Archive of Our Own

Looking back, Sam was amazed that it hadn’t been even worse. Castiel didn’t seem to feel pain and could heal himself without a second thought, but Sam had seen with his own eyes how Alastair had once hung him on a hook and overpowered him with a hand around his throat. He’d seen Alastair knock him to the floor with one punch before that, too, and he’d seen how shocked Castiel had been about it. For a celestial being with apparently unlimited strength in his natural form, he was hampered by the human body he was possessing right now.

Sam wasn’t an expert – hell, he wasn’t sure anybody was, least of all Castiel, as it turned out – but he could only guess that the angel could absorb shocks and hurts up to a certain point before Jimmy Novak’s body started screaming at him to stop. Whether Castiel listened to him or not… well, that was up to him.

Today, however, he’d definitely pushed it too far.

Not that he’d meant to. The demon Sam and Dean were fighting was a strong one, all sarcastic quips and telekinetic powers; one of Crowley’s lackeys, and a vicious one to boot. He’d possessed a semi-professional wrestler and the extra muscle coupled with the demon’s natural strength meant that it didn’t just have to fling people around with its mind: it was doing a pretty good job with his hands, too. It had socked Dean so hard on the jaw he was currently in a heap on the ground – probably looking for his wits behind his eyelids – and Sam was pinned to a warehouse wall with a hot, tight hand to his chest. The Colt was on the floor somewhere in the shadows where it had been thrown after being yanked out of his hand.

All of which meant one thing: they were in trouble.

So when Castiel materialized in that nick-of-time way he had just behind the demon’s shoulder, Sam had never been so pleased to see anybody in his life, back-from-the-dead brother aside. A hand reached out and tugged the demon backwards, sending him sprawling to the concrete with a yell of surprise, and Sam’s feet hit the floor again. He was running to get the Colt so quickly he was pretty sure he’d left his stomach behind him, jumping over Dean’s twitching body on the way and praying that he wasn’t badly hurt. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the demon leap to its feet with more grace than any man that size should possess, only to be felled by a punch to the stomach from Castiel, whose eyes were narrowed in anger. He looked tiny compared to his opponent, and faintly foolish in that damn coat and suit of his – like a businessman beating up a biker twice his size in a dirt-cheap bar. The wrestler was dressed in denim and leather, heavy rings on his fingers that made any blow he landed extra-crunchy, but Castiel looked as though he could handle him if the expression on his face was anything to go by.

And then, as Sam fell to his knees, grabbed the Colt and turned round to aim it, the demon pulled back his arm and hit Castiel with a punch so hard it sent him flying across the warehouse and right through a solid brick wall.

The sound of the impact made Sam gasp and the walls of the warehouse physically shook, brick dust and plaster sprinkling the air as the building quaked. Sam blinked at the commotion, trying to see through the debris to Castiel, but he couldn’t. Then his survival instincts kicked in and he lifted the Colt.

“Don’t you dare fire that fucking gun, you piece of– ”

The gun made almost as much noise as the sound of an angel hitting a brick wall, and the demon made even more as he screamed his defiance at his attacker. A few flashes, the overpowering stench of sulfur and a final curse and he was gone. The wrestler hit the concrete face-first and lay still, dead.

“Dean!” Sam scuttled forward and placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, but Dean was already coming round, one hand rubbing his chin ruefully.

“Do I still have a jaw?” he groaned.

“Still attached,” Sam replied, helping him sit up. “You okay?”

Dean snorted. “There’s a whole planetarium of stars in my head. Was that guy Stone Cold Steve Austin’s brother or something? Holy crap.” He looked up at his brother and frowned. “How the hell did… wait, was Cas just here or did I dream it?”

Sam nodded over at the angel-shaped hole in the far wall and Dean whistled out a breath of awe. “Whoa. That must’ve stung. Hey, Cas? You okay?”

There was no answer. Suddenly Sam had a bad feeling. “Castiel?” he called, climbing to his feet. “You still in there, man?”

Dean joined him as he crossed the room to inspect the destruction. Sam shot him a worried look but his brother seemed fine, barring the red mark on his jaw that would no doubt blossom into a huge bruise in a few hours. He didn’t seem bothered by it, however: his eyes were focused on the rubble before them.

“Cas?” he queried, stepping through the hole and into the room beyond. Sam followed, spotting the dust-covered body lying under the bricks in an instant. Castiel was sprawled face-down amidst the mess, unmoving, and he didn’t react at all as Dean said his name again.

“Dammit,” Dean hissed, dropping to his knees. Sam helped him clear away bricks and plaster before they both rolled the angel onto his back. Castiel’s eyes were firmly closed and one side of his face was coated in blood from a deep, ugly-looking gash just by his hairline. Blood also trickled out of his ear on that side, too, and the sight was enough to make Dean draw in a breath of shock.

“Hey, wake up!” he ordered, shaking him.

“Dean, stop that. You could make it worse.”

“He’s an angel, Sam! If we wake him up he can heal himself. Maybe that’s how his mojo works.”

Sam shook his head, thinking quickly, going over everything they knew about Castiel – which wasn’t much, admittedly. “I’m not so sure, man. He’s cut off from Heaven, isn’t he? His powers have been FUBARed. He couldn’t heal Bobby and he can’t exorcize demons. Maybe he’s not indestructible any more.”

Dean gave him a thoughtful look and dropped his eyes to the still form on the ground. “I guess that would explain why he’s out for the count. Normally he’d have Wolverined himself by now.”

“That was one hell of a punch, man, strong enough to knock him through a wall. That had to mess with his head. Hell, he’d be a bloody pulp by now if he’d been human.”

Dean was inspecting the blood that lay sticky and warm on Castiel’s neck. It was still dripping from his ear. “He’s concussed,” he observed thinly. “Or maybe worse. That demon knocked seven shades of crap out of him. We should take him to a hospital, but…” He stopped, shaking his head. “Naw, he’ll be okay. He always is, right?”

Castiel coughed. The sound made Sam’s stomach lurch and he looked down at him hopefully, watching as Castiel’s eyelids fluttered. At first he could only see white underneath them; but eventually they opened to reveal two glassy-looking eyes with pupils that were worryingly wide and black.

“What happened?” Castiel asked breathlessly, blinking hard.

“You got your bell rung by a demon and a handy brick wall,” Dean told him helpfully, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

Castiel frowned. His eyes rolled a little and he lifted a hand to his forehead, poking at the gash on his temple. “Why am I wet?” he queried, as his fingers slid on blood.

“You’re bleeding. How do you feel?”

Castiel’s eyes flickered closed for a few seconds. When he opened them again, he looked right at Sam and asked again, “What happened?”

“You’ll be okay, Cas,” Sam soothed him, trying to keep the worry out of his voice. This was bad. If Castiel was weak enough to get a concussion, did that mean he could be killed now? He was the only ally they had these days. If he was this vulnerable, they were screwed! But then he saw the look on Dean’s face and swallowed down his train of thought. Castiel wasn’t just someone they fought alongside; he was a friend, and he was hurt. That was more important than anything else right now.

“Can you sit up?” Dean was asking, as Castiel stared at him blankly. “Come on, I’ll help.”

Sam leaned across and helped his brother pull their companion upright. Castiel seemed barely able to keep his head from lolling and he let out a pained groan that seemed a little disproportionate to his movement. Dean flashed Sam a worried look before asking firmly, “Cas, are you hurt anywhere else? Hey, come on man, work with me here.”

But Castiel simply blinked at him before his head fell forward. He coughed and started to sag in their grip, signalling that he wasn’t going to be awake for much longer.

“We need to get him out of here,” Sam said quietly. “The cops could show up at any minute and there’s a dead wrestler out there.”

“I know, I know,” Dean hissed. “Help me stand him up, Sammy.”

They each wrapped an arm around Castiel’s torso and pulled him to his feet, eliciting a ragged moan that was followed by a bout of coughing. Struck with a thought, Sam ran his fingers down Castiel’s right side, finding nothing untoward, before doing the same to his left. The resultant wince and the feel of something really not right under his fingertips told him all he needed to know. “He’s snapped some ribs,” he informed Dean briskly. “He might have bruised a lung or something. It feels pretty bad.”

“All of this is pretty bad,” Dean grunted, scowling. “Come on, let’s get the hell out of here.”

Castiel passed out before they’d even taken three steps, so they dragged his body between them across the warehouse and out into the freezing, snowflake-filled air. Sam almost slipped on ice as they approached the car, and the tension of trying to keep upright while bearing so much extra weight had him sweating long before he got there. The car was so cold that Sam almost couldn’t touch the handle to open the rear door, and as they bundled Castiel onto the back seat he realized that he had to be pretty shocky by now and he’d be cold too. He left Dean to settle their patient down as he raided the trunk for blankets. By the time he got back, Castiel was awake again.

“What happened?” he asked, looking around him in bewilderment.

Dean sighed. “You got knocked out, is all. It’s okay, Cas. Relax.”

“I need to get back,” Castiel said, and tried to sit upright before they could stop him. His body juddered and he fell back again, gasping, suddenly pale beneath the coating of blood on his cheek. “What’s… what’s wrong with me?”

“You’ll be fine, Cas. Calm down, okay? We’ve got you.”

Castiel was breathing heavily, a bloody hand clutching at his side. “I can’t… I can’t… ahhh… ”

Dean cursed softly and handed Sam the keys. “You drive. I’ll stay back here.”

“Got it.” Sam slammed the door and climbed in the front, twisting to watch as his brother slid onto the seat beside Castiel and wrapped the blankets around him.

“Watch out for ice,” Dean warned, flicking him a half-amused glance. “I know how crappy your winter driving is.”

“Bite me,” Sam muttered, starting the engine.

“I can’t see properly,” Castiel told them faintly. “Something’s… happened to…”

“It’s okay, keep calm,” Dean reassured him, taking his arm. “Sit back, alright? Close your eyes and try to relax.”

“Ah… I feel… Dean, I don’t feel…”

“Shh. Take it easy, man.”

Sam pulled onto the road and shot his brother a glance in the mirror, but Dean was too busy trying to keep Castiel calm to notice. Then he drove as fast as he dared through the snow, ice be damned.

~ ~ ~

Castiel had passed out again by the time they arrived at their room, so it was easy to carry him inside without hurting him. Sam helped his brother stretch him out on the bed and ran to the car to get their things. Once he was back inside he found the thermostat and turned it as high as it would go; the room was chilly. The snow had been melting that morning but the icy wind had put a stop to that once the sun had set. Oregon in December wasn’t one of his favorite places, but at least their heating was working. He’d stayed in far colder motels in far warmer towns.

“Here,” he said, handing Dean their first aid kit. “I’m just going to wash up.”

“Fat lot of good a few bandages will do,” Dean said grumpily, opening the box. “He needs his powers back, not a bunch of Band-aids and a roll of cotton.”

“I’m sure if you ask his boss nicely he’ll have his powers back in no time,” Sam replied somewhat testily, running his hands under the faucet and staring at his face in the mirror. He was covered in plaster dust, but it was a damn sight better than blood. He and Dean had been lucky to get out of that warehouse alive; that demon had been bigger and badder than either of them had been expecting.

“He’s coming round again,” Dean called, and Sam dried his hands quickly and joined him just as Castiel’s eyes fluttered open again and he groaned, a hand darting up to rest on his ribs. He was shaking and deathly pale, nothing like he’d ever looked before.

“Hey,” Sam said, pulling up a chair so he could sit at his bedside. He’d soaked a cloth in the bathroom and started wiping at the blood on his face gently, but Castiel didn’t even seem to notice. He looked from him to Dean with wide eyes and licked his lips.

“Where am I?” he asked.

“Caesar’s Palace,” Dean quipped, keeping his face straight. “You won big on the tables and you’re in the deluxe suite.”

“Dean.” Sam frowned at his flippancy; Castiel was confused enough without his brother making it worse.

“I must rejoin my garrison,” the angel said bluntly, and tried to sit up. Sam placed a hand on one shoulder and Dean put a palm on the other, keeping him still, and their eyes met for a second. Garrison? That didn’t sound good. Castiel had no garrison. Not any more.

“You need to stay here,” Dean told him softly, all trace of joking gone now. “You need to rest, Cas. You’re hurt. You’ve got to heal.”

“I have my orders,” Castiel told him shakily, then winced and lifted a hand to his forehead. He grimaced and added, “Why do I feel like this?”

“You got in a fight,” Sam soothed, pushing his hand away so he could carry on cleaning him up.

“Who was I fighting?” Castiel asked, looking totally bemused.

“A demon,” Dean explained. “He kicked your ass. Just a little. Don’t go feeling embarrassed or anything – he was bigger than you.”

Castiel’s face blanked as he said vacantly, “I was… fighting… Uriel?”

Sam shook his head, unnerved by how out-of-it Castiel seemed. “That wasn’t today, Cas. That was a while ago.”

Castiel stared at his bloody fingers and frowned. “I can’t… I don’t… What are my orders? I don’t remember them.”

Dean let out a breath of frustration. “Look, stop worrying about it, okay? You’ve got the mother of all concussions, Cas, and you need to rest.”

Castiel’s eyes drooped and he seemed to lose it for a few seconds, but when they opened again he was staring straight at Dean. “I hurt my head,” he said thoughtfully.

“Yeah, you did.”

“That shouldn’t have happened.” Castiel sounded fascinated.

“Damn straight it shouldn’t have happened, but it did.” Dean squeezed his shoulder. “Can you heal yourself? Can you just concentrate and make it better, like you usually do?”

Castiel blinked at him, his eyes losing their focus. “I can’t stay,” he said sadly, and his head fell to one side as he passed out.

Dean looked up at his brother, stony-faced. “Okay, this sucks. Him turning human? Not something I want to see again. Ever.”

Sam shot him an annoyed glance. “You never did tell me what he was like when you saw him in the future,” he said pointedly, adding mentally, and you never told me what I was like, either. Dean had said the bare minimum about the time-travel jaunt Zachariah had sent him on, and Sam was tired of wondering about it.

“He was a mess,” Dean said flatly, and suddenly looked unutterably sad. He got up and headed into the bathroom. Sam pondered what the hell he could have seen while he cleaned the rest of the blood off his patient, leaning close to examine the gash on Castiel’s head, which was still obstinately leaking blood. Head wounds were always the bloodiest. He placed a few butterfly bandages across it and positioned a dressing on top of that, wondering if Castiel would be able to heal the wound completely once he’d worked through the concussion, or whether he was too badly injured to pull through at all. He remembered how hard he’d hit that wall and shuddered inwardly – at least he’d had enough angel strength left to survive it in the first place.

“We need to check his ribs,” Dean announced behind him.

Sam sat back and wiped blood off his hands. “There’s nothing we can do except tape them up. His breathing’s okay, so he hasn’t punctured a lung or anything.”

“He might’ve broken something else,” Dean said, his voice cold and clinical. Sam moved out of the way as his brother reached down and lifted Castiel’s shirt. His side was already bruising where he’d hit the bricks, a patch of darkening redness over a foot high spreading up his ribcage. Sam watched as Dean trailed practiced fingers over the bones, a small frown settling on his forehead as he felt the damage. “Man, that has to hurt,” he declared grimly as he moved away. “He’s busted every single rib.” He pulled the shirt down again and lifted Castiel’s arm, feeling through the fabric of his coat for any more breaks before saying gruffly, “We need to get this damn thing off him.”

Together they maneuvered the coat and jacket from Castiel’s shoulders and arms, moving him as little as possible, and Sam removed his shoes and tie for good measure. The angel’s skin felt cold and he was shivering, so Dean made his inspection of the rest of his body as quickly as he could before covering him up again. His left arm was bruised to hell but it was hard to tell if anything was broken or fractured without an x-ray; the same went for his head injury. For all they knew, Castiel could have cracked his skull in ten places.

“He has to be able to heal this,” Dean said quietly a little while later, as Sam started checking their weapons before packing them away.

“I guess time will tell,” he replied, feeling as though he was stating the obvious. “It takes a lot to kill an angel, though, we know that. I doubt he’ll just up and die on us.”

“I hate not being able to do anything. Head injuries are the worst. You can splint a broken bone or sew up a knife wound, but brains are some scary shit.”

“He’ll be fine, Dean,” Sam reassured him, only half-believing it himself. “I’m sure his angel powers will kick in at any minute. He’s just having an off-day.”

“Yeah,” Dean observed flatly. “Guess it sucks to be him right now.”

~ ~ ~

Castiel slept for two hours, long enough for Sam to have to change the dressing on his temple once as it soaked through with blood, and long enough for Dean to grow more and more silent as he sat by Castiel’s bed. Sam didn’t say much, just watched how his brother kept staring at the angel with the worry for him shining in his eyes, and he knew exactly what was going through his head.

Dean had never had a friend before. For as long as Sam could remember he’d been his brother’s best buddy; there were no other guys he could call to go for a beer with, nobody for him to hang out with except for Sam. There were a few hunters out there who’d have his back in a fight and match him drink-for-drink afterwards as they celebrated, but Dean hardly ever saw them. Bobby was family; Ellen and Jo had been... actually, Sam didn’t want to think about what they’d been, because it hurt.

But Sam had been to college. He’d made friends, found a life for himself, albeit one that had been too short for his liking. Dean had nobody. Until Castiel had come along, anyway. Sam knew they’d fought like cat and dog from the start and Castiel had been one inscrutable son of a bitch at times, not to mention working for the bastards who’d done everything they could to get the apocalypse rolling, but he’d more than proved himself their friend since then. Dean’s friend. Sam was glad his brother had found someone at last, no matter how weird he was. And he had a sneaking suspicion that Castiel needed a friend just as much as Dean did. Seeing him laid low like this, so unsettlingly human and hurt – Sam could understand why Dean looked so freaked.

So he empathized totally when Dean took Castiel’s hand as he seemed to be climbing his way back to consciousness again, wrapping both sets of fingers around his as he leaned forward hopefully. “Cas?” he breathed, as Sam stopped what he was doing and came to stand by the bed.

Castiel coughed and winced, his free hand instantly clutching at his side. When he opened his eyes they were hazy and unfocused, his pupils still blown unnaturally wide. He didn’t look around at the room, just lay still with a small frown on his forehead, his lips moving silently.

“Is he saying something?” Sam asked, curious.

Dean leaned in, listening, then shook his head. “Naw. I don’t know what he’s doing. Cas? Hey, you in there, buddy?”

Castiel blinked rapidly and moaned. “Anna,” he murmured. “Tell me what to do.”

Dean squeezed his hand harder. “She’s not here right now, Cas. Come on, get with the program, dude. You’re with us, Dean and Sam. Wake up.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Castiel said, his voice filled with anguish. “Uriel, please... we are brothers... I... don’t... want...” The words trailed off and he went back to mouthing them silently again, his face twisted in pain.

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean said shakily. “Do you think we should take him to a hospital? This is getting bad.”

Sam held his breath, thinking. What would the doctors do? They’d examine him, get a CAT scan and figure out the extent of the damage... and then what? If they needed to operate for any reason, what was to stop Castiel waking up on the operating table and smiting everybody? Or screaming in his true voice and exploding their eardrums? They had absolutely no idea how an angel – even an injured one – would behave in a situation like that. But then again... he was pretty badly hurt. Perhaps they could–

And that was all he had time to think before Castiel gasped in a few painful-sounding breaths and his eyes rolled upwards in his head. He started convulsing, every muscle in his body stiffening until he was a mass of jerking, twitching spasms, but that wasn’t what scared the crap out of Sam. What scared the crap out of Sam was that the room began to shake as though it was in the middle of an earthquake, almost as if it was mirroring Castiel’s tremors on the mattress.

He and Dean stood frozen for a few seconds, shocked, before Dean swore loudly and grabbed Castiel’s shoulders. Sam automatically did the same for his legs, gripping his ankles firmly as he flailed, and they both tried to keep him from hurting himself as the walls vibrated and pictures came crashing to the floor. The light bulb above their heads swung crazily and the curtain pole flew from the window, spilling green fabric everywhere; the TV flicked on and both Sam’s phone and Dean’s started ringing at precisely the same moment as the motel phone pealed, too. Amidst all the noise and fury, Castiel continued to convulse, only the whites of his eyes showing under his flickering lids and his head thrown backwards on the pillow.

Sam tried to ignore what was happening around them, focusing on one thought only: Castiel was losing control. They’d been right not to take him to a hospital – he was dangerous. And seizures meant the head injury was pretty damn serious. Castiel wasn’t healing himself. He was really badly hurt, just like a human, and he was too weak to fix it.

Fuck.

To his relief, the fit didn’t last long. Castiel’s eyes closed and he relaxed onto the bed, leaving both his companions panting as he fell into unconsciousness again. Dean looked around them at the half-destroyed room and wiped sweat from his forehead with a shaking wrist.

“Crap,” he said, and that was about as eloquent as Sam was feeling right now, too.

~ ~ ~

They cleaned up the damage as best they could, expecting the manager to come knocking at any second to ask them what the hell was going on. Thankfully he didn’t. The motel was half-deserted and their room was around back, away from the street, so it seemed nobody had noticed the commotion. Sam stared up at the fresh cracks in the ceiling and wondered if the place was still structurally sound, but it seemed to be safe for now.

“I’d hate to see what would happen if he sneezed,” Dean quipped from across the room. He was standing on a chair and trying to hang the curtain pole back on the wall above the window.

“I guess he’s still got his powers after all,” Sam mused, sitting down on his bed and staring across at their unconscious friend. “It’s a shame he can’t use them to heal himself.”

Dean made a triumphant sound and jumped down from the chair, pulling the curtains closed behind him. The pole stayed in place. He grinned and wiped his hands on his jeans before walking over to sit at the table, pulling out the chair so he could sit and stare at Castiel too. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” he observed, running a hand down his face. There was an almighty bruise on his chin now and he looked tired.

“I can watch him if you want to get some shut-eye,” Sam offered, but Dean simply sniffed and shook his head.

“Naw, I’m good. I’ll stay up while you get some beauty sleep. You need it more than me.”

“I’m not tired.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at Castiel and sighed. “Sammy, what are we gonna do if he turns human? An angel’s really handy to have around, y’know?”

Sam stared down at his hands. “We’ll just have to hope it doesn’t happen.”

“He’ll fall apart if he does turn mortal. He’ll hate it.”

Sam glanced up at his brother sharply. “So you keep hinting. Are you ever going to tell me what Zachariah showed you, man? It’s always on your mind. I can tell it is. Come on, Dean, I hate it when you keep secrets. I thought we were past all that crap.”

Dean looked uncomfortable for a few moments. He wriggled in his chair a little before he closed his eyes and said in a bleak voice, “He was human, okay? And he was this… I don’t know. Like some beat-up old rock star who’d done too many drugs and slept with too many groupies.”

Sam blinked in surprise, shocked. “Are you telling me that Castiel’s going to turn into Ozzy Osbourne?”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, okay, maybe not quite that bad. But he was pretty out of it. He was nothing like this.” He waved a hand at the bed and narrowed his eyes. “He told me he was useless. I think losing his powers really did a number on him.”

Sam bit his lip before asking, “And what about me?”

Dean looked away. “You weren’t around.”

“Where was I?”

“Gone. Future-me said he hadn’t spoken to you in a while.”

Sam could tell he was lying, but he knew better than to press. Dean would tell him when he wanted to. “Must’ve been weird, hanging out with yourself,” he said instead, trying to lighten the mood.

“I was a dick,” Dean said flatly, before shooting him a grin. “But I still had my youthful good looks. Plus I got to see myself from behind, and that’s something you don’t usually get to do. It confirmed my suspicions that I’ve got a great ass.”

Sam laughed and shook his head. “You are an ass.”

Castiel moaned something and they both turned to him in unison. His eyes were open and he was staring at his hands with a look of intense concentration on his face, as though he was trying to figure out what they were. They were shaking and he was breathing heavily, the look in his eyes a little wild.

“Cas?” Dean said, moving across to sit beside him. “Hey man. How you feeling?”

Castiel stared up at him. “Why am I wearing this?” he asked faintly. It took Sam a few moments to figure out that he wasn’t referring to his shirt and pants; he was talking about Jimmy’s body.

Dean knew exactly what he was getting at, too. “You hurt us if you’re not inside a vessel,” he explained patiently, placing a hand on Castiel’s arm. “You’re too bright and your voice is too loud. You’re like some, uh, deadly glitterball or something.”

“Is that my mission?” Castiel asked slowly. “To interact with humans?”

“Yeah, it is.”

“This vessel is damaged.”

Sam caught his breath. Castiel said it matter-of-factly, as though Jimmy Novak wasn’t a real person at all. As though he was a sock with a hole in it or something. There was no empathy there, nothing. Castiel was just stating a fact.

Dean didn’t seem to notice. “You got a little busted up, Cas, but you’ll be fine.”

Castiel looked around the room and went to sit upright. Just like the previous times he’d tried it, he ended up clutching his ribs and falling back onto the pillows. They obviously hadn’t healed at all. Perhaps they weren’t going to.

“Why… can’t I move? It shouldn’t… hurt… like this,” he panted, all the blood draining from his face.

“You broke your ribs,” Dean explained, his voice endlessly patient. “Just take it easy, okay?”

“My head hurts,” Castiel stated, closing his eyes. “I should… go… I must report. I shouldn’t be here… when I am incapacitated.”

A jolt of fear shot down Sam’s spine as he realized something huge. Despite the state he was in, there was a chance Castiel might still be able to disappear on them – and if he did, he was too confused to know that he wasn’t welcome in Heaven any more. He might fly straight to Zachariah or any of the other angels without the faintest idea that they wanted to kill him. If he left, he’d be as good as dead.

“No,” he snapped, jumping to his feet. “Stay here! Don’t go anywhere, Cas, okay?”

Dean shot him a look of alarm. “Sam, what the–”

“He doesn’t know what he did,” Sam explained quickly. “He still thinks Zachariah is his boss.”

Dean’s expression fell and he turned back to the angel. “Whoa, he’s right. Don’t you go flying off now, Cas. Your orders are to stay here, right? Don’t leave us or you’ll be disobeying. You wouldn’t want to disobey a direct order, would you?”

Castiel frowned at him. “My orders… I don’t remember…”

“You’re supposed to stay with me, Cas. You can’t leave. You can’t let me out of your sight, you got that?”

Castiel nodded slowly, grimacing a little at the movement, before raising his eyes to stare at his companion. “Dean,” he said gruffly, voice deepening. “I know you.”

“Yes, you do. That’s good. That’s good, Cas. I’m glad you remember me.”

“My head hurts,” Castiel declared again, and just as he said it Sam saw blood dripping out of his ear. He fetched a cloth from the bathroom and wiped it away as Castiel closed his eyes, barely even noticing him.

“Thanks, Sammy,” Dean said quietly, looking like he wanted to throw up.

“He’ll be okay,” Sam assured him gently. “He just needs time.”

Castiel’s eyes flickered open again and he frowned up at the ceiling. “I have to find him.”

“Find who, Cas?” Dean asked.

“Our Father. I have to find him.”

“Sure you do, man. But you can raincheck it for now, okay? God will understand if you lie back for a few hours. You’re not on the clock or anything.”

Castiel twisted his head to stare at Dean, almost going cross-eyed at the movement. “He is waiting for me,” he whispered conspiratorially.

“Cas, you don’t–”

But there was a rush of air and the soft flick of feathers, and Castiel was gone.

The long, strained silence that followed was broken only when Dean said shakily, “Dammit, Cas. You stupid son of a bitch.”

~ ~ ~

They waited an hour, but Castiel didn’t return. There was nothing they could do. He didn’t have his cellphone with him and he was probably too sick to figure out how to answer it anyway. He’d gone and they had no idea where; there was every chance he’d flown off home and would never fly again once his brothers got hold of him. The thought was pretty sickening. After everything they’d been through, one knock on the head and this happened? It was pointless.

Dean was standing by the window, staring out at the night. Sam almost didn’t want to speak to him, knowing how bad he’d feel, but the silence had gone on for far too long already.

“So what do we do?” he asked carefully. “Do we wait here for however long it takes or do we move on? We’ve got no idea if he’ll ever come back.”

Dean shrugged. “Let’s wait a couple of days at least,” he said, his voice scratchy and tired. “It’s the least we can do for the poor bastard.”

Sam sat on his bed and pulled off one of his shoes. He stared at it morosely before taking off the other one and setting it on the floor. He looked up at Dean and said, “Maybe he’ll be alright.”

“Yeah. Maybe.” Dean didn’t look round.

“He was talking about finding God right before he vanished. Maybe that means he didn’t fly away home. Maybe he just went off to search.”

Dean’s hands fisted at his sides. “He couldn’t even sit up, Sam. How the hell is he supposed to function wherever the hell it is that he went to?” He turned round to face the room again and leaned against the windowsill, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t even know how he had the strength to fly. He didn’t look to me like he could flap his lips, let alone his wings.”

Sam frowned, struck by a thought. “You’re right. I don’t know how his flying thing works, but he was so beat-up I’d be surprised if he went far. Maybe he ended up somewhere close by, but he can’t get back.”

Dean raised his head and studied him. “You think we should go out and search?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

His brother was still staring at him, but suddenly his eyes looked calculating. Sam stood up, knowing him well enough to see he was about to have a breakthrough. He was right.

“He wanted to find God,” Dean said slowly. “If you were looking for God and you couldn’t move very far, where would you go?”

Sam got it in a flash. “A church.”

“Where’s the nearest church? It’s worth a shot. We got nothing otherwise.”

Sam rifled through his bag and pulled out a map. Dean came to stand behind him as he searched. “St Joseph’s. Look, it’s only a few blocks away.”

Dean clapped him on the back. “Let’s hope his angel GPS was still working and he managed to find it. If we’re wrong we’ll just have to search every damn church in the state.”

~ ~ ~

They didn’t have to search every damn church in the state, and they also weren’t the first to find Castiel. As they walked through the doors and into the wooden building they saw the angel first and the man he was with second. He was a middle-aged priest with red hair, glasses and a worried expression, and he was crouching in front of a kneeling Castiel before the altar with his hands on his shoulders. As the brothers entered the church he looked up, eyes wide behind his lenses, then blinked as Dean called out Castiel’s name.

“You know him?” the priest asked, leaning back and studying them.

“He’s family,” Dean said quickly, hurrying down the aisle. Sam followed anxiously, coming to stand at the priest’s side as Dean took Castiel’s arm and dropped to his knees. “Hey, Cas? It’s me, it’s Dean.”

“I found him a little while ago,” the priest explained, looking relieved beyond belief. “I was just about to call for an ambulance. He’s been talking nonsense about angels and God – did he hit his head?”

“He was in a car accident,” Sam told him hastily, trying not to think too hard about the fact a priest could so easily dismiss a real-life angel sitting in his church. “He left the hospital AMA before we could get there.”

“God isn’t here,” Castiel announced, as Dean placed a hand under his chin and lifted his head up. His face was pale and there were tears in his eyes, but he met Dean’s gaze instantly and didn’t seem quite as disoriented as before.

“I know, Cas. You’re not going to find Him in some random church on a Monday night. You’ll have to make do with us for a while instead.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” Castiel moaned, his voice breaking. “I disobeyed but no good has come of it. People are still dying. I have killed my brothers. Lucifer has summoned Death. I have nothing to show for my actions except blood. There’s blood everywhere, Dean, and it’s on my hands.” He lifted a decidedly un-bloody hand to show him, but the action appeared to tug at his ribs and he jerked in pain. “And I’m becoming mortal,” he added despairingly, squeezing his eyes shut. “How can I fight when this body can be broken and twisted like this? How can I do what needs to be done when I’m human?”

“You’ll be fine, Cas,” Dean reassured him, as Castiel’s head lowered and his shoulders shook. “Come on, don’t give up. You’ve saved our asses a million times and you’re part of the team now. We’ve got your back and you’ve got ours and it doesn’t matter if you’re an angel or a human. You know that, man.”

“I can’t do this,” Castiel said brokenly. “It hurts too much. I want it to stop.”

“It will. You’ll get better.”

Castiel shuddered and dropped his head into his hands. “I don’t want to feel any more.”

Dean gave Sam a wide-eyed look that said what the hell do I do here, Sammy? But his brother didn’t have any more idea than he did, raising his eyebrows in bemusement. After an awkward pause, Dean just went with his instincts. He placed an arm around Castiel and hugged him as tightly as he could without hurting him, and it seemed to be the right move. Castiel relaxed into his grip almost instantly, still hiding behind his hands. He looked small and pathetic like that, seeking comfort from a man he’d once threatened to throw back into Hell, and Sam finally had some idea of how much Castiel had changed since they’d first met him. He was almost human, flying and telekinetic powers aside. He’d been brought down to their level, mingling with humanity in more ways than one. He was vulnerable and filled with doubt and despair. He was in pain and scared, abandoned by his Father and battling against impossible odds to save total strangers.

He was almost a Winchester now.

“He really needs to see a doctor,” the priest said nervously, staring down at the two men at his feet. “He’s talking crazy.”

“No, he’s not,” Sam told him, with a miserable sigh. “He’s making perfect sense.”

“Come on, buddy. We should get you back to bed.” Dean leaned back and held out a hand. “Can you stand?”

Castiel stared at his outstretched palm and shook his head. “I still have some powers left,” he said wearily, and in the blink of an eye they weren’t standing inside a church any more. They were back in the motel room, but they didn’t arrive quite how they should have done: all three of them materialized a few feet above the carpet and dropped to the floor in a heap, as though Castiel had managed to zap them into place but hadn’t quite worked out the co-ordinates. It would have been funny if only the angel hadn’t cried out in agony as he hit the ground, rolling into a ball and clutching his side.

Dean sat upright, rubbing his elbow ruefully. “Next time, I drive,” he grunted, and rolled onto his knees. Before Sam had even untangled his legs and climbed to his feet his brother had hooked his hands under Castiel’s armpits and heaved him up and onto the bed in one motion. Castiel hissed out a breath but didn’t make a sound, not even when Dean swung his legs onto the mattress and threw the blankets over him.

“Now stay,” he ordered, wagging a finger in the angel’s face. “If you go flitting off again we’re not chasing after you.”

Castiel stared at him seriously through red-rimmed eyes and nodded slowly. As Dean turned away he lifted a hand and rubbed at his forehead, grimacing. “My head aches,” he observed, sounding so miserable Sam felt a rush of empathy for him.

“It’ll go away,” he assured him, and Castiel glanced up and met his eyes.

“Sam,” he said. “I forgot that. Why did I forget that?”

“Because you had a crack on the head that would’ve stopped Goliath,” Sam told him flatly. “You have to take it easy for a while.”

Castiel blinked. “Goliath’s feats have been exaggerated. He preferred the company of dogs to his fellows. Whenever he was asked to fight he usually hid in the kennels.”

Sam stared at him. Was he joking?

“You’re a walking history lesson, Cas,” Dean declared wryly from somewhere behind Sam’s back. “Now shut your yap and get some rest.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Castiel said absently, and rested his head back on his pillow. He closed his eyes and his face evened out, smoothing into what looked like sleep almost immediately. He looked peaceful for the first time Sam could remember seeing, and that probably had something to do with the fact that he noticed the blood soaking through the dressing on his temple had disappeared. The angel was healing at last.

“I wish I could’ve seen the expression on that priest’s face when we just blinked out of there,” Dean said, keeping his voice down low. “I wonder if he’ll believe in angels now?”

“Maybe he’ll think we’re angels too,” Sam sighed, sitting down on his bed. He felt too tired to sleep and wondered if it was even worth lying down.

Dean settled down in the chair by Castiel’s bed and scratched his neck. “He seems better now, doesn’t he? I think he’s going to get through this. Until the next time. Or the time after that. He’s going to love being human.”

Sam lifted his gaze to his brother, not liking the bitterness in his voice. “Dean, can I ask you something?”

Dean frowned. “Uh-oh. If you think you have to ask first, that means I’m not going to like this. I’m going with ‘No, you can’t ask.’”

“You’re convinced the future Zachariah showed you is real, aren’t you? I mean, you’re already talking about Cas like he’s living it. You’re pretty convinced.”

“Sam, can’t you just leave it alone? Please?” Dean sounded exhausted all of a sudden and he wouldn’t meet his brother’s gaze. Something about his caginess chimed somewhere inside Sam and he gritted his teeth.

“Lucifer was in my body, wasn’t he?” he said after a tense pause.

Dean looked down at the floor, saying nothing, and that was all the answer he needed. Sam let out a breath, feeling vindicated and terrified all at once. “Did I say yes to him?”

“I don’t know the details, okay?” Dean snapped, frustrated. “I just know it happened in Detroit. I don’t know why or how.”

“Lucifer said he’d see me in Detroit,” Sam said vacantly, remembering the conversation they’d had in Carthage after the Colt had failed to kill him.

Dean quirked a humorless grin. “Yeah. Somethin’ to look forward to, huh?”

Sam shook his head, feeling sick. “I’m not going to say yes to him, Dean. It’s not going to happen.”

“Damn right it’s not going to happen, Sammy. I’ve seen what happens when it does. I’d rather say yes to Michael than lose you to that smug son of a bitch.”

“Was it bad?” Sam couldn’t help but ask.

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “It was the end of the world. What do you think?”

They both fell silent. Dean stared at Castiel and Sam found he couldn’t sit still. He stood and went to stand by the window, pressing his forehead on the freezing glass without registering what lay beyond it.

“I won’t say yes,” he murmured to himself.

But Castiel was turning human, just like Dean had said he would. Angels didn’t get concussions. They didn’t forget where they were and fly off without a thought for where they were going to end up. If that could happen to Castiel, what was to prevent Lucifer finding a way to make Sam let him inside his body?

He lifted a finger and wrote No! in the condensation on the window. When he turned back to the room, Dean was staring at him with a face as pale as Castiel’s.

“You need to promise me something,” Sam said, taking a deep breath.

Dean nodded. “You name it.”

It was hard, but Sam managed to crack a smile. “Next time we go up against a demon, you make sure Cas is wearing a crash helmet.”

Dean’s jaw twitched, but his expression remained the same. “He’ll probably complain that it’ll mess up his hair.”

“Too bad,” Sam said firmly. “Tell him he’ll have to live with it.”

I’ll have to live with it too, he thought. I said yes once, but it’ll never happen again.

It can’t.

~ ~ ~