Examination

Castiel is still. Castiel is calm. Castiel is trapped inside himself a screaming writhing beast. Deep in his eyes nestles a cold primordial scream… Hands are clenched so tightly that blood oozes thick between his fingers...

Sarah snaps up from her chair, 'Lets move on.'

Her voice is sharp insistency. It cuts thick tension, bleeds it back to clipped order. No more it commands, and the world submits to her cold tones. Without a backwards glance she moves to the table, rifles through implements she'd carefully laid out before. Dean watches in silence, because anything is better than watching Castiel.

'Make it quick,' he mutters. She nods but doesn't look up.

Sam can only stare at the angel, who jolted back into the world when the woman spoke. A mass of exhaustion bundled up in tender skin, he is grazed and bruised and still marred with patches of dried blood and clinging dirt. Breath rises and falls, slight stutters of painful lungs. He stares down at his hands, freshly bloodied. They are shaking.

Theres a forest of glass, somewhere there in his head. A desolated forest that was first shattered and then burned. Cas opens his mouth, but doesn't seem to remember the right thing to say. Sam has watched him fight hopelessness and abandon, has watched him come undone under the weight of all his misgivings. For a brief moment, Cas raises his eyes to meet him. Sam doesn't think he's ever seen desolation quite like this.

'S'okay, Cas,' he whispers, and he's never felt so much hate that his words don't sound important enough.

Castiel blinks tiredly back.

From the table, Sarah straightens. In her hands and pockets are small tools of the trade, surgical scissors, anaesthetic wipes, stethoscope and latex gloves. She pulls these over her fingers, each little snap of rubber making Castiel twitch. Sam tries not to notice, and then feels something pushed into his chest. He looks down to see Sarah's notepad, and by extension, Sarah herself, looking expectantly at him.

'While I examine, will you take notes?' its not a question.

'Uh, sure,' as soon as the words slip out, she gives a curt nod and moves back towards Castiel. The angel fixates his eyes on the floor as she approaches, his body goes still once again.

The last sentence to be scrawled on the pad reads erratic behaviour indicates mental disturbance (search for signs of possible brain damage?) and Sam swallows down rising turmoil. Cold, calculated words. They hit hard as stone. She doesn't know the whole story, he tries to comfort himself, but then neither do they. Sam is tired of the angry helplessness that seems an unhappy narrative of his life.

He turns to a fresh page, hoping his brother won't catch sight of the words. Dean is still glowering at the woman, still standing arms folded, still fighting thunder and fury, and Sam knows its only there to mask the clamouring fear lurking underneath. Dean is close to bolting, he can barely look at Cas.

'Okay,' Sarah says, like its the cusp of a new dawn.

The angels fevered eyes travel flickered panics across the room, jolting fast in their fear; feet, chair, hands, wall, floor, hands, Sam, wall, hands, Dean until they finally fixate upon Sarah. She is waiting for him, trying to assess, to sooth, to give him time. But they way he stares, unwavering intent, its more like he's waiting for her. Waiting for the next order. Or ordeal.

'Ready?' she says softly.

Cas swallows, thick and heavy. 'I- what should-'

'It's okay,' she soothes, and he falls silent. 'I'm going to examine your injuries now.'

The world holds its breath as the woman slowly takes him in. Tall, lean and muscular, body strong and healthy considering what it has undergone. He holds himself weakly, feverishly, defeatedly, but even through his laxness his strength lies defined. His torso is bare save for the bandages that swarth it. Old, faded sweatpants cover his lower half.

Sarah tries to understand an eternity within his face. It is old and kind, cold and innocent, it is wide-eyed youth that houses gentle, aged wisdom. He is etherial and incomprehensible and everything and anything. And still so human, so hurt and tired and afraid. His eyes are unknown oceans, it hurts when he looks at her. But it also hurts when he looks away.

She glances over at the brothers, 'is he able to stand?'

The instant it is said, Castiel begins to move. He pulls up heavy arms and presses tattered hands into the bed. A slight pause as he steadies himself, a slight catching of his breath as he tries to make his ruined body work.

'Cas! Don't move,' Dean snaps.

He strides forward as Sam explains, he's just woken up, been unconscious, feet are cut up, weak and fevered, not up for standing. As Sarah nods and asks quiet questions, Dean places firm hands on Castiels shoulders. Cas blinks up at him, lost in incomprehension, as Dean applies gentle pressure to keep him from getting up.

'Just stay sitting, buddy, okay?' he says gruffly.

Very gently, Castiel nods. He lets his arms go slack and his hands slip off the bed. One of them leaves a bloody stain where he'd been clutching the covers.

He opens his mouth to struggle through his pains. 'Dean, I-',

'Don't worry 'bout it,' Dean cuts. 'We'll deal with it later.' He doesn't want to see it, can't see it, won't bring himself to see Cas shatter apart again. Molten ice crawls through his chest, but he refuses to let it touch his face. Because Cas shouldn't have to see him hurting.

'He's got a fever,' Sam is saying, 'and a couple of the wounds look infected; shoulder and hand. Uh, he had bad exposure to the elements before we found him, and he's in shock.' He speaks with helpful intent but careful and considered, Dean can hear it in his tones, knows Sam is trying to appease. Dean wants to scream we're taking care of him. We don't need you.

'Have you checked for signs of other illnesses?'

Sam nods, 'we dealt with his hypothermia, don't think he's got anything else…'

'Well, one less thing I have to check then.' Sarah comments dryly, 'I'll leave you with some antibiotics to combat anything else that might crop up. So… I wont bother looking for signs of dehydration, starvation, exhaustion…' she tosses the stethoscope back onto the table, it lands with a clatter and Castiel blinks a flinch. 'as they're most likely a given. His motor senses will be highly depleted,' she continues, 'the fever wont be helping with that.'

She steps towards them and Dean realises he hasn't moved his hands. Cas is leaning slightly into them, and its not out of necessity but hopeless need. He is small, unfocused, unguarded. His head is bowed and Dean watches as his brow flickers and tightens in response to unknown pains. Its to much, all to much, because look at what he's done, look at whats happened, its my fault.

'Dean?' he wants her voice to vanish. 'Can I continue?' he wants her gone.

'Yeah,' he croaks. He wants to fix all the things he cannot fix. Instead he says, 'Cas, you good?'

Castiel nods, to tired to look up. Before he pulls away, Dean gives the angels shoulders a small squeeze, then walks back to Sam with his mouth in his hand. Whatever small comfort his brother tries to give, he ignores.

'I'm just going to check under your bandages,' Sarah explains briskly, 'you just sit tight. Sam is keeping note of my observations.'

Castiel blinks, lax and unguarded. 'Observations,' he echoes to himself. Dean feels his stomach plummet.

She pulls her chair closer, sits and leans forward till there is barely any space between them. Gently but firmly she reaches out and takes Castiels hand, resting it on her lap as she lightly cuts away the gauze. He watches sadly, like its a foreign thing.

The bandages peel away, taking the expanse of blood with them. Underneath lies a mess of shredded skin; cuts and heavy grazes that seep over his palm. Sarah nods to herself, lightly brushes the wounds with antiseptic wipes. 'Impact abrasions,' she says over her shoulder to Sam, 'very heavy on right hand. One open gash freshly bleeding,' she pushes pressure and Castiels face goes hard. 'This one needs stitching,' she says.

Sam nods, makes notes, tries to ignore Castiels clenching jaw. The motion is repeated with the other hand and the same results are declared. 'Impact abrasions,' Sarah says again, then finally looks to Cas, 'do you remember falling?'

He struggles with new thought. 'I fell,' he finally manages, 'but… I haven't fallen.'

She says nothing and simply stares with incomprehension. Dean and Sam understand. His mess of words makes sense to them, but the woman just looks concerned. Castiels face falls and his eyes curl into quiet panic. He drops them down to stare at his hands, both resting palms upwards in her lap.

Sarah sighs, 'might as well stitch it now,' she says, pulling sterilised needles and thread from her pocket, 'you ready?'

He looks timorously at her, injured hand starting to slowly curl. With gentle insistency, Sarah opens it flat again and prepares her implements. Sam watches as the needle pricks then slides through tender flesh, again and again and again. Its ghosts echoes for him and he rubs his own palm. Dean's hands are balled fists. Castiels face jitters with agitated pain, but he makes no noise.

Time ticks by in slow jolts, each crunch of the second hand eating away at them where they stand. Sam busies himself looking through the notepad, Dean fidgets without ever moving. When she is done, Sarah applies clean new bandages around Castiels hands and wrists, wrapping them firm and tight as though it might keep the pain away.

'Going to check out your chest and back now,' she says as she begins to cut the old dressings away. While she does she nods at Sam and says 'looking at his wrists there's no indication he was tied or restrained.'

Sam swallows thickly, 'he mentioned the demons had a cage,' the lie slips out easily enough.

The bandages fall away and Cas breathes deep with the sudden loss of pressure. Sarah begins again, gentle and withdrawn. 'Right, well, definite damage to the upper torso, heavy bruising around right side,' her fingers ghost over beaten flesh. 'This matches his hand injuries… though its the other side that seems to be worse for wear,' Castiel breathes sharply as more pressure is applied. 'Quite a few fractured ribs, possibility of some being broken, more bruising… this wont be helping with any respiratory problems,' she comments. 'Also, please note "heightened temperature",' she frowns as she feels her way over trembling skin. Her hands reach the centre of his chest, 'actually, it seems to be spiking from here…'

Cas shudders, physically rocking backwards away from her touch. Its a slow shaky recoil, like he's to tired to even flinch. A small noise escapes him, something twisted between a moan and gasp. Its full of fearful pain; terror he quickly tries to swallow. Sarah instantly pulls away.

As soon as the pressure leaves, Cas shakes himself. Blinks a small flinch, eases forced tension into quivering muscles. Something almost apologetic lingers about him. His eyes flicker to the brothers like he knows they saw. Like it was something important. Like he is trying to explain.

'Cas?' Sarah asks quietly.

'Its…' he works his mouth around the word "fine" like he can't bring himself to lie. 'Please continue,' he mumbles instead, voice to low and quiet to convey anything deeper. His eyes have retuned to the floor, sunken and hollow and sad.

'Okay...'

Dean sucks in a sharp breath, his complete stillness suddenly seeming to waver. A moment holds him in place, the monumental pause between when a leap becomes a plunge. Sam doesn't understand, but he knows, he knows of heavy burden and the pitiful anger his brother feels. He reaches out and grips Dean's arm just as his brother reaches for the door.

Sarah is talking again, perhaps to Cas or perhaps to them, but for the heavy moment they are not listening.

What do I do? Dean seems to ask in despair. How can I fix this when its my fault it happened? And Sam doesn't waste thoughts of comfort and correction. Thats not what Dean wants, even if its what he deserves. We'll fix it. Sam tries to convince. We stay and we fix it and he'll forgive us. Cas is strong, he'll pull through. Dean shakes his head, hand still hovering by the door. It's never been like this before, Sam. Not hell, or the cage. Look at him, he's… Sam firms his jaw, pulls Dean back into the room. Its not your fau- Deans eyes snap away. Of course he wont believe that.

'Sam?' Sarah's voice filters through. He focuses back on her, she is kneeling on the bed, hand hovering lightly over Castiel's back. They see pained empathy in her eyes, know already what she is witnessing. Dean sinks into a chair and stairs firmly at the wall.

'We, uh, don't know how he got that,' Sam says. His voice sounds like it doesn't belong to him. He listens to Cas breathing; in and out, and in and out.

Across the angels back lies a horrendous tear. One, long, jagged rip that fissures through his flesh like a chasm cracking the earth apart. It rips from right shoulder to left hip, jolting unevenly through the skin. There is no measure to it, no sense of balance or evenness. The deeper areas leak blood. Sections are already scarred with dark thread that pinches split skin back together. Other parts are untouched, flesh to severely burned and blistered.

Sam swallows as he thinks of it, knows Dean is purposefully not thinking of it. The gash engulfs Castiels back, cuts through his shoulder blade, curls along his spine, scores deeply into soft muscles and nerves. Spread out from either end are hundreds of tiny tendrils. They burst and flare forth, a thousand creeping cracks. Over his shoulder they spread like branches, over his hip they sink like roots.

'Have you ever seen lighting scars?' Sarah finally says.

When the silence becomes to much, Sam stutters, 'no…'

She takes a breath, as though steadying herself. 'They're… quite a rare phenomenon. Sometimes called lightning flowers, a Lichtenberg figure, you can tell from the floral-like patterning. They're usually pretty benign, the scarring fades-'

'Are you saying he got struck by lighting?'

Cas raises his head from when he'd been staring mutely at the floor. The movement brings them back into focus and Sarah cranes her head round to look at him hopefully.

'Cas?' Sam says gently.

His face sinks into a frown before glancing up at him. His eyes skitter to Dean's hulking back, then flicker to Sam once more. They carry hopeful intent, swirling amongst the fatigue, like perhaps if he looks hard enough then Sam will understand.

'I've seen someone with such a thing before,' Sarah supplies quickly. 'They were possessed, which makes sense since demons do displace electrical charges.' She directs her words to Cas, 'we're you possessed?'

He shakes his head, drops his eyes, and the moment is lost. Sam adds more lies about Cas having the anti-possession tattoo, a forcefully unfunny story about getting it on his ass. Sarah smiles politely and Castiel says nothing to counter, but Sam still captures something lurking deep within his eyes, behind the strange silent sorrow and the misplaced guilt. Something akin to an apology, desolation unbound. It burns him how hopelessly exhausted Cas looks.

'Either way,' Sarah motions to his back, 'this is… horrendous.' Out of the corner of his eye, Sam sees Dean flinch.

'It's nothing like any lightning scar I've ever heard off, so much more severe… I assume you sterilised it fully? Good… With the burns, I don't know if stitching was the best, although…' she leans closer and reaches out. Sam sees Castiels face harden. 'Hmmmm, no perhaps it was wise,' she continues. 'I'm not going to do anything more to it, don't want to risk it... I don't know how to categorise this, uh, perhaps just put "severe scarring and burns to back".'

As Sam writes, she begins treating the wound. Strange ointments are gently applied, thick padding held in place with long rolls of gauze. She twists the bandages around Castiels body, adding extra layers around his ribs. He sits silently through it all. As the gauze is secured, Sam murmurs stilted encouragement, to quiet to even reach the angels ears. Sarah glances up at him though, before she turns and reaches towards Cas.

'Now,' she murmurs, 'lets take a look at that eye.'

Castiels gaze snaps up.

A strange static fills the room. The whine of blood in ears pulses louder. Sam doesn't notice, to busy making notes. Sarah doesn't notice, to busy with examination. Dean doesn't notice, to lost in his misery. But the pitching thickness is there, strange tendrils and unseen currents. Unspoken terrors as Sarah cups her hand under Cas' chin and steadies his head.

'Heavy bruising around right eye,' she murmurs, 'starting from just above jawline to around the eyebrow and temple,' she breezes her fingers across his face and Castiels heart gasps a shudder, 'potential fractured cheekbone, from the level of trauma, that might be a given… swollen eyelid, tch, its really bruised…' she leans in closer, 'bloodshot and raw, but he's still able to see. Slight scratching of the cornea, that'll be highly painful for him,' she leans closer, 'possible damage to the lacrimal caruncle,' over her shoulder she explains, 'thats the corner bit.'

Castiel is frozen, his pupils fixed unblinking. His face doesn't move, his face is open fear. There are silent shrieking wails, so painful they must be ignored. Unaware, Sarah turns back to him.

'Actually,' she leans closer, 'there seems to be definite damage to the gland, though its always hard to tell with eyes,' her fingers pull gently at the tender flesh, Castiels chest gasps panicked tremors, 'the bruising definitely stems from there though… like its the focal point. Ground zero… Mnn, note "irritated and inflamed", almost looks like some of the muscle has been scraped away, maybe insertion-' she stops suddenly.

Castiel is frozen. Eyes wide. Eyes screaming. Strangled blue piercing out, unblinking. There is fear, suppressed so deep its barely an echoed scream. And in the sudden silence all they can hear his breathing.

'Cas?' Sarah's fingers slowly go limp.

A thousand stars burn away in the silence.

'…I'm not going to hurt you,' she whispers.

A thousand more burst into life.

'Cas…?' His eyes bore into her.

And with a deep gasp she pulls away.

She is instant speed and fury. Snatches the notepad from Sam, scribbles new things amongst the pages, scribbles harshly as though she's afraid of her own words. When she's done she gathers her things, piles them on the table in front of Dean. He sits up, blinking confusion.

'These are for you,' she says curtly, gesturing to the bottles and bandages and pills. Then she rips out the pages she filled and thrusts them at Sam. He takes them with hesitance and wonders what it was she saw burning in Castiels eyes. Before he can open his mouth to ask, she is speaking again.

'I'm not keeping them,' she gestures to the notes. 'I've done my part, done all I can. So these are for you to use however you see fit. I walk out of here and never think about it again. Thats the way you hunters like it,' and neither of them argue.

'Theres my number if you need me, but I wont be contacting you again,' she glances back at Cas. 'Get him hydrated, give him the painkillers and antibiotics, I've left instructions for dosages. Watch out for pneumonia developing, and for infection spreading but other than that you've treated his injuries fine. Keep 'em clean and redressed. From observation of his reactions stay away from his eye and…'

Her mouth becomes a knot and it takes a moment for her to work it loose again.

'… like I said, I'm not a psychiatrist. Or a brain specialist, so either way its your shit to deal with…' and the pause sounds again, heavy and hard. 'Don't… don't jump to conclusions, I-I'm not a specialist, but perhaps look into the footnotes...'

She looks up at them in tern, gives respectful nods, 'Sam, Dean,' then pulls open the door.

She doesn't look back.

In the stillness after her wake, Dean pulls himself to a stand. He moves forward and takes the slightly crumpled notes from Sams unresisting hand. They are mostly filled with bullet-points, neat and tidy scrawls that give way to his brothers familiar curls.

Down at the bottom of the last page, are some hurried words. Underneath her careful noting of negative reactions to being "observed" and objects near face, some extra words sit hard and heavy on the page.

his behaviour was "corrected", then he was "discarded".
"they were finished with me"… like they were looking for something? or testing something?…

Smaller writing, more fearful, experimentation?

And next to an earlier scrawl, where she had questioned erratic behaviour indicates mental disturbance (search for signs of possible brain damage?) there was a hurried and panicked word, squashed into the margin as though it was sinful, as though it shouldn't have been written at all.

Dean read it, re-read it, handed the paper back to Sam, and walked out the door.

Oh man, so sorry for the delay. I've been ridiculously sick the past week, bedridden for days. And obviously my brain decided it couldn't think enough to write with... So, consequently I re-wrote the chapter several times and went slightly mad. Hope it doesn't read too differently, I think I just need to get it out otherwise I'll spend another week fretting over it!

You guys are seriously amazing, thank you so much for your follows and reviews. They mean so much to me!