March 21, 1992
Castiel opened his eyes to find Sam sitting by his side watching him earnestly.
"You're awake," the young human observed.
Castiel blinked. He'd made it, then.
Injured and deliriously ill, he'd somehow managed to find his way to Dean and Sam. Taking stock of himself, he found that his wing had been bandaged. It hurt, but the hot feeling had gone away. The rest of his body was terribly sore and still covered in scratches and bruises, but he nevertheless felt somewhat better than before.
"What is this place?" he asked, noting the darkness and tight confines of the space.
"Tool shed," Sam replied. "We had to move you from the house so Dad wouldn't find you."
"Why?"
"Dad would flip out. He hates angels."
Castiel felt a rise of what should have been anger, but he was so tired, it mostly just felt like annoyance. "I'm not an angel."
Sam shrugged his narrow shoulders. "Yeah, well, he hates demons, too. Either way it's safer out here."
Pushing the blanket down, Castiel struggled to sit up. His arms were weak, and his wings felt heavy and clumsy, throwing his balance off. Sam watched him uncertainly for a moment before helping him up with a hand on his shoulder.
Once he was upright, Castiel leaned against the stack of tires beside him, puffing air like he'd just fought off another angel. He didn't like the unpleasant smell of the tires, but he appreciated that they supported his weight.
Sam was watching him thoughtfully. "The wards on the house didn't stop you coming in. You're really not an angel, are you?"
"No."
"Then what are you?"
Castiel plucked at the blanket over his knees with his fingertips and didn't answer.
Outside, the crunch of tires on gravel announced the arrival of a car. Sam hopped to his feet. "That's Dad. I gotta go. Stay here, okay? Dean'll come check on your stitches later, so don't leave."
Castiel wasn't sure what he meant by stitches, but he nodded his agreement.
Sam slipped away, weaving through the stacks of boxes and miscellaneous piles of junk. Castiel couldn't see the door from his makeshift nest, but when Sam went through, sunlight streamed in, briefly brightening the dim space and making him squint.
Once he was alone, he lowered himself carefully to his right side, arranging his wings the best he could in the small space, favoring the bandaged side. If he weren't so weak, he'd fly away from this near-captivity in an instant, but the humans had gone to a lot of effort to help him, and the nest of blankets and pillows was actually quite comfortable. Exhaustion dragged him down into sleep almost as soon as he closed his eyes.
"Castiel?"
Dean's voice drifted through Castiel's awareness. He pried his eyes open and lifted his head. Dean smiled tentatively from where he sat near his feet. It was much darker than when he'd talked with Sam earlier. If it weren't for the beam of the flashlight Dean directed toward the ground, it would be pitch black in the shed.
"Hey," Dean greeted him softly. "Dad's passed out for the night, so it's safe to come check on you. That's okay, right?"
Castiel nodded and pushed himself to a sitting position. It was easier than before, though he was still terribly sore and shaky.
Dean shuffled closer, then paused with his hand halfway to Castiel's wing. "I'm gonna take the gauze off to see how it looks."
Castiel stretched his wing toward Dean a little, giving silent permission for him to continue.
"Okay," Dean muttered to himself. "Okay." He gently unwrapped the bandages, flicking his eyes occasionally to Castiel's face, perhaps looking for a reaction.
When the wound was uncovered, Dean shined the flashlight on it. Castiel forgot about staying stoic and stared in surprise. The flesh around the injury looked much less angry, and the cut itself was closed up by the stitches that Sam must have been referring to earlier.
"You did this?" he asked.
Dean nodded as he examined the area. "Had to. It was too deep to leave alone." He sat back and rummaged through a paper bag beside him. "Looks pretty good. Infection's gone down a lot. If we keep it clean and you take the antibiotics, it should be all right."
He pulled more gauze and a few other items from the bag. Shaking a small pill from a bottle, Dean offered it to Castiel. "Swallow that," he said.
"What is it?" Castiel asked, though he let Dean drop the pill into his palm.
"Antibiotic. You don't remember taking one this morning?"
Castiel shook his head, and Dean frowned.
"Well, you did, and you'll need to keep taking them – one in the morning, one in the evening – until they're all gone."
Castiel swallowed the pill down, chasing it with a drink of water from a bottle Dean offered him. Then he watched in silence as Dean finished tending to the wound. He put medicine on it and wrapped it up again, carefully working the gauze around Castiel's feathers. When he finished, he plucked a few pine needles from the area around the injury.
"You know...you're kind of a mess." Dean looked at him sidelong as he put the rest of the gauze, the pills, and the water bottle back in the paper bag. He tucked the bag on a metal shelf behind him that was crowded with a jumble of metal parts, then turned back toward Castiel. "Maybe tomorrow once Dad's gone, we can see about getting you cleaned up."
Castiel just shrugged uneasily, not entirely sure how he felt about that, but Dean seemed to take it as an affirmative.
"Cool," he said. "Are you hungry? Do you eat?"
He shook his head.
"So, um. Can I ask...? What happened to you?"
Castiel looked away and pressed his lips into a tight line.
"Right. Never mind, then." Dean stood and turned to leave.
"Wait!" Castiel blurted out.
Dean hesitated. "Yeah?"
An anxious feeling tightened Castiel's stomach, but he had to ask. "Why would your father believe me to be an angel? Why did you?"
"Well... you healed me. It just seemed kind of obvious after that." Dean waved a hand toward Castiel's head. "And your halo's a pretty big clue."
Castiel felt the blood drain from his face. "What?"
It wasn't possible. Castiel's hand drifted up to touch the back of his head, but it felt the same as it always had since the day he'd been abducted and abandoned in this world. Dean must be confused or somehow mistaken. He had to be.
"Dude. You didn't know you have a halo?" Dean asked gently.
"No. No, that can't be right." Castiel pushed himself back, scrambling weakly away from Dean and his ridiculous assertions. "You're wrong!"
"Whoa, hey, it's okay-"
"I'm not an angel!" he shouted, clamping his hands in his hair and drawing his wings around himself as tightly as their limited mobility allowed.
"I know!" Dean held up his hands in a calming gesture. "I know – you crossed through Dad's angel warding today. That proves you aren't one."
Castiel froze, his hands shaking and his alula feathers spiking up in his distress. "I'm not an angel?" he asked, desperate for reassurance.
Dean shrugged. "I don't know what you are, Castiel, but you're not an angel."