This chapter is a little... abrupt maybe? Not completely happy with how the chapters fit together (or if this thing makes any sense at all) but whatever, progress is progress. :B
The sun had already dropped below the horizon by the time he met up with Sam. Dean was able to maneuver Cas's limp body into the back of the impala by himself, propping him up against the door and getting some blankets from the trunk to trap what little heat he was producing. It might have been a hundred degrees outside, but with such little blood to move all that heat, Cas wasn't any warmer than the average cadaver. Marinating in that stream certainly didn't help either. Dean grabbed some dressings and his flask from the trunk and climbed into the back seat, leaving Sam to man the wheel.
Successfully de-clothing an unconscious, bleeding, sopping wet angel dressed in a heavy trench coat in the cramped backseat of a speeding impala was impossible. Of this, Dean was absolutely certain. There was no way that damned coat was coming off, given the water had already seeped up his back, clinging tight to his skin. Every move he made at removing the damned thing jostled the angel, who seemed to unconsciously tense in pain whenever he tried.
They'd been driving for at least twenty minutes, and Cas had remained more or less in the land of the living; his heart was still beating, and his breath was alarmingly shallow but present, at least most of the time. He decided that he could at least assess the damage, and crouching in the foot well, he kept his forearm pressed firm against Castiel's stomach as he began to unbutton his shirt.
Dean tried to think about what happened, until it became too painful and confusing and distracting from the task at hand.
Unfortunately, the white dress shirt was just as problematic as the rest of his clothes, congealing blood making it even more difficult to peel away from skin. It was taking way to long, Dean believed, and decided it was time for Plan B.
He counted to three, then shifting his arm to better grab the lapels of cas's shirt, ripped open the rest. Dean stared at his friend's marred and bloodied chest, stunned for a few precious moments.
And then Castiel gasped.
Bad move, Winchester.
/
Suddenly, he started to feel again.
Not everything though. Not even complete sensations. Like seeing the world through a pinprick.
A shadow. He was cold. He was wet. Then there was light, then pressure, pain, burning lungs, struggling, bones grinding, agony.
It was all happening to fast. He sucked in a breath, only to immediately regret the decision.
His entire body lit up with pain, shooting through his limbs and leaving sparks dancing behind his eyes.
Even as his eyes opened, blackness was already edging into his vision. Someone was there, crowding over him leaning on his stomach with something and it hurt. Focusing on the incoherent shape in front of him, he had no luck distinguishing the other body with his physical senses, but through the screaming pain coursing throughout his body he somehow knew that it was Dean. It could only ever be Dean. He could see the shape that was his friend, blurry and shifting in and out of focus, shouting things he couldn't hear but seemed to be urgent. Castiel tried to listen to the words but comprehension escaped him.
He could only see the fear in Dean's eyes before blacking out again.
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