Castiel barely tells them they need to pullover before he spews on the side of the road. He throws himself into the gravel dirt, convulses and heaves.
Sam looks out at the sad scene from the passenger seat. Dean looks straight ahead.
They stay like that for 5 minutes, long enough for Dean to get out and help a shivering Castiel back into the car.
They drive for another 3 hours before Castiel says they need to stop again.
XxX
Bobby wasn't expecting his adoptive sons and their guardian to look quite so… raw. When they finally stumble in at 3AM, weary eyed and stiff, Bobby barely recognizes them.
Sam, despite his size, looks weak and small, his eyes glazed and tired. His hair falls limply into his face, and his jaw relaxes too much to be used for talking.
Castiel is frail. He's thinner, greyer, his trench coat looks even bigger than it already is on him, and he's pale, too pale, with a thin film of sweat on his brow so shiny it looks like his head is Saran-Wrapped. He says a brief and weighty hello to Bobby before leaning against Sam, shoulders sagging. Sam looks up at Bobby uncomfortably.
And Dean? Dean is a wreck. His short cropped hair is greasy from days without a shower, his eyes are red rimmed and sunken from what looks like days of driving and days with no sleep.
'Look what Hell dragged in from the yard.' Bobby says. No one laughs.
Cas looks up at Dean, swipes a hand over his eyes and sniffs, 'Can I go to bed now?'
Bobby wants to let his jaw drop right to the floor.
Since when is Dean the mother of a 4 year-old angel?
Dean looks at Bobby earnestly and snakes a hand onto Cas's shoulder from behind. 'Bobby, you got somewhere he can crash?'
It takes a moment for Bobby to come out of his shell shock.
'Y-yeah. How do you feel about the panic room Castiel?'
'Thank you, Robert.' Comes the sigh.
Cas brushes by him, eyelids flickering, stumbling a bit over his feet, grabbing Bobby's shoulder for support, nearly yanking Bobby to the ground with him. Dean rushes to the ex-angels side, flips an arm over his shoulder and half-carries, half-helps Castiel down the stairs.
Bobby's insides feel greasy and leaden. He looks to Sam, who stands in the doorway.
'I know.' Sam chuffs, 'They've been like that ever since Zachariah stole Cas's grace.' Bobby goes to the kitchen and pulls out a few beers, tossing one to Sam who catches it tactfully, dropping to the couch like a bowling ball.
'Is Dean gonna start driving him to soccer soon too? Gonna cut his sandwich into triangles, not squares?' Bobby growls, swigging the beer violently. Sam shrugs, smirking.
This is wrong, Bobby thinks. Dean and Sam are hunters, hardwired to squash complaining in its tracks, bred and born to shoot and slice and burn. Hunters don't carry people. They either drag their friends bruised and bloody, or flip their bodies over their shoulders, but they don't carry. And these two are carrying Castiel.
'So what were you two idjits planning on doing for him?'
Sam closes his eyes, pinches his nose, leans back into the couch like it's the softest thing. He lets out a roaring sigh.
'I don't even know. He's dying Bobby, like, actually this time. Like, burning. Maybe slipping into a coma, I don't know anymore.'
Bobby considers Sam for a moment, then grabs a book, tossing it to Sam.
'Look in there, see if you find anything.'
Bobby knows Sam will come up empty handed. It's a random book, nothing worth a quarter is in it, but he knows Sam needs to feel like he's doing something. They both need to feel like they're doing something, both Winchester boys.
They can't stay here. They can't mother Castiel.
'Get out.'
Sam looks startled. 'Why? What did I say?'
'No I mean, get out, as in go hunting. There's a vampire nest not far from here that I was meaning to empty out. I can hold down the fort with Castiel while you two let off some steam.' Bobby doesn't exactly like the idea, but he knows that it's for the best.
Because that's what hunters do, isn't it? Make sacrifices?
Dean wobbles upstairs and flops onto the couch beside Sam. 'He's down for the night.' Dean breathes out.
Maybe down for the count too, Bobby thinks grimly…