He frowns, like he can't believe it. But it's all too real, the gentle swell of blood in the bottom of his lungs, the rasp of each breath through his throat and the continual ache of his wounds.
"I'm…having trouble…breathing." He gasps out.
A surge of pain rockets up his spine and he knows no more.
Dean is gripping the angel's shoulders tightly, as if that will help him breathe. Castiel gasps, trying to form words but instead his eyes roll back in his head and he starts shaking violently.
"Whoa, Cas!" Dean shouts, trying to hold him still and failing.
"Get him on his side, he's having a seizure!" Sam says.
Dean quickly manoeuvres Castiel onto his side, putting as much weight on his injured side as he dares. The quantity of blood already on the seats doubles suddenly, cascading onto the floor like a grotesque waterfall.
"Oh, my god!" Dean curses.
"Dean we have to call somebody, he's going to die."
Dean shoots a glance at Sam, looks back to Castiel, hands still braced against his shaking form that's still violently stronger than him. Panic, fear and indecision linger there a moment, caught in the terror of the moment at what's happening right before his eyes. Castiel jerks sharply, nearly throwing Dean as he coughs up a dark gout of blood that spills from his mouth, enough to prove there's serious internal damage. Without another word Sam fishes out his cellphone, dialling 911. Dean can't tear his stare from Castiel, trying to keep him as still as he continues to cough and jerk. Sam's voice registers vaguely in the back of his mind.
"Yes, our friend has been attacked, he's bleeding out and he's having a seizure. We're at Celeste's diner on highway 78. Please, hurry." He says.
He all but drops the phone as he adds his weight to the spasaming angel who is obviously still too strong for Dean, he can hardly keep the angel from bucking off the seats. The episode goes on too long for comfort, nearly three whole minutes before it slows down to a tremble and that's where it stays. Castiel lays there, tremors running through him as he pants, sucking in feeble, shallow breaths. The violent movement has reopened some of his wounds, renewed blood follow once again pouring out. The brothers are trying to stop that when the ambulance finally shows up after three minutes. Sam is out of the car, but Dean can't move, hands still on Castiel's shoulder and chest as the sirens wail outside. He's staring at Castiel when his eyes suddenly flutter open. They lock onto Dean, bleary and out of focus, but conscious.
And alive.
He looks like he's about to say something when a hand on Dean's shoulder pulls him back and out of the car.
"Step back." The paramedic orders him, pushing him away from the Impala.
He falls back with Sam, staring numbly as the paramedics work fast. Within a minute they're transferring Castiel out of the car and onto a stretcher. The angel is complainant and limp until they start securing him down.
"Dean? Sam? Where are you?" He calls out.
Castiel is trying to sit up but the paramedics hold him still, wrangling his arms in to stop him from trying to get up. His head is darting from side to side, frantically searching for them. Dean gets there first, dropping down beside one of the paramedics.
"We're here. Just taking you to a hospital is all." He says quietly.
Castiel's eyes widen in alarm.
"I don't need a hospital." He says quickly, ending up slurred and only half coherent.
"No worries, man. It's all okay. Just go to sleep."
"I don't sleep, Dean." He protests.
"Give it a test run."
The paramedics finish strapping him down and pick up the board, rushing him to the ambulance. Dean keeps pace right until they load him up. One paramedic is about to warn him back when he blurts.
"He's my brother, I'm going!"
He shoves his arm aside, following him in. They don't try to stop him as he climbs inside, squeezing in next to Castiel's head. The paramedic is doing his best to staunch the bleeding, but its doing little good, his gloves stained with copious amounts of blood still gushing from the angel. Dean has to force himself to keep his semblance of calm, watching Castiel literally die right before his eyes. Castiel suddenly groans, eyes fluttering open weakly, eyes glazed and bloodshot. He tries to move, when he finds he can't his eyes go wide with panic.
"Its okay, Cas. Its okay, I'm here." Dean reaches out, setting one hand on his good shoulder, the other on his forehead, feeling a little awkward, but desperate to somehow comfort him when he's in so much pain. Might even be dying. He shakes the thought away. Angel's can't die, not like this.
And if an angel, even a wounded one, gets too scared he might fly off or break something in a startling show of strength. And if he did flap his feathery ass off somewhere then they'd be really screwed. So, he's got to keep him calm, and he'll do whatever that takes. Castiel looks back as far as he can, eyes finding Dean before he settles.
"You've got to stay here, okay Cas? Remember, you haven't found God yet. You have to find him before you check out, okay?"
"I can't…find him." He mutters, eyes sliding back to look at the ceiling.
"But you will. So, you can't die, just…promise me, Cas. Just promise."
"Dean…"
"Promise me!" Dean insists.
"I still have…your necklace."
It's only then that Dean notices that familiar shape, hanging off to the side of Castiel's chest, tinted in blood.
"Dean…I'm sorry."
"For what, man?" Dean asks, curious about what he's going to say.
"That…I can't be more useful…let Anna down…can't find God…couldn't fix you after Hell…I'm…sorry."
Dean is hit with the enormity of the words, the way Castiel seems desperate yet reluctant to admit them, choking them out as he's dying…
"No man, its all okay. You're doing what you can. We all are." He says, gripping his shoulder gently but trying to imbue some small comfort in the gesture.
"Could have done more…" He mutters.
"No way, don't worry about it right now. Just…rest."
"Will you visit me?" He asks.
Dean doesn't like it the minute he hears it but he humours the guy.
"Where?"
"In Heaven. Will you visit me?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Make sure Anna comes….I…want to see Anna…maybe Uriel…Sam too…Bobby should come…"
His eyes roll back to Dean who swallows hard.
"Yeah. Yeah, everyone will come." Dean reassures him.
"Make sure."
A small smile graces his bloody lips and for a moment Dean thinks he looks as calm and content as he's ever seen him. His eyes slowly close and Dean finds himself gripping his shoulder tighter. The paramedic checks for a pulse then speaks into his radio. Less than two minutes later they're pulling into the ambulance bay. He's pushed to the other side of the ambulance as the paramedics and nurses unload Castiel. He all but disappears in a flurry of blue and pinks scrubs as he's rushed inside, Dean racing to catch up. Seconds before he disappears through the door Castiel's hand shoots out, magically free of the restraints, grabbing onto his coat. For a brief moment Dean clutches at his hand, blood drenched fingers squelching together. Then he's wrenched away, disappearing behind swinging doors and a crush of doctors and nurses. Dean is left standing in the waiting room, staring till the doors stop swinging. A nurse approaches him, a hand on his shoulder and one on his back guiding him to take a seat. Dean glances around to see all the other assorted people in the waiting room are staring at him, eyes skittering away when he looks up. It's only then that Dean fully appreciates what a mess he looks, blood drenched clothing, hands soaked in it, even his shoes are leaving red footprints and he's positive he has it on his face. One look at himself is enough to make him sick. He stalks away from everyone's prying eyes, finding a bathroom and all but stripping as he tries to scrub the blood from his hands, off his face. His clothes are a lost cost, the knees and thighs of his pants a grotesque burgundy despite his vigorous and prolonged scrubbing, his shirt and coat smeared in it as well. There's nothing more he can do here so he settles for looking like he was hit by a truck and leaves the bathroom, navigating to a secluded corner where he phones Sam.
Sam fabricated a story for the police, something about as they were walking out to the car they were attacked by some thugs. He elaborated at random, adding details that sounded false to his tired ears but the police accepted without question. It hadn't been long before all activity had died down in the parking lot, his statement taken and the police having left. He finds himself alone, staring into the back seat of the Impala which is quite drenched in blood. The floor boards are probably a lot cause, the seats might be salvageable, but Sam doubts they'll ever lose a slightly mottled red tint. He tears his eyes away. Just looking at it is making his stomach roll and the thought that the seats might not be the only salvageable thing from this mess. What if Castiel isn't salvageable? A deep, almost guilty sort of worry works its way through him, almost painful. Fortunately, he's saved by the ringing of his phone.
"Dean. Hey, how is he?"
"I don't know, they wheeled him away about…twenty minutes ago. I was just…getting cleaned up. You should probably do the same. This is going to take awhile."
"Yeah, what…what do you want me to do about the Impala?"
There's a long pause before he can hear an audible sigh.
"Do what you can."
"Okay, see you soon." Sam replies.
"Yeah."
Dean hangs up first, leaving Sam with the phone to his ear, hoping to hear more, anything else, but static has taken over the line and that's it. He hangs up and turns his attention back to the Impala.
Castiel can't remember when he passed out, all he knows is that he did and that Dean was there. The pain spikes, something jabbing at him over and over again, making its way across his chest. It sends terror radiating through him. Is Zachariah still here? Is he in heaven, being tortured? Didn't he get away? Did he leave Dean and Sam to Zachariah without protection? He desperately crawls out of the dark hole he fell into. He finds it harder than he anticipated, like clawing through a heavy gale, a weight resting just above him. Regardless, he pushes past it, fights his way just to the brink of consciousness. Here, the pain is sharper, though at the same time dull and numb. He can feel presences surrounding him, low voices all around him. His heart leaps and along with it he can hear a fast beeping outside his body. The voices become more frantic, shouting. He peels his eyes open. Hazy figures hover over him, holding things he can't quite make out. They look like something from human horror movies. One is descending on his face, something curved cupped in its hand. That's all it takes to throw him into a full blown panic attack. Despite the pain, panic shoots his arm up, knocking the figure aside as he defeats the last dregs of the weight keeping him under. He sits straight up, startling some of the presences back. He tries to propel himself off the table, but several sets of hands grab him, trying to force him back down. It's Leochoir all over again, trying to drown him, trying to kill him. His own brother, trying to kill him, pushing his head beneath the waves, cutting his throat. Why?
He fights harder, struggling, twisting and battling the hands. They're too strong though, too many and far too powerful for him. The pain is coming back, stronger now, threatening to slow him down. He screams, a mixture of pain, rage, fear and frustration. There's a sudden sharp poke in his right arm and his head snaps that way, looking down at his arm. An empty syringe and needle are sticking out of his flesh, the contents of the vial gone as the doctor pulls it back. Castiel glances up at the woman, finally stilling in the arms that were just a moment ago fighting him. He feels something descending on him, like a blanket over his head, he's draped in what can only be described as an epic feeling of exhaustion. He fights it, but it's a lost battle before it even beings. It suffocates him in soothing blackness, offering no pain to him like a gift on a silver platter, and it won't be denied. His eyes shut and he feels nothing.
He can feel himself skimming the surface of consciousness once again, breaking it like a loon surfacing from the black murk. He opens his eyes once again to the bright light overhead and people crowded all around him. The voices pick up once again, hands clamping down on him from all angles. He tenses, bolts of fear racing through him. His eyes won't work properly, everything a little out of focus. His brain won't do as he commands. Where is he? Who are these people? Should he fight? Can he fight? He can feel himself trembling, though not from pain or fear. He realizes it's cold once again despite all the bodies pressed in around him. His eyes roam up around the blue covered figures, only their eyes visible as they all gaze down at him. They look like aliens he thinks absently, trying to stop shivering when there's a prick in his arm. He doesn't bother looking this time at the needle he knows is there. He keeps his eyes fixed on the figures above him until he is unable to do so any longer.
Dean is pacing a line in the waiting room when Sam arrives. The nurse on duty seems relieved that something has finally stopped his frantic movement.
"Any word?" Sam asks though he already knows the answer.
Dean shakes his head and takes a seat, staring out the window.
"It's been a long time." He says.
Although he doesn't say it Sam knows what he means. It's been too long not knowing what happened, how he's doing. Dean would never admit out loud (or at least not anywhere a conscious person might hear it) but he doesn't need to say anything to communicate he's worried like hell and afraid. Sam takes a seat and starts the long wait, making himself as comfortable as he can. His efforts are in vain, the chairs are made for people of a normal height and no sooner does he come to this realization does a black woman in a white lab coat approach them
"Sam and Dean?" She asks.
The brothers glance at each other, surprised by the use of first names.
"Your brother, Jimmy, has been asking for both of you for the better part of half an hour."
"Really?" Dean asks. "He's awake?"
"No. Can I ask you a few questions?" She says, noting Dean's confusion.
They cast a sideways look at each other briefly.
"Yeah, what is it?" Sam says.
"Your brother, has he ever been sedated before?"
"Uh…no." Dean replies, almost sensing where this is going.
"Has he ever shown unusual reactions to drugs before? Immunity, perhaps?"
Dean wants to say 'yeah, the guy needs a whole bottle of Tylenol to get rid of a headache!'
"No." Sam answers for him.
"Did you witness the attack?"
Sam shakes his head, Dean staring intensely at the doctor.
"Why all the questions doc?" Dean demands, not liking this situation.
"During the surgery he fought the sedatives and regained consciousness twice, the first time becoming violent. It took four nurses to subdue him before we could sedate him again. Fifteen minutes after that he once again woke up but seemed unable to fight us, though it was obvious he was terrified, his heart rate shot through the roof."
Dean almost wants to smile, the doctor is so baffled by it all, and she's looking to them for answers. But it also worries him more. If Castiel became violent he obviously wasn't in his right mind. Sam manages to keep up the charade while Dean's attention wanders away like a lost child.
"Is that unusual doc?"
"With what we had him on it's nothing short of miraculous. He shouldn't have been able to feel anything let alone wake up."
"Is he okay? Can we see him now?"
The doctor sighs, putting aside her own curiosity as she holds up a clipboard.
"Your brother is in critical condition, but he's stable. Aside from numerous cuts to the abdomen, back and chest, he was stabbed in the shoulder with what appears to be a hunting knife that severed several tendons and muscles and fractured his collar bone, but missed the major artery. The injury to his chest that pierced his sternum appears to have done damage to his lungs. We had to re-inflate one during surgery. The neck wound appeared superficial, it did no damage to his airway. We did what we could for his hands but several bones are broken as well as severed muscle tissue. Time will tell what we can do for that. Considering his ability to fight off the sedative and his combative nature while conscious I'd say he's probably suffering mental trauma from the incident. He's breathing on his own now, but we still have him sedated and on morphine. If you're ready you can go see him now, but I recommend caution and a calm attitude." She emphasises, looking at Dean. "If he regains consciousness again, please, call a nurse."
She hands them over to a nurse who leads them into the back. Taking them down a row of sectioned off areas, Dean and Sam get a glimpse of the other patients housed in this wing. Everyone seems to be a wreck.
"We've been having a lot of emergencies lately, so all our rooms are full. We've had to 'make room' as the government puts it. Here you go."
She directs them to the last curtained off section at the end of the rows of green curtains, leaving them at the entrance. The brothers glance in at the seemingly small figure lying on the bed. Sam looks to Dean, expecting him to take the lead. Dean in turn looks to Sam, hoping he'll just head on in but all he finds is his little brother looking down at him. Returning his eyes to the figure on the bed he gingerly steps in.
Castiel is sunken in the bed, looking smaller than his usual angel self. Dean can't ever recall having seen him lying down before. His complexion is ashen, dark marks underneath his eyes. One of those ridiculous hospital gowns is hanging limply from him, hiding his chest wounds, but if his neck is any indication they don't look much better. The line of neat stitches across his throat is red and enflamed, looking painful and hot. His shoulder is bundled in white bandages, just peeking out from the gown. His hands are resting on his lap over top of the blankets, fingers slightly curled. He looks like a boxer with the bandages wrapped around his palms.
Dean doesn't like this one bit, the hospital, the starchiness, the death, seeing Castiel in the hospital looking all too much like a human. The minute Castiel is conscious and capable of moving they're smuggling him out of this death trap and hauling ass to Bobby's. They're only one state away and he'd feel a lot safer holed up there while Castiel gets better rather than some crap motel that won't have anywhere near the amount of protection they can get at Bobby's. Sam excuses himself to go take care of Castiel's paper work that Dean absolutely refused to do while he waited, only providing them with the first name that came to mind and that happened to be Jimmy. Dean can't bring himself to sit so he paces back and forth at the foot of the bed, drifting to Castiel's side occasionally to check his breathing, confirm what the machines are already telling him. He's alive, he's breathing, and he's fine. Well, as fine as a guy who barely escaped death mere hours ago at the hand of a demented angel can be. Dean is pacing when Sam pushes back the curtain and comes in.
"We're not staying long, are we? I don't know how long we can pretend not to have any medical papers for him." Sam says.
"Not if I can help it, man. But I at least want him conscious, not dragging a body down the halls."
He glances to Castiel, hoping to see some sign of consciousness but is greeted with only a still body and closed eyes, slumped in the bed.
-
Castiel comes to hearing Sam and Dean talking in hushed voices. He can't make out what they're saying but he doesn't really want to, only wants to go back to where it doesn't hurt. From the smell alone he can tell this is a hospital, the reek of Reapers and chemicals thick in the air. It feels like his skin and the subsequent layers underneath are on fire, burning lines in him with their intensity. He suddenly jolts when he remembers.
Zachariah.
He won't be far behind now, closing in. If those angels come here the results will be disastrous. They'll make this hospital their battleground. They'll kill him and every human here, capturing Dean and Sam. That won't happen and he won't let it. He'll lead them away, even if he doesn't make it very far at least it will be away from Sam and Dean. There's no way in Heaven or Hell he's letting those two fall into Michael and Lucifer's hands, not after all the sacrifices, all the hard work its taken to get them this far. The thought of moving makes the pain in all of his wounds flare, burning and searing at his skin that is far too sensitive.
Voices penetrate his consciousness, muddled, non-descript sounds that he can't make any sense of. He knows its Dean purely from the feeling of his soul so nearby but he can't bring himself to answer. Something hooks into his consciousness and drags him down, despite his protests and efforts he's dragged back to the place where it doesn't hurt and he doesn't feel so terrified.
Dean is talking in hushed tones when Castiel starts moaning, mumbling something under his breath.
"Cas?"
Both brothers are on either side of the bed in a heartbeat, leaning over the angel, straining to hear him.
"Must…leave…go…go away."
He moans, hands twitching. His arm suddenly jerks up, pressing against his chest as his face scrunches in pain, forehead creasing sharply.
"We're not going away, Cas." Sam says.
"No…" Cas mutters
The angel's eyes flash open for a moment, staring before snapping closed with a shuddering sigh.
"Hey, man, come on, wake up." Dean coaxes, tugging at Castiel's arm.
As he pulls Castiel relaxes, going limp as Dean peels his arm away from his chest. He waits for a reaction, but it becomes obvious he's unconscious again. He sighs angrily, frustrated as he lays Castiel's arm back down, hand lingering for a second longer than it has to on the angel's. He steps away, retuning to his pacing.
TBC
