Chapter 3

The alley is dark and damp, with the smells of gasoline and cigarette smoke lurking beneath the heavier stench of sulfur. There are four demons, poised to begin a ritual that will open up geysers of hellfire in the city and surrounding countryside, and Dean thinks that they've caught them by surprise until the bulky, imposing figure that seems to be leading them turns and says calmly,

"Why don't you join us? We can always use more sacrifices."

Dean curses and brings up his shotgun up to his shoulder faster than a blink – but it doesn't matter, the damn demon just waves his hand and the gun flies off into a pile of garbage cans, raising a loud clatter. An instant later, Dean feels himself flung backwards, as powerfully as if he were merely one of the dry leaves littering the streets. He gasps as he slams into the hard brick wall, the breath driven from his lungs as his back protests the rough treatment. He hears Sam give a yelp – of shock or pain Dean isn't certain – and then hears an echoing crash as his brother hits the wall alongside him. The demon laughs, and he's got reason to, because right now Team Winchester looks likes it's about to lose to a lightning round of sudden death mind mojo.

Dean doesn't laugh, partly because he can't with the air all rushed out of his lungs, and partly as there's no sense giving away the ace up their sleeve before it hits.

Because just as suddenly as they've been screwed, the tide of battle turns in their favor, because Castiel appears behind big demon douche and clamps a hand onto the back of his head. There's a burning smell and a roar of rage, and Dean finds he can move and breathe again, Sam too. They launch themselves off of the wall, Dean pulling Ruby's knife and throwing himself onto the closest demon, while Sam uncorks a flask of holy water and makes the black-eyed woman charging him scream in agony. In his peripheral vision, Dean registers that boss demon manages to turn in place and bring his arm up to shove off Cas' attack. There's a look of surprise on the angel's face as he's knocked backward several paces, but he recovers quickly and raises a hand to meet that of the demon, more mind mojo at work. Dean's quarry swings at him, but he dodges and grabs the guy's arm, using his momentum to shove him past.

Dean spins and follows with the knife, ramming it into the demon's spine and up through the center of his chest. He gives a howl and jerks in his death throes, orange light flickering on the damp walls and lighting them up rich red. They pale as a white light rushes out from behind Dean, accompanied by a shout that sounds like Enochian. Dean starts to turn, to see what Cas and Sam are doing, but a body slams sideways into his and for the second time in as many minutes the breath goes out of him. He twists in a grip that's trying to propel him back into the wall and elbows a forty-something woman with mousy brown hair in the face as hard as he can. She flinches but doesn't let go, growling at him as her eyes flip over to a glistening black.

She's pinning his knife arm against his side, but the other has some wiggle room, so he drops the blade into his left hand instead and stabs upward, catching her in the stomach. She shrieks and flails and sparks yellow-orange as Dean shoves her body off the blade and pushes back toward the rest of the fight. Sam is grappling with the last lesser demon, an exorcism trying to spill past his lips, but her fist slams into his throat and he reels back, hacking. He hits her again with holy water before she can press the advantage though, and she snarls and screams and claws at her face with her hands. Cas is similarly locked with big ugly, his slighter frame bending backwards as the demon struggles to shove him to the ground, but angelic strength keeps him upright and as Dean watches, his right hand snakes back upward and his palm hits the broad forehead.

White light erupts with a sizzling sound and the big demon lets out a bellow, but this time it sound more like a cry of pain and fear than anger. His hulking fist clouts the side of Castiel's face, but Cas hangs on grimly, his features set and determined. The smite provides a background of flashing light and hideous wailing as Dean runs at the demon trying to kill his brother. The flask of holy water is empty, and Sam rolls to the side as the demon snatches up a piece of metal debris and stabs forward wildly. The trashed bar or pipe or whatever it is embeds itself into the brick, crushing mortar and stone and wrenching out a divot where Sam's head had been not a moment before. Sam sidesteps past her, moving back toward Dean, but the demon abandons her garbage weapon and spins to punch him solidly in the collar bone. Sam gives an oof and staggers, though he manages to keep on toward his brother. Two steps and Dean is between them, putting himself in front of Sam likes he's done more times than he can count.

"Hey, bitch!" Dean yells, and she turns toward him just in time to get a knife blade buried in her chest.

Again the orange light show and her fingers go for his face in her final moments, but they never reach flesh and she's dead in short order, sliding backwards off the knife. Dean drops his arm, breathing hard, and shoots his eyes over to Sam who's already recovering, stepping further back and massaging the side of his chest, gulping in air in a similar fashion. The screaming and sizzling flares of white light have faded from behind them, and Dean looks past Sam to see that Cas has won, the body of the lead demon stretched out at his feet, adorned with the classic burnt-out eyes of death-by-angel-smiting. Cas stands above it, head down, his shoulders hunched forward and one hand out as if to steady himself, reaching blindly for the wall. As Dean watches, the other hand goes up to catch at his temple, and then he sways, slowly tipping forward but he's not catching himself...

"Sam!" Dean yells, because Sam is closer, and his brother spins and lunges forward just in time to keep Cas from landing face first on the pavement. Sam grabs at his shoulders, beneath the arms, arresting his downward movement and jerking him back up. Cas gives a groan at the jolt and slumps against Sam, his head lolling sideways and his eyes shut. Dean is there a second later and hooks Cas' right arm into his, lifting some of the weight off of Sam and giving his brother the opportunity to move to Cas' left.

"Cas?" Sam prods gently, trying to see if the angel is awake. Cas grunts and shivers slightly in their grip.

"I... I..." The words come out stammered and slurred, Cas' speaking apparatus clearly not cooperating with him all the way. "No'... so... po'erful..." Cas mutters indistinctly, and Dean wonders whether he's talking about the demon or himself. Its eyes had been black, not white or yellow, and while he himself can attest that the damn thing had packed a punch, Dean can't help noting that only three weeks ago the angel had smote a comparable demon without so much as a blink. Now Cas shivers and moans and leans heavily on his human companions, his head drooping low.

"Come on, let's get to you to the car," Sam says with soft concern, and they move forward, supporting the angel between them. Cas makes it about thirty feet, halfway to where the Impala is parked, before Dean feels him go completely slack, his feet dragging on the asphalt.

"Dammit," Dean curses under his breath. He and Sam hitch Castiel a little higher up and keep walking, grateful for the cloak of darkness and the quiet of back alleys that keep them hidden from bug-eyed stares and calls to the cops. When they get to the car, Dean shifts Cas' weight further against Sam, and Sam keeps him braced against the driver's door while Dean opens up the backseat. They push Cas awkwardly onto the cushions and the angel falls against them bonelessly, flopping sideways like a rag doll.

"Stay with him," Dean orders Sam. "I've gotta go back and trash that altar."

Sam nods and Dean heads quickly back among the darkened buildings, casting a last glance over his shoulder before slipping into the deeper shadows once more. Sam's safe beside the car, shrugging out of his jacket, and Dean's chest loosens at the sight of his little brother, unscathed and intact. He makes it back to the site of the ritual without incident and retrieves his shotgun from where it landed in the pile of bins. For a moment he considers using it as a blunt object, but after looking around, he grabs up the piece of metal that almost impaled Sam's head instead. Then he marches over to the wooden table covered in blood and bones and squat little urns of God-knows-what and smashes the crap out of it. The pottery breaks into tiny shards and powders and fluids come oozing out. Dean kicks the table over for good measure, then dumps a healthy dose of lighter fluid on the busted mess and sets it all ablaze. Then he hurries away from the brightly shifting fire and the four corpses strewn across the ground, three of them bloody from stab wounds and one with its eyes burnt out.

When he gets back to the car, Sam is standing sentry near the backseat, though his face lights up in relief as Dean comes striding across the pavement and he quickly makes for the front passenger seat.

"Let's get out of here," Dean says fervently as he slides into the driver's seat and turns the key in the ignition. He spares a quick glance at Cas in the back, who is lying still with his eyes shut, his head pillowed on Sam's jacket. He's also been pushed further back into the seat so there's less chance he'll slide off if Dean brakes too hard. Dean adjusts the rear view mirror slightly and pulls away from the curb, heading back toward the highway that'll take them to the motel.

It's only about a twenty minute drive back to where they're staying, down a mostly smooth stretch of road, and it doesn't take Dean long to get up to fifty, the dark shapes of trees and houses whipping past in the night. They drive in silence, Sam occasionally peering into the backseat to check on Castiel, who hasn't moved an inch. Dean glances at the gauges and notes that they need to get Baby some more gas soon. And she ought to be due for an oil change, he remembers. Maybe they'll take her up to Bobby's and he'll take a little time to give her some love. They haven't been that way in a couple of weeks, and God knows Bobby could use the company, rolling around in his house these days like a depressed windup toy.

Dean slows slightly to take a curve, its metal railing winking in the Impala's headlights.

From beside him, Sam suddenly says,

"Crap, he's bleeding."

Dean's eyes flick up to the rear view mirror, but it's set too high for him to get a good look. He risks a quick glance over his right shoulder as they pass under a streetlamp, and in the warm yellow light he can see the dark stream now oozing out of Cas' nose and probably staining Sam's jacket. Dean is glad it's the jacket and not the seat.

"There should still be some napkins in the glove box," he reminds Sam, and his brother pops it open and pulls out a fistful of flimsy white paper. Sam balls it up and twists around, leaning into the backseat with it. Dean turns his attention back to the road, but after a few moments he hears a groan from behind him, and Sam says softly,

"Cas?"

"Wha'... wha' are you..?"

Dean glances back again, just in time to see Cas bat feebly at Sam's arm, making a confused sound in the back of his throat.

"You're okay, Cas," Sam says soothingly. "I'm just stopping the bleeding. Relax."

"Mm..."

Cas goes quiet, and Dean switches determinedly to focused driving again, but unfortunately not before he catches sight of Sam gently tousling Cas' hair with his free hand. What, are they in some 80s babysitting flick?

A fine, light rain starts up, painting the road ahead of them darker and flickering like Christmas tinsel in the Impala's headlights. They don't meet any other cars on the road, for which Dean is grateful, because he never enjoys being spotted by other people while they're essentially fleeing a crime scene. The fewer eyes, the better, and if it also means he can take the curves a little faster because nobody's vying for space on them, he'll take it. In another ten minutes they crunch over the cracked pavement and deteriorating speed bump that takes them into the motel parking lot, and Dean pulls into the space directly in front of their room. The lot is devoid of human life, and empty save for the Impala and a battered red pickup truck, parked about twenty spots down. For once their luck is holding, and Dean thanks the rain for probably driving a smoker or two indoors. There's no awning to do it under at this place, and the light drizzle is thickening.

"Bleeding's stopped," Sam reports, pulling back into his seat and wrapping his handful of bloody napkins in a couple of leftover clean ones. He starts to shove the mess into the Impala's waste bin, but at a glare from Dean he stops and grudgingly pushes it into the pocket of his jeans. They get out of the car and Dean moves quickly to open the backseat, rain spattering on his head and shoulders. He reaches in and grips Cas' coat by the lapels, pulling him forward until he's sitting mostly upright, slumped against the back of the seat. Sam appears at his side and slips an arm around Cas' back, and together they hoist him up and out into the rain, hauling him toward their room door. The angel mumbles indistinctly under his breath, but his eyes make no attempt to open and he's still limp and heavy.

"Here, I got him if you can get can the door," Sam says, shifting to take Castiel's full weight.

Dean nods and steps ahead, pulling out his key and jamming it in the door. It unlocks and he opens it wide, giving Sam room to bundle Cas through the doorway. He pulls the door shut as soon as they're through and locks it again, reasonably sure that nobody saw them hauling a practically unconscious guy into their room with them. Sam makes it over to the closest bed and lays Castiel down, putting a hand on his forehead.

"Pretty sure he doesn't get sick," Dean points out as he tosses the keys on the table and falls into the room's only semi-comfy chair.

"Pretty sure we don't know what could happen to him," Sam retorts.

He sits on the bed across from Cas and observes the angel with a frown, hugging his arms together at the elbow because they left his bloody jacket on the backseat of the car. Dean frowns himself, watching them, and his stomach turns uneasily as an faint edge of worry gnaws at his insides. Sam's right, he has to admit – they aren't exactly founts of knowledge in the angel medicine department. What Cas is going through has never happened before, not that they know of, and even the angel himself doesn't seem too clear on just how his waning power is going to screw him over next. So far their go-to method of treating Cas has been to lay him out on a bed or a couch and leave him alone, but what if someday he needs more than that and they don't even know what it is? What if that day is today?

Dean shifts uncomfortably in his chair, reminding himself that it hasn't been that long since Cas flipped off his boss and got his ass cut off from Heaven. He's still an angel, dammit, and if things start to get really bad surely they'll get more warning than this. It's not even the first time this has happened, anyway – and that was before he got cut off to boot.

He's jolted out of his thoughts as Cas groans and shudders, turning sideways and curling up into an unhappy ball. Even from across the room Dean can see the hard set to the angel's face – he's clearly in some kind of pain, though just what hurts Dean doesn't know. What does it feel like to use up all of your angel juice? Sam is crouched down by Castiel in an instant, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Cas?" he says, his tone thick with sympathy. "Are you... I mean, how do you feel? Can we help?"

Cas groans again and slowly forces his eyes open, staring up at Sam blearily through trembling lashes.

"Sam?" he says hoarsely, the word low and faint.

"Yeah," Sam answers softly. "Are you in pain? Can we do anything to help?"

Castiel shakes his head minutely, then grimaces at the movement.

"No. No, I..." Cas's eyes fall shut and he brings his arm up, burrowing his face into the sleeve of his coat. "Just rest," he croaks, his voice muffled by the tan cloth. He shudders again, and once again Sam's fingers move gently through Castiel's hair, like a mother comforting a child. It's girly as all hell, but Cas seems to relax, the sharp lines of tension in his body easing as Sam's fingers card back and forth through the dark fringe. After a moment, his head turns slowly, moving up on top of his arm to give Sam better access.

What a difference a year makes, Dean thinks as he watches, one side of his lips twitching up slowly as he remembers.

"The boy with the demon blood. I'm not even human to him."

"Can my little brother kill angels?"

"I don't know. I don't want... to find out."

A little over a year ago, Cas cringed at Sam's touch and his brother stormed out into the night to spend his hours with a demon bitch. Now Cas breathes a quiet sigh of what sounds like relief and Sam's worried frown melts into concerned hope as he crouches over the angel, fingers still working. There is no resentment in Sam, and no fear in Cas, just his little brother in all his empathic glory, tending gently to the pained man on the bed, and Cas calming beneath his ministrations, trusting in the hands that soothe him without a thought. It's a far cry from the suspicion and enmity of the past, and it comforts Dean more powerfully than if he were suddenly handed the Colt. His brother is back, and Cas is with them. Not just there in the room with them, but with them, on their side, unshakably and irrevocably.

"If Uriel tried to kill Sam, what would you do?"

"I don't know."

Dean remembers his own anger that day all those months ago, his insistence that the angel choose a side.

Well Cas made his choice, and it cost him, but it was the right one in Dean's eyes, and the angel isn't backing down from it. Cas has gone through torture and death trying to help them and if everything else he's done tonight and in the last couple of months is any indication, he's willing to do the same again. He's no longer merely the alien presence that used to crop up every now and then just to hand out orders and stare. Well, the staring still happens, not to mention the constant invasion of personal space, but now... Now Cas is... a friend. And Sam is his brother again.

Dean levers himself out of the chair and approaches the bedside warily, like a wild animal circling another, trying to decide if it's safe to approach. He feels awkward around Cas when the angel is this messed up, and even more so with Sam still leaning over him, kneading his hair and auditioning for America's Sappiest Home Videos. And short of joining that initiative, there's nothing Dean can really do. If it were Sammy stretched out on that mattress, Dean would give him a handful of Ibuprofen and a mug of cocoa and let him sleep with cartoons on while Dean made him soup. But Cas isn't Sam, and he isn't human, so there's not a lot to be done for him. Most of what someone does for a sick person makes the caregiver feel better too, but in Cas' case that's taken from them. Maybe that's why Sam is willing to pull girly crap like petting the poor guy's hair – at least it's something.

And despite the rising estrogen levels in the room, it seems to have worked.

Cas has sunken into a deep unconsciousness, his eyelids shut and still and the lines of pain etched along his face smoothing out. His breathing is slow and even, and as Sam finally pulls his fingers away, Cas' head slips back down the side his arm, his face ending up shoved halfway into it. Now his nose is smashed against his sleeve, and the way his elbow is twisted up under him looks really uncomfortable, but before Dean can voice his thoughts Sam has followed them, pushing Cas' head gently back onto the pillow and straightening his arm for him. The angel looks practically peaceful, the only indication that he's not just enjoying a nap the faint shadow of dried blood beneath his nose that Sam couldn't wipe away completely in the car.

Sam puts his hand on Cas' forehead again, then pulls it back and looks at him thoughtfully.

"You think he gets cold?"

"I dunno, Sammy," Dean says wearily. "Maybe."

Especially what with his powers on the fritz and the cold rain pouring down outside. Yeah, Cas is dressed pretty warmly, but it's barely gotten above 40 degrees lately, and this place doesn't exactly lavish on the heat. They end up tearing the other side of the blanket Cas is lying on up from beneath the mattress and folding it over him like he's the filling in a sandwich. Sam tucks it under him on his other side, drawing the top edge up to his chin. Cas stays completely still, dead to the world beneath the cheap knit covering him.

Sam steps back and shrugs.

"I guess that's the best we can do."

"Yeah, if you're done playing Florence Nightingale with his hair," Dean can't help but heckle him.

Sam rolls his eyes.

"It's called a head massage, Dean. They're really good for headaches or just stress and stuff."

Oh. Dean hadn't thought Sam was doing anything he actually deemed useful. Whatever – it was still girly.

"And where'd you learn that?" Dean teases. "Nannies Anonymous?"

Sam gives him a glare.

"College, okay? Jess used to..." Sam trails off, and Dean's heart clenches uncomfortably. It might be years now since Sam's girlfriend went up in flames, but any mention of her hardly ever fails to sober him. Like Mom... Dean's stomach rumbles softly, and he quickly changes the subject.

"Let's get something to eat. That diner up the road looked pretty good."

Sam glances at Cas and gives a small shake of the head.

"You go. One of us should stay with him."

Dean frowns.

"What, you think demons are gonna bust the place while we're gone?"

"No, I just..." Sam shrugs again, looking uncertain. "What if he needs something?"

"Like what?"

He doesn't eat, he doesn't drink, he doesn't need to use the bathroom... Of course, he doesn't normally sleep, either, so maybe Sam has a point.

"I don't know, Dean," Sam says, sounding slightly irritated. "I just don't feel right leaving him by himself. What if he... does something weird or, or he starts bleeding again? And somebody should be here if he wakes up."

Again, Dean can't help but smile at Sam's 180 since last year – the empathy and protectiveness that had defined him for so long before the demon blood and the lies and the machinations of Heaven and Hell interrupted it.

Sam gives him a funny look.

"What are you smiling about?"

Dean shakes his head.

"Nothing, Sammy. It's fine, you stay if you want. I'll bring you something back, okay?"

Sam nods.

"Yeah, thanks."

Dean turns the collar of his jacket up and heads back out into the rain.

ooo00ooo

The diner has thick burgers and crisp fries and slices of pie the size of Dean's hand. Dean decides to get both of their dinners carry out so they can eat in the room together. He stands leaning against the counter while their order goes through, drumming his fingers and humming Metallica while studiously ignoring the television in the corner when it pops up with breaking news about four bodies being discovered in a back alley, three stabbed to death and one with its eyes somehow burnt out of its head.

"Creepy stuff," the cashier comments as the reporter mentions a fire and evidence suggesting cult activity. Dean nods noncommittally.

"Yeah."

"Will that be all for you?" she asks as the dinner arrives in paper bags. Dean looks over at the pie, and at the last second says,

"Actually, could I get another slice of apple?"

He tells himself he wants it for breakfast tomorrow, but underneath that lie he knows he bought it for Cas, even if the angel probably won't want it and Dean will end up eating it anyway. He smiles and thanks the cashier as she runs his card through the reader, then crumples the tops of the paper bags into his palms and steps out to the Impala. The rain is still going strong, but he's got somewhere safe to wait it out.

ooo00ooo

The room is quiet when he shoves his way back in, bags balanced in one hand and the key in the other. Sam is sitting on the other bed with his laptop, the blue glow from his screen playing faintly across his face. He's wearing a jacket again, the clean one he had in his duffel, and he looks up as Dean closes the door behind him and dumps their dinner on the end of the bed.

"That place is awesome," Dean says cheerfully. "You should see the pie."

Sam smiles in amusement at Dean's constant enthusiasm for the treat, and closes the lid of his laptop, looking at the bags.

"You brought both of ours back here?" he asks, sounding pleased. Dean nods.

"Hell, I figure we deserve a night in. And I'm not gonna eat without my little brother."

Sam laughs as he snags the bag Dean pushes toward him.

"You'll eat without me any day of the week," he points out teasingly.

"Well not today, bitch," Dean says, settling down against the headboard beside him. Sam gives him a mock glare and bumps Dean's shoulder with his own.

"Jerk."

Together they dig into the bags, spreading out the burgers and fries Dean bought across their laps.

"What's that one?" Sam asks, gesturing to the third bag that gets left at the foot of the bed.

"Extra pie," Dean says casually, but Sam's eyes narrow and his lips turn up into a knowing smirk. Dean ignores him and takes a bite out of his burger.

"How's Cas?" he asks around the mouthful of bread and meat. He looks over at the angel, who appears to be the same, lying there right where he was when Dean left, still silent and motionless save for his breathing. "He do anything weird while I was gone?"

Sam snorts slightly at the small jibe and crunches down on a fry.

"His nose started bleeding again," he says evenly. "But I took care of it."

Dean frowns.

"He wake up?"

"No."

"Well then, the television probably won't bother him. Hand me the remote."

Dean flicks on the TV and flips through the channels, keeping the volume down just in case. After a few jumps he hits upon an episode of Bonanza, and they sit there, munching down dinner together and cracking up when Hoss and Little Joe have a little too much and fall off their horses. They watch two episodes back to back, and when the food is long gone and their eyes are drooping, Dean goes down to the front desk to get a cot for the night.

Cas can have his bed.

ooo00ooo

Dean wakes up to sunlight streaming in through the blinds in thin slivers, painting his face with warmth and stabbing directly into his eyes. He sits up, giving himself a shake and looking around as he realizes it wasn't the sunlight that woke him. It was the sound of wood creaking and the slightly confused noises someone might make when he wakes up in a place he's unfamiliar with. Dean glances over to see Cas pushing himself into a sitting position against the headboard, looking around the room carefully. His expression seems to ease as he catches sight of Dean in the corner. Dean tosses his legs over the side of the cot and gets up, heading over to him.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty's finally awake," he teases gently, and then watches as the reference flies over Castiel's head. He settles onto the edge of Sam's bed and looks at Cas more seriously.

"How you feeling?" he asks.

"Well," Castiel says hesitantly, his voice rougher than usual. Behind him, Dean feels Sam shift and roll over, and a moment later his brother is sitting up too, blinking groggily and looking between the two of them.

"Cas!" he says brightly as his eyes clear and he brushes his hair out of his face. "You're awake! How do you feel? Are you all right?"

Concerned lines appear on Sam's forehead, and Cas nods, smiling faintly at Sam's solicitude.

"Yes, I feel much better," he replies, his fingers worrying at the edges of his coat restlessly. "Thank you for... watching over me."

Cas is awkward too, Dean realizes, unused to this amount of weakness and having to turn himself entirely over to his human companions' care. But he's clearly grateful to them for it, and Dean wonders if Cas ever got care and head massages from his family, or if all they ever gave him was torture and pain. Even if the angels do normally look out for each other, Cas doesn't have them now – his human friends are all he has left.

Sam's face breaks into a smile at Cas' words, although the lines don't leave his forehead entirely.

"You're not in any pain, are you?" he presses.

Castiel shakes his head.

"No," he assures them. "That's gone now."

Sam nods.

"Good."

"Are you two all right?" Cas asks, concern appearing on his own face as he glances back and forth between them.

"Ah, a few bruises is all," Dean says airily. "You took out the Big Kahuna, so we mopped up what was left without a problem."

Cas' forehead crinkles at the unfamiliar expressions, but he nods anyway.

"Good," he says, echoing Sam.

They sit in silence for a few moments, no one certain what to say.

"All right, well... what do you think? Breakfast?" Dean suggests, slapping his knee for emphasis, and Sam nods and rolls out of bed, heading for the bathroom. Cas stays where he is, watching after him. Dean studies him carefully, noting the slump of his shoulders against the wood and the faint bruising that lurks beneath his eyes. Finally Cas glances back at him and shifts uncertainly where he sits.

"If you're going to breakfast, I can leave now," he says quietly, pushing back the blanket.

"You get your zap back yet?"

Cas figures out what Dean means by that much more quickly these days. He shakes his head.

"No, not yet," he answers. "But I'll be completely recovered soon."

Dean nods, then reaches out and gives Cas a friendly pat on the shoulder. The angel looks surprised, but not displeased by the contact. Cas says he's okay now, and while he's not lying, he still looks tired and his mojo isn't bouncing back nearly as fast as it used to. No harm in him sticking around until he's strong enough to fly again.

"Then stick around," Dean tells him, voicing his thoughts aloud. "You can experience the satisfaction of a full ride in the Impala for once."

He's teasing ever so slightly, because Cas never has sat in that car while Dean's driving and been there all the way from start to finish. Well, except last night, but it hardly counts when the guy was so out of it. Cas smiles slightly as Dean pulls his hand back, and says,

"All right."

"Oh hey," Dean says, remembering. "And I got you some pie."

Cas declines the pie, as Dean knew he would, but after Sam gets out of the shower and Dean takes his turn, he agrees to try the coffee at the diner as they head out the door. It seems easier to get him to try liquids than actual food. The day is chilly and frost coats the Impala, but the air is crisp and the sun is bright on the road as they drive. Cas sits serenely in the backseat, upright this time and gazing out the window with a relaxed look on his face. Next to Dean, Sam wraps his jacket more tightly around his body and gives a groan of satisfaction as he stretches his shoulders, the joints popping noisily. Dean fingers the steering wheel lightly and smiles as he drives, eyes on the road except for when he glances back or over to check on one of his brothers.

The End

That's all. Please review if you have a moment. I'd like to know what people thought. I was particularly pleased with how the fight scene turned out - I think I need more action in my H/C fics. Until next time.