dean attacked Castiel's hair with the comb.

"Dean, why are you pulling my hair?" Castiel complained, ducking away.

Dean groaned and prepared for a long-winded answer when he was saved by a knock on the door. Somewhat relieved, he went to answer it. It was Bobby. "I half expected to find you two in bed together," Bobby declared.

"Funny." Dean indicated Castiel with a thumb over his shoulder. Castiel was still sitting on the bed, smiling and waving at Bobby, who reluctantly waved back. "What should we do about his wings?"

"Nothing," Bobby said.

Dean blinked. "Nothing?"

"Nothing," Bobby repeated. "Nothing we can do for that boy is going to make him look any better, so may as well just let him go out as he is. If anyone asks, we just tell them it ain't any of their damned business why he's got wings."

"Are you serious?!"

"As a heart attack." Bobby looked past Dean to Castiel. "Kid, you ready to go?"

"Yes."

"No!" Dean exclaimed. "Let me get his shoes on, at least." He slapped the comb against Bobby's chest. "Here, comb his hair."

Bobby gave him a look. Dean scowled. "Would you rather put his shoes on?"

"Dean?" Bobby said, speaking as if to a small child or a crazy person. "He already has his shoes on. And his coat. His hair is fine, we're going to breakfast, not on a damned date. Now are you even packed?"

Dean looked back. Sure enough, Castiel was sitting exactly where Dean had last seen him, only now he was wearing his shoes and trench coat. "He mojoed them!" Dean whooped. "Ha! I told you he was an angel!"

"Dean?" Bobby was still using that same voice. "Get your angel into the car. Is that your bag?" Avoiding Dean's eyes, Bobby snagged Dean's bag and headed out for the vehicles.

"Yeah, Sammy told me what you said," Dean called after him, irritated. "Really not happy about that, Bobby."

"Shut up and get in the cars, ya idjit, I'm hungry!"

"Hangry is more like it," Dean grumbled. He turned to Castiel and jumped.

"What's hangry?" the angel asked from two inches away.

Dean leaned against the doorframe for support. "It's, um, when you're hungry and it makes you cranky. Say, Cass, there's this thing called personal space? When you get in it, that's when you end up hurt, like what happened with the swimming pool. Do you think you could maybe give me mine by backing up a couple feet or so?"

Castiel obediently backed up. Dean rolled his eyes and snagged the angel's wrist. "Come on. Let's go eat."

"We're not having this discussion here, Dean," was the first thing Bobby said when Dean led his angel to the booth in the diner. "Sam's in the air, on his way over. I'm going from here to the airport to pick him up. We'll meet you back at the house."

"Good, because I'm not in the mood for an extended conversation right now anyway." Dean helped his angel into the booth, snagged a plastic menu and proceeded to ignore Bobby.

Castiel leaned over. "Dean," he whispered, "are you hangry?"

"Yes, now pick something for breakfast."

Castiel, pleased with his newfound knowledge, nodded. With a serious expression, he picked up his menu and started examining it.

The waitress approached, coffee pot in hand. She paused, blinking in surprise at Castiel's broken wing, which was currently taking up the majority of the booth where he sat and half the aisle. "Whoa, sugar, I almost tripped! Oh!" She gasped, letting her fingers hover over the cast, then raised them sympathetically towards the bruises on the angel's face. "You're hurt? What happened?"

"It's broken," Cass told her. "It's quite painful, but I recently had a pain pill."

"Oh, you poor thing!" she cooed. "How can I help you? This can't be comfortable, having it draping on the floor like that."

"It's not," Castiel agreed, "but holding it up for long periods of time is difficult."

"Well, I can fix that!" She waved to a co-worker. "We'll just get you a side table, throw a towel over it, and you can use it to keep, um, this, off the floor and rested. How does that sound?"

The angel gave her a bright smile. "Yes, thank you. I would appreciate that very much."

She smiled back, her eyes flickering over the angel. "You're cute. Here, let me give you a cuppa, and I'll be right back." Quickly filling the coffee cups of the trio, she smiled again at Cass and headed off.

"Nice," Dean commented, watching her hips sway. "She's into you, buddy!"

Castiel tilted his head, looking confused. "Do I want her to be into me?"

That made Dean laugh. The waitress flirted with Castiel shamelessly. The angel, naturally, was oblivious, smiling and speaking politely with her. Occasionally, someone would snap a picture, into which Dean made sure to insert his middle finger. Overall, Dean enjoyed himself so much he was convinced that he barely noticed the fact that Bobby didn't say a word.