Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/903833.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural
  Relationship:
      Castiel/Dean_Winchester, Castiel/Other(s)
  Character:
      Castiel, Dean_Winchester, Crowley_(Supernatural), John_Winchester, Sam
      Winchester
  Additional Tags:
      Angel_Castiel, Hunter_Castiel, Demon_Dean_Winchester, Alternate_Universe,
      Demon_Sam_Winchester, Demon_John_Winchester, Young_Dean_Winchester, Young
      Sam_Winchester, Discrimination, Racism, Slow_Build, Slow_Burn, I_don't
      think_I'm_gonna_kill_anyone_crucial_so_there's_that_too, Blood_and
      Violence, Alternate_Universe_-_Angels_&_Demons
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-29 Updated: 2015-05-25 Chapters: 14/? Words: 92178
****** The Darkness Belongs To Everyone ******
by PrettyOddChild
Summary
     Castiel is a reclusive hunter, keeping well away from those that
     could cause him harm. Angels are never safe - regardless of their
     habits - and although Castiel keeps his distance, working alone when
     he does, indeed, receive an assignment, he's almost as hunted as the
     creatures that cause the very nightmare he lives.
     Work is scarce.
     Wages are poor.
     The world is a wasteland.
Notes
     I don't know if this is something I'm going to continue or not - it's
     just a project for when I have writers block (because I really want
     to write hot, angsty sex scenes), but if it gets a decent response
     then it might be updated sooner rather than later.
***** Chapter 1 *****
It’s hard to decide what exactly it is that you want from life. You make a
decision, you change your mind. It's strange really: how something as simple as
a 'yes' or 'no', or even a 'good' or 'bad' opinion, can dramatically alter the
events to follow; because decisions aren’t always easy. You need to think –
evaluate each and every outcome to make sure that decision is the right
decision.
But then, what defines a decision as a right or wrong one? Is it morals? Wants?
Needs?
Or is it just out of pure spite?
Whenever Castiel was faced with a new decision – a new moment where there were
so many outcomes, so many potential futures he was eliminating – he considered
every last possibility, anxious as to whether it was indeed, the right choice
to make.
Like now. Faced with the sudden issue of whether or not the werewolf spawn
should be allowed to be spared or not.
The boy was young. By normal standards, considered too young to even survive
the turning process, yet here he was: shrunken in on himself in the far corner
of the room, having watched Castiel murder the beast responsible for such an
occurrence.
His entire family most likely dead.
The past few days had been rough – too many victims, so many threats. Castiel
didn’t like his job at the best of times, but he couldn’t let the freshly
formed pack tear the small town to shreds. He had a job, and he was being paid.
There shouldn’t have been any other motive or obligatory requirement to kill
these pitiful creatures.
But the boy would become just like any other creature Castiel had dealt with
over the previous thirty-seven hours; murderous and out of control.
Castiel had made his decision, and he was going to stand by it.
The bullet pierced the boy’s forehead, a spattering of blood scoring the
mildew-ridden walls of the basement, and the body sagged, dropping gracefully
to the floor. It was the most merciful death he could give the child, and he
almost felt pitiful, wondering what it would have been like if he’d permitted
to let the boy live.
Wrong.
It was wrong to think about what would have happened, whether it would have
been good or bad. Castiel had done his job. That was the right thing to do. He
didn’t need sympathies marring his judgment.
The boy had needed to die.
Castiel sheathed his pistol in his holster, casting one last glance about the
dank space.
It was so similar to the other homes in the vicinity: a scarce basement to
every house, almost like each family had thought they required a bunker-like
room for safety. They were right, in a sense. It was good protection, but only
if one understood how they could use such a bunker properly.
It wasn’t their fault; the families that had lived in this town had been
unaware of the attack. Most of them were, in the majority of cases, unless
they’d been warned prior, but even then it was difficult to make them listen.
Very difficult indeed.
They weren’t ignorant as such, but they refused to believe. After all, why
should they trust someone who looked just like them, someone they’d never met
in their life who was trying to convince them to leave their homes for a reason
they could not fully explain?
It was all simply a story to them – some tale of horror used to scare children.
None of it was real.
It was the sort of attitude everyone had. Everyone who wasn’t a hunter, or the
hunted, that is.
By the time they did believe, it was usually too late.
Castiel turned toward the staircase, kicking aside the leaking corpse of his
earlier victim, scowling at the bloody residue it left on his boot. The
werewolf rolled onto its side, traces of its mid-transformation still lingering
on the flesh; clumps of hair and thick patches of skin.
It's what he hated most about the hunts. Sometimes he wouldn’t have to see the
corpses for too long, but then there were days like today; where the issue had
been greater than anticipated, and the inhabitants of such a place had been
forced to adapt to a life that would eventually corrupt several others.
The murder of, in this case, semi-innocent beasts, was what kept him alive
though. He had to earn money somehow, and being an angel in a land of demons
wasn’t easy. It was hard to find work where people were actually accepting of
him; so used to angels being something along the lines of religion orientated
do-gooders (or so he’d been described in the past), and demons weren’t fond of
working with him either, for obvious reasons.
Actually, the reasons weren’t that obvious. Castiel didn’t use his powers for
his assignments, relying upon provided weaponry to take down the target so not
to steer all the attention from the other hunters, both humans and demons
alike. If he used his powers, people would prefer his service, resulting in a
lot of jobless hunters, and just as many enemies. He didn’t want that –
especially since they hated his kind enough as it was.
He strolled into the dim-lit corridor, stooping to collect his duffel from the
doorway as he began to ascend the stairs, taking them two at a time to get out
of the house quicker. The police were probably on their way, and although a
‘thank you’ would be nice every once in a while, Castiel doubted they’d be
grateful when they saw the damage: homes a wreck and slaughtered bodies all
over the streets. This was one of the most severe cases Castiel had seen as of
yet – the body count was tremendously high, and Castiel hadn’t found any
survivors. They’d been turned already, killed, or had presumably fled whilst
they had the chance.
Castiel could imagine what his superiors would say.
It’s just a small town. It won’t be missed.
Yes. Because friends and loved ones would not be missed. Cherished possessions
and memories wouldn’t be abandoned and left to become ruins.
A ghost town would form, and if Castiel had made a different decision before
partaking on this hunt, the majority of the population would have been saved.
He cursed upon thinking what he could have done to make things right. He
couldn’t turn back time, and that future was gone. Forever.
Castiel stomped through the remnants of the living room, tearing open the
shattered front door to escape outside. The sunlight made his eyes ache after
spending so long in the darkness of the basement, and he squinted down the
road, taking in the silence and the disturbing tranquility the absence of the
human population – absence of any population, for that matter – provided. It
reminded him of the days he’d spent seated in his home, at peace with himself
and the less intimidating wildlife around him. No jobs, no threats. Those days
were bliss.
These days were hell.
He started the walk down the empty street, dousing the porch of the home
housing those that'd been turned with gasoline found in a nearby shed to burn
the remaining evidence, ensuring all the werewolf corpses had been cleared from
the paving to dispose of in the fire. He had a long journey back to his pay-
stop, and then an even longer one home, and he was too exhausted to use his
wings. There were cars everywhere he looked, so he assumed he could simply kick
start one of the vehicles in order to travel back.
He chose some kind of Honda model, all smooth edges and silver in colour:
average. It didn’t take too long to kick start – even more so once he realized
the keys were still in the ignition.
Driving wasn’t really his area of expertise, but it was easier than walking,
and although he was slow in terms of the pace he set, he was being safe. He
needed to be.
The roads surrounding his route back were virtually barren, scarce patches of
dirt that gradually developed into grasslands and forests, a calm and serene
travel. But there were few – if any – cars headed in the direction in which he
came, although they weren’t necessarily heading toward that town in particular.
Even if they were, it would only alert the police should they still remain
unaware. Everything would be aired directly back to base before he even
arrived, ensuring him of his pay.
Sometimes Crowley was doubtful of his work, but Castiel never failed. He didn’t
want to ruin his reputation by screwing up a job so simple, but every last
werewolf had been taken care of. He hadn’t detected any other form of dangerous
civilization in the vicinity once he had decidedly finished, so he had
assuredly completed the task to his full potential.
If a werewolf had gotten away, he would have tracked it relatively easily, but
they had all kept themselves situated in the town, mauling the humans who were
too unfortunate to escape in time.
Castiel had tried to protect everyone as best he could, but it was hard to work
alone, albeit more to his preference. Teamwork – the cooperating well with
others – was something his personality was not best suited for. Of course, he’d
enjoy the company, but he didn’t know how well he would fare with the company
of someone else in terms of communication and battle strategies.
Crowley had offered him partners in the past, but the companions offered seemed
just as reluctant to work with him after actually meeting him for the first
time … or after hearing he was an angel.
That always seemed to kill off any potential friendships.
Angels were very few and far, scattered across the earth in their ever
decreasing numbers. He knew that in Africa, they were purposely hunted for
their blood: the ultimate cure to any illness, or so the myth goes.
Castiel could heal himself, and he could heal others if he so wished, but he
didn’t understand why his kin were murdered when they could have simply aided
those in need. Blood congealed; blood went out of date, believe it or not, and
it was cruel, more importantly, to kill a creature that did nothing but want to
help.
Obviously, Castiel hunted, but the creatures he killed had been murdering
mindlessly, not for some fallacy. They were out of control - a danger to the
population - and angels were not. Angels did not harm humans, so in return,
they should be treated just as well as demons were.
And of course, Castiel needed the money. The hunts provided him with wealth,
and without them, he would starve. It was difficult enough not having what
others would consider a real home, but to have no wealth at all would be even
worse. He had tried to live off of the land, but he was either threatened for
stealing crops, or he simply couldn’t find any edible resources around the area
in which he lived.
He didn’t want to move. He had everything he needed right where he’d situated
himself, and it would be a bother to transport it all elsewhere. And besides,
he liked its secluded location. He didn’t receive company, and he didn’t desire
it. It was a perfect area for him to house himself.
He’d considered taking in a pet as some form of company in the past, given his
isolation, but he lacked the desire to maintain its upkeep. Not only would it
be difficult to train a creature not to abandon the cave in which he called
home, but he also knew it would be far happier out in the wilderness. He
couldn’t force it to like him, and he would only being taking it from its
natural environment. It was cruel, and he didn’t want to ruin someone else’s
life for his own selfishness.
He turned left onto the highway, pushing down a little harder on the
accelerator when he noticed the car pull in behind him. He would have much
preferred to fly back – it was a far faster method of travel after all, but he
still didn’t feel strong enough. There was a wound on his back – several deep
scratches from where one of the beasts had toyed with him whilst he was down,
ripping into his muscle with a gleeful expression on its face and a
disgustingly animalistic mannerism in which it went about doing so, reminding
him that the creature wasn’t human – that it was most certainly gone beyond the
point of no return.
Of course it had hurt. Of course he had killed the werewolf as fast as he
could. But it was making him weak and it would be a few days before he would
regain his usual power – and even though it could be fatal, he couldn’t afford
to turn down a job offer if one came his way anytime soon.
His Grace had staunched the bleeding, but it hadn’t dulled the pain, and every
so often, Castiel would feel it throb, a trickle of blood seeping from the
wound and making the remains of his shirt stick to his skin, the scent of blood
burning his nostrils as he tried to divert his thoughts.
He thought about how well he would be paid for a job like this – how much the
money would be worth it, and how he could buy more thread to fix his clothing,
more food to fill the make-shift pantry. Although this assignment had been
severe in terms of rank, he would be able to keep a little money hidden away
for when jobs were scarce. Things would work out perfectly.
He let his mind wander for the three-hour drive that followed, surprised that
the vehicle he was steering had a significant amount of fuel – enough to do the
journey two times over - but obviously, he still required gas for the drive as
close to his home as he could reach on the road, so he took the shortest routes
possible, conserving the energy so he wouldn’t have to walk as far later.
He pulled up outside the crumbling shack along the dirt road he’d been driving
down for around half an hour. He left the keys in the ignition, knowing full
well that there was no one around to steal it; no one around to puncture the
tires or smash the windows. It was rare for someone to visit Crowley directly,
but Castiel was an exception, having no bank account or home address in order
to receive his pay.
Well, he had an address of a fashion, but he didn’t want the other hunters
finding out where he lived. He didn’t want to become the next target,
vulnerable should he do something wrong.
No. He was quite content in collecting his pay from his employer by hand.
The inside of the shack was as dusty as it always was, paintings hanging
crookedly on the walls with cobwebs almost pinning them in place, drawn over
the frames like delicate pieces of string, keeping the position of each
hideously painted image held at a jaunted angle.
This wasn’t Crowley’s official house of business, but that wasn’t somewhere he
really wanted to visit either. The older hunters gathered there – the ones that
used to hunt his kin before it was banned by those in higher power. Castiel
wasn’t scared of them as such, but he didn’t feel comfortable surrounded by
those with the desire to drain him of his blood like a nest of vampires. Not
when the stares he received were that of pure hatred and distrust.
The shack was far more welcoming in comparison, and far less dangerous.
He wandered over to the centre of the room where his pay was situated, the tiny
paper bag of his wages waiting on the rotting floorboards with a slip of paper
tied to its seal.
It was unusual for the money to simply be there without Crowley to hand it to
him, but that was most likely what the note was there for – to tell him that he
had other business to attend to, or something of that nature.
Castiel bent down, picking up the light delivery and rolling the bag over his
palm, taking the slip of paper between his thumb and index finger to read the
other side. Crowley’s scrawl was rather hard to decipher – especially since
Castiel had never really had the education that provided him with the knowledge
of how to read adequately. Long words were the most difficult to decode, and
when they were written in the same unattractive cursive that Crowley used, it
was even more complicated.
Well done for … something, something. Most likely for the job, followed by some
snarky comment like he made when they met face to face.
He wished he could read to the extent that he could understand simple orders
such as this – more so he could appear more literate. The hunters he’d
encountered in the past often mocked him for his inability to read fluently. It
wasn’t his fault, and maybe if they weren’t so ignorant, they would find better
things to do with their time than irate him with their nescient comments.
Anyway, the lower half of the letter was fairly complicated. Something about a
meeting.
Castiel had never been set a task that was solely down to an interview – or so
Crowley had written it. He didn’t know if it would be like some kind of
interrogation, or to see if he was adequate for some kind of prescribed task,
but wasn't as if he actually cared. He might not have been considered the most
friendly or sociable hunter around, but if it meant higher pay for simply
communicating, then he was absolutely fine with that.
Castiel crumpled up the piece of paper, stuffing it into his pocket as he rose
to his feet, leaving the shack in the same manner he had entered. He winced
when he got outside, the gash in his side, throbbing as he made his way over to
the car. He hated having to focus so much of his Grace on a wound, especially
since his power had drained so much already.
Castiel hadn’t been eating properly over the last few days – a lack of jobs
being the cause, resulting in next to no pay coming in. He’d pretty much had to
starve himself, eating the very bare minimum to keep his resources high, but at
the same time, he’d been wasting his energy on reshaping his cavern, using his
Grace to dig out a new chamber, seeing as the last one had crumbled into a mess
when the earthquake had hit several weeks ago. It wasn’t that big a deal – he
was simply grateful the spring hadn’t been harmed, and obviously, that his
belongings hadn’t been crushed in the process. All of his weaponry was left in
perfect condition, but his makeshift bed had been buried in rubble. He’d had to
sleep on the little clothing he’d possessed until he’d crafted a new mattress
out of the foliage that grew around his home.
He liked making things for himself but it was often incredibly time consuming,
and often a waste of time completely unless it benefitted him in terms of
nourishment.
When he was at his strongest, he could manipulate the nature around him – but
that was only once he’d eaten properly and had a decent night’s sleep;
something that was very hard to come by these days. There were good days and
bad days, but neither aided his sleep pattern. If he was lucky, he would get
five hours of sleep a night at the most.
It wasn’t ideal, but he didn’t lose as much strength as he would if he didn’t
sleep at all.
Castiel clambered into the car, mindful of his back as he rested against the
seat again, taking a few deep breaths before turning the keys.
It seemed to take longer: the journey to the all too familiar forest, and when
he finally arrived, he continued on down the road to abandon the vehicle some
distance away. He didn’t want anyone tracking him back to his home; he didn’t
want to be hunted himself, and the prospect of someone bleeding him dry had his
hair standing on end.
He was stronger than humans – even stronger than demons – but certainly whilst
he was at this level of strength, he would not be able to put up much of a
fight. Even more so if he was asleep when the capture took place.
It was rare to see anyone about his area of forest as it was, and he’d be able
to sense if someone was near, but only whilst he was conscious. His senses
dulled considerably whilst he was asleep, which was most unfortunate. He
definitely needed to eat more if he wanted to improve that, but it would only
be temporary, so there wasn’t much point. He knew he wouldn’t ever have a
consistent flow of wealth, so saving his money for when he needed it most was
always the more sensible option.
He got out of the car after briefly searching the dashboard and side doors for
wallets and the like. It wasn’t something he’d usually do, but he’d taken the
car now and he had no intention of ever giving it back. The owners of such
transport were most likely dead anyway. That or they’d also never want to
return to the town again, scarred by the sudden massacre of their neighbours
and friends.
That seemed to happen a lot.
Castiel headed over to the edge of the forest to begin his trek through the
undergrowth, ducking beneath the low hanging branches and sliding over fallen
trees. It was laborious and far more tiring than he’d anticipated, but he
pressed on, stopping by the stream to rinse his back.
The wound stung, and the water turned a cloudy shade of red, but Castiel didn’t
want it getting infected. He was susceptible to illness and disease just like
any other creature – unlike the myths that other hunters spread of them – but
those were usually very easy to cure himself of. Once again, it all came down
to his diet and energy.
He followed the stream, keeping on the dirt bank rather than wading through the
water itself, even if it would be beneficial to his wound. He could wash it
properly once he arrived home – and he could care for it at that point in time.
Sometimes he scavenged medical kits and various other pieces of equipment from
the sites he visited, usually from household bathrooms, but on the odd occasion
he had found some in certain cars. They were just as important as food
sometimes, but he didn’t really like to steal, so it was rare to do so. Most
kits he purchased from the nearest store to this part of the state, so if he
ever ran low on supplies, they were never too far away.
He stumbled a little as he neared the first clearing, not used to having to
tread over the raised roots of trees, and the plant littered floor. It made his
back ache even more when he tripped, resulting in him removing his shirt
altogether, stuffing it into his duffel before slinging the bag back over his
shoulder.
Considering the time of the day, it was still incredibly warm; the heat of the
sun burning down on his bare skin even whilst he kept to the shade. That was
one of the few disadvantages to living in this particular area of land: the
weather was often drastic. Snow storms in the winter, water shortages in the
summer, and just a general lack of natural foods anywhere throughout the entire
year.
The water shortage wasn’t too bad seeing as the spring behind Castiel’s cove
never dried up or became dirtied by the dry soil scratched from the ground. It
was shielded and constant, until the frost hit. That was the only time it
became a difficulty.
But the surrounding streams dried up or disappeared during the summer, and
sometimes they didn’t return the following year. They were like the roads in
which Castiel could follow when he was lost – or rather, when getting lost had
once been a concern. He had memorized each and every inch of the forest, so
losing his way was no longer a problem, but following the streams was always
the simplest method to get where he needed to go. Especially in instances like
this, where his Grace was weak and the weather was taking its toll on his
exhaustion.
He trailed down to the left, pushing his way through the willow as he
approached the second clearing: the one nearest the rock face. There was a
third clearing just a short way down to the right where Castiel usually set his
traps. Catching animals was another way to keep himself alive, and they
provided much more nutrition than a simple can of baked beans and some bread,
but it wasn’t often that he caught them. A lot of preparation was needed to
actually make the animals into food, even if it was useful to smoke and salt
certain meats for preservation. He usually did the hunting in the first few
weeks of autumn in order to stock up for winter, in addition to buying as much
fruit and vegetables as he could with his pay. Jams were simple enough to make,
and they provided him with a small amount of energy in addition to their sweet
tastes, and he usually made soups and broths out of the vegetables, freezing
them with his Grace to preserve them in the cavern walls. It was fairly easy to
heat them up in the winter months, and again, it was far healthier than tinned
and ready-made products.
But it was far more expensive, and it was very rare for Castiel to have enough
to last him through the season when his pay could buy so very little. It was
frustrating, and what made it worse was the fact that he could do absolutely
nothing to change his lifestyle. Without education – without the ability to do
something as simple as to read – he was useless. The humans did not know of his
angelic nature – they could not see his wings like the other beasts could – so
they could not be forgiving or understanding. They would simply tell him to get
lost, like the many positions Castiel had interviewed for in the past. Real
jobs. Jobs where he wasn’t required to murder some poor creature who had no
consciousness of ever harming someone out of amusement or instinct.
Too many times Castiel had tried to save up for an education, but his survival
was far more important. He just couldn’t afford to let his health deteriorate
in the hope of achieving better employment. He needed to be realistic.
He had a job, and right now, it was the only thing keeping him alive.
The trail was far muddier today, given the summer storm that had threatened to
hit days ago. Castiel was glad he’d been out on a job when it had occurred. He
always found it harder to sleep when the weather raged so violently, and it
usually meant his focus was off for the next job in the future.
He’d been awake for forty-nine hours straight as it was, so it was definitely a
relief that he could sleep without fear of being woken too early. He planned to
sleep until at least six in the morning if his body allowed him to rest that
long, given that the note had specifically stated seven as the meeting time –
that much he could understand. And obviously, he knew of the address. Maps
weren’t difficult to read, and he’d visited the area before in the past, so
finding this isolated cabin wouldn’t be too hard.
At least, he hoped it wouldn’t be too hard. It wouldn’t be anything like his
own home, so spotting it from the treetops shouldn’t be anywhere near as
complicated.
Castiel strode up to the nearby rock, laying a palm on the smooth surface and
dragging it along as he wandered down the easily missed dirt path. It was cold
to the touch – refreshing, almost – and it was nice. It was home.
He rounded the corner, starting up the steady slope that he had molded himself,
having flattened out the jagged edges so that he could even walk along it bare-
foot. He was oddly proud of all the work he’d put into making something as
obscure as a rock into his home, knowing that if someone did come looking for
him, this wasn’t the most obvious place in the world. Some hunters were still
ignorant enough to believe that angels lived in the trees, or even that some of
them returned to Heaven to make their home. It was this kind of unaware
insolence that annoyed Castiel more than anything else. His kind had been run
from their initial homes in the forested lands – and yes, at some point or
another, they may have lived in the treetops, but they didn’t sleep on the
branches like everyone seemed to assume. They had built homes just like any
other creature – houses like the humans, in more of a tree house fashion, but
they were homes none the less – and they had been content.
As for the Heavenly aspect, it was hard to return to a home when the entire
connection to such a place had been severed.
That was the work of the demons, corrupting the dimension angels had once
thrived in for pure entertainment, casting them down and claiming the serene
world as their own.
Or so Castiel understood it.
He had never been to Heaven, born unto earth like many others. The story of how
they'd been forced from their original home had been passed down through each
generation, reminding them of why the demons were cruel; why demons shouldn’t
be trusted again.
Maybe it was slightly harsh of him to despise demons so very much for the
lifestyle he was forced to endure now, but they really were the reason why he’d
lived without education; why he’d lived alone and been made to construct a home
from his environment.
All of this was because of the history between their kinds.
It was best not to think about it. He didn’t really commune with demons, and in
return they didn’t bother him. Not unless Crowley had thought it amusing to
situate both of their hunts in the same location.
Castiel wasn’t very fond of hiding out until they’d grown tired of chasing him
with torches alight with holy fire.
Of course, Crowley was himself a demon, so Castiel couldn’t really bad-mouth
their species in front of him – in front of anyone, for that matter. Crowley
ran the largest hunting business in America, so whoever Castiel chose to talk
to, the information would reach his boss eventually.
But that provided him with an excuse not to talk to any other hunters, and it
made things far easier job-wise.
He preferred to keep to himself anyway, and here, in his cave; he couldn’t be
hurt or laughed at by anyone. It was safe.
He wandered into the dark space of what he called his front room, tapping his
finger on the rock wall to make the fungus glow, casting blue light over the
near-empty space. It was minimalistic, but it was efficient; all of his
furniture was based off of that he’d seen in an old magazine, manipulating
nature in order to build himself a couch and a bed – even a few cabinets,
carved into the wall with his Grace to keep his food cool and preserved.
He threw his duffel to the ground before grabbing some bandages and soap from
the shelf that hung beside the opening of his home, holding them in the crook
of his arm whilst he took the ragged towel in his other.
It had been days since he last bathed, and it was all he could think about:
cleansing himself, dressing his wound, and hopefully getting a decent night’s
sleep. That would be the ideal way to end yet another hellish day.
He stripped off his remaining clothing and dug out his shirt from his duffel
before heading back outside. The spring would most likely be warm without
Castiel having to heat it up with his Grace, so that was one less thing he had
to waste his energy on, pleased that he could relax with little effort today.
The air remained humid, sticking to the sweat on his skin and making it that
more difficult to breathe.
Sometimes the heat could be overbearing, and surprisingly, this wasn’t even the
summer weather at its worst. Although Castiel could alter the temperature of
naturalistic material around him, when it came to cooling himself down, it took
a lot more effort, and his power didn’t ever work on his clothing, for some
bizarre reason.
But he could freeze the sweat on his skin, as disgusting as it was to think
about, and that usually helped the issue – and as for winter, he simply applied
more clothing. It wasn’t difficult at all.
Aside from the fact that he had very little clothing as it was to dress himself
in, but he coped.
There was a lot he had adapted to over the years.
A few birds darted by as Castiel made his way down the concealed trail, hidden
in the foliage like a reclusive spot.
Well, it was reclusive in a way – in a very big way. Castiel had lived in the
same location for almost ten years, and not once had he seen a human in this
area, nor had he encountered any creature that resembled those he had to hunt.
It was quite simply a haven where he could not be harmed. A safe place that
belonged to him alone.
And it always would.
                                       *
Castiel wound the bandages tightly around his torso after drying the wound as
best he could, wincing a little as the material shifted with every slight
movement until he got used to the discomfort, putting away his remaining
medical equipment as he readied to settle down for the night. He focused as
much of his remaining energy as he could on the wound to make it heal faster,
numbing the pain somewhat, but not really healing the flesh. Already there was
a faint splotch of blood staining the stark white of the bandages when he
craned his neck to take a look.
He chose to ignore it, knowing that it would seal shut in his sleep, given that
his energy would be focused on the injury for the entirety of his dreams. It
might make him marginally weaker the following morning, but at least he would
be safe from infection and further hurt.
He lay down on his bed roll, drawing the tattered and patchy comforter up to
his chin as he vanquished the light of the fungus with a tap to the wall beside
him. The darkness swallowed him whole, and even the visible light from the moon
did nothing to enhance his vision, but he relaxed nonetheless, closing his eyes
and allowing his thoughts to take over for him.
He didn’t remember falling asleep – he never remembered falling asleep – but he
remembered the dream. Always the same dream. Never different.
It had been that way for four years now.
The familiar plea for help echoed in his skull: a young boy with bright eyes
crying out desperately for someone to hear him – for someone to savehim.
Castiel never did anything.
It wasn’t as if he knew who the child was; not a name nor address, simply a
blotchy appearance and a voice overcome with despondency to go by. It wasn’t
enough.
But it was just a dream. It shouldn’t have concerned him. He didn’t need to
save anyone.
There were differences between dreams and reality. Significant differences.
Of course, the nightmares were often real. He lived the nightmares, and never
encountered the idyllic paradises many were said to dream about. He couldn't
remember the last time he’d had the stereotypical dream – if he ever had, in
fact, dreamt such a thing in the first place – and he wasn’t sure whether the
child in his dreams classed as a nightmare or not, but it continued to haunt
him.
The same voice. The same message. The prayer for help.
Please!
It wasn’t like that of the war ground – the nightmares he lived. There were no
screams of pain, or stacked bodies of his kin.
I need your help. I can’t leave, I can’t get away.
There was no blood. Just a virtually faceless child with bright green eyes;
speaking the same message, never growing older.
Please help me.
Please.
                                       *
Castiel started his day by debating whether to take his duffel with him or not.
He wouldn’t actually need his weapons, but he didn’t know the hunters he was
dealing with and it most certainly wouldn’t be a bad idea to take some kind of
weapon with him. He opted for a .45 and a small blade to tuck into his boot –
nothing a regular hunter would be seen without.
And obviously, he still had the power of his Grace, no matter how weak it was.
It would help a little, and although he would require his strength to fly home
afterwards, his safety was far more important than using the quickest method to
return home.
He still didn’t want to tire himself out as much as he had done the day prior.
He’d slept well – so well, in fact, that he’d woken up late, sleeping through
his alarm.
Castiel decidedly skipped breakfast, what with not wanting to actually arrive
late. From what he understood, meetings such as this rarely lasted long at all,
and it meant he could pick up supplies on his way back. He hadn’t purchased
anything other than canned products in quite some time, so some fruit would be
a nice change, no matter how much the prices had gone up. He needed something
that actually held nutrition every now and again; otherwise he would be way
more susceptible to illness than he already was.
The journey to the cabin was fairly tolerable, if it wasn’t for the sharp ache
in his back from losing focus. He knew he should have redressed the wound
before setting out, but he would have plenty of time to do that later. A job
would always be considered more important. Especially one that held chances of
a higher pay.
The cabin itself was much more finely kept than that of Crowley’s shack. The
outer walls were built up of sturdy logs, thick and dark in wood. It was the
sort of place Castiel wished he could build himself, but that would require
hours he did not have, and strength he could not acquire without a considerable
amount of food. A cave was much more suited to his needs anyway. It didn’t
stand out as much as a house, and it also had the capacity to house all his
belongings. It was ideal for him.
He rapped on the front door, taking another glance around the secluded area.
The trees curved over the even darker roof, and through the far clearing he
could see a lake, the water bright and contrasting between the golden foliage.
It was nice around here; a quiet spot that clearly wasn’t visited very often at
all – more like a holiday home than anything else.
Admittedly, it made Castiel rather jealous. He couldn’t remember the last time
he’d had time free of work, unless the days he was rendered jobless could be
considered anything like a vacation.
The sound of the door being unbolted had him turning his attention back to it
immediately, forcing a pleasant smile onto his face when he spotted the boy
lurking in the doorway. Well, he wasn’t a boy as such, but he looked young. He
couldn’t have been any older than seventeen.
“Hello,” Castiel greeted him, ducking his head a little in an attempt to see
further into the cabin. It was surprisingly dark, and all Castiel could see
were shadows, outlining the very few pieces of furniture that decorated the
single room he could see.
The boy kept quiet, opening the door further and stepping to the side as if to
welcome Castiel in. His silence was slightly unnerving, but Castiel wasn’t one
to judge. For all he knew, the boy could be a mute, and if he were to pass
comment, that could cause an assortment of problems that he would rather not
face. He intended to keep this meeting civil and as friendly as he could make
it.
He would make a good impression.
Castiel nodded his thanks as he stepped inside, casting his eye above the beams
above him before turning his attention to the bordered up windows, shrouded in
gloom. “So are you the one I’m dealing with, or is there –“
A match hit the floor, and suddenly Castiel was surrounded by flames, a circle
of heat that formed a barrier destined to be impossible to cross.
He was trapped.
He had fallen into a damn trap.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     “What the hell?!”
     Castiel took off running, throwing a glance back over his shoulder as
     the demon rose from his seated position on the ground, dodging
     through the thicket as he tried to find a clearing – somewhere safe
     that he could take off for flight.
Chapter Notes
     good news: i wrote a new chapter!
     bad news: it sucks
     I just wanna speed on through their relationship but I can't! I like
     long-developing relationships too much ...
He cast a glare over at the boy who was closing the door, half of his face now
concealed in complete darkness as the fire became the only source of light in
the room, and then Castiel saw the shadow pooling at his feet: the long, wisps
of fog that barely stood out from their surroundings, writhing out across the
floorboards.
Demon.
Castiel reached for his hilt slowly whilst the boy’s back was facing him, the
demon walking over to a table a short distance away. Castiel drew his gun from
the holder, snapping the safety off as quietly as he could before he took aim.
He didn’t care if it would ruin his chances of a job – if this really had been
about some form of work, he wouldn’t have been caught in a ring of holy fire
like some sort of prisoner, and they would probably be halfway through some
sort of negotiation.
The boy cried out as the bullet tore through its shoulder, throwing a glare at
Castiel before the weapon was ripped from his hold by one of the dark tendrils,
flying into the demon’s hand where it was rid of its ammo and tossed to the
side in a matter of seconds. Useless.
But he’d injured his captor, so it wasn’t in vain. Maybe it wasn’t a severe
wound, but Castiel hadn’t expected the boy to begin pacing in the other
direction.
In a way, he was somewhat relieved. The demon would become his only chance of
escape if he couldn’t find some other method to go about it, and he knew his
Grace would prove to be ineffective against the flames so there was no point
wasting energy on something that would be so very fruitless.
He looked around his surroundings desperately – for anything he could use to
eliminate the flames. He could coax one of the beams down – have it break a
pathway for a few seconds so he could get past.
That was probably the most sensible option, seeing as he could do so
undetected.
The demon was clutching at the fresh wound, staring at him from across the
room, still keeping quiet. Castiel chose to ignore him completely, not really
deeming him that much of a threat. The boy had had a chance to hurt Castiel in
return and he had chosen not to. It was a weak creature, and for that, Castiel
was incredibly grateful. It would be easier to escape with someone so pathetic
watching over him.
Unless, of course, it was receiving orders from someone else. If this was about
his blood – if whoever it was, was intending to drain Castiel, regardless of
whether the act was illegal or not – then Castiel understood the reluctance to
hurt him.
Couldn’t afford to waste any of the goods now, could he?
But Castiel didn’t know if that was what this was even about. It was the most
likely option, although there was a possibility it was some other reason for
the capture that he was oblivious to.
He didn’t particularly want to ask, knowing that there was a chance the demon
would be resilient to answer. Most demons were discriminative, and rarely took
in anything Castiel said on the few occasions he communicated with their kind;
save for Crowley who seemed to treat him as something of an equal to the other
hunters, in spite of his own demonic heritage.
But asking about such a thing was the wiser idea. He could have quite simply
hurt an innocent.
Although, if the child was in fact innocent, he probably would have told
Castiel of his intentions already. It was beginning to scare him: the prospect
of being murdered in the name of something illegal, no matter what the cause.
Castiel didn’t deserve to die – he was good at what he did, and he always did
his job to the best of his ability, so why …
Castiel looked down to his shoes, clenching his empty palms until his nails bit
into the skin, knowing full well what was going on here.
Crowley had set him up.
In all honesty, Castiel had known something of the sort was bound to happen at
some point throughout his career, but out of all his employers, he’d trusted
Crowley most of all. Crowley had paid better, and never forced him to pair with
anyone to get the job fulfilled.
And now he was stabbing Castiel in the back after feigning a bond similar to
that of respect between them.
“Why are you holding me captive?” Castiel asked quietly, unable to hold the
tremble from his voice. It wasn’t just fright tainting his words, but anger.
How could he have been so stupid as to trust a demon for work in the first
place? Every other employer he’d had prior had been human, yet that desperation
for higher pay without putting any other hunter out of work had marred his
ability to make decisions. He was an utter fool for believing that any demon
could be as generous as Crowley was.
It was embarrassing.
He looked up to meet the boy’s stare when he heard the sniggering. It wasn’t a
particularly cruel sound, but to Castiel, it was almost mocking. Egregious.
Typical demonic attitude.
“Shoot first, ask questions later, right?” The demon grinned, flashing his
teeth. Castiel already knew from harming him that the demon wasn’t a mute, but
he hadn’t expected his voice to be so low for someone who appeared so young.
He narrowed his eyes, watching the smile slip a little on his captor’s face,
his features diminishing in what could have been the subtle gentleness that had
been there momentarily.
Castiel had never followed that rule – if a creature needed to be eliminated,
it was. Questions would slow down the process, especially when he could simply
detect any other hunted constituent with ease.
“That wasn’t an answer,” Castiel stated with a little more confidence,
reminding himself that he was talking to a childand not his former employer. He
began to tease the nails from the targeted beam above him, prising them free
from their tightly secured spots as he waited for a reply. He could sense that
it would not cause any kind of cave-in of the roof – this beam was for
stability like all of the others, and one would not be missed.
Just like he wouldn’t be missed if the demon killed him.
The boy in favour walked around the ring of holy fire, rubbing at his brow –
almost like he was stressed. The action had Castiel on edge, unsettled by the
demon’s mannerisms.
But then again, Castiel had just shot him. That wasn’t exactly a relaxing
experience, no matter how well his captor seemed to be coping with it.
The demon wet his lips, looking off to a bordered window, shrugging. “I dunno.”
Castiel frowned, his burst of annoyance causing the beam to make a slight
creaking noise as a surge of Grace was forced toward it. “You don’t know?!
You’re holding me here against my will yet you don’t know why?”
His captor shrugged again. “I was just told you were gonna help.”
“Yes, well I would have helped if you’d chosen not to hold me here like a
prison –”
“Don’t even try that crap on me," the demon interrupted, shooting him with some
kind of exasperated look. “I’m not an idiot, okay? You’re an angel. If you were
outside that ring, I’d have been dead minutes ago."
“Unlike your kind, angels don’t kill for pleasure,” Castiel retorted, locking
eyes with the boy as he stepped closer to the edge of the fire. The flames were
hot, warning him to keep his distance, but the demon looked at him
threateningly – eyes filled with distrust. “Capturing me for your own
selfishness is the reason why I would kill you.”
The moment that followed was met with silence, nothing but the crackle of the
holy fire echoing about the room, and Castiel averted his eyes, resisting the
urge to disparage the demon any more. He actually expected it to question his
words, so the quiet of the room was surprising.
Castiel tried not to focus on the boy – he didn’t particularly want to talk to
him if he wouldn’t find out anything on his capture. Instead he focussed fully
on the beam above, finding the strongest points to weaken, all the while
tampering with the nails that held the timber in place.
He flinched a little when the shrill sound rung through the air – a cell phone
lighting up on the table just a few steps away from where he stood – and the
demon walked over, answering it abruptly.
“Hey.”
It was a casual greeting – clearly someone who was close to him – if not met
with a rather thwarted tone. That was slightly contradictory: a person they
cared about, but didn’t want to talk to. It was actually rather amusing to
think about.
“No, sir. Everything’s fine.”
Being shot in the shoulder must be a regular occurrence if the boy considered
it to be ‘fine’. Castiel snorted with amusement, noting the obvious discomfort
the demon experienced whilst speaking to whoever it was on the phone. Their
boss, most likely, although it was confusing to think that the demon would
great his boss so nonchalantly to begin with. Castiel wouldn’t have ever
addressed Crowley through such a method. It would seem rude, and would quite
possibly put him out of work.
The demon threw him a dirty look before facing away with a scowl.
“Yes, sir.”
Castiel continued to observe the boy, watching the way his free hand clenched
into a fist at his side, that same phrase repeated again: “Yes, sir.”
Whilst the demon continued to move about the room, conversing with his boss,
Castiel managed to slip out the first nail from the beam, catching it in his
palm to put in his pocket, preventing it from clattering to the ground. It was
far easier to go about it whilst the demon was distracted; going as far as to
work on the remaining nails simultaneously, unable to reach over the fire and
catch them should they land on the other side. It would be much simpler this
way, and the demon wouldn’t be aware of it at all.
His side was throbbing, but he ignored the pain – the pain that was present
because his Grace was no longer focusing on the gashes – as he began to pace
the circle, making himself seem bored and not at all occupied.
“But, Dad –“
Castiel froze, able to hear the shouting that was suddenly emitted from the
device. He was surprised, moreover, that the demon had been addressing his
father as ‘sir’ – that this demon’s father was the one ordering him to hold
Castiel captive.
Well, at least it was clear now as to why such a young boy was getting involved
in these sort of matters. Demons were like that: pushy and controlling,
believing their ideals to be correct over someone of lower status’.
Castiel almost pitied the creature in front of him.
The boy shot a look at him over its injured shoulder, its eyes almost
sympathetic, and Castiel felt the sudden urge to find out why he was being
looked at like he was the child – like he was the one had apparently done
something wrong.
“I want to talk to him,” Castiel announced boldly, holding out his hand a
little further away from his chest. He couldn’t actually cross the fire with
any limb – the flames acting as a barrier, much like that of a Devil’s trap for
angels, only it hurt to the touch, and would most likely kill him if he
attempted to pass it.
The demon looked at him like he was being ridiculous, continuing the
conversation as if Castiel had said nothing at all.
“I’m not stupid,” the demon mumbled, wetting his lips again. Castiel didn’t
know if the phrase was intended for his ears, or for the recipient on the
phone, but he didn’t really care.
The child was stupid.
There was a pause, and Castiel decided to start pacing the circle again,
distracting him from the pain flaring in his lower back, keeping his eyes on
the demon all the while. The boy’s facial expression became dark and full of
irritation, “No – I haven’t!”
Castiel waited patiently, taking note of the anger washing over the demon’s
face, eyes sheathing behind those all-too-familiar black lenses, “Because you
said you’d do it!”
The shouting came again, slightly tinny and marred with an irritating buzz that
had Castiel cringing as he moved about, but then the demon was marching out of
the room, swinging open the cabin door and heading out into the sunlight. It
slammed behind him, leaving Castiel in that discomforting silence once more.
It was the boy he could hear shouting next, speech disfigured through the thick
walls, becoming incomprehensible.
Castiel looked to the ceiling, eying up the beam. He could feel that it was
close, the weight of the wood resting on three of the nails completely, whilst
the others hung limp in the frame of the wood, teetering slightly as if they
would fall any second. It creaked and groaned as the mass was distributed on
the remaining sliver of metal, bending them out of place as Castiel came to a
stop to the right hand side of where it was situated above him, screaming at
the nails with his Grace to will it loose.
It crashed down harshly to the floor, the force making the cabin quake beneath
his feet, and a loud rumble to sound about the room.
Castiel didn’t waste any time escaping the ring of holy fire, walking across
the beam as fast as he could whilst the flames licked at his ankles, leaving
surprisingly sooty streaks over the already dark denim of his jeans. He jumped
back to the floor, wandering over to where his gun lay discarded and disarmed.
He picked it up gingerly, before digging out a few bullets from his jeans to
load the weapon once more for protection.
He looked around the rest of the cabin hurriedly, rushing to the far side as he
sought out another means of exit. He’d prefer it if he didn't have to face the
boy because the child hadn't actually done any wrong yet. He hadn't really
deserved to be wounded in the first place, and although Castiel had virtually
threatened him, he would rather not have to take anyone’s life without an order
to do so.
Castiel sighed exasperatedly at the lack of any other form of exit, other than
the blocked windows which would take a while to clear, and even then he wasn't
sure how safe it would be. Broken glass gouging into his skin wasn't exactly a
thought he wanted to dwell on, and he walked briskly back across to the front
of the cabin with his gun clasped tightly between his hands.
He couldn’t hear the demon as he stepped closer to the front door, opening it
cautiously to peer out into the forested area. It hurt his eyes after spending
so long in the shadowed room, but he couldn’t see – or hear – anyone about as
he made his way onto the dirty ground.
“What the hell?!”
Castiel took off running, throwing a glance back over his shoulder as the demon
rose from his seated position on the ground, dodging through the thicket as he
tried to find a clearing – somewhere safe that he could take off for flight.
The wound on his back burned and rubbed as the bandages were shifted over the
gashes with the movement, chafing the surrounding skin and knocking at the thin
scabs that had barely formed over the injury. Everything had begun to ache, but
he couldn’t afford to stop – he didn’t want to risk his safety, and the threat
of being bled dry was still fairly probable.
Maybe this demon wouldn’t hurt him, but that didn’t mean someone else couldn’t
do the actual procedure after he was recaptured, and he didn’t want that to
become a possibility.
The boy was far faster than Castiel expected, but then again, a wound to the
shoulder was hardly going to slow his pace. Not as much as Castiel’s own
injury, anyway.
Castiel felt something tug at his ankles, tripping him up and forcing him to
the floor. Pain exploded in his back as the wind was knocked out of his lungs:
a severe burning sensation as the wound was reopened, and he cried out,
twisting his body to the side to avoid smashing his head open on a rock.
He struggled for air, kicking at his captor as the boy seated himself on the
lower half of his spine, and Castiel couldn’t hold back his scream as the
bandages were dragged over his wound with the movement, bucking backwards as he
attempted to throw the demon off.
But the boy was heavier than anticipated, and it only seemed to make the
situation worse.
“Stop fucking yelling,” the demon hissed, pinning Castiel’s wrists to the
floor.
Castiel choked as he tried to take in a breath; his arms held at an incredibly
uncomfortable angle against the dirt. He couldn’t move and he couldn’t
concentrate his Grace as best he could, barely numbing the pain as the cloth
dug in.
“Now when I move offa you, you’re gonna stay completely quiet – got it?”
Castiel kept silent, gritting his teeth when the demon applied all his weight
to his back, trying to focus all of his energy on the shadow wrapped around his
legs. The boy hissed a little, and then the dark touch was gone, leaving his
legs available for movement.
Not that it would do much good now that he was on the floor.
“Got it?” The demon repeated again.
“Fuck you,” Castiel wheezed, stifling a whimper when the demon forced his face
against the ground harshly, dozens of sharp pieces of grit digging into his
temple and cheek. His lip split open against a particularly sharp object - it
felt like a blade in the smooth cut it produced - and he cried out again as
dirt worked into the wound.
“Why the hell are you being so stubborn?”
Castiel chuckled darkly, coughing a little as the earthy dust was blown between
his parted lips, “Take a guess, assho –“
A hand slammed over his mouth, cutting off his speech but freeing his left arm,
and he wasted no time in raising his ankle to deftly slide the blade from the
quarter of his shoe, elbowing the demon in the ribs and assuming a position
above the boy’s chest. He pinned both arms above the demon’s head with one
hand, using his other to press the knife threateningly against his captor’s
throat. All it would take was a simple swipe of the weapon and the boy would be
the one bleeding dry onto the crumbling soil, but he could see the sheer pain
in the demon’s facial expression from his shoulder being so abruptly moved into
an uncomfortable position, and as much as Castiel wanted to slice open the
flesh, he couldn't help but stall in his actions, only a trickle of blood
gleaming from where the knife rested.
He simply couldn’t bring himself to decide this boy’s fate.
It was much different being this close, seeing the worry lines that shouldn’t
have tainted his forehead at such an age, and the crusts of blood in his
hairline where a wound still lingered. A child like him should have been at
school – not out and about, picking fights with supernatural creatures and
fulfilling his father’s orders. This was no life for someone so young.
But it wasn’t simply the faded scars and evidence of past troubles – it was his
features: youthful and feminine, and then there were his eyes; the surprisingly
green irises were uncommon for a demon to possess, and they looked so very
familiar. It felt odd to want to murder someone who resembled a past colleague
or companion – especially since he’d had so very few who were actually
convivial.
It was shameful really: that after so many years without a companion of the
sort, he was unable to place names to faces. He could remember the two entities
separately, matching them to a personality of sorts, but when it came to
recalling exactly who they were and what they had helped him with specifically,
it became rather complex.
He tended not to dwell on it too much, understanding that they would have most
likely forgotten him. He was nothing special.
Castiel attempted to snap out of this state he was in, pressing down with the
blade to create a longer incision, if not a little shallow.
It was pathetic, actually, coming away as nothing more than a graze. Harmless,
unless infection set in.
The demon didn't even flinch.
“You reopened my wound,” Castiel snarled, leaning down to make his words heard
as he tried to appear more intimidating. He was still struggling with his
breathing, and the entirety of his lower back was dampened with blood, the
bandages sticking to his skin unpleasantly and making him cringe, but he
ignored the disgusting sensation, attempting to focus his Grace on the pain. It
would take a while before he’d be able to fly home afterwards, but healing
himself was far more important. He didn’t want to die of blood loss on his way
back – then his journey would have been all for nothing, seeing as he had
thought he was going to die here.
For a brief second, he swore he could see the boy grin, before the demon
vanished completely with a sooty outline replacing his figure, and Castiel
crashed to the floor, throwing out his arm so he didn’t land on his knife. The
weight returned to his spine, his arms pulled back and his wrists locked
together by some kind of spell as the boy placed a palm on Castiel’s left
shoulder blade, keeping him pressed to the ground.
“Don’t know why I didn’t do this before,” the demon mumbled, a smile to his
voice, and Castiel gritted his teeth, squirming as the hand moved to settle on
the back of his neck. He could feel this obscure coolness enveloping the skin,
circling round over his throat and casting an odd kind of restriction over the
flesh. It was heavy and strange, and it didn’t take long at all before he
realised what it was.
“Take it off,” he growled. “Take it off me now!”
The demon laughed, rising up to roll Castiel over harshly before he was sitting
back down, straddling Castiel’s hips and brushing his fingers over the exposed
area of Castiel’s neck, just beneath his chin. “Pretty little angel ain’t so
tough now, is he?” He cooed, tapping the metal of the collar twice. “Let’s see
you Houdini yourself outta this.”
Castiel closed his eyes tightly, summoning his Grace to begin corroding the
steel accessory.
Nothing.
He aimed it toward his lower back, twitching slightly when the fingers carded
through his hair.
Nothing.
"What the hell did you do to me?!" Castiel shouted, pushing to the side so the
boy couldn't use him as a Goddamn cushion.
"Why would I tell you that?"
Castiel could feel the hot prickling of tears in his eyes, rolling face down
into the dirt again. Everything was pain, and he knew how this was going to end
for him. No angel lived after such a procedure, no matter how much blood was
taken.
"Let me go!" He yelped weakly, the threat of crying straining his throat as he
wept against the ground. "I'm sorry for hurting you! I can heal you again – you
don't need my blood!"
Shouting and begging did nothing to aid him. The demon, though young and
injured, hauled him from the ground to return him to the cabin. Castiel could
have laughed at the reaction such a child gave when they entered the building,
having noticed the fallen beam splintering the floorboards, but the demon
continued further inside, digging his nails into Castiel’s thigh whenever he
tried to break free as the boy opened up a hatch in the floor, carrying him
down to a basement.
Castiel was thrown to the ground and chained to the wall by his collar, left in
silence as the demon retreated upstairs.
He knew what was going to happen to him next, and he wasn't going to allow it.
He struggled around on the cold, concrete floor of the lower level, no matter
how much the pain increased, hooking his wrists around his ankles from behind
until they were pulled before him, and he tugged at the thin chain separating
the cuffs harshly. The metal pinched his skin and he cried out, trying again
after rotating his wrists a little; trying to apply pressure to a different
location. He knew deep down that there was no way he was breaking free of these
without his Grace, or the child, and that burning returned to his eyes again,
sinuses feeling tight and uncomfortable.
He sighed, slamming his head back against the floor.
He should have done it. He should have killed the child when he had the chance.
Opting not to was one of the worst decisions he’d ever made, and now he was
going to die.
Castiel rolled onto his side, glancing over his shoulder at the ugly dark stain
spreading over his back. It was all he could focus on, but he didn't
understand. The demon knew he was injured - that he was bleeding out - so if
this was about his blood, surely they'd be a little more concerned?
Why the hell was he even here?
 
                                       *
Dean sat against the hatch with his belt between his teeth, wincing as the
tweezers sunk into his wound, twisting to pinch the bullet. He was used to
wounds like this, but his dad wasn't here to patch him up, and that Goddamn
fucking angel had started shouting up from the basement again, demanding
answers. It was like the asshole didn't even consider the fact that Deanhad a
freakin' headache!
He slammed his fist down on the floorboards, shouting around the leather strap,
"Shut the fuck up!"
He looked down at his shoulder, at the tweezers lodged in the gunshot wound,
and he scowled. He hadn't expected the angel to have a gun, and to be injured
thirty seconds after meeting the guy was fucking embarrassing - especially when
Castiel had been held in a fucking trap!
He took hold of the crippled instrument, twisting it unceremoniously until he
hit gold, adjusting the angle so that it clasped the bullet, and he pulled it
out slowly, feeling the sweat touch his brow. He should really be grateful it
hadn't shattered his shoulder blade or something. That’d be a bitch to sort out
"Fucking fuck," he hissed, prising it from his flesh and flinging it across the
room along with the tweezers.
One job down, a shit-ton more to go.
Dean had never enjoyed stitching up wounds, and it was gonna be even more of a
fucking challenge to fix up the angel without knocking him fucking unconscious.
This Castiel wasn't how Dean had imagined him to be at all.
Dean had been told angels were warriors, fighters, and he'd expected someone
intimidating; someone with a powerful glow instead of some measly yellow
nightlight to express his strength. His dad had warned him about the glow, how
the brighter they were; the warier you had to be.
The angel might be muscular, but that glow of his was nothing to write home
about. It was weak, and pretty pathetic, in all honesty.
Dean hadn't been worried. Not to begin with.
Castiel had been strong enough to bring part of the fucking roof down, when
John had specifically told him that angels wouldn't be able to do jack-shit in
a ring of holy fire. Unless Cas was a special little bunny, then Dean didn't
know how helpful his dad's info on the species would be, more so after the
angel's screams at how he'd heal Dean without the aid of some fucked up blood
potion.
John had never mentioned anything like that before.
Then again, an angel is perfectly capable of lying.
But God did Dean hope he wasn't. He didn't want to have to kill anyone if it
wasn't even a crucial part of the process. Sure, he’d done some pretty nasty
stuff over the years, but this? Bleeding someone dry whilst they were kept
conscious?
Just a bit fucking unnecessary.
But it’s what his dad had told him they were doing.
There really was something quite twisted about force-feeding someone nutrients
and extracting half a litre of blood a day. It wasn’t the sort of thing Dean
wanted to get mixed up in – especially since it was punishable by death in the
hunter community.
They shouldn’t even be risking something like this if it meant no one could
look after Sam. His dad was being fucking ridiculous.
The shouting came again: quick bursts of words that were muffled through the
flooring this time, making Dean groan as that pulse of agony pressed to his
temple again.
He rose to his feet hastily, knocking the medical kit aside when he tore open
the hatch leading to the basement, storming down the shallow steps as he pulled
on his shirt to tell the ignorant asshole to shut up for the last time.
Castiel was lying on his back, staring straight at him with a look of pure
discomfort on his face. Dean didn’t really blame him, what with the presumably
large injury on his back that had made him practically gush blood earlier on.
Dean wasn’t sure how it was right now, but he wasn’t gonna ask yet. Castiel’s
gaze wasn’t exactly inviting.
"Is it genuinely impossible for you to shut up for five fucking minutes?" He
hissed, glaring down at the angel. Castiel was frowning, blood smeared around
his mouth from a filthy cut on his lip, and JesusfuckingChrist if that
contaminated the blood, his dad was gonna kill him!
He backed out of the room as quickly as he'd entered, rushing up the stairs
again to grab the medical kit, before returning to the cold room where Castiel
was watching him with wide eyes; shuffling back until he was pressed to the
granite wall with his knees up to his chin, what Dean could only assume was a
prayer leaving the angels lips as the slight whisper danced through the air.
Dean dropped down a few feet away, returning the stare as he grasped blindly
into the box, finding the sachets containing disinfectant wipes so he could
prevent anything dangerous from entering the guys bloodstream.
"Sit up," he demanded, tearing open the girly packet with his teeth. Seriously?
There had to be manlier looking brands out there than this Hello Kitty look-
alike crap. It was fucking embarrassing.
Castiel stayed completely still, his eyes flicking to the box and back every
time that Dean so much as breathed.
"I'm not gonna hurt you, okay? Just sit up so I can clean that ... that." He
gestured to Castiel's face before slamming the lid of the med box closed, "Cut
on your lip."
The angel kept silent and still, nothing but a fresh batch of tears to change
his appearance.
And there he went again: making Dean feel worse than he already fucking did.
"Come on, man. I'm trying to help," he muttered, slinking forward and catching
hold of the foot as it hurtled toward his chest, "Dude! Calm the fuck down!"
"Get off me!" Castiel wailed, kicking out his other leg. Dean caught it
momentarily, letting go once the angel stopped struggling and Dean was able to
move closer, tugging on Castiel's wrists lightly.
Cas had closed his eyes, those mumblings coming again as Dean pulled him up,
resting him against the wall.
But it was unsettling to see how similar he looked like Sam in this situation:
all weak bodied and scared, and it wasn’t fair that Dean had to deal with him
alone. His dad should be here to help out – to make things easier.
To tell him again and again how this was the best answer to their problems. To
reassure him as such.
Dean tilted the angels chin up towards him, watching his brow furrow when the
damp cloth was pressed to the wound, attempting to wipe away the dirt
beforehand. Castiel jerked away suddenly, his head slamming back against the
wall, and Dean cried out on his behalf, cringing at the sound, "Be careful, you
idiot."
The angel’s eyes opened a little, a sneer on his lips, "Really concerned about
the whole blood loss situation, huh?"
"What? You're hurt!" Dean argued, drawing back slightly. He could see this
greyish glaze to Castiel's irises, a filter that practically made him look dead
already. "You think I'm just some insensitive asshole, right? You don't think I
genuinely want to help you?"
Lying came easy when it a distortion of the truth. Dean was more concerned
about not getting his ass kicked if he screwed this up.
Right now, blood loss wasn't an issue. John wasn’t going to arrive for a few
days, and that was enough time to sort the angel out properly beforehand.
He tilted the angel toward him again when Cas kept silent, wiping at the cut
carefully so the guy wouldn't chance at cracking his head open again. It was
different this time with Cas watching him, eyes focused on every damn movement
like he was dead set on working the truth out of him. Dean was trying his
hardest not to look anywhere other than the injury, but Castiel's gaze was
burning his face.
"Dude, can you stop sta-"
"If you're so intent on helping me, then why am I tied up in a basement and not
back home?"
Dean looked away completely, stalling his actions, because as much as he would
have liked to let the guy go, John would be fucking pissed. "I'm not even meant
to be talking to you," he muttered. He didn't have another response. Not that
he needed one. Castiel was a prisoner, and Dean didn't even have to answer to
him in the first place.
"I don't want your pity - I want my life!" Castiel spat, kicking at him again,
"You have no fucking right to choose whether I live or die!"
Dean ignored the dull ache the angels foot made in his side before meeting the
cold glare, "At what point did I say I pitied you?"
Castiel narrowed his eyes, the tears still rolling down his cheeks. It
completely contrasted: the watery eyes and the rough voice. It was throwing
Dean off.
This guy - aside for shooting Dean because he was fucking scared - had done
absolutely nothing wrong. He didn't deserve what was coming, and yeah, maybe it
would help Sammy, but was killing an innocent really the right way to go about
it. And again: punishable by death!
He reached to dab at the angels lip again when he heard the distinct rumble,
and he couldn't help but smirk, "Did someone skip out on breakfast?"
"Fuck off!" Castiel snarled, kicking him again, and this time Dean rose to his
feet, scuffing back and grabbing the med kit as he went to leave.
He turned when he reached the doorway, looking back over at the angel. “Sorry,”
he muttered, the taste of bile rising in his throat, as the angel curled up on
the ground, shaking. He felt sick just thinking about how he’d have to deal
with that for the next few days. Castiel knew exactly what was going to happen
and probably even how.
Dean could think of much better ways to go.
 
                                       *
Castiel drifted in and out of dreamless sleep over the next few hours, the pain
never leaving him for long at all. It was constant but dull, sharp stabs in his
back every so often that roused him from unconsciousness. In a way, he
considered it  a blessing, not wanting to be at his most vulnerable when the
demon returned. Anything could happen whilst he slept.
He winced at the sound of the basement hatch being hauled open, the creaking as
the demon came down the stairs. Castiel could tell it was getting late by the
tiny shaft of light let in through the window to the upper right of his
position: a dark orange that provided the patch of light with a slight warmth -
the only warmth in the room.
Castiel looked down at his hands when the creaking stopped, aware that the boy
would be visiting him in mere seconds. The footsteps echoed around him, making
his blood pound in his ears and his heart rate quicken.
The demon set down a couple of things on the floor as he crouched, but Castiel
didn't bother to examine them, looking off to the patch of light for comfort.
He didn’t even try to break away when the demon cupped his jaw, allowing his
head to be raised. There was nothing he could really do to fight it anyway.
“You want some food now?”
Castiel closed his eyes, attempting to block everything out. He didn’t want to
eat, no matter how hungry he was.
A thumb brushed along his cheek and he cringed internally, hating how very
patronizing the boy was behaving. If the child truly sympathized, Castiel would
be free. He wouldn’t be in some disgusting chamber where he breathed in the
musty air from above.
“C’mon, Castiel. You need to eat something.”
Castiel didn’t even want to know how the child had learned his name, and he
scowled, pulling back and bringing his knees up to his chest. His back felt
like it was tearing open all over again, but he withheld his wince, resting his
forehead against his kneecaps. The treatment he was receiving was incredibly
degrading; he didn’t want to be babied by anyone, let alone a child.
“Let me go,” he whispered, “Please.”
The demon touched at the top of his head for a split second before apparently
thinking better of it, “You know I can’t, Cas. I have my orders.”
“Don’t call me that,” Castiel grimaced. Nicknames were a sign of friendship or
mockery, and Castiel wanted neither.
The boy sighed, drawing away, “How’s your back?”
Castiel simply shrugged, leaning against the cold granite of the wall. The
demon had been the one to worsen his injury in the first place, but Castiel had
learnt to endure the pain over the time he had been seated alone. Infection was
most likely setting in – he hoped infection was setting in. It would taint his
blood, so he would no longer be of any use to his captor. He would die, or be
released, and neither option was particularly interesting to him anymore. He
felt numb.
“I can change the bandage if you want? It really should be clea –“
“I don’t want anything from you!” Castiel spat, adjusting his arms against his
legs. The tight cuffs were digging into his wrists and the skin had already
been rubbed raw from his earlier attempt to break free, so he wasn’t surprised
at the cold sting and wetness that accompanied the movement.
What was surprising, however, was the blanket that was draped over his
shoulders. It wasn’t the gentlest of gestures, but it was a peculiar one, and
Castiel looked up at the boy in confusion as he walked away. This child was
becoming more and more difficult to understand; his personality seemed to alter
too often and Castiel was finding him to be a rather frustrating case. One
moment the boy was rubbing his face in the dirt, the next he was attempting
comfort.
Just like the instance prior, the demon slowed in the doorway, rubbing at the
back of his neck. For a moment, Castiel thought that something else was going
to be said, but the boy left as quickly as he had stalled, leaving Castiel
alone once more.
He looked down to what the boy had brought with him as the creaking started up
the stairs again, stretching out his legs and readjusting his position so that
he could face it all. The medical kit was there again, along with several
bottles of water and some kind of fast food meal. Castiel didn’t intend to eat
anything provided in fear of it being drugged or poisoned, but he picked up a
water bottle warily, drawing it close to his face and peeling off the label as
best he could with his cuffs tugging at his wrists. It hadn’t been physically
opened, but he still examined the exterior in search of indentations and
punctures: any signs that it had been tampered with. He didn’t want to suffer
more than necessary.
He twisted the cap cautiously, wincing when the metal of his cuffs dug into the
tender skin as he broke the seal and removed the lid. He took a large swig from
the bottle, downing half of it in one go. It mightn’t be able to satisfy his
hunger, but his throat was dry enough as it was from shouting earlier on in the
day, and this was actually quite refreshing in spite of its tepid temperature.
Castiel finished off the bottle, throwing it to the side when he was done
before curling in on himself, tugging the blanket closer around his shoulders
to keep him warm.
It didn’t take long for the tears to fall.
 
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Summary
     "I'm not shy," the angel grunted, still keeping his eyes averted.
     "But you're just a ch-"
     "Blah, blah, blah," Dean murmured, rising up on his knees so that
     their faces where level. "Stop complaining before I change my mind."
 
 
 
 
Castiel's mouth was dry in spite of the water he'd drunk, feeling heavy headed
and slow owing to his utter lack of sleep. He could see the morning sunrise
creep through the window pane, making Castiel's eyes itch with a want to close
and stay that way. He didn't want to give in to sleep though, knowledge that
the boy would return within a few hours in an attempt to provide food or some
other essential source of nutrients to alter his blood, and although he still
wasn't strong, at least he would be able to defend himself.
And he didn't want the nightmares to manipulate his mind whilst he was so
vulnerable. He didn't want the demon to take advantage of that fact.
Castiel pulled his wrists apart harshly when his eyelids began to stick closed,
willing himself to keep awake as long as possible. It stung more than he could
have hoped for, and he pushed away from the wall to start pacing the room
again, keeping his wrists separated so that the cold metal dug into the wounds
as he did so. He circled back once the chain was pulled taut, the sharp tug on
his neck that made his lethargic movements all the more stilted, chafing
similar to that of his wrists starting just over his throat. 
But that wasn't the only discomforting aspect of remaining in the basement for
so long, and Castiel was growing tired of simply ignoring the crippling ache in
his bladder. The only thing preventing him calling out the demon was his want
to keep the boy away from him for as long as possible.
If things got any worse, he'd piss against the wall, even if it would make the
conditions more unbearable.
He rolled his shoulders, wincing at the pull on his back from the new movement.
Castiel knew that a scab had formed over the wound, but it seemed that any
slight movement sent a jolt of pain scoring over the skin, almost as if the
skin was as raw and open as the flesh on his wrists. The fact that all his
wounds were healing at the rate of a human injury only made things more
difficult, and his irritation increased with the press of his blood-crusted
shirt against his spine, firm and thick and tainting the air around him so that
everything smelt dank and bitter.
He knew that he couldn't remove his shirt without tearing it apart, and it
would be too much effort to try and work with the cuffs in place, so he hadn't
really bothered. Not only that but he didn't want to make himself appear more
vulnerable in the presence of the child than he already felt, and with his
wound on display, the demon would be able to pinpoint his weakness exactly.
In a way, he was relatively grateful his Grace had been cut off, solely because
it bought him more time. If he understood the situation correctly, the demon
would wait for him to be fully healed before they even started the procedure,
and Castiel would have been fed something genuinely beneficial to his health.
Right now, even though he was exhausted and weary, his Grace would still be
growing stronger from a lack of use, so perhaps there was a way to overcome the
spells cast on his restraints. As soon as those were off - most importantly the
collar - he could be out and back home within a few minutes of such an
occurence.
"Well, someone's up bright and early," came the sing-song voice, bouncing off
the walls of the basement suddenly, yet instead of starting in surprise,
Castiel merely continued to pace, grimacing at the more noticable change in
tone as opposed to yesterday. Anything that could be deemed as sympathetic or
pitiful was gone, and Castiel was hearing the character he had first met: a boy
who was entirely false and unworthy of any trust.
But then again, wasn't that a summary of any demonic spawn? Cruel liars who
loved nothing more than to watch others suffer? He had never trusted the boy in
the first place, merely surprised by the out of character actions the child had
so poorly attempted just the evening before, and he hated how ridiculous it was
to want to trust the demon, purely because of his age.
Fucking ridiculous.
"So, how's that back of yours? Want me to take a look?"
Castiel stopped walking, staring down at the grimy floor as the blood dripped
down over his hands, arms numb from a lack of any real movement. "No."
"Okie dokie then," the boy huffed in response, and Castiel was having trouble
placing the child's exact location in the room without looking up. He didn't
want to glance at the demon's arrogant fucking face.
"Shit, dude. What about your wrists? I didn't realise they were hurting you."
Castiel ignored him, starting his pacing up again.
"I need to piss," he muttered, tugging on the cuffs again to keep his mind off
the topic of sleep. 
The boy went quiet, and Castiel winced as the metal of his restraints dug
deeper into his flesh. The pain was good - useful and distracting, but the
pressure on his bladder was worsening and he definitely did not want to relieve
himself with the boy watching.
"Right. Uhh ... well, I, uhhh .... I didn't really -" 
"Anticipate my need to use the bathroom," Castiel finished for him, turning to
pace in the opposite direction. "Well, I'd rather not deficate down here if it
can be helped."
"Hold on."
"I don't want to hold on!" He snapped, looking up. "I've been waiting for ..."
He trailed off when he noticed the lack of anyone in the room, and he scowled,
kicking at the concrete floor in irritation. If the boy came back with an empty
bottle or some kind of bucket, Castiel had every intention of disregarding its
presence.
He wasn't a fucking animal. The boy had no right to treat him like one just
because of their difference in species.
Castiel stumbled back when the boy appeared before him, barely supressing a
noise of surprise, before he was being grabbed by the arm and the whole world
was spinning with colours around him. It lasted a few more seconds before he
found himself being shoved backwards into a mould-ridden cubical in some form
of public restroom, the cuffs vanishing from his wrists as the door slammed
shut.
"Make it quick."
Castiel flipped the boy off through the door, cringing at the sight of the
festering toilet bowl and the murky colour of the water, but there was nothing
he could do to alter the conditions whilst his Grace was off limits, so he went
on to unbuckle his belt and pull down his pants, not letting the denim fall
lower than his knees in fear of the material touching the floor. The tiles were
disgustingly tacky beneath his shoes, and he didn't want anything of the sort
clinging to his jeans to make the smell of the basement any worse.
He went about it as fast as he could, not wanting to linger in such an
unsanitary place for longer than needs be. The boy was waiting for him outside
the cubical, looking utterly repulsed with his surroundings, and Castiel
brushed past him to reach the sinks, washing his hands before cleaning the
wounds on his wrists whilst they were still exposed, wincing at the sting and
hot burn as the water ran over the flesh.
"You sure you don't want me to look at your back for you?"
"Of course I'm sure," Castiel offered blandly, rolling his wrists beneath the
faucet until the water began to run clear. "As I have said before: the only
thing I want you to do is let me go."
"And like I said before: I can't. All I'm trying to do is make you a little
more comfortable."
Because nothing said 'comfort' like kidnapping and holding someone captive in a
basement.
He looked at himself in the mirror, scowling further at the sight of the dog
collar. He really should be grateful he'd been allowed to even leave the room,
but clearly the boy was new to hunting otherwise he'd be a little more relaxed
than he was. His stance almost looked awkward, and his expression somewhat
unsure, and Castiel looked him up and down again before turning fully away from
the mirror to hold out his hands so they could be recuffed. He figured that the
sooner he looked as if he was giving up, the easier it would be to catch the
demon off guard, and with his Grace compressed and growing stronger, that
possibility was fast approaching.
He jostled his hands again when the demon didn't react, meeting the boy's eye.
"Hurry up. My arms are aching."
The demon smiled slightly - at least, Castiel thought it was a smile - before
snapping his fingers to make the restraints return. Castiel couldn't help but
notice how loose they were in comparison to the pair he wore earlier, wide
enough for Castiel to be able to twist his hands free should he choose to do
so, but he was determined not to show his gratitude, letting his arms hang down
as he glanced back to the floor. He didn't want to thank a child for something
so simple when their intent was actually murder, and regardless: Castiel hadn't
requested the change in size, so he could quite easily brush it off and claim
he hadn't noticed.
He continued to look away even when the hand settled on his bicep; a gentle
touch that had Castiel genuinely confused as to whether or not it truly was the
demon, and he flinched out of instinct, making the boy pull away abruptly.
"Dude, I'm not gonna hurt you. I just have to take you back now," the boy said
softly, touching him again. Castiel shifted nervously as the palm lingered
there, uncomfortable with their closeness and the way the boy was interacting
with him.
And he doubted the demon's words, knowing that the reason behind his capture
would entail nothing but pain and the utmost suffering.
The world did that flash of colour again, making Castiel feel slightly ill and
queasy, and he slumped against the wall when everything stopped, taking in a
deep breath.
"You okay?" The demon asked, and Castiel pushed him away to give himself space,
averting his eyes as he began to pace the room again.
"You can go now," he muttered, kicking at one of the empty water bottles as he
walked past, jolting as the collar was re-leashed to the wall and his distance
was restricted. He simply stopped, rubbing his hands over his face in defeat,
before pacing in the opposite direction, desperate to keep awake.
"I'll go when you eat the food I brought you." 
Castiel frowned, turning around to face the boy. "Well, then you're gonna be
here for a fucking long time."
The demon just stared at him, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
Castiel continued to pace, rubbing his eyes when they began to ache again,
wishing that the boy would just leave him be so he could rest for a while. He
knew it was risky, but he didn't know how much longer he could last in this
condition. There was nothing to entertain him, and his head was heavy, the
thought of sleep enticing him in spite of the promised nightmare. 
He walked to the wall where the chain was connected, slamming his forehead
against the concrete in an attempt to wake him up a little.
"Whoa! What the fuck, dude!" The boy yelped, grabbing his arm. "What are you
doing?"
Castiel sighed, closing his eyes as the demon tugged him away. "Leave me
alone."
"No. Let me look at you," the demon murmured, cupping his jaw. Castiel jerked,
pushing at the boy's chest hurriedly to try and break away, far too
uncomfortable with the patronising familiarity the boy was using on him. "Hold
still, Cas! I told you: I'm not gonna hurt you!"
Castiel pushed him again, stumbling back against the wall. "Stop saying that!"
He yelled, toppling sideways and landing hard on his elbow. He ignored the
pain, as he struggled up into a sitting position, staring up at the child
through bleary eyes. "What the fuck is the point when you're just going to kill
me? I offered you an alternate - I offered you a choice that wouldn't risk your
life - and I would have been more than happy to help you and your father if
you'd treated me as a person, and not as a fucking pet!"
He twisted around so that his back was to the boy and his forehead was resting
against the wall once more, feeling exhausted and weak with his eyelids
sticking shut.
"Don't touch me again."
                                       *
Dean stared down at Castiel's slumped figure, refraining from reaching out and
squeezing the guy's shoulder, because it shouldn't have been like this. Dean
shouldn't have been doing this.
He couldn't apologise. He couldn't comfort, because the angel was right. There
was no point. Cas didn't want anything but freedom, and that was one thing Dean
couldn't grant.
Dean moved to sit beside Castiel on the floor, not failing to miss the look of
absolute scorn Cas sent in his direction before attempting to shuffle away, but
Dean took hold of the angel's left wrist as gently as he could, even though Cas
lashed out instinctively.
"Get the fuck off me!" Castiel hissed, but Dean continued to hold on, looking
down at the open wounds the cuffs had cut into his skin.
"Explain it to me," he said softly, willing the cuffs to disappear again, even
if it would make it easier for Castiel to hit him. "This healing thing you were
on about yesterday."
The angel went stiff, and Dean trailed his fingers along the inner part of Cas'
forearm, turning it over to examine the rest of the wound.
"Why?"
Dean sighed, dragging Castiel's palm toward his lap as he reached for the med
kit with his other hand. "Because I don't wanna waste my time setting you up in
the stupid equipment if you can heal someone without having to be killed." He
grabbed another one of those crappy antiseptic wipes again, tearing the packet
open.
He shouldn't have been talking to the guy. He should have just left when Cas
had told him to because his dad had been more than a little pissed when he'd
found out about the conversation aspect the first time.
But Cas deserved a chance. Sure, he may be lying, but an explanation wasn't
gonna hurt - and anyway, that kind of information could be useful regardless. 
"I can heal using the power of my Grace."
Dean snorted at how utterly Disney that sounded, pulling the wipe from the tiny
pink packet to dab carefully at the open wounds on Castiel's wrist.
"Yeah, I'm sure my dad'll set you free after he hears that," he muttered,
tightening his grip when the angel flinched in his hold. "Gonna need a little
bit more than a fucking sentence to explain this, Cas."
He could hear Castiel swallow, his muscles becoming no less tense than before
as he tried to pull away again, and Dean scowled, jerking Cas' arm closer and
shooting him a glare in warning. He'd left the medical kit in the basement for
a reason, and it was Castiel's own fault if he didn't want to be handled in
such a way, given that he'd had all night to sort them out himself.
"It depends on who I'm healing," the angel practically snarled, pushing at
Dean's arm with his free hand when Dean went to wipe the wound again. Dean used
his shadow to twine around it, slamming Castiel's hand awkwardly against the
wall to stop him from interfering.
"I took the restraints off because they were hurting you, jackass - not so you
could hit me," Dean glowered, loosening his shadow so he didn't injure Castiel
further. "And I don't care what it depends on. Explain it all."
"Healing myself is just a case of concentrating my energy on the injury, whilst
healing a person or an animal is much more strenuous. I would transfer the
wound to my own body and then heal myself as per normal."
"What, so, if you were to heal me, you'd get a gunshot wound?" Dean murmured,
turning Castiel's wrist over again to clean the other side.
"Yes," Castiel said simply, followed by a pause. "On that note, I'd just like
to point out the fact that you're currently bleeding through your shirt."
Dean looked down to the grey material, frowning. He hadn't been able to stitch
it up without someone else's help, but it was no where near as bad as the wound
on Cas' back.
Speaking of which ...
"If you can do all this healing shit, then why are you in such a rough state?"
He asked, glancing up to meet the angel's eye. "I mean, seriously: I sure as
hell wouldn't go on a hunt with an injury as fucked up as that.“
"I was healing."
"Uh-huh."
Castiel broke his wrist free from Dean's grip abruptly, snatching the
antiseptic wipe as he did so. "I require upon my Grace for flight, strength,
ability and healing, and it is not a continuous level of power! Sleep and
dietry needs affect my limits, and my lifestyle has made it difficult to manage
each and every cut and bruise; so I apologise for being 'fucked up', you
ignorant asshole! The injury which you reopened was healing slowly, but it was
healing nonetheless, and now I can't heal properly at all."
There was a bout of stunned silence on Dean's part, mainly because Cas was
being so damn aggressive, and he reached for Cas' arm again, knowing full well
the angel wouldn't be able to clean his wounds when Dean had kept his other
hand pinned to the wall. "Someone needs to calm down," he huffed, grinning at
the guy. Castiel's scowl deepened, his eyes narrowing before glancing away to
the far corner, not even flinching when Dean took hold of the wipe and
continued to clean Castiel's wrist for him.
But he kinda got it. The life of a hunter wasn't exactly easy, and if Castiel
wasn't always at full power, his priority needed to be protection, not healing.
Sure, good health was beneficial, but what was the point if you were too weak
to actually fend for yourself?
"But do you think you'll be able to heal someone who's got an illness, not an
injury?" He pressed, crossing his legs as he turned his body fully toward the
angel. "Would that be more difficult or what?"
Castiel's eyes swivelled to him, almost like he was being analysed. "The person
you need healing is sick?"
"Well, yeah, he's -"
"And once I heal this person, I can go?"
Dean stalled for a moment, dropping the antiseptic wipe to scrub a hand over
his jaw. He didn't really feel comfortable with letting Cas anywhere near Sam
if it could be helped, and he still didn't have any evidence that Cas could
even do that sort of thing.
"You haven't exactly given any proof."
"How the hell do you expect me to prove it when I can't use my power! You're
the one preventing me from proving anything!"
"Yeah, because I'm not an idiot! Soon as you get your power back, you'll be
melting me from the inside out!" Dean grimaced, pushing Castiel's arm away from
him.
"How do you know that?" Castiel asked coldly. "Why would I fuck up the one
chance I have at freedom by ending your life?"
Dean just shrugged. "Why wouldn't you? I'm an open target."
"But you're the one in control! If I did anything wrong, couldn't you just stop
me?" The angel blurted, and Dean tipped his head to the side, smirking.
"That mean you're planning on evading my talents? Trying to find a weakness?"
He teased, but Castiel didnt seem to find it amusing in the slightest.
"I'm trying to cooperate and you're making ridiculous accusations!"
"Ridiculous? You shot me and tried to slit my fucking throat!"
"You were going to kill me! For all I know, you still are!" Castiel yelled.
"I'm putting my trust in you, so why can't you do the fucking same?"
"Uhhh, how about because you're an angel, and your kind generally has a
reputation for completely obliterating anyone who so much as looks at them
funny!"
"If we hurt anyone, it's because we're hunters or we're protecting ourselves!
Like I've said before: we're not like demons in the sense that we kill and
torment for pleasure, spreading fucking rumours in the hope that an entire
species turns extinct!" Castiel exploded, his voice cracking toward the end. "I
mean, how often do you find yourself out of work for being deemed the inferior
race? When was the last time you heard of a demon being taken hostage with the
intent of them being killed?"
"Cas-"
"You don't know the half of what I have to put up with from your kind! I can't
even go to a fucking bar without being threatened and objectifi-"
Castiel shut up as soon as Dean willed the sigils to erase from the collar, the
angel's Grace growing brighter and his eyes fluttering shut as he leant against
the wall, almost in a state of bliss. 
Dean shuffled back nervously, knowing full well that the angel was dangerous,
even if he'd promised not to try and hurt him. This was something he wasn't
used to, and until Castiel did a little more than simply relax himself, Dean
didn't know what to do. The whole brightness thing was starting to put him on
edge because it was far more intense than before, which meant that Castiel was
essentially stronger than he'd been yesterday. He could probably overpower Dean
easily now that he had his strength back.
But Castiel smiled faintly, the cut on his lower lip had disappeared
completely, and his eyes reopened, irises practically glowing blue instead of
that dull grey they'd been just a few seconds ago. Dean rubbed at the back of
his neck whilst he waited, looking away even if it wasn't exactly the wisest
option.
"Just to make things clear," he muttered, staring down at the angel's hands to
watch the wounds on his wrist close up. It was weird really, seeing the process
speed up as much it was, but they weren't healed fully, only enough to stop the
blood from dripping onto his jeans. In a way, it was kinda proof about the
whole healing thing, but Dean didn't exactly know what was gonna happen in
terms of healing someone else. "You do anything to try and hurt me or escape,
and I won't hesitate to set you up for the bleeding. Understand?"
"Yes."
"Good," Dean stated, dropping his hand to his lap. "So ... do we have a deal?"
"If the deal is my freedom in exchange for healing someone, then yes: we have a
deal."
Dean grinned timidly, moving closer. It wasn't his choice as to whether Cas
would actually get set free or not, but Sam would still be getting healed, and
that was the most important aspect. "'Kay. Come here."
Realisation dawned on Castiel's face, and the smile faded almost instantly,
eyes cast down to the floor. Dean reached out, touching at Castiel's jaw with
his fingertips. 
"Head up, Cas. Can't seal the deal if you're gonna be all shy about it."
"I'm not shy," the angel grunted, still keeping his eyes averted. "But you're
just a ch-"
"Blah, blah, blah," Dean murmured, rising up on his knees so that their faces
where level. "Stop complaining before I change my mind."
Castiel closed his eyes tight, apparently holding his breath as Dean leant in,
carefully pressing his lips to Castiel's own. The angel became stiff as Dean
moved his hand to cradle the back of the guy's head, tasting blood and earth
before Castiel was pushing at his shoulder, and Dean jerked away harshly as the
palm pressed against his bullet wound. 
"Owww," he hissed, letting go to push Castiel's hands away. "Fucking hell,
asshole, you didn't have to do that!"
"You were getting carried away," Castiel griped, a slight blush staining his
cheeks. "And I have no intention of letting some teenager get his kicks through
making a deal with me."
"What the fuck are you on about? It's compulsory!"
"Well, the last time I made a deal with a demon, they didn't go trying to shove
their tongue down my fucking throat. That part sure as hell wasn't compulsory."
Dean bit his lower lip coyly when he noticed Castiel glaring at him, leaning
back on his hands. "Clearly they weren't making the most of the opportunity."
"Oh for ... you know, for a kid, you're really fucking disgusting," Castiel
spat, moving away again. 
Dean laughed lightly, cocking his head to the side. The angel looked off to the
wall opposite, and Dean released Castiel's arm from his shadow completely.
Technically, he couldn't inflict any kind of damage upon the guy with the deal
in place, a sort of protective bubble around the both of them until the deal
was complete. It definitely made him feel safer knowing that none of Cas'
freaky energy abilities would work on him, even if it meant he didn't really
have as much of a hold over the guy any more. It wasn't like he needed it, but
he liked the sense of control.
But Dean didn't know what to do now. He knew he'd done the best thing by
assuring Castiel's freedom as opposed to killing him, but he didn't know how
his dad was gonna take it. Dean had gone against orders for someone who had
tried to murder him twice - for someone who was meant to be considered an enemy
of his race - and he knew John wouldn't be that accepting of the choice Dean
had made.
That didn't mean Dean couldn't at least try to explain it.
He got to his feet quickly, scrabbling for his phone from his back pocket as he
started toward the stairs.
"Wait here," he said softly, shooting a smile over his shoulder as he ensured
the chain was secured to the wall. "Decide what you want for breakfast or
something."
He didn't bother using his energy to teleport to the upper floor, taking the
stairs two at a time. He wasn't gonna be lazy about it, and his dad was always
on about how it was an unnecessary waste of his power anyway. 
He closed the hatch when he reached the landing so Cas wouldn't be able to
listen in on the conversation, before dialling his dad's number. It took a few
rings before John actually answered, but Dean was used to it. He knew his dad
had a lot to deal with at the moment, so he wasn't really surprised to hear the
curt 'What?' as a greeting.
"Hey, Dad. I uhh, need to talk to you about the angel."
                                       *
It didn't take Castiel very long at all to melt through the chain attached to
his collar, and soon he was on his feet, striding toward the bottom of the
stairwell, even if his eyes were aching. He didn't see the point in falling
asleep when he could quite simply be back home in a few hours, depending on
when the boy arranged for the invalid to be brought to the cabin, or something
along those lines. He imagined that's what the demon was doing now. 
He could hear the conversation above him, muffled through the thin wood of the
floorboards, and he walked up the steps slowly, gently pushing on the hatch
once he reached the top so not to alert the boy to his whereabouts.
No sooner had he lifted himself from the trap door and seated himself on the
edge did he hear what the boy was saying properly, able to watch the demon pace
back and forth through the main part of the cabin. The holy fire had been
extinguished, but the beam still lay across the floor, the boy stepping onto
the end to walk along the length of the wood carefully.
"Look, he's agreed to help! I don't see anything wrong with it!"
Castiel stood up, and the demon looked over abruptly at the creaking of the
floor.
"Dude! I told you to wait!" The boy shouted at him, before rolling his eyes and
continuing his pace along the beam. "I know what you said, but if I hadn't, we
wouldn't have found out about this!"
Castiel put the hatch down, looking around now that there was a little bit more
light in the area. He didn't see why he'd have to stay on the lower floor when
he was essentially free to do what he wanted now. He had the majority of his
power back, maybe not all of it, but he felt far stronger than before.
"Dad, no!"
He tried to ignore the conversation in the background, walking toward the
kitchenette and running his eyes over the equipment lain out on the island. He
knew each and every item there, and just thinking about how they'd effect him
had his head spinning. It didn't help that he still hadn't slept, his hand
resting against the countertop as he tried to keep himself upright. Being tired
was one thing, but he didn't want to pass out next to the very instruments that
could drain him, even if the boy had promised his freedom.
Castiel still didn't understand the sudden change of heart, putting it down to
the age of the boy and his naivety. It was a trait that would lead to the
child's downfall should he be so very trusting of everyone he meets. Obviously,
Castiel was telling the truth, but it would have been so very simple to lie
should they not have made a deal to keep their word. At least Castiel had the
promise of freedom now; no longer as threatened by the equipment beside him.
"But we don't need to! Are you even listening to me?" The demon blurted. "I
can't believe you'd risk getting us killed when we have a solution like this!"
Castiel looked up at this point, staring at the back of the boy's head, taking
in the tense posture. He knew exactly what they were talking about, but it
didn't bother him as much as it would have ten minutes ago, the guarantee of
his return home still an unbreakable deal, and there was no way he'd let the
boy go back on it now. Such a proposition required both members to agree, and
even if the demon attempted to break their promise, Castiel would still be able
to evade harm and spells the boy decided to trap him with. That was quite
possibly the most reassuring aspect.
There was a long pause, the boy trembling a little as he clenched his fist, the
slightest trail of blood leaking from between his fingers to the floor. 
"Yes, sir."
The phone went smashing against the wall, the intricate components scattering
over the floor from the impact, and Castiel risked a few steps over, reaching
for the boy's wrist. The demon jolted, and Castiel immediately felt his power
weaken as the boy turned round to face him, fear in his eyes. Castiel ignored
the expression, slightly offended by the abrupt block of his Grace, but he
coaxed the boy to open his hand, flattening out his palm to examine the bloody
indations his fingernails had left.
"I can heal you, if you want," he murmured, frowning at the sight of the
bruises on the boy's wrists. He still didn't agree with the idea of a boy his
age hunting purely because his father had enrolled him. If Castiel had been
able to lead a different life, there was no way he'd get into hunting.
"I told you to stay in the basement," the boy muttered, pulling his hand away,
and Castiel simply stared, unsure of what to do. "I mean, how the fuck did you
even get out?"
"Metal isn't very difficult to corrode. I would have attempted to break the
collar, but I was worried about the damage it'd cause to my body," he stated
honestly, touching at it in scorn. He was actually rather surprised the boy had
been able to rid him of his Grace again, but that was most likely because it
had been cast on the collar as opposed to Castiel himself. That thought brought
with it a sense of dread; the knowledge that the boy could harm him by casting
multiple spells on the collar alone had worry rising in his chest. "Is it even
necessary that I wear it? I'm a person too, you know, not a fucking dog!"
The boy shrugged, and suddenly a leash was attached, held in the boy's hand.
"Need to keep the upper hand somehow, and I'm not gonna go carving sigils into
your skin.“
Castiel yelped as he was tugged back toward the kitchen, and he dug his heels
in, clutching at the chain so the collar didn't feel as tight around his
throat. "What the hell are you doing?! I don't need a fucking lead!"
The boy shrugged again, and Castiel stumbled to catch up. The collar was
pinching against his neck, and the skin finally rubbed open, the warm slide of
blood beneath the metal making him panic and he cried out again, pulling the
chain toward him.
"Stop pulling me around like that! I can't heal myself anymore!"
"You need to go back downstairs," the boy grunted, yanking it again.
"I can walk down on my own! I don't nee - stop it!" He yelled, kicking the boy
in the back of his knee.
He was knocked backward suddenly, hitting his head on a nearby beam as he fell
to the floor, the chain clattering to the ground next to him, and he choked,
clutching at his throat. He could taste blood on his tongue, and he spat to the
side, grimacing at the lingering flavour in his mouth. He knew it had been
stupid to even attempt to hurt the boy like that, but there wasn't exactly any
other way he could get the child to notice how much pain he was in, even if it
had only caused him more pain in the process.
The boy looked to him briefly, his expression hard, and anything that could
have been seen as remotely kind had been replaced with stern features. The
black lenses concealing his eyes stood out though, indicating his anger, and
Castiel could feel a bout of nausea roll through him at the thought of what the
demon would do when Castiel was completely fucking powerless! 
He was grabbed by the arm, transported instantly to the basement, but no sooner
had they arrived did the boy disappear, the sigils back on the collar fully, a
new chain connecting him to the wall. Castiel felt a little something like
relief that he hadn't been harmed further, but then his anger was rising to the
surface at the realisation of what was going on.
"YOU BASTARD!" Castiel called out, his voice strained and warbling. He'd
thought this demon was different - he'd thought that the age factor had worked
in his favour - but again he'd been wrong. Trusting a demon was wrong,
regardless of their youth and ignorance, and he should have learnt after
working for Crowley that they were all absolute fucking liars.
He couldn't hurt the boy, but the boy could hurt him! By accepting the deal,
he'd given the demon fucking immunity!
He curled in on himself, not even wincing when the wound on his back pulled
open again. He should have healed it completely when he'd had the chance, but
he'd wanted to save his energy to heal whomever it was that was sick. Obviously
it was a stupid mistake, and now he was trapped again; powerless and weak with
blood staining his clothes. His eyes had closed and stuck shut, and everything
was hurting. The slightest adjustment of his neck had that cold sting of metal
digging into his wound, the trickle of blood trailing down to his collar bone
and dripping below the hem of his shirt.
He should have just stayed in the basement. He shouldn't have left, even if he
was entitled to freedom after the deal.
He'd fucked everything up.
 
 
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Summary
     There were instructions and drawings; leaflets and scriptures from
     older era’s that told him exactly how to set it all up, and he
     genuinely didn’t understand how anyone could stomach to perform
     something like this. Half the pictures were horrific: crude sketches
     of screaming faces and spliced veins, collected together to form a
     disgusting little manual.
 
 
 
 
 
Dean scowled, stepping up onto the beam as his dad continued to rant on the
other end of the line. John was being ridiculous, blatantly making up excuses
to persuade Dean to follow his orders, and for the first time ever, Dean
doubted his dad’s words. He could remember the things John had told him in the
past about angels, and a lot of what he was saying now contradicted those
facts, twisted with old myths and this idea that angel blood was the only way
to cure someone.
But how hard was it to believe that an angel could heal someone if their blood
had healing properties? Sure, Dean hadn’t seen Cas heal anyone, but healing his
own wounds was pretty damn close – and his dad had never told him about that
anyway! 
“Angels lie, Dean! I don’t care what he’s told you – set him up for the
bleeding process!”
“But we don’t need to! Are you even listening to me?” Dean blurted, kicking at
the wood beneath his feet. “I can’t believe you’d risk getting us killed when
we have a solution like this!”
“If you can’t follow simple orders then what fucking use are you? I swear: if
the angel isn’t set up by the time I get there tomorrow, you can think twice
about coming back home again! Do you understand me?!”
Dean stilled, sucking in a breath as he listened to the gentle noises of
Castiel pottering about behind him. He’d known he was risking a lot by
protecting Cas, and with his dad showing up three days early, the plan he’d
been formulating was definitely not gonna work. Hell, part of the plan had been
getting his dad to actually let Cas heal Sam without going behind his back or
anything, but he should have known better than to run something like that past
him after he’d already made the Goddamn deal!
Even the thought of what John would say when he found out about it had his
stomach churning and an acidic taste in his mouth, because Cas didn’t deserve
any of the shit John was gonna put him through.
He’d barely muttered out a ‘yes, sir’ by the time he’d realized John had
already hung up on him, and Dean let his anger run free, the phone smashing
against the wall when Dean relinquished control. 
He wasn’t screwing anything up by helping Cas – they’d made a deal! Dean
couldn’t just go back on it! By helping Cas, he was effectively saving two
peoples’ lives!
If Sam was gonna get better, then why the hell did Castiel need to die?
He jumped at the cold touch of fingers on his wrist, burning the sigils back
into the steel of Cas’ collar, because he hadn’t asked for Cas to do that. He
didn’t know what the fuck the guy even intended to do, and he didn’t want to
risk anything, even if the deal effectively protected him from any of Cas’
freaky angel powers.
But he could see the warmth in Castiel’s eyes – the warmth that totally
shouldn’t have been there, because Dean was a complete and utter dick and was
about to fuck him over – before the angel’s gaze shifted to Dean’s hand, gently
touching at Dean’s fingers from where he’d clenched too tight. The cuts stung
without the ease of pressure applied to them, not that Dean had even realized
he’d hurt himself like that, and it only hurt more when Castiel used his thumbs
to stretch the skin, apparently examining the tiny marks.
“I can heal you if you want,” the angel suggested quietly, not seeming to mind
when the blood ran to touch at the tips of his thumbs.
But Dean couldn’t let him now. He couldn’t give Cas back his power, or even let
him go home, because his dad was being an absolutely unreasonable douchebag. He
hated the idea of never going home – of never seeing Sam again – and if this
meant that he could carry on with his normal life, then he’d protect the things
he cared about.
He’d sacrifice the angel to make sure Sam would be fine.
“I told you to stay in the basement,” Dean muttered, pulling his hand away to
stop the guy from probing the injury. “I mean, how the fuck did you even get
out?”
“Metal isn’t very difficult to corrode. I would have attempted to break the
collar, but I was worried about the damage it’d cause to my body,” the angel
stated, and Dean stepped down from the beam to walk past, not really caring
anymore. He was too occupied trying to think how he could bypass the deal,
because there had to be some way he could set Castiel up without having any of
his bones broken or his organs crushed. Maybe there was a sigil he could add to
the collar to put Cas under.
“Is it even necessary that I wear it? I’m a person too, you know, not a fucking
dog!”
Dean knew that. He knew that Castiel wasn’t a pet or an animal; a creature no
different to what Dean was himself. He knew this and yet he did what his dad
would have done. He behaved in the same way John had told him to in the very
beginning.
“Need to keep the upper hand somehow, and I’m not gonna go carving sigils into
your skin,” he announced, forming the leash and holding it with his uninjured
hand. Carving into the angel was something he couldn’t do even if he wanted to,
the deal preventing him from harming the angel intentionally altogether, so
right now, weakening the guy’s power was pretty much the extent of what he
could do. 
Which meant he had to find some sort of alternative way to stick a syringe in
the guy without his permission before tomorrow morning, because John would
never forgive him for this.
But it still made Dean feel sick at the thought of how much suffering his dad
wanted to put Cas through – just for two fucking pints of blood! Obviously, his
dad wanted it all, but in no way was that fair. They didn’t need it all, and
yet they were gonna go the whole hog and drain Cas completely.
Maybe this was why John didn’t want Dean talking to the angel: so he wouldn’t
feel guilty or cruel for doing something that shouldn’t have been difficult for
a demon at all.
His dad was right: Dean was a disgrace.
“What the hell are you doing?! I don’t need a fucking lead!”
Dean shrugged as he started toward the basement hatch, tugging the chain to get
Castiel following behind.
He understood now why his dad always got so angry with him – why he had to
compromise and threaten him before a hunt. Dean was weak and stupid. He
couldn’t follow orders without struggling or fucking up completely, and this
was a prime example of everything wrong with him.
He’d gone and made a deal, for Christ’s sake!
“Stop pulling me around like that! I can’t heal myself anymore!” Castiel
yelped, and Dean could hear the pain in his voice; the discomfort as a result
of Dean’s anger.
He tried not to care.
“You need to go back downstairs.”
“I can walk down on my own! I don’t nee – stop it!” Castiel yelled, kicking at
Dean clumsily. 
The energy surged out of him – the power he had no control over – forcing
Castiel away and tugging the chain from Dean’s grip. He didn’t imagine the cry
of agony as Castiel knocked into the thick wooden pillar, or the way his body
slumped to the floor; he didn’t imagine the choking sounds or the watery look
in his eyes, blood dripping from Castiel’s lips and collar onto the
floorboards, and the panic that flitted across his features.
What he did imagine was the fucking stabbing sensation in his chest when
Castiel diffidently met his gaze, the combination of both fear and anger
practically emitting from his form, twisting the knife deeper every second Dean
stood there holding his line of sight.
He wanted to apologise – for hurting the guy and giving him false hope and the
promise of freedom when he never really had any control over the matter –
because now Cas was going to die. He was going to die by one of the cruellest
and ultimately racist methods of torment, and he had wanted to cooperate –
hell, he’d just asked if Dean had wanted healing; looking at his wounds like he
had a fucking responsibility to actually do something about it, even if they’d
basically fought about everything leading up to that point. They weren’t
friends – they were the absolute fucking opposite – and still Castiel had
offered aid. He’d offered aid when it hadn’t been part of the fucking
agreement!
Dean grabbed hold of Castiel, teleporting them both to the basement as fast as
he could so he couldn’t risk hurting Cas anymore, before shifting to the
opposite side of the room, shielding himself in a veil of darkness.
He didn’t know what the fuck he could do to make things right again. He’d done
something without asking his dad first, he’d risked ever seeing Sam again –
Sam; who relied upon him for everything when John went out hunting on his own.
Now both Dean and John ran the risk of orphaning and abandoning Sam by getting
involved in this! They’d thrown away the one chance they’d had at ensured
safety, all because his dad refused to believe there was an excuse to let an
angel survive.
“YOU BASTARD!” Castiel shouted in the direction of the doorway, nothing but
anger in his eyes, and Dean dropped down to the ground, covering his face with
his hands.
And to think that Cas had confessed to being mistreated by other demons in the
past – purely because he was an angel! It was no fucking wonder Cas had lashed
out the way that he had. If this was a recurring thing – if Cas was continually
lied to and abused by demons – then Dean didn’t blame him. Hell, he’d let Cas
hit him as much as he fucking wanted if the deal wasn’t in place, because this
was just so wrong. Castiel had opened up about how much he hated Dean’s species
because of how they’d treated him before, and here Dean was doing the same
thing regardless, only he’d made it worse by actually getting Cas to trust him
beforehand!
Just because Dean didn’t like him, didn’t mean he couldn’t do the right thing.
He knew for certain that Cas did not deserve to die – or, at least, not by this
method. Dean didn’t know what Cas was like out there as a hunter, or whether he
was just as much of an asshole as he was in captivity, and even thinking about
that gave him reason to be doubtful of whether Cas would actually come through
for him or not; but he wanted to trust Cas, regardless of what his dad had
implied before. Sure, Cas hadn’t exactly been pleasant, and the only reason
he’d agreed to help was because he wanted his freedom, but then he’d gone and
offered to heal Dean – when he couldn’t have possibly caused any harm – with
that fucking caring expression on his face like he genuinely wanted to help,
and it really wasn’t fucking fair!
There had to be some way Dean could help Cas without fucking up his chance of
seeing Sam again.
He looked up from his hands, watching Cas hug his knees to his chest as he lay
down; the twinges of pain crossing his features and the sharp intake of breath
when the collar shifted, revealing part of the raw skin behind it. Castiel’s
eyes had closed, his brow furrowed and his glow almost diminished to nothing,
and Dean didn’t know whether that meant Cas was losing more blood than normal
or not, but he didn’t want to take any chances. He snapped his fingers, wincing
as the sound echoed about the cold room, but he concentrated his energy on
creating a smaller version of the collar around Castiel’s left wrist with
weaker versions of the sigils on, mindful of the previous chaffing, before the
collar crumbled from his neck.
Castiel’s eyes reopened at this, alarm reading all over his face, and yet he
didn’t move, simply looking to the smaller metallic bracelet on his arm. Dean
hadn’t connected it to anything, but he’d be able to stop the guy if he tried
to leave the basement, and it meant Cas would be able to heal himself properly.
So he was fairly surprised when Castiel simply closed his eyes again as opposed
to getting up and actually trying to leave, but he could see that the bleeding
over his throat had been staunched now so there were only a few droplets of
blood on the floor, and it had Dean wondering if Cas’ blood really did have
healing properties. From what Cas had told him, it was the whole ‘Grace’ factor
that healed him, and when John had talked about it, he’d always said an angel’s
Grace was their life energy – like the soul of a human, only when angels made
deals, their Grace couldn’t be used as bargaining material. Dean had heard that
it couldn’t be taken but it could be given, so didn’t that mean if Cas didn’t
actually want anyone taking his blood, the blood wouldn’t have any healing
properties? The Grace wasn’t an object so it couldn’t be extracted in any way,
and Dean didn’t know how Cas summoned it to heal himself or anything because if
it was just some sort of presence, then where the hell did it stay?
There wasn’t any point thinking about it, because it was impossible to take an
angel’s Grace, and the idea of a dissection wouldn’t exactly be pleasant. Plus,
he was meant to be thinking about how he could help Cas, not steal his
invisible life support or whatever they classed Grace as.
But he didn’t know how reliable Cas would be if Dean asked for his help now –
not since Dean had essentially abused him and fucked with him completely –
because what the hell must this look like? Dean had been intending to do what
his dad had asked, and now he was having fucking second thoughts!
It wasn’t just that, but he was pursuing the choice that meant he would never
be able to see Sam again, because his dad definitely wasn’t the sort of person
to ever go back on their word. He would have nothing – absolutely fucking
nothing – because it wasn’t like his family had much as it was. Hell, they
lived in motel rooms for the most part, squatting when they couldn’t find
anywhere else to stay, and it was a Goddamn wonder that Sam was sick with the
amount they had to endure. But on his own, Dean felt no where near confident
enough to hunt. Even this: the whole babysitting Cas thing had been fucking
terrifying – more so after the fact that his dad had told him Cas needed to
die! That sure as shit hadn’t been mentioned when John had talked him through
it the first time!
The thing was, he knew that helping Cas was the better option – even if it did
mean he couldn’t see Sam anymore. This way, none of his family members were at
risk; Sam would get better, and both Dean and his dad would be safe from being
hunted down by the Union. The only real threat was Cas, and even then he wasn’t
that much of a threat. Dean would just have to bargain a little bit more to
ensure that no one got hurt, and he still had more control over the angel so it
would be far easier to swing things in his favour whilst he kept the upper
hand. Dean found it pretty hard to believe that Cas would refuse the deal when
it was the only way he’d be guaranteed freedom, but Dean had already breached
the whole trust entity by even thinking about keeping Cas captive, and Castiel
hadn’t exactly reacted well to how things had played out.
Dean’d just have to be super cautious.
He got to his feet slowly, wandering over to where Cas lay. He stopped at the
sound of Cas’ deeper breathing, dipping down to examine Castiel’s features. He
hadn’t expected Cas to fall asleep – especially as fucking quickly as that!
Surely Cas would be a little more on guard, because it was only half seven in
the morning, so for the angel to pass out so soon after actually waking up had
Dean worrying more than he probably should. He still didn’t know exactly how
much blood had already been lost from that wound on his back, and if that was
what was making him fall unconscious as quickly as that then Dean needed to
sort it out as fast as he could. It was one thing collecting blood, but it was
another to just let Cas bleed out when that wasn’t even the intention anymore.
At least, it wasn’t Dean’s intention. He still had to figure out how this whole
thing was gonna work if he was really going to act against his dad’s orders.
Not only that, but he had to find some way to get Cas to promise not to kill
Sam out of spite or something – and himself, for that matter. As soon as Cas
healed Sam, the deal would be over and Cas would be able to do whatever the
fuck he wanted.
There was always the idea of taking Cas to the motel to actually heal Sam
there, or obviously bringing Sam to the cabin, but he wasn’t sure how
comfortable it’d be for Sam, what with the only real bedding in the place being
a musty old sofa in the store room. It would be far less effort to take Cas
there and just let him walk after the whole healing thing was done – and
considering the fact that John couldn’t teleport like Dean could gave them
loads of time. John would have to drive, and that alone had taken him four
hours to get to the cabin the last time.
And at least Dean wouldn’t have to confront him about leaving, and he could say
goodbye to Sam without having his dad simply kicking him out.
It would be better that way.
But he could discuss that with the angel later. Right now, he didn’t know how
he could go looking at Castiel’s wound without the whole protection-reaction
thingy from going off. He wouldn’t be intentionally hurting Cas, but he didn’t
want to wake the angel up and have him lash out or anything like that, and even
if he was to start on it, he didn’t exactly have Castiel’s permission. Dean
understood completely why Cas didn’t want him looking at it, because not only
was it in a vulnerable place, but Castiel wouldn’t be able to see what Dean was
doing. If Dean was in the same position, he wouldn’t want someone of the ‘enemy
species’ examining a wound as bad as that. Of course, he hadn’t actually seen
it yet, but judging by the blood stain on the back of his shirt and how every
slight movement seemed to have Cas wincing, it couldn’t exactly be a minor
injury. Dean had been the one to reopen it, so he did feel somewhat responsible
for the condition Castiel was in, and he had given Cas some of his power back
so he could keep healing it.
So did that mean that he was healing now? Like Cas had said, he’d been healing
it slowly so he didn’t waste his energy, which meant that maybe by sleeping he
healed faster than normal. It wasn’t like it didn’t make sense, especially
since the wounds on his wrists seemed to have vanished completely now; not even
a scar to show they were ever even there.
It definitely gave Dean a sense of comfort – more so combined with the fact
that Cas was still, like, tanned. Blood loss usually made people look way
paler, and Cas didn’t look any different to how he did before.
Apart from maybe looking relaxed. That was a pretty big change in his
appearance.
Dean picked up the blanket from where it lay crumpled on the floor, draping it
unceremoniously over Castiel’s form before teleporting himself out of the room.
He wasn’t gonna go treating Cas like royalty, but since the guy was effectively
in the same state as Sam, the least he could do was show some compassion to the
one person who could actually help. And maybe if he was a bit kinder, the angel
hopefully wouldn’t have as much of a problem with making amends.
He made sure the trap door was sealed with a spell, ensuring that Castiel would
stay in the basement until Dean had devised some kind of plan – a better plan –
that maybe ended with him being allowed to stay with Sam. Going against John’s
orders was hardly a great idea, and Dean had never done something as stupid as
this, but he had so many doubts about the properties of Castiel’s blood that he
just didn’t care anymore.
So long as Sam got better, Dean would be happy.
He transported himself to the kitchenette, staring down at the collection of
needles and tubes and those ugly wire clamps that his dad had told him to
pierce Castiel’s jugular with. There were instructions and drawings; leaflets
and scriptures from older era’s that told him exactly how to set it all up, and
he genuinely didn’t understand how anyone could stomach to perform something
like this. Half the pictures were horrific: crude sketches of screaming faces
and spliced veins, collected together to form a disgusting little manual.
Dean rolled up the canvas bag hastily, locking away the papers and instruments
so he could put it to the side and forget about it. They shouldn’t have even
had a kit like that – it was wrong and terrifying, and the mere thought of an
entire species being hunted down for some false misunderstanding really did
make him feel sick. But that’s all it was: some utter idiot thinking that angel
blood was more useful than the fucking creature it came from – because surely
they would have thought to keep the angel as opposed to killing it? Dean wasn’t
saying it was right to keep an angel as a pet, because Cas was basically the
same as a human in terms of wants and needs, but it would have been way more
sensible than murdering them. 
Maybe angel blood did have healing properties. Maybe it didn’t. The point was,
it didn’t belong to anyone other than the angel, and there’s a good fucking
reason as to why the transaction is banned. Dean didn’t even know how many
angels were left in America, having been told that the majority fled shortly
before the Union actually came to a decision of banning the bleeding process,
but Cas had to be pretty fucking brave to stay through it all. Especially since
the law had only been passed a few years ago.
Dean threw the bag into the corner beside the old refrigerator before seating
himself on the now bare island, resting his face in his hands again. 
He hated how conflicted his thoughts were, wanting to be selfish and stay with
Sam, whilst his other half knew they couldn’t risk things like that. It hadn’t
had anything to do with Cas’ health before, but letting Cas live had slowly
become a priority – a priority just as important as keeping himself alive. It
all came back down to the legal aspects, but he'd never realised just how
brutal the actual procedure was. He’d known about the drip feeds and the actual
draining part, but he’d never seen how it had to be set up.
But back to the problem at hand, at this rate, there was no real way he could
stay with Sam. Taking Sam with him wasn’t an option – more so considering the
fact that he hardly had any money, and no place to stay, and he wasn’t gonna
risk Sam’s health when he would have only just gotten well again. No, he’d
still be able to keep in contact so long as Sam kept a hold of his phone, and
it wasn’t like Dean hadn’t taken care of himself before. With his abilities it
wouldn’t be difficult to steal food and find temporary shelter. He didn’t
necessarily have to hunt to make money – hell, the only real reason he’d have
to make money was if he actually had to pay for those kind of things, so that
was definitely one less thing to worry about.
And there was visiting. So long as he knew where Sam and his dad were, he could
stop by without John noticing.
Obviously it wasn’t the best way to go about living his life, but as soon as he
had a more suitable method to keep himself housed, things could go back to
normal. Once John realised that Sam was better, things would be fine, and yes,
it might take him a while before he understood Dean’s reasoning behind it, but
it wasn’t like Dean was doing it to spite him. He was being sensible; not weak
or pathetic. He was saving them.
 
 
 
                                       *
It was around midday when Dean finally thought it a good idea to check up on
the angel again, having tidied up anything remotely dangerous from the upper
floor so Cas couldn’t throw anything too damaging at him later on. He didn’t
know whether Cas would actually want to hang around with him until that time,
or whether he’d prefer to stay on his own, but Dean was preparing for either
scenario so things were as safe as possible.
He'd also kindofmanaged to fix his phone after being so damn stupid before,
even if the screen had cracked and the back wouldn't fit back onto the model
anymore. He knew he'd need it later, and so he could memorize Sam's number
before the battery died. He was kind of ashamed for not knowing it off by heart
yet because it should have been compulsory all along, but it wouldn't be too
difficult. It would be the only number he'd want to remember.
Cas had moved slightly, laying on his back with a hand over his chest, which
still didn’t look very comfortable. Dean knew he could have at least given Cas
a pillow or something, what with the awkward positioning of his neck, and
concrete floor was hardly a mattress.
Okay, now he was feeling worse about letting the asshole sleep on the floor,
but it wasn’t as if Cas would be as accepting of anything Dean gave him. He’d
turned away food, and as far as Dean knew, he hadn’t even used the blanket, so
there wasn’t actually any point in offering.
He walked over to where the guy was laying, crouching down so he could examine
the wound on Castiel’s throat. All that seemed to remain was dried blood and a
faint redness to the skin, almost like it had only just started chaffing. It
really was interesting to see the guy heal himself, and he had already
considered filming it on his cell phone to prove to his dad that angels really
could heal. Maybe it wasn’t healing someone else, but after the way Castiel
acted before, he had next to no doubt regarding whether healing someone else
was possible for the guy. It just all came down to whether or not the angel
actually wanted to.
His eyes went to Cas’ face when the guy’s head jerked, taking in the furrowed
brow and the sheen on his forehead; a look of real pain that he recognized as
similar to that of Sam’s fevers, but since Cas could heal illness and stuff,
did that mean it was something else?
Dean reached out cautiously, pressing the backs of his fingers to Cas’ right
temple, but Cas wasn’t burning up or anything. He was a little cold maybe, but
Dean couldn’t exactly do anything about that. It was worrying him though,
because Cas looked like he was really in pain, and he couldn’t help but wonder
if it had something to do with the fact that his back hadn’t healed yet, so it
could have gotten infected or something, even if Cas was healing himself.
Dean shook Castiel’s shoulder abruptly because he couldn’t do anything to help
with Cas unconscious, more so when he didn’t have the angel’s permission to
actually touch the wound.
But he didn’t expect Cas to fly up straight away and fucking head butt him.
“Fuck!” Dean grunted, letting go of Castiel’s shoulders to press a palm to the
aching part of his head. He tried to brush it off, meeting Castiel’s stare and
frowning at the worsened expression of agony. Agony soon turned to fear, and
Dean stilled, watching an assortment of emotions cross Castiel’s features.
It was pretty fucking obvious as to why Cas was staring at him with a look of
absolute terror.
“I-I’m not gonna hurt you, Cas. I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” Dean
said softly, genuinely surprised that Cas hadn’t even told him to fuck off or
anything yet given the situation before. He’d at least expected Cas to make
some sort of remark on their closeness, or even tried to push him away, but
instead Castiel simply stared. Like, completely frozen, and Dean didn’t know
whether that was because he was scared or because he knew that trying to hurt
Dean would only rebound, but seriously: the staring was starting to creep Dean
out.
“Look, dude, it’s important that you tell me if you’re okay or not – especially
when I can do something to help,” he added, looking pointedly to the side of
Castiel’s shirt where the blood stain had seeped across. He watched the way one
of Castiel’s hands twitched toward it, and Dean wondered if sitting up so
abruptly had made it any worse. 
But Castiel still refused to talk, and Dean didn’t know what to do. He knew
starting with an apology was a good idea if Cas was planning on giving him the
silent treatment for being an utter dick before, but that was to be expected
because he was probably totally confused by everything going on right now. Dean
had essentially led him to believe that now he was going to die, and how the
hell could he go on to explain the misunderstanding behind that when it had
been the reason why Dean had thrown him back in the basement to begin with? It
wasn’t as simple as asking for his help again because Cas most likely didn’t
trust him at all after that.
He sighed, sitting down properly to rest his chin in his hands with his elbows
balanced on his knees, thinking up someway he could start off his explanation.
This was the part he hadn’t been prepared for. Everything else – the plan; when
Cas could be on his merry way – had all been taken care of. Right now he just
needed to convince Castiel to trust him again.
“Right, well, apparently I’ve got your attention anyway, so while I do I wanna
apologise for everything that happened before. I was … I was pissed off at my
dad, and I took my anger out on you, even though you hadn’t done anything
wrong,” he rambled, meeting Castiel’s line of sight again, even though it was a
little more difficult what with the way Cas seemed to be examining him rather
than simply staring. Dean tried to ignore the way Cas was looking at him
altogether, concentrating more on what he needed to say to make sure Cas
understood that he wasn’t in anyway screwing him over.
“I mean, that’s hardly an explanation, I get it, but I was being selfish and I
guess I sorta gave you the wrong impression of what was gonna happen. Ummm …
you’re going home, okay? Tomorrow, anyway. You can go home tomorrow.” He
swallowed, rubbing at the back of his neck when Castiel continued to stare at
him, unmoving. “Cas, could you actually let me know that you’ve acknowledged
what I’ve said, ‘cos the whole staring thing is really off putting, and I don’t
really want to go into details if you’re not even gonna pay attention.”
But Castiel stayed quiet, holding Dean’s gaze like he’d be risking his life if
he looked away, and Dean couldn’t help but feel nervous, unsure of what the
hell he could do whilst Cas refused to pass comment. He reached out carefully,
poking him lightly in the chest and lowering his voice. “Earth to Castiel. You
listening to me?”
He smiled timidly when Castiel pushed his hand away, practically breathing out
a ‘don’t touch me’, not once looking away. Dean had expected something a little
more aggressive  because there was no way Cas could have forgiven him after
that. Hell, Dean wouldn’t have even forgiven himself. It was a piss poor
attempt at an apology, and he hadn’t even finished yet. There were parts of the
plan that Dean hadn’t quite figured out yet – like when his dad would actually
leave the motel – but he needed to explain to Cas the set time scale they’d
have before John figured out what Dean had done.
“Can you please stop with the staring then? I mean, I didn’t come down here to
be analysed. I came down to talk.”
“I have no desire to talk to you,” Castiel practically whispered, looking away
almost in embarrassment, if the flush on his face was anything to go by.
Instead, Cas looked down to the bracelet, touching at the metal with nimble
fingers while Dean tried to form a sentence that wouldn’t end up making him
seem like a total d-bag.
“I get that you’re pissed at me, and you have every right to be, but I need you
to cooperate with me here.”
“Cooperate?!” Castiel spat, and Dean almost breathed a sigh of relief at the
regularity of Castiel’s tone; no more of that dazed and dreary attempt at
speech, but something similar to his asshole self’s usual manner. “I’ve been as
cooperative as fucking possible! I mean, I don’t even know what the fuck’s
going on right now, because one minute you’re telling me we’ve got a deal, the
next you’re forcing me back in the basement with no explanation! Was it so
difficult for you to explain things then that you had to abuse and then abandon
me with the impression that I was going to be fucking murdered?!”
Dean took in a sharp breath, nodding in understanding. "Okay, uhhh ..." He
swallowed thickly, looking down to his crossed legs as he picked at the frayed
denim of his jeans. "Well for starters, I didn't mean to hurt you like that.
Like I said, I kind of took my anger out on you and I really shouldn't have
because it wasn't your fault. I just ... fuck, I mean, I know my dad's doing
what he thinks is right, but he just kept bullshitting me with all this crap on
angel blood and it was just this point blank refusal to listen to anything I
had to say." Dean tore at the material, ripping the rough fabric to distract
himself. "But he told me if I didn't do what he asked, I can't go home, so uhh
..." He forced a laugh, feeling the burn in his nostrils. "Guess I'm not going
home."
The frown was pulling on the corners of his mouth, and he continued to stare
down at the torn fabric of his jeans, the prickling in his eyes forcing him to
cover his face with his hands, because there was no damn way he was crying in
front of anyone. He didn't waste any time teleporting out of the room and
landing on his feet outside the cabin, dropping back to the ground as soon as
he was sturdy to lean back against the log wall.
He bit his lip when the tears ran to his palms, bringing his knees up to his
chest to give him that sense of security as he let himself come undone.
Why the fuck was it so easy to think about, yet when he went to discuss it he
had a fucking breakdown? He'd figured things out - he knew how to take care of
himself - so there was no need for this panic or whatever he could class it as.
He'd known he was taking a risk from the moment he decided he would definitely
follow this path, but it had never seemed as intimidating as this. 
But there was no way he could go back on it now. He was determined to make sure
everyone got out of this safely - most importantly: Sam - and he couldn't
afford for Cas to think him weak at a time like this. He needed to keep things
under control - more so since he hadn't even explained everything to the angel
yet, abandoning the guy because he'd gotten emotional for no fucking reason.
No, he needed to get his shit together and get the conversation over with.
The sooner that happened, the sooner he could get that fucking wound on Cas'
back looked at, because it was seriously pissing him off how Cas was fine
leaving it open to a Goddamn infection. He didn't care if Cas could heal
himself - Dean wasn't saving the angel's sorry ass just for the guy to continue
leaving his wounds uncared for.
 
***** Chapter 5 *****
Chapter Summary
     Castiel pulled out one of the pink packets he recognized as an
     antiseptic wipe, smirking at the yellow cat drawn on he front. He
     ripped open the top, pulling out the folded square as he dropped the
     empty packet to the ground, resting the wipe with the contents of the
     box as he reached around to unravel the bandages beneath his shirt.
     It stung as they were peeled from his skin, but he dropped them to
     the floor in front of him when he was done, wincing as his blood-
     crusted shirt flopped back against the wound. He wasted no time
     pulling the shirt off, staring down at the dampened fabric before
     balling it up in his hands.
Green.
All around him, the same colour – the same shade. Everything.
Green.
The child stood in the centre of the garish prison, features blurred with his
eyes as bright as the background, crying out the same plea for help – the help
Castiel could never offer.
That same strangled voice echoed off the walls of his mind.
There was warmth around him, pressing in on his form. His own cries were
soundless, nothing but mute screams as the heat swallowed him whole, the child
begging for someone to aid them as Castiel was drowned in the hot sea of
burning green.
He shot up in bed; pain exploding in his skull as someone cursed in pain, and
suddenly the memories came flooding back.
He was not in bed. It was very far from his home.
And he was going to die.
His vision spun as he tried to focus on the character before him; fully aware
of whom it would be before such a thing came about, and he grimaced, pushing
the musty blanket from his chest in an attempt to rid himself of the cover. It
only reminded him again of the falseness the boy had demonstrated, leading him
on with ideas of freedom to provide him with hope, few bizarre acts that had
suggested kindness, only to rip them away and replace the hope with terror.
But he was provided with a new kind of terror altogether when he finally
acknowledged the boy in front of him, his blood running cold and a nauseous
sensation rising in his chest at the sight.
All he could focus on was the green.
It wasn’t simply a case of saying that this was just a coincidence, because
although there were many shades of that colour, Castiel had dreamt of one shade
in particular for the past four years.
And now his nightmare had merged with reality.
He felt like he was going to be sick, knowing that even though this could all
be a trick of the lighting, or even that it was his mind wanting him to see
that shade in particular, the demon’s eyes hadn’t miraculously changed colour
during the time they’d been apart. Castiel had noticed it before: the
abnormality of a demon possessing green eyes, and from the first time he’d
recognized such a disfiguration, he’d also thought he’d recognized the boy from
somewhere before because of his eyes alone. It was the demonic factor that
really set things apart though, because this child was the first demon Castiel
had ever encountered that possessed eyes so very bright, and although there
were millions of others in the world that could potentially possess the same
irregularity, Castiel very much doubted they’d be of the same exact shade as
the demon before him.
He tried to dispel the thoughts, seeking excuses and flaws to oppose such a
possibility. For starters, the character in his nightmare was featureless aside
from the glowing green irises, and the age of the child itself also played
part. The demon holding him captive was in his late teens, and the character in
Castiel’s dreams was young – the pitch of his voice determined an age of around
twelve, if not a little earlier – but then again, couldn’t that be all they
were? A character in his mind? He’d known that it could have all been a figment
of his imagination – he wanted it to be – but he was just so alarmed by recent
events that he just didn’t know!
Part of him had always wanted to figure out the meaning and identity of the
person in his mind, but to pin it all on one demon purely because of the
child’s abnormality was stupid. It really could be nothing more than fiction.
“… it’s important that you tell me if you’re okay or not – especially when I
can do something to help,” the demon was mumbling, and Castiel finally paid
attention to what was being said, having not even realised the demon had been
talking to him in the first place. The boy was looking down as if attempting to
spy out Castiel’s injury, not even attempting to be subtle about it, and
Castiel pulled the clothing closer around him in order to make it harder for
the fabric to be raised. He didn’t want to show anyone his injuries, let alone
someone as freakish and disturbing as the boy. Not when they could only do more
harm than good.
He continued to stare at the demon’s eyes, wondering what kind of defect was
the reason behind the colour, and how they got to the exact shade Castiel had
been dreaming of. Had they met before? There had to be something that had been
the instigator for the colour in his dreams if this wasn’t reality, because for
a match like that, there had to be a root.
“Right, well, apparently I’ve got your attention anyway, so while I do, I wanna
apologise for everything that happened before. I was … I was pissed off at my
Dad, and I took my anger out on you, even though you hadn’t done anything
wrong,” the demon continued, making more doubts twist with Castiel’s worry. He
was struggling to understand exactly what was going on. It was like the earlier
events were repeating themselves and he was being encouraged to believe yet
more lies – lies from someone whose appearance was equally suspicious as the
words he spoke.
“I mean, that’s hardly an explanation, I get it, but I was being selfish and I
guess I sorta gave you the wrong impression of what was gonna happen. Ummm …
you’re going home, okay? Tomorrow, anyway. You can go home tomorrow …”
Castiel stopped listening after that, running the demon’s words over and over
in his head to extract the lies buried within. There was no way the boy would
simply choose to let him go just like that! After the way the demon had gone
about abusing him earlier, Castiel didn’t believe what was being said. He knew
that demons were twisted and nasty, but for the child to torment and hurt him
when it wasn’t even necessary – when Castiel would have complied and listened,
and done as he was asked knowing he was safe from the bleeding process – had a
heat twisting in his chest; an anger he’d do nothing to conceal should the
demon continue to treat him like a pathetic and harmless being.
He attempted to control his rage when the boy poked him, trying not to lose the
boys stare as he examined the child’s features, looking for any hint of
falseness that the boy had yet to mask.
“Don’t touch me.”
The demon’s eyes widened at this, the green almost glowing with some sort of
surprise, and Castiel willed those kind of thoughts away, not wanting to waste
any more time pondering ridiculous theories as to the relevance of his dreams
when they could mean absolutely nothing at all. Such thoughts were dire, and
regardless of whether the demon was the one from his dreams or not, Castiel
would still refuse to help anymore than he had already promised.
“Can you please stop with the staring then? I mean, I didn’t come down here to
be analysed. I came down to talk.”
“I have no desire to talk to you,” he told the boy, looking off to the side. He
couldn’t believe how weak his voice sounded – his throat dry from dehydration –
and he felt the heat creep over his skin, knowing that the demon would only
mock him for his pathetic state. After all, it was the demon making him this
way, forming some sort of feminine bracelet on his wrist to take the place of
the collar, and although Castiel was grateful for the loss of the heavy weight
around his neck, he still hated that the boy thought it necessary to keep such
a ridiculous hierarchy in place. If anything, Castiel should have been the one
with a power control, given his age and maturity. The boy was an idiot, and
would probably manipulate him further if things didn’t go to his plan.
He looked to the bracelet, twisting it around his wrist as he examined it for
any weaknesses. He recognized two of the four sigils carved into the steel: one
that prevented him from exceeding some sort of doorway, either the hatch of the
basement or the front door he guessed, and another that essentially controlled
his actions should the demon consider him out of line.
Now that he could see where the sigils were, it wouldn’t be difficult at all to
remove them.
“I get that you’re still pissed off, and you have every right to be, but I need
you to cooperate with me here.”
Castiel didn’t bother compressing his anger any longer, because that statement
alone had him wishing he could slam the boy’s head down against the concrete
floor repetitively. He’d cooperated. He’d trusted. He’d made a deal to ensure
his safety and still he’d been treated like he didn’t deserve respect.
He didn’t know the half of what he ended up shouting at the boy, but it
blatantly got his message across. The demon had a glazed look in his eye, his
skin lightly flushed as if what Castiel said had made him uncomfortable, but he
received a nod in what he could only assume was understanding before the boy
gave him yet another half-assed apology, laced with family issues and something
along the lines of a residential crisis before the demon fucked off again,
abandoning him in the basement once more.
Castiel wanted to scream. He wanted to cancel the deal solely so he could smash
the demon’s fucking face in, because he didn’t care if the boy was putting it
on or not. He didn’t care if the demon was giving up everything, because
Castiel was sick of being lied to and mistreated purely because of his angelic
heritage. He wasn’t going to allow himself to be manipulated or even spoken to
as if he were a lesser creature, and he most certainly wasn’t going to offer
comfort to someone who’d offered no sympathies before.
The demon had been the one to make the decision to leave home. Castiel hadn’t
forced him to do anything, so there was no way in hell that he would allow
himself to be guilt-tripped into offering more than they’d dealt.
He got to his feet, not wanting to wait around for the one conversation he
actually cared about, and he walked briskly over to the stairwell, the sound of
his footsteps echoing off the concrete floor only making him feel smaller, even
if the space confining him was of a moderate size.
He climbed the steps, surprised to find the hatch readily open, and he pulled
himself up cautiously, pleased to find no barrier in place to keep him trapped
in the basement. There was a faint pressure, quite possibly from an earlier
spell cast on the wood, but it didn’t weaken him in any way so he ignored it.
The demon’s absence was in no way alarming, and Castiel grimaced as he
straightened up in posture, craning his neck to examine the blood stain on the
back of his shirt and frowning further at the new dampness that had begun to
soak through. He’d worsened the condition of the wound when he’d sat up before,
and even though he was numbing the pain with his Grace, there was still a
certain stinging sensation surrounding the injury. He didn’t want to waste all
of his energy on his own injuries when he would only be expected to heal
someone else, and he still hadn’t been informed of the severity of such an
illness so he didn’t know how much Grace he’d actually require. It would be
very unfortunate if he went to heal them and end up unable – especially when
that would most likely result in him appearing as if a liar, the deal abandoned
as some other demon bled him out instead. He wanted to get out of this alive,
and if it meant putting up with the same irritable pain for a further twenty-
four hours, then he would endure it.
Castiel began another examination of the upper floor rooms, having not seen
everything in such clear lighting, but it was more than obvious that the
instruments for the bleeding process had been put away elsewhere and Castiel
didn’t deny himself of the immense satisfaction merely knowing that the boy
truly didn’t intend harm. The weight he felt in his chest was considerably less
prominent, even if there was still worry surrounding his thoughts. He
understood that the demon was going against orders and he couldn’t help but
think it an incredibly stupid decision to make, even if it did benefit himself
greatly.
The boy had made a choice all too fast, having not even asked Castiel to
demonstrate his ability beforehand – not that he felt up to it now. A bullet
wound would only make things more difficult later on, and he didn’t
particularly want to be damaged further, even if he had offered aid before.
That had been before the demon had fucked him over, and also before he’d been
made aware of when the healing would take place. A day was hardly enough time
to recover, and anyway, as he’d considered before: he had no plans to aid the
boy.
He wasn’t simply going to allow himself to be passed around like a box of
bandaides. It hurt to heal people. And if the demon was going to continually
treat him like shit, Castiel sure as hell wouldn’t show him any kind of
empathetic attention.
Castiel ignored the sound of the front door swinging open, touching at the
ornaments resting on the mantle cautiously. There were several of the bizarre
little statues that looked as if hand-carved, and Castiel didn’t think it fair
of him to damage them, intentionally or not. They were incredibly intricate –
very detailed in terms of the animalistic features, and Castiel could only
assume that a lot of time had gone into their making.
“My uncle showed me how to make those,” the boy commented quietly from he
doorway, and Castiel nodded to show his listening, in spite of the abrupt lack
of interest in the small carvings upon hearing it.
“I assume you’ve calmed down now,” Castiel inquired, stepping back to look
toward the kitchen.
He could hear the boy let out a heavy breath and he rolled his eyes, knowing
just how simple it would be for a child his age to feign further upset.
“Yeah, dude. Sorry for ditching you again.”
Castiel shrugged, starting back in the direction of the basement steps, keen to
avoid as much eye contact as possible. “Are we going to discuss this promise of
yours then?”
He made no effort to add warmth to his tone, completely abandoning the idea of
treating the boy with any sort of kindness. It would be fruitless after all, if
the demon was only going to betray him again.
“Uh, yes. Yeah, sure … ummm … what, uhh, what do you want to know?”
There was something about the demon’s speech that had him stalling and
rethinking his own manner of communication, confused by how the demon was
conversing. There was almost a softness to his tone – a nervousness – that
alerted Castiel to a slight slip in the hierarchy.
He looked back over his shoulder, taking in the slightly red eyes and flushed
cheeks, even if it didn’t particularly faze him. He’d seen children in
hysterics over what they’d witnessed, and a boy his age – especially a hunter –
should know by now that crying in front of an enemy was a more prominent
display of weakness, hence the frequent manipulation demonstrated by the
younger hunters out on the field, making such a weakness a tactic instead.
What Castiel was witnessing wasn’t a tactical display. He’d feigned enough when
he was younger to know how it worked in terms of attention-seeking and
distraction, but this wasn’t the first time the demon had spoken to him with
that same nervous air. He’d already identified the boy’s discomfort around him;
his stance and his speech were the more obvious giveaways, what with the way
the boy neither spoke to him with a dominance nor kept still around him,
constantly fidgeting and mumbling because his father had clearly thrown him
into an alien environment with next to no instructions on how to handle the
situation.
“I want to know everything,” he stated calmly, turning around so he could look
at the demon properly, running his eyes over the bullet wound that
was still bleeding through the kid’s shirt.
“Well, I don’t know the exact time my dad’ll be leaving, but I was gonna speak
to my brother and ask him to phone or something when he does,” the boy stated,
running a hand down his face shakily, closing his eyes. “I-I mean, I know it’s
pretty shit of me to not know, but it’ll be fine. I won’t let him hurt you if
he does show up.”
“That’s reassuring,” Castiel muttered, leaning against a nearby beam. He urged
the front door to slam shut when the boy began to walk toward him, making the
demon jump and glare at the door as if it had personally offended him. “Has he
got any sort of ability that I should be made aware of?”
The boy faced him again, keeping in the same spot as he cast another glance
back at the door. “No. No, the only thing he’ll be able to hurt you with is a
shotgun, and I can deflect that, so you’ll be safe.”
Castiel snorted, picking at the splintered wood with his fingernails. “You
didn’t deflect anything when I shot you.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t know you had a gun.”
Castiel couldn’t help but smirk, his gaze flicking to the demon momentarily.
“That’s because you’re an idiot. It’s stupid to go anywhere without some sort
of defence.” He pushed at his hair when it fell onto his forehead, his frown
returning. “Is that it then? Your plan for tomorrow?” He pressed, raising his
arms above his head as he rested his full weight against the beam. He couldn’t
help but wince at the pull on his back, but it felt good to stretch the rest of
his muscles after so long. What didn’t feel good, however, was the stiff fabric
that caught on his bandages, and he quickly dropped his arms back down to his
sides so that they couldn’t drag up anymore.
The boy cleared his throat, scuffing the floor with his feet a little. “Well,
I’ll take you to the motel, and when you’re done healing my brother, I’ll drop
you back home so –”
“No! No way in hell!” Castiel interrupted, pulling at the base of his shirt so
it fell into place properly. “I don’t want you anywhere near my home!”
“But you said using your powers made you weak. I just thought –”
“That doesn’t mean I need a chaperone! I’ll find a car if I need to, but
there’s no way I’m letting a demon find out where I live,” Castiel stressed,
turning away to walk toward the kitchenette. “So thanks, but no. I’ll make my
own way back.”
He could hear the demon follow him through the room, and he grimaced when the
boy took hold of his wrist.
“Look, I know you hate me, but is there anywhere else I can take you if you’re
not comfortable with that? I don’t want to go through all this and then have
you bump into my dad on the way back,” the demon persisted. “He knows what you
look like, and your glowing thing isn’t exactly subtle to us – to any demon, I
mean. Do you really want to risk any of them hurting you?”
Castiel met the boy’s stare pointedly, snatching his arm free. He was beginning
to regret his own honesty before, more so since the boy was essentially
blackmailing him. Castiel didn’t want an escort – especially when they were
someone of the demonic nature – but he knew that depending on the strength of
the illness he had to heal, he was at risk of being more vulnerable.
“Montana,” he murmured, pushing the boy in the chest to put some distance
between them. He was surprised when the deal didn’t repel his actions, but it
only alerted him to the fact that the demon was probably aware of what had just
happened, and Castiel faced away abruptly, annoyed with his inability to
even want to harm the boy.
“Is that all you’re gonna give me? The name of a state?” The demon asked, and
Castiel could hear the smile to his voice, making him cringe.
“The border between Idaho and Montana is as close as you’re going,” he grunted,
scowling at the boy when he felt the shadow touch at his ankle. He kicked it
away, once more irritated by the lack of reaction instigated by the deal.
“Do you want me to punch you in the face?” He snarled when the boy repeated it
again, apparently testing the boundaries.
“You can try. Not sure how effective it’ll be.”
Castiel stomped on the shadow the next time it touched at his calf, whirling on
the boy and forcing him up against the island in the kitchen.
“Don’t push it!”
The boy grinned at him, leaning back on his elbows almost in a state of
mockery, and Castiel shoved at him harshly as he turned away, not failing to
miss the sharp intake of breath from being knocked back against the hard
surface. He didn’t know what the hell was wrong with him, but he’d found
himself able to injure the demon several times now, even with the deal in
place. Part of him wanted to risk genuinely punching the boy, but he didn’t
want the damage to recoil if it worked as usual, so rather than harming him, he
encouraged one of the kitchen drawers to fly open when the demon came
relatively close.
He watched when the boy doubled over from the impact of the drawer to his hip,
not bothering to hide his amusement upon seeing the expression on the boy’s
face. There was nothing wrong with the treatment. Castiel simply wanted space,
something he was entitled to. He merely hadn’t anticipated the boy to be as
perpetually irritating as he was.
“Can you leave me alone now?” He asked, lifting himself onto the countertop and
crossing his legs. He didn’t care if it was unsanitary or anything of the sort.
He wasn’t going to be eating anything made here.
“Why are you being mean?” The boy pouted, and Castiel frowned, pushing a hand
against the boy’s forehead to keep him at bay when he tried to walk around
again.
“I’m not being mean. You’re being annoying.”
“That’s bullshit,” the demon grumbled. “I’m a Goddamn joy to be around.”
Castiel cracked a smile as he shoved at the boy’s head again. “Just go away.”
“Can’t we talk or something? I don’t want to sit around doing nothing till
tomorrow.”
“No. I’m tired, and you’re an asshole,” Castiel sighed, tipping his head back
so it rested against the cupboards. He’d hardly gotten any sleep before and his
back was burning again. He really was starting to consider cleaning the wound
whilst he remained here, just to make things less painful. “And you still
haven’t phoned whoever it was to arrange tomorrow. I’d prefer it if you didn’t
leave such a task until last minute.”
“Oh shit!” The demon blundered, turning around abruptly as he pulled out his
phone. Castiel took that opportunity to slide down from the counter, slinking
toward the basement hatch so he could retrieve the medical supplies whilst the
boy was kept busy.
It was far colder on the lower floor, something Castiel hadn’t acknowledged
earlier, but he was relieved that he wouldn’t have to stay in the basement
permanently. He let his gaze wander as he made his way down the few remaining
steps, glancing about the room and eyeing up the stale food abandoned on the
tray. He couldn’t help but wonder if it really had been tampered with in the
first place, not that he would have eaten something composed of ground up pigs’
anuses and artificial flavouring.
He ignored the food, making his way over to the med box and crouching down to
open it up. He hadn’t expected it to have been as utterly packed as it was, so
used to scavenging the remains of medical supplies, but now he felt like he had
everything at his disposal: dissolvable threads, morphine shots, rolls of gauze
and bandages – half the stuff looked as if it belonged in a hospital, not a
fucking first aid kit that probably cost around ten dollars!
Castiel pulled out one of the pink packets he recognized as an antiseptic wipe,
smirking at the yellow cat drawn on he front. He ripped open the top, pulling
out the folded square as he dropped the empty packet to the ground, resting the
wipe with the contents of the box as he reached around to unravel the bandages
beneath his shirt. It stung as they were peeled from his skin, but he dropped
them to the floor in front of him when he was done, wincing as his blood-
crusted shirt flopped back against the wound. He wasted no time pulling the
shirt off, staring down at the dampened fabric before balling it up in his
hands.
“So –”
“Jesus fucking Christ!” Castiel blurted, spinning around abruptly as he hugged
his shirt to his chest. “Don’t do that!”
 The demon grinned at him, rocking back on his heels. “What’cha doing?”
Castiel rolled his eyes, dropping his shirt to pick up the antiseptic wipe
again, looking over his shoulder as he started to clear the blood from his
skin. “It’s pretty fucking obvious what I’m doing,” he ground out, hissing when
he added a bit too much pressure to the nearest gash.
“You want me to do that?”
“No. I’m perfectly capable,” Castiel huffed, glancing at the boy briefly when
he heard the demon approach him. "I'd actually prefer it if you left whilst I
do this."
He couldn't help but frown when the demon blatantly ignored him, dropping down
to a cross-legged position no more than a foot away.
"I don't feel comfortable with you watching," he continued, tossing the
antiseptic wipe to the side and grimacing at the blood staining his fingers. It
made opening another packet all the more difficult. "So can you leave me alone?
I want to be able to concentrate."
"I-I want to help," the demon mumbled as Castiel ripped the packet open with
his teeth, pulling out another of the wipes to clean the torn tissue closest to
his ribs.
"How adorable," Castiel muttered, slapping the boy's hand away when it reached
for the medical kit. The deal did reflect the actions this time, and Castiel
swore as the sharp pain stabbed his palm. He glared at the demon when he began
to laugh, the impulse to punch him growing ever stronger.
"Don't look at me like that," the boy chuckled, shoving at his head. "It's not
my fault you're so aggressive."
Castiel scowled, holding the wipe to his wound when he felt more blood touch at
his fingers, sending another short burst of energy toward the injury to make
his blood clot faster. He wasn't aggressive. He was annoyed. The boy was
following him around and tormenting him when he knew Castiel didn't want
company. He didn't know how he could be any clearer about wanting to be left
alone because he'd said as much several fucking times!
"So, werewolf, right? That's what ripped into you like that?" The boy pressed,
resting his chin in a palm. Castiel could feel the stare trained on him without
even having to look, not that he wanted to give the boy his full attention, so
all he did was nod, focusing more intently on his wound.
It actually made him feel a little sick to know that the boy could recognize
such an injury, meaning that he'd either been hurt in the same way once before,
or he'd been involved in a case dangerous enough to have seen it happen to
someone else. Even when Castiel had been his age he hadn't taken on the
challenge of hunting werewolves, what with it essentially being a suicide
mission to take down a pack. The only reason he took the more recent job was
because of the higher pay, but thinking about it now, it wasn't even worth it.
He could have hunted two arachne and still been paid the same.
He was actually beginning to think that the boy's father didn't care about his
safety at all if he was taking the kid on such brutal hunts. Even this - the
whole babysitting thing or whatever they could class it as - shouldn't have
been an order for a teenager, not that this was the sort of hunt anyone should
have been getting involved with, but still: Castiel had come close to killing
the boy before. If he hadn't been as sympathetic as he was, the child would
have died.
"I'm sorry, Cas."
Castiel looked up at this, narrowing his eyes. "What?"
"I said I'm sorry. For like, laughing at your pain and stuff."
"Uhhh, okay," Castiel said slowly, watching the boy pout again. "Freak."
"I'm not a freak! I'm trying to be nice!"
"Of course you are."
"No, I'm serious! I know I probably annoyed you before, but -"
"Still annoying me," Castiel interjected, pulling the wipe away from his back
carefully. "Still very much annoying me."
"Christ - all I did was offer help!" The boy scowled.
"I am an adult. I don't require the help of a delinquent, let alone someone who
can barely dress their own wounds," he chortled, pushing his hair away from his
eyes with his free hand. He looked down at the bloodied cloth, frowning at the
fresh blood that shouldn't have been there. He hadn't expected there to have
been as much blood as this given the way it had been healing over the past four
hours, irritated that a scab hadn't even formed over the injury because of the
dampness.
"Okay, first of all, I haven't dressed my own wounds because I left the kit
down here for you to use - so you wouldn't have to be in as much pain. I'm
not incapable, and there's basically no way I can hurt you, so what the hell is
your problem?" The boy shouted, snatching the wipe from his hands. "It'll
literally take five minutes for me to clean your wound properly because I can
actually see it. You let me do this, and I promise I'll leave you alone till we
need to go tomorrow. Okay?"
Castiel threw one of the pink packets at the boy's chest before facing away
completely, not wanting to have to look at the child whilst he went about it.
He knew the boy was right in terms of caring for it properly, knowing full well
that he himself would be unable to clean the new damage when he couldn't even
see what he was doing. He still wasn't sure if he'd taken care of it properly
the first time, but he'd been able to bathe so at least the skin surrounding
the wound had been sufficiently cleaned of all dried blood.
He covered his face with his palms, letting out an exasperated breath at the
first touch of the wipe to one of the gashes, his discomfort worsening when a
hand settled on his shoulder to hold him steady. It was beginning to feel like
the demon was belittling him through this controlling nature of his, and with
the earlier treatment, Castiel was finding the boy's approach more than a
little unsettling. 
What did put him at ease was the way the boy's hands practically shook with
nerves, alerting him to the fact that the boy was nowhere near as confident as
he made himself out to be. Castiel was still glad to hold that sort of control;
even if it wasn't the exact quantity he was aspiring for, simply knowing that
he'd be able to manipulate the child in his own way. Perhaps it wasn't fair,
given the fact that the boy most likely hadn't been given a choice in terms of
actually watching over Castiel, but the fact that the demon was somewhat
frightened of him would definitely work to his advantage.
He stilled when the boy cleared his throat, turning his head a little out of
common courtesy. "You got anyone waiting for you back home?"
Castiel pulled a face. "What? Like family?"
"Yeah," the boy said quietly, and Castiel looked over at him properly, taking
in the frown and blatant disregard for eye contact which was fairly surprising
given the near constant attention he'd recieved before.
"Is there any particular reason as to why you need to know?"
The blush slowly stained the boy's cheeks, and Castiel was on the verge of
smirking at the sight, the corners of his mouth slinking upwards involuntarily,
"I wanted to know if they're hunters too - like mine. Ours is a family thing."
Castiel's smile slipped, curious as to what the boy was trying to say. He
didn't look very well; aside from the flush, his skin was pale, and again there
was the glazed look to his eyes. Castiel got the impression that the boy really
had been forced into the hunting life, slightly irritated that the demon's
father thought it a sensible option. In his own experience, Castiel had only
looked for hunting as a means to earn his keep. If anything else had been
available at the time he'd needed work - anything at all - he would have
preferred such an option. Hunting was something he'd grown to despise.
"They're not," he murmured, wincing when the wipe was dabbed against the
largest gash made in his side, clenching his jaw. 
"So you hunt alone then?" The demon queried, and Castiel rolled his shoulder
beneath the boy's hold, glancing to his own hands that rested on his lap.
"I prefer it that way," he stated honestly, pushing at his bangs again. He
wasn't going to break into details and inform the boy of the ulterior motives
that usually accompanied the pairing of himself and someone else, namely
because of the few that had been reasonably cooperative. And regardless, it was
none of the boy's business. Castiel's answer was sufficient, and if the demon
chose to pry, Castiel would simply ignore him. 
He didn't even want to talk to the child, but he understood that the demon
clearly wasn't as used to being alone as Castiel was, and it wasn't exactly
paining him to appease the boy with a few minutes of conversation. As soon as
this was done, he could rest in the quiet of his own company. No more pointless
questions to annoy him further.
There were certain things he could address during this time though - like why
the boy had had a change of heart. Castiel wasn't an idiot. The demon had quite
blatantly intended his death, but for him to suddenly give up a home and
family, of all things, was yet another bold desicion the boy had made - one
that should have encouraged him to act marginally more upset than he appeared,
considering how he'd acted before in the kitchen. It brought his doubts back to
the surface despite his earlier assumptions regarding the boy's emotions, and
it had one question in particular gliding off his tongue thoughtlessly:
"Why are you giving up so much to aid me?" 
The boy's hand stilled, the wipe resting at an awkward angle against his wound,
and he squirmed, shuffling forward a little so it didn't hurt as much.
“There are lots of reasons,” the demon said softly, before he was wiping around
the injury again, not saying anything more.
“Go on then,” Castiel prompted, looking at him once more. “This is a first for
me, so I’d like you to explain why you’d do something so selfless.”
The demon sighed, rubbing a hand over his brow as his cheeks turned an even
brighter shade of pink. “It’s not entirely selfless. I mean, yeah: I didn’t
want to kill you, but I was still putting my brother’s needs first. If I’d done
what my dad had asked, we would run the risk of execution, and that would
defeat the whole purpose of healing Sam in the first place ‘cos he needs
someone to look after him; so I figured that so long as my brother got healed,
he’d still have my dad to take care of him without the threat of being hunted
down and killed. So, I don’t know,” the demon shrugged, biting his lower lip.
“I preferred this over setting you up in all those tubes and stuff.”
Castiel was surprised at the blatant honesty behind the words, pleased that he
hadn’t been fed some sappy lie about ‘genuinely caring’ instead. It still
bothered him that the boy’s father was apparently kicking him out for what
seemed to be the more sensible option, especially since the demon was saving
more than just one life through this choice.
“May I ask how old you are?”
“Sixteen,” the boy responded swiftly, and Castiel turned his body fully toward
the boy, ignoring the drag of cloth over his injuries.
“You’re sixteen and your father is kicking you out for effectively saving him?”
“See? You get it! When I tried to tell him that, he acted as if I was speaking
another fucking language!” The demon frowned, balling the antiseptic wipe up in
his other palm, the material pink from cleaning away blood.
“I just want him to understand.”
 
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Summary
     The boy shrugged, hurriedly looking back down to the floor again, and
     Castiel scowled as he resumed his position, confused by the demon’s
     behaviour. As of yet, the boy had been continually differential,
     leaving Castiel unsure of how to interpret anything he did. Usually,
     analysing someone was simple, able to identify as to whether they
     were a direct threat or ultimately harmless, but with this child, he
     hadn’t the faintest idea.
Castiel waited patiently for the boy to calm down, changing his arrangement to
that of a cross-legged position as he watched the frown on the demon’s face
deepen. His eyes were watery, but his expression was stern, almost like he was
attempting to take control of his emotions in the exact way he should have done
earlier, but Castiel didn’t want to address that just yet, understanding that
the situation the boy had found himself in wasn’t entirely fair.
It was bothering him really: the knowledge that a parent would willingly cast
their child out purely because of their own ignorance. Even if the choice was
indeed a stupid one, that shouldn’t mean it was acceptable to abandon someone
who’d held the protection of his family in his best interest the entire time.
He didn’t care if the child was a demon. No one should be kicked out of their
home for making a sensible decision – especially when they were so damn young!
And like the demon had said before: hunting was seemingly compulsory within the
family. In no way was it fair for his father to essentially disown him when he
had been the one to encourage the boy to hunt in the first place. The child had
nothing to fall back on but hunting, and now he would have no home to keep him
safe, all because his father had wanted to commit unnecessary murder.
Unless, of course, there was a reason as to why the demon’s father wished him
dead; one that had nothing to do with the blood transaction, and if such a
thing was true, it could possibly explain another of Castiel’s concerns.
“Have I met with him before?” He queried, his gaze fixated on the boy’s
features. “Or you. Have I met with either of you before?”
The demon shook his head, keeping his eyes cast down to the ground. “I doubt
it. Dad said the last time he met an angel was at least ten years ago.”
Castiel continued to stare, wondering if the demon before him inherited the
same looks his father possessed. “That doesn’t rule out the possibility. Did he
ever mention the case he worked?”
The boy glanced up with a ludicrous expression on his face. “Look, it couldn’t
have been you, okay? Not unless you can come back from the dead.”
“Wonderful,” Castiel muttered, throwing another antiseptic wipe at the boy so
he could finish up, before facing away with his chin in a palm, his free hand
toying with the clasps on the medical kit in agitation. He didn’t want to
accuse the boy’s father of murder, but that was most likely the outcome of such
an encounter – especially when the intent in this situation had been just that.
But the fact that they hadn’t met before was unsettling him more than it had
earlier, wanting to find some kind of excuse as to why the green had been
imprinted in his nightmares. If he had no prior connection to the demon, then
there had to be another reason as to why the colour he was seeing was so exact.
“Sorry.”
Castiel rolled his eyes, sighing. “Please just ... stop. Stop with the
apologies. I'm getting kinda tired of it now.”
He waited for some kind of criticism in response, tipping his head to stare up
at the ceiling as the quiet continued, not even the sound of the packet being
torn open to break the silence. Before the demon had apologized for his
mistakes, but now he was saying ‘sorry’ for something that hadn’t been his
fault, and it was unneccessary.
It was stupid.
Castiel glanced back momentarily, frowning at the vacant appearance and the
direct stare the boy greeted him with.
“What?”
The boy shrugged, hurriedly looking back down to the floor again, and Castiel
scowled as he resumed his position, confused by the demon’s behaviour. As of
yet, the boy had been continually differential, leaving Castiel unsure of how
to interpret anything he did. Usually, analysing someone was simple, able to
identify as to whether they were a direct threat or ultimately harmless, but
with this child, he hadn’t the faintest idea. He was unlike any demon Castiel
had met, in the sense of his apparent sensitivity and openness – neither of
which seemed feigned. Obviously, lying was simple, and crying, with enough
practice, could be forced as opposed to impulse; but Castiel had already
clarified that nothing about the demon’s earlier distress was false, and even
in this case – what seemed to be general discomfort overriding the demon’s
previous bold and playful approach – was something of a genuine act. He
understood that losing a home in addition to family had to have been difficult,
more so because of the way Castiel had treated him in repayment to such a
selfless decision, because yes: he did pity the boy. Leaving home should have
been a choice – especially for someone who hadn’t even chosen this life for
themselves.
“So you’d never met an angel before me?” He asked, leaning back on his palms as
he looked up to the ceiling once more, figuring that he could stay that way
until the demon actually bothered to continue cleaning his wound for him. “Bet
I gave a great first impression of my race.”
He heard the boy take in a deep breath, and he closed his eyes, stretching out
one of his legs to get more comfortable.
“To be honest, my dad told me you’d be more intimidating.”
Castiel stilled, pursing his lips. He knew the demon was nervous around him,
but he’d never considered the fact that the boy had been told
to expect something of him.
“So, you think I look weak?” Castiel pressed, understanding completely as to
why the demon would think as such. Castiel’s diet had quiet blatantly affected
his weight, so he wasn’t as bulky or large as the average hunter, but he always
used his appearance to his advantage, knowing that people would continually
deem him somewhat pathetic upon first glance.
“What? No,” the demon snorted, and Castiel reopened his eyes so he could look
back over his shoulder, lost. “I was expecting someone … older, y’know?”
Castiel continued to stare, watching the boy’s face become slightly red.
He himself wasn’t particularly young – certainly not as young as the demon.
There was at least seven years between them, if Castiel had worked it out
correctly, but he hadn’t ever thought his age had been that important. Of
course, youth was something that made a person appear more innocent and less of
a culprit, but in Castiel's opinion, as of late, he hadn't at all considered
it to have been relevant.
The demon continued to avoid his stare, and Castiel angled his body so his neck
wasn’t so awkwardly positioned. “What exactly did your father say about me to
give you that impression then?”
The boy rolled his lips between his teeth, eyes flicking up to meet Castiel's
own momentarily. "Not much. He just talked about angels in general," the demon
offered, dropping the old antiseptic wipe to the floor so he could open up the
new packet. "But the stories he told us - about the angels he'd met with in the
past - always made you guys sound like wise old men."
Castiel smiled, amused by the assumption, even if it was a rather stereotypical
expectation. Castiel had met very few other angels, what with their low
abundance in the country, but they'd never come across as wise. He often
thought that his parents had tried to act that way, but mostly their words were
shaped around humour and myths that Castiel had undoubtedly preferred.
The demon stopped trying to rip open the packet, looking up again with a
furrowed brow and confusion reading all over his face. "Hey, you know your
Grace; is that the thing that gives your blood healing properties? Dad said it
was just the blood in general, but ..." The demon held up his hands, showing
the blood that had rubbed off on his palms. "It hasn't done anything."
Castiel shook his head sympathetically, reaching for the demon's injured hand.
"My blood doesn't have healing properties. It won't be able to help you."
He was surprised by the lack of hesitancy on the boy's part, letting Castiel
handle him without even asking what was going on, but it made things far easier
for him, able to turn fully toward the boy again, touching at the tiny marks
made earlier on that day before laying his free hand over the child's upturned
palm. The skin was sticky, but it wasn't as if Castiel's hands were any better,
dried blood caking his fingers from his poor attempt at cleaning his wound
before.
"Well this should be interesting," he murmured, sending forward a pulse of
energy tentatively. The boy didn't react, so Castiel began to draw the power
back, absorbing the minor damage to clear the flesh of harm.
"W-wait, have you even done this before?" The demon blurted, and Castiel looked
up at him, grinning.
"Oh great. So I'm an experiment then?"
"A very important experiment," Castiel chuckled, looking back down to the boy's
palm, dragging a finger over the healed skin. "Ta da."
He pulled back, using a small amount of Grace to relieve himself of the minute
injuries, flexing his fingers as the pain disappeared. It hadn't required much
energy at all, so Castiel was pleased he'd been able to both prove his ability
and take away some of the demon's wounds in the process.
"Thank you," the demon said softly, and Castiel waved it away, making himself
comfortable. He pulled the medical kit closer, rummaging through it again to
find a roll of bandages that was wide enough to allow him to use less, even if
he shouldn't have been concerned about wasting someone else's supplies anyway.
"I'm surprised, actually," Castiel started, measuring up the width of the
bandage against his fingers as the demon moved behind him again. "The demons I
know definitely don't see my kind as 'wise' or anything of the sort."
He could remember the first time a demon other than Crowley had found out about
his lack of education, back when he was around the same age as the boy; pinned
to the wall by two larger hunters as he was forced to read out some kind of
handwritten note, the others in the bar laughing at his inability to pronounce
the words.
The fact that he hadn't even known what it was he'd been reading until later on
still made him feel ill to this day, getting the bar keeper to read it to him
after the hunters had let him be. Very few people knew of his childhood, but to
have it mocked and ridiculed when there was absolutely nothing humorous about
it had him feeling even more insecure around those he was expected to work
with.
"Do a lot of demons bother you about it then? The whole being an angel thing?"
The boy queried, pressing what Castiel could only assume was the new antiseptic
wipe to the gouges on his back carefully.
He hummed in response, cocking his head to the side as the demon began to
fumble a little. "The majority do. It's rare for a demon to meet me and not
pass a comment on what I am, or what my use should be."
"What do you mean?"
Castiel frowned, holding himself still as the boy's hand was placed just above
the injury. "It doesn't matter. It's not important."
"You wanna talk about something else then? I didn't mean to make things
awkward," the demon spoke quickly, and Castiel sighed again, drawing his lower
lip between his teeth. He still didn't understand the demon's apparent want to
befriend him, but he certainly didn't want to explore the topic of angelic
abuse, his mind jumping to the next subject he could think of rapidly.
"Did you sort everything out for tomorrow?" He asked, unravelling the bandages.
"Your phone call didn't seem to last very long."
"Oh. No, I texted instead," the boy said simply, wiping around the torn flesh
of Castiel's back for a final time before reaching over Castiel's shoulder to
gently prise the bandage from his hold. Castiel felt the warm breath touch his
cheek as the demon collected the soft material together in his hand, his voice
far closer than before and lower in volume when he began talking again. "Means
my dad won't be able to eavesdrop or anything."
"So you haven't sorted everything out," Castiel murmured, slightly discomforted
with how close the demon was to him.
"Well, not exactly. No."
Castiel scowled, elbowing the demon in the ribs lightly. "You're hopeless."
The boy huffed out a laugh, dragging the bandage over Castiel's arm as he
pulled back. "Shut up, Cas," he murmured, his breath touching at the top of
Castiel's spine, making him shiver with unease.
"Castiel," he corrected, rolling his eyes in exasperation. He couldn't help but
jolt in surprise when he felt the hand settle just above his left hip, pinning
the bandage in place, and he frowned, waiting patiently as it was wound around
his waist, deeming the gesture unnecessary in its entirety. Castiel could quite
easily do it himself - it didn't require him to have a view of his own back
because he knew where the injury was. He didn't need to see it to conceal it.
"I can take over now," he stated sullenly, catching hold of the boy's hand when
it wrapped the bandage over his stomach again. "So thank you for helping, but
I'm perfectly capable of doing this part by myself."
"Oh. Are you sure? I don't mind doing it."
"Yes, I'm sure," he replied, feeling the touch disappear from his side as the
boy let go of the white material.
"Right. Okay," the demon mumbled, and Castiel glanced back, watching the boy
rise to his feet. "I, uhhh ... I guess I'll see you tomorrow then."
Castiel nodded in acknowledgement, looking down to the bandage as he wrapped it
around himself, careful with the positioning over his back. He could hear the
footsteps as the boy walked over to the doorway, glancing up when they came to
an abrupt stop to find the boy lingering at the bottom of the stairwell, his
head hung low like it had when the demon had stalled in such a way in the past.
He stared at the back of the boy's head until the demon turned around again, a
slight smile on his face. Castiel smiled back briefly in confusion, his fingers
losing their grip on the bandage for the few seconds he was distracted. "Is
something wrong?" He asked, turning his focus back to what he was doing to make
sure nothing moved out of place.
"Not really. It's just ... can we talk later? I mean, I know I promised to
leave you alone, but we're gonna have to talk at some point anyway because my
brother'll text back soon and you said you'd prefe -"
"Yeah. Whatever," Castiel grunted, smoothing down the bumps in the fabric over
his stomach. "Now go away while I finish this up."
"W-wait, so you'll come upstairs when you're done?" The boy queried, and
Castiel looked up seriously, meeting the boy's stare.
"If you agree not to harass me like you did before."
"I didn't mean t-"
"I don't care. You try it again and I won't stick around to help," he added,
reaching forward to take the scissors from the medical kit. "I'm not having you
treat me like I'm some kind of toy."
The demon kept quiet, and Castiel got on with aiding himself. He cut the
bandage so it could be secured and tied against his waist, twisting it in with
the tightly wound material so it would be easy to remove later, before throwing
the scissors and excess bandage back in the box, sitting back and frowning down
at his hands. He didn't have a clue what he was doing anymore, unsure of how to
proceed around the child. The boy seemed friendly enough, even if he was
somewhat clingy and utterly irritating, and Castiel still didn't know why the
demon was choosing to treat him so fairly when he could have quite easily kept
him locked down in the basement until he was needed. Obviously he was aware
that the child seemed to have some issues with being alone, otherwise he
wouldn't be calling upon Castiel for company, but he hadn't ever thought a
demon would choose to treat him kindly. Well, it wasn't exactly kind, but he
was being pleasant enough. Castiel was simply pleased he hadn't been abused for
other entertainment purposes.
He stood up carefully, knocking the lid of the medical kit shut as he picked up
his shirt from the floor to examine the fabric, scowling at the deep stains
that would take forever to remove. He couldn't afford to throw away any of his
clothing, not when he had so very little, so he'd just have to make do with
whatever he was left with.
The demon cleared his throat. "Do you, uhhh, want a clean shirt or anything?
That thing's covered in blood, dude. It's pretty gross."
"Whatever you give me you'll probably never get back," Castiel muttered,
walking past with the clothing clutched tightly in his left hand. "And given
the fact that you're about to become homeless, I'd suggest you keep hold of
whatever garments you had in mind."
He started up the steps, rubbing at his jaw with his other hand, only reminding
himself that he'd need to shave soon. He knew there was a bathroom here - he'd
seen it when he'd looked around the first time - but he didn't particularly
feel comfortable doing it without his own razor, if the boy even had one here.
The kid looked as if he hadn't even started shaving yet, so Castiel knew there
was a fairly high probability that even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to
do so.
But then again, if there were no razors, why had he been made to go to a public
restroom as opposed to the clean, pleasant bathroom here in the cabin? It was
obvious the demon hadn’t allowed him to use the one here because of the risk of
suicide, which in fairness, was one of the smartest moves he’d seen the boy
make, but Castiel most certainly wouldn't have resorted to that when his power
had been growing as strong as it was. 
Not only that, but it would mean another angel would have to suffer in his
place. Castiel had it good in comparison to the others in the vicinity,
practically free to do whatever he wanted in spite of the poor wealth that
assisted this moderate freedom. But still, anything was better than becoming a
pet. If he ever found himself in that position, without any means of escape,
that would probably be the only time he'd be willing to end his own life.
“So, is that a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’?” The demon pressed, and Castiel snapped out of
his thoughts, irritated by the boy's persistancy,
“No, I do not want any of your clothing,” Castiel blurted, shooting a glare
over his shoulder. “Did you not listen to anything I just said?”
It went quiet again as Castiel continued up the stairs, and he frowned when he
stepped onto the upper floor, throwing his shirt to the ground before moving on
through to the area he’d first been introduced to. He sat down on the beam
before laying back, a hand over his eyes and a grimace on his face when his
wound ached with the pressure.
In spite of his initial want to remain alone, he knew it wouldn’t be fair of
him to leave the boy when they genuinely seemed to be trying to apologize for
the earlier happenings. And it wasn’t as if he’d have anything of interest to
pass the time with should he have stayed in the basement. At least up here
there was a fairly tolerable form of company.
He let out another sigh, closing his eyes as he thought about what kind of
illness he’d be taking in tomorrow. Clearly it was something severe, otherwise
the invalid would have received medical treatment by now, but Castiel had very
little knowledge on illness, able to heal himself when something stronger
attacked his immune system, so he didn’t really know what to expect.
He could worry about that nearer the time though. Right now, he was more
concerned about what he’d be doing afterwards.
He was out of work and he definitely wasn’t going to be paid for this job.
Sooner or later he’d find himself scavenging again, unable to afford food and
the like and if he wanted to avoid that scenario, he'd have to start searching
for work straight away, or bargain with Crowley in order to be reemployed. The
second option was something he’d undoubtably consider a last resort, mainly
because he didn’t know how Crowley would react to find out that he’d survived
the arranged execution, or even whether it would happen to him again: sold off
as a 'cure-all medicine'. Risking his life wouldn’t be worth it – especially
when there were hundreds of other hunting firms out there run by humans that
could be more welcoming than one run by a demon, even if the pay was somewhat
lower. Castiel would just have to get used to it again, no matter how it would
affect his health.
He clenched his jaw, trying to find some sort of positive reminder amongst his
thoughts. There was living, obviously. He’d still be alive …
But what else was there? There were so many things fighting against him –
making his survival more and more difficult.
Was there really any point in fighting it at all? 
                                       *
Dean walked over to where Castiel was awkwardly positioned, staring down at the
guy in confusion because he really didn’t see how it was comfortable. Hell, he
was half-lying on a beam of splintered wood with an arm thrown over his face,
and from what Dean could see of the angel’s expression, the guy couldn’t have
been okay with laying like that at all.
But he didn’t exactly want to go passing comments because Cas seemed to be
going through some kind of mood swing and had started being a grumpy asshole
all over again, so Dean simply sat down a short distance away on the same beam,
watching for any kind of change in the angel’s appearance – hopefully a
positive one. He’d liked how normal Cas had seemed before – like, even though
there was conflict between their species, there wasn't much conflict between
them anymore. Cas had actually smiled at him; not the same virtually-invisible
smile he’d seen the first time they’d met, or when he’d gotten rid of the
warding. This one had been different, and Dean didn’t know how to describe it,
but it’d been nice to see something other than a scowl.
And the fact that Cas had also let him help with that brutal injury to his back
was an added bonus, because at least he knew that the angel wasn’t at risk of
bleeding out accidentally or anything now. He’d honestly expected the guy to
put up more of a fight against receiving any help, and obviously, the fact that
Cas had been so cooperative afterwards definitely made the difference, not that
Cas would have been able to lash out like he had the first time Dean had helped
or anything, but whatever. The point was, Dean didn’t feel as anxious knowing
that Castiel could heal properly.
Which brought him to the subject of healing, because he’d be lying if he didn’t
admit to the worry that had settled in his gut. It was gone now, but that was
because he finally had proof that Castiel could heal others, as opposed to
simply going by the angel’s word. Sure, Cas had basically used him as a test
project, but it had worked, meaning that it would work on Sam, and Dean’d
sooner be the experiment than his younger brother, not wanting anything to go
wrong in the slightest. Dean had known he should have given the angel a little
more credit, what with the offer to be healed before, but he was honestly
relieved to know that Cas was not a liar, like his dad had ignorantly implied.
Not all angels were liars.
And it wasn't just about being able to heal others, it was about the property
of angel blood too, because Dean actually had proof that an angel's blood was
basically useless. It had done absolutely nothing at all to help his injuries,
and yeah, he knew that the blood was generally used in a spell of some kind,
with a bunch of other stuff, but even if that was the case he could remember
Cas insinuating that the whole process was just a rumour.
Dean really was starting to believe it was down to nothing but racism now: the
whole angel-blood-cure ideal. Cas had been ... he'd sort of become bitter when
Dean had addressed Cas' heritage - not that Dean blamed him for the reaction or
anything. He'd known from the moment he'd asked that it would be a sensitive
subject, but he'd been hoping Cas would go into a little more, what with him
suddenly being okay to talk and all.
He stilled at the sound of the angel's stomach rumbling, watching Castiel
grimace and run a hand down his face. It kind of annoyed him that Cas hadn't
eaten the food that Dean had brought down to him the day before, mainly because
he'd actually paid for it, but he knew why the guy hadn't accepted it and that
was totally reasonable. He just thought it slightly ridiculous that Castiel
would turn down a meal when he'd clearly said that diet affected the power of
his Grace.
Unless junk food did more worse than good. Dean didn't really know.
What he did know, however, was that Cas would be better off actually eating
something to keep his energy up, because Dean didn't exactly want to turn up at
the motel tomorrow with Castiel in a run down state - especially if it meant
the care Sam received wasn't as best as it could be.
Dean looked down to his own hands, scratching at the back of his left wrist. "I
can get you something to eat if you want."
"I'll pass," Castiel muttered, his tone slightly slurred as if he was still
tired, and Dean sighed, turning his gaze to the angel again.
"We can go shopping. I'll let you choose whatever you want," Dean offered.
The angel opened his eyes, looking up at him. "You'd let me leave the cabin?"
"If you, y'know, promise not to ditch me."
Castiel blinked up at him, the corners of his mouth twitching. "Is there a set
budget?"
Dean grinned. "Just because there's not, doesn't mean I'll let you abuse it."
Cas stretched his arms above his head, not seeming to mind if they rested over
Dean's lap for a short while, still holding his line of sight.
"Obviously, you'd have to put a shirt on," Dean added, rubbing at the back of
his neck. "I don't really care if I get it back or not."
The angel just kept staring at him, so Dean decided to stare right back,
watching Castiel's expression revert back to that of an emotionless one;
impassive.
That's when Dean noticed it.
"Oh my God, why are your eyes doing that?!" He blurted, hurriedly adjusting
himself on the beam so he could lean over the angel and get a better look.
Castiel pushed away abruptly, shoving harshly at Dean's shoulder as he got to
his feet, stumbling a little as the deal repelled him. "My eyes are fine."
Dean watched as Castiel stormed off toward the kitchen, feeling nothing but
guilt for agitating the guy again. It was all he seemed to be capable of:
pissing the angel off, but this time he hadn't expected an annoyed reaction.
He'd thought Cas would remain just as calm as he had the few seconds before,
whilst he explained why his eyes changed fucking purple.
"Dude, wait!" He shouted, standing up to go after him. The angel's hesitation
was so short that Dean didn't even know if he'd imagined it or not in the first
place, but by the time he did reach where Cas stood, the guy had covered his
eyes with his hands as he leant against the counter, frowning. 
"Cas, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Dean tried,
refraining from reaching out to pull the angel's hands away because
that definitely would not go down well. "I've just never seen an angel's eyes
before. I didn't expect them to change colour."
"I don't care," Castiel huffed, leaning further against the island as if trying
to put more distance between Dean and himself. "I'm not a fucking freak show."
"Hey, I never called you a freak! It just caught me off-guard," he said,
mimicking Castiel's stance in an attempt to sight his face again. "It's cool,
though. Like the whole change with Psylocke."
"With what?" Castiel queried, keeping his hands firmly in place, but his
features softened, the frown no where near as prominant.
"Psylocke. She's a superhero. In comics and stuff," Dean rambled, watching
Castiel's nose scrunch up in confusion. He grinned at the sight, because it was
so similar to Sam's reactions when Dean waffled on about his favourite
characters and all that crap, but Dean didn't have anyone else to talk to about
it. His dad sure as hell wasn't going to humour him with a conversation on
fictional storylines.
"I don't understand. Am I meant to hear that as an insult or a compliment?"
"Compliment," Dean chirped, folding his arms over the countertop to make
himself more comfortable, before looking to the front door. "Sooo ... does that
happen a lot then? Your eyes turning purple?"
"I don't see why it's important for to you know," the angel commented. 
Castiel's hands had shifted when Dean glanced back, and he grinned wider when
he noticed Cas peering around his fingers. He slapped a hand over his own eyes
teasingly. "Whoa, dude. Don't look at me with those freaky eyes of yours!"
"Says the demon with green eyes," the angel grumbled, and Dean laughed, letting
his hand fall from his face so he could look at Cas properly.
"Well, green is a little more natural than purple, I can tell you that," he
murmured, scratching the side of his nose. "Is that why you were staring at me
earlier then? 'Cos my eyes are so utterly incredible?"
He could see that Castiel's eyes had turned blue again, if not a little lighter
in colour, and he wondered if that's how hunters could tell what he was. It was
subtle, sure, but for someone who constantly analysed everything - especially
when they'd been trained to be wary of everyone - the whole turning purple
thing was probably a bit more obvious.
Castiel began to toy with the bracelet on his wrist as he lowered his hands
from his face, his eyes focusing on the steel band instead whilst he ran his
fingers over the surface, apparently ignoring the question, but Dean didn't
really care. He knew his eyes were abnormal - hell, his dad reminded him enough
as it was - but it wasn't exactly a fault. It made him look more human, and it
wasn't often that other hunters actually acknowledged his demonic heritage
unless his dad was with him. Humans couldn't see the extension of his shadow.
"You're strange for a demon," Castiel muttered finally, and Dean cocked his
head to the side in amusement because that wasn't exactly an insult. And even
if it was, it wasn't like it had been a critical bash to his self esteem.
"Why thank you, Castiel," he said cheerfully, causing the angel's eyes to
flicker to him in what Dean could only assume was surprise, and he pushed away
from the counter to start toward the back room, kicking the basement hatch
closed on his way past. "Now come and pick out a shirt."
 
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Summary
     He glanced around curiously, trying to recognize the store they'd
     moved to. He was surprised no one had noticed their sudden appearance
     in the frozen foods section, and he wondered if anyone had noticed
     their disappearance from the other place - more so because of the
     food they'd ended up stealing. It truly did make Castiel
     uncomfortable, but this was the one occasion when it didn't seem to
     matter. There was no risk of him being caught for something that
     would have usually been difficult, and he hadn't exactly been given a
     choice as to whether or not he was happy to go along with it.
     If anyone was to blame, it was the demon.
Chapter Notes
     Oh God, I made them flirt way too much. I'm so sorry.
     I may have fangirled a little too hard at the start of this chapter,
     but there's a ship in the comics that has complete relevance to the
     stories, so, y'know, Dean has to be an X-Men fan for it all to work.
     Mwahaha
     Also, I apologise for how late this update is. I had an art exam I
     had to prepare for, and knowing me I left all the work till last
     minute.
“That’s who you compared me to? Some disproportionate girl in a swimsuit?”
“She’s not just some girl. She’s a superhero! She kicks ass!”
“Yeah, I’m sure that’s why she stands out amongst the other characters. It’s
got nothing to do with the fact that her breasts are bigger than her head,”
Castiel muttered, shoving the comic book against Dean’s chest before starting
down toward the produce isle. Dean stared down at the page Cas had been looking
at, only just acknowledging that it probably wasn't the best introductory
image. The artist, for one, was different, so yes: her body shape
wasn't exactly the same as it had been in earlier issues, and then there was
the case of it not even being her original body; but her appearance wasn't the
reason why Dean liked her, so the size of her boobs wasn't something that drew
him to the character anyway.
“In what way are we even similar?” Castiel called over his shoulder, and Dean
cleared his throat, glancing up again so he wasn't left behind.
“Uhhh, well, for starters, like I said before, her eyes get changed from blue
to purple, but that’s ‘cos she gets, like, robotic ones instead, and it’s not
down to genetics,” Dean began, chasing after the guy. “And you did that thing
in the kitchen where you moved stuff without touching it – as well as bringing
the beam down in the main room, which I still don't know how you managed.”
The angel looked back at him momentarily, keeping quiet, but he slowed a
little, allowing Dean to catch up and walk beside him. Dean was mindful of the
basket that bumped against his knee when he went too close, seeing it as more
of a barrier between them as opposed to a useful object at this point, and he
dropped the comic into it as they kept going, making it the first item to have
been added as of yet, in spite of them having already spent around ten minutes
in the store.
“Anyway,” Dean huffed, looking off to the side at the shelf of tinned fruit.
“Psylocke can do something similar – later on in her story, I mean. Well, she
can do a hell of a lot more than the whole telekinesis thing you’ve got going
on, but I don’t really know the extent of your power so I dunno what other
comparisons I can make yet.”
“Uh-huh,” Castiel murmured, and Dean jolted when the basket slammed into the
side of his leg.
“Dude, what the fuck?!” He blurted, rubbing at the point of impact through the
material of his jeans as he put a bit more distance between them. “What’d I
do?”
“Sorry, sorry,” Castiel offered, holding up a hand in apology. “I didn’t mean
to do that.”
Dean glared at the angel, frowning when Castiel turned his attention to the
fruit on display instead. He doubted that it had been an accident, but he
didn’t exactly want to start an argument when there were other people shopping
around them. And anyway, he was sick of arguing with the guy. He liked this
sort of civil atmosphere they’d managed to create, even if Castiel was still
somewhat unresponsive when he didn’t care for the topic of conversation. Dean
was trying though; still unsure of what boundaries they had in place in terms
of what he could address. But yeah: he definitely didn’t want to end up pissing
Castiel off again.
“So what powers do you have?” He continued, carefully taking the basket from
Castiel’s hand to prevent the angel from bashing him with it again. Castiel
didn’t really seem to mind, letting Dean take it without complaint, but he
looked to Dean with an exhausted expression on his face, frowning.
“Why?”
Dean shrugged, swinging the basket gently as he stepped closer. It wasn’t just
to make a comparison between the guy and one of his favourite characters
because that wasn’t exactly important; and it wasn’t to find out Cas’
weaknesses or anything like that because he had no intention of trapping the
angel – or any other angel for that matter – again. In all honesty, he just
found Cas interesting.
Like, Cas wasn’t an asshole all the time. It seemed to be more to do with their
situation than anything else because Cas had been kind of okay when they’d
talked about something relatively normal, but even the transition to the
grocery store had made the guy relax a bit. Well, he was a bit more polite for
a start, and he’d been more cooperative in terms of conversation, but the whole
mood swing thing wasn’t the reason why Dean found him so interesting. 
First of all, Cas was like, really forgiving. Dean had treated the angel like
shit, and yet here he was, walking around WinCo with the very same person.
Obviously things between them weren’t great, but he’d honestly expected Cas to
have continued being uncooperative until Dean had needed him to help. It
unsettled him a bit, knowing that Castiel could turn on him at any moment, but
he wanted to trust the angel after everything the guy had proved to him
earlier, so here he was: effectively risking his life in the name of trust.
Okay, to put it like that was a little harsh. Castiel hadn't done or said
anything particularly cruel. He'd been defending himself, and Dean certainly
hadn't been pleasant to start with, but in spite of all that, Cas had continued
to talk to him – and it wasn’t the same kind of aggressive conversation they’d
had earlier on in the day, because Dean knew for a fact that Cas was only
talking to humour him. The angel didn’t care about the same things Dean did,
but even when the conversation had fallen flat, Castiel had asked about
something relating to the whole comic book thing, and that’s kinda the reason
why Dean had shown him the story in the first place.
Cas might not care, but he was no where near as dismissive as John was when
Dean bought up this topic.
“Well, my dad told me about the angels that he’d met and the powers they had,
so I was wondering if all angels had the same powers or not,” he lied. He
wasn’t ignorant enough to think that every angel would be an exact copycat in
terms of their abilities, but he’d found that one of the only ways he got a
decent answer was to seem fairly ignorant. It was lame, yes, but in this
situation especially, he wanted a good answer.
Castiel stared at him seriously, his eyes bordering on cold, and Dean looked
away out of discomfort, averting his gaze down to the basket when he realised
just how racist that must have sounded to the guy.
“All angels are different,” Castiel stated simply, before falling quiet again,
followed by a light rustling noise.
Dean kicked at the floor, scuffing his shoe. “But did you get, like, the same
powers as your parents, or is it random like with demons?”
The angel snorted, and Dean looked up again, watching Castiel fill one of the
thin plastic bags with apples.
“You know what? Even I don’t know the answer to that. My parents wouldn’t let
me use my powers and I never saw them do anything, so sorry. Can’t help you
there.”
Dean rubbed at the back of his neck with his free hand, watching as Castiel
began to tie a knot with the plastic handles. If Cas’ tone was anything to go
by, Dean had addressed a sensitive subject – a moderately more sensitive
subject than the whole angel ideal in itself addressed – and he felt the guilt
twist through his chest, knowing that once again, he’d fucked up.
“I’m sorry, Cas. I –”
“Don’t apologise,” the angel interrupted, turning around to place the bag in
the basket, avoiding eye contact. “Honestly, I’ve never known anyone to say
sorry as frequently as you do. You hadn’t even done anything wrong.”
“So you didn’t mind me asking that kind of question?” Dean followed up, and
Castiel met his line of sight for a brief few seconds before turning toward the
display again.
“You’re curious, not impulsive. I wouldn’t answer you if you brought up
something I believed to be too personal or anything of the sort,” the angel
muttered, taking a few steps down the isle as he continued to browse.
“Does that mean you’re okay with me asking about your powers?” 
Castiel stalled, sighing. “I’m not demonstrating anything, if that’s what you
wanted.”
“No, no – I just want to hear about it,” Dean grinned, catching up to him
again. “And anyway, I know that using your power would affect your Grace. It’d
be kinda selfish of me to ask you to waste energy showing me stuff when it’d
make things more difficult for you tomorrow.”
That earned him a rather surprised glance from the angel, before Castiel was
facing forward once more, shaking his head and smirking. 
“You are singlehandedly the weirdest demon I have ever met.”
“But I’m cool, right?” Dean prompted, quirking an eyebrow when Castiel looked
at him again.
“No.”
“What do you mean ‘no’?"
"It's pretty explanatory: no, I don't think you're cool," the angel told him,
pulling a face as if he found the question confusing.
"Yeah, but do you have a reason?"
"What?"
"You can't just insult me like that without reason."
Castiel rolled his eyes. "Seriously? Is that what you kids consider an insult?"
"Sixteen," Dean chirped, elbowing the angel gently. "Not a kid."
Cas looked at him mockingly, both eyebrows raised. "You're a minor. In other
words, you're a child."
"I am not!" Dean blurted, cringing as the heat touched at the tips of his ears.
"And yet, you let yourself fall victim to such a childish taunt," Castiel
teased, elbowing Dean back.
"Doesn't that make you childish for starting it in the first place?"
"I think you'll find that you're being childish by wanting to continue the
argument."
"That's not how it works."
"That's definitely how it works."
"Shut up," Dean scowled, shoving at Castiel's arm. 
The angel grinned across at him, allowing Dean to identify the dark shade of
lilac that had replaced the prior blue of his irises, and he ducked his head in
embarrassment, feeling the blush crawl over his cheeks. Sure, he wanted to look
at Cas' eyes again, but he'd just made a damn fool of himself and sharing eye
contact with Castiel wasn't exactly going to make him feel any more
comfortable.
"So, are you going to ask me questions, or can I continue shopping?" Castiel
asked cheerfully, and Dean fiddled with the handle of the basket
absentmindedly, picking up on just how pleased the guy sounded. It wasn't just
that, because Dean hadn't seen Cas look as fucking satisfied as that before,
and just knowing that the angel was essentially repaying Dean for being a
patronizing jackass the day prior had him wishing he'd been a little bit nicer
in the beginning. 
"Why do angels' eyes change colour?" He queried, glancing up timidly. Castiel's
smile had softened and he was looking to the groceries available again, and yet
Cas looked like he wasn't paying attention. Even with the smile, his expression
was still fairly vacant.
"That doesn't have anything to do with our powers."
Dean shrugged. "No, but I mean in general. You didn't tell me before."
"You didn't ask," the angel replied dryly, stopping to take another of those
plastic bags from a dispenser.
Dean frowned, holding the basket out to the side so it wouldn't swing against
Castiel's back. "I did."
"You asked me if it happened frequently," Castiel continued, reaching back to
drop a netted bag of oranges into the basket before adding a different variety
of apples to the new plastic bag. "And I don't know that. I can't see them
without looking in a mirror."
Dean rolled his lips between his teeth, taking hold of the bag when Castiel
held it out to him. "Why does it happen through?"
The angel looked up at him as he turned around, adjusting the base of the shirt
he was wearing. It was weird seeing Castiel in his clothes, but it wasn't like
he'd particularly liked that shirt. It was plain and a little too big, and yet
it was the only item Cas had actually considered acceptable in terms of
appearance, even if his shoulders were broader than the fit of the clothing. It
didn't look bad because it wasn't that obvious that it was a little bit small,
what with Castiel's slimmer build.
Despite the guy being older than him, they were practically the same height,
meaning that the torso length of the shirt wasn't short on the angel or
anything. The only thing that really stood out, was that it wasn't as ... loose
as the shirt Castiel had worn beforehand. That wasn't to say it was stupidly
tight or something like that because all it seemed to do was pull taut across
the top of his chest, and the rest of the fabric basically just accentuated
Cas' muscles without clinging to him or outlining the bandages, and Dean really
needed to stop thinking about something so ridiculous because he had far more
interesting things he could be thinking about over that of the angel's Goddamn
clothes.
"I'd actually rather not discuss that with you."
Dean stilled for a moment, only moving again when Castiel pressed a hand to his
chest, gently pushing him away to put some distance between them. "Okay."
He couldn't help but feel marginally disappointed because the change in itself
was awesome. It was like when ink was dropped into water in terms of how
gradual it was, but that had to be creepy as fuck to see from the perspective
of a human. Dean hadn't really acknowledged how they'd changed before, but he
could see the changes going on now, Castiel apparently no longer caring as to
whether Dean stared or not.
"Do people usually freak out when they see them change?" He questioned, and the
angel pushed at him lightly, rolling his eyes.
"What happened to you asking about my powers. I didn't agree to this."
"I just want to know why you made a big fuss about your eyes before if you're
okay with me looking at them now."
The angel went slightly pink, all and any traces of his smile disappearing. "At
what point did I say I was okay with it?"
Dean blinked. "Well, I'd have thought if you didn't want me looking at you,
we'd be having a repeat of earlier."
Castiel began to chew on his lower lip, his eyes reverting back to blue again
almost instantly, and Dean was slightly alarmed by how quick the change was,
encouraged to rethink everything properly, not wanting to make Castiel any more
uncomfortable than he already had.
"I didn't think -" "A-actually, don't worry about it."
Dean froze at the realisation of what had just happened, immediately regretting
saying anything at all. Castiel had fallen quiet with a grimace on his face,
and it only made Dean feel worse knowing that the angel hadn't simply ignored
the question, but instead had been thinking up a fucking answer!
"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to speak over you like that!" He blundered,
grabbing Castiel’s arm when Cas went to move away. "I thought you weren't gonna
answer me, and I didn't want to make you feel forced into telling me anything."
Castiel prised Dean's fingers from his arm carefully, continuing to frown.
"It's fine."
"So what were you going to say?" He pursued, watching Castiel's expression
warily. He didn’t know if he’d upset the guy, or if Cas was going to start
complaining about how much Dean talked again, because he’d heard that twice
within the first five minutes of actually walking around the store, and he was
actually surprised Castiel hadn’t told him to shut up more often, what with him
having waffled on about the fucking X-Men for God knows how long before even
showing Cas who Psylocke was.
"It doesn't matter," Castiel mumbled, reaching for the basket in Dean's hand. 
"But you were happy to tell me just then. What's so different about now?"
"There's no difference. But like you implied: I am not under any obligation to
tell you."
Dean pouted, pulling the comic book back out of the basket quickly as Castiel
turned to head down the next isle. "You're still gonna tell me about your
powers though, right?"
"I did say as much," Castiel hummed, and Dean let himself smile again at the
familiar tone, pacing himself so he and Cas could continue to walk side by
side.
"So, what other psychic-y abilities do you have?" He inquired, watching the
lilac colour spill through Castiel's irises slowly, almost mixing with the
blue.
"Are those the only ones you're interested in? My 'psychic abilities'?" The
angel asked, a slight smirk pulling at his lips. "Because I can tell you now,
you're going to be extremely disappointed by how much I have to talk to you
about."
Dean pursed his lips in mock irritation, pulling Castiel close to him for a few
moments as a couple attempted to walk past. "That does disappoint me," he
teased, pushing Cas away lightly when the isle was empty again. "God, Castiel,
why can't you be more awesome."
"Well, at least you got my name right that time around," Castiel muttered,
plucking the comic from Dean's hand. Dean considered objecting, but in all
honesty, he didn’t really care. Watching Castiel’s facial expressions change
whilst his eyes skimmed over the front cover was enough to entertain him
anyway.
The angel went on to flick through a few pages, his brow furrowed as they kept
walking past the displays, not paying attention to what was around him in the
slightest, and Dean had to grab his wrist to stop him from walking into one of
the stalls, grinning stupidly when he received a tight frown in response.
“Hurry up and pick out everything you want,” he prompted, reaching over in an
attempt to snatch the comic back, but Castiel held it at bay, his expression
impassive. Dean didn't even bother trying to grab it again, rubbing a hand over
his eyes when Castiel looked back to the pages of the comic in what seemed to
be confusion.
Dean sighed, taking hold of Castiel's arm again so he could teleport them
elsewhere - preferably somewhere with more selection, because although WinCo
was cheaper, Dean wasn't going to be paying for any of it anyway. He'd kind of
decided that after Castiel had asked if he could buy containers and shit to
take food back with him.
He'd thought it weird at first: why the angel would want to take as much as he
could, but after what Castiel had said about issues with work and the treatment
he received in general, Dean kind of understood why it was actually a pretty
good idea. This whole event - the confining, and the plans to murder him - had
all been arranged by who Dean could only assume was Castiel's employer. John
hadn't said much about it, and Dean hadn't met with whoever it was himself, but
it was rare for a lower class hunter to trade in something - or someone - so
valuable, even if it wasn't theirs to begin with.
The situation Castiel was in now was probably worse than Dean's. He doubted
that Cas would be able to find work soon enough to be able to afford a few more
weeks worth of supplies, and Dean didn't see any problems in helping the guy
out whilst he had the chance.
Which was kind of why Dean had considered giving him a referral.
It was Dean's dad that usually dealt with the employer, being paid for both of
their work out on a hunt, but with the reputation his family had, it couldn't
be too difficult to find someone ... less racist to employ Castiel. There were
several hunters he knew that were against the whole abusing angels thing, even
if his dad had tried to enforce it as a positive thing, so if it meant Castiel
wouldn't die of starvation or even find himself trapped again, then talking to
a few contacts wasn't gonna hurt.
In terms of himself, hunting wasn't necessary. Not unless he wanted a permanent
roof over his head anyway, but he was so used to the constant transfer from
motel to motel that he didn't really feel comfortable with finding an apartment
or something along those lines. It wasn't like he had anything important to
house; just a laptop and his crippled iPod, enough clothes to semi-fill a
duffel bag, and a couple of old comics and books. It wasn't much, but it was
all he wanted. Anything more would be a burden.
But right now, that wasn't important. He still had to worry about Cas, and one
of his main concerns - other than the whole starvation thing - was if Cas would
be okay after healing Sam.
The kid was in terrible condition, barely able to even sit up on his own
anymore, so he was basically permanently bedridden. They'd been to doctors and
healers, psychics and witches - and still, they didn't have a fucking clue what
they were dealing with.
He had no doubt that Castiel would be able to take it on himself, but it was
whether or not he'd be affected for a long period of time that Dean worried
about most. That was kind of another reason why he was letting Cas go all out
in terms of shopping. If Castiel was going to end up in a similar situation to
Sam for a while whilst he healed, and he couldn't go out on hunts or anything,
then he wouldn't be able to make money to get by. At least this way, Cas
wouldn't starve to death, or lose the power of his Grace from a poor diet or
something.
Dean didn't know. All he wanted was to make sure that Castiel didn't suffer or
anything after actually helping them.
                                       *
Castiel's head reeled as his feet touched solid ground, feigning a neutral
reaction so the boy wouldn't notice just how ill the entire transition made him
feel. It had been fine the first few times, but he supposed that was because
he’d been expecting it, and after such an abrupt change in scenery, Castiel
honestly thought he was going to pass out. It helped that the boy was still
holding onto his arm, even if the familiarity the demon was treating him with
made him feel more claustrophobic than anything else.
He was pushed forward gently, the boy almost guiding him toward this new
selection of food, but Castiel wasn’t really focussing on that, still staring
down at the brightly coloured pictures on the page.
“Next time you plan on moving us elsewhere, can you at least tell me first?” He
murmured thoughtlessly, slapping the demon’s hand away when he tried to take
the comic from him again. “Stop that! You can look at it later.”
“But it’s mine!”
“Did you pay for it?” Castiel countered, turning the page. “Did you buy this
during the three seconds you disappeared in before?”
He couldn’t help but smirk when the boy fell silent, running his eyes over each
shaded sketch for the second time. He wasn’t an idiot. This copy clearly hadn’t
ever been read before, and with the boy’s abilities, he wasn’t really surprised
that the child stole things. That wasn’t to say he agreed with it, but it did
help to know that the demon would be able to provide for himself on his own if
he relied upon such a talent.
He turned the page again, skimming his eyes over the text boxes as he attempted
to register what it was exactly that was going on in the storyline.
It wasn’t quite the same as the books he’d had read to him as a child, where
the characters were pastel coloured and frequently orientated around harmless
creatures. There was nothing childish or adorable about either the art style or
the vocabulary, and Castiel struggled to understand what exactly was going on.
The images helped a great deal, but the speech of some characters was
confusing, the small font making it far more difficult to read.
He’d seen comics such as these lining the shelves in stores before, not really
caring for the images or content. His opinion hadn’t changed, but clearly there
had to be someelement of interest if the boy was so utterly obsessed with the
illustrated stories, hence the reason why he was attempting to read at least a
little of it now.
Not that he was doing very well.
He could vaguely identify a few of the characters from the terms of address.
Obviously there was that girl he'd been compared to, and the name 'Psylocke'
was practically etched into his brain, what with it being every other word that
tumbled out of the boy's mouth.
He didn't really understand the appeal of her. From what he could read in terms
of her speech, she came across as a fairly nasty character, and it was actually
rather insulting to have been compared to someone who didn't seem to care for
anyone other than themself.
The boy hadn't actually claimed to have seen such a characteristic in Castiel,
but it was somewhat irritating to know that the demon was purposely looking for
more ways in which he could compare them. He knew that was the sole reason
behind the child wanting to know of his powers, but he doubted many matches
could be made between himself and a fictional character, given that this
Psylocke's abilities seemed to relate back to her utterly original name.
Well, Castiel had only seen a page, but the boy wouldn't have specifically
requested to hear about Castiel's psychic powers if the character wasn't boxed
into that one category.
Castiel didn't even know why he was caring about something so insignificant.
The demon had asked him to talk of his powers as a whole initially, and Castiel
had no problem with discussing them. If anything, it would make him seem more
intimidating than his 'young appearance' apparently provided, and he could do
with a little more control at this point in time. There wasn't as much of a
problem with the way the boy was treating him anymore, but he still didn't know
what to expect. The demon was definitely being kinder, and Castiel felt more at
ease than he'd been since they'd met, yet that additional dominance would let
him actually relax. That was all he wanted: to be able to forget about the
potential threat and focus on what should be important.
And comic books did not file under 'important'.
"Here," he said softly, closing the cover before holding it out for the boy to
take.
The demon looked down to it, taking a step back and holding up his hands. "No,
no - it's fine. You finish reading it first."
Castiel chose to drop it in the basket instead, knowing that if the boy was
going to insist upon him keeping it, there was no point holding it when he'd
need to be picking other things up.
He glanced around curiously, trying to recognize the store they'd moved to. He
was surprised no one had noticed their sudden appearance in the frozen foods
section, and he wondered if anyone had noticed their disappearance from the
other place - more so because of the food they'd ended up stealing. It truly
did make Castiel uncomfortable, but this was the one occasion when it didn't
seem to matter. There was no risk of him being caught for something that would
have usually been difficult, and he hadn't exactly been given a choice as to
whether or not he was happy to go along with it.
If anyone was to blame, it was the demon.
"Are you getting anything?" He asked, not really enjoying the lack of
conversation. It was mildly entertaining to hear the boy talk, even if he did
ramble on about pointless nonsense. He just seemed to be so enthusiastic about
everything he talked about, and Castiel was amused by the excitement lacing his
words in spite of the events to come, almost like the whole childish innocence
prevented him from ever staying upset.
"I dunno. Pizza probably. Oh, but the stove at the cabin isn't very good, so if
you're planning on making yourself something, I wouldn't recommend anything
that has to cook for longer than half an hour in the oven," the boy replied,
and Castiel frowned slightly, rethinking his options. He didn't needto cook
anything to have a decent meal, and he hadn't particularly wanted to use what
was available in the cabin anyway because he didn't know how clean anything
was.
Regardless, he'd grown accustomed to life without an oven or microwave. He
didn't need that kind of food to survive, and he would definitely benefit from
something vegetable-based anyway. He needed to boost his strength as much as
possible.
"Where's the vegetable isle?"
The demon snorted. "Is that seriously all you're going to eat? Salad and
fruit?"
Castiel ignored him, looking up to the signs hanging down above the displays.
"Wait - is thatwhy you didn't eat the burger? Are you a vegetarian?"
Castiel glanced to the boy for a moment. "No. I eat whatever strengthens my
Grace," he stated, turning his attention to the hand still resting on his arm.
"Now please may you help me find the things I'm looking for?"
He stumbled a little when the demon pulled him back in the direction they came,
the basket knocking between the both of them, and Castiel quickly switched his
hold to his other hand, smiling across at the demon apologetically when the boy
turned his head, glowering.
He was surprised the demon hadn't persisted with questions on his powers, given
how interested he'd been before, but Castiel didn't mind either way. The only
other reason he would have wanted to discuss powers would be to find out some
of the demon's own. It was more common for a demon to have no ability than
anything at all, and already Castiel had seen two different powers being
demonstrated by the child. The creation or summoning of objects - whatever it
was that had allowed the boy to put both handcuffs and a collar on Castiel in
the first place - was an incrediblyrare power for a demon to possess, and yet,
here he was walking beside a boy that could not only create objects, but could
also teleport to wherever he wished; an ability that Castiel really hadn't
thought any demon would ever be able to use.
Angels could do something similar, but only when they had enough power to make
their forms travel through walls and the like ... and if they'd been taught how
to master such an ability. It was the main reason as to why Castiel hadn't
abandoned the demon as such now, because his energy levels had certainly
increased to the point where he was sure such a talent would have been useful.
But then there was that slight reminder that it would actually be far too cruel
to leave at this point, more so when he took into account just how well the boy
was treating him. He'd honestly thought that this was all just some act that
would fade if Castiel had continued to be unresponsive, but he'd tried that
earlier and the boy had kept on walking around with a stupid smile on his face,
talking to him as if Castiel had been asking him all sorts of questions anyway.
That wasn't to say that Castiel wasn't interested in what the demon had to say,
because he'd expected the boy to have been just as irritating and arrogant as
he was earlier on, and yet he wasn't. Not really. The child was still a little
full of himself, but it seemed to be more as a joke than anything else, and it
had Castiel wondering just how much of a front this was: the whole Mr.
Confidence act. The mask had slipped now on multiple occasions, and Castiel
didn't know whether it was an issue with how he was generally treated or how he
viewed himself, but if the boy didn't confront something of that nature, hunts
were going to be far more difficult for him to handle on his own.
They continued around the store with little conversation, the demon taking very
few things for himself, and it wasn't until Castiel found himself facing the
shelves of alcohol that he felt inclined to say anything important.
"Last time I checked, you weren't twenty-one," he commented, shoving the boy
lightly when the demon began to browse what was available.
"So?"
"So you're not old enough to drink. It's a fairly simple concept."
The boy pulled a face, but he picked up a case of El Sol regardless, continuing
on down the isle. "Dad lets me drink, so I don't see the problem with getting
beer for myself."
Castiel pushed a hand through his hair in frustration, disgusted by the boy's
father and his apparent lack of care for how it could affect the kid. Even when
Castiel had been that young he hadn't been drinking, and he'd spent the
majority of his time waiting at a hunter's bar for the next job.
He still didn't drink that often now,knowing that he needed to save the
majority of his wealth for things that were actually beneficial. Well, alcohol
was beneficial sometimes - especially when things had been particularly
difficult - but that usually resulted in him drinking to excess and waking up
in the bed of a stranger.
The demon didn't need to head on down that route - especially at such a young
age - but then, what right did Castiel have to address something of the sort?
It wasn't hischild, and although he didn't agree with the poor parenting the
boy's father clearly provided, he shouldn't have been getting involved at all.
The demon could do whatever he wanted.
He followed behind the boy timorously, swinging the basket in his hand as he
waited for the demon to finish getting everything he wanted for himself. It was
heavier now, filled to the brim with everything Castiel could use over the next
six weeks if he went about it sparingly, and the demon had taken a few things
into his arms to help ease the load, even if it was clear that the boy was
beginning to struggle.
"Do you want to put some of that back in the basket?" He questioned, and the
boy looked back at him brightly.
"Would that be okay? I think I kinda underestimated how much I could carry."
Castiel smiled, setting the basket down on the ground, crouching beside it.
"Bring it over," he murmured, adjusting the contents so that the lighter
objects were brought to the top, not wanting any of it to become too badly
damaged. The demon dropped down beside him, dumping all the packaged goods on
the floor carelessly, and Castiel rubbed his brow as he tried to hide his
amusement. "Right, uhhh ..."
He trailed off when the demon pressed a finger to the centre of his forehead
and he found himself pushed backwards until he was sat on his ass, confused. He
stared at the boy when the demon started to laugh at him, unsure of why exactly
such an action had been necessary. It hadn't actually hurt, not even his
injuries aching from his hunched over position, but it didn't make him feel any
more comfortable with the situation, adjusting his position so he was sitting
cross-legged instead.
He waited until the demon was trying to organize what he'd bought over before
he reached across to return the favour, shoving at the boy's uninjured shoulder
so that the demon toppled sideways, not even the deal reflecting such an action
in spite of it being more forceful than the last few times Castiel had pushed
him.
The demon continued to laugh, propping himself up on his hand so he could mimic
Castiel's arrangement.
"Thought you weren't childish," Castiel said, making himself look busy as a
customer walked past them, slightly embarrassed to be seen sitting on the floor
surrounded by his groceries. He was trying his best to keep the smile from his
face, ducking his head so that it would be harder for the boy to see if he
looked over anytime soon.
"What? So youweren't being childish either?" The boy giggled, throwing a bag of
salad at him. "Asshole."
"You deserved it. I'm not here for your entertainment," Castiel muttered,
pulling the basket closer so he could continue fitting the food in efficiently.
He took out the comic book carefully to prevent it from being creased, setting
it down on the floor whilst he went about putting the less delicate items in,
aware of the boy's continual stare. It didn't really bother him, knowing that
his eyes had been bound to catch the child's attention at some point or
another. He just didn't understand how it hadn't been noticed earlier on.
Well, 'earlier' as in the past few hours. He certainly hadn't felt anything but
anguish until the restraints had been taken off, and even then, he'd still been
fairly upset over the betrayal.
"Hey, you got everything you needed, right?" The demon queried, a more serious
tone accompanying his words, and Castiel nodded, stilling when the fingers
touched at the back of his wrist. "Leave it then. I'll just take you back to
the cabin."
Castiel crammed a few of the cans in with his free hand, keen to fit as much in
as possible. "No, hold on. If I do this now, you don't have to make two trips."
The demon remained quiet as Castiel kept on adding to the basket, placing the
bagged fruit atop the more sturdy foods carefully. Things went faster when the
boy began to help him with it as opposed to simply sitting by and watching, and
although not everything fit, at least a dozen items still strewn about between
them, it was far less for the demon to carry in his arms. And even then, they
could pile it all on top for the transition, so long as Castiel held the basket
close to his chest.
"Alright," he huffed, throwing on a couple of lightweight items before
attempting to lift the basket up from the floor. He frowned at the weight, but
it wasn't impossible to carry, so he steadily rose to his feet, adjusting the
basket in his arms rather than holding it by the handles.
"You okay with that?"
Castiel grinned, jostling it a little as he balanced it against his hip. "This
you thinking I look weak again?"
"Dude, I never said that! It just looks a little heavy. That's all."
Castiel nudged the comic book along the floor with his foot, pushing it in the
demon's direction. "Don't forget to pick this up," he reminded, supporting the
base of the basket with a hand. In comparison to the rock wall of his home,
this was not heavy. Not in the slightest.
He waited until the boy had picked up everything from the ground before
stepping closer, standing beside the child so it would be easier to transport
him out of the store. But the boy didn't move to touch him or anything of the
sort, looking a little further down the isle to where a man was examining some
kind of packet.
"What?" Castiel asked. "You know him?"
The demon snorted. "No. Do you?"
Castiel was confused, but he shook his head slowly. "No."
"Great," the demon chirped, laying a hand on Castiel's bicep. Castiel was about
to ask why the child had been staring in the first place if it wasn't out of
recognition when the boy called out to the man in greeting, waiting until the
man had turned to look at them before the colours were blurring and they were
suddenly back in the cabin.
Castiel blinked, swaying a little as he clutched the basket to his side,
glancing across at the boy when he burst into laughter again.
The demon dropped the items in his hold on the kitchen island, leaning against
the smooth wood as he continued to laugh, and Castiel lifted the basket onto
the surface beside it, folding his arms over the counter to rest his chin atop
them, smiling.
"You're a horrible person," he teased, even if the words could be seen as
truth. He himself had never gone out of his way to torment a human like that,
but in all honesty, they could have witnessed something far worse than two
people vanishing from a room.
But it was still cruel. The incident may not have been damaging enough to make
the man appear terribly insane, but it would still affect him mentally, even if
it wasn't long-term. It wasn't fair for the boy to go around traumatizing
people like that, and Castiel didn't even know why he himself found it amusing.
"He'll get over it," the boy shrugged, pulling out out one of the bottles from
the El Sol case. "Anyway, can we talk about you now?"
Castiel dropped his head lower so his temple rested against his forearm,
letting his smile falter gradually as he let himself relax. "You mean my
powers."
"Yeah. We kept getting off topic."
"Or rather, you kept getting distracted. I was prepared to answer any questions
you had," Castiel pointed out, cringing as his stomach rumbled. He reached out
an arm to rummage through the basket, not really caring if anything fell over
the side onto the countertop, to grab one of the bags of apples and pull them
closer, taking one out after fiddling around with the loose knot he'd made at
the top.
"To be fair, dude, the questions aren't necessary. You could have just told me
about them and I would have listened," the boy insisted, and Castiel looked him
over for a few seconds, still trying to get used to the fact that thisdemon
wasn't really going to mock him for anything.
The main reason as to why he hadn't spoken without a prompt was because he
hadn't wanted to mention abilities that the demon wouldn't have found
interesting, and like with his eyes, he'd thought the response he'd receive
would only be one of torment.
That was all it ever seemed to be.
"So you basically just want me to talk, and then you'll ask about them
afterwards? Is that right?"
"I guess. Yeah."
Castiel pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he thought it over,
wondering what exactly he could start with. Considering it now, there were lots
of things - minor things - that he used more often than not to aid his life
daily without even thinking about it, but he didn't know whether the boy would
enjoy hearing about his ability to change temperature, or manipulate the
woodland. He knew that the demon wanted to hear about powers similar to those
in the comics: bizarre and destructive, not dreary control over nature.
He rarely used the abilities that inflicted pain because of how utterly
draining they were - much like the whole healing aspect. He'd hardly had any
practice with either of them, unless it was to aid a creature in the forest, or
put it out of its misery.
But he knew what he'd be talking about. He hadused them before, after all.
It wouldn't be too difficult to keep the child's attention.
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Summary
     Dean rested his chin in a palm, balancing his elbow on his thigh as
     he watched Castiel mold the liquid into the shape of an
     unrecognizable cartridge, the beer stretched out in midair to craft a
     long, thin tip, sorta similar to an FMJ spitzer only Dean doubted Cas
     had made the core any different to the exterior. It was slowly frozen
     over, the dull colour of the drink turning an almost opaque grey,
     completely encased in ice.
"Wait, wait - you're seriously gonna show me?"
"I don't know why you're getting so excited. It's not all that interesting."
Dean swung his legs from his seat on the countertop, watching as the angel
opened a beer for himself before setting it down beside the sink, pushing the
hair away from his forehead with his fingers as his brow furrowed and his lips
were pursed. Dean simply grinned, looking expectantly to the glass bottle when
Castiel directed a hand through the air.
Cas had said it was okay - that this sort of thing wasn't at all draining in
terms of his power. At least, it wasn't anywhere near as draining as the whole
internal frying thing that the guy could do, not that Dean had wanted a
demonstration of that anyway. For starters, it sounded gross; Dean didn't want
to watch anyone’s eyeballs melt from their head - and he sure as hell didn't
want to have it demonstrated on him, seeing as he was the only one around for
Cas to test anything on anyway.
And again, there was the whole conserving-energy-for-the-following-day thing.
That was priority, even if it meant Dean missed out on a shit-ton of awesome
power things.
This one, however, wasn't initially intended to hurt anyone. Cas had basically
been clever enough to use it in such a way that it was almost an inexpensive
alternate to buying ammo and stuff, and regardless of whether Cas claimed it or
not, Dean thought it was interesting.
"So, is this like your ultimate money-saving idea then?" He teased, grinning
wider when the angel huffed out some form of light laughter, the bottle on the
counter trembling a little as Castiel began to manipulate the drink inside.
"Perhaps in the colder months," Castiel told him, drawing out the beer in the
form of a small bubble. "It's not that reliable during the summer."
Dean rested his chin in a palm, balancing his elbow on his thigh as he watched
Castiel mold the liquid into the shape of an unrecognizable cartridge, the beer
stretched out in midair to craft a long, thin tip, sorta similar to an FMJ
spitzer only Dean doubted Cas had made the core any different to the exterior.
It was slowly frozen over, the dull colour of the drink turning an almost
opaque grey, completely encased in ice.
"Alright," the angel muttered to himself, reaching out a hand to catch it in
his palm as it fell from its held place above the sink, before walking back
over to Dean and offering it for him to take. Dean picked it up gingerly,
attempting to ignore the harsh burn as the ice stuck to his skin, rotating it
between his fingers.
"Okay, so how do you use these exactly? They don't look like they'd fire from
any gun I've ever seen, and there's no primer - or propellant for that matter,"
Dean murmured, bringing it closer to his face, keeping the sharp point well
away from his eyes. "Do you mix gunpowder in with the water when you do it
normally or something?"
Even then he doubted it would work, what with the need to have some kind of
ignition to set the powder off in the first place. The ice would probably only
melt, or even shatter when it left the barrel.
"Cordite. Far cheaper, and depending on the gun I make the bullet for, I don't
have to use much at all," Castiel stated, stretching his arms above his head
and yawning. His eyes closed for a moment, almost like he'd forgotten Dean was
even there as he tipped his head toward the ceiling, but then his arms were
falling back to his sides and he was scratching at his jaw with his left hand.
"And in terms of primers I can only make Berdan. Boxer primers completely
destroy the ice, but the Berdan only crack it a little."
"How?" Dean pressed, looking at the smooth underside. "You light an explosive
in a body of ice and all you get is a tiny chip in the shell? What the hell do
you do to them?"
"It's not as ridiculous as you think," the angel insisted, and suddenly the ice
was melting completely, dripping down Dean's arm like he'd just run his hand
beneath a tap, and he grimaced, shaking the beer off purposely in Castiel's
direction, hoping at least some of the residue would hit the guy.
"Did you have to melt it right then? I was still looking at it."
Cas sauntered off towards where he'd left the opened beer, grabbing the bottle
by the neck before taking a long drink, keeping his back to Dean all the while.
Dean never got an answer to that question in particular, Castiel apparently no
longer finding the topic of conversation entertaining - if he ever had in the
first place.
Dean wasn't even sure if this was just another one of Cas' bizarre mood swings
again or not, and yes, it probably was a bit harsh of him to continually assume
that Cas was being problematic in that sense, and sure, he got that maybe he
was pushing his luck by continually asking about stuff that was in actual fact
none of his business; but with Cas continually going from somewhat friendly and
approachable to the same cold bastard he'd been when Dean had locked him in the
basement, he didn’t know what to think. Obviously that part was understandable,
but Dean had been hoping that maybe they could forget about that side of events
for a while.
And then he'd just accept it when Cas beat the shit out of him once the deal
was over. He deserved it after all, and he wouldn't blame the guy for still
wanting to hurt him after everything Dean had put him through.
"Hey, Cas?" He called, dropping down from the counter top to look over the
items that Cas had organised for taking home the next day.
"Castiel," the angel corrected, and Dean rolled his eyes, fiddling with the
handle of one of the thin plastic bags. He didn't get why Cas was so against
Dean calling him that. It wasn't offensive in any way and it was far easier
than saying his name outright. 
He glanced over to where Cas was sitting on the beam in the main room, chewing
his lower lip. "Uhhh ..." he started, unable to keep the frown from his face
because this was incredibly important. As soon as the deal was over - and even
before that point - Castiel could choose to hurt Sam if he wanted to, and if it
was down to the way Dean had treated Cas initially, then he definitely needed
to apologise. He did want to trust the guy, but with Cas building up his power
to prepare for the whole healing thing, Dean knew that Castiel was just as
capable of taking away life as he was able to maintain it. The whole discussion
of powers hadn't really helped matters, and in all honesty, as cool as
Castiel's abilities were, they were also really fucking terrifying.
He cleared his throat, readying himself to talk again. "I ... I just want to
make sure you know how sorry I am for the way I treated you. I shouldn't have-"
"Yes, I know. You've said it about six times now," the angel interrupted,
flopping back against the wood with an arm across his eyes, similar to how he'd
lain earlier.
"Yeah, but-"
"You don't need to keep apologising. I get it. You're forgiven."
"Cas-"
"Okay," Castiel grunted, sitting up abruptly and frowning. "This thing? You
holding me hostage; that was an order. However, unlike the demons I've had the
pleasure of meeting in the past, you aren't an idiot. You listened to what I
had to say, made a sensible decision, and more importantly, for the past hour
not only have you been tolerable, but you have also been the first demon I've
ever met to behave as if there are no differences between our races whatsoever.
You're a smart kid, you're not a threat, and you've promised my good health.
Stop. Apologising."
Dean drew his lip between his teeth again nervously, the heat crawling over his
face when the angel stared over at him in defiance. It was beginning to make
sense why Cas had called him strange if that was the reason as to why the angel
was being so open in the first place: because Dean was treating him like he
would anyone else he liked.
He only wished he could find it in himself to be a little more relaxed around
the guy.
He looked off to the side when the angel's gaze softened, aware of how Castiel
was effectively analyzing him, and he turned away completely, rubbing at the
back of his neck. His dad had never said it was a good thing: his sympathetic
side. It did, admittedly, make hunts that bit more draining, but he couldn't
help it - and neither could Sam. 
Apparently, it was just something that came part-and-parcel with human genes.
"You've started bleeding again," Castiel commented quietly, his footsteps
sounding on the wooden floorboards, and Dean looked down to his shoulder,
pursing his lips. He'd almost forgotten the injury was even there, even though
now that he'd remembered, he was beginning to feel the ache.
He raised a hand to pull the fabric away from the skin, grimacing a little at
how clingy it was. He didn't really understand why it had started bleeding now,
because it wasn't like he'd moved in a way that'd cause the wound to reopen. If
anything, it would have happened whilst they'd been shopping, given the amount
of times Cas had simply stopped in the middle of the isle and Dean had walked
into him.
He went to take a step back when Cas came close, but the angel caught hold of
his elbow, prising Dean's hand from the sleeve of the shirt before attempting
to roll the fabric up. Castiel paused, staring down at the reddened flesh
before sighing. "Maybe you aren't that smart after all."
Dean pouted. "Shut up. Taking the bullet out was all that mattered to me at the
time."
"Yes, I can see that," Castiel frowned, pulling the sleeve back as far as he
could. "You've ripped the skin and left it open for infection."
Dean didn't protest when he was shoved in the chest, avoiding eye-contact
because in actual fact, he had been stupid. Here he was constantly worrying
about Cas' health when he himself could get sick for ignoring his own injuries.
"Go get the medical kit, you moron," Castiel muttered, shoving him again.
"You'll end up having to go to a hospital if you leave it like that."
Dean shoved Cas back playfully, attempting a smile. "Yeah, thanks mom," he
joked, still keeping his eyes averted, but he shifted to the basement
nonetheless, grabbing hold of the small box before teleporting back to the
upper floor, purposely appearing behind the angel just to make him jump.
He was more than a little surprised when Castiel said nothing about the
appearance at all, merely taking the box and setting it down on the counter.
"Roll your sleeve up," Castiel demanded, and Dean grinned, leaning against
Castiel's side when he realised Cas wasn't actually bothered by his presence in
the slightest. He snorted with laughter when Castiel tried to push him away,
the angel practically growling out his reply.
"Just because I was honest, doesn't make us best friends."
"You don't want to be best friends, Cas?" Dean teased, doing as the angel
requested anyway, trying not to let his nerves show when Castiel stretched the
skin around the bullet wound. He got why Cas had been so against having help
with his wounds earlier if Dean felt this nervous over something so small. "I
already made you a friendship bracelet."
"This is hardly a friendship bracelet," Castiel grumbled, taking a step to the
side so he could sort through the medical kit's contents. "You must be a really
shit friend if you go around binding their power with spells."
"It's not that bad," Dean insisted, bracing his hands on the edge of the
counter. "I do it out of love."
That earned him a glare, but Dean winked in response, even if it did make him
feel hot all over. He knew that he was playing with fire by effectively
flirting with the guy, but it wasn't like it meant anything. And anyway, Cas
pulled funny faces when Dean was a little bit more playful.
And he went kinda pink, which was a different kind of funny altogether.
Dean continued to smile as the angel went to dab at the inflamed skin, amused
by the gentleness of Castiel's actions and the concentrated look in his eye.
"So how's your back? Feeling okay?"
"Hush," Castiel whispered, holding the wipe in place as he fumbled around for
what Dean could only assume was a needle.
"But you feel better or what?"
Castiel took hold of Dean's hand, encouraging him to hold the wipe in place so
he could use both hands to prepare the instrument with thread. "I'd feel much
better if you stopped talking. I don't want to fuck this up and suffer for it."
"Well, if you answered my question properly, maybe I'd shut up."
Castiel's gaze flickered to him again, smirking a little. "Is that a promise?"
Dean grinned, shrugging. "You gonna be honest with me?"
"Perhaps," the angel hummed, looking back to the needle as he attempted to get
the thread through the eye. Dean waited patiently for the angel to continue,
watching on as Cas wet his lips in concentration, his eyes narrowing before the
needle was threaded and the focus was replaced with an almost smug expression;
Castiel apparently pleased that he'd been able to complete the task first try.
"My back feels fine. There's no need for concern."
"Was that 'cos my medical knowledge was so impressive?"
Castiel snorted. "Oh yeah. Definitely. Don't know how I would have managed
otherwise."
Dean cocked his head to the side, watching the purple in Castiel's eyes
lighten.
"Now, please," the angel continued, placing his hand beside the wound. "Stay
quiet."
"Yes, sir," Dean replied cheerfully, taking the wipe away from the injury so
Cas had complete access.
It was a few seconds more before Castiel pinched the wound closed, and Dean
clenched his jaw, looking off to the side at the first piercing burn of the
needle cutting into his flesh.
"Okay, can you - fuck! Stop for a second! That really fucking hurts!" He
blurted, grabbing hold of the angel's wrist to stop him from pushing in any
further.
"Don't be such a baby," Castiel sighed, letting go of the needle so it stayed
resting against the wound, and Dean cursed, worrying his lower lip between his
teeth as he tried to focus on anything but the pain.
"Look, your skin's going to tear if you don't let me finish. It's bound to
hurt, okay? I honestly don't know what you expected."
"I knew it was gonna hurt, but it's never hurt that bad before!"
"That's because part of it's already closed up. You're meant to take care of
injuries like this as soon as possible."
"But your wounds were more important at the time!"
Castiel groaned, his forehead dropping to Dean's chest, and Dean was surprised
by the action, so used to the guy pushing him away as opposed to ... well,
moving closer. He didn't mind, of course. It was amusing to think that Cas
wasn't as disgusted by him anymore.
At least, he guessed it was disgust. The way Cas had talked about demons before
had Dean feeling kinda privileged to know that the angel was alright
with his company.
"You are exhausting," Castiel murmured, his breath brushing Dean's shirt.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, touching at the angel's shoulder. "I'll stop
complaining."
"I doubt it. You haven't been able to keep your mouth shut for a full minute as
of yet."
The crown of Castiel's head knocked Dean's chin when Cas went to move back, and
Dean hastily let go of Castiel's wrist, not really meaning to have held on for
as long as he had.
"I'll try harder," he offered, giving the angel his best smile.
Castiel pushed at him gently before placing his hand beside Dean's wound again,
the angel's fingers touching around the injury with a certain caution that had
relief washing over him.
But then there was something else - a sort of numbing sensation that made a
form of panic return to him; the kind he'd been without for a few hours now,
and he shoved Castiel back hurriedly, frightened.
"What the fuck did you just do to me?!" He cried, wincing at the sharp burn
that pressed at his chest in retaliation and he brought up a hand to rub at the
ache, attempting to lessen the pain. He could see that Cas was just as alarmed
as he was, his eyes going wide as he reached a hand round to his back, probably
in pain from Dean shoving him into the island.
"You need to relax, alright," Castiel insisted, stepping forward to cup Dean’s
jaw, apparently deeming Dean’s state more important than the damage done to his
back, and Dean shut his eyes tightly so he wouldn’t have to see, trying to
remind himself over and over that Cas wouldn't hurt him - that
Cas couldn't hurt him, for that matter. It didn’t stop him from shaking though,
his heart hammering away in his chest because he knew he’d just hurt the guy.
The deal wouldn’t have reacted as violently if Cas hadn’t been hurt in the
process.
"It's okay, kid. I just numbed the pain," Castiel told him, his voice low and
soft with a slight tremor as if he himself was panicking. "I-I should have
asked for your permission first, so I'm sorry. That wasn't fair of me at all."
Dean could feel his lip tremble, the warmth stain his skin, and he went to pull
Castiel's hands from his face, embarrassed by his own stupidity.
“You want to sit down or something?” Castiel inquired, stumbling over the
words, and Dean understood why Cas was reacting in such a way – why he was
probably just as terrified as Dean was – and he hated himself for it. So far
this afternoon, Cas had been fine with him. There’d been none of that worry
shining through to indicate that the angel was as frightened as he’d been
yesterday, in spite of the fact that the guy knew Dean could just as easily go
back on their deal and kill him as soon as it was over.
He grabbed hold of Castiel’s shoulders blindly, the hands falling from his jaw
as he pulled Cas close, pressing his face to the side of Cas’ neck. He tried
not to think about the collar or the leash that had been tied to the guy
earlier because both of those things had been cruel, and, in some way or
another, had caused Castiel pain. The only reason Dean had even opted for that
method of warding was so he could degrade the guy and make himself feel more
superior.
Now all it did was make him feel sick.
He let out a heavy breath, finally acknowledging the lack of any sensation in
his left arm. It should have been hurting from the movement of his shoulder,
but it wasn’t. Dean couldn’t feel a damn thing.
“O-okay … does this, uhhh; does this mean you’re okay with the pain relief
thing?” Castiel asked timidly, and Dean could only nod, his heartbeat sounding
loud in his ears because what the fuck was he doing?! He knew Cas was anxious,
but that didn’t make their situation any more acceptable – and it wasn’t as if
the guy was hugging him back or anything so clearly Cas wasn’t comfortable with
what was going on.
Not only that, but Dean shouldn’t have even been daring to do something like
this in the first place. He couldn’t use the excuse that he was scared because
he wasn’t anymore. He was fine. He should have known better than to work
himself up over something so small and then proceed to fucking throw himself at
the closest person to him just to find some form of shitty comfort.
It was the hand that came to rest on the back of his head that persuaded him to
stay as he was for a little longer, slumping against the angel’s chest as he
tried to relax completely.
“I didn’t mean to push you into the counter,” Dean mumbled apologetically. “It
didn’t reopen your wound or anything, did it?”
Castiel huffed out a laugh. “I think you should stop worrying about me and
start worrying about yourself, you bizarre creature.”
Dean let himself smile, his arms going slack when Cas went to move away, and he
glanced off to the side out of embarrassment, his face still incredibly warm.
“Just to make things clear, so you don’t go freaking out on me again – although
I will admit that it was my fault, and in no way do I blame you for the way you
responded – I have no intention of harming or killing you or any of your family
members.”
Dean nodded again, looking down to his shoes when the angel tried to catch his
gaze.
“You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know. I mean, it’s kind of amusing, but
I’m not going to laugh at you for being sensitive,” Castiel murmured, ruffling
Dean’s hair almost tentatively, like he’d expected Dean to punch him for it or
something.  “You’re a fucking kid. You shouldn’t even be hunting.”
“I’m not incapable,” Dean ground out, but still he avoided Castiel’s line of
sight, not really comfortable knowing that he’d put Cas in an awkward position.
“I never said you were incapable. I said you were young.”
“You’re young.”
The angel snorted. “Not as young as you.”
It fell quiet after that, the both of them just standing in the kitchen with
the dim lighting above them, tiny rays of sun gleaming through the cracks in
the wooden boards shielding the windows.
“Okay. Go and sit down, and I’ll finish what I started,” Castiel muttered,
pushing him back in the direction of the main room. “Go on.”
Dean did as he was told, keeping silent even when Castiel sat beside him on the
beam, the medical kit placed carefully on the floor. Castiel seemed to prefer
the quiet, but then of course he would. He’d been asking for Dean to stop
talking for ages, so it really wasn’t any surprise that the angel went about
everything with this serene expression and a calmer air to his actions – not
that Dean had stared at him or anything because he didn’t exactly want Cas to
have a go at him for that as well, but he snuck glances when he knew Castiel
was completely engrossed in what he was doing, kinda alarmed by just how well
Cas was treating him.
He couldn’t feel it, but seeing it was enough for him to wish that he had all
his senses back to normal. Even his dad never stitched up wounds for him
with that much care, and sure, it was probably out of pity more than anything
else, but it was still kinda nice – especially since Dean had put
nowhere near this much effort in when he’d cleaned up Cas’ injury before.
“So, are you going to tell me what your plan is?” Castiel asked, pushing the
needle through Dean’s skin with apparent ease as he made yet another neat
stitch to seal the wound shut.
“I already told you what we’re doing tomorrow,” Dean reminded him, watching as
the angel dabbed at a trail of blood with a cloth, ensuring that the flesh was
clean at all times, so it seemed. “I’m gonna wait for my brother to call, and
then –“
“I mean after that. Once you’ve taken me home. What then?”
Dean swallowed, looking down to his hands on his lap. He hadn’t actually
planned that far ahead; like, he knew he could go and ask Bobby for a place to
stay that night, but he didn’t even know if that was a definite yet. The guy
could be out on a hunt for all he knew, and Dean didn’t want to let himself in
without permission, even if he could do as such without so much as a snap of
his fingers. They might know each other, but there was no way Dean was breaking
into the house of a family friend, regardless of whether he’d be welcomed or
not.
“My uncle said I could stay with him. I’ll go there after getting all my stuff
from the motel.”
“And you’re going to continue to hunt?”
Dean shrugged, toying with the hem of his shirt. “I don’t really, uhhh … I
don’t know. Probably not.”
“Good,” the angel hummed, and Dean looked over in confusion, the heat returning
to his face when he found Castiel staring right back.
“If I had the same powers as you, I would have given up hunting a long time
ago. I’d get out of this ‘family business’ whilst you still can,” Castiel
continued, glancing back to the wound as he brought the scissors up to cut the
end of the thread, giving it a last wipe around with one of the antiseptic
cloths before pulling Dean’s sleeve back down, concealing the injury.
“How long have you been hunting for?” Dean asked, watching Castiel’s expression
darken and the corners of his mouth twitch down in a frown.
“Long enough."
                                       *
Castiel sat down in front of the cabinets in the kitchen, the boy beside him
with a little over a foot between them, and a virtually silent atmosphere. It
was nice to not be expected to initiate conversation, and what made it better
was the fact that the demon had finally quieted down, having kept silent for
almost a full half hour. It was assuredly the longest the boy had gone speaking
to him during the time in each other's company, and for the first time in what
felt like days, Castiel didn't have anything particularly stressful to think
about.
Well, he did, but he'd done a fairly good job of avoiding those topics whilst
the boy had read beside him, the noise of pages turning almost soothing to
hear.
It didn't really bother him: how close the demon sat. Not when he knew just how
damn terrified the kid had looked before. Of course, the power he held over the
boy was what he'd wanted, but it wasn't as satisfying as he'd thought it'd be
to see what kind of results it produced. He'd thought the boy was on the verge
of hyperventilating or even deeming Castiel a threat. All he'd wanted to do was
make things a little easier.
But to have the complete trust of a demon was something he wasn't used to. This
boy was being open and not at all judgmental - apart from perhaps being a
little mocking, but that was nothing new. Castiel could tell that it wasn't to
be taken seriously and that the child was only teasing, and it wasn't at all
daunting in comparison to the way the hunters that worked for Crowley talked to
him.
However, it was the way in which the boy sought comfort that really unsettled
Castiel - and not just because he had no real experience in the matter. The boy
had had a kind of ... hands on approach since the very beginning, but the
gestures had never been particularly kind. Helpful, maybe, and then others were
just because the demon could; yet the hug (if they could even call it that)
seemed to be more in favour of reassurance than anything else. Castiel didn't
mind too much, mainly because he knew the boy was incredibly vulnerable right
now with his current situation. The crying earlier had proved that he most
likely hadn't prepared himself to be without the family members he usually
lived with, but Castiel didn't actually expect him to. This wouldn't exactly be
an easy transition, and although the demon had prepared a place to stay, he
doubted the boy would be okay just because of that fact. It truly wasn't fair
on the child for him to even have to move out - more so when he would most
likely still be expected to hunt with whomever he stayed with. An uncle was
still a member of family after all, and if this was a business where they all
took part, the demon was bound to have difficulty getting out of it.
It wasn't anything Castiel wanted to get involved in, not that his opinion
would be appreciated should he voice his concerns. He doubted the rest of the
demon's family was as peculiar as the boy was himself, more so given the fact
that his father had been the one intending Castiel's murder.
He stretched his arms above his head, yawning, before rubbing at his eyes and
resting his face in his hands. He was still exhausted, even if he could finally
feel the benefit of the food, his Grace making him feel lighter and stronger
than before.
"You know, for someone who basically slept until midday, you really do look
tired, dude."
Castiel looked over for a moment, smiling slightly. "When'd you throw me in the
basement?"
The boy stilled, his expression going virtually blank. "Uhhh ... d'you mean
yesterday, or this morning?"
"This morning," Castiel murmured, facing forward again as he suppressed another
yawn. 
"Like, seven-ish. Almost eight."
"Right," Castiel said softly, his voice muffled as he rested his face in his
hands again. Five hours was longer than he usually got, but his sleeping
pattern had been pretty fucked up as of late anyway. The whole werewolf hunt
thing had practically kept him awake for two days straight, and then staying
awake all night last night hadn't exactly helped either. Well, it had helped
him fall asleep quicker, but that only brought with it the nightmare.
He couldn't win.
Castiel turned his head once more, the boy's green-eyed stare still trained on
him.
"You won't mind if I go back down to the basement, would you?"
"Why the hell would you want to go back down there?"
"I want to go back to sleep," Castiel told him, closing his eyes for a while.
"I need to get as much rest as I can."
"Yeah, but ..." the boy sighed, before Castiel heard him get to his feet, and
he did the same, his vision going somewhat bleary as he steadied himself.
"You're not sleeping in the basement though. I don't even know how you managed
to find it comfortable before."
"It wasn't comfortable. It's concrete floor."
"No, but I mean, like, how you actually managed to sleep down there in the
first place," the demon stressed, looking back at him as they walked through to
the main room.
Castiel averted his gaze to the small wood carvings as they went by the mantle,
honestly rather impressed by the demon's talent, even if he'd ignored the boy's
comment earlier.
"I didn't go to sleep last night, so I was too tired to actually care."
"Oh. Okay," the boy said quietly, leading Castiel through the doorway. Castiel
looked around him, noting most obviously the couch that rested in the far
corner of the small room, and he could feel some sort of relief wash through
him, genuinely grateful that he wouldn't have to sleep down in the cold room.
"So, uhhh, you know. You can take the couch. If you find it too cold during the
night, I guess you can light the fire, but given that it's summer, I kinda
doubt that you'll, uhhh ... yeah. Anyway. I'll see you later - o-or tomorrow,"
the demon rambled, placing a hand on Castiel's back to prompt him forward. 
Castiel allowed himself to be guided over to the settee, looking back in
confusion when he acknowledged the complete lack of anything else but an open
duffel in the room.
"And you're sleeping where exactly?"
The boy smiled at him, drawing away slightly so he could head on back to the
main room. "Don't go trying to make things difficult. You don't have to keep
worrying about me just 'cos I'm younger than you."
Age had nothing to do with it. There were a few things about the demon's
situation that he could relate to and it wasn't fair of the child to give up
what he'd clearly used as a bed the night prior, even if Castiel himself would
prefer to sleep on the couch than the floor, but who wouldn't? It was assuredly
more comfortable than a granite or wooden flooring.
"Yes, well, I'll be awake again in a few hours to give you your bed back,"
Castiel muttered, running his eyes over the boy's posture. He couldn't tell if
the boy himself was tired or anything of the sort, but the kid had clearly had
an early start to the day if he'd come down to the basement so soon in the
morning anyway. It wasn't like Castiel would be able to stay asleep for any
longer than usual, and given the fact that the clock in the kitchen had read
four in the afternoon, Castiel knew he'd be awake by at least ten. He'd just
sit in the other room or something whilst the boy slept, unless of course, the
boy allowed him to go outside for a while - perhaps even permit him to go home.
That would make the whole grocery thing a lot easier, and with the amount of
energy Castiel now had stored, he'd easily be able to fly home and back without
relying on his Grace too much.
"Dude, just go to sleep. I don't really give a shit if I have to sleep on the
floor or not."
Castiel pouted, and the demon grinned at him, practically skipping out into the
main room.
"Sweet dreams, Psylocke."
Castiel's hand immediately went to his brow, shielding his eyes even if the
demon was no longer around to see, but he could hear the light laughter as the
boy made his way back to the kitchen and that was enough to have Castiel
unsettled. He hated his eyes at the best of times, and for the demon to
continually address the change was incredibly infuriating. He let out a heavy
breath as he sat down on the edge of the couch, vowing to disparage the boy's
own eye colour the next time the kid compared him to that Godawful comic book
character.
He pulled off his boots, drawing his knees up to his chest as he settled into a
fairly comfortable position. He couldn't help but notice the lack of any real
bedding aside from a wilted pillow for him to rest his head on, and he sat up,
finally realising how wrong he'd been.
The demon hadn't simply had a change of heart; he hadn't been tormenting
Castiel with false hope or feigned actions of kindness, and the fact that the
demon had given Castiel the only fucking blanket he had when there was
a blatant draught coming in through the chimney stack was something else
altogether. He knew now that the demon was ultimately sincere in terms of his
gestures, aside from the few obvious instances in which he'd been joking, but
Castiel honestly hadn't expected the boy to be this fucking selfless right from
the get go - more so because the child was a demon! Yeah, the kid may be
decent, but for him to give Castiel something he was bound to need once the
temperature dropped at sundown honestly had Castiel wondering as to whether the
boy was even a demon or not. All Castiel had done yesterday was shout at the
kid and hurt him, not to mention shooting him in the shoulder and having an
incredible temptation to cut his throat, and yet still the demon had given him
a damn blanket.
Castiel really didn't know what to make of it. He felt slightly saddened to
know that the boy had been encouraged into hunting when it seemed that he was
more sympathetic and considerate than Castiel was himself, completely
contradicting the demonic stereotype altogether. Angels were meant to be the
compassionate ones - the creatures that did nothing but want to help - and here
Castiel had found a demon that seemingly shared the same characteristics.
The boy had given up warmth, his home, and his fucking family; all for
Castiel's benefit.
Castiel couldn't remember ever doing anything so generous for anyone, let alone
a member of the enemy species.
 
***** Chapter 9 *****
Chapter Summary
     He hadn’t actually considered it prior: what the demon’s brother
     looked like. As siblings they were bound to share similar
     characteristics, and although there was also a possibility this
     theory was just as bizarre as the few Castiel had come up with
     before, he knew that there was a chance this ‘Sam’ would share the
     same unnatural eye colour as the demon before him possessed.
Castiel didn’t bother returning to the main room, curling up on one of the
cushions to free as much space as possible as opposed to outstretching; just in
case the kid came in at a later point and decided he did mind as to whether or
not he slept on the floor. Castiel didn’t even mind sleeping in a seated
position so long as he didn’t come across as selfish as he felt.
He wasn’t really all that surprised when he awoke to the same absence he’d
fallen asleep to, stretching out on the couch as he rubbed at his eyes. It was
colder in the room now, a light whistle echoing off the walls from the draught,
and Castiel wakened himself properly, brushing all thoughts aside regarding his
prior nightmare before attempting to stand. The darkness didn’t exactly help
his eyesight, but he was used to the lack of lighting in his own home, so
finding a suitable method in terms of enhancing his vision was fairly simple.
The orb of light floated before him, dim in intensity to conserve his power,
but it illuminated enough for him to make out his surroundings, the floorboards
a dark shade of grey and the objects blatant shadows. It made things much
easier as he walked to the doorway, his lack of footwear meaning he went about
it silently, even if his intent was to wake the demon from wherever he slept.
Castiel didn’t have to look around much at all, finding the boy lain out across
the beam with the comic on his chest and an arm behind his head, his light
snores barely audible until Castiel came within a relatively close distance. He
rolled his eyes when he realized just how open the kid had left himself, more
so considering how very frightened the boy had been before. The demon hadn’t
attempted to protect himself in any way – that included keeping a weapon beside
him – and it wasn’t like the location was any better.
And then there was the fact that the demon hadn’t even bothered to retrieve the
blanket from the basement to keep himself warm.
Castiel sighed, heading on past the kitchen unit to locate the hatch in the
floor, bending down to open it slowly in a manner that wouldn’t wake the kid
just yet before stepping cautiously down onto the stairs below. He ordered the
light ahead of him, mapping out the remaining steps so he wouldn’t fall and
injure himself, his head spinning at the mere thought. There wasn’t much of a
banister for him to support himself should he lose his footing, and he doubted
it would hold his weight regardless of whether he relied upon it for anything
more than he already was, the splintered wood trembling with every stair
Castiel descended. It was beginning to make sense as to why the boy opted for
teleporting down here as opposed to taking the stairs each time, even if that
also had something to do with laziness. It was nowhere near as difficult
ascending the stairs as it was making the journey down, nor was it as
stressful. Castiel couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved when he made his
way to the ground in near blindness, pleased that he’d succeeded in doing so
without coming to any harm, and he made his way to the opposite side of the
room, the small light reflecting off the little remains of the chain tied to
the wall and the water bottles left on the floor. He gathered the three
remaining bottles in his arms in addition to the blanket, still not overly keen
on the idea of drinking the tap water without anything to purify it with,
yawning as he turned to return to the upper floor.
He coaxed the light to dim even more once he reached the first floor again,
attempting to adjust his eyes to the darkness so he wouldn’t have to rely on
his power any longer, placing the water bottles on a counter in the kitchen
before going back over to where the boy lay on the beam.
Castiel dropped the blanket to the ground, stretching once more in an attempt
to stop his upper back from feeling so stiff, even if it pulled on his wound a
little in the process, but it didn’t really hurt that much. It was healing much
faster now and Castiel doubted there’d even be any scarring left once it had
healed completely.
“Hey,” he voiced, when he let his arms fall back to his sides, reaching out a
hand to jostle the demon’s chest lightly, somewhat unsure of how he should even
go about waking the kid in the first place. He couldn’t remember the last time
he’d forcibly woken anyone up. If he spent the night at someone’s he never
awakened them when he went to leave, and if they woke before him he generally
avoided any kind of conversation in fear of them pursuing another encounter,
knowing that a relationship was out of the question. There weren’t exactly any
other instances in which he’d ever had the option of waking anyone, other than
maybe his parents when he was younger, but he barely remembered those moments
as it was.
And anyway, this was a child. Castiel couldn’t exactly shove him over as a wake
up call like he would if it was any other demon – not that he’d ever had the
opportunity to do so, knowing that if he ever attempted something of the sort
it’d most likely end poorly for him – and he didn’t particularly want to cause
the boy any more harm as it was, regardless of how humorous it would be to do
so in this instance.
He shook the boy again, kneeling down beside the demon because his posture was
starting to pull on his wound a little more than he was comfortable with, and
he grinned when the boy weakly pushed at his hand in his sleep, grumbling some
form of incoherent nonsense.
“Hey,” he repeated, moving his hand nearer to the kid’s shoulder when the boy
shifted a bit, understanding that it wouldn’t exactly be painless for the demon
to fall on that side if he was going to roll off in any direction. Castiel
wasn’t really in the mood for cleaning up the wound if the stitches ripped so
early on.
“Go ‘way,” the boy grumbled, shoving at Castiel’s wrist pathetically before
trying to roll over again, and Castiel let him, biting back his laugh at the
sound of the thump and the quiet ‘fuck’ muffled against the wooden floorboards.
“You alright?” He asked, folding his arms on the wood before resting his chin
atop them, trying to keep the taint of laughter from his voice as he watched
the boy push up on his hands.
“I hate you,” the demon muttered, sitting back on his haunches and rubbing his
eyes. Castiel kept quiet, burying his smile behind his arms when the boy
glanced over with some exhausted form of a scowl on his face, squinting a
little at the light Castiel kept beside him.
“Can you, like, turn that off or something? It’s really friggin’ bright,” the
boy grimaced, slumping against the opposite side of the beam as he ran a hand
down his face, his voice husky and subdued, almost like he was trying to be as
quiet as possible.
Castiel snorted, but did as he was asked, even if the light wasn’t even at full
intensity. It may have just been closer to the boy in comparison to himself,
but it wasn’t like Castiel needed it to see anymore. He had the natural light
of his Grace to ensure at least a little clarity whilst he stayed seated, even
if it barely compared with the orb he'd used prior.
“So, why you wakin’ me up?” The boy asked him, mimicking Castiel’s position so
they were facing each other across the beam. The kid’s eyes were lidded and he
was blinking profusely, squinting on occasion like he was having trouble
keeping them open. “You have trouble sleeping?”
Castiel found it relatively amusing for that to be the first thing the boy
addressed, given the fact that the child was acting more like some kind of
parent figure than anything else. He was only seeing as such now because he
could remember the few times his parents had questioned his own nightmares as a
child – not that they were anything like the ones he was encountering these
days. He could barely remember dreams and the like relating back to his
childhood, but that wasn’t of any importance right this instant. The point was,
even the gestures before had been somewhat parental, given the fact that the
boy was putting Castiel’s needs first. It was stupid really, and it only made
Castiel feel worse about the way he’d treated the child, even if at the time
he’d thought the boy to have deserved it.
“Two things,” Castiel started, keeping his voice soft like the boy had, not
like there was any need for him to increase the volume or anything of the sort
in the first place. He could see that he had the demon's attention. “First of
all, like I said earlier, you can have the couch now. I doubt I’ll be able to
fall back asleep even if I tried, so there's no point me keeping you from
sleeping there instead.”
“But I said –“
“I don’t care what you said. I’m not using it,” Castiel insisted, watching the
boy’s brow furrow. “Now, the second thing was that I wanted to know if you’d
permit me to go home so I could take the groceries back without having to wait
until after I heal your brother.”
The demon pulled a face, dropping his forehead to where his arms lay. “You woke
me up ‘cos you wanted to use me as a pack mule?” The demon groaned. “Can’t it
wait? I mean, it’s the middle of the night. I’m tired.”
Castiel couldn’t really be bothered to point out that it wasn’t, in fact, the
middle of the night. Ten thirty was more like it, give or take a quarter hour,
but he didn’t know how long the kid had been asleep in the first place. He’d
actually expected the child to be awake when he’d first considered the time,
surprised that the boy had gone to bed at a reasonable hour.
Castiel didn’t even know why he was thinking about such pointless things. He
wasn’t going to keep the demon up for very long at all.
“I never asked for you to take me home. I requested you let me go on my own. I
can take everything myself,” Castiel told him, watching warily as the demon
raised his head, expecting some sort of glare to be aimed his way, but instead
the boy’s expression was stoic and unreadable, almost as if Castiel hadn’t
asked him a question at all. It did unsettle him a little, unsure if the boy
had indeed heard him or not, but he waited patiently as the demon blinked at
him through the darkness, his irises almost a golden grey in comparison to
their regular green.
“No,” the kid said simply, looking off to the side and pouting. Castiel
continued to stare at him, slightly annoyed even if he had nothing to be
particularly annoyed about. If anything, he should have been somewhat relieved
that the demon had actually thought about things this time. The kid was
actually being sensible by saying as such.
The demon’s eyes flickered to him again, the boy’s brow furrowing. “What? I
don’t want to risk anything, okay? Sammy’s too important.”
“No, no; I understand,” Castiel replied, sitting back briefly so he could push
the hair from his forehead, slumping down into his former position when it was
marginally less irritating.
He knew that the child had given up a considerable amount to ensure Castiel’s
health – in addition to his own brother’s – and in spite of how trusting the
boy was otherwise, Castiel really didn’t see any need to question the demon’s
decision. It wouldn’t have been particularly fair of him to pursue the topic
anyway, knowing that he was still going to be taking his groceries back
regardless of the time they decided upon.
“I’m still not letting you sleep on a block of wood though,” Castiel
reiterated, reaching down to pull the blanket from the ground before thrusting
it in the demon’s direction, smiling at the light noise of surprise.
“Dude, I’m not sleeping in there. It’s fine."
"Well, I'm not sleeping, period. What's the point in you turning it away when I
have no intention of using it?"
The boy frowned, resting a cheek on the clumped up mess of a blanket as he met
Castiel’s stare confidently. "What's wrong exactly? Why can't you sleep?"
Castiel didn't exactly feel comfortable talking about it, more so when he took
into consideration the fact that he still wasn't certain as to what it was he
was seeing in these dreams. Talking to a potential cause could have its
benefits though, and Castiel was beginning to wonder, if by some coincidence
before him was the character from his night terrors, whether or not the child
would also share the same bizarre dream, if not in a different perspective.
Castiel didn’t know how it worked – or even if that was the case at all – but
it’d be wiser to address the topic as opposed to leaving his questions
unanswered forever.
"Nightmares," he stated warily, and the demon hummed, rolling his lips between
his teeth.
"My brother has a lot of those. Dad made me get him a bunch of sleeping pills,"
the boy said, shrugging. Castiel could feel the doubt drown his thoughts at the
mention of the child’s brother, somewhat intrigued by the knowledge in a way
that also made him slightly anxious. He hadn’t actually considered it prior:
what the demon’s brother looked like. As siblings they were bound to share
similar characteristics, and although there was also a possibility this theory
was just as bizarre as the few Castiel had come up with before, he knew that
there was a chance this ‘Sam’ would share the same unnatural eye colour as the
demon before him possessed. It wasn’t too ridiculous a thought, even if the
nightmares of someone else had no relevance whatsoever.
"I read somewhere that it’s bad for kids to take though - gives them a higher
chance of dementia or something. Not sure what kind of effect it has on adults
in the long-run but I have some in my bag if you want them."
"I don't really feel comfortable taking medication," Castiel mumbled, watching
the demon physically relax against the beam, the boy’s face scrunching up
briefly as he clearly tried to get comfortable. "I know it's intended to help,
but I feel safer relying on my Grace. I don't know what kind of reaction I'd
have to something foreign."
"'Kay," the demon yawned, nuzzling against the blanket as his eyelids drooped.
"Don't blame you, to be honest. I don't let Sam take 'em even if dad tells me
it'd do 'im good. Don't know what's in the damn things."
"Smart," Castiel commented, letting his eyes close for a few seconds as he
adjusted his position, his chin resting on his arms again. "How old is he; this
brother of yours?"
"Sammy? Just turned twelve," the boy said slowly before he fell quiet, and
Castiel couldn’t help but feel rather disappointed. The boy in his dreams was
in that region of age, but they’d remained the same ever since the nightmares
had started up four years ago. Nevertheless, he opened his eyes lazily to show
the demon he was still listening, observing the way in which the child twisted
a corner of the blanket in his right hand. "Couldn't even take him out for his
birthday. Poor kid was too weak to get out of bed."
"You still haven't told me what's wrong with him," Castiel prompted, addressing
what he should have quite some time ago. "What am I healing him of exactly?"
The question seemed to waken the boy a little more, the demon's frown deepening
and his fingers clenching the material held in his palm.
"I-I don't know. He's, uhhh ... he gets these headaches and burning pains in
his chest, and even doctors don't know what it is. I mean, one minute he's
fine, the next he's passing out 'cos the pain's so bad and it's just ... it's
fucking horrible for him."
Their eyes met and Castiel smiled at the demon sympathetically, his heart
clenching at the saddened smile he received in return. Although the kid was
blatantly tired, his expression still held so much emotion, and Castiel stilled
at the sight of tears in the boy’s eyes, clear as day even through the
darkness. He hadn’t realised it was such a sensitive subject, and he certainly
hadn’t intended to upset the demon as much as he blatantly had by addressing
such matters.
The demon glanced away in what Castiel could only assume was embarrassment when
Castiel got to his feet, and he stepped over the beam quickly to sit at the
boy’s side, touching at the demon’s uninjured shoulder to get the child to look
at him, even if it did nothing to gain attention in the slightest.
“I didn’t mean to make you upset,” Castiel said gently, his head feeling heavy
when the demon continued to look in the opposite direction, and he curved his
arm around the boy’s shoulders tentatively, understanding that this time
around, the boy was probably trying not to show his distress as much as he had
earlier on.
It took a few more moments before the demon turned toward him, arms winding
around Castiel’s waist almost delicately as his face pressed to the centre of
Castiel’s chest, and Castiel rubbed the top of the boy’s back when he felt the
first touch of tears soaking into his shirt, the child trembling against him.
"I h-haven't even t-told him yet," the demon sobbed quietly and Castiel
couldn’t help but pity him, the air catching in his throat as he went to voice
some form of apologetic reply. He didn’t know how close the boys were, but
clearly that was the person the demon cared about most in this scenario.
Castiel had heard the boy speak more of his brother than anyone else, and
although it did have something to do with the healing aspect, Castiel wasn’t an
idiot. The boy was concerned, and unlike his father, he’d actually ensured that
his brother would have care by pursuing the safest option available to him.
Castiel frowned when he realised the demon was on the verge of
hyperventilating; the boy’s breaths beginning to sound audibly sharp and rushed
as opposed to their prior virtual silence, and as uncomfortable as it made
Castiel feel, he pulled the boy closer, the kid's hands clawing at his shirt
almost as if he thought Castiel had been about to push him away.
"He's gonna h-hate me so fucking much, Cas – he's gonna hate me!"
"He is not going to hate you," Castiel said sternly as the demon seated himself
in his lap, the boy's arms loosening when Castiel rubbed at his back a few more
times, unsure of how he could even go about making the demon relaxed.
"But he needs me! I need to look after him a-and I fucking can't!" The demon
blurted, and Castiel froze at the first touch of the shadow to his thighs, the
dark essence twining around his legs in a way that he sincerely hoped was
unintentional. He shut his eyes as he tried to distract himself, curving a hand
round the back of the kid's head to stroke through his hair, trying to calm him
down before the shadow went wandering any higher. He knew the demon probably
wasn't even paying attention to what his shadow was doing in the first place,
but it still didn't help matters and it was starting to make Castiel feel more
than just a little claustrophobic.
"You're a kid," Castiel whispered, the boy's face finally resting in the crook
of his neck, making their positioning a bit more comfortable. "You shouldn't be
assuming responsibility when it’s your father's job to look after the both of
you."
The boy continued to shake against Castiel’s chest, his breathing gradually
slowing and becoming lighter in sound as if the demon was trying to compose
himself. The shadow lingered on his legs for at least five minutes more, simply
resting there and keeping Castiel in place, even if Castiel had no intention of
moving away just yet. He wanted to make sure the boy was okay before he did
anything so heartless, having not seen the demon this utterly vulnerable
before.
He rubbed a hand up and down the boy's back again, focusing on the demon's
breathing pattern rather than the dark tendrils that dragged down over his
shins.
Castiel was beginning to find it incredibly difficult to handle though, so
unused to being relied upon for comfort or anything of the sort. Castiel felt
even worse when he took into consideration how the boy wasn’t able to console
someone that cared for him – not that Castiel was insensitive enough to say
that he didn’t care for the boy’s wellbeing at all, but they weren’t close.
Castiel actually thought himself the worst person for the demon to confide in
at this point in time.
This was effectively his fault: the loss of a family – the abandonment – and
Castiel couldn’t do anything to change it. The boy knew now that the blood of
an angel held no healing properties, and there was no way Castiel would attempt
to persuade the child to kill him anyway, even if it meant the demon wouldn’t
have to live without his fucking family.
And in terms of help, what could Castiel offer?
Nothing. He had absolutely fuck-all to his name, and he lived in a damn cave.
Castiel couldn’t even give the boy money; or if he did, it would be very little
– possibly only enough to rent a motel room for a few nights.
That was still better than nothing though, right? And it would make him feel
better to know that he’d provided the kid with shelter should he need to use
the money for such a thing.
Castiel didn’t know how much the demon had told his uncle regarding the
situation, but Castiel was beginning to worry that they too would cast the boy
out for disobeying orders.
He didn’t know what to think. He felt like shit for being the root cause of the
problem in the first place and it wouldn’t hurt to consider all the
possibilities. At least then he could make things easier for the boy as best he
could.
He twitched a little when the demon let out a shuddering breath, tears still
dripping against Castiel’s neck, and Castiel rested his chin on the top of the
boy's head timidly, unsure of even his own actions at this point.
"I'm sorry, Cas," the boy sniffed. "I-I didn't mean to ... I don't usually-"
"It's okay," Castiel assured him, stroking through his hair again. “I don’t
usually let anyone near me, so, you know. Sorry I’m so shit at the whole
comfort thing.”
The demon huffed out a laugh, sounding forced and slightly pained, and Castiel
could feel the ache in his chest worsen, memories of his own childhood
unwantedly rising to the surface.
“It's okay.”
They didn’t talk again for a long while after that, and it took Castiel far too
long to realize as to why that was. If it had been a different situation – if
the boy hadn’t been crying into his shoulder earlier on – then Castiel could
have quite possibly laughed at the utter absurdness of it all; but this was far
too fucking depressing for him to even try and find it relatively humorous.
He carefully manoeuvred himself so that he could pick the boy up in his arms,
wincing at the pull on his back before starting on over to the room he himself
had fallen asleep in, finding the task relatively simple with the strength of
his Grace aiding him. He lowered the boy onto the couch as gently as possible,
modifying his position so the demon wasn’t cramped in the slightest before
going back through to the main room so he could retrieve the blanket and ensure
the boy's warmth.
Castiel was too restless to even bother attempting sleep again, regardless of
whether he knew trying would be pointless, and he spent the majority of his
time sitting at the entrance of the cabin, staring up at the sky from his
cross-legged position on the floor. He did admittedly check up on the child
numerous times during the night, not really feeling comfortable with leaving
him alone for too long, but he always returned to the doorway, remaining inside
of the cabin so the kid wouldn’t kick up a fuss when he woke up.
Castiel wasn’t going to go against the demon’s wants despite having the
opportunity to do so now. He didn’t want to breach the trust the boy had in
him.
                                       *
The sun had barely risen when Castiel was joined in the doorway, the sunlight
making the floorboards glow with this bold, orange colour, and Castiel cast a
glance across at the boy when the demon sat beside him, the child keeping
silent without so much as a question regarding why Castiel was even there in
the first place. Castiel wasn’t really sure of what he himself could say, not
that the boy was giving the impression that he desired conversation anyway.
But then, that was a stupid assumption of him to make and he quickly ignored
the thought altogether. The child was one of the most talkative people Castiel
had ever met, so to assume that the demon would be content with silence was a
rather ridiculous presumption.
So no: he wasn’t at all surprised when the boy initiated a conversation. He’d
known to expect it.
"Have you been out here all night?"
Castiel hummed in response, looking to the sky again. Unlike where he lived,
the trees here concealed most of the sky from view - more so when Castiel
looked off to the far distance. At home he could simply walk out and see over
the treetops for miles. It was a sight he knew he'd never attain should he ever
afford an actual apartment or house for himself.
"Look - about last night-"
"If this is going to be yet another apology, then I suggest you don't finish
that sentence," Castiel interrupted, resting back on his hands as the warmth of
the morning sun washed over him.
The boy cleared his throat. "A-actually, I wanted to say thank you. For not
being a dick about it. I was kinda expecting you to just tell me to fuck off."
Castiel kept quiet, slightly offended that the demon would have thought as such
- especially since Castiel had been the one to offer comfort upon noticing the
boy's distress - but it also saddened him to hear something of the sort,
understanding that perhaps the child hadn't had many good experiences with
comfort in the past.
"N-not that I think you're a mean person or anything, 'cos you've been nice to
me and you don't seem like ..." The demon trailed off when Castiel fixed him
with a stare, unsure of where exactly the boy was attempting to go with his
speech. "I'm sorry - I didn't mean to, uhhh ... it's just that I wasn't really
expecting you to ... at the time ..."
"You're not really making much sense," Castiel told him in amusement, watching
the light blush stain the boy's skin as the child pulled at the threadbare
denim of his jeans, clearly making it something of a nervous habit. "But
regarding the situation, I didn't mind. It was my fault for upsetting you in
the first place, and I'm not entirely comfortable with the thought of you
leaving those you love for my benefit," he shrugged, rubbing at his brow. "A
kid your age shouldn't be essentially blackmailed into fulfilling a task - let
alone by the likes of your father. It's fucking disgusting for him to abandon
you when all you did was make a choice to protect your family. He should be
proud of you for thinking things through."
It was only now that Castiel  was beginning to realise just how very
hypocritical it was of him to both think and say such a thing. Although he was
usually as analytical as possible when it came to making a decision, there were
times where he was indeed rash with his choices - more so when he'd been given
a specific order. Changing his mind wasn't exactly something he could afford to
do when he was paid to kill, so he didn't ever give sympathy a chance to mar
his judgment, and yet here he was: grateful that his life had been spared, when
if their roles had been reversed and Castiel had been asked to murder the
demon, he wouldn't have ever given talk a chance. He would have killed the boy
without thought.
And he wouldn't have cared.
"I'm guessing your parents were really laid back when it came to hunts then."
Castiel sighed, smiling. "I told you before: my parents weren't hunters."
"Fuck ... yeah, sorry. I forgot about that," the boy murmured before falling
quiet, looking down to his hands. Castiel watched the boy's expression, the
slight confusion that furrowed his brow and the concentrated look in his eye.
"Wait - did that mean you guys lived like humans then?" The demon blurted
suddenly. "Like, with jobs and shit?"
Castiel snorted, resting his chin in a palm, unsurprised by the question.
"Yeah. I guess."
"So, what did your parents do if they didn't hunt? Did you guys have a house?"
Castiel grimaced, turning his gaze to the trees outside. "Seriously? You
actually care about that crap?"
"Course I do," the boy replied excitedly, shuffling closer. "I don't think my
family ever owned a house. My mom said she used to live in one when she was
really young, but her family were hunters too so she was on the move a lot."
Castiel hadn't heard the boy mention his mother before - he'd just assumed that
the woman was dead, given the high probability of death associated with
hunting, but now he wasn't as certain. If she was alive, did that mean she was
also behind the bleeding ideal, or did she not know?
Did she even live with them anymore?
Castiel didn't particularly want to ask, even if what the boy was asking of him
was rather personal. He was trying to humour the child in a way, wanting the
demon to continue about the next few hours in the same cheerful manner.
"We did have a house," Castiel informed him, forcing a smile as he tried to
lighten his own thoughts, consecutively avoiding anything that would later make
him uncomfortable to think about. "It wasn't that big, but there were only
three of us so it wasn't like we needed the extra room."
"So it was just you and your parents?"
Castiel nodded. "Their jobs weren't that exciting. My mom used to work for,
uhhh ... I can't remember the name of the company, but she was a secretary. And
I think my dad worked in a bakery. It was that or some cafe. He'd come home
with leftover pastries and stuff, and he always smelt like bread, but I don't
know," Castiel shrugged, letting out a sigh. "It was years ago. I don't
remember it that much."
The boy went quiet again, and Castiel shifted in his seat nervously, praying
over and over that the kid wouldn't question why Castiel didn't lead a 'human'
life now. He was sick of the other hunters mocking him for his misfortune, and
although this boy was different, it was still a thought he was extremely
uncomfortable with - more so when he considered just how much he'd confessed to
the child as of yet. 
It wasn't that he doubted the boy, because the child was doing as Castiel had
asked regarding the manhandling and subtle objectification, but Castiel was so
used to everyone having some form of preconception in terms of his history and
abilities that he never bothered to explain himself, knowing that no one would
have listened to him anyway.
Here he had a person that seemed genuinely interested in what he was, as
opposed to being mocking and cruel, and Castiel found it far simpler to
converse with the boy than he ever had with Crowley or even his employers
prior. But that was the issue. Castiel didn't know if he was talking too much
or saying just enough to be deemed as an acceptable answer, but if he was
talking to excess, the boy could quite easily sell information on him once
they'd parted ways. It was another reason as to why Castiel was so against
letting the boy know the location in which he lived. If he gave that away, then
Castiel could quite simply find himself dead in a week or so's time, bled dry
or simply executed out of spite.
As much as Castiel wanted to trust the demon beside him, he simply couldn't
risk something like that to happen.
                                       *
Dean knew he'd made things awkward without even having to look at Castiel's
expression. Well, he'd looked anyway and had been kinda used to the distant
look in the angel's eyes, but it was just ... well, the guy had been smiling
like, literally moments before Dean had asked about the whole family side of
things, and right now, Dean was desperately trying to find a way he could
smoothly change the subject.
He didn't know if mentioning his own parents again would be a good idea, and
although Cas hadn't outright said it, Dean got the impression that asking about
Castiel's parents would be a bit of a shitty move to make. Dean didn't know
what had happened to Castiel's family to land the guy with a job in hunting
over that in a bakery, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna ask. Castiel had been
open enough as it was and it would be downright harsh of Dean to address yet
another thing that was absolutely none of his business.
"I used to want to be a firefighter," he voiced quickly, and the angel looked
over at him after a few more moments, his expression nowhere near as tired as
it was when Dean last checked. Confused, maybe; but not tired.
Castiel smiled weakly, and Dean grinned in response, facing forward almost
immediately as the heat crawled up the back of his neck. He knew he shouldn't
have been getting embarrassed over something so stupid 'cos Cas didn't seem
like he was gonna take the piss or anything.
Castiel was actually kinda sweet, even if that was an incredibly sappy and
ridiculous thing to say, but Dean was beginning to find it really easy to like
the guy.
Which was probably only going to make things worse.
Dean had met a lot of people over the past few years, but they moved around so
often that Dean saw them once - maybe twice if he was lucky - and rarely was it
ever for longer than an hour. 
Dean had been in Castiel's company for almost two days. Well, the first day
didn't really count because not once did they have a pleasant form of
conversation, but now he just found Cas so ... approachable. Like, the guy
might not necessarily care about the subjects Dean addressed, but he still
listened and responded - and as for the whole comfort thing, Dean sure as hell
hadn't thought Cas would willingly encourage it. He was actually surprised Cas
was even allowing them to be this close now, and yes, maybe Dean had done it on
purpose, but he'd thought Cas would have at least tried to move away like he
had all the other times Dean had left so little distance between them. He
hadn't expected their shoulders to bump virtually every time he took in a
fucking breath.
Dean didn't even know if it was still down to pity, but that's all he wanted to
believe right now. Castiel didn't seem like the sort of person who went around
making friends with demons, and Dean highly doubted the guy was relying on him
for friendship or anything of the sort. 
"You still haven't told me your name, you know," Castiel mumbled softly, and
Dean could feel the tips of his ears burn, embarrassed that he hadn't thought
to say earlier. He'd been wondering why he'd been repeatedly referred to
namelessly, kinda irritated by being called 'kid' when in actual fact he was
way closer to adulthood than being seen as a child. It wasn't like Cas was much
of an adult himself - if anything, he just looked like a ninth grader with
stubble and a well-toned ...
Never mind.
"Dean," he replied, and the angel laughed lightly, their shoulders brushing
again as Castiel outstretched one of his legs.
"I was actually expecting something a bit more flamboyant if I'm totally
honest," Castiel teased, and Dean backhanded him across the chest in response
without thinking, relieved when once more, the deal didn't respond.
"You don't hear me laughing at your weird-ass name, Castiel. At least mine's
normal," he argued, unable to keep the smile from his face when Cas pushed at
his head gently, long fingers sweeping through his hair.
"But 'Dean' is so average, and you're so not," Cas insisted, encouraging Dean's
blush to worsen, but he took the comment in stride, confidently meeting
Castiel's gaze.
"So, basically you're saying I'm too cool for my name?" Dean questioned, and
the angel grinned, looking away as his hand fell from the top of Dean's head.
"Not exactly, but feel free to believe that if you want."
Dean slumped against Castiel's side, welcoming the gentle pat to the top of his
back, and he pulled his knees up to his chest, resting his cheek atop them.
"How come you don't like me calling you 'Cas'," he asked, dragging his eyes
from Castiel so he could watch the sky. He found it kinda amusing that the guy
had sat out here on his own, and given the fact that everything was still left
in the kitchen, he knew that Cas probably hadn't gone home at any point. The
sky did look pretty though, even if he didn't understand how the angel could
have watched it for so damn long.
"Uhhh ..." Castiel started. "I don't really have a reason anymore."
Dean pursed his lips in confusion. "What, so you're okay with me calling you
that now?"
"Do what you like. However, if you're planning on bitching about me to anyone,
I'd prefer if you used my actual name. They'd probably only take the piss out
of you if you gave the impression that we're well acquainted."
"Why'd they take the piss out of me?" Dean asked, looking up at him again.
"You're awesome."
The angel laughed again, his cheeks slightly dusted with pink. "Yeah, you
should definitely avoid saying that. Just avoid compliments altogether."
"But why? Surely if I said good stuff the other demons would be more
comfortable around you?"
It was actually starting to worry him because he'd been intending to sing
Castiel's praises when referring him to another hunting firm, but if Cas was
saying it was stupid, then how the hell was Dean meant to give a good
impression?
"It's got nothing to do with personality or actions - just race. It's like
fear, only they feel more threatened, and no offense, but you're just a kid.
They're not gonna take you seriously if you say anything nice. They didn't even
take the humans seriously when I was praised for my hunts."
Dean frowned. "Do they not care at all?"
Castiel shrugged listlessly, and Dean ducked his head almost immediately,
knowing he was probably only going to make things uncomfortable for the guy if
he continued to pry.
"Do you want me to leave you alone now so you can continue meditating or
whatever it was you were doing before?"
The angel smirked. "Meditating? Is that something you assumed yourself, or did
your father plant that idea in your mind?"
"Well, you were just sitting there doing nothing, y'know? And I know you get
pissed at me 'cos you like the quiet and all, so I don't mind actually leaving
you alone till we have to go," Dean mumbled, chewing on his lower lip.
"I get pissed because you never fucking shut up," Castiel chuckled dryly,
rising to his feet, and Dean scrambled to follow, stumbling as he made his way
out the door. "The conversations are interesting enough, but you talk so damn
fast and I don't understand half of what you go on about."
Dean tripped a little as he rushed outside, his face burning up when the angel
seemed to turn out of reflex and grab him by the biceps, holding him steady.
"Be careful," Castiel chided, and Dean smiled apologetically, looking down to
his feet when Castiel began to stare. He shouldn't have been getting so
flustered - not when it'd probably only induce further embarrassment - but he
didn't know how to act around the guy; now more than ever. Cas didn't really
seem to give a fuck about anything anymore, and it was kinda confusing given
how touchy Cas had been only the day before. 
He got that the angel was trying to be nice, and he did appreciate it, but it
was fucking annoying as hell to think that that was all it was. Castiel didn't
necessarily like him; it was more down to pity and something along the lines of
thinking it required of him to be pleasant, and it sucked because Cas really
was cool.
Well, obviously, most of the reasoning behind that was down to what the angel
could do power-wise, and Dean didn't know the exact opinion Castiel had of him,
but he wasn't going to outright ask about it. He didn't need to make himself
appear anymore desperate than he already had the night prior.
Sure, he didn't have many friends - if any - but given what Cas had said about
the negative views associated with even thinking the guy relatively okay, Dean
guessed that it was probably wiser for them to just go their separate ways and
keep it that way.
Dean didn't exactly want to shame his dad even more by befriending a damn
angel. Not when he wanted to be taken back in as soon as possible.
 
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Summary
     It was warm in the room, the air conditioning clearly faulty, but it
     was nice in general. Bright, moreover. Castiel hadn't set foot in a
     motel like this in years. He'd rarely relied upon them - only when a
     hunt was too far away for him to have enough energy for his flight
     home. He didn't particularly like spending money on things he didn't
     need, but he felt more uncomfortable now at the reminder that this
     was Dean's life; that the motels served as Dean's home.
Chapter Notes
     oh god it's been longer than a month hasn't it? has it been two
     months?
     crap, guys, i'm really sorry. my writer's block has been terrible
     lately and I know this chapter is short, but if i get my priorities
     sorted, i'll have finished writing the next chapter by monday.
     feel free to complain about the quality of my writing. i know this
     chapter sucks and i'm rushing things ahead, but i'll do my best to
     improve the story - especially when i've practically written the end
     already.
     okay, maybe the end is like, a dozen or so chapters away, but
     whatever.
     (maybe that parts a lie. it's gonna be a tad bit longer than 22
     chapters)
     for all you guys who read fragment and were wondering when i'd
     finally get my ass in gear, i'll update tomorrow. i know i kinda left
     that one for a long time too, but after tuesday's episode, i was
     really in the mood for writing angst and the chapter's pretty much
     almost done.
     i hope everyone has a happy easter, and i apologise again for my
     inability to meet deadlines.
Castiel looked up through the trees, plucking at the grass beneath his hand as
Dean slumped against his side, the boy's head dropping to his shoulder. They’d
been seated in much the same way for a while now, Castiel not really caring how
little space was issued between their forms. It would be pointless to shove the
boy away when it clearly made Dean more comfortable, and it wasn’t as if
Castiel had any reason to do so. In actual fact, he didn’t mind how they were
positioned. The demon wasn’t harassing him, and although he shifted on
occasion, it wasn’t all that irritating.
“You’re being very quiet,” Castiel commented softly, his hair flopping down in
front of his eyes when he turned his gaze to the weapons on the ground beside
him; the barrel of his gun probably clogged with the woodland dirt. He couldn’t
be bothered to deal with it right now, and as hypocritical as it was, Castiel
was tired of the silence. Dean was both strange and amusing, and it wasn’t so
much an instigation out of pity because Castiel truly wanted to talk.
He wanted to know if the kid would be okay.
Dean shifted again, twirling a fallen leaf between his fingers. “I’m just
thinking ‘bout stuff,” the boy murmured, clearing his throat as if to continue
speaking. He didn’t though, merely staring down at the dried foliage in his
hand as if it held the answers to the universe.
Castiel hummed in acknowledgement, resting all of his weight back against the
tree trunk as he kept pulling at the grass beside his hip. He wasn’t overly
fussed as to whether or not Dean wanted to converse, but if he had a
preference, he’d very much like to talk. It wouldn’t be long until they would
finally part ways, and although Castiel still looked forward to that moment in
time, he also continued to worry about how the demon intended to go about life
on his own.
He’d asked about it numerous times, but it was a genuine concern of his. He
didn’t like to think that Dean would share the same childhood Castiel himself
had lived, and if Dean didn’t get out of hunting soon, he’d most likely end up
spending the rest of his life earning little to nothing just to get by. It made
Castiel feel sick – especially when he knew there wasn’t anything he could
really do to help with that. All he could do was hope that the demon’s uncle
was generous enough to allow Dean to live as he wanted.
“Cas?”
“Yes,” Castiel replied, subconsciously adding the ‘tiel’ to the end of the
nickname each time the boy voiced it. He didn’t have the heart to tell Dean to
stop being lazy by calling him as such, knowing that he’d only have to put up
with it for a few hours more. It wasn’t overly annoying, but Castiel still
didn’t like it. Even his parents had called him by his full name and they’d
been far closer to him than anyone else Castiel had ever met, and he didn’t
feel comfortable being given a nickname by someone who, in reality, he didn’t
know at all.
Pointing this out wouldn’t exactly be favourable, and Castiel had no intention
of upsetting the demon by insisting he stop again. Dean wasn’t doing it out of
spite; simply indolence.
“Are you actually okay with … this?” Dean questioned, and Castiel could see the
boy’s face redden slightly from the corner of his eye, making him smile. “You’d
tell me if you were uncomfortable or something, right?”
Castiel huffed out a laugh. “All we’re doing is sitting together.”
“But you said, uhhh … you said you don’t usually let people near you, and –”
“Is that seriously what you’ve been thinking about?” Castiel interrupted,
trying to contain his laughter. “Do you not think I’d have said something
earlier in the cabin if I had an issue with you sitting beside me?”
Dean pouted. “You did.”
Castiel rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Before you proved you were actually a decent
person. My past experiences with your kind haven’t exactly been fun, Dean, so I
apologise for being cautious to begin with.”
Dean didn't say anything in question, keeping quiet whilst Castiel let the
grass blades fall through his fingers to the dry, patchy soil distractedly. The
ground was relatively warm to the touch in spite of how shaded this part of the
forest was, but it was far cooler than the grounds directly outside the cabin.
Castiel had stalled there for a while whilst he'd mapped out his surroundings,
wanting to retrieve his weaponry from where he'd left it abandoned two days
ago. He didn't care much for the gun, seeing as it had been loaned to him from
Crowley's hunting firm, but the blade had been his father's and he had no plans
to leave such an inheritance behind.
"Wait - did you just say I was decent?" Dean blundered, and Castiel looked to
the boy again, surprised to find him staring back from where his cheek rested
on Castiel's shoulder. His blush had become far more obvious and his eyes were
as bright as they always seemed to be, but Castiel hadn't really taken in
anything else the last time he'd viewed the boy at such a close range.
Not that he'd wanted to.
"What's wrong with that?" Castiel asked in return, watching the demon smile
faintly in response.
"Does that mean you actually like me, and this isn't just you doing some
charitable comfort thing?"
Castiel stared at Dean in confusion, narrowing his eyes. "What do you mean,
'charitable'?"
"Doesn't matter," Dean replied, drawing his knees up to his chest to hide his
smile behind them. Castiel continued to stare at him, somewhat anxious. 
Had he really given such a bad impression to begin with that Dean had thought
all his actions were done out of pity?
Well, yes, maybe Castiel had initially welcomed the close proximity so that the
boy wouldn't be left to feel stressed or alone, and perhaps he did pity Dean,
but it was in the way that anyone would a child who was being effectively
abandoned and it shouldn't have been seen as a bad thing. 
Regardless, Castiel liked the demon. A little.
He was about to voice as such when the shrill noise of Dean's phone cut through
the air, and suddenly the boy was scrabbling forward as he drew it from the
pocket of his jeans, fumbling and cursing as he went to answer.
"Sammy?"
Castiel watched the grin pull at the corners of Dean's mouth, his face still
stained pink, and Castiel smiled when their eyes met, pleased that the demon
was looking a lot more cheerful.
Although, if Castiel was going to be totally honest, he wished the call had
come much later in the day.
                                       *
Dean lifted the back of Castiel's shirt cautiously, cocking his head to the
side and crouching a little so he could get a better view. Cas shifted
slightly, his hands smoothing down the sides of his jeans, and it didn't take
much for Dean to realise just how uncomfortable the angel was. Of course, Cas
should have probably thought about what the whole situation would involve when
he'd asked Dean to check up on the dressing in the first place.
"I think you're all good here," he told the guy quickly, shuffling a few steps
away so he could give Castiel space. "There's no blood on the bandages or
anything, so yeah. Your back should be fine."
"Thank you," Castiel murmured, reaching a hand around to tug the fabric back
into place, albeit kinda haphazardly. "How does your shoulder feel?"
Dean smiled softly, kicking his feet against the floorboards whilst Cas sorted
himself out. "Pretty good actually. Bet I could do windmills and it still
wouldn't hurt."
"Please don't try," Castiel requested sternly. Well, kind of sternly. Cas
wasn't all that good at the 'I'm-an-adult-and-you-should-do-what-I-say' side of
things. Not anymore at least. Now it was just bordering on a lazy attempting at
upholding dominance.
Dean followed the angel through to the kitchen, pursing his lips as he slowed
his lengthy strides, maintaining a certain distance between them both. Cas
looked at him somewhat curiously, his eyes animated and bright as he hooked the
sleeve of Dean's shirt with his fingertips, prompting him closer.
"You promised you'd help now, Dean," Castiel grinned, and Dean smiled back
sheepishly, feeling a little giddy when he took in just how close they were. It
felt so odd to have Cas actually pulling him over, not that he was gonna
complain or anything because he could tell that everything about Castiel's
actions was genuine, and he liked it anyway.
He liked Cas.
"How we doing this exactly?" Dean asked, stepping into the touch until
Castiel's grip loosened. "Is there anywhere you feel comfortable letting me
take you?"
Castiel pursed his lips and Dean reached for the metal basket, dragging it over
the island. It wasn't as full as it was yesterday, but Cas had eaten some of
the fruit and Dean had taken out his own stuff so it also shouldn't be anywhere
near as difficult to carry.
That didn't mean Dean expected Cas to find it just as easy after healing Sam.
"Where I told you to drop me off," Castiel murmured, taking the basket by the
handles. "I'll pick it up later."
"You don't have to walk far or anything, do you? Are you gonna be okay?"
"Shut up, Dean," the angel huffed playfully, prodding him in the ribs with his
free hand as he raised the basket from the counter, letting it swing to his
side. "Don't worry about that."
"Cas -"
"You'll only waste time by arguing," Castiel insisted, walking around him,
apparently not needing any help whatsoever.
"We have hours!"
"Yes, so by the time I'm done healing your brother, I'll have a while to rest,"
Castiel informed him, heading on over to the main room. "I'd have thought you'd
want to get this out of the way sooner so you could spend longer with Sam."
"I-I do, but ... I'll be able to see Sam again ..." Dean trailed off, looking
down to his feet because he didn't want to see what kind of weird stares Cas
would give him in return.
But what Cas had done and said since yesterday afternoon meant a lot. Dean was
used to going off on his own to deal with all his personal shit, and he'd never
realised just how much better it made him feel to have someone actually listen.
Castiel could have easily just fucked off back to the storage room last night,
but he hadn't, and Dean was so fucking grateful Cas chose to stay 'cos he
really didn't know what the hell was going on in his life and he'd just needed
some kind of reassurance to get him by.
Okay, so Cas was still a little intimidating, but he was a nice enough guy and
he'd helped Dean deal with everything better than John would have. And that
only reminded him of the whole bullet wound thing again because Cas blatantly
cared in ways that Dean expected from his brother, not a damn stranger.
"Correct me if I'm wrong," Castiel started, and Dean rubbed at the back of his
neck nervously, his confidence dropping at the detection of humour in Cas'
tone. "But did you just basically imply that you're willing to give up spending
time with your brother so you can make the most of your time with me?"
"When you say it like that it makes me sound like a complete douchebag," Dean
muttered, kicking at the floor again. "But yeah. My, uhhh ... my dad can't stop
me seeing Sam when he leaves to go off on a hunt, so I know I can still check
up on him. It's not like ..." He gestured in Castiel's direction pathetically.
"I mean, you've been nice to me, y'know - nicer than the hunters my dad's
friends with anyway, and that's even after all the shit I put you through - and
you actually talked to me, and listened, so of course I want to make the most
of it when you're the only person who actually seems to care," he rambled,
looking up again.
Castiel wasn't staring at him with the expected air of amusement, his head
cocked to the side out of apparent analysis more than anything else, and Dean
could feel the flush burn up the back of his neck, making him feel even more
uncomfortable with the whole thing
"Give me your phone," Castiel requested quietly, stepping closer with his hand
outstretched.
"W-what?"
"Your phone," the angel stressed, setting the metal basket down on the floor.
"Just for a moment."
Dean drew it out in confusion, holding it with trembling hands. He didn't even
know why he was shaking so much, but he was simply grateful Cas didn't remark
on it, gently taking the phone from him without saying anything at all. Dean
nudged at a loose nail in the floorboards with the toe of his boot, focusing
his line of sight on the ground whilst Cas went about doing whatever. He knew
the angel wasn't gonna trash it or anything, not that it could end up looking
any worse in the first place. What he also knew was that he'd have to buy
himself a new model soon if he wanted to stay in contact with Sam in the near
future. He probably shouldn't have let himself get angry enough to break the
fucking thing in the first place but he couldn't exactly go back in time so it
was pointless to complain. Getting a new phone wasn't exactly a challenge
anyway. He'd just have to scrounge up some money to pay for it beforehand.
He took his cell back in hand when Castiel held it out for him, staring down at
the glowing screen.
"I'll talk to you whenever you like," Cas said softly, petting Dean's uninjured
shoulder before picking up the basket again. "Now get your priorities sorted
and take me to see your brother."
"Y-yeah. Right. Okay," Dean rushed out, and Castiel laughed, looking back over
his shoulder.
"Hurry up, Dean. I'd rather not have to meet your father."
"No, I don't wanna ... don't think about that, Cas," Dean muttered, walking
past to get to the store room, keeping his focus trained on the new contact
details inputted to his phone.
He could feel his chest tighten the longer he looked at, tearing his eyes away
the moment his shadow curved up the wall. 
The number looked genuine enough, but that didn't necessarily mean it was. He
hadn't thought that Castiel would even want to meet, or talk, or anything else,
let alone give Dean his fucking cell phone number, but he didn't exactly want
to accuse Cas of giving him false details because Cas just didn't seem like the
sort of person who would.
Dean didn't want to believe it was fake anyway. Not when he'd finally have the
chance to talk to someone whenever he wanted - someone who (hopefully) wouldn't
mind listening to his bullshit problems when he got too worked up to keep
everything bottled away.
Well, he knew not to phone up in the middle of the night, and it would be
stupid to phone too often 'cos he didn't want to annoy the guy, but it was kind
of nice to know that Cas was offering to listen, and talk, and just be there.
Dean sat down on the settee when he reached it, bundling up the blanket and
pillow before stuffing them into his duffle as best he could. His hands were
still a little shaky and he took in a deep breath to try and compose himself,
closing his eyes as he toyed with the strap of his bag.
He should have been a lot more relaxed than this. John wasn't gonna show up,
or, at least if he did, Dean would make sure both Sam and Cas were protected.
Obviously Cas' safety at this point was a tad bit more important seeing as he
was the only one who could actually cure Sam, and John wouldn't ever dream of
firing a round at the kid so Sam was pretty safe as it was.
Dean was just grateful Sam was a hell of a lot more liberal than their dad was,
regardless of the excessive amount of angel-related myths they'd grown up
believing. Sam had never been afraid to question the reliability of John's
stories, even if their dad had seen that as more of an ignorant charm than
anything else. It was what Dean was relying on though. He hoped Sam would still
be open-minded when it came to meeting an actual angel, but it wasn't as if Cas
was all that touchy anymore so he'd give a fairly good first impression if he
went in acting in the same manner he had for the past day.
It kind of excited him to be honest: what Sam would think when he met the guy.
More so now when Dean flaunted just how comfortable he and Cas were around each
other.
"You okay there, Dean?"
Dean nodded timorously, rubbing at his jaw as he went to stand, throwing his
duffel over his shoulder. "Really wish you hadn't reminded me 'bout my dad
though," he joked with a small smile, walking over to where Cas stood in the
doorway. "He's gonna kill me for letting you anywhere near Sam."
Well, it wouldn't simply be for letting a fucking angel screw around with the
kid. Everything about this was going against John's orders, but Dean felt good
knowing that in doing so Sam would genuinely be okay. He'd rather not think
about what his dad would have resorted to after finding out that angel blood
didn't work at all.
"Do you want me to speak to him?" Castiel questioned, and Dean stared at him
seriously as he slipped his phone back into his pocket.
"I'm not sure how effective that'll be. He's not really the listening type,"
Dean told him, reaching out to take hold of Cas' arm. "The only reason I'll be
seeing him later is so I can prove that you didn't kill me. He might be kicking
me out, but I don't want him worrying about whether I'm dead or not -
especially when he'd try and hunt you down for revenge, or something equally as
stupid."
Castiel went quiet and Dean cleared his throat.
"So where'd you say? Montana?"
"The, uhh, the border. Between Montana and Idaho, I mean. Please."
"Can you give me a little more than that? I don't know either state
particularly well so you're gonna have to give me some kind of direction."
Castiel pouted, adjusting the basket against his hip. "Well, the north of the
forest, really. The mountains aren't hard to miss."
"You want me to drop you off in a forest?" Dean grinned.
The angel rolled his eyes, his irises bright blue. "Yes. I do. Can we go now?"
Dean couldn't help but laugh when Cas stumbled against him and Dean fell back
against a tree, his duffle crushed behind him as the basket spilled out over
the ground.
"You asshole!" Castiel blurted, shoving at him. "I told you to warn me before
you did anything like that!"
"You said, and I quote, 'can we go now'. Now!" Dean giggled, pushing at Cas in
return. "If you weren't ready, why the hell did you ask to leave?"
"Shut up," Castiel grimaced, kneeling on the floor to start putting everything
back in the basket.
Dean stooped down to help, checking for damage in the cellophane before handing
it to the angel to pack away.
"I can pick you up some more stuff if any of it's, like, inedible now," Dean
offered, dumping his duffel down on the soil.
"It's fine, Dean," Castiel sighed, throwing in the last of the bagged fruit.
"So, uhhh," Dean started, glancing around. "Is here okay?"
Cas hooked the basket on a low branch as he got to his feet, narrowing his eyes
as he looked to the stream.
"Yeah, this is great," the angel said brightly, all annoyance vanquished from
his tone. "Will you be able to bring me back here exactly? I know my way around
this area."
Dean pushed a hand through his hair, getting a better look at his surroundings.
It shouldn't be too difficult, seeing as this was the only place between the
states that he'd mapped out as a location. It might not be perfectly accurate,
but Dean would try as best he could.
"Sure," he shrugged, and Castiel turned to him, smiling.
"Thank you."
                                       *
Castiel leant against the far wall; his hands linked together behind his back
as Dean crouched beside the bed opposite, talking softly to the boy in the bed.
It was rather endearing to watch how gentle Dean was, having never seen the kid
interact with anyone other than himself.
Castiel didn't mind waiting when he could experience Dean's kindness from a
different point of view.
It was warm in the room, the air conditioning clearly faulty, but it was nice
in general. Bright, moreover. Castiel hadn't set foot in a motel like this in
years. He'd rarely relied upon them - only when a hunt was too far away for him
to have enough energy for his flight home. He didn't particularly like spending
money on things he didn't need, but he felt more uncomfortable now at the
reminder that this was Dean's life; that the motels served as Dean's home.
Castiel had never liked to ask about how the other hunters housed themselves,
but for him, it was far too risky to buy a place somewhere in the city. And
expensive. Motels were expensive too sometimes. Castiel had a feeling this room
wasn't particularly cheap.
There weren't any grimy stains on the carpet, and there was the faint scent of
an aerosol that, in the cheapest of places, was usually distinguishable as a
car freshener.
But it would be stupid to house an ill child in an unhygienic environment, so
Castiel understood as to why they'd rented out a room like this.
Castiel chewed on his lower lip nervously, smiling when Dean glanced over at
him.
"This is, uhhh ... this is the reason why I'm so concerned about what'll happen
to you," Dean murmured, his fingers pushing Sam's hair from his brow. "I don't
want you passing out in the middle of the forest."
Castiel waved it off, ducking his head a little as he stared down at the pastel
blue carpet. "Please don't worry. There's nothing dangerous about those woods."
Dean was quiet for a little while, and Castiel wandered over to the spare bed,
seating himself on the edge of the mattress. It was far more comfortable than
the futon Castiel had made for himself back home, but this wasn't constructed
from dead foliage and childhood clothing so it wasn't all that surprising.
"You want to start on him now?" Dean asked softly, reaching out to touch at
Castiel's knee.
"Not whilst he's unconscious," Castiel replied, resting his chin in a palm. "I
don't want to frighten him."
"He'll be okay," the boy grinned, looking back at Sam. "Well, he'll be a lot
more accepting than I was anyway."
"Really?" Castiel inquired, raising an eyebrow. "Does that mean I won't be
asked as many questions?"
"Doubt it," Dean huffed, and Castiel reached out with his free hand, plucking a
twig from the demon's hair. "But you'll probably end up preferring him over
me."
Castiel snorted, tossing the stick to the side. "Why'd you say that?"
The boy laughed lightly, his hand falling from Castiel's leg when he moved to
jostle Sam once more. "'Cos he'll shut up when you tell him to."
Castiel didn't know whether he should have felt saddened or amused by that
comment, but he brushed it from his thoughts, focusing yet again on Dean's
actions as he went about waking his younger brother.
From what Castiel could see, there weren't many similarities between their
facial features - and Dean's hair was a lighter shade of brown, close to that
of a dirty blond. Of course, Castiel was more interested in the colour of Sam's
eyes than his facial structure, no matter how far fetched his thoughts on the
matter were. He still didn't know whether Dean's eyes were down to genetics or
not, but it wasn't as if asking would have done him any favours. He didn't
really want to insult the child in terms of why they were so peculiar, more so
when he took into account just how thoughtless he'd been the day before;
addressing the colour more out of spite than curiosity.
Dean hadn't seemed to care, but he could have been masking anything behind that
bold front of his. Castiel had been alarmed by just how scared Dean had been of
him, so it wouldn't be at all surprising to think that Dean had been hiding his
discomfort along with such an upset in the first place.
He continued to contemplate such things for what felt like a further five
minutes; long enough, it seemed, for Dean to suitably awaken Sam and instigate
a conversation, quiet as it was. Castiel could see the effects of the boy's
illness within moments of Dean attempting to sit the younger demon upright,
wincing each time Sam slumped back down in the sheets after Dean's many
attempts at propping him up comfortably against the pillows.
That resulted in Dean acting in the place of the pillows, an arm wound around
Sam's shoulders as he joked about how pathetic the younger boy looked.
Castiel was more than a little surprised when Sam came back with a sharp reply,
elbowing Dean in the ribs with a frown on his face. He was actually rather
amused that, in spite of being blatantly ill, the younger demon still summoned
the strength to combat Dean's irritating habits.
"You okay now, douchebag?" Dean teased regardless, chucking Sam under the chin.
"You were meant to be here a half hour ago," Sam groaned, his voice somewhat
hoarse, and Castiel smiled, watching Dean roll his eyes.
Dean went on to murmur something before Sam's eyes met Castiel's and the kid
was grinning, raising his hand in a wave and letting out a shy 'hi'.
"Hello," Castiel greeted, holding his smile. He hadn't expected the demon's
approach to be as confident as this, even if Dean had told him that Sam would
be more accepting, but it was certainly more preferable than being feared or
deemed inferior.
"Now, I know I didn't exactly tell you he was coming, but Sam, this is Cas.
He's the one who's gonna heal you."
It didn't take long for Castiel to realise that Sam's eyes matched that of the
average demon, and he resisted the urge to look at Dean's again, analysing the
younger boy's features cautiously. He was rather relieved to know that Sam
wasn't in any way affiliated with the nightmares, but again, that brought his
thoughts back around to Dean and his eye colour. Now certainly wasn't the time
to ask about it, but seeing as Dean had his number, if the demon did choose to
call, then Castiel could address it on a different occassion.
Or even just before they parted ways today, because future conversations
weren't exactly a guarantee - and Castiel had offered for Dean's benefit, not
for his own.
But Castiel didn't know how much longer he could go on enduring such dreams
without asking at least one possible cause, and even if Dean had no answers, at
least Castiel would have tried to figure it out.
"I know," the boy chirped, looking up at Dean for a moment. "He was in my dream
last night."
Castiel brought his attention back to the conversation before him, his mouth
going dry. "I-I'm sorry - what?"
Dean went to say something, but Sam spoke over him hastily, apparently
insistent on speaking for himself.
"I can see the future sometimes," the younger boy told him with a vague air of
pride. "And you were in my prediction."
Castiel looked to Dean in alarm, meeting his eye. Dean didn't share the same
worrisome expression, but it wasn't like this news would exactly be all that
disturbing to someone who already knew their brother possessed such an ability.
Dean simply smiled at him in what seemed to be apology for not mentioning the
possibility of this occurrence, going on to mouth out a 'sorry' whilst Castiel
still held his gaze.
"Right," Castiel murmured, sitting back a little so he could link both hands in
his lap, putting on a more confident front as he thought over the situation. He
wasn't particularly worried knowing that it was down to a demonic talent as
opposed to a genuine connection between their two entities, but it was yet
another power that Castiel had considered rare amongst demons. It was bizarre
enough to know that Dean had multiple abilities, but he hadn't for a second
thought about what kind of powers the younger boy could possess.
"I'm assuming you didn't see anything bad?" Castiel followed up curiously, his
heart pounding in his chest no matter how much he tried to relax. It bothered
him to think that this child could see what he couldn't - more so at the
thought of the few choices he had at his disposal.
He wasn't even sure if he was going to pay Crowley a visit yet, but if the
youngest demon had seen the outcome of thatthen Castiel knew Sam would have
been no where near as welcoming as he still continued to be.
"You helping my brother is anything but bad."
Castiel rolled his lips together, nodding slowly. He both did and didn't want
to know what Sam meant by that, deeming the demon's health far more important
at that moment in time, so he moved across to where both boys sat on the bed,
his face warming at the sight of Dean's broader smile.
"Well, right now I'm here to help you," Castiel began quietly. "A-and Dean
hasn't really told me much about what, uhhh, your illness involves, so would
you be able to describe it to me?"
Sam's eyelids drooped a little, and Castiel could see the weariness return to
Sam's form, Dean's arm tightening around the boy's shoulders. The two shared a
glance before Sam was talking again, his voice lower and significantly less
cheerful, and Castiel almost regretted changing the subject of conversation so
soon.
"My chest burns a lot," Sam whispered, staring down at his hands. "It always
hurts."
Castiel swallowed thickly, trying not to think about how much pain Sam had to
endure on a daily basis.
"Dean says the pain has caused you to fall unconscious before. Is that the only
side effect or are there more?"
The boy began to fidget, his hands clenching the edge of the white comforter.
"It changes everyday."
Castiel looked to Dean. "And he's been given no diagnosis whatsoever? Not even
a hint as to what's wrong?"
Dean shook his head. "Apparently no one's ever heard of something like this
before."
Castiel took in a sharp breath, rubbing at his brow. "Okay, uhhh ... Sam, I'm
gonna need you to relax, alright? It's not going to hurt you, but it might feel
a little strange."
"That's fine," the younger boy murmured, his head lolling against Dean's
shoulder.
So Castiel reached out, pressing two fingers to the centre of Sam's forehead
before sending in a light pulse of his Grace to scout out the most significant
point of agony. He'd initially thought that beginning where the pain was
strongest would be the best idea, but within the first second of flooding the
boy's veins with his energy he found that it wasn't entirely possible.
Everything was pain.
It may have been strongest where the demon had claimed. but it wasn't by much,
and it was only because it was a different kind of sensation altogether that
Castiel chose to focus in on it, drawing it into his own form as fast as he
could.
He grimaced at the sight of the black veins in his right arm, the poison
seeping into his circulatory system with a sharp burn, and he looked away out
of disgust, closing his eyes and cursing over and over again in his mind. It
was beginning to sting the entirety of his forearm, the muscle feeling as if it
were tearing despite the lack of any movement, and he broke away abruptly to
catch his breath, only to fall forward as his vision spun, the dark energy
continuing to spread toward his shoulder.
He wasn't expecting Dean to catch him, forgetting all too soon about the
child's ability to teleport, but in spite of the comfort Dean's chest and arms
provided for his positioning, it didn't prevent the eruption of fire in the top
of his torso.
Castiel screamed as the hot sensation spiralled through his body, the taste of
blood filling his mouth within moments of his throat constricting, and his
knees gave out beneath him, his forehead falling to Dean's solar plexus as the
blood spilled past his lips, dripping down his chin.
And then there was nothing; the darkness swallowing everything as his Grace
pulsed dull and useless in the centre of his form, gradually slowing with the
beat of his heart.
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Summary
     The angel was being his regular self, aside from the whole illness
     thing 'cos that had blatantly affected his appearance. His Grace
     still wasn't particularly bright, even if it had flared a little when
     Cas had first regained consciousness, but the same thing had happened
     when Cas had started healing himself in the basement so Dean wanted
     to go ahead and assume that the whole dim-light thing was because
     Castiel was healing himself; but again, he didn't know much about
     angels in terms of what their Grace was capable of. Castiel could be
     way worse off than the impression his appearance gave.
"Fuck! Fuck, Sam! He's not fucking breathing!" Dean shouted, hastily
encouraging Castiel's limp body to lay back against the floor, and he reached
for the angel's wrist, checking for a pulse - checking for fucking anything -
because Castiel's Grace was effectively non-existent, and there was blood
running from his mouth, and everything Dean felt at that point in time revolved
around panic because this sure as fuck wasn't a good sign! There was no pulse -
no movement - and Dean didn't have a fucking clue how he could fix it!
This had never happened to Sam before! Sure, there were times where the kid had
fallen unconscious and he'd been in pain, but he'd never started haemorrhaging
or had those creepy-ass vein things crawl up his arm.
And he'd never stopped fucking breathing!
"Sam!" He yelled again, lowering himself above Castiel to listen out for even
the smallest fucking breath, just in case the past thirty seconds hadn't given
him enough evidence as to what Castiel's situation was, but he was fucking
terrified because the whole point of him bringing Cas here in the first place
was so that Cas wouldn't die; so the angel would be fucking safe, yet here he
was lying unmoving on the damn carpet with blood all over his chin like
Maggie fucking Fitzgerald!
And like fuck was Dean going to forget that scream! He was surprised no one had
come knocking at the fucking motel door yet because Cas hadn't held back in the
fucking slightest!
"Sam, what the fuck do I do?!"
“I don’t know!” Sam replied, and Dean turned Castiel’s face toward him,
frantically trying to remember everything he’d seen the doctors do on TV.
Obviously fiction was pretty different to reality and Dean didn’t even know if
the doctors in Dr Sexy MD were even accurate in terms of anything they did
procedure wise, but Dean didn’t have anything else to go on. He couldn’t risk
wasting time by googling some medical shit when Cas was already lifeless in his
arms, no matter how helpful that information may or not be.
So he lay Castiel down flat against the ground, tilting the angel’s head back
to clear the airways – or whatever the fuck it did – before layering both palms
over the centre of Castiel’s breastbone to perform a compression. Forty presses
in and Castiel still wasn’t responding, Dean’s panic increasing with every
moment Castiel continued to go unmoving.
Dean pulled back abruptly, running a hand through his hair before he was
pinching the end of Castiel’s nose, ignoring the blood as he dipped down to
slot their mouths together, exhaling slowly.
He tried again. And again.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he chanted, moving to repeat the compressions for a second
time.
He didn’t have a clue what he was doing!
It didn’t help that he could see Sam watching him from the bed because it was
embarrassing enough to be seen this panicked, but to have Sam watching him
perform mouth-to-mouth on another dude was even fucking worse! Yeah, maybe it
wasn’t intimate, and Dean wasn’t doing it for pleasure or anything like he’d
(admittedly) thought about since making the deal, but it still looked like
kissing and if John found out about any of the shit that Dean had involved
himself with – no matter how life-and-death the situation was – he could kiss
his chances of rejoining his dad goodbye for fucking good! Literally.
He was about to start his fourth round of compressions when Cas actually did
something, and he jolted back just in time to avoid being head butted by the
angel again, Castiel drawing in a sharp breath before he was curling in on
himself and letting out some sort of strangled, choke-like noise.
“Jesus fuck!” Dean blurted, running a shaky hand down his face as he tried to
comprehend what had just happened, Castiel continuing to make pained noises
from his hunched position a foot away.
He hadn’t expected a reaction as abnormal as that, but he reminded himself that
fiction and reality were two different things completely, and also: Cas wasn’t
even fucking human! Dean didn’t know how his anatomy worked, but he was really
fucking glad it allowed Cas to recover in the way that it had! Dean wasn’t even
sure if he’d been doing the whole CPR thing properly and it would have been all
his fucking fault if Castiel’s Grace - or whatever the reason behind his
consciousness was - hadn’t interfered in time.
"Cas?" Dean tried, moving forward quickly to check up on the guy. "What the
fuck just happened?"
He wasn't expecting Cas to grab at him, the angel's face pressing to his
shoulder, but he supported the guy by holding his biceps, feeling Castiel's
breaths sweep over the sleeve of his shirt.
"You okay?" He asked, his voice cracking, and the angel laughed brokenly, the
sound deep and rattling and not at all fucking healthy.
"Not really. No," Castiel told him, coughing. "Might have fucked up my back
again."
"That'syour main concern right now? Your back?" Dean hissed, pulling back a
little, even if it did make Castiel slump awkwardly at an angle. But he paused
because Cas reallydidn't too good, and it wasn't exactly fair of him to shout
at the guy when he was blatantly in a lot of pain. "You want me to check it or
anything?" He added, making his voice a little softer.
Cas shook his head slowly, his hair falling down into his eyes. "It doesn't
hurt as much as, uhhh ... everything else," Castiel mumbled, smiling weakly,
and Dean frowned, unable to do anything relatively helpful.
"That doesn't mean it's not serious."
"Yeah, well, I'll heal. It'll be fine."
Dean wanted to punch him for being so fucking nonchalant about it all.
But Castiel was rubbing at his eyes, looking like he wasn't quite as at ease
with his symptoms as he was making out to be, and Dean touched at his shoulder
to grab his attention, anxious to find out what exactly had caused Cas to
almost die.
"You wanna lie down?"
Castiel blinked, and Dean almost immediately noticed the lack of colour in
Castiel's irises; no blue, no purple. Just grey.
"I feel like I'm gonna be sick," Castiel slurred, rubbing at his eyes with the
heel of a palm again before he was attempting to stand. Dean stood with him,
steadying the guy by holding onto his arm.
"I'm guessing you'd prefer to walk to the bathroom," he assumed lightly,
recalling just how unsteady Cas had been the past few times Dean had
transported him anywhere. Obviously it was kinda lazy to want to teleport now,
but if Cas was gonna be sick, he should probably get there as quickly as
possible.
"Yeah. Please," the angel groaned, running his hand down his face.
Dean pulled Castiel closer to him, walking forward slowly so Cas wouldn't risk
stumbling or anything like that. He turned his attention to Sam as they passed
the foot of the bed, feeling bad for having ignored the boy for the past few
minutes. "You alright there, buddy? Feeling okay?"
"I-I think so," Sam told him somewhat shakily, and Dean attempted a smile,
genuinely pleased that the kid could seat himself upright without any support.
"Good," Dean voiced, watching as Sam shuffled back along the mattress, his face
lighting up when he outstretched his arms, almost like he'd been too distracted
to notice his better health before. "I'll be back in a couple of minutes,
alright?"
He didn't get a response but he didn't particularly mind, slightly more
concerned about how Castiel was faring.
The angel was being his regular self, aside from the whole illness thing 'cos
that had blatantly affected his appearance. His Grace still wasn't particularly
bright, even if it had flared a little when Cas had first regained
consciousness, but the same thing had happened when Cas had started healing
himself in the basement so Dean wanted to go ahead and assume that the whole
dim-light thing was because Castiel was healing himself; but again, he didn't
know much about angels in terms of what their Grace was capable of. Castiel
could be way worse off than the impression his appearance gave.
Dean helped Castiel kneel beside the toilet silently, worrying his lower lip
between his teeth when Castiel gripped the toilet seat with his hands, not
seeming to care how sanitary it was, but Dean doubted he'd be fussed about that
crap himself if he felt as sick as Castiel looked. The angel was trembling as
he leant forward, his eyes squeezing shut as if preparing himself, and Dean was
able to take in just how panicked Cas was. He couldn't even begin to imagine
how the guy was feeling right now but Castiel was holding it together
incredibly well for someone who'd been screaming in pain just a few minutes
ago.
Dean's thoughts came to an abrupt halt when what looked like black tar was
projected from Castiel's mouth into the toilet bowl, the angel crying out in
agony; his knuckles turning white from holding the seat before he was chucking
up again. Dean could feel his chest clench, crouching down beside the angel to
rub his hand up and down Cas' back, trying to make him feel at least a little
more at ease. He timidly reached for Castiel's nearest hand, knowing that it
wasn't a pleasant experience for anyone - especially when it looked as fucking
bad as that. It made him feel even worse about the whole thing to think that
Castiel's symptoms were beginning to seem more and more different to what Sam
had experienced. Yeah, Sam had been weak and he'd been sick in the past when
the pain got to be too much, but it was never black bile he chucked up. Dean
had never examined it or anything because that'd just be fucking gross, but at
least he could say it looked as normal as puke could look.
Castiel’s fingers curled into his palm carefully though, and Dean swallowed
thickly, looking off to the side when Cas went to throw up again, kinda taken
aback by how loose Castiel’s grip was in his own when his other hand was still
clenching the toilet seat so hard that Dean wouldn’t be surprised if he cracked
the damn thing.
He reached across with his free hand to tear off a few sheets of toilet paper
from the roll, gently wiping around Castiel’s mouth when the angel simply sat
breathing heavily over the toilet bowl.
He tried not to think about the fresh blood that stained Castiel’s lips.
“What the hell’s happening to you?” He whispered, dropping the soiled tissue
into the toilet before tearing off some more.
“I don’t know,” Castiel croaked, dragging the back of his free hand across his
cheeks hastily to wipe away the tears that Dean hadn’t even noticed until that
point.
Dean rubbed his thumb over the back of Castiel’s knuckles soothingly, wiping at
Castiel’s lips once the angel had spat yet more of the inky-blood into the
toilet.
“I’m so sorry, Cas. I didn’t realise it’d be this fucking bad for you.”
“Not your fault, Dean,” Castiel sighed, squeezing Dean’s hand before slumping
against his side, and Dean threw the tissue into the toilet again, flushing the
contents before altering his position to support Castiel better. “I
overestimated how much I could handle.”
Dean looked down to meet the angel’s stare curiously, frowning at the pale hue
to his skin. “You are gonna be able to heal yourself properly, right?”
“Broken record, Dean. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure as fuck don’t look fine.”
Castiel huffed out a laugh, his eyes looking cold and empty without their usual
colour, more so when they essentially matched the colour of his face.
“I’m talking in the future tense, moron. You know, I will? I mean, I feel like
shit now, but I won’t in a couple of days,” Castiel insisted, squirming a
little as he got comfortable, and Dean threw a leg out to the side to keep him
stable, glancing over to Sam who’d been staring at them from the bed opposite
the doorway.
It took Dean a little too long to realise what was so off about Sam’s stare,
only really acknowledging the reason behind it when Castiel’s foot scuffed over
his shadow. He drew it in quickly, feeling his face flush as he coiled the
tendrils behind him instead of around the fucking angel.
He kept forgetting where he was extending it to, and it was bad enough knowing
that Cas wasn’t really comfortable when it was too close to him, let alone
having it shape itself around Cas in protection – especially when Sam could
fucking see.
Jesus Christ – Sam was gonna have a fucking field day telling John about all
this shit!
And then there was the handholding, but Dean had hidden their hands pretty well
between them already because he really didn’t want to let go just yet, even if
it did feel a bit weird.
And not simply because Cas was like, effectively a stranger.
They were basically opposites in terms of being, what with the whole light and
darkness heritages, and if Dean felt strange with something as small as
handholding, Cas probably felt the same whenever Dean interacted with his
shadow.
The thing was, he’d never really been able to detect Castiel’s Grace through
touch before – apart from when he’d taken the angel down in the forest upon
their first day of meeting, but that had hurt and his shadow had felt dull and
achy for a few hours afterwards. The whole Grace aspect wasn’t hurting him now,
though. It just sorta buzzed a little.
In all honesty, he didn’t like it.
He turned his attention to Castiel again when his face felt less hot;
desperately trying to ignore the way Sam continued to stare across at them.
It’d be less weird if the kid actually said something because Dean doubted
Castiel was comfortable being stared at like that when he hadn’t even done
anything wrong.
“You gonna be sick again,” he asked quietly, nudging Castiel gently when he
acknowledged the angel’s vacant stare off to the side.
Castiel simply shook his head but he looked uncertain, his brow slightly
furrowed.
“Do you wanna go lie down?”
“No, no. I … I haven’t finished healing your brother yet.”
Dean stilled, his throat going tight. “What?”
“I haven’t taken on all of his sickness yet. I need to heal him completely.”
Dean could feel the worry twist in his chest again, his head feeling light,
because if Castiel was reacting in this way when he hadn’t even taken on the
whole illness, then Dean dreaded to think about what would happen if he tried
again.
Castiel could have died before, for Christ’s sakes!
“Well … you don’t have to do that right now. You can rest for awhile.”
“Dean –”
“No, seriously. You’ve got ages, and I’d actually prefer not to have to
resuscitate you again if it can be helped.”
There was a pause, Castiel looking somewhat confused before he was turning to
Dean with a frown on his face. “Are you telling me you kissed me before?”
Dean could feel the heat return to his face, cursing over and over again in his
thoughts. “I didn’t kiss you! It was CPR!”
“Fucking better have been CPR.”
Dean shot a glare in Sam's direction when the kid snorted with laughter,
letting go of Castiel's hand as he went to move from the floor.
"Anyway," he stressed, attempting to shift the conversation away from that
topic as quickly as possible. "If you're not gonna be sick again, go lay down
or something. Sam can wait a little longer."
The angel sighed, rubbing at his face with the back of his hand yet again.
"Look, there's honestly nothing to worry about. It's only going to take a
moment, so I don't know why you won't just let me get it out of the way."
"Because I don't want you to die," Dean grimaced, leaning against the door
frame. "You stopped breathing before, dude. I don't get how you can be so okay
with risking your life when the whole point of you coming here in the first
place was so you wouldn't die."
Castiel pulled a face, struggling to stand up. "I have a duty as a hunter to
help people, Dean. Every hunt is a risk."
"That's not the point! This illness is affecting you way worse than it ever did
Sam and he's been this way for months! At least when you go out on a hunt you
know what you're up against. No one knows what the fuck it is that he's
suffering with, and you're here throwing up blood and God knows what when
even you don't know what it is you've taken on!"
He stepped to the side quickly when the angel waved a hand through the air, the
bathroom door abruptly slamming shut.
"Oh for ..." Dean turned away, pushing both hands through his hair in
irritation.
How the hell did Castiel see this as a good idea? In what way was worsening his
situation better?
It was idiotic. Sam was blatantly okay enough to last a while before the
illness reached its most recent severity - if that even happened with this sort
of sickness - and Castiel was stupidly putting himself in danger when it could
potentially kill him. 
Actually, no. It would definitely kill him.
And Cas didn't seem to give a shit.
                                       *
Castiel leant over the sink, closing his eyes as he listened to the gentle
sound of water filling the basin, trying desperately to ignore the conversation
going on outside of the room. Well, it wasn't much of a conversation; more a
case of Dean complaining with the occasional interruption of Sam telling him to
shut up.
Castiel turned off the faucet, dipping his hands into the water before lowering
himself to wash the blood from his face. His hands were still trembling and
even leaning over slightly ignited the burn in his chest again, the intensity
crushing in on his lungs and making it more difficult to breathe. It was bad
enough feeling like he had something permanently lodged at the back of his
throat without a further breathing restriction, but he could tackle that issue
as soon as he healed the tear in his stomach lining. And the damage to his
liver. And his left kidney.
There were few organs that had gone unaffected by whatever it was that was
poisoning his body. Thankfully, his brain was still receiving enough oxygen to
function as per normal, and maybe his heart beat was a little off kilter but it
would only take a couple more minutes to even that out. It was just everything
else that seemed to be failing, and Castiel knew that healing all of the damage
immediately with his weakened state of Grace would probably result in some sort
of coma.
So he'd just have to work slowly and get rid of the most life-threatening
aspects as soon as possible.
His stomach was the main concern right now because he didn't know if it was an
ulcer or simply damage to the lining, but it was fucking burning and he sure as
hell didn't want to throw up anything like that acidic shit again. Not when it
had gone on to damage his oesophagus and the back of his throat.
Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if the bleeding process was less painful. He
really didn't know how to cope with everything wrong with him right now but he
wanted to get it over as soon as he fucking could.
He looked to the mirror as he wiped the blood from his chin, scowling at the
blatant discolouration of his facial features. He was surprised that the
sickness had already had such a profound effect on his form when he'd been
tackling it for no longer than ten minutes.
He looked dead.
Castiel grabbed the soap from the holder to lather up his palms, ensuring the
sanitation of his hands before rinsing off the suds and draining the sink,
trying not to glance at his reflection too often. It made him uncomfortable to
note the physical abnormalities that accompanied the pain, preferring to focus
on his surroundings than his body itself. It was healing anyway, and he would
willingly accept the fact that he'd been stupid by thinking he could handle as
much as he'd taken on. 
He ran the faucet again, ducking forward to catch the water between his lips,
swilling it around his mouth and spitting the tainted water into the basin
before repeating it again, wanting to remove as much of the bitter taste as
possible.
"Cas, open the door."
Castiel rolled his eyes, turning off the tap as he went to dry his hands and
face on the nearby hand towel. He didn't understand why Dean was requesting
such a thing when the kid could quite simply teleport through the fucking wall.
Even more, Castiel hadn't locked the door. It was still easily accessible.
Simply closed.
"Open it yourself," he called back, chucking the towel to the floor before
staring at himself in the mirror for the last time, glad that he'd at least
vanquished the sheen from his skin.
Dean entered the room almost timidly, and Castiel cast a small smile in his
direction, even if he was somewhat aggravated by how controlling the boy had
been prior. He marginally understood why Dean didn't want him taking on any
more of the illness, but Castiel knew that so long as he managed his healing,
he would be perfectly alright.
And it wasn't like there was much of the poison left in the younger demon's
system anyway. Castiel just wanted to make sure he'd healed the boy of it
completely so Sam wouldn't risk falling ill to it again.
"Can you please just hear me out," Dean pleaded quietly, and Castiel started
toward him, swaying slightly until he caught hold of the basin to keep his
balance, exhaling heavily through his nose in frustration.
"I heard you before, kid," he stated, looking past Dean's shoulder to where Sam
was seated on the bed, catching the younger boy's eye. "I know what I'm doing."
"You can barely even stand without support, Cas! Why do you insist on making
things more difficult for yourself."
"Because I'm not that much of an invalid," he grinned, outstretching a hand.
"Now come be my crutch."
"You are such an asshole," Dean muttered, striding over all the same, and
Castiel wound his arm around Dean's shoulders when the demon was close enough,
ignoring the sharp sting that accompanied the movement. 
"What? For wanting to heal your brother?" Castiel huffed. "I am so sorry."
"Shut up," Dean grumbled, but he cracked a smile and that's all Castiel needed
to make him feel moderately better about the situation.
He focused his Grace on the lower half of his torso as they made their way over
to where Sam was seated on the bed, targeting his liver for the time being
because, well, he still had one kidney left and that was a minor issue in
comparison.
"Are you really sure this is necessary?" Sam asked softly. "I mean, I feel
fine."
Castiel drew away from Dean to sit down on the edge of the mattress as
cautiously as he could, the ache in his lower back barely noticeable in
comparison to the sharp heat that flooded his chest again, but he took hold of
Sam's wrist, doubting he'd have the energy to keep his fingers pressed to the
centre of the boy's forehead for as long as he needed to, even if it would be a
bit more tedious to launch his Grace from such a faraway point in comparison.
"I just want to make sure," Castiel insisted, clearing his throat as his head
swam. "If I don't heal you properly, the illness could come back, so I'd prefer
to be thorough than risk your health."
"But you don't look very well."
Castiel laughed lightly, sending his energy into the demon regardless,
directing it toward his chest again to withdraw the remaining poison. "There's
hardly anything bad left in your system. I can handle it."
Sam's expression was that of disbelief, but Castiel wasn't really all that
bothered by it. This genuinely wasn't an issue, and although it would take
close to that of a week to cleanse himself of this apparent blood poisoning -
even if his liver did heal by the end of the day - the problems associated with
his health were nowhere near as bad as they'd initially appeared to be.
The mattress dipped a little as Dean sat beside him, and Castiel closed his
eyes as he focused on manoeuvring his Grace through Sam's form, barely
detecting anything relatively malignant anywhere in his body, absorbing the
minor damage to his cells and taint to his blood before letting go of Sam's
wrist, leaning against Dean's side when he was finished.
"Okay," he sighed, wincing as the dark energy joined the rest of the
catastrophe in his circulatory system. "Done."
Both brothers were silent for a moment, Dean's hand curving around to act as a
support between his shoulder blades, and Castiel let his head rest on Dean's
shoulder, trying to steady his breathing as his body became weakened again,
encouraging his Grace to disperse briefly to numb the pain.
"What, like ... like completely done?"
"I wouldn't be saying as much otherwise, Dean. Your brother's fully healed."
"But ... that took like five seconds!" Dean blurted, and Castiel smiled weakly,
opening his eyes to look down at the fading black veins in his wrist.
"I told you it wouldn't take long. It's not my fault you didn't listen," he
shrugged.
"Dean almost had a panic-"
"Fuck off, Sam! I did not!"
"Yes you did! You went in the corner to do that breathing thing 'cos you
thought he was gonna die."
Castiel glanced up at Dean curiously, noting the dark pink taint to the demon's
cheeks and the blatant way in which Dean avoided his gaze, staring directly
down at the carpet when Castiel tried to meet his eye.
"I didn't realise it worried you that much," he remarked, reaching up to push
his fingers through Dean's hair affectionately. "Sorry, Dean."
"'S fine," the boy mumbled, but Castiel doubted it was. He'd known Dean had
been somewhat anxious about the whole healing thing, but Castiel hadn't
anticipated him to grow that stressed when the task this time around had been
minor.
Maybe he should have explained it after all.
"You're okay now though, right?" He followed up, stretching out his legs when
Dean's palm shifted lower on his back. He really should have been requesting
that Dean take him home, but he felt bad for the whole affair and it wasn't
exactly paining him to stay in the child's presence. It was nice to have a
distraction anyway. His Grace wasn't going to cease healing the damage whilst
he talked.
"I'm fine, Cas. I'm the one should be asking if you're okay or not. I mean,
what did you even do with Sam just then?"
Castiel smiled. "Not much. I just took on the rest of his illness."
"So you haven't like, worsened your condition too much?" Dean persisted,
finally meeting his line of sight.
"No, Dean, but, uhhh ..." He raised his left arm pathetically. "Can you take
the bracelet off me now? I don't really -"
"Oh, shit! I'm so sorry!" Dean blundered, snapping his fingers to make the
silver band disappear. "It didn't weaken your Grace or anything, did it?"
Castiel couldn't really say for sure. There was a chance that it had dulled his
abilities, but it wouldn't have had too much of an impact on his strength now,
and he didn't particularly mind because he'd been more than capable regardless
of whether the warding had still been working against him or not.
But that wasn't his concern. If the bracelet remained attached and Castiel
found himself in a compromised situation, it wouldn't be a difficult task for
someone to recarve sigils and the like into the metal.
Castiel didn't want to be forced into becoming some creature's servant.
"I don't think so," he stated honestly, rubbing at his eyes. "I just don't want
to risk having anyone take advantage of it."
Dean went quiet for a moment, and Castiel had barely begun to register the
length of shadow that had wound around his calf before it was gone, the mass
shrinking beneath where Dean's feet rested on the carpet, coiling in the
opposite direction under the motel bed.
"Do you want me to take you home now?" The demon asked, breaking the silence,
and Castiel rolled his lips between his teeth before nodding, knowing that it
was the more sensible decision in terms of bettering his health.
He stood when Dean did, guided by the hand resting in the small of his back,
and he rested against Dean's chest in exhaustion, not having expected himself
to be so weak when he'd barely done anything more at all.
"Sorry," he apologised, his voice muffled as he continued to rely on the boy
for support, and Dean laughed, cupping his elbows to allow distance between
them.
"Are you gonna be okay walking home through a forest with all your groceries
and stuff, Cas?" Dean questioned teasingly, and Castiel sighed, pretending he
couldn't feel the shadow touch at the base of his calf again.
"I can fly, you know. I'm not going to waste my energy walking when I could be
home five minutes after you drop me off."
"You're happy to fly everywhere and yet you get all jittery when I transport
you to a supermarket?" The demon grinned, and Castiel shoved at him feebly,
casting a glance off to the side.
"I prefer being in control, not experiencing some impromptu disappearance act
that makes me feel like I'm stuck on a damn carousel," Castiel insisted,
feeling his stomach clench at the mere thought of it. It didn't help the pain,
and Castiel pulled a face in irritation, glaring down at his own chest as he
willed the agony to cease, if only for a while longer.
"Wait, how do you fly?" Dean asked abruptly, pulling Castiel a little closer
again. "Is it just like teleporting but all fancy-like?"
"I have wings, dumbass. If I could teleport like you I would have just said
so."
The boy looked at him curiously, narrowing his eyes. "You have wings?"
"Yes. I do," Castiel told him, smirking at the confusion written all over
Dean's expression. "You can't see them, Dean. Not when I have no use for them."
"What, so they're like my shadow then?"
"I suppose," Castiel murmured, pushing his hair back from his forehead.
"Anyway, yeah. You don't have anything to worry about. I'll be fine."
He sighed again when the demon's gaze was tarnished with skepticism, knocking
the boy's foot with the toe of his boot. "Come on, kid. I want to go home."
And then Dean was leaning into him, an arm curving around his waist as the
demon shifted to the side, and Castiel stared at the boy cautiously, the shadow
daring to move higher.
"Back to the forest then?" Dean asked, and Castiel smiled softly, resting all
his weight against Dean's side.
"Back to the forest," Castiel confirmed, turning his gaze to the younger demon
in the bed. "It was nice to meet you, Sam," he added quietly, another tendril
of darkness touching at his leg. "Try to get some rest whilst the effects take
hold, okay?"
"Y-yes," the boy responded quickly. "And, uhhh, thank you for helping me. I
hope you feel better soon."
Castiel nodded his thanks in return, the pain in his chest encouraging his
smile to falter, and he clutched at Dean's forearm when his vision began to
blur, grateful that the boy was still there to support him.
"I'll count down from three," Dean whispered, his thumb drawing circles as his
hand continued to rest around Castiel's waist. "So close your eyes or something
if it makes things easier."
Castiel shifted a little, glancing down at his feet in spite of his poor
vision. "Alright."
It certainly made him feel more at ease when Dean began to voice the numbers,
even if the boy's shadow was beginning to make him feel rather trapped. He
could tell that Dean was still somewhat unsettled though, able to detect the
demon's heart rate owing to their close proximity in addition to the nervous
way in which Dean's shadow and fingers continued to twitch.
But then they were back in the wood, Castiel's stomach lurching as Dean pulled
away from him, the tendrils unwinding to leave Castiel's limbs free to move.
"Was that okay?"
Castiel outstretched an arm to rest against a tree, nodding slowly as he waited
for the sharp pangs in his chest to become less prominent. "Is everything okay
with you though, Dean?"
"Cas, you don't have to worry-"
"I want to make sure you're fine before you go back to your brother," Castiel
ground out, looking to the treetops, analysing the location. It wasn't exactly
where Dean had taken him before, but it was only a two minute trek through the
foliage and Castiel wasn't all that fussed about such a short journey so he
didn't see the need to complain.
"And I am,dude. Look, I ... I only got a bit stressed out before because Sam
never acted up like that, and you weren't exactly ... I mean, you still don't
look too great, man, and I don't know if you're gonna get better or worse or
what."
"I just didn't expect you to be that worried about me, Dean. Especially not to
the degree where you're off in a corner having a fucking panic attack!"
"I didn'thave a panic attack! You were being so fucking stubborn and it was
infuriating and I just needed to think."
Castiel let out a heavy breath, turning so he was propped up against the tree
by the upper part of his back. "Yeah, well, if you get worried again, you can
always call. Whenever. I'm not exactly going to be busy over the next few
days."
"Are you ... are you actually okay with me calling you though? I mean, I don't
wanna annoy you or anything."
"Believe me when I say I will tell you if I think it's annoying," Castiel told
him, wincing at the scrape of bark beneath his palm. "Now, you definitely have
a place to stay, right? Do you need money?"
The demon blinked at him before his face was flushing and he was looking down
at his feet. "Yeah, I have a place to stay."
"And money-wise you're sorted? You won't need to rent a motel room or
anything?"
"Shit, Cas - I can't take money from you! I have enough left if I do need a
room, but my uncle should be at home by the time I've talked to my dad so I'll
be alright," Dean uttered quickly. "Thank you for offering though."
The word shouldechoed through his mind, twining doubt with his thoughts. He
didn't want Dean to spend too long on his own if he'd fare in the same manner
as earlier, but he also didn't particularly want to spend his evening
babysitting when he desperately needed rest. Yes it was selfish. Yes he wanted
Dean to be safe; but Dean was still a demon. Castiel didn't know if the boy's
father would make him retell the happenings from the past few days and Castiel
sure as hell didn't want his home location to be something that Dean shared, no
matter how much Castiel did want to trust him.
So all he could really say was "Okay."
Dean smiled at him, small as it was, and Castiel outstretched an arm when he
noticed the expectancy in Dean's gaze, rolling his eyes and stepping forward.
"C'mere."
The demon smiled wider, teleporting as opposed to simply walking the three
steps toward him, and Castiel grunted as the kid slammed into his chest,
winding his arms around Dean's smaller form when Dean pressed even closer.
"Fucking weirdo," Castiel murmured softly, resting his temple against the side
of Dean's neck.
Dean laughed lightly, his fingers twisting in the back of Castiel's shirt as
his shadow spread out far across the dry soil of the forest floor.
"I'll miss you too, Cas."
 
 
 
 
 
 
**notes**
guess who drew a thing
I kinda did it as an apology more than anything else, but I got a prompt for
this on tumblr ages ago and then this spawned in my sketchbook on Monday. It's
crude; my drawings are lame, I know, I know - but I've literally had nothing
else to do now that my dad confiscated my tablet (hence the lateness of this
chapter) so I figured I'd upload it for shits and giggles
and obviously, like I said before, to make up for my inability to keep to my
deadlines.
so yeah. have a picture of Cas in a Psylocke outfit.
 
 
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Summary
     He wasn't expecting Dean to call anytime soon, but he didn't want his
     phone to die should Dean need anything, so he was being sensible. It
     wasn't exactly a challenge for him to charge his phone anyway. He may
     be focussing his Grace on quite a lot, but the preservation of his
     food was going to be far more exhausting than replicating
     electricity.
Chapter Notes
     *heavy breathing*
     demon!dean
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"Dad doesn't know about this, does he?"
Dean dropped his duffle to the ground, scrubbing a hand over his jaw.
"No, he ... no."
Sam didn't reply immediately, so Dean walked over to the spare bed, glancing at
the small digital clock that resided on a bedside table.
He'd expected it to be a lot later than what it was, given the fact that he'd
hung around in the forest a little longer than needs be after Cas had traipsed
on deeper into the wood to get all his groceries and stuff again. It'd taken
the guy under an hour to heal Sam to begin with, but Dean had thought that it
was about eleven, not half nine. Of course, that wasn't a bad thing. He had
more time to spend with Sam than he'd initially hoped for.
"What were you meant to do?" Sam persevered, and Dean lay down on the bed,
rolling onto his stomach with his chin resting on his crossed arms, facing the
headboard.
"Dad told me not to talk to you about it," Dean grunted, unable to keep the
frown from his face. It was understandable, even if their dad had told them
about all the stupid angel hunting techniques in the past. Dean didn't want to
think about it anyway, knowing that he could just talk to Bobby about the whole
blood thing later. Or in a couple of days. Whatever. So long as he got someone
trustworthy to understand just how useless the procedure was, he didn't care
when it happened.
Well, obviously getting the message out there as soon as possible would be
better, but he doubted it would change the views all that quickly. He was
pretty sure there were other hunters that knew just how useless angel blood
was, and some of them may have even spoken about it before, but Dean would have
to persuade a considerable amount of people if he had a chance of making a more
prominent change to the way people view angels as a whole.
"He also gave you an order to do something else, but that didn't stop you from
bringing an angel here anyway," Sam quipped, throwing a pillow at him, and Dean
grimaced, glancing over at the boy.
"I don't want to talk about it," he ground out. "Dad's probably gonna tell you
about it later anyway when he goes on about how much of a fucking
disappointment I am."
"Don't say that, Dean. You know he -"
"He basically said as much to me yesterday, Sam," Dean muttered, staring down
at the bedspread. "And it's not like he's refrained from telling me before."
Sam didn't respond that time, and Dean dropped his forehead to rest on his
arms, closing his eyes. It'd still be a while before John arrived at the cabin,
and Dean guessed that he'd probably be receiving a phone call the moment his
dad realised what had happened. Dean would stick around in the motel for as
long as he could though. Not long enough for John to land a punch on him, but
long enough to at least enjoy Sam's company whilst he had a shit ton of time at
his disposal.
"I'm not allowed to travel with you anymore," he mumbled into the sheets,
clenching his jaw and balling the fabric in his hands. He didn't particularly
want to talk about it but it would be stupid to leave it till the very last
minute. He needed to make sure that Sam understood everything before he left,
and if Sam knew now, then maybe they could arrange to meet up ahead of time or
something - and plan what they could do to make sure John never found out. "Dad
said if I didn't do as he asked, I wasn't allowed to stay."
"Then why didn't you do what he asked?!" Sam blurted, and Dean cringed, the
frown pulling tighter at the corners of his mouth, making his face ache.
"Because he wanted me to hurt Cas, and Cas didn't deserve it," Dean stated,
twisting the bedsheet in his hands. "And because he lied to me."
"About what?" The boy questioned, and it made Dean's heart clench at the sound
of distrust in Sam's voice, having hoped that Sam would have been at least a
little more open for this conversation.
Dean cleared his throat. "Dad told me that angels couldn't heal people. He said
that angels were liars, a-and Cas isn't. He never ... fuck - I was so damn
close to actually doing what dad asked but I ... I thought about it a lot." He
swallowed thickly, letting out a heavy breath. "There was ... a penalty for
what dad wanted to do, and it would have been all for nothing. You wouldn't
have gotten better and we'd have got in a lot of trouble, and dad didn't seem
to care when I told him Cas had offered to heal you. He just wanted the guy to
suffer."
His words were met with an uncomfortable silence, the air conditioner rattling
away on the other side of the room, and Dean's throat tightened with the hope
that Sam would understand why Dean had made the choices he had. If Cas had hurt
members of Dean's family in the past then he'd completely get why John wanted
him dead, but if that was the case, his dad would have mentioned as such at the
beginning of the hunt for incentive. There was absolutely no reason as to why
Cas had needed to die, and Dean still didn't understand as to why John was so
set on ending the angel's life.
And it wasn't like Cas was a nasty person. Even Sam could have picked up on
that by the way the angel acted before.
He didn't deserve to be hurt.
"It makes sense, I guess," Sam mumbled, and Dean looked to him in confusion,
only to see Sam staring off at the window. "My dream, I mean," the boy added,
but Dean was still left trying to guess what the kid actually meant by that.
"What about your dream?" Dean pressed.
"He protected you," Sam said softly.
Again, Dean was confused. Nothing about that played any importance in what
they'd just been discussing, apart from maybe proving that Cas wasn't a threat.
John had always talked about angels like they were too guarded, in the sense
that they were overly aggressive. Cas had acted that way, but only after Dean
had taken him captive. When Dean had first opened the door on him, Cas had
actually come across as kind of pleasant.
But that couldn't have been what Sam had been referring to unless he thought
Cas had put on a front or something when he got here. In all honesty, it wasn't
that farfetched an idea. If Cas had been a complete douchewad in the first
place, then Dean would have negotiated to ensure that he wasn't as much of a
dick around Sam, and besides: the kid hadn't spent as much time with him as
Dean had. Even now Dean couldn't safely say he knew what Cas was like as a
person, what with all his damn mood swings, and Sam hadn't actually talked to
him that much.
Dean didn't even know why he was thinking about it all. Not when what Sam had
said implied something other than first impressions.
"What do you mean he protected me?" Dean followed up in alarm. "Does something
happen?"
Sam shrugged a little, still looking somewhat dazed. "He, uhhh ... I don't
know. He wouldn't let this man near you, but I think you guys were on a hunt or
something because he had blood on him and stuff."
Dean blinked, his mouth going dry. "So when you said he was in your dream, it
wasn't you seeing him heal you?"
"I didn't know he was an angel until you bought him here," Sam informed him.
"And I didn't realise you were with him because dad kicked you out. I thought
you were doing that training thing that he was on about a few weeks ago."
Dean grimaced at the reminder of the camp John had been trying to persuade Dean
to attend a while back, claiming that it'd toughen him up a bit. Make him a
better hunter.
Dean didn't want to be a hunter.
"I highly doubt they'd employ angels when so many people hate them. And angels
glow, Sam. You couldn't have missed that light he has around him."
"He didn't have a light around him in my dream! He just looked like a normal
human!"
Dean tore his gaze away for a moment, focussing on the headboard again.
Castiel's injuries had to have been pretty bad if his glow had reduced to
nothing in Sam's prediction. It had Dean wondering why the guy would even
protect him in the first place. Dean wasn't worth getting hurt over, and he
hadn't thought that they'd actually ever meet up. He'd been given Cas' number
so he could have someone to talk to, but the thought of Cas spending time with
him made him kind of ... excited? He knew he shouldn't have been, given that
Cas was gonna end up getting hurt because of him, but he'd liked the angel.
Getting to see him again would be great!
"Do you know when this happens exactly?" Dean asked, trying to keep the smile
from his voice as he dropped his forehead to his arms once more.
"I never know when stuff happens. Why'd you make me repeat myself every time,"
Sam groaned, throwing another pillow at him. Dean caught it with his shadow
before it could land, keeping it held in mid air for a second.
"Just in case it changes. Duh," Dean teased, rolling onto his back and letting
the pillow fall onto his stomach, hugging it to his chest. "What else did you
see in this dream of yours?"
"That was the only part with the angel in if that's why you're asking," Sam
told him somewhat smugly, and Dean rolled his eyes, not all that amused by the
kid's tone. "There was stuff about dad's next hunt and some meeting he's going
to with that Alastair guy. And then there was a bit of weird scenery and a dead
rabbit, but I don't remember much else. It was blurrier than usual and the
sounds were really low."
"Alastair's the creep with white eyes, right? Or am I thinking of someone
else?"
"No, his eyes are white. I don't like him."
"I didn't think he and dad even got along anymore," Dean muttered, scratching
his forehead. There weren't many hunters John had fallen out with, given how
highly respected he was in the community. Alastair was a complete and utter
dick though, constantly stirring shit to cause a scene, so it was pretty
surprising to hear that John was willing to work with him again. "But a dead
bunny, huh? That's new," Dean continued, running the rest of Sam's premonition
through his thoughts.
"I didn't like that either," Sam said quietly, and Dean turned his head to look
at him, concerned. "It was ... it was kind of scary."
Dean sat up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed so he could face the
boy fully. "What do you mean?"
Sam didn't stop staring at the window, a sort of paleness to his skin that Dean
had thought the kid would be without now that Cas had healed him.
"It ... it didn't look right," Sam whispered, finally glancing elsewhere,
looking down to his hands. "There was a lot of blood."
Dean drew his lower lip between his teeth, gnawing on the skin to distract
himself. Sometimes it really wasn't fair for Sam to have to dream about twisted
shit like that when most of the time it wasn't important. Sam hadn't asked for
that ability, and yes, on occasion it was useful, but then there were instances
like this where all it did was induce his nightmares. He was only twelve, for
Christ's sake. He didn't deserve more nightmares than the hunting life already
provided.
"Hey," he voiced, encouraging Sam to look across at him. "You wanna go for a
walk or something?"
It had been a while since they'd last been able to do anything together, and he
wanted to take Sam's mind off the whole dream side of things. It'd be better
than hanging around in a motel room for six hours anyway, and Dean also wanted
to make up for the fact that the kid had spent half a year in a freaking bed.
Sam looked startled, but there was a certain interest in his eyes. "N-now?"
"Yeah," Dean replied, watching the tension gradually drain out of Sam's form.
"Stretch those scrawny legs of yours."
The boy pouted, sitting up straighter. "You think I can't walk now or
something?"
"Never said that," Dean grinned at him. "But I figured we should celebrate your
new found good health by doing all the stuff you couldn't do before. What do
you want to do?"
"Won't dad get angry if he comes back and we're not here?"
Dean snorted, watching the timid smile break out on the kid's face. "He's gonna
be angry either way, Sam, but we've got ages. We can do whatever you want for
now."
                                       *
Castiel tipped his head back against the grass bank of the spring, relaxing in
the sun-warmed water as he looked to the trees. Most of the blossoms had fallen
to the surface of the spring already, decorating the water with a collection of
pink and yellow petals, and although Castiel was used to the change between the
seasons affecting the scenery each year, he always favoured just how incredible
the transition between spring and summer really was.
Well, it was almost three weeks into the summer months, but the land around
here always seemed to take a little longer than the southern parts of the
forest to adjust to the season.
Castiel closed his eyes, breathing in the fresh air as he listened to the
gentle sound of the small waterfall opposite. It felt so good to be surrounded
by nature again - the nature he was familiar with. He would always prefer this
area, even if it did have its limitations.
He pushed both hands through his wet hair, keeping it from his forehead before
turning around to pull himself up onto the grass, reaching for his towel. He
got to his feet, scooping up the bar of soap as he started back toward the
concealed dirt path, grateful for the shade of the area as he made his way off
of the burning soil, the skin of his upper back practically dry from the heat
already.
He walked up the rock slope slowly, still fairly exhausted, but he knew he had
plenty of time to sleep later. It would make more sense to get everything else
out of the way first so he wouldn't leave it too late - especially when it came
to preserving his food because he sure as hell didn't want anything spoiling
before he'd had a chance to use it.
Castiel placed the soap back on its shelf, wiping the residue off on the towel
as he went on to dry his body, carefully dabbing at the delicate scab that had
formed on his back.
He lay the towel flat on the rock outside to dry when he was done, yawning and
stretching before continuing through to his bedroom.
The feel of the smooth stone beneath his bare feet was something he'd missed a
lot over the past few days, and even the earthy smell of the woodland was so
very different to that surrounding the cabin, and it was so ... refreshing. He
was surprised by how much he'd missed it, given how pathetic his home actually
was, but he was glad to be be back.
Glad his life had been spared.
He glanced to his bed; the futon with mussed sheets from his hurry to get up
the last time he'd slept in it, plucking a pair of boxers and a clean shirt
from the duffle he kept his clothing in so he could dress himself. He wasn't
all that fussed about rebandaging his wound when he wouldn't be doing anything
strenuous. He planned to bathe later that day anyway and it would be stupid to
waste his supplies when they weren't necessary at that point in time.
He stumbled a little as he pulled on the cotton shorts, heading back on through
to the largest part of the cave to grab his phone from his makeshift cabinet,
pulsing in the slightest amount of his Grace to ensure the battery was fully
charged. He wasn't expecting Dean to call anytime soon, but he didn't want his
phone to die should Dean need anything, so he was being sensible. It wasn't
exactly a challenge for him to charge his phone anyway. He may be focussing his
Grace on quite a lot, but the preservation of his food was going to be far more
exhausting than replicating electricity. Well, not the freezing aspect, but the
reopening of the cavern wall, along with ensuring the freezer-like temperament,
was always something that wore him out fairly quickly.
Castiel dropped his cell to one of the warped cushions he'd crafted for his
settee, knocking the metal basket across the floor with his foot. He'd
organised the majority the moment he'd gotten back, having planned the order in
which he'd make everything. The soups were to be made first, given the fewer
number of utensils required. Those were also easier to clean, and he'd be
reusing the larger pot to boil the fruit so it would save time in terms of
preparing for that.
He walked back out to the entrance of his cave after retrieving his largest pot
from his collection of kitchen utensils, holding it under his arm as he made
his way midway down the slope so he could view the fall of water from the
rockface just a short distance away. He summoned the fresh water into a large
bubble, leaning against the main body of his home as he drew it closer. Again,
it wasn't using much of his Grace and the pain in his muscles was barely
noticable, nothing more than a sharp pang of agony through his form every so
often. He knew it would remain that way for a while, more so considering the
fact that it was the one thing that hadn't changed at all since he'd begun to
heal himself, and yes, perhaps it should concern him more than it currently
did, but as soon as he'd eaten again, it'd be far simpler to manage.
He was sure of it.
The bubble of water was dropped into the pot, left to boil over the fire pit in
the centre of the room whilst he went about cutting up the vegetables and
separating the scraps for the broth. He didn't like to waste anything, and he
planned to take the remains from that out to the wood later to use in his
traps. He probably should have opted to get some kind of meat when Dean had
taken him shopping the day prior, but it didn't actually do as much good as he
wanted in terms of strength. Raw vegetables offered far more energy.
Obviously Castiel couldn't really afford to eat it all raw, given the fact that
he wanted to save his supplies for as long as possible and freezing the
vegetables didn't seem all that wise. At least the soups maintained their
flavour when they were defrosted. Vegetables always seemed to wilt, their taste
bland and their consistency ... off.
No. He was content with what he could make. It was all far healthier than the
few canned products he had left in the pantry.
Castiel added the vegetable scraps to the water as soon as it started to
bubble, along with some rock salt he still had kept in his hunting duffel,
before placing the lid over the pot to continue boiling.
He went about finding his colander whilst that was happening, along with the
few containers he had free. He'd gotten three more whilst shopping with Dean,
one of which he'd use for the jam, even if it wasn't exactly a model container
to use. Castiel had plenty of jam jars left though, so storage in that case
wasn't really an issue. He just wanted somewhere to keep the leftovers should
he have any.
His mind was empty in the hours that followed, nothing aside from his mother's
recipes occupying his thoughts, even as he moved on to make his third batch of
jam, crushing the fruit in a small bowl to pour into the pot with the sugar
when he was finished.
But he felt different. He knew he was tired and the illness was still poisoning
his body, but things just didn't seem right.
It was throwing off his concentration.
He put the bowl to the side, casting a quick glance to his phone on the couch
before laying back on the cold stone floor. He couldn't remember this time he
felt so out of place.
He hoped Dean was doing okay - especially if the boy's father had realised that
Castiel had been set free. Castiel didn't know how much Dean's father had paid
Crowley for information and the like, but having learnt about how the demonic
family lived, he did feel slightly bad that they'd wasted money on something
Castiel would have potentially charged for much less. Hell, he might've even
done it for free.
If the man had contacted him with a proposal to have his son healed, as opposed
to ordering Castiel kidnapped and murdered, then of course he would have
helped.
No one deserved to endure as much suffering as Sam had.
                                       *
Sam's laughter was infectious, the light noise sounding loud across the barren
planes of the park as they sat on the swings, Sam's ice cream dripping onto the
kid's pants with every second the boy neglected it. It wasn't that much of a
big deal, and for once, it was one less thing Dean had to worry about, even if
he would kinda miss cleaning Sam up when their dad was out and about. He'd
never quite got the hang of clothes washing though: too many colours and too
much effort.
Nah. He wouldn't miss handling everyone's dirty laundry.
"Did you actually ... you know?" Sam giggled, slumping forward slightly. "Have
to kiss him?"
Dean knew his face was red but he didn't give a damn, because Sam had promised
not to tell dad about anything that had happened and Dean didn't know how long
it'd be before he saw the kid again, so what the hell? May as well talk about
it if it was gonna keep Sam laughing for a bit longer.
"Yes," Dean told him, pulling a face in mock disgust to entertain the younger
boy a little more. "You know, until then I never understood why dad tells us
not to make deals with people."
Sam blinked, his cheeks flushed and his smile growing wider. "Whys he say
that?"
Dean leant in, keeping a completely serious face as he lowered his voice.
"Because kissing is gross."
Sam laughed again, taking a bite of the ice cream scoop, and Dean looked across
the vast expanse of grass, pushing himself gently on the swing as he tried not
to remember what kissing Cas had been like.
But it had been different.
He frowned to himself, pushing back with a little more force so his feet lifted
from the ground, his shadow dragging over the weird, squishy tiles that padded
the area underneath.
He shouldn't have been thinking about something like that again. It was stupid
and pointless, and actually made him feel kinda uncomfortable. Like, yeah, Cas
was sorta ...
Fuck.
"So I'm guessing you didn't try out the barrier thing then?"
Dean smiled bitterly, hating where his thoughts were headed. "A-actually, we
kinda did," Dean huffed, his hands tightening around the chains attached to the
swing seat. "Cas didn't really, uhhh ... he's pretty heavy handed."
"What? So he tried to hurt you?!" Sam blurted, his voice tainted with both
laughter and what sounded like shock.
"In fairness, I kind of pushed him to do it," Dean insisted, wetting his lips.
"I didn't treat him very nice."
"Wow. And here I was thinking you'd spent the past two days just sucking face
with an angel."
"Oh my God, Sam! Why the hell would you think that?!" Dean shouted in
embarrassment, burning even hotter as he shot a glare across at the kid. "I'm
not fucking gay!"
"Never said you were," Sam chirped, his shadow reaching out to twine with
Dean's on the ground, and Dean let himself relax on the swing so he wouldn't
end up dragging Sam along with him, his shadow keeping in place with the boy's
on the floor. "Not that, y'know, I'd have a problem with it or anything."
Dean let out a heavy breath, staring the kid down. "Seriously? We have a few
hours before dad gets back and you want to waste time talking about sexuality?"
"I wasn't the one who bought up the topic of kissing guys, Dean. It's not my
fault you have mentionitus."
"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" He asked sharply, letting the swing
come to a stop.
Sam smirked, licking his ice cream again. "Just that you've managed to name
drop Cas into basically every conversation we've had since he left."
"I have not!" Dean argued, shoving at the kid. "I'm only answering your stupid
questions!"
He jolted when the ice cream was crushed against the centre of his chest,
recoiling in disgust as Sam ran off laughing.
"You little ..." he grimaced, getting to his feet. The ice cream fell from his
shirt to the floor in a thick mess, and he pulled at the base of his shirt to
prise it away from his skin, the fabric wet and unpleasant and smelling of that
sickly flavoured mint shit.
He looked up to where Sam tore down the grass, clearly flaunting his ability to
move around now that he'd been healed, but Dean ignored that factor for a
moment, mapping out where the kid was headed next.
He transported himself to the spot Sam was running to, crouching down to grab
the kid around the waist and haul him over his uninjured shoulder with ease,
starting back toward the swing set when Sam was safely in place.
"Dean! Put me down!" Sam squealed, rubbing his hands on the back of Dean's
shirt, more ice cream soaking through the material to cling to his skin, and
Dean shivered a little, grinning.
"Not until you finish your ice cream, Sam."
"N-no!" Sam giggled, his legs flailing as Dean altered his hold, bringing Sam
around so he was left dangling against Dean's hip, both his skinny arms pinned
to his sides, and Dean lowered him slowly, Sam's wriggling making it incredibly
difficult to keep steady.
"Come on, Sammy. I thought mint was your favourite," he teased, letting Sam's
face hover above the green mess. "I bought this for you specially."
"It's got ants on it!"
Dean laughed, rocking the kid forward slightly until Sam let out another scream
in protest.
He stepped to the side so he could lower Sam to the floor as carefully as he
could, sitting down beside him on the soft ground and leaning back on on his
hands, watching as the kid sat up in a similar position.
"I'm never buying you ice cream again," Dean vowed halfheartedly, letting their
shadows intertwine between them. It brought a sense of comfort to him whenever
they did it, and it always seemed to make Sam feel better too. That's why they
usually linked overnight, just in case Sam had a nightmare and needed the
reassurance that whatever it was he was seeing wasn't happening right that
second. Maybe it wasn't the best reassurance, given that almost everything Sam
saw came true eventually, but Dean wouldn't ever let Sam get hurt.
If there was ever anything bad, Dean would try his damn best to change it.
At the sound of Dean's ringtone, Sam's shadow tensed, and Dean grimaced,
conflicted as to whether or not he wanted to answer. It didn't feel like he'd
spent all that long in Sam's company after all, even though they'd spent most
of the day together.
He hadn't really expected time to creep up on them like that, bringing them way
closer to the halfway point.
He drew his phone out of his pocket lethargically, knowing who it'd be without
even looking at the caller ID.
"Is it Cas?" Sam asked brightly, amusement clear in his tone. Dean shoved at
the kid's face with his free hand in retaliation.
I wish.
He pressed 'answer' timidly, bring his phone up to his ear.
"Hi, Dad," he croaked, clenching his jaw as he prepared himself for the
onslaught of shouting.
"WHAT THE FUCK HAVE YOU DONE?!"
Dean jerked away from the earpiece quickly, closing his eyes as he took in a
ragged breath.
"I -"
"WHERE IS IT?!" John screamed. "WHERE'S THE FUCKING ANGEL, DEAN?!"
Dean swallowed, getting to his feet. "I let him go."
"YOU -"
John cut himself off and Dean could hear the distinct sound of glass being
smashed on the other end of the line, his lower lip trembling involuntarily as
he tried to plan what he could say.
"Dad," he tried, occupying his free hand by tugging on the hem of his shirt.
"Dad, can I please just ..."
The sound of the receiver rung loud in his ear; the droning sound that always
seemed to conclude the end of their phone calls, and Dean let both hands fall
to his sides, staring down at the grass turf.
He felt like we was going to be sick.
"Guess I better take you back home now," he muttered quietly, pushing his phone
back into the pocket of his jeans.
Sam didn't reply, but his shadow remained linked with Dean's own, tightening
its hold as if to never let go.
                                       *
"Do you have any idea what you've done?!"
"Dad, please just -"
The air was knocked out of him as John shoved him up against the wall, Dean's
vision flaring white for a brief moment, and he choked, barely able to hear Sam
shouting at John from across the room.
"What did I say to you," John hissed, both hands clamping his shoulders, a palm
pressed firmly against Dean's bullet wound. "What. Did. I. Say."
Dean swallowed thickly, focusing on the harsh motel lighting. "Y-you said angel
blood was the only cure, but you were wrong. Cas -"
He felt tears well up when John dug his thumbs in, blunt nails sharp against
his skin; burning the inflamed flesh of Dean's shoulder.
"You put all our lives at risk because you assumed I was wrong?!" John
bellowed, and Dean shut his eyes before the tears could fall, not wanting his
dad to shout at him for longer than he could handle.
I had proof, he wanted to shout back. You were wrong!
But instead he kept his mouth shut, attempting to straighten out his frown
before he was being shoved to the side, his hip slamming against the wood of
the nightstand.
"You let a fucking angel into this room! Did you not once stop and think about
how fucking stupid it was of you to let it near your own fucking brother?!"
"Cas promised not to hurt anyone," Dean tried weakly, his shadow winding tight
around his ankles to stop himself from running away - to stop himself from
being such a coward. "And he healed Sam for us! He helped Sam get -"
He brought his shadow up in time to prevent the cell phone from hitting him in
the face, staggering back a little to keep his balance.
"How the fuck do you know if Sam's healed or not?!" John exploded, striding
forward to grab Dean by the front of his shirt. "You let a fucking angel near
him and you have no idea what it's done!"
"I feel fine, Dad! Let him go!" Sam shouted, pulling at John's arm.
"Stay out of it, Sam! Go wait in the car!"
"No, stop -"
John whirled on him, grabbing the younger boy's wrist. "I said go and wait in
the fucking car!"
Sam looked at him with pleading eyes, panic written all over his face, and Dean
blanched when he realised this was it. This was his goodbye and he couldn't
even do it properly!
Hell, their shadows couldn't even link with their dad in the way, and Dean
wanted nothing more at that moment to keep Sam comforted - to promise him that
everything was gonna be fine.
"Dad, please can you just listen to me?" Dean begged, his breath catching when
Sam burst into tears, the kid breaking free of John's hold to try and grab
Dean's arm. John caught hold of him again, pushing Sam in the direction of the
doorway without another word. Dean took that opportunity to continue talking,
his speech blatantly affected by his own crying, unable to keep the tears from
falling any longer. "The blood didn't work! C-Cas let me try it to heal myself
and -"
He wasn't expecting the backhanded slap to his face, and he yelped, hastily
pressing a palm to his cheek to ease the pain.
"Where is it?" John asked coldly, and Dean stared up at him in defiance, trying
his best to put on a brave front. He didn't want to be continually interrogated
and belittled for being sensible - especially when he'd apparently considered
everything his dad hadn't.
"I don't know."
"Don't fucking lie to me, Dean - tell me where it is!"
"Why?" Dean shot back, wiping the tears from his eyes. "We don't need him
anymore."
He teleported to the opposite side of the room when his dad went to hit him
again, grabbing his duffel from the floor and cradling it in his arms. John
turned to him abruptly, the dark lenses in front of his eyes making his
features look sunken and warped in the yellow motel lighting, but Dean met his
gaze fearlessly, preparing to leave for good.
He knew it was sudden but nothing about this was fair! He'd tried to explain
himself and it was pointless to argue when his dad clearly didn't give a shit.
Dean doubted he'd even get any sympathy if he bought up the fact that he'd been
shot.
"Even if I knew where he was I wouldn't tell you," he stated boldly, glancing
at Sam for a brief moment when the kid's shadow reached hurriedly for his
across the carpet. "Cas doesn't deserve to die."
"You know nothing about wh-"
Dean transported himself outside as quickly as he could, not wanting to be made
to feel more insignificant than he already did. He knew he'd done the right
thing by letting Cas live. Cas had healed Sam and that was the most important
factor any of them should have cared about; not where the angel was.
But if his dad had wanted the angel so bad, then why hadn't he been the one to
trap the guy? Dean got that John had given him responsibility for once to make
him more impervious to sympathy, but that wasn't what Dean had had in mind when
his dad had told him he'd be doing his first solo hunt - especially when that
had put Sam's life in his hands!
It was cowardly, in a way, for John to give Dean the responsibility for
something so important, but at least this way Sam had actually been healed. If
their dad had gotten his way and Cas had died, then there'd be three deaths as
a consequence, and ultimately, it would have been the stupidest outcome of the
whole thing.
So even though it hurt, and Dean felt worse without his family's company than
he had just then in the motel, he was happy knowing that his choice had been
the more beneficial one overall.
 
Chapter End Notes
     it's like 2am right now and I've been writing since 3 this afternoon
     so I'm sorry if the last segment's crap and if there's spelling/
     grammar mistakes because I'm exhausted and I should be revisising but
     all you guys have been so nice about this fic so far so I'm just
     gonna take this moment to say thank you for being so lovely.
     (and to anyone who's at the same conflicted stage about watching spn
     after the jibcon thing as I am, I'm just gonna announce my
     disappointment over the whole queerbaiting thing because it sucks,
     and it makes me sad, and I'm gonna go now before I fall asleep at my
     desk so goodnight you wonderful people and i'm sorry for adding my
     stupid opinion at the end of this chapter where it's not even wanted)
***** Chapter 13 *****
Chapter Summary
     From what Dean understood, Cas could do a hell of a lot more than a
     demon, and as deadly as it was, it was also way more useful. Even
     Dean's abilities were sub par in comparison and he doubted that he'd
     win in a fight against the angel now that he knew what they could do.
     Not that he'd want to fight an angel again. If he'd known everything
     Cas was capable of before trying to take him down in the forest, he
     wouldn't have let Cas anywhere fucking near him.
Chapter Notes
     this was meant to be up Saturday evening but while I was editing I
     got carried away and basically I wrote 2000 more words than I usually
     do
Dean walked for what felt like hours, simply rerunning the prior events in his
mind. He knew it was stupid, and it only made him feel worse the longer he went
about it, but he wanted to call Cas, and if he called Cas then he’d be asked a
bunch of questions about everything that’d happened and he wanted to have a
decent answer.
Okay, that was also stupid. Everything about it was stupid. Cas probably
wouldn’t even ask.
He kicked at the ground in irritation, trying to think of something a little
more cheerful as he turned yet another corner, not even caring where he was
headed because it wasn’t like he even had anywhere to go. Bobby wasn’t home and
he didn’t particularly want to head back to the cabin in case his dad chose to
stop by again because, yeah, maybe he could hide in the shadows, but that was
fucking exhausting and he didn’t even know how long he could go on keeping
himself hidden for. He definitely couldn’t sleep like that, and his dad would
be more than a little pissed if he ended up tripping over him or something.
Anyway, Dean would check it out when it got dark later. If his dad was there
then he’d check Bobby’s again, and if Bobby wasn’t home, he’d find the cheapest
motel he could.
And then he’d phone Cas, because he didn’t want to bother the guy with more
problems than necessary. To be perfectly honest, he was more concerned about
how Cas was faring as opposed to where he himself was gonna stay. He knew that
within a few days, he’d have his whole housing issue sorted, but Cas wouldn’t
necessarily be better.
Dean didn’t care how high his phone bill would be at the end of this whole
thing so long as he could make sure the angel was actually healed. He was sure
he could find a way to pay it off somehow.
Or he could borrow Bobby’s phone every once in a while and help him out on
hunts to make up for it. At least then he wouldn’t risk having his cell number
cancelled.
That'd make things complicated because he hadn't gotten round to memorising
Sam's phone number yet and that was pretty important, what with phoning Sam not
really being an option right now. Dean knew it’d be a while before they’d
actually be able to have a conversation, but he supposed they could text and
stuff until that point. It was far more discrete, even if it was still rather
risky. He wouldn’t be surprised if John started monitoring Sam’s phone, or even
got rid of it altogether.
Obviously the latter option would be a little more problematic, seeing as Dean
wouldn’t be able to stay in contact at all, but he didn’t want to think about
that. It wasn’t helping his situation.
He yawned, pushing both hands through his hair before teleporting back to
Bobby's porch, sitting down on the step to watch the sun set over the scraps of
piled metal. His legs were actually kinda sore from walking around for so long,
so it felt good to actually take a rest, even if he was still without a place
to stay. At least here he had some kind of company to keep him from harassing
the angel anytime soon.
Dean grinned when he felt the wet nose snuffle against the back of his neck,
somewhat surprised that the dog hadn't kicked up a fuss the moment Dean had
stepped foot on the land. He reached behind him to rub at the top of Rumsfeld's
head, subtly trying to keep the rottweiler from licking the side of his face.
He wasn't that much of a dog person, but Rumsfeld was okay; gentle and
friendly, and actually pretty chill for something that he was generally kind of
scared of.
Well, no, he wasn't scared of dogs per se. Just the bigger ones - the ones that
had that low bark and growled to a degree that Dean didn't consider all that
safe.
But Rumsfeld was different. He recognised Dean and that definitely made him
feel better because the dog could bark really fucking loud when he wanted to
and that always made Dean feel that little bit more anxious about getting close
to him.
Rumsfeld sauntered round toward him, placing a large paw on Dean's thigh as he
butted at Dean's chin with his snout, and Dean ran a hand over the soft fur of
his head tentatively, leaning back when the dog tried to lick him again. He
pushed at the dog's heavy body, his smile softening when Rumsfeld backed off
without going for him, and he waited for the rottweiler to sit down before
relaxing properly, trying to ignore the gentle thump of the dog's tail against
the porch wood and the wide eyed look Rumsfeld was giving him from where he'd
positioned himself.
"Fine," he huffed when the dog continued to look at him expectantly, summoning
the battered tennis ball from across the scrapyard to his hold before
unlatching the chain from Rumsfeld's collar and flinging the ball back in the
direction it came from. Rumsfeld scrambled down the steps, bounding after the
old toy whilst Dean lounged back on the porch, yawning again. He knew the dog
was way too loyal to simply run off, but even if he did, Dean knew he could
catch him long before he made it onto a road of any kind. Bobby's scrapyard was
practically out in the middle of nowhere anyway so it wasn't like Rumsfeld was
at risk of being run down by a car if he went a mile or so past the drive.
Obviously Dean wouldn't let the dog get that far in the first place, but there
really wasn't much to worry about.
Dean felt sorry for Rumsfeld sometimes, knowing that it must suck for him
whenever Bobby went out on a hunt, even if it was usually for no longer than a
night or so. It couldn't be all that fun chained up outside for hours on end
with nothing to do - and it probably got worse when he went the night without
being fed. Not that Bobby starved his dog or anything, seeing as he barely took
on hunts anymore as it was, issuing work more than anything else, but still.
Bobby rarely let the dog in the house. Rumsfeld was out on his own more often
than not.
Dean didn't mind entertaining him for a while, and if Bobby wasn't back by
eight, Dean'd grab him something to eat before he found a place to stay for the
night. There wasn't much point in him ditching the place when they'd both be
alone otherwise, and right now, Dean couldn't really think of anything else he
could do.  He still didn't think now was a good time to call Cas, or even if
the guy would want him to phone yet. It'd probably make more sense to wait
until the following day if anything, given the fact that Cas would probably
want to enjoy his time away from Dean for a while. 
Fuck. He didn't even need to call the guy. He'd probably just make himself look
like a fucking idiot if all he called for was to say 'hi'. 
He picked up the ball with his shadow when Rumsfeld bought it back over, not
really wanting to touch it with his hands after hearing the wet squelching
sound it'd made when it had hit the lower step. He could still feel its damp
texture as he wound a tendril around the small sphere, cringing before throwing
it off between the rusted cars again, Rumsfeld's quick movement drawing up dust
from the ground as he turned to give chase once more.
But the thing was, Dean wanted to call him. He really did. Even if it was
pretty selfish of him.
Okay that thought didn't help matters. Not after what Sam had said before.
Dean pouted, finally letting his duffle fall to the step beside him, rolling
both his shoulders to try and stop them from aching so much. It was starting to
get a little colder now, the sun having begun to set to the west, so Dean
looked to his watch, frowning. He'd give it another hour before going to scout
out the cabin. It'd be kinda cruel of him to only throw the ball twice for the
dog before tying him up again, and Dean wanted to clear his mind properly. He
could let his thoughts wreak havoc later on when the more important things were
taken care of.
He got to his feet, hopping down to the ground to wander over to where Rumsfeld
was viciously gnawing on the tennis ball.
"Hey, dog!" He called, following up with a whistle until Rumsfeld came thudding
toward him, the ball flicked in his direction with a sharp toss of the dog's
head. Dean caught it with his shadow before it could smack into his shin,
raising it in the air until Rumsfeld was seated, his big brown eyes utterly
focussed on even the slightest movement.
"You ready?"
Rumsfeld's posture tensed and Dean grinned, firing the ball back over his
shoulder and sidestepping the animal when it bolted forward to retrieve it.
He followed after the dog slowly, dragging his feet along through the dirt as
he waited for Rumsfeld to come back, not really caring for how long it took for
the rottweiler to find the ball. There was something kind of therapeutic about
entertaining the dog, and it was amusing to see just how enthusiastic Rumsfeld
was as he bounded after it, dodging between the cars even if it was a squeeze
for his pudgy body.
Dean crouched down to pet the dog on the head when it came rushing back over,
murmuring a 'good boy' before he threw the ball again. He straightened up,
pursing his lips as he stretched, looking up at the sky. He didn't know how
long it'd take before it'd get properly dark out here, but he could remember
the last time he and Sam had been stupid enough to let the dog run loose in the
dark and he didn't want to end up crawling beneath a goddamn car to try and
persuade Rumsfeld that it wasn't the safest place to sleep.
Bobby had been pretty lenient about it all. Well, more lenient than if it had
been John in his place. John wouldn't have helped, nor would he have let either
Sam or Dean head back in the house without making them sort out the problem
first.
Rumsfeld wouldn't have been the only one sleeping outside.
There were a lot of times where Dean wished he could spend more time at Bobby's
place. It was rare for John to drop them off anymore, seeing as he and Sam were
now considered old enough to hunt, but it was nice to have that break from
hunting every once in a while.
The only reason he and Sam were ever left here these days was if John went off
hunting with other people, which, quite frankly, wasn't often enough. It
sucked, and Dean had lost count of the amount of times Sam had been put in
danger because of their dad's stupid work ethic.
Bobby wasn't like that. Bobby had never believed that they should have to hunt
unless they wanted to. He'd never straight out said that to John's face, but he
used to mention it quietly when Dean helped make dinner.
There were lots of things Bobby said to him in confidence.
But it wasn't just the conversations and the lack of hunting that Dean liked.
He missed that temporary freedom of essentially getting to do everything he
wanted.
Obviously when they stayed with Bobby they still had to help with chores and
stuff, but that was actually kind of okay. Like, cooking was fun. Bobby had
taught him how to make lasagne and pie and all this other great stuff that
wasn't always available when they were out on the road.
Or if it was, it all tasted like shit in comparison.
Basically, Dean liked to pretend he and Sam were human while they were in
Bobby's house. The guy himself was a human after all, and they got to do human
things, so that was always a plus.
There were times when Dean tried to hide all evidence of his demonic heritage,
wanting to see just how differently he could be treated in the community.
Obviously it only worked in the places where people hadn't seen him with his
dad before, but it was still pretty interesting.
Just thinking about it reminded him of something Castiel had said about angels
- how it was the fear of their kind that put people off, or made them more
hostile - and in a way, that same ideal could be applied to demons.
Except Dean didn't really get why it was the demons that were respected out of
the two, not that he should really be complaining. Humans seemed to be just as
wary of them both, but like Cas had said a few times: more often than not
demons took pleasure in hunting (or just plain killing, as the guy had put it)
and yet there never seemed to be any reports of angels doing the same. Sure,
that could've had something to do with the fact that there were far less angels
in America than there were demons, but John had bigged them up to essentially
be portrayed as intelligent killers. If that was the case, then wouldn't the
Union promote the eradication of their kind as opposed to issuing their
protection?
Dean threw the ball for the dog again, stretching his arms above his head as he
mulled over his thoughts.
Maybe the angels were protected because they were more valuable. From what Dean
understood, Cas could do a hell of a lot more than a demon, and as deadly as it
was, it was also way more useful. Even Dean's abilities were sub par in
comparison and he doubted that he'd win in a fight against the angel now that
he knew what they could do. Not that he'd want to fight an angel again. If he'd
known everything Cas was capable of before trying to take him down in the
forest, he wouldn't have let Cas anywhere fucking near him.
Dean scratched the back of his neck when the skin began to itch, and he
grimaced, kicking at the floor.
What the fuck was wrong with him? Why couldn't he have one decent thought
without the topic reverting back to hunting, and angels, and fucking Castiel!
Well, not fucking as in the activity because that wasn't something he'd ...
Oh.
Oh wow. Okay.
Fantastic.
He really needed those kind of images in his head right now.
                                       *
Castiel sat on the ledge outside the mouth of his cave, staring up at the stars
that littered the pink of the sky. It was somewhat fortunate that he should
wake in time to watch the sun set, more so to distract him from his nightmare
than anything else. Well, obviously the sky looked beautiful at this time of
night and Castiel had always been partial to watching the evenfall take over,
but that was why he supposed it was such a good distraction. It was familiar
and pleasant, accompanied by the gentle warmth of the lingering sun. There
wasn't a single flaw, making up for the absence of anything remotely similar in
his dreams, and it was more than just a little relaxing, allowing Castiel to
create his own make-believe scenarios whilst he was conscious. 
There wasn't all that much Castiel wanted in his life. Not anymore. He'd
adapted to his situation, and apart from a few minor changes in terms of his
housing he wasn't actually all that fussed about it. It was the work, and the
expenses, and the general treatment he received that he wished he could change.
That'd take care of even the most minute problems he suffered from, yet, like
world peace, Castiel knew it just wasn't going to happen.
Much like his chances of acquiring an education. That was something he could
never really pursue even if the laws in the hunting community had become a
little more strict. Given the most recent events, Castiel doubted he'd be safe
attempting to live as a human. Ever.
Which, of course, would make it just as dangerous for him to pursue a
relationship.
It wasn't that Castiel desired intimacy or anything of the sort because in all
honesty, as arrogant as it was, he'd never had an issue finding a willing
partner at a bar in the past. No, it was the permanence he wanted. One night
stands were alright for the most part, aside from the times Castiel had drunk
himself into a state of darkness which had ultimately eradicated any memory of
his original intent, thus rendering it pointless; but he didn't want to have to
leave as early as he could to prevent having to explain himself or engage in
awkward conversation.
He'd tried it before though, deeming it a selfish and utterly stupid act
overall.
He didn't want anyone else to be hurt because of their connection to him.
Castiel grimaced, bringing his knees up to his chest as he splayed his wings
out to keep his balance on the rock ledge, his stomach churning. Maybe that
wasn't the best thing to distract him from his nightmare. Dreaming was one
thing, but he hated when reality wormed its way into his thoughts. That pretty
much ruined it.
He watched the pink in the sky turn purple, chewing on his lower lip. It was
exhausting to try and think about something else, and he didn't have much else
to distract him, so when he heard the quiet beep of his cell phone from where
he'd left it inside, he clambered down from the ledge to go grab it in a matter
of seconds.
He was confused by the fact that it wasn't a phone call, and, admittedly, a
little disappointed, but he opened the message anyway, somewhat wary.
Unknown: Are you awake?
Castiel blinked down at the screen, reading over the line a few times before
another message appeared below it.
Unknown: Actually no
Unknown: Ignore me
Unknown: Fuck this is embarrassing i dont even knw if this numbers even real or
not
It was blatantly obvious who it was before the boy even clarified with a 'Its
dean btw', even if the 'btw' aspect was completely lost on him. He considered
typing out a reply, slightly worried as to whether this would be the method
they went about communicating. It would be more than a little humiliating if he
couldn't understand something else Dean said, and he was just as bad at writing
his own replies as he was at reading. Although Dean didn't seem like the
mocking type, Castiel didn't want to be made into a joke.
He wet his lips, saving the number to his phone under Dean's name before
rereading the messages again, tapping his finger against the side of the
plastic.
Dean was expecting some kind of reply, so shouldn't he answer now? Even if it
was getting late?
Castiel pressed call without much thought, bringing the phone up to his ear,
listening to the few rings that followed. He couldn't help but smile when the
call picked up and a timid 'hello?' was murmured into the mouthpiece.
"So you miss me already, huh?" Castiel teased brightly, walking back out to the
mouth of his cave to ensure better reception. "You know, you could have just
called. No need for all your little messages."
"I didn't know if you'd be asleep or not!" Dean blurted, and Castiel grinned,
seating himself back on the ledge. 
"I would have still answered your call, moron," Castiel insisted, pushing the
hair from his forehead. "But why aren't you asleep, Dean? It's getting kind of
late."
The demon sighed. "Because the motel I chose sucks and I can't sleep with this
much noise outside my damn window."
Castiel pursed his lips, shuffling a little to get more comfortable. "Your
uncle not home?"
"Nah. He'll be back tomorrow though," Dean said, and it was the certainty in
his tone that made Castiel relax that little bit more. Obviously he would have
preferred it if Dean had been housed properly that night, but atleast the boy
would have things resolved come morning.
"How you holding up by the way? You haven't been sick or anything again have
you?"
"No," Castiel mumbled. "I just ... I feel tired. More tired than usual anyway.
There's nothing to worry about."
"If you're so tired then why aren't you sleeping, Castiel?"
"I woke up about two hours ago," Castiel informed him. "Getting back to sleep
has always been difficult."
"Want me to sing you a lullaby?" Dean offered jokingly, and Castiel huffed out
a laugh, looking up at the stars.
"That's cute, Dean."
"What was that? You think I'm cute?"
"No, I ..." Castiel could feel the flush creep up the back of his neck. "Dean,
you're about as cute as an elephant seal."
"Well, seals are generally adorable so ..." There was a pause, and Castiel
waited patiently for the boy to catch on.
"Wait, are those the ones that have a dick on their face?!"
"The resemblance is uncanny," Castiel remarked as seriously as he could.
"I'm way more attractive than one of those things, you asshole!"
Castiel smirked, rising to his feet to walk the length of the ledge, his wings
splaying out once more. "And more arrogant, so it seems."
"But ... you admit that I'm attractive?" Dean followed up smugly, and Castiel
rolled his eyes, his bare feet padding silently over the stone. He should have
known to expect Dean's vanity, but it was amusing just how much Dean seemed to
be doting on his opinion, even if all Castiel would be doing was boosting the
kid's ego.
"Well, seeing as you've called me pretty before, I may as well return the
compliment," he said softly, making Dean laugh. That made him smile wider, more
so considering the fact that Dean probably wasn't in the best of places at the
moment, so to hear such a happy sound was pretty great.
"When the hell did I say that?" Dean asked, but his voice still held that light
tone, allowing Castiel to feel more free to talk about whatever he wanted. It
really was strange to be able to feel as such, but Castiel was simply glad he
had that confidence to talk period. Sure he could argue, and bar fights were
practically a norm, but this kind of joking conversation was way harder to come
by and it was so fucking refreshing to not have to force himself to feign
anything.
"When you first put the handcuffs on me," he murmured, turning on the balls of
his feet to start walking in the opposite direction again. 
He wasn't all that pissed about it anymore, but that was more to do with the
fact that it was Dean who'd said it.
And because the kid hadn't tried to molest him in any way, shape or form
afterwards.
"... I ... fuck, Cas - I forgot I said that. I'm sorry."
Castiel hopped down off the ledge, his shirt rising up a little with the
action. "That's okay. If anything I see it as a compliment," he replied,
muffling a yawn behind the back of his hand. "It's not often that nice people
call me pretty."
"Dude, that doesn't justify anything," Dean argued. "I was being a jerk. Even
if I called you that now it'd probably sound just as condescending - n-not that
I'm gonna repeat it, cos' that's ... Christ. Can we change the subject or
something? This is getting kinda awkward."
"My apologies," Castiel smirked. Dean seemed to find it relatively easy to
become flustered over such small issues, and it was somewhat endearing. "What
would you like to talk about instead?"
"I don't know. You choose," the boy mumbled in response.
"You were the one who wanted to change the topic."
"Cas ..."
"Okay," Castiel said quietly, scratching his forehead. "Okay, well ... I never
got to ask how you were. Are you doing alright on your own so far?"
Dean went silent for a moment so Castiel started on down the slope toward the
spring, moving slowly between the trees to reach the bank. He was beginning to
find Dean's lack of reply somewhat unnerving, and he didn't really know what he
could brighten his thoughts with whilst Dean went about considering what it was
he was going to say.
"Not ... not really. No."
Castiel stalled, having thought that the demon would have opted for a different
response. It wasn't that saying as such was a burden. He was just surprised
that Dean had been straight out honest with him.
"You wanna tell me what's wrong?" He prompted gently, turning back to return
toward his home.
Dean let out a heavy breath on the other end of the line, and Castiel frowned,
shifting his phone to his other ear so he could trace a hand along the rock
face.
"My dad got so pissed before, Cas. He thinks you fucked up my brother," Dean
muttered, and Castiel could hear a slight rustling over the sound of his voice.
He took a few steps closer to the cavern mouth to prevent the connection from
faltering, just in case it was down to static. He knew the reception around
these parts could be crap at times, owing to the fact that he was practically
out in the middle of nowhere, so he stepped up onto the ledge again, looking
down over the forest as he regained his balance, hoping that maybe this would
lower the chances of the signal cutting out.
"I didn't, Dean - he's going to be fine," Castiel assured him. "I wouldn't have
hurt either of you."
"No, Cas. I know," the boy practically whispered, and Castiel could hear the
waver of his voice and it had him panicking because as much as he wanted to
know how Dean was feeling, he did not want to upset him further. "But he made
Sam cry, and I hate seeing Sam cry and it wasn't fucking fair on him to have to
see my dad so angry!"
Castiel swallowed thickly, rubbing a hand down his face as he tried to come up
with a reply of sorts. He was the reason Dean had been abandoned, and here he
was struggling to think up a sympathetic response because he was a selfish
bastard and hadn't wanted to spend his time making sure that Dean was okay! He
knew that Dean didn't like being on his own - that the kid was going through a
lot and solitude would most likely only make things harder for him - and yet
still Castiel had opted to return home.
Because he thought after the past few days, the normality of his isolation
would prove to be better than having company.
"Do ... do you want me to come by?"
"W-what?"
"Do you want me to come by? For a while," Castiel repeated. "I don't mind,
Dean. I've got shit all to do and I don't feel comfortable leaving you on your
own when you've got worse problems than me."
"How is any of that worse than you being sick?!"
Castiel smiled timidly. "This illness is nowhere near as permanent as you
losing your family. And I'm worried about you." 
Dean went quiet again and Castiel started to pace the ledge, pulling at the hem
of his shirt. He knew it was a ridiculous proposition and it'd most likely wear
him out, but Dean needed some form of support right now and if the kid's family
was too busy to be there for him then Castiel sure as fuck didn't mind taking
their place.
"I guess you need the address." 
                                       *
Dean held onto Castiel tightly, burying his face in the crook of the angel's
neck, closing his eyes when Cas' hand cupped the back of his head.
"Your wings are cool," he mumbled, touching at the back of Castiel's shirt
where the light had disappeared. He'd only caught a glimpse of them for a
couple of seconds, but they were pretty hard to miss. They were way brighter
than his Grace, and they'd sort of lit up the granite where they rested against
it, but other than being what he could only assume was an outline of the light,
he didn't see feathers or anything remotely similar.
Cas pulled back, ruffling Dean's hair a little before holding out the shirt
Dean had leant to him earlier. "I'm just surprised they carried me this far.
They're pretty pathetic at the best of times."
Dean smiled, gently taking hold of the clothing before taking a step back to
clear the doorway, trying not to think about how similar it was to the first
time they'd met. "Well, they don't look all that pathetic," he insisted when
Cas stepped inside, closing the door behind them. "More impressive than a
shadow."
Castiel smirked back at him, stretching his arms above his head. "Flirt."
Dean could feel his face flush but he held Castiel's stare regardless, smiling
a little bit wider. "Just being honest."
Cas ducked his head, his eyes flashing violet and his cheeks slightly pink, and
yeah. Dean needed to stop getting distracted by Cas' appearance.
The angel wandered over to the bed, picking up the comic book from where Dean
had left it on the mattress, staring down at the cover.
"Very interesting artwork," Castiel murmured, but the amusement was clear in
his voice, and Dean all but skipped over because this was yet another comic he
could talk at lengths about.
"Everything about it's interesting. The guy's basically like the comic book
version of a hunter," Dean chirped, glancing at it from over Castiel's shoulder
as he dropped the shirt to the bed. "I mean, I love the X-Men and all, but
Constantine's fucking awesome."
"Who in their right mind would hunt dressed like that?" Castiel questioned,
opening the comic before sitting down on the edge of the bed. "Wearing a coat
to a fight is pretty damn impractical."
Dean grinned, sitting down beside him and reaching across to flick forward a
couple more pages. "But where else would he keep all his weapony stuff. Plus
it's got like demonic powers, so you know. It's kind of helpful."
"I'm sure it is," Castiel hummed, his eyes skimming over the images even as
Dean skipped through it. Dean turned his attention to Cas' expression for a
moment, taking in the slight smile and the arched eyebrow, like the angel found
the whole thing entertaining. "May I ask how many comics you actually own?"
Dean thought about it for a moment, his finger lingering on the page. "Do you
mean, like, physical copies, or digital? Cos' I basically have the whole
Psylocke storyline saved on my laptop, as well as some Batman stuff and most of
the Hellblazer collection."
"So they're not all hard copies?"
"Nah. I only really buy copies that have my favourite stories included," Dean
told him, timidly resting his head on Cas' shoulder when the angel moved
closer.
"'Buy', or steal?" Castiel asked teasingly, laughing when Dean elbowed him in
the ribs.
"You're a jerk," Dean huffed, snatching the comic so he could put it back in
his duffle along with his returned shirt.
"I only asked you a question," Castiel stated lightly, knocking their temples
together before getting to his feet to take a couple of steps forward,
stretching once more as he turned to face him. "You know, I'm starting to think
..."
Cas stopped, staring at him for a moment, his brow furrowed and his eyes
reverting back to blue. He walked over to Dean slowly, crouching a little
before touching at his jaw. "Dean, what happened to your face?"
Dean turned his gaze to the floor, feeling his mouth go dry as he tried to come
up with some kind of excuse. He knew that retelling the events would probably
piss Cas off more than anything, what with the way Cas had spoken about Dean's
dad before. He seemed to have a lot of problems with the way Dean had been
brought up, and although it wasn't really any of the angel's business, Dean
didn't want Cas to go off on one when it wasn't even serious.
"My ... my uncle's dog knocked me down earlier," Dean started, his face burning
hotter. "He's, uhhh ... he's sorta big and I wasn't really ... yeah."
Castiel encouraged Dean to turn his head to the side, tenderly brushing a thumb
over the bruise on Dean's cheek, but then he felt that weird foreign buzz
beneath his skin that had him grabbing the angel's wrist, holding it at bay.
"Cas, I don't want you wasting your Grace on me when you need to focus on
getting better," he insisted as sternly as he could.
"Too late," Castiel replied, chucking him under the chin before flopping beside
him on the mattress, laying back. "You're in a shittier place than I am at the
moment and I'm gonna try my best to make it easier for you."
Dean lay down beside him, gently throwing the comic toward the pillows. He
frowned when Castiel propped himself up on an elbow, leaning over him with an
almost shy expression on his face that was making Dean feel all kinds of fucked
up things in his chest.
"You're an idiot," Dean stated, shoving at Cas weakly.
A really fucking attractive idiot.
Castiel continued to look at him, resting his cheek in a hand and pursing his
lips as his eyes locked on Dean's, and it really wasn't helping Dean's
situation. 
Hell, Dean didn't even know what his situation was!
Cas was great. Like, awesome. He was a nice enough guy and Dean liked talking
to him - but that was normal, right? Liking someone for being nice?
The thing was, Dean knew that wasn't really the case. Just cos' he'd never had
the chance to really befriend anyone before didn't mean he was ignorant,
because he knew for a fact these ... these feelings weren't the fucking
'friend' kind!
And for him to find himself this fucking attracted to a dude was a different
problem entirely, because yeah, he might've made out with two or three other
guys in the past, but that was more ... that was more to do with wanting to
find out what the big deal about it was. His dad had always said it was wrong,
but Dean didn't really see anything that different about it, because in all
honesty, it'd been exactly the same as when he'd kissed girls.
Obviously, addressing something like that would've probably gotten him kicked
out sooner than he had been, which was why he'd been so against bringing up the
fact that he and Cas had made a deal because that probably would've given John
an aneurysm.
Well, part of that would have been down to the fact that Cas was an angel, but
the whole two-guys-kissing thing would have made it a hell of a lot worse.
And Dean wasn't gay! He wasn't! He might not have much sexual experience, but
he was pretty damn sure that he preferred girls. Not that it really made any
difference because he'd never done much more than simply kissing with anyone,
but that wasn't the fucking point. Liking Cas was more than just liking a guy,
and it wasn't just because he was also an angel. Cas was older. Like ... shit,
Dean didn't even know; but the fact that Cas thought of him as a 'child' was
practically all Dean needed to understand that this was really, really stupid,
and that his brain was incredibly fucked up.
God. He didn't even know what he could do to stop feeling this way. Maybe
letting Cas come round - or even calling the guy for a start - wasn't such a
great idea, but he'd known that. He'd known that since he'd sprung a fucking
boner back at the scrapyard because people don't think about their friends that
way, and they sure as hell don't get a hard on if a thought like that
accidentally makes itself known. 
But he hated being on his own, and if Cas was offering to spend time with him,
then he'd be a moron to turn away the company.
"Dean," the angel murmured, almost as if he were trying to get his
attention. That was embarrassing to think about seeing as Dean had been staring
at him for ... probably a ridiculously long amount of time if the light blush
on Castiel's face was anything to go by, so Dean looked to the ceiling for a
brief moment, trying not to let his fluster show as he tried to get his shit
together.
"Yup."
Castiel shifted, his hair flopping down onto his forehead as he wet his lips.
"I wanted to ask you about your eyes."
Dean could feel his chest get a little tighter but still he rolled over to
mirror Castiel's position. "If that means I can ask about yours, then by all
means, Psylocke. Be my guest."
Castiel pouted, and Dean grinned, directing his shadow beneath the bed to
prevent it from curling around the angel like it'd done last time. He really
needed to start concentrating more, and thinking about Cas, and how attractive
he was, and other shit like that was gonna make this more difficult than needs
be.
"Fine," Castiel shrugged, so Dean sat up, crossing his legs on the mattress as
he thought over what he could say. He'd been asked about them before, and Cas
had sort of commented on how strange the colour was the other day, but he
hadn't thought them so interesting that Cas would want to ask about them.
Castiel's eyes, on the other hand, were far cooler, so Dean was kind of
grateful he'd get to find out why they changed and all that malarkey.
"So you want to know why my eyes are green instead of the 'normal' colour,
right?" He chirped, trying to make his appearance brighter, and Cas nodded
slightly, his free hand toying with the surface of the comforter. 
"Well," he started, looking off toward the curtains. "It's cos' my mom was a
human, and they have a different gene make up to us or something. I mean, her
eyes were blue, but she used to say that-"
"Wait, you're half-human?" Castiel interrupted, and Dean started picking at the
denim of his jeans again, a little uncomfortable with the change in Cas' tone.
"I-in a way. She was a psychic as well, which I guess is why me and Sammy have
... why we're different," Dean continued, pulling a thread loose. "I get why
you'd think it's weird though. Dad looked into getting me contacts because the
other hunters always look at me funny when I'm with him, but I dunno. Green
eyes are fine with me."
He waited a while, not really wanting to look up seeing as he knew Cas was
still staring at him, but when Cas didn't remark on anything Dean had said,
Dean took it upon himself to divert the attention.
"Okay. Your turn," he prompted, keeping his head hung low. "Why'd your eyes go
all blue and purpley and stuff?"
He picked at another thread, his blunt nails cratching at the denim until one
of Castiel's hands carefully took hold of Dean's wrist, almost in a form of
distraction.
"Angelic bloodlines affect the colour of our irises," Cas began softly, his
weight shifting on the mattress as he sat up properly. "My parents didn't like
to talk about it much - they didn't like to talk about our heritage at all if
it could be helped - but I know I got the blue from my mom and the purple from
my dad because that was the colour of their eyes. We basically inherit the most
prominent colours from out parents."
Castiel's hand loosened, his palm brushing Dean's knuckles. "Now, the whole
changing thing is a little more complicated. There's, uhhh ... it's like a
family resemblance. I think. It's difficult to say. From what I understand, the
change can be down to personality traits, or emotion, or just how comfortable I
am. Like I said, my parents didn't talk that much about it, and it's not like I
can see it when it happens, so I'm sorry. I can't really give you a detailed
explanation."
Dean watched the way Cas' thumb drew over the back of his wrist and he looked
up to meet Castiel's gaze, surprised to find the sad expression on his face.
Well, Dean probably should have expected it. The last time Cas had brought up
the subject of his family he'd looked pretty sad then too.
He shuffled into a better position, rising up on his knees to wrap both arms
around Castiel's neck, even if it did make his bullet wound ache a little; and
Castiel responded slowly, one of his hands coming up to rest on Dean's waist.
"I don't get why your dad'd want you to wear contacts though," Castiel
whispered, smiling slightly. "There's nothing wrong with the colour of your
eyes."
Dean tried to smile back but knowing he'd ruined Cas' good mood again had him
wishing he'd just kept his mouth shut.
"My dad used to wear contacts a lot of the time though," the angel muttered,
leaning back a little, encouraging Dean to draw back into his previous seated
position. "Purple and gold's not exactly inconspicuous."
"They turned gold?" Dean asked, and the angel smiled a little wider, though it
wasn't anywhere near as bright as Dean wanted it to be.
"Yeah. Mom's turned sort of grey, so obviously she didn't really have to try
and conceal them at all, but dad couldn't do much to hide the colour until
around the time I was born. Not that he really needed to," Castiel added. "Only
my mom was working up until that point, but he wanted to get work to help out
with the bills. And the contacts stopped humans from thinking him a freak I
guess."
Dean watched Castiel's eyes flood with blue again, the angel's dark lashes
emphasising their vibrancy.
"Judging by your expression, I'm not doing a very good job at keeping your
spirits high."
Dean did manage to smile at that, but he moved to get off the bed, maneuvering
himself so he didn't accidentally kick Castiel in the process. "You're doing
better than I would have done if our roles were reversed."
"Was that another compliment?" Castiel followed up jokingly, his voice somewhat
lower. "You're full of compliments today, Dean."
Dean crouched beside his duffle, rooting around for clean clothes. It wasn't
that he was embarrassed that Cas had noticed because that's what he wanted. Cas
was worrying way more than he needed to. It was sweet and it might've made Dean
feel a little weird, but he'd never had anyone other than those he'd thought of
as family to be this caring, and other than being as kind as possible, what
else could Dean do? Cas was being so friggin' nice and open with him, and Dean
wasn't exactly used to it. He didn't know how he should react.
"I'll be back to compliment you again, Cas," he grinned from his crouched
position on the floor. "I wanna take a shower first."
"Kid, it's like ten. Why the hell have you left it so late?"
"Because I was doing other stuff before I called, and I didn't know if I'd have
enough time before you got here," Dean informed him, shoving at the angel's
nearest foot. "Now get your feet off my bed, asshole. I have to sleep there
later."
Castiel seemed to be watching him with a certain air of caution as he altered
his position, and Dean rolled his eyes, his face heating up again as he headed
to the bathroom. At least whilst he showered he could have some sort of closure
for a couple of minutes, even if that was totally contradictory of what he
actually wanted because already he missed having Cas nearby and they were only
four fucking feet apart. 
How fucking needy could he get?
                                       *
Castiel hadn't thought he'd fall asleep. He'd been surprised to wake up with
the demon's face pillowed against his chest, the tv still on across the room
and Dean's shadow twined around his legs; but he didn't really give a shit
because this was the first time in a long while he'd been able to fall asleep
twice in a single day and he couldn't find it in him to complain simply cos' he
had a kid sprawled across him.
He yawned, looking to the closed curtains as the windows rattled with yet
another oncoming train. He'd heard it happen a couple of times now so he was
beginning to understand why Dean had had such a problem getting to sleep to
begin with, but he was just glad the boy had managed to fall asleep since then,
especially since a lack of sleep could only make Dean more emotional.
As of yet, he actually thought Dean had been coping pretty well. Maybe he was a
little quieter than he'd been back at the cabin, and maybe he was a bit tenser,
but Castiel wasn't gonna bring it up in their next conversation. Dean was going
to be fine.
Castiel, on the other hand, did not know if things were going to go as well for
himself as he'd initially thought.
He closed his eyes, letting out a sigh as he directed his Grace toward the
lower part of his abdomen, dissolving the pain with his energy. He admittedly
hadn't been focusing on the damage done to his body as much as he should have,
and flying to the motel hadn't exactly made him stronger, but at least now he
knew how much of his Grace he'd have to sacrifice to ensure his healing, even
if that meant he wouldn't be able to do much at all for the next week or so. It
was a much better idea than risking more pain.
He squirmed when Dean's shadow twitched a little against his thigh, the
darkness coiling over the material of his jeans as Dean shifted in his sleep,
but he tried to keep as still as possible, not really wanting to wake Dean up.
Just because he himself was awake didn't mean he should get the boy up too,
even if Castiel did think it sensible for him to leave soon. It was true that
he didn't have anything else to do, but he felt like he was over staying his
welcome. Spending time with the boy was one thing but he shouldn't have stayed
so late that they'd both ended up falling asleep. Especially when it meant Dean
had lay cramped with him on the single bed. It wasn't fair of Castiel to
potentially make it more uncomfortable for the kid.
But he waited patiently for Dean to wake up of his own accord, counting the
stains on the ceiling several times over to keep himself occupied for a while
and checking his phone for the time every so often.
It was almost five when Dean moved again, his shadow unfurling slightly, and
Castiel pushed his fingers through the boy's hair gently, smiling when Dean
tipped his head back into the touch.
But then Dean was sitting up and his shadow was drawing in tight beneath him,
the tips of his ears slightly red.
"You alright, Dean?" He asked, propping himself up on his elbows.
Dean blinked a couple of times, looking around him. "Yeah, I just ... I didn't
mean to fall asleep on you, Cas. I'm sorry," the boy mumbled, somewhat hunched
forward as he rubbed at his eyes. He still looked half asleep, his movements
sluggish now that he'd sat upright and his right cheek darker in colour than
the other from where it had been pressed to Castiel's chest.
Castiel groaned, pushing himself up properly to shove lightly at the boy's
head. "You apologise for the stupidest fucking things."
"Not really," Dean huffed, crossing his legs on the mattress. "I'd rather
apologise than have you pissed at me for making you uncomfortable."
Castiel scrubbed at his jaw. "Right, well, you didn't make me uncomfortable, so
there's no reason to apologise. Okay?"
Dean didn't reply but Castiel wasn't going to try and coax a response out of
him. He really should be heading back home, even if he didn't particularly want
to leave Dean just yet.
"Can I ask a favour?" He murmured, getting up from the bed, and Dean looked at
him with wide eyes, his cheeks still slightly pink.
"Yeah. Of course, dude."
"Would you be able to take me back to the forest?" He enquired, cringing at the
sudden downcast expression on Dean's face. "It's not that I don't want to spend
time with you if that's what you're thinking, because if I didn't feel as crap
as I do I'd happily hang around until you checked out your uncle's place."
"Wait - are you not feeling well?"
Castiel sighed, looking off to the window again. "I used up a lot of my Grace
to get here, Dean, and it's making things more difficult in terms of healing
myself. I know it's selfish considering everything you've been through but I
really need to concentrate before things get any worse."
"Why the fuck didn't you tell me over the phone, Cas!" Dean blundered "You
shouldn't have wasted your Grace to come see me - healing yourself is
important!"
"In my defense, I didn't expect it to affect me like this after I'd healed
myself of all the others issues."
"But you don't even know what it is you're healing!"
Castiel clenched his jaw. "We've already been over this."
"I don't care!" Dean shouted. "It doesn't change the fact that you could still
die!"
"Oh please," Castiel snorted bitterly. "What difference is it going to make? I
don't know if you're aware of it or not, but my kind don't tend to live past
the age of thirty. At this rate I doubt I'll even make it to twenty-five."
Dean stared up at him slack-jawed, his eyes shiny with what Castiel could only
assume were tears, and Castiel frowned, going to sit beside him on the
mattress.
"Ignore me, Dean. I just can't afford to be optimistic," he grimaced, staring
off at the wall opposite the bed to avoid eye contact. "I know for a fact this
illness isn't going to kill me though. The reason I'm struggling at the moment
is because it's poisoned my blood, and, uhhh ... that's quite a lot to heal
myself of."
Dean leant against his side stiffly, their thighs brushing as Dean unfolded his
bare legs to drape them over the end of the bed. "Can you just promise that you
won't hunt or anything until you're better? Like, as in 'fully healed' kind of
better?" He whispered, and Castiel forced a smile when he looked down at the
boy, his throat feeling tight.
"Yeah. I promise."
 
 
 
 
***** Chapter 14 *****
Chapter Summary
     Shit. Castiel should have phoned earlier when he'd had the chance.
     He'd wasted so much time doing nothing when he'd known phoning the
     kid should have taken precedence. Hell, what if Dean's uncle still
     hadn't returned and the demon had been left alone again?
     Right. Okay. He'd phone in the morning. First thing.
     Maybe not first thing actually. He didn't want to call and
     consequently wake the kid up.
     Fuck.
Chapter Notes
     okay so I know it's been almost a whole year since I last updated,
     but I've been stupidly busy with building a portfolio for uni, and
     working to earn money and all that malarkey.
     Also my writer's block has been pretty bad but I'm not even gonna
     start getting into that because it's frustrating as heck ESPECIALLY
     SINCE I SIGNED UP TO DCBB THINKING IT WOULD BE FUN, but I'll chill
     out eventually. Hopefully.
     Anyway, the reason I picked this fic up again was because a wonderful
     thing has happened, boys and girls! Not only have I secured a place
     at university to study animation, but THEY'VE CAST OLIVIA MUNN TO
     PLAY PSYLOCKE IN X-MEN: APOCALYPSE AND I'M JUST SO
     I literally have no words. I've waited years for this and yes I will
     admit I cried a lil' bit in excitement, but yeah. I'm super duper
     happy right now.
     Also, the season finale was actually okay?? Like, overall I genuinely
     enjoyed this season way more than I thought I would.
     Then again, that might be down to the fact that season 9 was all over
     the place, and this was marginally more organised in terms of plot,
     but yeah.
     Sorry this message was meant to be short and sweet but I got carried
     away and it'll look weird if I cut out certain bits, so I'm just
     gonna leave it.
     Now I've got a ton of work I have to prep for my final art show in a
     week, seeing as I left the project til last minute, as per usual, BUT
     I WILL RETURN SOON
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Castiel would be lying if he said he didn't miss Dean the moment they parted in
the woods, glancing back once to catch the boy's gaze before Dean was replaced
by the light dusting of ash. There were words circling in his mind, ridiculous
propositions and questions that could potentially brighten the expression on
Dean's face. Words that he'd swallowed with a smile and light wave as he'd
backed away.
Maybe the whole missing Dean thing was more to do with regret than anything
else. He should have said more to keep the kid's spirits up.
Well. There wasn't much he could do about it now. Dean would be fine anyway.
Castiel would call him later to make sure everything was alright, just in
case. 
He stopped momentarily to get his bearings, somewhat dazed as he looked about
him. He hadn't actually been focused on any particular direction as he'd walked
away, distracted and caught up in his thoughts; so he glanced up to the trees,
squinting as the sun glared down through the foliage. He wasn't too far from
the nearest clearing, so he figured it wasn't too bad an idea to check the trap
he'd lain there before heading back home.
It was rare for him to ever find anything, but most of that was down to his
laziness. He'd stopped exploring the area months back, laying traps in the same
place so that he could focus on his job more than he could scavenging.
It was tiresome these days anyway; digging pitfalls and weaving ropes. 
Actually, that was a lie. It had always been tiresome. 
Now it was just a lot worse.
His current condition wasn't going to help with that, regardless of whether or
not he wanted to relocate the traps now.
He skidded down the bank surprisingly gracefully, his shoes stirring up the dry
dirt into a dust cloud that loitered around his ankles for a few moments as he
continued to walk forward. Part of him actually hoped there was nothing waiting
for him in the trap because killing the creature was effort. So was skinning.
And cooking. Even fucking eating was something Castiel didn't feel up to right
now, and yes, it was confusing considering just how little he'd eaten over the
past day and a half, but he just couldn't be bothered.
Maybe later? After a bath?
Castiel sighed, pushing his way through the thicket to step into the clearing.
In all honesty, he didn't know what he wanted to do. He rarely got the chance
to relax, almost constantly on edge, but he felt a certain safety since meeting
Dean.
Despite just how shady their whole relationship was.
Jesus. Castiel shouldn't even be wanting to meet up with the kid. It was all
sorts of fucked up, and if another demon - or any other kind of hunter for that
matter - caught wind of what their relationship was like, then either one of
them could be in trouble.
Well, Castiel already expected trouble wherever he went, but Dean didn't
deserve that sort of shit just because they'd met up a couple of times.
It was complicated to say the least. 
Castiel spent the few following minutes adjusting the mesh concealing his trap,
clearing away the dead shrubbery to replace it with fresh plants and the like,
making it all that bit more inconspicuous. 
He'd gotten a lot better at perfecting his traps over the past few years, and
in some instances, he was even proud of himself for making them so discreet. Of
course, he'd feel a lot prouder if he actually caught animals on a regular
basis because of it, as opposed to the odd rabbit every other week or so. It
was frustrating how nothing ever seemed to go in his favour. 
He knew full well that moving his traps to a less obvious location would help
better his chances, but he didn't really need to busy himself with that right
now. Perhaps later in the week, after he'd fed himself properly and rested
enough to summon the energy for such a laborious task.
The rest of the day seemed to pass incredibly slowly, with the summer heat
making it horribly uncomfortable to stay out on the rock face for longer than
half an hour at a time. The weather wasn't that unbearable overall, but the
rock was hot beneath the soles of his feet and it was the only part of the
woodland that didn't seem to be covered in shade. Even the spring was hidden
beneath the shadow of the forest at this hour, the sun gradually lowering
itself over the mountains as the sky was streaked with reds and purples.
Castiel stood at the mouth of his cave, staring out and watching the leaves
twitch with the gentle summer breeze. There was still a fair portion of the
forest that he had yet to learn, but he didn't want to risk being seen
wandering about the areas frequented by tourists and the like. He knew that
camping out in these sections was illegal, and he wasn't all that keen on the
idea of moving to an unfamiliar section and recreating everything he'd built
here. He doubted he'd ever have as much energy as he'd had those few years
ago. 
He altered his train of thought, like he did most times the topic of change
arose, turning to head back into the cavern. Even though he knew sleep wouldn't
come to him for several hours, he still longed to try, knowing that it was
better than staring at a few select objects until the natural light chased
after the sun. Of course, he had methods of providing himself with light
whenever he wished, but he wanted to conserve energy right now, not waste it on
pointless moments that would only keep him conscious longer.
Or rather, moments that would keep him from trying to fall unconscious.
The thought of his recurring dream wasn't even off-putting right now, no matter
how terrifying it could often be. Sleep was all he had, understanding that it
would at least get him through another day.
And yes, maybe trying to fall asleep was a challenge in itself, but over the
past few days he'd found it far easier to succumb to the nightmare. Not only
that, but he was also both physically and mentally exhausted. Sleep would
definitely benefit in some way or another.
Of course, the moment he lay on his mattress he knew that it would be a
struggle. He twisted in his light sheets, his futon stiff beneath his body from
its tightly packed frame, creaking ever so slightly with every movement.
It felt odd; being alone.
That in itself was odd, seeing as he was ever so used to it. In addition to the
fact that he didn't want anyone with him.
But still, it circulated in his thoughts, causing him to fidget and find a more
comfortable position in his bedding. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly,
irritated by his inability to cease the feeling of longing. He didn't
understand it nor did he understand why it was so prominent now, of all times.
This was a feeling he hadn't experienced in over eight years.
Obviously, back then he'd had a reason to feel alone. Everyone was dead and he
was still unused to the abuse that the other hunters deemed appropriate.
But he didn't need those kind of negative memories making his discomfort worse.
He rolled over yet again, tugging the edge of his blanket up to his chin. Maybe
this was all stirring in his mind now because he was still partially worried
about Dean, and how Castiel had left the kid all alone. Again.
Phoning now to check up on him wasn't really going to help matters though. It
was coming up to midnight and he was fairly certain Dean would have phoned if
he were struggling. 
Then again, given the boy's bizarre personality, he doubted Dean would have
phoned after the way he reacted earlier regarding Castiel's weariness. Perhaps
it was a little arrogant for him to think as such, but it wouldn't be all that
unbelievable if that was indeed the case. Dean had even said that he wouldn't
have requested Castiel's company if he'd known about just how much energy it
would have wasted.
Well. It was something along those lines anyway. 
Shit. Castiel should have phoned earlier when he'd had the chance. He'd wasted
so much time doing nothing when he'd known phoning the kid should have taken
precedence. Hell, what if Dean's uncle still hadn't returned and the demon had
been left alone again?
Right. Okay. He'd phone in the morning. First thing.
Maybe not first thing actually. He didn't want to call and consequently wake
the kid up.
Fuck.
Should he just wait for Dean to phone him first? Or message him like he had the
last time? For all he knew, Dean could have sorted everything out by now and
had just been too busy to call, or text, or anything like that. That was
completely reasonable.
Castiel still couldn't help but worry though.
He pushed himself up onto his palms, reaching across to grab his cellphone from
the ledge beside his bed. It was definitely too late to call, but he could send
a message to at least reassure Dean that he was welcome to talk whenever he so
do desired.
Well, he would try his best to make that clear through a mixture of poor
spelling and potentially wrong vocabulary.
Castiel flopped onto his back, wincing at the sudden pressure to his wound, but
he quickly ignored it, focusing on the device he held above him.
At the tiny alert that flashed on his screen.
He felt his stomach drop and a panic rise in his chest, staring at the the
print of Dean's name beside the small envelope image.
Dean had fucking messaged him. Four hours ago.
Castiel had been too caught up in his fucking indolence to even bother checking
his phone before.
He opened the message instantly, his eyes scouring the screen.
Dean: Hey hey just checking up on you to make sure youre not dead or anything
(but if this wakes you im super duper sorry and you can totally punch me for it
the next time we meet up)
Castiel's brow furrowed as he read through the message again. That ... well, it
wasn't as concerning as he'd thought it'd be, but he still felt bad for not
replying sooner. Dean had probably been expecting a reply quite some time ago,
and Castiel felt incredibly bad to think that the boy was still worrying about
him. 
Castiel: I'm sorry I didn't realize you'd messaged me until just now. I'm fine
don't worry
Although he wasn't sure if what the text read was correct, he trusted the
spellcheck to make it somewhat more understandable than what he'd initially
put. Not that his initial spelling was so bad that it was undecipherable.
He wasn't completely ignorant.
 
                                       *
 
Dean rested his chin on his arms, staring down at the cellphone laying in front
of him. The cracked screen remained black, but Dean continued to watch it,
hoping for even a text to light up the glass.
He could hear Bobby in the other room, the older man's voice kept low even
though it was obvious he was angry. Dean hadn't told him much, knowing that it
could get him in a shit ton of trouble with the rest of the hunter community,
but he'd said enough to let Bobby know that what John had planned was pretty
damn idiotic.
Dean knew damn well that his dad wasn't going to say anything about it either.
The thing was, Dean kinda did want to talk about it because he knew Bobby would
understand. The only issue with that would be having to admit he'd let an angel
fuck around with his brother's head and Bobby would probably be just as angry
as John had been, regardless of whether the older man understood or not.
Because they were both right. Dean had sorta put Sam in a dangerous position.
The only difference between John and Bobby was that Bobby wasn't stupid enough
to want to try and kill an angel in the first place.
Dean pulled his phone toward him, continuing to stare at the inanimate screen.
He didn't know whether or not now would be a good time to send Sam a text,
given just how close it was to them being separated. John was probably
expecting it.
He sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. There weren't many options for him
right now and he'd never been a patient person. He wanted to make sure Sammy
was okay, and unless Bobby found out anything whilst arguing with John, Dean
wasn't gonna know for a while.
It was settling because, yeah, Cas had healed him, but neither he nor Cas knew
how it'd eventually pan out. 
That wasn't Castiel's fault though. The angel had helped in every way he could,
and Dean wasn't criticising Cas' efforts at all. He just needed to know that
the kid wasn't experiencing any side effects.
Even though it definitely seemed like Cas had taken on everything shitty
already.
To be frank, Dean was still pretty worried about the guy too. Castiel wasn't
all that open about his current state - and Dean wasn't expecting him to be -
but he was willing to help in any which way he could so long as he could truly
show his gratitude.
And that totally had nothing to do with Dean's ridiculous crush.
That was another reason why Dean didn't want to mention the most recent events.
It made him feel a little sick to think of anyone finding out about that. Sam
making the assumption was bad enough but Dean didn't want to drag the
Winchester name through the mud by becoming associated with an angel.
Not that being associated to Cas was a bad thing in his opinion.
Fuck.
He sat up straighter when he realised Bobby had ended the call, his eyes
downcast and focussed on the tabletop as the older man's footsteps sounded in
the room next door. He let his shadow wander around to where Bobby was
situated, tracing the man's movement until Bobby was just a few footsteps from
the doorway.
Dean wasn't an idiot. He knew what was gonna happen. Bobby wasn't just gonna
let this lie, even if Dean had spun a vague story earlier. John was bound to
have said something that put Dean in a bad light - even though Dean would
gladly admit that he'd been an asshole to his dad, and he probably deserved to
be put in this kind of awkward position - but still. He did it all to keep his
family safe. Surely he deserved at least a little credit for keeping them all
from being executed.
And sure, maybe he had potentially put Sam in danger, but like Cas had said:
every hunt is a risk. 
Dean had just taken the most sensible risk.
Bobby seemed to halt in the doorway, so Dean's shadow retreated from beneath
the older man's feet, twisting around the legs of his wooden chair to keep
himself grounded. It wasn't that he was scared of talking, or that he was
angry. He wanted to be confident where he usually wasn't around the parental
figures in his life.
And he needed to be confident in order to be believable.
"I need yer help preppin' dinner."
Dean glanced to Bobby immediately, reading the stoic expression that he knew
was concealing a hell of a lot more. Part of him was admittedly little bit
scared of the overall outcome, even though he knew Bobby would never throw him
out regardless of what he'd done, but it was the quiet tone in which he spoke,
and the unreadable emotion on his face that made it all the more unsettling.
Goodbye, confidence.
"O-okay," he stammered, scraping his chair back across the wooden floor to
stand.
He was expecting some form of interrogation - even a couple more questions
regarding the most recent events - but there was nothing. Nothing relating to
that anyway.
Dean didn't really know what he expected, but he found the tension melting from
his shoulders within minutes of Bobby instigating a conversation. Listening to
the older man talk about his past week and his attempts to try and take
Rumsfeld for a checkup at the vet's had a smile pulling at his lips, and
although he had so many worries on his mind right now, it actually felt good to
have a distraction like this.
He'd forgotten just how therapeutic it was: pretending he was human.
"That Harvelle girl's been askin' bout you," Bobby huffed, washing his hands in
the sink, and Dean looked across to the older man timidly.
"That's a joke, right?" Dean mumbled, his face flushing. "She didn't seem to
care all that much when I talked to her back then."
"Yeah, well, you clearly made quite the impression."
Dean scratched the side of his nose, ducking his head. Maybe he had flirted
with her a little, but he'd been shut down pretty much almost immediately. At
the time he'd been sorta bummed about it, because Harvelle was cute and she
seemed like the kind of person Dean would want to hang out with more if given
the chance, but she'd sorta come across as totally uninterested. Like, in
friendship or anything.
He'd thought about it a lot, because they were similar in a lot of ways. He'd
put her reclusive attitude down to a lack of social interaction, owing to the
fact that Dean was pretty much exactly the same. Bobby had told him at the time
that Ellen didn't hunt any more, keeping the kid holed up in the bar with only
the company of the odd passerby and her own mother. 
Fleeting relationships were the only things that existed outside of familial
connections within the hunting community, and Dean expected it to be a hell of
a lot more difficult to make and maintain friendships when you couldn't even
leave to meet up with anyone all that frequently.
Obviously, Dean didn't have many friends himself, so to hear that Jo was even
slightly interested had him somewhat hopeful. Bobby was a close enough friend
of Ellen's to drop by every so often, and Dean wanted to start making solid
friendships himself, sorta tired of having no one but his family to talk to
when things got rough.
And as amazingly helpful as Cas was, it wouldn't hurt to talk to other people
too.
"Go lay the table, boy," the older man said softly, breaking Dean's train of
thought. "I'll get all this plated up."
Bobby didn't touch on the subject again, but he also refrained from talking
about the phone call, and it was starting to make Dean nervous all over again.
Because he wanted to talk about what happened, and he also wanted to get any
argument they might have out of the way and done. He didn't have a clue
what  John had said, and it had started to gnaw at his thoughts again because
he didn't know if any arrangements had been made between the two hunters or
anything of the sort.
He might be missing Sam right now, but he was in no way ready to face his dad
again.
Dean reached for his glass, swallowing thickly as he brought the rim to his
lips. "Bobby, can I ask you something?" He questioned before taking a drink,
hiding his face.
"Course you can."
He kept his eyes cast down as he pieced together the question in his mind, his
glass placed gently on the table as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"You believe what I said before, right? About wanting to protect Sam?"
He could feel the older man's gaze settle on him, but still he stared down at
the tabletop, his shadow fidgeting on the wood floor as it traced the
splintered boards.
"I don't want to get into that right now," Bobby grunted, followed by the
gentle clatter of his cutlery being laid down on his plate. "I been lied to too
much today to know who's tellin' the truth or not."
The words hurt more than Dean expected and he felt his cheeks redden in
embarrassment, his hands falling to his lap. It wasn't exactly a specific
answer, but he knew from the way it had been put that they'd insulted the older
man with their attempts to hide the truth.
The thing was, Dean hadn't exactly kept much from Bobby. He'd been as honest as
possible and simply left stuff out to avoid getting in worse trouble than he
was already in. 
So what the hell had his dad said to fuck things up so much?
Bobby's chair scraped back across the floor but Dean didn't move an inch, the
corners of his mouth pulled tight into a frown. He was desperate to get this
conversation out of the way, but if Bobby wasn't at all in the mood to discuss
it - regardless of how honest Dean chose to be - then maybe it was better to
wait a day or so.
But, fuck! Maybe it would be more sensible to talk about the situation in its
entirety if it meant he'd get one up on his dad. Dean didn't want to get the
blame for this, and maybe if Bobby understood where Dean had been coming from
properly, then he could back Dean up if John tried to say the whole thing had
been a danger to Sam.
It wasn't fair. Dean didn't want anyone getting in trouble, and although Bobby
was one of the most trustworthy people he knew, he still didn't want to risk
anything.
Especially if his dad hadn't said anything on the matter either. He didn't want
John to get even angrier at him for talking about something like that.
Bobby's foot came down on the edge of his shadow and he flinched slightly,
drawing it in close as the older man collected all the crockery from the table
to take through to the kitchen. "I'll wash up tonight," Bobby announced
gruffly, stacking everything in his arms. 
Dean knew not to argue, even though he didn't feel comfortable letting Bobby
clean up after him. He had been welcomed into the home when Bobby still hadn't
been told everything, and if anything, Dean should have been doing everything
he could to say thank you right now.
But he quietly got up from the table, retreating to the corridor with his
shadow dragging along the walls beside him. He felt incredibly guilty for
making the situation worse. Bobby had put on a warm and casual front to make
Dean feel more at ease, and Dean had questioned a topic that was more than just
a little sensitive right now.
Okay, so in all honesty, he didn't actually know how that would have turned
out. Sure, he'd been nervous - and rightly so - but given that he hadn't had a
clue what his dad had said in the first place, he'd sort of expected a better
reaction.
Because he was a fucking idiot.
He transported himself upstairs after grabbing his duffel from where it lay
beside the front door. Usually he'd avoid teleporting anywhere whilst he was in
Bobby's house, but seeing as he'd be the one vacuuming tomorrow, he figured on
this occasion it'd be alright. 
Dean dropped his bag to the bed, sitting down beside it. His face was still
hot, and his frustration was making his head ache, but he didn't have anything
to take the edge off of it. Sleeping pills would do fuck all, apart from the
obvious, but he wasn't really tired enough to want to go to sleep. Plus it was
only, like, half six. For all he knew, Bobby might be open to conversation
later, and he felt like he'd be being rude by going to bed now.
"Fucking hell," he whispered to himself, pushing a hand through his hair before
reaching for his bag. He sat cross-legged with his back to the wall, his laptop
resting comfortably on his knees, and his duffle to his side in case he needed
his charger later on.
He browsed through the files, opening up the one containing his comic book
collection before selecting the last one he'd bookmarked. Obviously he'd read
through them all before, but it wasn't like he had much else to do in his spare
time. He liked the stories anyway. Well. Most of them. Maybe the older editions
of some X-Men storylines were a little drab, but the writing had definitely
improved over time.
As had Psylocke's costume, but Dean held a different kind of appreciation for
that.
He scrolled down through the pages, glancing out the window every so often to
see the sun get that little bit lower. Despite how cloudy it was, the light
still managed to break through and warm the surface of the comforter, and from
the corner of his eye he spotted his phone beneath a few items of clothing,
reflecting the gold of the sun. He reached for it absentmindedly, rotating it
in his hand as he continued to read through the pages of his comic, his eyes
scanning each page with a certain laziness.
And then his phone vibrated.
He was far more excited than he probably should have been, but that feeling
quickly drained away when he realised the only thing lighting up the scree was
a request to be put on charge. The smile fell from his face and he glared at
the screen in disappointment, hating the object for giving him such hope.
He knew exactly why he was irked, and perhaps he had come to terms with it
fully now but that didn't make things any easier. Nor did it ease his worrying.
Dean actually felt kind of ashamed for forgetting about Cas for such a long
period of time, even though they both had their own shit to worry about. The
only real difference between them, he supposed, was the fact that Dean could
easily escape from his current situation. Cas was stuck with his sickness for
God knows how long and being active probably risked making it worse.
It sucked.
Dean pursed his lips, looking to the ceiling. He didn't exactly want to come
off as clingy - although he wouldn't be surprised if that was already Castiel's
impression of him - but he wanted to check in and make sure everything was
alright. 
He rummaged through his bag momentarily, drawing out the usb charger to connect
to his phone before plugging everything in and staring down at the blank
message that opened on his screen at the press of a button.
Okay. So, avoid clingy. And desperate.
Dean: Hi. 
He frowned, scratching at his brow.
No.
Dean: Hey. 
Shit.
Dean let out a heavy sigh, thumping his head back against the wall. It should
not have been this difficult to write one fucking sentence. Hell, he could
barely get past the greeting bit, but if he didn't include a 'hello' of some
sorts he was worried the text would seem a lot less heartfelt.
But then, he didn't want it to be too overbearing, because all Dean was doing
was asking how Cas was holding up. It required, at the minimum, three words,
and Dean couldn't even put them in the right fucking order.
It was just a text. To a person. It wasn't exactly a challenge.
Dean rubbed at his jaw in agitation, staring at the half-typed message on his
screen.
Fuck it.
He rewrote the entire sentence, barely reading the words that filled each line,
before finally hitting send and throwing his phone to the side.
It wasn't until about half twelve that Dean actually got a response, and yes,
seeing the message glow on his screen did make his heart beat a little bit
faster, but that was totally normal because he'd been worrying for the majority
of the evening and it most certainly had nothing to do with the fact that Dean
had been wanting to hear his voice since they parted ways.
God, he was so fucking far gone for someone he barely knew.
But he was excited by it.
Dean sat up in bed, quickly accepting Castiel's apology and sending the message
before he started to overthink things and write more than necessary like he had
before. He'd rather not think about the message he'd sent prior, cringing
slightly whenever he thought about the fact that Cas had had to read it.
He was surprised by how fast Castiel replied to him this time around, but he
was in no way disappointed. There was a certain clarity to Cas' texts that
pretty much conveyed exactly how the guy spoke naturally, which was both weird
and oddly comforting. 
Castiel: How are you holding up right now. Is everything alright
Dean drew his bottom lip between his teeth, shuffling back on the mattress
until his back was pressed to the pillows. 
Dean: Yeah everythings great. Bobbys home so i can sleep in an -
He was mid-type when the call from Castiel flashed on his screen, his face
flushing as his heart thudded erratically in his chest.
Holy shit.
 
                                      * 
 
"You know, you can tell me to fuck off if you'd rather go to bed now. I won't
mind."
"No, kid. Keep talking. It's okay."
"Are you sure?" Dean followed up quietly. "You sound pretty tired."
Castiel hummed, his voice low and drowsy as it traveled down the line. "You
don't wanna talk to me anymore?"
"That's not the reason and you know it."
Castiel was quiet for a moment as Dean rolled onto his side, cradling his phone
to his ear and staring up at the ceiling as he waited for a reply. This was the
third time he'd shifted the topic to that of Castiel's current state because it
was pretty fucking obvious the guy was tired. He was practically yawning his
way through every sentence, and yeah; maybe he claimed to have trouble sleeping
and stuff, but that didn't mean he couldn't try and get some rest. Especially
when it was getting incredibly late.
The only thing was, Cas said he'd been resting ever since he got back home.
Castiel huffed, and Dean let himself smile, knowing that the longer he
persisted, the more likely Cas would want to drop the call. Well, that wasn't
exactly a great thing. He didn't want to piss Cas off so badly that the next
time he called the angel would still hate him for it. And he also (really)
didn't want to stop talking, even if it was totally selfish of him to make Cas
stay up past midnight when it was clear the angel was zoning out every so
often.
It was, admittedly, rather cute. Mainly because when Cas was thinking about an
answer, he'd start humming a little, or he'd tap his finger close to the
mouthpiece in a way that Dean probably would have found annoying if it had been
someone else in Cas' place. Obviously it wasn't that good a sign considering
how focused Cas had seemed around him before, but there wasn't really anything
he could do. The angel was stubborn, and Dean was pretty sure that if he
persisted, Cas was gonna pull some 'I'm-older-than-you-which-means-I'm-always-
right' crap.
"I don't get it. Why'd you keep making me out to be some kind of invalid?"
"You know why," Dean murmured.
"Yes, but you're making it out to be worse than it actually is," Castiel
insisted softly. "I'm always tired, Dean. This isn't anything new."
Dean sighed, closing his eyes. "I just think you should be a little more
cautious. This could be ... it could get worse for you if you don't take care
of yourself properly."
Cas grumbled something under his breath, way too low for Dean to catch a word
of it. Not that he really cared. If anything he found it funny, given that Cas
was the adult and he wasn't meant to be getting all grumpy when he didn't get
his own way.
"You know, for someone who wanted to keep talking, you're being pretty quiet,"
Dean murmured teasingly.
"That's because initially I asked for you to keep talking. You were in the
middle of telling me what you'd done today."
Dean could feel the heat touch his cheeks, tucking his nose beneath the
blanket. "Are you even interested in hearing about that stuff?"
"Why wouldn't I be interested?"
"Because ... because it's not interesting? I mean, you'd been quiet pretty much
the whole time I was talking to you. I didn't think you were actually paying
attention."
Castiel let out a light laugh, following up with a yawn, but the humour was
still present in his tone when he began to speak again, making Dean's chest
feel all weird and warm.
"I wasn't going to interrupt you while you were speaking, you dork," Castiel
whispered fondly, his breath echoing down the line. "Is that what this is
about? You think I'm bored?"
"No. No, I'm genuinely worried about ... you ," Dean admitted, bringing his
knees up to his chest for comfort. He felt stupid and sappy, and he was
ridiculously anxious as to how this conversation would continue. He still
didn't know Cas that well, and even though Cas'd been all sweet and adorable up
until this point, Dean didn't want to make him uncomfortable.
"Don't be. I'm going to be fine. I just, uhhh ... fuck; Dean I'm just not used
to this, you know?" Castiel started, his voice still gentle, although there was
an element of uncertainty to it. "You've been really fucking nice to me and -"
There was a sharp crackling before the line went dead, and Dean found himself
scrabbling to redial Castiel's number, wanting to hear what else the angel had
to say. He knew it was probably costing Cas quite a bit as it was, given the
fact that his phone claimed they'd already been talking for around about two
hours, but still. He couldn't just leavethe conversation like that. And
besides; he wanted to keep talking. 
But it was Cas' call that came through first and Dean all but dropped his phone
in his haste to answer, fumbling pathetically before bringing his cell up to
his ear once more. "Yeah, uhhh, hi. Again."
"Sorry about that, Dean. The reception here's not exactly great."
"Th-that's okay," Dean assured him, rubbing the edge of the comforter with his
thumb. "To be honest the reception's not great here either. I think it might
have something to do with the weather at the moment."
"There a storm where you are or something?" Cas asked.
"Nah. It started raining a while back though," he murmured, nuzzling into the
pillow. "It's not too bad but it might mess with the connection a little."
"I hope not," Castiel commented lightly, and Dean's smile returned. He was
starting to get used to it now; the relaxed atmosphere that seemed to go hand
in hand with the phone calls, and Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd
been grateful for something so ... subtle. Because it wasn't obvious. Not
really. Only once the conversation had come to a standstill - like now - could
he actually really appreciate it, able to replay the speech in his thoughts and
how it sounded, and it was so fucking weird to think about but Dean knew that
talking to Cas gave him a different kind of release to what he'd actually been
aiming for. Hell; Dean hadn't talked about anything all that personal over the
phone yet, but he'd liked being able to talk about stuff face to face because
although verbal comfort was great, Cas was also - in spite of his claims -
actually pretty good at being all paternal and caring and just downright
understanding.
"So, uhhh ..." Dean cleared his throat and Castiel huffed out another slight
laugh when Dean stalled, trying to come up with something decent to continue
with.
"So ...?"
"I can't actually remember what I was going to say," Dean mumbled. That
resulted, for some reason or another, in more of Castiel's laughter. Well, it
was more like giggling which was insanely fucking cute and had a smirk pulling
at Dean's lips at the sound of it.
"Don't laugh at me, you asshole."
"I can laugh at you if I like, you big loser," Castiel told him, and Dean
snorted, rolling onto his back.
"You know, I expected that kind of insult from my brother. Not a grown man."
"Don't want to damage that fragile ego of yours, do I?"
"That's real sweet of you, Cas," Dean murmured playfully. "See, this is why
you're my favourite person."
"What? Because my insults aren't actually that insulting?"
Dean bit his lower lip, pushing his free hand through his hair. "Yeah. Okay.
Let's go with that."
He could hear the smile to Castiel's voice when the angel spoke again,
affection and amusement lacing each word, making Dean's chest swell with that
incredibly light feeling.
"Have to admit, even if it's for something like that, I'm still pretty honoured
to be considered your favourite person," Cas stated. "It's cute. Thank you."
"I'm your favourite person too, right?" Dean questioned, his shadow coiling
around his legs beneath the covers languidly.
"I don't really know anyone else worthy of that title, so sure. It's all
yours."
"Wow. Thanks, Cas. Couldn't you have dressed it up a bit?"
"What, you want a badge or something to go with it?"
"Wouldn't mind having a badge if you're offering one."
"What are we even ..." Castiel sighed heavily. "Can we go back to having a
normal conversation please? This is exhausting."
Dean laughed, wetting his lips. "You're incredibly fussy, aren't you."
"I'm not fussy. I'm just too tired to really contribute all that much right
now."
The smile Dean wore softened, and he propped himself up on his elbows, resting
his chin in his free hand. "Go to sleep then, Cas. I can call you tomorrow."
"Dean -"
"C'mon, dude. Please don't argue with me this time," Dean pleaded tentatively.
"Besides, I should probably be getting to bed anyway. I got a ton of chores to
do in the morning."
The angel fell silent as Dean gazed down at the creases in his pillows, at the
pale bedsheets that still held that faint scent of Bobby's detergent. Maybe he
did wish he had Cas next to him as opposed to hundreds of miles away, but even
he could acknowledge just how far-fetched an idea that was.
"I'll go to bed now if you promise not to bring up my lethargy at all tomorrow.
Alright?"
Dean smirked, his shadow tucking the comforter around him as he settled back
down into his previous position. "I'll try my best."
Castiel grumbled another incoherent sentence, but again, Dean wasn't all that
fussed. They were negotiating, and if it meant that Castiel was able to even
attempt getting some decent sleep, then Dean could definitely try and hold his
tongue, all concerns aside.
"Hey, Cas?"
"Yes, Dean."
Dean paused for a moment, letting his eyes close and his brow furrow as he
attempted to summon the words he should have voiced two evenings ago.
"I hope you sleep okay. I mean, I hope you don't have any more of those
nightmares tonight."
Close enough.
He wasn't all that surprised by the pause in conversation that followed, but he
could still feel his face burn hot. Castiel had mentioned it briefly earlier,
yet it had sorta stuck in Dean's thoughts because Cas had definitely mentioned
it once before.
Dean figured something really bad must have happened in Castiel's past to cause
him to have them so frequently.
Unless, of course, he was similar to Sam in the sense of premonitions, but Cas
would have mentioned that when he'd previously discussed his powers, wouldn't
he?
Not that it was any of Dean's business. That's why he hadn't asked about the
content of the angel's nightmares either. Castiel was under no obligation to
tell him anything, and for all Dean knew, it could have been a pretty sore
subject. Even addressing it now was somewhat risky, but he was desperate to
show that he was just as willing to listen to Castiel's problems as the angel
was willing to listen to his.
"That's, uhhh ... that's sweet, Dean." The angel coughed lightly before
following up with another pause, and Dean's shadow writhed beneath the sheets.
"I hope you sleep well too."
"So, I'll talk to you tomorrow?" Dean followed hopefully, wanting to make sure
that nothing had changed in the space of the past minute.
Because he was just that far gone, so it seemed.
"Yeah, okay," Castiel replied, and Dean could hear the faint hiss of static
over the sound of Castiel's voice, encouraging him to quickly move from his bed
to get closer to the window. He winced at the creak of the floorboards beneath
his feet, and he stilled completely when he realised just how silent the rest
of the house was, nothing but the sound of Cas talking and the faint whistle of
the wind through an ill-fitted pane filling the emptiness. "What sort of time
do you want me to phone?"
Dean stared down at his bare feet, at the dark tendrils that nervously coiled
around his ankles. "No, dude. I'll call you, okay? So far everything's been
charged to your account and it's not fair of me to allow you to pay for
everything when we can alternate," he insisted quietly, glancing quickly to the
door. "But I'll call at about eight, if that's okay with you?"
Castiel hummed in response. "Yes, that's fine."
"Okay then," Dean smiled. "Goodnight, Cas."
"Goodnight, Dean."
 
 
Chapter End Notes
     Also I have art for this chapter but it's almost 2am and it's taking
     forever to upload so I'll just sort it out when i get back from work
     tomorrow or something
     Idk. I'm so freakin' tired right now. I was meant to be doing art
     work today instead of writing
     whoopsidaisy
     I also need to do major editing tomorrow so I'm really sorry about
     the quality of my writing and stuff. Eurovision really took it out of
     me this year
     I'm rambling. I'm gonna go to sleep now
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