March 21, 1992
The sound of cartoon crashes and explosions was as loud in the kitchen as it was in the living room. Hazards of living in a trailer house, Dean supposed. He looked over the partition into the living room where Sammy was watching Darkwing Duck. First day of spring break, and it looked like Sam was going to spend the whole thing in front of the TV.
Dean sighed as he finished washing the last of their breakfast dishes. He still had laundry to do after this, but once that was done, he planned to park himself next to Sammy on the couch for the rest of the day. Maybe the rest of the week. Thirteen wasn't too old to be watching cartoons, right? Glancing over to the grungy stove and table, he added a quick scrub of the kitchen to his list of things to finish before indulging in crap cartoons and maybe some re-runs of The Incredible Hulk or The Dukes of Hazzard later, if he was lucky.
A scream of pain tore through the air, startling Dean into dropping the bowl in his hands. A black and tan blur smashed into the cabinets to Dean's left, splintering the flimsy doors and sending feathers flying.
"Castiel!" Dean's jaw dropped. The angel (no, not an angel, he reminded himself) was sprawled unmoving on the floor, heavily covered in dried blood. "Holy shit!"
"Dean! What the heck was that?" Sammy shouted, skidding into the kitchen on his sock feet. "Ohhh my gosh – is he dead?"
Dean wiped his wet, soapy hands on his jeans and dropped down next to Castiel to reach for his shoulder, turning him gently. He looked like hell, covered in scratches and bruises, and he was out cold.
"His wing, Dean," Sam breathed as he pointed to a horribly infected looking wound on one of the crumpled wings. "He's hurt bad."
Crap, crap, crap. Dean tried to think, his mind spinning uselessly as he stared at the deep, gory cut. He took a breath and forced himself to focus. "Okay. Sam, go get the first aid kit – the good one Dad keeps under his bed."
Nodding, Sam took off at a run to fetch the kit. While he was gone, Dean checked Castiel over, looking for any other severe injuries besides the cut, but only found minor ones. Gingerly, he rearranged Castiel's limbs so he was laying flat on his back. The uninjured wing, he folded up awkwardly and tucked it against the damaged cabinets. The injured one splayed across the kitchen floor, the tips of the ragged primary feathers nearly reaching the far wall.
"Hurry up, Sam!" he hollered impatiently.
"I got it!" his brother answered as he ran back into the kitchen clutching the large box. He handed it over to Dean who grabbed a handful of rags and hand towels from a drawer next to the stove, then crouched at Castiel's head.
Patting the not-angel's fever-hot cheek gently, Dean peered into his face, upside-down to his point of view. "Castiel? Can you hear me?"
Castiel's eyes opened, but only for a moment as he mumbled something unintelligible then dropped back into unconsciousness.
Dean swore as he dug through the first aid kit. He'd forgotten to get more rubbing alcohol after it ran out the last time he'd had to use it. "Crap. Sam, find me some whiskey. Check Dad's sock drawer. If you don't find any there, check under the bathroom sink way in the back."
Sam bolted off again in search of the alcohol.
Dean jumped to his feet and turned on the sink's faucet full blast to let the water heat. Some far away, non-panicking part of his brain was perversely grateful that his dad was such a paranoid ass regarding angels – otherwise, he might not have such a well stocked first aid kit. And Dad had come home often enough after drunken bar fights that Dean had some experience patching up minor injuries. He'd even had to stitch up a nasty cut over Dad's cheekbone one time last year.
Hang on. Dean frowned up at the sigils covering the walls of the trailer. He was so used to the angel warding, it was easy to forget it was there. But if Castiel had made it inside the house... Dean's mouth dropped open. He really wasn't an angel.
He shook himself back to the task at hand. When the water ran hot, he filled a mixing bowl and set it down beside Castiel's wing. He soaked a rag and packed it around the wound to start softening the crusty gunk at the edges. Sam returned with two mostly empty liquor bottles in hand.
"Sam, come around this side. I'm gonna need you to hold his wing while I clean out the wound. Right here, like this, okay?"
Dean removed the rag, returning it to the water. Opening one of the bottles, he splashed whiskey over the wound.
Castiel's wing convulsed, knocking Sam's hands away and spilling the water bowl. Castiel flailed, struggling to sit up in spite of Dean's hand on his shoulder.
"Whoa, whoa! It's okay, it's us! It's Dean. You're hurt, and we're trying to help you."
"Dean?" Castiel's eyes blinked and rolled, trying to focus on the face above him. He slowly relaxed back into the floor. "I made it? I'm very surprised." His words were heavily slurred.
"Yeah, man. Your wing is messed up, and we need to clean it. It's gonna hurt, but we gotta get the infection out, okay?"
Castiel nodded. The injured wing trembled against Dean's knee.
"Try to hold still, all right?" He turned to his brother. "Sam, get me more hot water, please."
Sam refilled the bowl, then ran from the kitchen, returning with a couple bath towels to mop up the spilled water. Dean worked at the wound, cleaning away the crust and scraping out the pus and gunk until all that was left was raw, red flesh. He splashed more whiskey over the cut to flush it out. Castiel hissed and flinched at the sting, tears streaming from the corners of his scrunched shut eyes.
"Sorry, Castiel. I know it hurts." Dean rinsed his hands with more whiskey, then doused the plier thing for holding the needle. He found the packet with the suture and needle and got it ready. "Castiel, look at me. I need to stitch this up. It's gonna hurt a lot, but try not to move."
Castiel's blue eyes were enormous in his pale face as he looked up at Dean. He nodded tightly.
When Dean pushed the needle through for the first stitch, Castiel's face paled even more. As Dean continued, Castiel pressed his lips together and breathed heavily through his nose, but other than a slight tremor, he managed not to move. Dean worked steadily, trying to finish as quickly as possible. It certainly wasn't pretty, but it should get the job done.
As he tied off the last knot, Dean breathed a huge sigh. His hands were shaking, and he felt a little woozy, but he got through it. He poured the last of the whiskey over the stitching and hoped that would be good enough.
"Hey, Sammy?" he rasped. "Can you check and see if Dad still has antibiotics stashed in his bug-out bag?"
After Sam took off again for Dad's room, Dean leaned down and asked, "You still with us, Castiel? You okay?"
Castiel peered up at Dean with fevered, glassy eyes. "I- I don't know."
Sam ran back in with a rattling bottle of pills. He passed them to Dean, who filled a glass of water, then knelt by Castiel again. "Let's get you up."
With a bit of help from Dean, Castiel was able to sit up and scoot around enough to lean back against the busted cabinets. Dean gave Castiel one of the pills and the water and told him to swallow it. Then he fussed over the wound a little more, daubing it with antibiotic ointment and wrapping it in gauze.
"Dean!" Sam's cry was shrill. "It's almost ten!"
"Oh, crap," Dean muttered. He sifted quickly through their options. "Castiel, we need to move you out to the tool shed. Can you stand?"
Castiel took Dean's and Sam's hands and allowed them to pull him to his feet where he swayed unsteadily. "Why?"
"My dad's coming home soon, and he kind of hates angels-" He held up a hand to cut Castiel's protest off before it began. "I know you're not, but all he'll see is a halo. You have to stay here with us for a while to heal, and the only place to keep you out of sight is the shed."
Castiel nodded, probably just too weak to argue. Dean helped support him as he took a few wavering steps, but before they even got out of the kitchen, Castiel's eyes rolled back and he dropped like a stone. The boys managed to keep him from hitting the floor too hard, but there was no way he'd get out to the shed under his own steam.
"Sam, go get all the extra blankets and pillows you can find and take them out there. Find a place where he'll be hidden. I'll bring him."
Castiel was nearly as tall as Dean, but with a slighter frame. Batting feathers out of his face, Dean managed to get Castiel slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, with his wingtips dragging the ground behind him. He staggered out to the tool shed to find Sam had made a great little nest back behind a bunch of the crap Dad had dumped out here.
With Sam's help, he lowered Castiel onto the makeshift sickbed, arranging his wings and covering him with more blankets to keep him as warm and comfortable as possible, considering.
"Hey, Sam, I need to go clean up the kitchen before Dad gets here. Will you stay with him in case he wakes up? Make sure he knows where he is and why he has to stay put?"
"'Course."
Dean grinned at his baby brother. "Thanks, Sammy. You did good in there. Maybe you should be a nurse when you grow up."
"Shut up," Sam grumbled, his face turning pink.
Glancing down at their unconscious patient, Dean said, "Dad can not find out about this. We'll talk later and figure out how we're going to handle it, okay?"
"I know – just go! Dad'll be back soon."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm going," Dean griped, turning to hustle back to the trailer to clean up.
When he got inside, the TV was still blaring, but it was the Beetlejuice cartoon now instead of Darkwing Duck. He shut it off, then surveyed the huge mess in the kitchen: gross pus-covered rags, wet towels, empty whiskey bottles, the entire contents of the first aid kit, and a scattering of black feathers stuck to the wet floor. He made a face and swore under his breath, then started cleaning it all up. He wasn't sure what he was going to do about the damaged cupboard doors, but maybe Dad would be too sauced to notice.
It seemed wrong to hope that Dad would be blind drunk when he got home, but that might actually be their best chance to keep Castiel safe.
For the record, male nurses are awesome. Dean's just a dumbass kid teasing his brother.