CHAPTER 12

Sam drove back to the motel.

Castiel had never seen Sam drive before, except for when they were returning from bars, and Dean was either drunk or with someone else. Now, though, Dean just reached into his pocket and handed over the keys, and Sam accepted them without comment.

Dean sat with Castiel in the backseat, his arms still around him, sitting in the middle section so that there wasn't any distance between them whatsoever. He had removed his jacket, and had it pressed against Castiel, keeping pressure on both of his wounds. But every once in a while his hand would move, just for a second. And Dean would touch Castiel's cheek, or top if his shoulder, or run one finger over the back of Castiel's hand as if he were somehow made of glass.

"The police already left," Sam said as they pulled into the motel parking lot. It was the first words that any of them had spoken since climbing into the car.

"Good," Dean said. "We don't need the hassle."

Castiel tried to insist that he could walk into the motel by himself. Dean didn't let him. Castiel didn't argue for long, just nodded and allowed Dean to wrap his arm around Castiel's waist and lead him to the door. Once inside, he carefully helped Castiel to sit on the closest bed, and Castiel leaned back, resting against the headboard, just as Sam had when they'd needed to stitch up his neck.

Stiches. Castiel remembered this part now. It hadn't looked pleasant when Sam had been the one to receive them, and Castiel didn't particularly want to know what it would feel to have them in his own body.

Dean must have caught the look on his face – not surprising, since Dean hadn't seemed to look away from Castiel in all this time – and said, "Maybe we should take you to the hospital. They've got the good painkillers there."

Castiel shook his head. "I'm fine," he said. If Sam could be stitched up this way, then so could he. And more than that, he wasn't sure if he would trust anyone besides Sam and Dean to treat him. Realistically, he knew that the people at the hospital would not be trying to harm him, and that they were probably better people for the job. It was difficult to convince his mind of this, though. He would much rather accept the extra pain if it meant that he didn't have to leave the motel, and the safety of Sam and Dean's presence.

Dean frowned. "You sure?" he asked. "You've never done this before, have you? You-"

"I am fine," Castiel insisted. "Just begin, please."

Sam nodded. "I'll-"

Dean shook his head. "No, I've got it," he said.

Now, it was Sam who looked worried. "You sure?" he asked. "Because maybe I should-"

"I got it," Dean snapped.

After that, Sam said nothing more. Instead, he set the first aid kit onto the bed besides Castiel and gave the two of them a long look, then said, "We don't have any whisky. I'm going to go get some."

"Good idea," Dean said, and Sam stood there for a minute longer, looking at Castiel. Finally, he realized that Sam was waiting for his approval before actually leaving. So he nodded, and Sam nodded back, then left the motel.

Dean turned his back on Castiel, crossing over to the sink on the far side of the room, in the kitchen area. He turned on the faucet, then bent and stuck his face under the water, grabbing a washcloth to help him wipe the blood from his face. He washed his hands next, then braced himself against the counter for a moment. Castiel watched his shoulders rise and fall as he took a deep breath, and then he turned and strode back to Castiel's bed. "Okay," he said. "Let's do this."

Dean's hands were shaking as he threaded the needle, so much so that Castiel wondered for a moment it Sam should be the one to stitch up his injuries, if the two of them should wait until he returned. Then Dean took a deep breath, and his hands instantly steadied, so Castiel said nothing.

"I need to take a look at them," Dean said, setting the needle aside and turning to Castiel. "You need to-" His voice broke off, and then he said, "Here, let me help."

Castiel very carefully sat up, wincing again as he did, and allowed Dean to remove his trench coat, carefully holding the fabric away from his wounds so that he didn't cause Castiel any more pain. Castiel appreciated that. The shirt was harder, as it was stuck to his wounds with blood. Castiel gritted his teeth and Dean very carefully pealed the fabric away from his skin, and managed not to make a single noise. Even so, Dean's face was pale by the time that he were done, to the extent that you'd think that he had been the one who was injured.

"This one isn't so bad," Dean said, one finger hovering over the cut across his chest, but not touching it. "I'll bandage it real good, and I don't think that you'll need stitches there."

Castiel took it to mean that the other wound would need stitches, and was proved correct immediately, as Dean turned and picked up the needle again. He pulled his lighter from his pocket and flicked it a few times before he managed to draw a flame, then held the needle into it. "Sterilizes the needle," Dean explained. He held the needle in place for about a minute, then snapped the lighter closed. Castiel nodded weakly, his eyes locked on the needle, as if he was incapable of looking away.

Dean gave the needle a few minutes to cool, then turned to Castiel. "Ready?" he asked, his voice hard. He seemed to be bracing himself, just as Castiel was.

Castiel nodded, and decided that the best thing that he could do was to make sure that he let no amount of pain show on his face or in his voice, so that this would be easier for Dean. And he liked the idea of having a goal, of assigning himself a task, and decided that he was not going to allow himself to fail at fulfilling it. So he squared his shoulders, and nodded a second time. "I am ready," he said, being sure that his voice didn't waver.

Dean was quick. That made it easier. And it didn't hurt quite as badly as it had when the cut had been made – or, Castiel was endeavoring to convince himself of that, though he wasn't entirely certain that it was the truth.

But his task was successful, at least. He didn't even flinch. At one point, he realized that his hands her curled into fists, clutching tight to the bed sheets, and forced himself to spread them flat. Hopefully Dean hadn't noticed.

"There," Dean said, leaning back and tossing the needle into the trashcan beside the bed.

"You are finished?" Castiel said, and couldn't prevent the relief from appearing in his voice.

"Still got to disinfect it," Dean warned.

Ah, right. Castiel had forgotten that part. Now that he remembered, though, he recalled the way that Sam had gritted his teeth in pain when the alcohol had been poured over his wound.

But it was alright. Castiel would handle it.

Dean rubbed his eyes with the heel of one hand. And Castiel had been staying close to Dean ever since the Winchesters had come to his rescue, watching his every move, but before, he'd been too caught up in pain and relief to pay attention to Dean's appearance. Now, though, he could see that Dean looked exhausted, with dark circles that stood out like smudges across his skin. The clock on the wall claimed that it was six in the morning, and Castiel wondered if Dean had slept at all, or if all of the previous evening had been spent digging up a grave, and then hunting Felicity without time to rest.

Slowly, Castiel reached out and placed his hand on Dean's knee. Dean stiffened, and Castiel was about to pull back, but then Dean placed his hand on top of Castiel's hand, holding it in place. Castiel took a deep breath, something akin to relief racing through him, and then asked, "Dean, are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Dean snapped at once, then shook his head. "Jesus, don't do that!"

Castiel frowned, wondering if Dean was choosing this moment to pray, and why he would choose to do so, considering his lack of belief. It took a moment for Castiel to realize that the second part had been directed at him.

"Do what?" Castiel asked, wondering what he had possibly done wrong. Well, he supposed that he shouldn't have gotten kidnapped, but that was hardly something that he could help. It wasn't as though he had asked to be tortured, after all.

Dean didn't look inclined to answer, but even if he was planning to, he didn't get the chance. Sam walked into the room then, a paper bag in one hand. "How are you doing?" he immediately asked, looking over at Castiel.

Castiel thought for a moment, considering what answer he should give. He wanted to be truthful, but then, he also didn't want either Winchester to worry. "I am far better than I was earlier," he finally settled on, then added, "And Dean has finished his stitching."

"Well, that's good, at least," Sam said. He came over to stand beside Castiel and drew the whiskey from the bag, taking the top off and holding it out to him. "Here, you're probably going to want a swig of this."

Castiel frowned, not wanting to take the bottle for multiple reasons. For one, he didn't want to use his injured arm, and he also didn't want to remove his hand from where Dean was still holding it. It seemed silly to say that, though, so what he finally said was, "I don't want to get drunk." His head had already felt fuzzy once this morning, and it still ached as if it wasn't quite back to normal. Adding a hangover on top of that seemed like a terrible idea.

"No," Sam agreed. "I'm pretty sure that drunkenness and a possible concussion don't mix well. Just take a few drinks, it'll help a bit."

Castiel still wasn't inclined to agree, but right then, Dean let go of his hand and took the bottle from Sam, then placed it in Castiel's hand. And Castiel frowned, but gave in, taking a small sip. The alcohol was strong, and burned his throat a bit, though it didn't bother him much, considering that it utterly paled in comparison to the other pains that he had been through that day. So he took a long drink, swallowing as much as he could stand to drink at one time, then gasped for breath for a moment before taking another drink. Then he held it out to Dean. "Alright, I believe I'm done."

Sam was the one who took the bottle from his hands. "This is going to sting," Sam warned. "Like, a lot."

Then he poured a small stream of liquor over Castiel's cut arm. And he had been right – it did sting, but that word didn't seem strong enough to encapsulate the sensation that burned through his arm. This time, there was no doubt that the stitches had been far less painful than this, and he found himself gasping, still fighting to keep his pain from appearing on his face. Judging by the way that Dean turned away, though, he had not been successful.

Sam poured the liquor over the second wound the very second that he had finished with the first, without any further warning. Castiel wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but at least it meant that it was over fast, and then Sam was carefully mopping the excess liquid from Castiel's chest and arm, then reaching for the bandages. He wrapped the wounds carefully, with obvious skill, and then finally, Castiel could lean back against the headboard, relieved that it was over.

"Did either of you sleep?" Castiel asked, looking up as Sam tried his best to hide a yawn.

Sam shook his head. "Of course not," he said, like he was surprised that Castiel had even had to ask. "The two of us were up all night, looking for your-" He cut off suddenly, his eyes flickering toward Dean, and then he just said, "No way we could ever sleep after that."

"I suggest that you rest, then," Castiel said, and after a moment, he said, "I would like to, as well."

"Yeah, good idea," Dean said quickly, looking back over toward him. "Do you want to change, or-?"

"No," Castiel said. The thought of moving at all seemed to be almost too much. He would be fine in the clothes that he was currently wearing, though he did tow off his shoes and kick them until they fell off the side of the bed. "Would you mind if I take-"

He didn't have to finish the question. "No way in hell are you gonna have to take the couch tonight," Dean said at once, and Castiel nodded gratefully, scooting forward and then leaning back so that he could rest his head against the pillow.

"You can take the other bed," Sam offered, already grabbing a pillow and heading for the couch.

Dean shook his head immediately. "Like you'd even fit on that tiny thing," he said, indicating the couch, which was a bit shorter than normal. "No, go ahead and sleep. I'm going to sit up for a while, anyway."

"You sure?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Dean said. He glanced over at Castiel, then added, "I'm sure."

"Okay," Sam said, and didn't argue. He just pulled out pajamas and headed to the bathroom to change out of his dirty clothes, then returned a minute later and turned off the light before climbing into bed.

Dean sat in the chair across the room, by the table, but Castiel could sense him still watching him. It was... nice, actually. Castiel was certain that nothing would be able to hurt him. Not tonight, at least.

Time passed. The clock told him that it had been half an hour, and by all accounts, Castiel should be asleep by now. Sam obviously was, and Castiel was certainly exhausted enough that he should sleep the moment that the lights were turned off. For some reason, though, sleep didn't come.

He couldn't toss and turn, not with his injuries, so instead, he laid perfectly still on his back, trying not to think about how he had been lying in the same position in the stable, and hoped that he would fall asleep soon.

Then he heard Dean stand. Going to lie down on the couch now, Castiel assumed, but then he heard the chair being scraped across the floor. Dean dragged it over and stopped beside Castiel's bed, close enough that Castiel could feel his knees pushing against the mattress. He didn't say anything, or reach out toward Castiel. He was just there.

It was reassuring, honestly, and after another couple minutes, Castiel finally fell asleep.

He woke to someone putting a hand on his shoulder.

Instantly, Castiel's eyes flew open, his hands flying up to defend himself, because for a single moment, he was certain that Felicity had returned to torture him some more, that he was back in the barn, preparing to be cut with the knife again-

A hand caught his wrist, gentle enough that it gave Castiel pause. Then he realized that it was Dean staring down at him, not Felicity, and his body relaxed. "Is something wrong?" he asked, keeping his voice to a whisper so as to not wake Sam, who was still fast asleep in the other bed.

"Just need to ask you a couple of questions," Dean said. Castiel frowned, and wanted to protest that surely the questions weren't so important that they couldn't wait until after he had gotten the chance to sleep more, but in the end, he simply nodded, and Dean asked, "What's your name?"

Castiel stiffened, trying to reason out the motive behind the question. He didn't think that Dean had discovered the fact that Jimmy Novak was as alias – though Castiel was no longer quite as certain that the name was fake as he once had been. And even if Dean had figured it out, it seemed unlike him to only allow Castiel a couple hours of sleep before confronting him on it.

"Come on, Jimmy," Dean coaxed. "Just answer the questions so I can make sure you don't have some horrible brain injury and then I'll let you get back to sleep."

Oh, that was the reason. Castiel didn't fully understand what the purpose was, but he answered, "Jimmy Novak."

The corner of Dean's mouth pulled up into a one-sided grin. "I kinda gave that one away, didn't I?" he asked, then added, "Okay, harder one. What was the name of the ghost that you ganked to save my ass?"

Castiel furrowed his forehead, and thought hard, trying to remember. "Maison, wasn't it?"

"Awesome," Dean said. "Okay, go back to sleep now."

Castiel nodded, then closed his eyes and obeyed.

Dean woke him again a few hours later. "How did that creepyass chef witch kill his vics?"

Castiel blinked, not even bothering to open his eyes this time, just pushed his head against the pillow to protest the fact that he had been woken. But he answered, "Hex bags."

"What was the name of the thing that bit Sammy?"

"A Vetala."

This time, Castiel could hear the smile in his voice. "Okay, what was the first thing I ever said to you?"

Castiel opened his eyes, glancing over at Dean. It was midday now, and the light streamed in through the windows despite the curtains that covered the windows, making it easy to make out Dean's features. "That depends," Castiel said. "You asked Sam if he was okay, and I thought that you were talking to me, so I answered and said that I was fine. But then you said 'good', so I suppose that that was the first thing that you said to me."

Dean grinned, though he also looked a little surprised. "Shit, that was weeks ago," he said. "I was trying to stump you."

Castiel frowned. "Would it be a good thing if I didn't answer the question correctly?"

Dean immediately shook his head immediately. "No, the fact that you've gotten them all is definitely good. Means that you don't have anything more serious than a concussion, probably."

"Oh," Castiel said, then squinted up at Dean. "Have you slept at all?"

He didn't need to wait for Dean's response. The answer was obvious from the exhausted look on Dean's face.

"Sam's bed is currently empty," Castiel said, glancing over at the other bed. "I suggest that you steal it from him before he returns."

Dean grinned again. "I like the way that you think," he said with a grin. "But nah, I'm good. I'll move to the couch in a minute. Just go back to sleep, okay?"

"Alright," Castiel said, and closed his eyes again. "But promise that you will rest again."

"I promise," Dean said, and Castiel fell asleep before he got the chance to see if the promise was kept or not.

Dean was still beside Castiel when he woke a few hours later.

Castiel sat up, then instantly regretted it. He had forgotten about his wounds, but now, the pain of them returned to him, and he quickly laid back down, scanning the room from his prone position. The clock read that it was three in the afternoon, Sam's bed was both messy and empty, and Dean was slumped across Castiel's bed, still asleep.

Clearly he'd never gone to the couch, even though he had said that he would. Instead, he must have fallen asleep sitting up in the chair, and shifted positions sometime during the night, because not he was leaning forward, the side of his face pressed against the mattress, snoring slightly.

Castiel watched him for a minute, and frowned. He had no objections to Dean sleeping like this, but it didn't look like a comfortable position, and he didn't wish for Dean to hurt his back. After spending so long on the streets, Castiel had more than enough experience with how sore an uncomfortable way of sleeping could make you. But at the same time, Dean clearly needed the rest.

Finally, though, Castiel decided to wake him. He sat up – far more carefully this time – then reached over to shake Dean's shoulder gently.

Dean jerked awake in an instant, his head flying up and one hand instinctively reaching for his jacket pocket that still held his gun.

"It's alright," Castiel said quickly, reaching out to touch his arm, but he stopped himself just in time. He wasn't sure if the gesture would be appreciated, or if it would only startle Dean worse. Instead, he settled for repeating, "It's alright."

Dean looked at him, then relaxed, just slightly. "Jimmy," he said, his voice a little breathless, and holding the last remnants of fear, though Dean would vehemently deny that if Castiel ever mentioned it to him. He cleared his throat and rubbed his eyes with his knuckles, then asked, "How are you feeling?"

"I am alright," Castiel promised him. "Or, I am recovering, at least." He glanced around the room, and for the first time, felt a little stab of fear. "Where is Sam?" He had noticed Sam's absence the last time that he had woken, but it was only now that he was awake enough to realize that the worrying implications of that.

Dean also glanced around, and shrugged, but didn't look particularly worried about it, which made Castiel relax. If Dean wasn't bothered, then there couldn't be anything wrong. "Don't know," he said. "Probably went out somewhere." He stood and walked over to the table, stumbling as if he wasn't completely awake yet, then snorted. "He left a fucking note," he said, holding it up for Castiel to see. "Apparently he took his laptop to a coffee shop so that he wouldn't 'bother us'. Since when does he fucking leave a note?" He shook his head and read something else from the paper, then headed over to the refrigerator and pulled it open, pulling out two takeout containers. "Sammy's making himself useful, at least," he said, glancing over at Castiel. "You hungry?"

Castiel's stomach immediately grumbled, and he nodded. "Extremely," he said.

The motel had a microwave, so it only took Dean a minute to heat their hamburgers. Castiel began to climb to his feet, but Dean stopped him with a shake of his head. "Let's just eat here," he said, sitting carefully on the end of the mattress so as to not jolt Castiel and holding out a plate. Castiel agreed immediately. It wasn't that he didn't think that he could move, because he wasn't so badly injured that he wouldn't be able to get around, and he could deal with the extra throbs of pain that accompanied his movements. Still, just staying in bed sounded nice, and if that was Dean wanted as well, then Castiel was most definitely not going to argue.

For a minute, they just ate in silence, both of them hungry enough that they didn't want to focus on anything else. After he had finished his hamburger, though, he looked up at Dean, who was yawning as he took his last bite.

"Do you want to sleep more?" Castiel asked. "You couldn't have gotten much rest today." And even if Dean had slept for a few hours, Castiel couldn't imagine that it had been a deep sleep, considering the position he had been in.

"Nah, I'm good," Dean said at once, exactly as Castiel had expected that he would. "I got my four hours, I'll be fine."

Castiel shook his head – despite what Dean said, he was reasonably certain that more than four hours of sleep were required in order for a body to function correctly. "Sam's bed is currently empty," he pointed out. "You could sleep there." Dean just shook his head again, and Castiel hesitated, then scooted over toward the side of the bed, until there was enough room beside him for another person to lay down. "Or you could sleep here."

Dean frowned, and for a moment, Castiel was sure that he was still going to say no. Then another yawn split his features, and he slowly nodded, much to Castiel's relief. "Yeah," he said, leaning forward and setting his empty plate on the beside table, doing the same with Castiel's. Then he stretched out on his stomach, one arm flopping over the side of the bed, his eyes closed.

Castiel scooted closer to the edge of the bed, trying not to disturb Dean. He planned on moving to the couch, so that Dean could have the bed to himself.

Dean's hand reached out and closed around his wrist.

Castiel glanced back at him. His eyes were still closed, and he gave no indication that he had moved, but his fingers were still wrapped around Castiel's skin, holding him in place.

Slowly, Castiel leaned back against the headboard, then scooted closer to Dean. Dean still didn't respond, but he also didn't let go, and kept hanging on to Castiel even after his breathing evened out and he dropped into sleep.

Sam returned to the motel room a few hours later, carrying a couple of pizza boxes for dinner. Dean was still asleep, and still holding Castiel's wrist

Castiel immediately lifted his free hand to his hand to his mouth, signaling for Sam to be quiet. Sam glanced at the bed, looking a little surprised to see Dean sleeping beside Castiel, but didn't ask any questions, and after the first surprised look, he acted as if this was completely normal behavior.

Considering the amount of food that Dean normally consumed, Castiel thought that it was a good idea to wake him for dinner. Sam, though, shook his head when Castiel suggested it. "There'll be leftovers whenever he wakes up," he explained in a whisper. He hesitated then, like he wasn't sure if he should say anything more, but finally, he added, "And he doesn't always sleep so well. Let him enjoy it while he can."

Castiel had to admit that he saw the logic in that, so he and Sam ate dinner together – Castiel eating him from the bed, using one hand so that he didn't have to remove himself from Dean's grip. Afterward, Sam changed the bandages over Castiel's wounds – an ordeal that wasn't nearly as painful as Castiel had expected – then grinned and said that he was healing well.

"Did you do more research today?" Castiel asked. Sam nodded, and Castiel added, "Anything useful?"

"I don't know," Sam said, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand, in almost an exact copy of the tired gesture that Dean had made earlier. "Azazel seems to have gone quiet. Not that I'm really looking for him, since Ash is supposed to be covering that. But no, I still haven't found any definite info on whatever it was that saved Dean."

Castiel hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether he could ask this question without appearing insane, but he finally took a deep breath and decided to ask, "Do you think that it could be angels?"

Much to Castiel's relief, Sam didn't immediately deny it. "I've been doing some research on that, actually," he said.

Castiel frowned, and glanced down at Dean before saying, "I thought that they didn't exist?"

Sam shrugged. "Maybe they don't," he said, his voice tired. "But I might as well try it out, don't you think? Besides, it's not like anyone has ever proved that they don't."

"But Dean said-" Castiel began.

And again, Sam simply shrugged. "Dean might not know everything," he said, then sighed and ran his hand over his face again. "I saw the research you were doing yesterday. I didn't mean to spy on you or anything, it's just after… what happened," he said, obviously speaking carefully now, "I checked my laptop's history, to see if you had figured out something that we didn't know, and that was why it happened."

Huh. Castiel hadn't known that it was possible, but then, it also didn't particularly surprise him. "And?" he asked. "I saw the videos. They all seemed very convincing, and most of them mentioned some sort of white light."

"But none of them mentioned a noise so strong that it broke all of the machinery around you," Sam countered, and Castiel assumed that that must have been what happened in Dean's hospital room. "You can't trust everything that you see online. Whenever you're looking for information on the supernatural, you end up sifting through a lot of crap before you find the real stuff."

Again, this was news to Castiel, and for a moment, he wasn't sure how to respond. Finally, he said slowly, "I want to believe that angels exist, but-" He broke off, and frowned to himself. If the angels were real, why wasn't there actual proof, beyond online videos and stories that Sam claimed were likely faked? And more than that, why would they speak to him, of all people, and then abruptly vanish without a trace, and never so much as whisper in his mind again, no matter how hard he tried to listen?

Maybe the angels had never existed.

It was easier to consider that possibility now. Without the voices constantly murmuring in his head, forcing him to acknowledge their reality, he was almost beginning to think that he may have made it all up, after all.

"Yeah," Sam said. "Me, too." He suddenly stood and headed over to pull a tee shirt and sweat pants from his bag. "I know it's pretty early, but do you want to turn in for the night? I only got about three hours of sleep this morning, and I know that you've got to be worn out."

"Yes," Castiel admitted, somewhat sheepishly. It was strange, because he had slept for eight hours this day, and it had only three or four hours since he had woken. More than that, he had spent all of that time lying in bed, doing absolutely nothing strenuous. He should be wide awake right now. Instead, he yawned. Apparently being kidnapped and tortured was much more tiring than he would've expected.

He carefully settled himself into the bed. Dean squirmed slightly, but didn't wake as Castiel laid down beside him.

In all the time that Castiel had been staying with the Winchesters, nobody had ever suggested that any of them share a bed. Castiel had been under the impression that that was something that wasn't typically done, and never made the suggestion himself, even though he wasn't sure why it would be a bad thing. Now, though, Dean had been the one to begin it, so Castiel did not think that it would be an issue.

He had expected it to be at least somewhat awkward to have someone in the space beside him. It wasn't, though. If anything, he enjoyed it.

He hesitated, then shuffled to the side slightly, until his arm was pressed up against Dean's. The feeling was comforting.

Sam came out of the bathroom, and threw his clothes onto the nearby table without bothering to fold them or return them to his duffle, as he usually did. Then he paused, standing in the middle of the motel room and looking over at Castiel.

"It was a shapeshifter, wasn't it?" Sam suddenly asked.

Castiel nodded, realizing for the first time that he hadn't told the Winchesters about anything that he had learned from Felicity, and that neither of them had asked.

Sam nodded back. "I figured that that had to be it," he said. "Once we found you in the barn, there wasn't any other explanation." He nodded again, this time to himself, then walked over and turned off the light.