Hey. It's been awhile. Even more whiles. In the mean time, I wrote some more of this. Yep. 3

Cas had been hell-bent on bleeding out over the back of dean's car.

It was going to do miracles for the upholstery, he later recollected, with at least a few pints of blood slowly soaking into the seat and dripping onto the floor.

But now, his first priority was making sure that he didn't worsen the situation.

Sam busied himself by calling Bobby, telling him they were on the way with some bad news indeed.

A few more agonizing minutes, and they reached Sioux Falls.

With a crunch, they turned onto the bumpy gravel road that served as bobby's driveway at last, and passing under the 'Singer Salvage' signpost they headed up to park in front of the house.

Sam lay on the brakes, a little harder than necessary, and was out of the car before it stopped, jumping up to open the door behind him. The light on the front porch went on, only half-illuminating the impala in the almost- dark. Dean kept pressure on Cas's wounds, easing the rest of his limbs out of the car as Sam hoisted him up from under his arms, until Dean followed and grabbing his calves, they made their way to the front door.

Bobby was already ready for them as they made it up the creaky front steps, a rusty silhouette against the porch lights, and hurried them into the den where it was the warmest and the most accessible. It looked like Bobby had at least had some time to prepare, as there were already towels spread out over an old futon that he'd dragged into the room. He ran off to get some more supplies as the boys lowered their friend's pliant body back down onto the bed. Bobby returned with the old hunter's very own brand of First Aid kit, which included nothing less than an entire arsenal against any sort of ailment- natural, supernatural, or otherwise.

First on the agenda were the clothes. Splattered with blood and grime, they weren't especially conducive to a healthy recovery. This time, on stable ground, they were able to untangle the damp dirty trenchcoat; the jacket, on the other hand, required the attention of Bobby's scissors.

Both coat and jacket were covered in holes and gashes, and seemed to bleed the dried blood from their fabric.

With the thick layer of clothing now gone, the damage was all out in the open. Cas was still out cold, save for the way his eyes would sometimes dart around frantically under their lids, or the occasional twitch. His face was almost sort of peaceful, showing only the slightest trace of pain.

His body, however, was not nearly as easy a sight. He was wrecked. His shirt, already having been so naively ripped open, allowed them better access. Apart from his obvious stomach wound, on which Sam continued to press a small mountain of gauze, the entire right side of his body was covered in dark bruises, especially around his middle. After quick inspection, at least five ribs appeared to be broken or cracked.

Well, guess that shows what was taking his breath away, Dean thought darkly.

Dean discovered both bones of his right forearm badly broken, as well as what was probably a broken or sprained ankle, judging by the swelling, and one nasty looking head wound that reached from the side of his forehead, across his temple, and past his hairline, above the ear. Head wounds were nasty business, and this one was no exception, still staining the side of his head and hair dark. A startling number of cuts and scratches marked the rest of his body.

And still, there was that damn white shirt. It was stuck to his skin in several places, where cuts had already scabbed, unfortunately right under and into the fabric. Bobby once again came back from the kitchen with a bucket of water and some more towels.

"Watch out for that shiner he's got," the older man grumbled, "you don't wanna mess around with concussions". He was right. They'd have to wake him up sooner or later to check.

The boys silently set about cleaning the blood from the angel's skin, Sam one-handed, and Bobby left the room to go refresh the sigils and traps around the house. "You never know with that angel crowd," he muttered.

They soaked the wounds that stuck to his shirt, carefully peeling the fabric away before methodically disinfecting and bandaging them with gauze. Dean debated whether he should throw it away or not, before laying it in the pile with the rest of the clothes and sodden towels.

It was obvious their friend was still in a bad way. He barely reacted as they eased the bandages under his back to wrap his ribs, a move that plainly jostled the wound on his stomach. And he still didn't wake.

Dean stalled… friend? What was he to them right now anyways?

Still not the time for this shit.

The wound on his abdomen was still a major problem and definitely needed stitches. Sam brought the sewing kit, being the more precise of the two, while dean cleaned and bandaged even more cuts where he could. It was probably better if Cas just stayed unconscious for this.

"What now?" Sam asked, trying to poke the surgical thread through the needle's eye and eventually succeeding. He looked up after a few seconds with no response, but Dean was intent on his work.

Sam tried again, "We can't just ignore what's happened, all the shit he's done. Or what if he wakes up and he's not himself?" he cleaned the edges of the wound and pinched them close. Luckily, he wasn't missing so much skin as he was simply garroted in the stomach.

"We'll see," Dean deadpanned. He'd moved down to Cas's ankle, prodding the swollen joint and swathing it in an ice pack and even more gauze. And just like that, the issue was dropped for the time being.

Sam was starting to sweat as he finished up stitching. The job really was something else, he had to compensate for the sheer size of the hole where it grew slightly in the center of the wound, pulling the ragged edges to meet in the center. It would be too easy to pop these stitches; they were going to have to keep a keen eye on Cas for a while.

Dean was now inspecting the broken arm, wiping away the dried blood and inspecting the break.

"I'm gonna have to reset this," he grumbled, fastening his hands in place just above and below the break as Sam looked on.

He sighed through his teeth. Visibly steeling himself, Dean quickly pulled apart the bones, then rotated them into place. He paused to look at his unconscious friend's face as he reached for the wrap, expecting some sort of reaction to what was certainly an overwhelming amount of pain. But he never even flinched.

That was… not good.

Dean sat motionless beside the futon, watching as Cas's stomach fluttered, breathing shallow, erratic.

"I think… he's waking up?"

Dean could only watch as Castiel quaked, shivered under his bandages, crashing back into consciousness.