March 22, 1992
Hours dragged by in the dim light of the tool shed. Until now, Castiel had spent his time in the shed asleep, but now he was wide awake and fidgety. He prowled the interior, poking into boxes and digging through piles, partly out of boredom, but also out of curiosity. After he'd thoroughly explored the small space, he had nothing to distract him from his itchy wing or from fretting over his impending visit with Dean and Sam. Being cooped up was frustrating and stressful, but the prospect of "hanging out" was nerve-wracking.
As grateful as he was to the humans for their care and assistance after his injury, they were still humans, and he wasn't entirely comfortable around them. And it seemed the more Castiel shied away from them, the clingier Dean became. He could feel the boy's desire for companionship, but it only made Castiel nervous, not knowing what was expected of him. Sam was easier to be around. Possibly his smaller size made him feel like less of a threat, but his manner was less overwhelming as well. Even so, Castiel was anxious.
By the time the door finally opened some time late in the afternoon, the mounting stress had caused Castiel to pluck and shred several feathers. Dean saw the mess and frowned worriedly.
"Castiel? How are you doing?"
He shrugged his injured wing and twitched his alula feathers. "It itches."
"That's normal – means it's healing. Dad's gone. You wanna come in?"
Castiel stood while Dean gathered the bag of first aid supplies, then followed silently as Dean led the way back to the trailer house. As they crossed the threshold, Castiel could feel the odd sensation of the angel wards. They didn't hinder him at all, but he could feel them trying.
Sam sat at the kitchen table eating a bowl of something orange. He smiled at Castiel. "Hi. Want some mac and cheese?"
Castiel hovered just inside the door and shook his head in answer to Sam. He hoped "hanging out" didn't mean eating things.
"Nah, Sam, he doesn't eat. More mac for you, dude." Dean smirked at his brother, but Castiel noticed it was a bit lopsided.
Looking more closely, Castiel saw an odd discoloration on Dean's jaw and a small cut on his puffy lower lip. "Dean?"
"Huh? Oh..." Dean flushed when he realized what Castiel was looking at and shot a glance over at Sam. The blush spreading over his skin only highlighted the swelling in his face. "It's nothing."
Dragging a chair out from the table, Dean gestured for Castiel to sit. "Let's take a look at that wing," he said with forced cheeriness.
Instead of sitting, Castiel stepped close enough that he could reach out to lay a gentle hand on Dean's injured cheek. He pulled on the energies that simmered under his skin and sought out the damaged tissue. As naturally as breathing, he healed the bruising and the split lip. It was much easier than healing broken bones.
"Oh," Dean seemed surprised. As Castiel drew his hand back, Dean reached up to touch his face tentatively and prodded the inside of his lip with his tongue. "Um, thank you. I didn't even think of that."
"Castiel? How come you didn't heal yourself?" Sam asked curiously, his dinner momentarily forgotten.
Castiel frowned. "I tried. It didn't work. I don't know why."
There was a tense moment of silence after that where no one seemed to know what to say. Finally, Castiel sat at the very edge of the chair Dean had pulled out. He opened his wing and looked expectantly toward Dean who quickly went to work unwrapping the gauze. When the last of it came off, he nodded, apparently satisfied with what he saw under the bandages.
"Still looking good. Before we re-wrap it, though, you're going to take a shower," Dean announced.
Castiel tipped his head in question.
"Dude, you're filthy. You don't want your wing to get infected again. Come on," Dean turned and walked from the kitchen, down the narrow hallway that ran half the length of the trailer. Castiel trailed uncertainly behind him, tucking his wings tight to his back to keep from scraping them along the walls.
"In here." Dean ushered him into the bathroom. At Castiel's blank look, he asked, "Have you ever used a shower before?"
Castiel shook his head. He'd never had reason to be inside a human house before, but maybe Dean didn't realize that.
Dean showed him how to work the various knobs and nozzles and carefully explained about soap and shampoo and how to use them. He handed him a washcloth and a towel and told him what to do with those, as well.
"Hang on a sec." Dean disappeared down the hallway, returning a moment later with a pair of jeans. "Yours are pretty well wrecked. You can have these. I think they should fit okay."
Just as Dean was leaving, he turned back and said, "Oh, and I checked the first aid book-thing. It said you could shower with stitches after twenty-four hours, but try to keep them out of the water as much as you can, okay? We'll doctor you up when you're done."
Dean left and shut the door behind him. For a moment, Castiel stared at the closed door, half expecting Dean to reappear with something else to say. But the door stayed closed, so he turned toward the shower and eyed it warily. He turned on the water like Dean had shown him and adjusted it to a comfortable, cool temperature. Stripping off the torn remains of his pants, he stepped into the shower, letting the water rain down over him, stinging in his many cuts and scrapes. He ducked his head under the spray. It took a while for the water to penetrate the thick tangles down to his scalp, but it felt sort of nice when it did.
Soap and shampoo were strange – slick and bubbly and odd smelling, though not unpleasant. His scalp and skin ached as he scrubbed away layers of grime, and when he was done, he felt raw but fresh like new spring grass.
Dean hadn't specified what to do with his wings other than to keep his stitches out of the water. Since soap stripped away oil as well as dirt, he didn't want to use it on his feathers. His oil glands kept them healthy enough, so he just let the water run down over his wings. He ran his fingers through the feathers to straighten them and work out most of the pine needles and other debris.
Finally, Castiel turned the water off and dried himself with the towel. The urge to shake out his wings was strong, but he resisted, blotting them dry with the towel instead. Finally, he pulled on the worn jeans Dean had provided. They were slightly loose, but were comfortable enough, even on his now-sensitive skin.
He made his way back out to the living room where Sam was reading on the couch. The boy looked up at his arrival and his eyes widened.
"Whoa," he said, cocking his head to one side. "You look different!"
Dean wandered in from the kitchen with his own bowl of orange mac and cheese and grinned. "Feel better?"
Castiel nodded, even though he wasn't sure he felt better exactly. Different, certainly.
Sam laughed. "Man, Dean's gonna get on you about cutting your hair. He thinks mine's too long!"
"Why would I do that?" Castiel asked. Many humans and angels he'd seen over the years had short hair, but he'd never put any thought as to why.
"Don't, if you don't want to!" Sam said with a grin.
Dean gave a long-suffering sigh. "Sure, Sam. Encourage the guy to look like a hippie. It's cool."
Confused, Castiel looked back and forth between the two brothers uncertainly.
"Never mind, Cas." Dean turned to head back into the kitchen. "Come on, let's go bandage you."
The shortening of his name gave him pause, but Castiel didn't say anything about it. He followed Dean into the kitchen and sat on the same chair as before, opening his wing to allow it to be wrapped.
Dean went through the familiar process, dabbing the wound with medicine before carefully wrapping it in gauze. The application of the ointment made his wing twitch, the wound itched so badly, but Dean had said itching was good, so he ignored it. After Dean finished, he picked out another pine needle that Castiel had missed during his shower and smoothed out the damp feathers. It felt odd having someone else preen them. Not bad. Just odd.
"So, about your hair...can I talk you into cutting it?"
Castiel shook his head. He didn't see the point, and though he didn't distrust Dean, he didn't particularly want him hovering around his head with something sharp, either.
Dean sighed, much as he had toward Sam, while he absently plucked another leaf from Castiel's wing. "Fine. You should at least comb it out, though. It's pretty gnarly."
He seemed to take Castiel's non-committal shrug as a yes and left the kitchen, disappearing into the back of the trailer. Castiel wandered back into the living room where Sam was still reading on the couch. The boy flicked his eyes up from the book when Castiel sat down stiffly at the other end.
"Hey, are you doing okay?" Sam asked. "I bet this is kind of a lot for you to take in all at once, huh?"
Castiel looked at him sharply, unsettled at being so easily read by the human boy. He'd thought he had been keeping himself calm and collected, but perhaps not as successfully as he'd hoped. He nodded hesitantly.
Sam folded a page down and closed his book. "It's okay. We don't mind if you need some time to get used to us." With a snort, he added, "Dean gets a little intense sometimes."
A smile tried to break free on Castiel's face, and though he tried to contain it, Sam must have seen, because he grinned broadly.
Castiel turned to peer down the hallway, but saw no sign of Dean returning, so he turned back to Sam. "How was Dean injured?"
The smile instantly dropped from Sam's face, replaced by a guarded sadness. He shrugged. "Dad noticed the broken cupboards from your crash landing."
Castiel tried to work out why that would end up with Dean injured, but he couldn't see the connection.
Seeing his confusion, Sam added softly, "Dean said he'd done it. Dad hit him."
An unpleasant feeling welled up, making it hard to breathe. Castiel whispered, "But Dean didn't break them. I did."
"He couldn't exactly tell Dad that." Sam reached out and touched his arm. "It's okay, Castiel. It's not your fault."
But it was. Dean had been hurt because of him. Yes, Dean and Sam were humans, but he would never want to see either of them hurt. His stomach twisted into a tight knot.
Sam was still talking. "Just don't tell Dean I told you, okay? He'll be mad."
Castiel nodded vaguely, then turned toward the hallway as he heard Dean making his way back.
As he entered the living room, Dean held up a wide-toothed comb in triumph. "Found one!" When neither Sam nor Castiel responded, Dean asked, "What? What's going on?"
"Nothing!" Sam said quickly. "We were just talking. Hey, Castiel, can you read?"
Puzzled by the sudden change of subject, Castiel blinked, then nodded again. After so many years of watching humans, he'd absorbed the ability without really trying.
"I should get you some books to read while you're stuck out there in the shed – give you something to do." Sam hopped off the couch, dropping his own book and disappearing down the hallway at a trot.
Castiel stared at the empty hall for a moment before glancing up at Dean, who was frowning after Sam suspiciously. But then Dean grunted and turned to Castiel.
"Found a comb." He tossed it over. "You know what to do with that?"
At Castiel's hesitation, Dean dropped onto the couch and plucked the comb back out of his hands. He gestured with it toward Castiel's mass of hair. "I can show you. That okay?"
Castiel nodded, but still had to fight the urge to flinch away as Dean drew closer and separated one long clump of hair from the rest. Dean kept his movements slow and easy, and Castiel gradually relaxed.
"You're gonna have to be patient," Dean explained. "This'll take forever to untangle since it's practically dreadlocks."
Castiel watched Dean work, but was focused on his face rather than what his hands were doing. His lip was whole again, and his jaw unmarked, but how long had he borne the injuries inflicted upon him because of Castiel?
"Dean." His attempts to remain collected were beginning to fail, and his voice wavered.
Dean paused, his eyes flicking up to meet Castiel's. A small frown pulled his brows together. "Cas? What's wrong?"
Words jammed up in Castiel's throat until he could say nothing at all. He'd promised Sam he wouldn't say anything to Dean about it, but the guilt he felt at being responsible for Dean's injuries was choking him.
"I-" He couldn't force the words out, so he tried different ones. "It was an angel."
Dean's frown deepened. "What?"
Castiel couldn't meet Dean's gaze any longer. "An angel attacked me. That's how I was hurt."
"Oh," Dean replied. He seemed confused and as lost for words as Castiel.
"I just...thought I should tell you," Castiel finished.
Dean nodded thoughtfully. He looked back down to Castiel's hair in his hands and began methodically working the tangles free again. For a long time he was quiet, and Castiel simply watched him, his chest squeezing painfully.
"My, um- My lip." Dean waved the comb to indicate his face without raising his eyes. "Well, uh... My dad's an asshole."
He didn't elaborate beyond that, but Castiel could feel how difficult it was for him to say as much as he did and how raw and vulnerable it left him. He also knew how distressed Dean would be if he knew how clearly he broadcast his feelings to Castiel, a phenomenon that only seemed to be getting stronger the more time Castiel spent here.
"I'm sorry, Dean," he said, meaning it in every way.
Dean went still, staring intently at the comb in his hand. Castiel could feel the storm of emotion that churned up within the boy, but couldn't understand the reason behind it.
At last, Dean gave a shrug and a nervous laugh. "No big deal," he said. Leaning back, he shouted toward the back of the house, "Hey, Sam! Five minutes till Funniest Home Videos!" Turning back to Castiel, he said, "You'll like this show. It's mostly people caught on camera being stupid."
Dean offered Castiel the comb he still had clutched in his hand. "Here, it's all yours. Good luck with that hair. When you change your mind, I got scissors with your name on them."
Dean smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
Castiel took the comb silently and turned his attention to his matted lock of hair, determined to work the tangles out.