inonebasket | (no subject)

"I'm fine." Cas licks his fingers and puts the bag down by his feet. He's actually better than he's been; he got to eat until he was full and even if he'd slept sitting up, it was indoors and in a quiet room. More than that-

More than that, Dean.

So really, considering the past few months, today is actually one of his better ones. He allows himself a small smile. Dean doesn't absolutely despise him. This is much better than he expected.

"You don't look fine." He looks over again, swerving a little. "Seriously, crawl in back and lie down. It'll make me feel better."

"Would it help you to drive properly?" Because you keep swerving, man. Call Cas crazy, but he thinks getting into a car accident might actually be a little more hazardous to his health than a lack of a good night's sleep.

He's only swerving because he keeps looking at Cas. Geez.

"Your sense of humor still sucks. But yeah, if I'm not looking at you ever ten seconds, I'll drive better."

"You could just try not looking over at me."

"Cas, you look like hell chewed you up and spat you out. I'm trying to tell you I'm worried about you, alright? I saw what you looked like with those things in you, and you don't look a whole lot better now."

Bit harsh maybe. But honest.

"You said you wanted to know what I needed from you. Right now, I need you not to look like you're gonna fall over the second you stand up."

Cas opens his mouth. Then closes it.

"All right," he says, voice a little rougher than usual. "If that's what you want."

"Thank you." He pulls the car onto the shoulder so Cas can get out and get in the back safely.

Safely and gracefully. Dean is a true Bro.

Cas climbs into the backseat and, remembering what Dean had told him the night before, removes his coat from where it's tucked beneath the seats. He looks at it for a while, running his hands over the stained and tattered fabric. Jimmy's coat.

Balling it up, Castiel lays down and tucks it beneath his head, closing his eyes. His fingers curl into tight fists before he makes himself relax, and promises himself again that he'll find out what happened to James.

Bro of Bros, that's Dean.

Starting the car up again, Dean spares a glance in the rearview mirror and pretends something in his heart doesn't seize up when Cas finds the coat.

"You let me know if you start getting carsick, I'll pull over again." And then he's pushing the Impala back up to 80, hoping to make good time back to Bobby's house. Hoping it's not overrun with Leviathans.

The next few days go as smoothly as Castiel could have hoped.

They make it to Bobby's without incident and as Dean said, the house was empty. Booby-trapped to, so that Cas had to step carefully and Dean had to unhook trip wires. They gathered some lore -Castiel remembered words tied to Purgatory, tied to old evils that scared even the angels in languages long dead and gathered those books up- and Dean filled their bags with weapons, with some food, with more fake credit cards and Dean's clothes for both of them.

They were back in the car by evening, and in a hotel again. Cas slept on the floor next to Dean's bed for the second night in a row.

Cas got used to Dean again, and used to himself. He was more sarcastic, more remorseful, quicker to smile and quicker to snap. He was more everything but still Cas, going unnaturally quiet as they drove beneath giant shelves of rock with water trickling down the sides, remembering the stars almost every night. They hunted two Leviathan and beheaded them both.

It was the third that gave them trouble. More specifically, it was a smart one, and taunted both of them before wounding Dean and throwing him to the floor.

Castiel saw red.

There was a crowbar and Castiel had it literally buried inside the thing's skull. Its eyes went comically wide and it staggered, toppled a bit, but Cas didn't relent. He wrenched the weapon free with a sick crunch and buried it again, caving in the thing's skull with the sort of strength that should be impossible for his weak, mortal arms. When the Leviathan went down to its knees Cas hit it again, and again and again until its head was pulp and its face was black mush, and then Cas took the machete from the floor and beheaded it with a snarl like a feral animal.

Cas stood and stared down at it. He was alternating between flecked and drenched in black, panting, shaking, and as if suddenly remembering he dropped the weapon to rush back to Dean's side.

So it'd only be a couple days, but Dean was actually starting to enjoy Castiel's presence. Or if not enjoy it, tolerate it. He knew Cas, weird temper tantrums and all, and he could get used to the mood swings. He'd have to. He wasn't ditching Cas again, wasn't going to let him get put in a position where he might have to make a bad deal again.

After the second night of Cas sleeping on the floor, Dean gets fed up with it, and on the third night, he rents a motel room with one bed (and oh god the clerk probably thinks he's gay and there is no good way to tell her it's for Cas because that's just going to sound even worse than whatever she's thinking) and makes Cas share it with him. He knows he tends to flail in his sleep, but a few bruises have to be better than a crick in the neck, right?

The first two Leviathans were--well, they weren't easy, but they were easier than the third one. Dean hadn't even seen the blow coming. By the time he shakes off the worst of the dizziness, Cas is already turning its face into mashed potatoes. He's not even on his feet yet when its head goes rolling to the side and Cas, covered in black gore, comes flying back over to him. Dean waves him off. Or tries to. His right arm is still kind of numb.

"I'm okay, Cas. I'm okay, let's--" Ow. "Let's get out of here."

"I have you. I have you," Cas murmurs distantly, as if he can't even hear Dean talking. He slips his arms around Dean, gentle, gentle, moreso than he'd ever handled him before even as an angel-

building his body from scratch, so carefully, every hair and freckle safely into place

-and lifted him to his feet. He pulls Dean's uninjured arm over his shoulders and pulls as much of Dean's weight onto him as he can hold. He helps/carries Dean out-

cradles the soul close, brushes off the demon filth that hell had put onto him to show that brilliant, burning spirit beneath, the one that had reached for him, had turned away from hell and said please, please, take me out of here

-and circles around the Impala to tuck Dean into the passenger seat. He climbs behind the wheel, starts the car and puts them on the highway. They're going to a hospital.

Dean tries to tell Cas, multiple times, that he's fine. That he just needs a couple minutes to recover. He's been whacked harder, after all, and by freaking angels. It's okay, he's okay, neither of them is dead and cracked ribs heal, so it's fine. If only Cas would listen.

He tolerates the passenger seat, but when he realizes where Cas is driving, he balks.

"Cas. Cas, c'mon no. We're not going there."

Edited 2011-11-21 09:10 (UTC)

Again, Cas doesn't listen because it seems like he doesn't hear, but eventually his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel loosens and he lets out a breath before pulling over onto the shoulder of the road. He turns in his seat, reaches up to click on the interior lighting and reaches over to start helping Dean out of his jacket. "Let me see."

"It's just--ow, easy, Cas!" Dean yanks away and pulls off his jacket himself. Slowly. "It's just bruising, I'll be okay. Damn, I wasn't expecting you to go all Incredible Hulk on that thing. Didn't know you had it in you."

Cas isn't satisfied until he closes the distance between them and takes Dean's arm carefully in his hands, turning it slightly to examine the bruise himself. It's huge, dark and ugly, possibly all the way down to the bone. Dean should have a sling for his arm but Castiel knows he won't get one.

Even after he finishes looking at Dean, Castiel doesn't let go of his arm and doesn't move back. He bows his head, closing his eyes and mumbling, "I didn't like that."

Dean winces and grumbles, mostly because he can, because he knows Cas won't call him a pussy for it the way Sam or Bobby would. He'd really like to have his arm back, to cradle it against his ribs, but Cas doesn't seem interested in letting him loose anytime soon.

"What, Hulking out? Baby's first adrenaline rush, huh? You'll be okay, too."

"That's not what I was talking about." Cas holds Dean's arm a second longer before letting go, giving him a look of shaky relief before scooting back to his own side of the seat, starting the Impala again.

What.

"Cas. Seriously. This is not the first time I've had my ass handed to me. You've handed my ass to me. We made it out alive, that's what counts. Relax."

"You don't know those things like I do."

Castiel grips the wheel tight and pulls back onto the road.

"No. No, I guess I don't. Pretty glad about that, to be honest."

Now that he can, Dean pulls his arm close, doing what little he can to protect it from the inevitable bumps on the road.

"We'll find a way to kill 'em, Cas. I swear we will."

In the meantime, though, he'd like a burger, some pie, and a whole bottle of Jack Daniels, just for him.

The last two, they'd focused on Dean also. And all the others, tracking Dean and Sam, impersonating them. Was it really just a bid to do away with the formidable Winchesters, or was it more personal than that?

Cas pulls into a fast food joint as Dean requests, but the hunter has to lean across to order because Castiel is too lost in thought to even try and puzzle it out. He pays at the window mechanically, hands Dean the food and takes them to the next motel he can find.

One room, one bed -not sure why Dean started doing that, but at least he doesn't wake up with sore muscles anymore- and Cas has bullied Dean into the bathroom so he can take a closer look at his wounds, first aid kit opened and balanced on the toilet lid as Dean sits on the edge of the tub, Cas kneeling in front of him and cleaning a set of cuts on his neck.

Go figure, Cas is surprisingly persuasive when he wants to be. That or Dean's concussed, because Dean Winchester does not get bullied into doing anything he doesn't want to do. Ever.

But here he is, sitting on the edge of the tub, shirt off and head tilted to one side while a fallen freaking angel dabs at his neck with an alcohol soaked cotton ball. It really could have been worse, all things considered. A few cuts, a few bruises. He doesn't even need stitches! Well, okay, some of those cuts are going to scar without stitches, but he doesn't need them. Dean grumbles and hisses his way through the entire process.

"I'm telling you, I can do this myself. It's not like I can't see my neck!"

Castiel ignores the complaints with monumental patience, doesn't say a word as he cleans and bandages every wound that requires his attention. There's no point in wrapping Dean's bruised arm; he'll just have to be exceptionally careful with it in the days to come. Cas will keep an eye on him.

There's one last wound, on the back of Dean's neck just where the top of the spine leaves that knot of hard bone before sinking back into the flesh to travel up to the skull. Cas remembers putting Dean's spine back into order too, rebuilding the cartilage and realigning each vertebra.

He leans over Dean instead of asking him to turn around, swabbing over the scrape with disinfectant, his shoulder nearly touching Dean's nose.

He pays the task of patching Dean up the same attention as a doctor would brain surgery, as if one false move would send him into seizures- no, even more reverently than that. He patches Dean up as if he were praying.

Edited 2011-11-21 09:57 (UTC)