A/N: I wasn't planning on updating so soon, but you guys have been giving me such amazing comments and really keeping me motivated and inspired, so here's the latest chapter. Maybe it will provide a form of escape during Thanksgiving tomorrow for those who celebrate if you need it.
Castiel's heart flips inside his chest and panic immediately settles in. He yanks his phone from his pocket and dials Dean's number. He grabs the keys to his truck off the motel table and rushes out the door.
Dean doesn't answer. He tries again. Nothing.
Castiel opens the door to his truck and calls Sam. He starts his truck. Sam doesn't answer. He leaves a voicemail.
"Sam, you're burning the wrong bones. It's not the dead twin. It's the teacher. I just found a newspaper explaining how she died at the library during a flood. I'm going after her. She's buried in the cemetery across town. I'll let you know once it's over." Castiel ends the message and drives as quickly as he can towards the graveyard.
Teens have been brutally murdered at the local library over the past two months. They'd all drowned; their lungs had been filled with water, despite the library being bone dry. Their deaths were obviously of supernatural origin.
Sam had found the case, and Castiel wanted to come. Dean was reluctant, but Castiel learned how to give him that pleading look Sam gives him when he really wants something. And it worked. But, understandably, Castiel's only job on this Hunt is research. His wound still isn't healed up enough for any physical activity.
But now Sam and Dean are salting and burning the wrong bones. More teens are in danger the longer this ghost is around, so it's up to Castiel to get rid of it. It's nothing he can't handle; he just has to dig up the bones and burn them.
He severely underestimated how difficult it is to dig up a grave. Especially with his injuries.
Every scoop of dirt sends a jolt of pain inside his abdomen, and he begins to sweat far too early. His grave digging is sloppy, and he's barely two feet in and already a sweaty, panting mess; he doesn't care how good the hole he's digging looks.
Castiel grimaces as he continues to dig. He can tell he's ripping a few of his stitches and refuses to look down at his injury, just in case he sees something he doesn't like. But he can't dwell on that right now. There are more important things at hand. Those teenagers' lives are at stake. Castiel is just grateful his adrenaline and anxiety to get this done quickly are masking the pain enough to make it bearable. He takes a deep breath and wipes his damp forehead with one of his hands and continues to dig.
After what feels like years, his shovel finally hits something solid. The coffin.
Shaking from adrenaline, and weak from the first real physical activity he's performed as a human, Castiel pries open the casket after his third try. He swallows dryly. The teacher's corpse is sunken but juicy. Her form still fills her clothing, but her skin is rotten. It's one of the worst smells Castiel has ever smelled, and he's hit with the strong urge to vomit the second he opens the coffin. He quickly turns away and climbs out of the newly-dug hole, craving fresh air. Castiel grunts as another flash of pain strikes through him as he climbs. When he stands up, black dots fill his vision, and he stumbles unsteadily forward. He forces himself to take a moment to catch his breath and wipes his forehead again.
The last thing anyone needs is for him to pass out right now.
Now that his adrenaline is beginning to wear off, Castiel's wound throbs painfully. It's not as sharp as before, but Castiel quickly grabs the accelerant and salt. He doesn't want to stay here longer than he needs to. He pours a generous amount of accelerant and salt over the corpse, taking out a lighter Dean had given him. But just as he flicks it open, the air becomes colder, and Castiel can see his breath.
Oh, no.
It's all he can manage to think before he's thrown several yards across the cemetery. Castiel lands with a thump that leaves him gasping.
Fuck!
The pain is so bright he can't see. Castiel instinctively places a hand on his stomach. It's warm and sticky. This feels as bad as when he was stabbed the first time. He curls in on himself. Maybe even worse. He still can't manage to catch his breath when the air starts to get cold again.
No, no, no.
Castiel sits up as quickly as he can, and it's a mistake. White hot stabbing pain. The black dots fill his vision again. The world tilts, and he falls backwards.
"Dammit, Cas!"
Castiel opens his eyes with a gasp. The pain in his stomach is sharp and deep. And then he remembers.
"The ghost!" He tries to sit up.
A hand pushes him back down. "Will you fucking slow down!"
Castiel blinks. It's darker now, and his eyes finally adjust to see Dean staring down at him. Dean's eyebrows are pinched together, and he's frowning. There's a fire in his eyes Castiel used to mistake for anger but now knows is concern.
"I'm fine," Castiel reassures him. Had he done it? Had he gotten rid of the ghost? He didn't quite manage to burn the bones. Are more teenagers dead?
"No, you're not!" Dean says. "You're bleeding."
"Did you salt and burn the bones? The teacher's bones?"
"Yes, Cas, yes. Can you focus on yourself now?"
Castiel nods, relief releasing the tension in his shoulders. It's over. The ghost is gone.
Then Dean's words hit him. "I'm bleeding?" he asks as he looks down at himself. Blood is seeping through his green shirt. It's a dark wet stain arcing across his stomach. Castiel feels dizzy. "Oh," he says weakly, and the dizziness gets worse.
"Whoa, hey." Dean's hand firmly grips the back of his neck. "Look at me."
It's difficult to focus on Dean, and it's as if looking at his injury made him realize how much it hurts. It's a sharp, hot, incessant pain. Castiel grabs fistfuls of grass in his hands. "I want to go home."
"Yeah, okay." Dean somehow looks even more worried than before. "Can you walk?"
Castiel nods. "Yes."
Dean helps Castiel stand, the pain flares—hot and consuming—once he's up, and his legs are shaking. Dean still has a hand on Castiel's back. Castiel takes a step, but he apparently can't support his own weight anymore, and his legs give out.
"Shit," Dean hisses as he catches Castiel.
"Sorry," Castiel mumbles, leaning into Dean.
"It's okay, it's okay." Dean holds him up, one arm wrapping around him while the other grips his side, a few inches from his injury. "Sam!" he calls.
Castiel hears the fast approach of footsteps, but can't force himself to look up. Maintaining the small amount of balance he has is taking all of his energy. He's gripping onto the front of Dean's shirt with all the strength he can muster.
"Get the first-aid kit and start the car," Dean hisses.
"Do you need help?" Sam asks.
"No, no, I got him. Just do what I asked."
"Yeah, okay."
There's a pause, and Castiel can feel Sam's eyes on him before Sam races towards the car. Castiel hates feeling so helpless. He's utterly useless. Why is he always the damsel in distress?
"I'm sorry," Castiel says again. "I shouldn't have come." They didn't need him. He's just slowing them down.
Dean guides them between the graves. His pace is urgent, and Castiel is struggling to keep up. "You shouldn't have come here by yourself," Dean says sternly.
"I know," Castiel begins, "but the ghost—"
"I don't care about the ghost, Cas!" Dean erupts.
Castiel stumbles.
Dean pauses to adjust his grip. "Sorry, sorry," he says quieter. "I just don't—" Dean huffs in frustration, and they start walking again. "Why don't you take better care of yourself?"
And Castiel knows what Dean means. He knows Dean is talking about burning the bones by himself. But it sounds chastising, and it makes Castiel feel like a child (even though he is thousands of years older than Dean), and it stings. Castiel thinks he's adjusting to being a human very well considering he's only done it once before. And he's injured this time. Dean has no idea what it's like to be an angel one second and a human the next. He should try it before talking down to Castiel like this!
"I'm trying," Castiel grits out and is surprised by the sudden onset of tears.
"Really? It doesn't seem like it."
"Fuck you."
And Castiel knows he went too far, because he can feel Dean tense, and their pace quickens. They finally reach the Impala, and Dean wordlessly guides Castiel into the back seat. The first-aid kit is on the seat beside him.
"Scoot over," Dean says tersely, and Castiel does, placing the kit on his lap. He refuses to look in Dean's eyes.
The seat sinks with the weight of Dean sitting next to him, and the door slams closed. Sam starts the car, and Dean snatches the first-aid kit from Castiel's lap. One of Dean's hands grabs onto Castiel's shoulder a little too hard and pulls Castiel towards him.
"Wha—?" Castiel starts.
"Lay down," Dean commands.
The pain flares up as Castiel lays across Dean's lap, looking up at the Impala's roof. The light from the street lamps outside cast moving shadows through the car. It makes Castiel dizzy, and he closes his eyes. He can feel Dean slowly lift his shirt. His exposed skin feels cold.
Dean's fingers lightly skim over his abdomen, and Castiel tenses when they brush over a particularly painful spot. Castiel hears the first-aid kit pop open, and gauze is lightly dabbed where Dean's fingers just were. There must be an exceptionally bloody spot, because Dean suddenly presses down harder, and pain bolts from the center of Castiel's body all the way up to his head and down to his toes. He balls his hands up into fists and attempts to fight back the whimper pressing its way up his throat. The pain only lasts a moment more before the pressure is gone.
There's a pause where everything is silent, and Dean doesn't move. Castiel is about to open his eyes and ask what's wrong, but then Dean gently brushes the hair off of Castiel's forehead. Dean combs Castiel's hair with his fingers, and it feels…really nice.
Then, softly, Dean says, "You need a lot of stitches." He continues to run his hand through Castiel's hair. "It's going to hurt."
Castiel nods slightly, screwing his eyes shut tighter, already anticipating the pain. "Okay."
Dean gently moves his fingers through Castiel's hair one more time before rummaging through the first-aid kit.
"Ready?" Dean asks.
Castiel isn't. "Yes."
And Dean was right. It does hurt. A lot.
Castiel is bed-ridden again. But he doesn't yell at Dean this time for constantly being at his side.