aerilex

Title: The Stillness, Chapter 3- The Stumble
Author: Aerilex
Fandom: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Friendship/Pre-slash
Rating: PG
Characters: Cas, Dean, Sam, Bobby, Balthazar
Word Count: 2490
Disclaimer: I don't own them. Le sigh.
Warnings: Um, I guess this is officially AU from 6x15 though I plotted this from spoilers so you'll see some trace elements.
Summary: Castiel is tended to and learns something, and Balthazar and Dean snipe.
A/N: This one's for misachan!

Chapter Two

"Castiel?"

The image that fills his mind's eye at the sound of the voice is of a young man, eyes bright with intelligence and half-hidden under unruly locks of hair. The soul that matches the hazel eyes and floppy hair is bright and expressive, pure of intention but tainted and darkened by its history. It takes him far too long to realize that this is significant for some reason, then the next voice breaks through the haze of darkness.

"Cas?" Part-surprise, part-curiosity. This voice summons unprecedented beauty in the form of a bright, bright soul colored gold with all the love and virtue a creature could hold. "Cas!"

Dean...

The single word, a reverent prayer, alights awareness within his mind, and he takes stock of the situation. His eyes are closed, he realizes, and he has lost a troublesome amount of time—long enough, it seems, to have warranted concern. His thoughts are wild and he is ignoring his hunter's voice to lean against whatever he has crash-landed upon. He takes a moment to gather himself, bracing against the pain, and just breathes. Fire lances through his back and across his shoulders, working its way down his arms to reach for his fingertips as they fumble for purchase over the hard surface of cool wood. The burn is unusual—he is more familiar with an icy sensation when his wings are attacked. This feels almost...feverish, like the time he was hit by Pestilence's curse. The same fever attacks his Grace, and for a moment he can almost trace it to that deep part of him that seems to be wearying and—and he can feel it as it diminishes.

The moment passes quickly as the air is cut through by a gasp. "Christ, Cas!" And then there is a warm set of hands against him, trying to tug him upright, and his whole body jerks against the pain. He pushes, pushes away as gently as he can. "Sorry, sorry," Dean murmurs, and though there are still fingertips brushing lightly across his nape the sharp sharp pain recedes so that he can finally hear three human hearts beating and can sense the clear presence of three mortals in the room with him; not two.

He starts, struggles to keep himself even partially-upright. He hadn't even registered Bobby with his Grace and be damned, he could have gotten them all killed. An inhuman snarl rolls deep in his chest, silencing whatever the humans had been saying as a touch of his true voice filters through in his rage. He doesn't breathe now but reaches outward with his Grace and feels around the edges of this world, assuring himself that his brothers have not followed him to this safe haven. When the moment passes and he is slightly reassured, he exhales slowly. His eyes flutter open, and dazedly he seeks the verdant gaze of his charge.

Dean is frowning at him, eyes bright with concern. "Y'with us now?" he asks gruffly. For a pleasant change, it seems the anger in the young hunter's voice is not directed at Castiel, but for the injury and the angels that had inflicted it.

By way of response, Castiel sighs, "Hello, Dean."

Dean snorts softly in amused exasperation. "Yeah, hey to you too, Cas." The fingers cupping the back of his neck move to his elbow.

Another hand grips his opposite arm. "You okay to stand?" Sam asks gently.

"I...believe so," Castiel grunts, and tries to shift. Dean's grip tightens and Sam's falls away as Castiel makes a strangled noise in his throat and his whole body seizes up in pain.

"Yeah, okay. You just stay down a minute, buddy. Don't need you bleedin' all over the rest of Bobby's house," Dean says with false humor.

"You're gonna clean that up, by the way, ya idjit." Bobby is somewhere beyond Sam, just out of Castiel's human range of sight.

"Yes, I will," he agrees absently, voice strained. "My apologies, Bobby."

His head is pushed against the hard surface beneath him a little too gently to be the sharp nudge of rebuke Bobby intends. "Just sit still and shut up a minute, Feathers. Gonna try to take a look at your shoulder."

"Not...not the shoulder," Castiel manages to ground out. "Cli-clipped the wing."

"Shit."

He isn't sure which of the three men is the one who utters the word. It may have been all of them. "I only require...a few moments." He growls as he tries to force his body to obey his will. "It...it should heal on its own."

"Yeah, well, the bleeding ain't slowing down at all, Cas. I think you might want to have someone check your mojo at your next angelic emissons test." A chill shivers up Castiel's spine at the words. "Sammy, can you get the first aid kit? Gonna have to do something with this mess until Cas can heal himself."

"Wards," Castiel murmurs as he hears Sam's heavy footsteps marching off.

There is a moment of hesitation, then Bobby grunts something to the effect that he will take care of warding the house against the angels. Castiel barely has the energy to focus on what he says, so he listens as Bobby departs. There is another short pause, then the strange pinprick sensation of Dean tugging at the collars of Castiel's clothing to lift it from his sticky skin. Castiel stiffens, and Dean mutters, "Sorry, Cas, but I gotta see how bad it is." Castiel makes a sound of consent and sighs as Dean gently manipulates his right arm and carefully tugs it free from the trench coat and suit jacket. He breathes out in a slight hiss, effectively telling Castiel that there must be a lot of blood back there. "Jesus, Cas...y'know, when I asked you to come when you had a minute, I didn't mean when you were like a half-cup short of bled dry."

"I...I didn't. I wasn't—I wasn't thinking. I just—I heard you call, and...I—I shouldn't even have come here." Castiel huffs in indignation. "I placed you in danger, all of you. I'm sorry."

"Dude." Dean's voice is strangled with horror, his hand tense against Castiel's shoulder. "Please tell me this didn't happen because I called for you."

Castiel jerks, forces his body to move and his gaze to move up to meet Dean's. Dean's eyes are wide and full of self-incrimination. Castiel rushes to reassure him, "No. No, Dean. I was already hurt before you called. You...gave me something to latch onto, to focus on through the pain so I could get here." Dean searched his gaze for a long moment, eyes flickering over his features before he relaxed with a slight smirk.

"Well, good. Saved your ass, then, I guess." Dean urges him to rest against what he realizes now is Bobby's desk, his body half-slumped over it. "And hey, unless you have another place to crash when your wings are fucked up, don't worry about coming here."

"Dean—"

"No, seriously, shut up a minute and listen," Dean says, so Castiel does. Dean's warm hand returns to settle against the base of his neck, fingertips rubbing soothing circles into his skin. "Look, I don't always understand what's going on up there. I mean, it's not like I have any way to, right? It's all kinda abstract and way beyond my pay grade. And I know I've kinda been a dick to you lately, but I'm just...frustrated, I guess. I mean, you can't tell me what's going on yet—shit, sorry. It's not only that," he adds as Castiel tenses, steeling himself for another lecture. "It's not only that," Dean repeats, rubbing Castiel's neck a moment longer to coax him back to calm. "It's—I mean, it's like there's nothing I can do to help you, Cas." He gives an abortive shrug as Castiel glances up at him, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Castiel releases a soft, relieved huff of a breath. "Thank you, Dean." He cannot explain the warmth that invades his Grace then, but it is nearly overwhelming and simultaneously comforting.

The relief doesn't last, however, as Dean shrugs off his gratitude and his expression becomes critical as he eyes Castiel's shoulder. Castiel is also curious, and tries to turn and peer at the injured wing over his shoulder. The motion makes his head feel strange, and he drops it and closes his eyes to ward off a wave of dizziness. Dean continues to massage his neck, the gentle ministration lulling Castiel to a state of half-awareness.

Sam and Bobby return, the former with the med kit and the latter with a bottle of bourbon, a few beats later, and Castiel is relieved when he can sense them this time. "Okay, how do we do this, Cas? Can I just stitch up the part of your shoulder they fucked up?" Dean asks seriously.

Castiel gives it a moment of thought. "Yes, that should be fine. The wing will have to heal itself with my Grace, once it is functioning properly again." There is a pause in which Dean's soul quakes with concern. Castiel furrows his brow, and tries to glance at his hunter to see what has bothered him, but then there is the snicking sound of scissors then the soft rustle of cloth, and Castiel murmurs in annoyance as the white dress shirt is cut around his wound. "Quit your bitchin', Cas, you can mojo it back to normal just as soon as I'm done. Just be glad I didn't do the same thing to the damn trench coat." Somehow, Dean's voice is both amused and annoyed. Castiel chooses to refrain from further comment and instead watches Bobby wander into the kitchen.

"Going to need a few stitches," Sam observes.

"Yeah," Dean agrees softly. "Can you get that ready while I clean this out?"

They work quietly at his back, and Castiel chooses to try and focus his Grace as best he can, hoping to help the healing process along. After a length, there is a final snip. Dean moves away and Sam says, "Okay, Cas, that's about the best we can do. Want to try moving to the couch?"

"Thank you, yes." He barely felt more than the strange tug and burn of the wound as the brothers stitched it up, but he notices that it feels slightly better this time when he tries to push up and away from the desk, the pain not debilitating so much as distracting. Between them, Dean and Sam manage to haul Castiel to the couch, where they sling him over its arm to avoid putting any pressure on his injury.

"So what happened?" Sam sits in the chair beside him, folding his hands together and leaning forward. His face is written with curiositiy, hazel eyes keen.

Castiel sighs. "Several of Raphael's sentries took me by surprise on my way from a battle. One of them...caught my wing." A grimace crosses his features and he glances upward. "Balthazar will be displeased. I was very careless."

"Balthazar can shove it," Dean growls vehemently, and his soul bristles.

"Gladly, darling." Dean and Sam both jump. Castiel should have warned them Balthazar was on his way to them. He glances toward his brother, whose usual smirk is offset by the unhappy tension in his eyes. "You just tell me where and when you want it, and we'll make it a date!" Balthazar leers and waggles his eyebrows suggestively. Dean gives him a look. "Oh, right," Balthazar scoffs. "Wrong angel."

As Dean fumbles for an indignant response and continues glaring at Balthazar, the other angel moves his gaze to meet Castiel's. "And just what kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into now?" he asks, clicking his tongue as he comes to kneel before Castiel. "You couldn't wait for me, eh? Just had to get your arse handed to you just as soon as you're out of my sight?" Castiel rolled his eyes heavenward, and huffed an agitated sigh. Balthazar glanced over Castiel's shoulder and whistled through his teeth. "And just look at that wing. Bloody hell, Cas, you're a mess. Can you even fly on that?"

"He made it here, didn't he?" Dean asks derisively before Castiel can speak. Castiel and Balthazar both turn to the hunter, who is scowling.

"Yep, he did. He made it to the most predictable place he could have chosen to flee." Balthazar shoots another glare at Castiel, and Dean rises to his feet and towards over the other angel.

"The hell is that supposed to mean? Where else would Cas go?"

Castiel should have expected this. Between Balthazar's feelings about Castiel's involvement with Dean and Dean's dislike of Balthazar, they always manage to come to this: spitting vitriol toward one another—Dean always flustered, Balthazar always smooth and mocking. Castiel looks to Sam, hoping for some assistance, but Sam's expression holds the same resignment as Castiel feels. He shrugs at Castiel apologetically, as if to say, what can you do?

Meanwhile, Dean and Balthazar have gone to a familiar old argument. "Since when do you give a shit, anyway?"

"He's my brother, you wanker."

"Right, your brother. 'Cause you were really playing the 'concerned brother' when Raphael was kicking his ass all up and down your shag pad."

Balthazar's eyes flash. He opens his mouth, and Castiel senses what he intends to say, that he intends to go off on a tirade. "Balthazar," he interrupts sharply. Balthazar cuts him a glare, and he returns it.

"You and I have an appointment to discuss this later," Balthazar says intentfully. "But right now, we need to return so I can mend that wing."

"Cas doesn't have to go anywhe—"

"Dean." Castiel heaves a sigh, but Dean quiets and glances at him. "Balthazar is right. Healing my wing would be easier in Heaven. I should go with him."

Dean doesn't like it. Castiel can see it on his thunderous expression, can feel the echo of it in his stormy soul. He reaches out, catches Dean's wrist and holds it a moment. Dean's lips thin into a firm line, his eyes refusing to meet Castiel's. "I will return to you when you call for me," Castiel promises him. "It shouldn't take long for my wing to heal once my Grace has replenished."

Dean exhales sharply. "Fine, okay. Go then."

Castiel hesitates a moment, searching Dean's soul until the storm within it calms and grows still, though it is speckled with the deep indigo color of disappointment. He has no way to soothe his charge so he releases Dean's wrist, turning to raise an expectant brow at Balthazar. Balthazar smirks at him knowingly, disapproval in the shake of his head. "All right, kitten, let's fly away home."

Castiel barely has time to crinkle his brow in confusion before Balthazar grabs him and they fly.