A/N: This is angstier than usual, but I guess I can only go so many days without writing angst. Ah, well. I promise, there is fluffiness at the end.
To tell you the truth, I never expected this to actually have more than one chapter by now. And here we are, chapter four. And I already have the last two chapters written. Wow.
Shoutout to Death for reading my fanfiction. And no, I'm not getting you any more pie.
In this exciting chapter of our story, Dean gets badly injured on a hunt.
Dean and Sam had left on a hunt a couple days ago, leaving Cas behind with Kevin and Crowley. Kevin, though, preferred to keep to himself in the library, and Crowley was still locked in the basement, leaving Cas alone with nothing much to do.
Sometimes he ventured into the library and found some books. He read Vonnegut, which he enjoyed. He also read an older book called On the Road featuring characters that reminded Cas of the three of them. Sam was Sal Paradise, the main character, he himself was a lot like the elusive Carlo Marx, and Dean, of course, was ever Dean Moriarty. There wasn't even any doubt about that one. He found some detective stories that the Men of Letters seemed to like, but aside from a few of the Sherlock Holmes stories, he didn't really enjoy them.
He also checked out their rooms. Kevin's was dusty and unoccupied, Sam's was neat and well kept. But Dean's, Dean's had been settled. There were weapons on the wall, clothes on the floor and in the drawers, and a guitar on a stand in the corner. A book lay on the table next to the bed, and a bookmark revealed that Dean had actually read some of it. Ender's Game. He'd heard of that one. Cas would ask Dean about it when he got back.
But now, Cas wasn't lurking the rooms or the library. He was checking out the kitchen, trying to figure out the complicated looking appliances there. Dean had said he would show Cas how to use them, but he hadn't yet, and since Dean wasn't here, there was no actual food being made. There was coffee in the morning, but precious little else. Just whatever Cas and Kevin could find in the pantry that didn't require any cooking.
He poked at a button on the giant oven, not expecting it to do anything and relieved when it didn't. He flitted over to the stove, and twisted some knobs. The air filled with the smell of gasoline, and with a crackle, a small flame leapt up. Cas watched it for a moment, then turned it off. He still didn't know how to cook.
Kevin wandered in, shadows running deep under his eyes, hair tousled, absolutely exhausted. He sat at the table, slumped, with a mostly empty cup of coffee clenched in his fist.
Cas looked at the other member of their weird little family, but didn't say anything.
Kevin spoke first. "Do you know when Sam and Dean are coming back?" he asked, voice lower than normal.
"No," Cas answered honestly. "Sometime today or tomorrow, is what Dean said before they left, but sometimes they get delayed."
Kevin huffed. "Well, I found something. Apparently, the spell Metatron used to lock up Heaven isn't really on the tablet. He added it as a sort of personal note. So Metatron knows how to reverse it, hopefully." He winced. "He won't reverse it, though."
Cas sighed. Here Kevin was, working day and night to solve a problem he, Cas, had caused. The Winchesters told Cas not to worry about it, but he would never stop owing this prophet. He would never stop owing any of them.
"Is there any food left?" Kevin asked hopefully, interrupting Cas's internal monologue.
Opening the fridge, Cas was very disappointed with what he saw. A couple of burgers, some slightly gross looking hot dogs. "Not much, no."
"Huh."
Cas pulled out the plate, and located a pan. He put two of the hamburger patties on the stove and turned it on. Dean had left then pre-cooked, so all he was doing was warming them up for him and Kevin, thank god. After an indeterminable amount of time, he flipped them over, and deposited them onto buns. He handed one on a plate to Kevin, and kept one for himself.
Kevin took his and ate it, completely plain, nothing but the meat and the bun. Cas found ketchup and mayonnaise, but nothing else he thought would taste good on a hamburger. He ate it, and while the meat tasted pretty good (whether he'd ever admit it or not, Dean could cook pretty well).
It was finished, and Cas was still hungry. But, there was really nothing else to eat, so he sighed and put his plate in the sink, taking Kevin's with him. For his own part, Kevin had taken off, presumable to snatch at some sleep before the Winchesters arrived home.
Cas would have stayed up, but there was no point in that, really. So he padded to his own room, lingering by Dean's and casting longing looks inside, and arrived in his room. He flopped in the bed, not bothering to take off the jeans or t-shirt he was wearing. His eyes drifted closed, and he was fast asleep when the Winchesters arrived.
He didn't stay asleep, because Sam was shouting loud enough to wake the dead.
"Why didn't you tell me, Dean?" shouted Sam, waking Cas with a jump. Dean's response was inaudible, and Sam's reply was just as silent.
Cas shoved himself up, heading quickly and purposefully to the front room. Something had happened, happened to Dean.
When he arrived, Dean was sitting on a chair, face set and pale, arm wrapped tight around his chest. Sam was nowhere to be seen, but he obviously hadn't been gone long.
"Dean?" Cas questioned worriedly.
Dean turned glassy, clouded eyes to Cas, and Cas knew instantly he'd been hurt. "Cas," he answered, voice raspy and tired sounding. He blinked, and swayed in the chair.
Cas was at his side instantly, steadying him against his shoulder and holding him up. "Dean, what's wrong?" he asked.
"Mmm," Dean moaned, eyes closed. He'd gone limp against Cas's support, and when Cas pushed him back to look at his face, he'd fallen unconscious.
His arm fell away weakly, and Cas saw the state of his sleeve. Soaked through with blood, covering the front of his shirt. It was fresh, and Cas knew without a doubt it was Dean's.
Sam arrived in the room, with bandages and pain relievers. Cas looked up, arms wrapped around Dean, and gave Sam a scared, slightly desperate look. "What happened?" he asked.
"I don't know. The werewolf we were hunting must've got him." Sam handed Cas the bandages wordlessly, and watched as the angel lifted Dean from the chair, laying him on the ground gently.
Dean moaned but did not wake, and Cas lifted his shirt. He looked at Dean's wound and faltered. It was wide, stretching across his abdomen, and there was the sight of something darker than flesh that was not supposed to be exposed. He stared down, hands shaking, watching the blood flow wordlessly.
"Sam, c-call 911. Please," Cas whispered, pressing something to Dean's stomach to stem the blood flow.
Sam left the room, and came back in what seemed like no time at all. "Ambulance is 25 minutes away. We're taking him into town." Sam looked worried, scared, and desperate, just like Cas felt but didn't show.
Cas lifted the hunter into his arms, silently offering comfort. When Dean groaned and rested his head against Cas's chest, Cas hugged him a little tighter.
They carried him into the Impala, and Cas laid Dean in the back seat. Sam got into the driver's seat, and they took off, leaving Kevin a voicemail to let him know what happened.
When they arrived, doctors in white immediately took Dean from Cas's arms and he was rested on a stretcher. With a flurry of movement and voices, he was gone, pushed behind swinging doors.
"He'll be alright," Sam said next to him, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as much as Cas.
When the doctors finally let Cas and Sam in, it had been three hours. They said that Dean was stable but still asleep, and that he would be alright with some rest.
They entered the room. Dean was asleep, his face still looking unnaturally pale against the white pillow. The sheet covering him only went up to his waist, and above that, thick bandages were wrapped around his torso, looping once over his shoulder for stability. What wasn't covered by the bandages was exposed, light flesh on a white background.
Sam took the chair in the corner, and Cas took the one by Dean's bedside. He couldn't even touch his friend's hand, because a heart monitor was clipped to one finger, and the IV on the other arm. Instead, he ran his fingers through Dean's short hair, rubbing mindless circles. Over and over.
For a few hours, they just sat there. Sam nodded off pretty soon, and Cas was feeling pretty tired himself when Dean's eyes slowly opened. "Cassss," he whispered, voice low and quiet.
"Dean!" Cas exclaimed, hand stilling in Dean's hair. "How do you feel?"
Dean took a deep breath in. "Alrigh'," he answered, then winced.
Cas wanted very badly to slap him, to do something, but the sight of Dean's pained face stopped him. "Dean, you need to be careful!" he cried, aware that his voice cracked and he sounded as tremorous as a child.
Dean softly let out a breath of air. "Cas, I'm a hunter," he said, and wasn't that all the explanation he needed.
Cas sighed softly, then ran his hand through Dean's hair again. Dean leaned into the touch, lips pulling up at the comforting gesture.
"Dean, you need to get some more rest," Cas ordered gently.
"Mmmm," Dean said, and he sounded like he agreed. His arm, the one without the IV, snaked up and his hand closed around Cas's free wrist. "Don't leave me," he requested, already nodding off.
He couldn't quite hear Cas's response, but the tone and the fervor in the answer was all he really needed.
"Never."
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