A/N: Seriously, sorry to all you watchers, didn't mean to be a more than a whole week late! Just as an FYI the next update might be a little late as its hardly written at all and life is going so fast lately, but I will get it done. So enjoy the update!
-Z
"You!" Zachariah growls, trying to lunge in and grab them but he's too late. Darkness crowds in on Castiel and the last thing he's aware of is crashing into something hard and then collapsing.
One minute Dean is lying in a moist ditch, water soaking in his back and having the crap kicked out of him by an angel and the next he's half sprawled over Bobby's desk. For Dean, the landing is disorienting and jarring. For Bobby, it's near heart attack inducing. One moment he's sitting, alone, in his study, quiet as can be and the next the room has erupted into chaos with people flailing all over the place, one face down on his desk. He vaguely registers a tan blur running face first into the wall before hitting the ground like a sack of potatoes and Sam crashing face first onto the kitchen floor. To say he grabbed his gun is an understatement. He leapt for the weapon, slamming his back into the book case as he brings it to bear and ready to fire with little to no provocation.
Dean, disoriented, lifts his head off the table, glaring blearily up into the barrel of Bobby's rifle for a second before he springs back as fast as he can, which isn't very fast. His body complains at the sudden movement, ribs aching and pretty much every other muscle and bone in his body as well. He opens his mouth to speak, but there's no time for words when Sam shouts.
"Dean!"
Both hunters turn, eyes settling on Sam crouched on the floor.
"Cas!" Dean shouts.
He rushes to them, ignoring his protesting muscles, falling to his knees. Castiel is lying on his stomach, convulsing and jerking violently on the floor. Sam is trying to hold him still, but is having little luck.
"Dean, the knife!" Sam says, horrified.
A silver angel sword is rammed up to the hilt mid back, angled upward.
"Hold him still." Dean shouts.
Bobby joins them, adding his weight to Castiel's legs. Leaning across his lower back, Sam reaches over places his forearm across the back of Castiel's neck effectively pinning his head down. Even with the three of them, Castiel is still jerking a lot, involuntarily fighting them. Dean braces one hand above the knife in his back and is reaching for the handle when Castiel's hand shoots out, fingers curling into his knee like claws.
"Please…careful." He gasps. "Don't…press up."
His pain widened eyes finds Dean's, pleading with him. Dean realizes that this could be even more serious than it looks, but there's no time to find out as Castiel's eyes roll back in his head, muscles spasaming like he's having a seizure, blood dripping from his mouth. Dean bites down on his resolve, carefully taking the knife handle. He mentally judges the angle before he presses down a fraction and pulls it straight out. Castiel screams, kicking Bobby and launching Sam off him with one great jolt. Both men hit the floor with a thud and a grunt as Castiel lurches to his feet. Dean is thrown back against the couch, a much softer blow.
"Whoa, whoa, Cas!" Dean shouts, scrambling to his feet as well.
Dean drops the sword and is on his feet. Castiel makes it as far as Bobby's desk, leaning heavily against it before falling to his knees, still gripping the edge.
"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Dean says, grabbing Castiel's shoulder and threading a hand around his back, careful of his wound as he hauls him to his feet.
"Wards…" He gasps." We need…wards."
"Okay, man, calm down. Bobby, put the angel wards up, pronto. Sam, the kit, lots of towels too. And ice." He adds, noticing the heat pouring off of Castiel.
Castiel is beginning to tremble, a shaking hand gripping Dean's shoulder for support.
"Let's lay you down man. Come on."
Even with Dean taking most of his weight he's still got a vicious limp, falling an inch with each laboured step. Fortunately, is not far to the couch in the other room. Dean eases them both down as carefully as he can, but nothing is gentle enough for the severely battered angel. He groans, head falling back and eyes drifting shut as they sit down.
"Hey, stay awake."
Dean doesn't want to jostle the angel for fear of hurting him so he squeezes his arm a little harder than normal, bracing his other arm across Castiel's shoulder blades and propping his head up with that arm. Bobby reappears from the kitchen holding a thin needle and glass vial full of liquid.
"Will this even work on him?"
"The morphine at the hospital seemed to work on him." Dean replies.
"Well, let's give it a shot anyway." Bobby says.
He takes Castiel's arm, sliding the needle into the crook of his elbow carefully. Castiel manages to lift his head to see what's happening and frowns, remembering his time at the hospital and how they were constantly sticking him with needles. What is it with humans, he wonders. He doesn't have much room for any more coherent thought as Dean starts fighting his jacket off his shoulders as Bobby takes most of his weight on his other side. It's easy enough to get his left arm out, but his right arm is stiff and feels like it's made of granite, the red and scarred hole in his shoulder unmovable and painful with every little effort he makes to move it. It's also the side that Leochoir stabbed underneath his wing, making it worse than tender when his shoulder blades move. In the end it takes both Bobby and Dean to get the coat off Castiel's unyielding arm. Fortunately, that's all he was wearing, or the whole ordeal would have been more painful than it already was.
With the coat off the extent of the injury is revealed to Dean who pauses, a bad sign for a Hunter with so much experience in gruesome injury. The fact the wound is filtering a white-blue light only adds to the disturbing factor.
"We need that first aid kit." He says, but he's not even sure if this is totally fixable.
On cue, Sam reappears with an armful of supplies and a red and white plastic kit, dumping them all on the kitchen table and doing a quick sorting before bringing all the essentials over to the coffee table. Bobby moves and Sam takes his place, Castiel now leaning against him as Dean takes a closer look at the wound.
The hole in his back gapes open two inches wide and three long, blood oozing down his back accompanied by the light. Dean can see the white glint of Castiel's spine, barely covered by flesh. He knows that this wound could very well have killed Castiel, a fraction deeper and it would have gotten his lungs or to the left it could have damaged his spine. And he's not entirely sure his wing is fine, but for now he has to close it up. It's obvious there's move damage hidden beneath the skin where the blade traveled, manifesting in the form of dark bruising starting to show across his shoulder blades.
"Definitely going to need stitches." He mutters to himself, a hand hovering just above the wound. "Should we lie him down?" Dean wonders, looking to Sam.
Sam glances at Castiel's mangled front, line after line of stitches not looking so hot. It'd be preferable if they could keep him upright, but that's not looking like much of an option right now, seeing as Sam appears to be the only thing keeping him upright.
"We'll have to lie him down." He agrees.
Bobby returns carrying a bowl of water with ice cubes floating in it. He puts it down on the table accompanied by a stack of cloths. He also hands Dean some soft towels and he spreads them out on the couch before they lie Castiel down. He stiffens at first, but with his head on the pillow he soon relaxes. Well, un-stiffens, the lines around his eyes are tight and minute tremors run through him, but it's the best they can ask for. Sam manages to pad some gauze under his leg where he was stabbed, at least till they can get around to it. Dean disinfects the wound before threading the needle. He's exceedingly careful as he pulls the wound closed, skin puckering around the edges a nasty purple as he does so. Castiel is pretty much out of it until he gets to the widest part of the wound, pulling tighter to get the edges to meet. Castiel tenses, shoulder blades prominent against his back as he winces.
"Sorry about that man." Dean mutters, slowing down to give Castiel time to recover.
When he has it halfway closed it starts oozing blood and won't stop.
"Damn it." Dean mutters, taking a towel and pressing firmly, but as gently as he can possibly. It's not nearly gentle enough because Castiel jerks, head snapping up.
"Easy." Sam says, easing his head back down.
Castiel cringes and twitches underneath their hands until they can get the blood to stop, Dean hastily finishing the stitching before it can start again. The black bruising has established itself above the wound, too dark and far too tender to do anything about it. Very carefully, Dean presses down on the edge of the discolouration, trying to feel out the extend of the damage, but Castiel almost leaps off the couch at the simple touch, eyes rolling back into his head as he makes a strangled sound. Dean yanks his hand away like it's on a bungee cord.
"Oh man, I'm sorry, sorry Cas."
Castiel doesn't answer so much as try to pull himself together, glancing at Dean in acknowledgment with heavy blue eyes.
Dean finishes by taping a patch of gauze over the stitches and the bruising, giving it some protection. They still have the leg to do, but Castiel seems to have succumbed to the pain, unconscious, yet he's shaking like a leaf, lines straining at his closed eyes and lips pressed into a tight white line.
Bobby, who'd disappeared at some point, reappears with another needle full of morphine. Neither Winchester questions him as he takes Castiel's arm and gives him a second shot.
"I don't want to push our luck here, this is three time the recommended dose, so, if this doesn't work, nothing will."
Fortunately, it works, the full on shaking dying down after a few minutes to a tremble. They turn their attention to his leg now, managing to get the angel turned over with only one groan, careful to not jar him any more than necessary.
"Okay, okay." Dean mutters turning his attention to the leg wound, trying to focus.
He finds he can't, Castiel's shaking and soft moaning sounds distract him.
"Dean, let me." Sam prompts, elbowing Dean out of the way.
Dean lets Sam take his place, instead wetting a cloth in the ice water and placing over Castiel's forehead.
Sam peels back the blood soaked gauze that's glued itself down to Castiel's leg. The thigh of his pants are completely soaked, wet and dark with blood. Sam doesn't have much hope they can get them off him in this state so he starts tearing the hole made by the blade into a slit, ripping till he can see properly and rolling it back so he can work. Dean is hovering over his shoulder, a wet cloth already there for him. He takes it, being as gentle as he can to remove the dried blood but Castiel faintly groans, eyes fluttering.
"Cas?"
Dean steps in, leaning over the angel, Sam continues on, finally clearing the wound. It's a nasty, blood crusted hole, red and enflamed around the edges, still trickling blood at a much reduced rate, which means it either missed the artery or Castiel managed to heal that.
"Finally caught a break." He mutters. "But I don't think we can stitch this, it's too deep. Hand me the whiskey then I'll wrap."
"Okay, okay yeah." Dean agrees.
He hands Sam the flask who quickly splashes the alcohol over the raw wound. Castiel only jerks a bit, eyes fluttering as he fights the drugs, trying to open his eyes. His face is strained, mouth set in a rigid line as his eyes dark back and forth beneath his eye lids.
"Just rest, man. Stop fighting it." He says, laying a light hand on his uninjured shoulder.
Castiel's breathing picks up and he finally manages to open his eyes, wincing sharply and turning away as Sam wraps the bandages. He jerks his leg, trying to pull away as his good arm seeks something to give him leverage to escape.
"Hey, it's just us. You're at Bobby's. Hey, Breathe."
Dean manages to draw Castiel's attention, half moon eyes hazy as they follow him. He stops his struggles, his hand gravitating to his chest, eyes flickering to Sam, the other hand brushing the edge of the bandages around his thigh as he gets his bearings.
"Sam. Dean."
He looks between both of them, searching for words and coming up dry. Everything aches, he just wants to close his eyes, let his throbbing wing rest for awhile and soothe every pain with unconsciousness, but he has to know if they're alright. The last thing he remembers is Zachariah and that leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He shifts his shoulder and is rewarded by a sharp stab of pain that pierces his lungs, forcing the air from them.
"Whoa, calm down man. It's all good here. Don't get yourself worked up." Dean says, patting his shoulder again.
Castiel closes his eyes, subduing the pain by breathing and staying still
"You…alright?" He manages, opening his eyes to look to Dean.
"Yeah, just a little angel beating is all. Dicks." He adds.
Castiel can sense the bruises, feel where Zachariah hit Dean. No matter what Dean may say about his injuries, Castiel knows they are there. But there's nothing he can do for him now, so he makes no comment.
"Sam?"
"Oh, yeah, I'm fine too." He's happy to be included by Castiel.
"Man, stop worrying about us, you're the one who looks liked cleaved meat. How's your…uh, wing?" Dean asks nervously, taking a drink.
"It…"
Castiel pauses, searching out through his wing with his grace, mildly testing it. He breathes a sigh of relief to find its still there, still connected to the vessel and his true form, the damage done is not irreversible, given time. But it's not good, the base, where it connects to the vessel, is the most damaged, connections severed which causes a throbbing beat every time he runs his grace over the frayed nerves. He opens his eyes to find Dean and Sam are still looking at him, waiting for an answer.
"…it's painful." He says with a resolute sigh.
"Is there anything we can do about that?"
"Not…really." Castiel mumbles, drifting away with the distraction of the pain and the cocktail of drugs in his system from Bobby and the hospital. The Winchester's voices fading into the background as he turns to the window, looking up at the sky. It's easy to imagine Heaven up there, his home, but it's so hard to picture himself back there, among the other angels. Honestly, he can't ever imagine walking among them again, though he hopes for it. It feels like a door has been closed, one that can never be opened again and all he can do is go forward. Somewhere inside him, he knows this is what being human feels like.
"Hey, here, Cas."
Castiel looks back to Dean who has a flash in his hand. Despite the indignity of needing someone else to help him drink he opens his mouth and Dean presses the cool metal to his lips and gives him a drink. The burn of whiskey distracts from some of the pain.
"Thank you." He mutters.
"Anytime, Cas." Dean replies.
Castiel lets his addled mind wander, listening to the rise and fall of Sam and Dean's voices as they talk. Before long even that fades as a cool and comforting darkness takes him into its embrace without difficulty.
"Shut up, ya Idjits!" Bobby whispers harshly, returning to the room and tapping both brothers on the shoulder and pointing. They immediately quiet their small argument as they look to where Bobby's pointing.
"Don't want to wake sleeping beauty over there."
All eyes are on Castiel as he lies there, either asleep or doing a damn good impression of it. Without another word the three men head off to the study and quietly do some research. Sam reads the paper, searches the internet, but finds no immediate or pressing case so he ends up joining Dean in a very quiet cleaning of the guns. Before any of them know it its dark outside and Sam is yawning, staring blearily at the computer screen, prompting Bobby to haul out the blankets and floor beds. Dean thinks he's being sneaky when he checks up on Castiel, but neither Bobby nor Sam miss the look on his face. At some point Bobby spirits away to his own room, leaving Sam, Dean and Castiel on their own, but not without telling them, not so subtly, to holler if need be.
TBC
