Chapter Text
Castiel never questions his orders. They were not created to question anything, it is not the way of Angels. He accepted orders as easily as he gave them. With his recent assignment to Dean Winchester—Castiel has an inkling of doubt. Not all of it is due to negative reasons, he watches Dean often enough to find appreciation for his humanity- the choices he makes because he is allowed to, but his revere it is often overshadowed by Dean's... personality. Castiel had experience with humans, just not anything recent. The ways in which people now muddled the meaning of their own words confused Castiel, which he thought was not possible for a being of his knowledge, but he dwells not on trivial things such as that. He adapts as any good warrior would.
He does not bend to Dean's whim, as the man wants him to. Always demanding something of Castiel, even when he doesn't mean to. Demanding but not listening to the angel when needed. Dean is not the perfect human, but he is a prime example of humanity. His self righteous anger and deep care for those around him. Castiel does not yearn, does not know how, but he believes what he feels is as close to it as he can when observing Dean.
He does not know what it is he wants from Dean: connection, compassion, respect? Perhaps all of them would suffice. He knows he will not get it. Dean is hard to be around most days. He has known the man a short while comparatively to both of their lives, and Castiel has a difficult time getting through to the man. Dean lashes out wildly, anger always forefront. There have been glimpses at the other emotions he is capable of, but not really. Humans have the tendency to lie or fake. Castiel knows Dean Winchester is fully capable of such, listing his duty as a hunter as the sole reason he does it. Comparatively, Sam Winchester is more open, but just as dishonest. It makes them both difficult, but in different ways.
Castiel casts his gaze out over the horizon, exiting his thoughts to admire the bright sky. There were many things he didn't understand about the complexities of mankind, but nature always welcomes him in its simplicity. There is no dishonesty nor misleading words to be said, no hidden meaning to life itself. His eyes follow the slopes of the Aurès mountains. The rocky cliffs tapper down to the valley of Aboid, far off he spots a village, settled in the valley bellow. Further still he sees various African wildlife. It had been centuries since he explored the Earth by himself, everything he'd had to observe was humans or related to them, even now he watches them. He is drawn to the mundane more than anything. Birds fly overhead and a few of the younger people mention the birds; children marvel at the most common of things. He shifts borrowed feet and descends lower on the mountain-side. A feeling of urgency crashes into him, Dean's voice ringing out in his head:
"Castiel! Get your ass down here or-"
Castiel does not sigh, but it is a near thing. He leaves the tranquility of the Aurès mountains and flies down to see what it is Dean needs. When Castiel touches down in the old house, he doesn't exactly know what he expects. But both Sam and Dean on the verge of death is not it. Blood coats the air and virtually every surface of the room. Not just theirs, but a majority of it. Castiel can smell the rot that taints Sam most of all, no matter how faint it was at the moment, it burns his vessel's nostrils all the same; he settles his wings close to his form. Dean is hovering over Sam's prone body. His hands are pressed against Sam's abdomen. Castiel can see the blood soaking around the area, where it is seeping into Dean's sleeves and jeans, even in the darkness of the room. Castiel steps forward then, approaching the brothers. Dean is still talking but the words are not meant for Castiel. He whispers soft assurances to Sam, a bloodied hand moving to brush hair from the young man's face. Sam stares up at him, not doing anything but focusing his breathing. There is that humanity the angel wants to understand: vulnerability, fear, compassion. Humans feel so deeply, yet they hide it away.
"About damn time," Dean grunts. His left arm, the one soothing Sam, is bent in a strange way that tells the angel its broken. "Heal him."
Castiel glares, his reverence leaving as soon as it brushes his mind, reminded of how Dean is all the time, "Move."
Dean scoffs," I'm not going anywhere."
"Move your hand at least. I need to assess the injury."
Dean hesitates. His eyes flash defiantly as they flicker back to his brother, who weakly pushes at Dean, urging him to move. Dean clenches his jaw but obliges. His bloodied hands hover before balling into fists. Castiel crouches at Sam's side and studies the gash, it's long and deep. Blood oozes out of it freely now that there is nothing blocking it. He presses his hand above the wound and under his hand a soft glow emerges, grace reaches out and seeps into Sam. The flesh knits back together, muscles and sinews reconnecting under his grace. Sam shivers at the feeling as he normally does when Castiel heals him. He removes himself from Sam and rests his hand a few inches from Dean's temple, healing him of his injuries as well. Dean doesn't acknowledge Castiel. His eyes are focused on Sam. He stands up and drapes the taller man's arms over his shoulders to drags him up, not as carefully as he should. Sam scrabbles for purchase against Dean, but eventually they are standing side by side. Dean leads his brother out of the house, which Castiel learns is not just abandoned in the middle of nowhere but in a small neighborhood. The Impala is parked a few miles away.
"I can take you back to where ever you two are staying," Castiel says. Dean casts a glance over his shoulder but shakes his head.
"It's too far for me to leave my car here," Dean sighs. Sam makes a weak attempt at protest. His brother shushes him and he easily compiles, head lolling to the side hazily. He's finally passed out. Dean stops to brace the new weight put on him.
Dean lugs his brother to the car, ignoring Castiel's attempts to help share the burden of Sam's dead weight. Upon arriving at the Impala, he cautiously maneuvers Sam into the front seat before shutting the door. Castiel piles into the car after Dean. The ride is going to be a silent one, Dean doesn't bother with the radio. It's likely going to be a long, too. Castiel doesn't mind the silence much, Dean's music is granting. The older hunter glances sidelong at his brother every so often, as if he will miss something while his eyes are meant to be on the road. Castiel squints at him, but keeps the silence.
Dean makes a pit stop thirty minutes into the drive to buy something, presumably for Sam, and he doesn't offer an explanation when Castiel asks. Castiel watches Sam sleep. The man is not as content as he should be, Castiel fully healed him, yet his face pinches in pain. The angel brings a hand up to rest at Sam's temple and soothes his mind. He catches a glimpse of what ales Sam and its nothing to do with the werewolves that had nearly killed him and his brother. Castiel drops his hand, something akin to guilt roiling in his gut at the invasion of Sam's mind. He dreams still of Jessica Moore.
Dean is back in the car in no time at all really, but Castiel feels the seconds tick away as he watches Sam shift in his seat.
~*~
When back at the motel, Dean once again refuses Castiel's help, shouldering his unconscious brother by himself. Why humans in need refused help they obviously needed is beyond Castiel. Castiel watches as Dean carefully lays his brother down on his bed. He tugs the younger man's boots off and the outer coat. Dean leaves his bed side to drop them off nearby before he digs around in the bag he'd gotten from the gas station. He puts most things in the tiny fridge for later. The rest go on the nightstand. Satisfied, Dean shrugs off his leather jacket and toes off his boots. He goes into the bathroom, leaving Castiel alone with Sam. The angel turns his attention to him now. He's much more at peace, his gaunt face soft in slumber. He makes no sign of waking so Castiel settles at the very end of his bed with the tv remote in hand.
Infomercials drone on the tv. They captivate Castiel in their uselessness. He did not know much about modern technology, but some of those devices certainly didn't work as intended. Sam shifts behind Castiel, a low groan pulling from his throat. He attempts to sit up but slides back down immediately.
"You lost a considerable amount of blood," Castiel states casually. Sam huffs. His vitals returned to normal a bit ago, even if they are a bit quick for what is normal. Sam scans the room.
"Where's Dean?"
"He left not long after showering."
Sam frowns. He shifts so that his head is propped up. His dark hazel eyes shine strangely in the tv glow- almost black in the lighting. Castiel wonders what Sam sees. His mouth opens but falls shut. Sam chews at the inside of his cheek and he drops the angel's gaze. Castiel tilts his head to the side, studying the man closer. There is something he needs, obviously. Sam goes to stand up, body sliding off the bed sluggishly. He's about standing when his body careens to the side. Castiel is quick to catch him. He hadn't even realized he was doing it until Sam's chilled body was pressed against him.
"Perhaps I should fetch whatever it is you want," Castiel offers.
"No, I-"
Castiel squints up at Sam. The young man shakes against him, cold and weak, yet he protests help. Sam deflates as Castiel lowers him to the bed. "I would appreciate a drink, my head's killing me," Sam says. Castiel nods curtly. He grabs one of the bottles Dean stashed in the fridge and hands it to Sam.
"Thanks, uhm for everything."
Castiel doesn't know how to respond, so he does not. He resettles at the end of the bed. His eyes are drawn to the lady on screen trying to convince the audience to buy her rather ugly jewelry, he must have changed the channel when reaching for Sam. He finds the remote under the bed and flips through the channels. He listens to Sam shift around the bed. He eventually lays back down after finishing his drink.
"Goodnight, Cas." Sam whispers. He mushes his face into his pillow and falls unconscious again. Castiel looks over his shoulder to Sam, his chest rising and falling at a steady pace. He exhales heavily, falling deeper asleep as the minutes tick by. Castiel watches him sleep until the rumble of the Impala returning to the motel ushers him out; only then does Castiel notice the sun is rising outside.