A Horrible IdeaIt wasnt a good idea. At all. It was a horrible idea in fact and Dean knew it. He just didnt know what else to do. This was it, this was the only thing that he could think of. Cas had just tried to kill him, kill all three of them, and Sam was in the hospital, a few broken ribs and a whole lot of blood loss. It wasnt Cas’s fault, Dean could tell that much, but the fact remained. He wasnt in control. He was trying to kill the men he had once saved.
It was the blood in his eye that had given Dean the idea. The stupid idea. When he had come at them, blade swinging and fists with his full strength behind them, he had been bleeding, just above the eye. It was just like before, when he had killed Samandriel. Dean had had to stab him, right through the arm with the angel blade Cas had given them, in order to slow him down. It seemed to work, grounded him for a moment and that was all he had needed.
Dean had stabbed him again, in the gut, not a death blow but a pretty terrible one. The a
WholesHe needed his wings for this, that's what he'd said. They'd never seen them before, didnt know if they could actually manifest, but they rose from his back as huge and elegant masses of silver feathers, black tipped and predatory.
But now the fight was over and he still hadnt put them away. The feathers were no longer smooth but a mess, some sticking in the wrong way, some ripped out, some stained with quickly drying blood.
The left one was dislocated in two of the joints and it stuck out oddly, too painful for him to fold up against his back before removing them from the physical plain. He nursed it delicately as he sat in the back seat of the impala, that wing outstretched. Now that the fighting was over the two humans couldnt take their eyes off of them, kept glancing back through the rear-view mirror.
They had to sneak him back into the motel room, had to make sure that no one saw the wings. They didnt want to chance another hunter being there, they wouldnt understand that Cas was
HomeCas was silent as he entered the half submerged bunker, as he followed Dean inside. He wasn’t interested in all of the books or the weapons or the history. He was exhausted,h his body slumped and broken, bruises and cracks and cuts along his flesh. The battle had been hard and now it was done, Naomi was gone, he was free. Now he just wanted sleep.
Dean wouldn't give it to him though, made him shower first, helped him stay standing while the water tried to push him down, the perfect water pressure too much for his battered muscles. Then Dean dressed his wounds and put him to bed, laid him down in his own bed and covered him up and promised him silly little things like it would all be alright and he wasn't mad at him and he was home now.
Cas didn't believe any of it and, as he healed, he stayed quiet, even though he was starting to explore the library and read all of the books. He didn't want to say the wrong thing, spark all of that anger in Dean or, worse, Sam. Sam’s temper