"What are you smiling about?" Dean griped half-heartedly. The truth was, just seeing Cas staring up at him after he'd been all but lifeless in his lap for what seemed like an endless amount of time had been enough for him to forgive and forget, but he had a reputation to defend, here.
"I apologise if I frightened you, Dean. I assure you it was unintentional."
With no warning whatsoever, the daylight disappeared. Dean blinked his eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness, and before long he could clearly make out the Impala's interior. He was in the passenger seat, and next to him sat Castiel, his expressive eyes betraying a mix of guilt and concern.
Dean straightened out in the seat, his eyes darting everywhere at once. The last thing he remembered was being in the Emergency Room giving blood. He had no idea how long he'd been trapped inside the Outer Limits of Castiel's mind, but it had obviously been a long time. Long enough for the angel to hijack him and his car and take them for a joyride. And since when did angel's drive, anyway? Did Cas even know how to drive? Why hadn't he just snapped his fingers and transported them to Sam or Bobby or somewhere else nice and safe?
"Do you still keep hex bags in the trunk of your car?" Castiel asked.
Dean nodded. "Of course. Never leave home without 'em."
Castiel let out an uncharacteristic sigh of relief and let his head fall back against the seat. It was only then that Dean truly looked at the angel. His eye was still swollen shut, and his leg was still splinted and sticking out the open door. Dean groaned inwardly at the thought of the angel driving his car like that, and hoped he'd at least had the good sense to use the seatbelt.
"Hey, are you okay?" Dean asked, unable to resist placing a comforting hand on the man's shoulder.
Castiel rolled his head along the back of the seat to face him in the chilly darkness of the car. For a moment he just sat there, studying Dean's face as if assessing whether or not he could handle the truth. Dean returned his gaze steadily, doing his best to look unshakable.
"I am not 'okay'," Castiel admitted at last and rolled his head away to stare up at the Impala's ceiling. "There was an…altercation earlier today. Zachariah tracked me to Red River, and he didn't come alone. He said that they had been too easy on me, and that if I didn't hand you over immediately, they would cut me off from Heaven completely. I refused."
Dean swallowed, his eyes wide in the darkness as he realised it was angels, not demons, which he'd seen earlier in Castiel's mind. "Zachariah did this to you? So help me, I'm gonna kill that son of a bitch!" Dean growled.
"Not just him. He may have been the one who delivered the sentence, but it was the remainder of my garrison that delivered my punishment. In their eyes, I am no longer one of them. I believe it was their intention to leave me in the mud to die a brief, agonising death like the mortals I chose to defend." The angel turned again to face him, an inexpressible sense of loss emanating from him. "I was not meant to survive, Dean. I should have died from the injuries they inflicted upon me."
His brow wrinkled up in a frown as Dean tried to work out what Cas was trying to tell him. "What are you saying? Are you telling me the only reason you're alive is because that douche bag Zach missed some of your mojo when he was cleaning up shop?"
"It is difficult to explain. I am still an angel, Dean – I still have my Grace. It is only by my choice or by the will of God that it can be stripped from me. But without the support of my brothers and sisters, I am limited to what energy can be safely stored in this vessel. Our… 'mojo', as you call it, is communal in nature. With the angels actively closing ranks against me, I have no access to the powers of Heaven."
"So then, you're like a battery that needs recharging?" Dean suggested with a smirk. Castiel didn't seem to find it funny, though, so he quickly shifted gears. "So if you're tapped out of angel juice, then how is it you didn't die back there?"
The angel's expression became suddenly hooded, and Dean knew there was something Cas wasn't telling him. Suddenly, the darkness beyond the driver's side window held a new fascination for Castiel, who remained resolutely silent and refused to look at Dean.
"Cas?" Dean prodded. "Anything you wish to share with the class?"
Castiel cast a quick glance in his direction and then away again before finally shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "I have a theory," he said elusively, nervously rubbing the back of his neck as he continued to avoid making eye contact with Dean.
Dean waited, but it seemed that was as much as Castiel was willing to dole out for the moment. Too tired to bother pushing the matter, Dean changed the subject. "Fine; if you're gonna be that way about it. We need to get back on the road; Sammy is pinned down at a bar in Red River and those dirt devils are hot on his ass. He needs our help."
Dean climbed out of the car and was about to head around to the driver's side when he saw it. "Cas? What the hell! What'd you do to my car?" Even in the dim moonlight he could clearly see the scrapes and dents along the side of his precious Impala.
Castiel's head popped up over the roof of the car; the toga-wearing angel looking at him wide-eyed as he gingerly pulled himself up onto his feet. The innocent 'who, me?' expression on his face was not fooling Dean, though. He scowled back at him, and then made a thorough inspection of his baby's paint job as he made his way around to the other side. Wisely, Cas chose to limp his way around the car in the opposite direction. In his head, Dean attempted to squelch his anger by slowly counting to ten as he waited for Castiel to remove his splint and climb into the passenger seat. He kept telling himself that the angel's intentions had been good, but even so…nobody messed with the Impala. Cas was just lucky Dean wasn't the kind of guy who kicked a dog when it was down, otherwise the angel would have a Dean-sized boot lodged up his ass right now.
Starting the car, Dean looked over at his passenger, about to demand directions back to the highway, but the words died on his lips when his eyes fell on Castiel. His face was ashen and covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and he was shivering so hard his teeth were clacking. Add to that the pinched brows and the shallow breathing and it was pretty obvious that Cas was in a great deal of pain and being stubbornly stoic about it. The frightening thought occurred to Dean that maybe Cas wasn't out of the woods just yet, and Dean couldn't risk taking him back out on the road without checking him out first.
Dean turned off the ignition and yanked the key out. They kept a well-stocked first aid kit in the trunk, and Cas had found them a nice little hideaway to use as a makeshift clinic. Ignoring the other man's confused gaze, Dean slipped out of the car and popped the trunk. He dug through a pile of stakes and knives until his fingers felt the smooth, cold metal of the first aid kit. By the time he'd freed it from its resting place and pocketed some of the ready-made hex bags he also kept in the trunk, Castiel had opened his door and was attempting to get out of the car.
"Hold up, Cas. Let me give you a hand," Dean said, tucking the kit under one arm offering the other to help ease his friend back out of the Impala.
"I thought you said Sam needed our help," Castiel stated.
"Yeah, well it looks like you need more help than he does at the moment," Dean replied, expecting the angel to get all defensive and protest. But instead, Castiel looked up at him with such unbridled gratitude that it hit Dean like a sucker punch to the gut.
Dean hovered over the angel, wondering what the etiquette was on physical contact – he wanted to give the guy some support, but there was so much…skin. Smooth and pale in the darkness, Castiel looked more otherworldly than he ever had before; like a statue carved out of alabaster. Of course, the toga didn't help to dispel the impression in any way.
Settling on just sticking close in case Cas needed his help, Dean led the way up to the cottage's front porch, where he squatted in front of the door to pick the lock. It took longer than it should have because of the near-absolute darkness, but at last the tumblers snicked into place and the knob turned effortlessly in his hand. He stood up just in time to see Castiel take a nose dive in the direction of the porch steps.
Luckily, his hunter's reflexes kicked in and he was able to catch Castiel before he hit the ground, but it was a near thing. "Damn stubborn angel," Dean mumbled, as he struggled to drag him over the threshold into the inky black cottage.
A few steps in Dean barked his shin on something low and sharp and guessed by its proximity to the door that it was one of those bench seat thingies that the cottage crowd loved so much. Hoping he was right, Dean hefted Castiel over it and eased him down. He didn't topple to the floor, so Dean considered it a victory, and went off in search of a light source. A quick grope of the wall proved fruitful, and with a flip of a light switch, the little cottage came to life with the flicker of generator-powered lamps. From the struggling hum of the protesting generator Dean had a feeling they wouldn't have lights for long.
Placing the first aid kit on the floor at his feet, Dean turned his attention back to Cas, who was conscious, but was slumped against the wall looking like he desperately wished he wasn't. Fresh blood trickled down from the long cut on his forehead and dripped from his eyebrow, leaving bright red spatters on the sheet draped around him.
"Jesus, Cas. You're a mess, you know that?" said Dean as he kneeled in front of him to get a closer look. Cas was well enough to cast him an annoyed glare, at least, Dean noticed.
It was a bit unnerving the way Castiel kept his eyes glued on him while Dean carefully removed the bloodied hospital sheet. If it had been Sammy, Dean would have just yanked it off and tossed it away so he could help stitch up whatever needed stitching, but with Cas… Dean swallowed hard as he realised the angel had nothing on under the thin hospital gown, and it was gaping open all the way down to his navel, leaving very little to the imagination. Not that Dean had ever imagined what Cas looked like naked. Except for that one time, when it was really hot and the sight of the angel looking all cool as a cucumber in his trench coat made Dean want to forcefully rip the clothes off him. That incident had caused his mind to take an entirely inappropriate detour; one that he'd be smart not to take again, especially under these circumstances.
The lights did a slow fade before flickering back on again, and Dean knew he had to be quick. With the angel still staring at him intently, Dean untied the gown and pushed it off Cas' shoulders, allowing the mint-green garment to pool around his hips. The sudden exposure caused them both to shudder, albeit for different reasons, and Dean felt his face heating up. All thoughts of modesty flew out the window, however, when Dean spotted the large, black bruise covering Castiel's entire right flank. He gently pressed his fingers against it, and Cas' responding shout was so loud it made Dean's ears ring. If Cas' mojo had still been intact, Dean had no doubt the little cottage would have been window-free after that last outburst.
"Internal bleeding," Dean cursed. Knife wounds, bullet wounds; anything would have been better news. There was nothing Dean could do except cross his fingers and hope that he could get Cas back to the hospital in time to save his life.
"No, Dean," Cas replied, as if he'd read his mind. And maybe he had, for all Dean knew. "We cannot go back. Before we left the hospital, I sensed the approach of several demons. They will be looking for us."
"Well I'm not gonna just leave you here," Dean protested. "There's gotta be something we can do."
Castiel shook his head, his eyes squinching tight against the pain. "It will leave me almost entirely drained, but I believe I may be able to heal, given enough time. You should leave me here and return to your brother." His good eye rolled open and fixed on Dean's face, his expression packed with guilt. "I will be of little use to you from now on, Dean. For that I am sorry."
A flash of anger sparked inside Dean, remembering all too well the words Cas used to describe himself in the future; all but useless, powerless, hopeless... There was no way Dean was going to let that particular future play out. Not if he had anything to say about it.
"Nuh-uh, Cas. The pity party stops right here." Dean grabbed hold of the angel's shoulders and looked him square in the eye. "I don't care if you can't zap us back to Kansas or fillet a demon with a touch of your finger: you're one of us, now, you got that? And we stick together no matter what. So no more doom and gloom talk, understood?"
Castiel nodded, tight-lipped, and slowly slumped forward in Dean's grasp, his forehead coming to rest on Dean's shoulder. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through Dean and he fought the knee-jerk reaction to shove the angel away. With his arms now awkwardly supporting his shivering, half-naked friend, Dean ironically raised his eyes to Heaven and begged for strength. If this was some kind of test, he had the nasty suspicion he was going to fail. Big time.
The generator chugged a few times and the lights dimmed again. "Thank-you," Dean muttered, taking it as a sign that he needed to get his head out of the gutter and get a move on. He quickly scanned the cottage's living area and saw that the owners had left the place with a nice, dry stack of wood and kindling next to the fireplace. The sofa facing it was a hideous floral pattern, but it looked comfortable enough and there was a thick afghan folded neatly over the back of it. With renewed purpose, Dean hoisted Castiel to his feet and half-dragged him over to the couch. He desperately tried to ignore the fact that the hospital gown didn't make the journey with them, and he carefully averted his eyes as he arranged Cas on the cushions, quickly covering him up with the blanket.
Dean shook his head at the ceiling, sure now that the mixed signals were some kind of cosmic joke.
The coughing generator reminded him that he was fighting the clock, and Dean busied himself with starting a fire in the fireplace. Within a minute he had the logs placed and the kindling lit, and the flames were just beginning to lick their way up towards the split logs when the generator finally gave up the ghost.
When he turned around, he saw that Castiel was asleep. Or meditating. Or comatose, for all he knew. The angel's head was tilted at an uncomfortable angle, and as Dean gently propped his head up with a throw pillow, he felt a pang of something deep in his chest. Concern, he told himself. That's all it was.
There was nothing to do now but wait and worry.