Chapter 6: By Your Side

Dean sat leaning forward, arms braced on his knees, watching the steady rise and fall of Cas's chest. The angel had been unconscious for three days now. It'd been pretty harrowing in the beginning; even Dr. Robert, who'd made the house call, thought Cas wouldn't make it. But of course, the doc didn't know Cas was an angel, that he could still bounce back from this.

That was the problem, though—was Cas still an angel? His grace wasn't making a comeback yet, and Dean was growing more and more anxious waiting. Dr. Robert had done his best to stitch what he could. It'd taken hours and a shit-load of cash when he was finished, but Dean didn't care. The doc had also left some antibiotics to fight off infection, and they'd given it to Cas through an IV, along with a blood transfusion.

Now Cas had some of his color back. Or, mostly he didn't look like a parody of Casper. Dark circles stood out like bruises under his eyes, accentuated by the gray t-shirt they'd managed to change him into. Dean had nearly rubbed his fingertips raw getting the blood out of the dress shirt, suit jacket, and trench coat, and the articles were still draped over the backs of kitchen chairs where he'd set them to dry. There was no point in changing Cas back into them, though it unnerved Dean how…human, he looked without them. The t-shirt, along with the white gauze wrapped around Cas's wrists and neck, made him look almost like a regular guy crashing on Bobby's sofa.

But Cas wasn't a regular guy. He was an angel. Or, he was supposed to be…

"You gotta wake up, Cas," Dean prayed. "Come on, man, you're…you're starting to scare me."

He watched Cas's face with an intensity that rivaled the angel's soul-piercing stare. But nothing happened.

In the background, Dean listened to news radio reporting on a massive killing spree that was sweeping through the county. Authorities weren't sure whether a rabid dog was running loose, or whether they had a serial killer on their hands. Either way, the police had no leads.

"Guess Lamont gave up the anti-Apocalypse band tour," he muttered to Sam, who'd come in to take a turn sitting vigil.

Sam's jaw was tight, and he didn't respond. Both of them knew they should go after the vampire. They were hunters; it was their job. But neither of them could imagine leaving Cas before they knew whether he'd be okay.

But then another day rolled by with no change, and the reports in the news only grew more grisly. Dean couldn't take it anymore, and after scooping up the headlines from Bobby's desk, he stormed downstairs to the panic room.

Paul was lying on the cot, arms folded behind his head as though he were merely lounging around. Dean kicked aside the empty food tray in the middle of the floor with a raucous clatter that made Paul bolt upright.

"I hope you're real proud of yourself," Dean spat, tossing the newspaper clippings at Paul's face. "Set out to save the world, and now a bunch of people are dying at the hands of your souped up vamp. Congratulations, Dr. Frankenstein."

Paul stared at the scattered newspaper articles, mouth disappearing in a thin line. He reached for one of the clippings and lifted it to read. "I…I didn't mean for this to happen. Lamont was only supposed to feed on other monsters. That was the deal."

Dean lunged forward, grabbed Paul by the front of his shirt, and swung him around to slam his back against the wall. "Cas isn't a monster! He's one of the good guys, one of the few who could actually help us stop the Apocalypse, and because of you he's lying in a friggin' coma!"

"I'm sorry!" Paul winced as Dean knocked him against the concrete again. "I didn't know!"

"Dean!" Sam came bursting through the doorway and grabbed Dean's arm, pulling him off Paul. Sam dragged him back several steps, gripping his heaving shoulders and leaning down to lower his voice. "This isn't gonna help things."

Dean shrugged him off, throwing up his palms. "Fine."

Paul rubbed the back of his neck. "I am sorry," he said. "If I could fix it—"

"Well you can't," Dean snapped, and spun on his heel to march away. He kicked the tray out of his path again, resolving to stop feeding the son-of-a-bitch. Paul didn't deserve it, and he could waste away like Cas was for all Dean cared.

He went straight to the kitchen and snatched a beer from the fridge. But just as he was about to pop the cap off, he ended up staring at the brown bottle. The solace it usually promised seemed trite and woefully deficient in that moment. Anger surged up like a volcanic eruption, and Dean threw the bottle at the wall. It smashed into dozens of pieces, splattering beer down the wall and floor. Dean stared at the dripping liquid for several long moments, heart pumping rage and fury through his veins, demanding more release. He was almost considering going back downstairs to use Paul as a punching bag, but then Bobby wheeled into the entry, blocking the way.

The older hunter cast one, unimpressed look at the mess before turning to him. "You think free room and board comes with maid service too?"

Dean deflated some. Feeling mildly chastised, he grabbed a dishtowel off the counter and knelt on the floor to start wiping it up. Bobby didn't move from his spot.

"Cas has been through the wringer before," he said. "He'll come out of this, too. Just give him time."

"It's been days, Bobby," Dean retorted. He sagged forward, hands on his knees, and closed his eyes against a swell of emotion. He shook his head, the last of his anger replaced with defeat. "His grace has been failing. What if the vamp drained him of whatever was left? What if he's human now?"

Bobby shrugged. "Then we'll deal with it. Just like we always deal with the crap that gets thrown at us."

Dean glanced over, hearing both the resignation and resolve. Because that was their lives. Sam learning to deal with the effects of being fed demon blood as a baby. Dean pressing on past his experience in Hell. Bobby adjusting to life in a wheelchair. And now Cas, perhaps, finally, human. But they would all keep on grinding. Because it was either that or crawl into a hole and die. And Winchesters didn't do that.

Cas's finger twitched. Dean quickly set down the book on shamanism he'd been reading and scooted his chair closer to the couch. Another tremor ran through Cas's forearm, and Dean reached out to squeeze it.

"Cas? Hey, buddy, you in there?"

Cas's brow furrowed as he fought his way to consciousness. Finally, dark lashes fluttered to reveal a sliver of clouded blue. Dean let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Dean?" Cas's voice was little more than a weak whisper, but Dean was just happy to hear it.

"Right here." He shifted his chair again so it was up against the side of the sofa where Cas could see him without having to turn his head. "How you feelin'?"

"Tired." Cas's throat bobbed. "…Thirsty."

Dean reached for a bottle of water on the end table and uncapped it. Then he reached one hand under Cas's head to lift it just enough for Cas to take a few sips without choking. Cas tried to gulp the water down, though, and Dean had to take it away when he started to cough.

"Easy, easy." He gently laid Cas's head back down on the pillow, watching worriedly as the angel winced until the coughing abated.

Cas lifted a hand to his throat, only to stop when his gaze caught sight of his bandaged wrist. He lowered his arm slowly, eyes remaining fixated there for an uncomfortable amount of time. Dean had changed the bandages last night, and so knew the wounds were still there. Dr. Robert had done impressive work, Dean would give the man that, but there was definitely no sign of angel healing to go with it.

"You were pretty beat up," Dean said, trying to dispel the tense silence. "You just need time to recover."

"How much…" Cas swallowed, grimacing again. "How much time has it been already?"

Dean didn't really want to answer that. "A week," he admitted. "You've been in a coma, and I was afraid—" He cut himself off; Cas didn't need to know how close it'd been. But Dean had never been good at hiding things from the angel.

Cas shifted his attention to Dean's face, expression pinching. "I'm sorry. I know you don't like worrying."

Dean let out a humorless snort. "Wasn't your fault, Cas. It was mine for trusting Paul and letting you go off with him alone."

Dean didn't think Cas had the strength to roll his eyes, but he managed it. "I'm an angel, Dean. Paul was no threat to me."

"Except he was. I gave him that holy oil." Dean's heart clenched with the confession. "And when he said you took off, without you saying anything to me and Sam, I believed him." He dropped his head into his hands. "We'd have gotten to you sooner if I'd just thought about it for one freakin' second."

A weak hand settled on his arm. "You did what you could, Dean," Cas said softly. "And even that is beyond what most mortals are capable of."

Dean's throat constricted. He didn't want to ask, didn't want to cause Cas any more pain than he was already in, but…

"We know the vamp was feeding off supernatural beings to absorb their power. Your grace…?"

Cas's expression clouded at that, and his gaze returned to his bandaged wrist. "I don't know," he said after a long minute. "It's…drained, yes. But it…may recover." He sounded both hopeful and afraid, and Dean wrenched himself out of his own self pity to take his friend's shoulder in a reassuring grip.

"It'll be okay, Cas. Whatever happens, it'll be okay." They'd been preparing for this eventuality, and yeah, Dean had hoped it was still a ways off. But if Cas's grace couldn't recover from this, the Winchesters would help him through it.

Castiel sat on the steps of Bobby's porch, watching the rising sun bathe the vista in gold. The air was speckled with glittering motes that looked more like star dust than silt stirred up from the ground. In a way, it made Castiel think of the shattered remnants of an angel's grace floating down to earth.

His fall was not so peaceful, or beautiful. His grace hadn't exploded in a shower of sparkles, like a shooting star burning up through the atmosphere. No, his grace had been brutally siphoned away, transformed into something else for a monster to use at its whim. It was sacrilege.

But then, wasn't Castiel's entire existence since he'd met Dean Winchester a constant state of blasphemy? He'd doubted, questioned, rebelled, been destroyed, then brought back in a most unorthodox turn of events. And as he slowly fell from grace, he'd found himself more and more entrenched in the lives of two human boys—he'd found himself more at home with them than his angelic brethren. Yes, Castiel suspected this had always been the course of his fate.

The screen door creaked behind him, and Sam moved to sit next to him, trying not to spill the steaming liquid in the mugs he held. Once seated, he offered one to Castiel.

"Aren't you cold?" Sam asked, gently, cautiously, as though it were a dangerous subject to broach.

Castiel took the mug, wrapping both hands around and it and relishing the heat that radiated from the ceramic into his palms. He was cold. Once he was able to, he'd changed back into his own clothes, as though mere mortal fabric had the ability to restore some of his older self. It didn't work, of course, and the layers didn't keep him as warm as they used to without his grace burning like an inner fire.

"A little," he sighed. He glanced down at the loose thread he hadn't fixed back in the barn, back when he'd still possessed the ability to mend fabric. It was an odd metaphor for his current state—unraveled, yet still whole enough to function.

Sam took a sip from his own mug, and for a few moments, they silently stared out at the dew-moistened field.

"How are you doing, with everything?" Sam finally spoke up again.

Castiel dropped his gaze to the bandages on his wrists. The wounds were healing well, just through no part of his own. He had hoped with more time and rest, his grace would stir to life once more, weakened, of course, still fading, but mustering enough strength for him to still be an angel. He was beginning to accept that would not be the case.

"My grace is not replenishing," he confessed. "There is…it's a speck, really. Enough that I am not fully mortal, but not enough to…" He took a sip of coffee to ward off having to speak further, a strategy he'd noticed humans do. He didn't want to say out loud that he couldn't feel his wings anymore. They were kept on the ethereal plane, but without the 'mojo' to connect with them, they were useless. He even had the terrifying thought that he could lose them completely at some point and never know it.

Sam didn't say anything for a moment. "So, what do you think? Like you won't age, but your body will need food and rest to sustain itself?"

Castiel hung his head. "I'm…not sure."

Sam shifted to face him. "We'll figure it out as we go. The important thing is you're alive."

"I had hoped to last until we stopped Lucifer."

Sam's mouth turned down. "You know Dean and I don't care about that," he said accusingly.

"But I do." Castiel shook his head. "If my powers meant you and Dean have a greater chance of surviving the Apocalypse, then of course it matters to me."

Sam's expression softened. "I know, Cas. And your powers matter to me and Dean, too, if it means you have a better chance of surviving, and so you wouldn't have to go through this becoming human thing. We know it hasn't been easy on you."

Castiel stared into his mug, watching the steam rise and curl off the surface of brown liquid. "It is not…" His jaw worked. "As bad as I'd feared." The words tasted leaden on his tongue, as though he wasn't sure they spoke truth. It was a frustrating paradox, that something could frighten him in some ways and yet not in others.

Sam gave him a wan smile. "You won't be alone. Just remember that, okay?"

Castiel felt the corners of his mouth turn upward as he tried to return the gesture. It had taken time, but he now knew beyond a shadow of doubt that Sam and Dean would be by his side in this. Just as he was by theirs.

He and Sam finished their coffees before returning inside to tackle their current problem of a rampaging vampire.

"This thing's souped up on demon blood, angel blood, and god knows what else," Dean groused. "Which means an angel blade might be the only thing that can kill it at this point."

"And holy oil?" Sam suggested.

Dean shrugged. "Sure, I'd love to just set the bastard on fire."

"We will have to catch him unawares first," Castiel put in.

Sam shook his head. "Not gonna be easy. We have a general idea of where he is based on the bodies he's dropping, but he keeps moving."

"This Paul guy can't give you any insight?" Bobby spoke up. "He did work with the damn thing long enough."

Dean scowled and started to pace.

"He, uh," Sam answered, "doesn't know. And since he's been locked up downstairs without a phone, I believe him."

Castiel furrowed his brow in thought. "But, Paul would know how to contact the vampire."

Three pairs of eyes trained on him.

"And that would do…?" Dean asked.

Castiel felt a strange scratchiness in his throat. Paul had been the one to trap him, and then hand him over to a vampire to be drained. And yet, it wasn't a personal betrayal. The man claimed to only be trying to stop the Apocalypse, and he'd made a deal with the devil to do so. Was it really all that different from some of the things they themselves had done?

Castiel cleared his throat. "Perhaps Paul could lure the vampire into a trap with the promise of another victim to feed on."

Dean's posture immediately stiffened. "No way. I don't trust that asshat as far as I can throw him."

"Sam said he seemed remorseful of his actions."

Dean shot his brother a dark glower before looking back at Castiel, memory of recent horror haunting his eyes. "He nearly got you killed."

"Yes, and now more people are dying." Castiel rose to his feet. "We can at least ask."

Sam shifted on the sofa, making it squeak. "Cas is right. Paul is probably our best shot at stopping Lamont."

Dean whirled toward Bobby, perhaps looking for support, but the older hunter merely shrugged one shoulder. "Fine," Dean bit out, and turned toward the hallway. "But if he tries anything, I'm shooting him in the face."

Sam's mouth quirked as he got up to follow. "Fair enough."

Castiel trailed behind the Winchesters, down to the panic room. When they entered, they found Paul sitting on the floor, his back against the cot. The young man stiffened upon their entrance, eyes darting warily back and forth between them. His gaze lingered on Castiel for an extra beat.

"I'm, er, glad to see you're okay," Paul started.

"Shut up," Dean snapped, and moved forward as though he wanted to kick Paul while he was sitting down.

Castiel focused on the man before him. He could not see a human soul the way he used to, with his grace able to cut past facades and physical shells to the heart underneath. Still, he felt as though remembered instinct could aid him now, and he did not think there was a hidden glint of malice in Paul's eyes.

"Do you know how to contact the vampire you were working with?" Castiel asked.

Paul frowned. "I have his number. If he hasn't dumped his phone."

"Then you can call and tell him you found another angel he can feed upon. It would be a trap, of course."

Paul flicked a glance at Sam and Dean. "I haven't been in touch with him for a week, and you two found his crypt. He's gonna suspect a trap."

Sam crossed his arms. "You're pretty good at bullshitting. I'm sure you can think of something to convince him."

"What's the matter?" Dean scowled. "Not willing to help fix it if it puts your life on the line?"

Paul's eyes darkened, and he pushed himself off the floor. "I'll do it. Where do you want him?"

Sam gave him an address.

"And if he's not interested?" the hunter asked mildly.

"Tell him the angel you first found was at low power," Castiel said. "He wouldn't notice, given he has no frame of reference, but I had been cut off from several of my abilities."

"Because he chose to stand with us against the Apocalypse," Dean added pointedly.

A muscle in Paul's jaw ticked. "I am sorry," he said to Castiel.

"Then will you help?"

He slowly nodded. "I'll need my phone."

A/N: Only one more chapter left! These things go by so quickly. But I have lots of stories lined up for the summer! ^_^