Dean has his work cut out, with a cold, grumpy, floppy Cas to deal with. But he'll manage. And Cas will soon be all cosy, which is what we want, isn't it?

Chapter 3

Dean walked his cold, trembling angel slowly into the bathroom and into the shower and propped him up in the corner of the stall.

Cas moaned, "Too hot."

"No it ain't. It's just right." He pressed Cas into the corner, one hand firm in the centre of his chest. "Stay there."

Dean let go and stepped away to snatch the shower gel and the angel began to slither sadly down, still shivering, his eyes closed, his head rolling slackly to one side..

"Whoa, hold on, Cas."

He planted a splayed hand on the cold skin, squirted a stream of pine-green shower gel on him with the other and began to rub him, vigorously.

Cas squirmed and growled. His lashes fluttered and, yes, that was a definite grumpy eye-roll.

The spray was soaking Dean's clothes. It had always been the same with Sammy. He'd ended up hanging half-in, half-out of the shower, a squirming kid gripped by one shoulder, the other rubbing his stringy hair while Sam shrieked about the soap going in his eyes.

"Do it yourself then!"

"No! Let me go!"

Sam's clean-phobic phase had lasted a long, long time - and his brother would never admit to it now, but Dean remembered. He'd turned a cold hose on the kid more than once.

The warm water ran over the cut on Cas's arm and dried flakes of blood peeled away. It needed cleaning properly and stitching. Cas whined and tried to twist free.

"I know it hurts. We'll get it fixed up soon."

Dean ran one hand up into Cas's tangled, matted hair, taking piney suds with it. He rubbed and scritched at the greasy strands, his other hand still planted in the centre of Cas's chest, pinning him to the wall. "What happened to you, Cas? What happened, hey?"

Cas mumbled a stream of mixed up syllables. And Dean pushed his fingers back and forward through his hair until all the soap ran out and then slid his hand around to hold his friend's flopping head up, supporting his jaw and rubbing at a smear of dirt with the side of his thumb.

And then, for the first time since he'd found him, Dean could see the blue of his angel's eyes looking right back at him.

"Dean?"

Cas squinted and his head tipped to one side in the way that had grown so familiar, right from that first time they'd met when Cas had blown out the lights and Dean had shot and stabbed him.

"Yeah, it's me. I'm here."

"Dean."

The fallen angel's lower lip trembled and twisted, and then the streams of water running down his face weren't just from the shower. And Dean found himself gripped in an urgent hug, Cas's skinny arms clinging to him, wrapping around him and squeezing hard.

Dean was dragged fully under the shower stream, his clothes soaking through. But he didn't care, because Cas's chest, pressed to his, was jerking and heaving and his face was squashed into Dean's shoulder, his nose digging into the side of his neck. And Dean wrapped his arms around his sobbing friend and held him tight.

"I'm here now. I gotcha."

Cas's arms clung to him, but Dean was taking more and more of his friend's weight.

"Come on. Time to get out now."

He turned off the shower.

"Out we get."

Cas's feet dragged over the sill and flopped onto the bathroom floor. Dean snagged a towel and wrapped it around his friend's shoulders and rubbed him dry as best he could. It really was like dealing with little Sammy, because even though, at one minute, the kid would push him away and yell - I can do it! Leave me alone! - the next moment he'd be clinging tight again like he did when he was two or three.

Cas's sopping wet boxers slid down his legs and landed on the floor with a wet splat.

"Okay, come on, octopus, this isn't getting us anywhere." Cas was still holding tight, which was kinda nice after he'd been so worried about the guy, but it wasn't very practical. Dean sighed.

"Look, I'm not going anywhere. We need to get some clothes on you. And hey, how about something to eat, yeah?"

A growl came from somewhere between them and Dean could've sworn he felt Cas's stomach moving through his wet shirt front. Cas mumbled something into his shoulder and then his weight against Dean's body gradually lessened until the angel was standing unsupported, swaying slightly and knuckling his reddened eyes, again reminding Dean of a sleepy little Sammy. He definitely didn't have a child's body, though. Dean kept his eyes fixed on Cas's face.

"Cas? You with me now?"

"Dean," he mumbled, his voice cracked and rough. "Where…? Uh, I don't know… what…" His eyes were vague and unfocussed.

"You're safe. That's all you need to know. And you need some clothes. Come on."

Dean guided him out of the bathroom and sat him down on the bed. He took out a pair of sweatpants from the duffle bag and picked up Cas's feet one at a time and threaded them through.

"Lift up." He pulled the pants up, closing his eyes and turning his head away until everything was covered up to Cas's waist.

"Cold," said Cas, his toes wriggling.

"Yeah, I know. Let's get these on you."

He pulled a pair of socks from the duffle - pink and white striped, fluffy ones. They were Sam's. But Dean always ended up doing the laundry and he'd had cold feet one day when the socks came, warm and soft, out of the ancient tumble dryer in the bunker laundry-room. So he'd put them on and, wow - Sam wasn't getting these babies back any time soon.

He slid them onto Cas's feet. Cas smiled.

Dean looked up at him and smiled back.

"I'm glad I found you, angel."

"I'm glad too, Dean." Cas reached out and then winced and drew his arm in and held it close to his side. His eyes fell to his wound and he bit his lower lip. "It hurts," he said, all small and confused, like Sammy when he'd fallen and skinned his knee again and Dean had to magic the pain away with a hug.

"I need to put a coupla stitches in it - you okay with that?"

Cas frowned. "Stitches will hurt more," he said.

"I can use a little lidocaine. It makes it numb."

"You don't use that. For yourself. Do you?"

"No. No, but I'm used to being human. You're not." Dean pulled his first aid gear out of the duffle and sat next to his friend on the bed. He laid out everything he'd need and tore open the packaging on the anaesthetic syringe. "Just a coupla scratches," he said, "then it'll stop hurting. Okay?"

"Yes. Okay."

It was hard, sticking Cas with the tiny needle, even when he was doing it to take the pain away. Dean had to take long, slow, deep breaths so his hand wouldn't tremble.

Cas's breathing sped up. Dean wrapped a hand around the top of his shoulder to steady him.

"It should stop hurting now. Can you feel that?" He gently pressed the skin around the injury.

"No," said Cas. "No, I can't."

"Good. That's good." Dean let the air seep from his lungs. "You might wanna look away. Some people don't like seeing their own skin get sewed up."

"You stitch up your own skin," said Cas. "Do you mind?"

Dean shrugged. "It ain't my favourite thing," he said. "But I've been stitching Dad, me, sometimes Sammy since I was… I dunno - eight? Something like that."

Cas's breathing sped up again. He slapped a hand on Dean's shoulder and gripped, his fingers digging in. "I would've protected you from that," he said, fiercely. "I would've taken you away, kept you safe."

His eyes were blue and intense, even without the fire of his grace.

"Yeah, I know. Of course you would. Of course you would."

Cas's hand fell away and he slumped, fine tremors running through his body.

"Let's get this done, yeah? Then you can eat and rest."

Cas rubbed his eyes. "That- that sounds good, Dean. I don't know what… how… I don't know who I am anymore. It's exhausting."

"Huh. Welcome to humanity. Okay, I'm gonna do this now. Won't take long."

It didn't take long. Dean had to stamp down the part of his brain again, which baulked at sticking a needle in Cas. But once he'd gotten over that little obstacle, he set a neat row of stitches in Cas's arm and smoothed a white dressing over the top.

Cas was drooping and silent. Dean pulled a soft old shirt over his head and threaded his heavy arms through and then manoeuvred him into a warm hoodie too - an old brown fleece-lined one of Sam's. And where did Sam get all these soft, comfortable clothes from? Dean's only soft clothes were the ones that he'd worn for so many years they'd given up on most of their shape.

"Warm now?"

The tousled head nodded and Cas grunted.

"You'd be even warmer in bed," said Dean. "Here. Up you get. That's it." He supported the angel with one arm and flung back the bedclothes with the other. Cas began to keel over. "No, don't lie down yet. Look." He piled up the pillows against the headboard. "Sit up there. That's it. And I'll get you something to eat."

Dean pulled up the blankets and tucked them around his friend. Then he stood back. Cas looked very small and very human and very tired. His head rolled to one side against the stack of pillows and his eyes fluttered and closed. His arms were hidden by the blankets.

"Castiel, Angel of the Lord," murmured Dean. He brushed the strands of still damp hair back from Cas's forehead. "I'll look after you, angel. You're safe now."

Ah, all safe and snuggly. But now he needs feeding... Final chapter coming later today - and it's an extra long one!