foolintherain | join me in the slave au dumpster

join me in the slave au dumpster

[ They were told, all of them, that Dean Winchester could be found at an auto salvage shop in South Dakota, but he isn't there. A whole network of people are scouring the United States for one man, but it's Castiel who finds him. Dean's car, a 1967 Chevy Impala is parked in front of a gas station in Pontiac, Illinois, and Castiel parks his Lincoln Continental behind it.

This is the only gas station for miles. It's a shack on the main highway, surrounded by thick woods. It's ideal, Castiel thinks. This meeting was planned. He was meant to find Dean here. This is God's plan for him, to be the one to find Dean Winchester, here in this remote place.

He pushes open the glass door, and the bell above it jingles. Dean is there at the register, and neither he nor the cashier look up until Castiel calls out to him. ]

Dean Winchester. I need you to come with me.

[ There's no question in Castiel's voice, just a deep, gruff tone of inevitability. He stands straight-backed with a stuff sort of confidence. The suit he wears is a size too large; the trench coat swims on him, practically concealing his hands. His tie is pulled loose. He's been driving for a very long time, but that doesn't matter. Nothing matters but the fact that he's the one who found Dean, that Dean is here, and that he'll be the one to bring Dean home, no matter what Dean has to say about it. This is preordained. Castiel believes that. He'll do whatever it takes to see his mission through. ]

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Is that the plan? Send me to some kind of freaky conversion therapy, change everything about who I am?

[ Maybe his voice is a little higher, a little more shrill because while Dean hates himself, definitely and absolutely, that doesn't mean he wants to be indoctrinated, changed, twisted into some shell of himself.

He looks up, hollow, watching Castiel move, groaning a little as he's moved and tied to the door. His thigh hurts, his arm hurts, he's fucking terrified; he stares hard at the back of Castiel's head, jaw set. ]

I hope that when you pass out and wreck this car, you feel every second of it.

[ Dean's words are as cutting as they are terrified, and Castiel doesn't need to respond to them. He watches the road, focuses on it even as his shoulder burns and his heart throbs loudly. It's not his place to mollify Dean or, as he said, try to change him. Castiel's mission is simply retrieval. If he fails, another will take his place. He's already texted his location and route to the others. If he dies in this car, no matter how close or far from their destination they are, Dean will be found. Castiel will receive praise and prayer for his attempt. As long as Dean doesn't escape the vehicle, it doesn't matter what state either of them are in, physically or mentally. There's no more need for conversation.

Castiel watches the road for another few heartbeats before glancing at Dean in the rearview. He bites the inside of his cheek but still, a moment later, the words meant to assuage Dean come out. ]

Dean... In my lifetime spent in the community, no one has ever been... "converted" into something they didn't want to be. I've had brothers and sisters leave of their own free will. It isn't a prison. We're a family.

[ One Dean is being welcomed into with force, and that irony isn't lost on Castiel. He reaches to explain what he himself doesn't fully understand. ]

You're a special case. I've never met someone like you before, someone prophesied to join us. I'm sure it will be explained to you, to all of us, once you arrive.

[ He looks back at the road, which is a curving, empty dirt road devoid of other traffic. The highway is off in the distance. The woods on either side are a blue-gray mass sliding by the windows, all blurred together. ]

[ Dean is still watching Castiel for tells. He's paler, definitely looks a little clammy, but that could be from stress in general. Dean's put up a nasty fight. Other symptoms, Castiel would be feeling personally, Dean can't know from where he sits. He wasn't bluffing when he said Cas was going to bleed out in less than an hour. Whereas before he was working to negotiate a little, gain a little freedom and trust, well.

Now he's pretty inclined to let him die. ]

I don't want to be part of your family. You're forcing me to be. That's a prison. [ He doesn't bother looking at Castiel in the mirror just stares out of the window and wonders how badly he'd break his arms if he opened the door. ]

...And you don't even know why you're really yanking me around, do you. You have no idea what it is I'm really supposed to do.

[ It's true. Everything Dean is saying is true, and it's exhausting to hear it. Or maybe that's the blood loss. More and more, it seems like Dean wasn't lying. Castiel redoubles his grip on the steering wheel, but his grip isn't as strong as it was. The ache in his shoulder feels warm and not hot. He feels like he's slowing down. Castiel watches the road and follows the neverending curve as he strains to put the words together and to say them with the conviction they deserve. ]

I know you don't believe in God, but this is what God commands. And if He—

[ The curve of the road keeps curving, right into the forest, and Castiel unthinkingly follows it until the car is bouncing through weeds and over stones, and he slams on the brakes as the car goes halfway over a patch of brambles, just barely stopping short in front of a large oak.

Castiel feels fully awake for about thirty seconds before his vision begins to swim. Painfully, awkwardly, he starts shrugging out of his coat while reaching for the first-aid kit. He just needs another bandage on his arm, tighter this time. He can manage it. ]

[ Dean's already arguing before Cas even finishes that first sentence. ]

You don't know what God commands, he's not even real and even if he--watch out--!

[ Dean is shouting as they bump and bounce through underbrush, the car careening to a stop as Castiel slams on the breaks, which is pretty painful for Dean considering he's tethered to the door and all it does is wrench his shoulder, straining his bad arm. ]

What the hell are you doin' -- I told you you were gonna wreck the car! [ Dean glares at him, watching him struggle, heart flopping in his chest because he's presented with the same dilemma he was before, and he doesn't like it. He doesn't like anything about it. ]

You're bleeding out, Cas. If you don't let me help you, you're going to die.

[ Now would be an appropriate time for curse words, if Castiel were given to cursing. Instead he remains tensely silent as Dean reminds him of what he already knows: that this is insanity, and he is wildly, dangerously close to failing his mission. He isn't afraid of dying, Castiel tells himself. He'll be one with the Almighty in Heaven. He's earned that. He's served well. But still his hands shake as he struggles to open the first-aid kit without the ability to work the fingers of his right hand. There's fresh blood dripping down his right wrist as he tries and fails to rip open the last package of gauze. "You're going to die." He's going to die. It isn't supposed to scare him.

Castiel finally presses the whole unopened package of gauze to the wrong spot of his shoulder; there's too much blood soaked through his dress shirt to tell exactly were the hole is anymore, and he can't feel a difference between sharp pain and dull, now. He looks between the seats at Dean, and his thoughts chase each other wildly. Dean wants to help because he's trying to escape. If Dean escapes, Castiel will be killed, and his help will be meaningless. Castiel is afraid. His conviction falters. He doesn't want to die. ]

Alright.

[ With heavy, clumsy movements, he drags the passenger's seat forward and falls more than climbs into the back seat beside Dean. The knife flicks forward from the spring holster on his right forearm, but he catches it in his left, and with one sharp slice, cuts through both ties on Dean's wrists, freeing him from the door handle and freeing his hands completely in one action. The knife still loosely held in his left hand, Castiel falls back against the opposite window, exhausted. He watches Dean through lidded eyes, fully expecting him to grab the knife and drive or make a run for it and leave Castiel here to finish dying, but he's resigned to his fate. ]

[ Helping his kidnapper is stupid.

Really, really stupid, because if Dean knows one thing, it's that this kind of individual doesn't give up. Ever. If Dean helps him, Castiel isn't gonna just pat him on the head and let him go. Even if Dean flees, his little stalker will eventually be right back on his heels.

He should let him die. He really...really should. ]

Try to relax.

[ With his hands freed, there's a brief moment where Dean does consider running and he looks at the road, the keys still in the ignition, the limp body of Castiel slumped against the opposite window.

Dammit.

Instead of running, he snatches the knife out of Castiel's hand, then leans in and squints, trying to get a good idea of what he's working with. ]

You need stitches. [ It's immediately clear, even without tearing all Castiel's clothes and vest away from the wound, which is what he moves to do with the knife, ripping right into the dress shirt so he can get a better look at his shoulder. ] And probably a transfusion. I'm a universal donor, but I doubt you've got a field kit like that out here. I do, but you snatched me away from my car, so. We're gonna have to make do.

[ Dean leans down and slashes the zip tie that's secured around his ankles, then opens the door so he can pop the trunk to see what he's working with. If the guys on a mission like he's said, there's going to be supplies, and Dean's intuition isn't wrong. Between the first aid kit in the front, another one in the trunk, some dental floss and a needle, he can do this.

Also, whiskey from the flask in Dean's jacket is definitely necessary. It's not really an escape risk, so he guesses that's why it wasn't confiscated.

He gets back into the car, leaving the door open so he has room to work, and airflow to keep it from getting too hot and stuffy. Unscrewing the lid of the flask, he holds it up to Castiel's lips, tipping it back, not really giving him a choice. ]

Take a swig. It'll help.

[ Because this is not gonna feel great. At all. Dean's going to have to move Castiel around to get the shirt out of the way and that damn vest off so that he can actually work without continually bumping into kevlar. Dean takes a drink himself, and sets about wiping the blood away with alcohol pads, digging the bullet out with the tweezers, and sewing the idiot back together. ]

Edited 2021-06-23 15:31 (UTC)

[ If there's anything Castiel has learned about Dean that wasn't in the prepared information about him, it's that Dean is clever, shrewd, and independent to a fault. There is nothing for him to gain by helping Castiel, and Dean must know that. Dean takes the knife from his hand, and Castiel's eyes clothes as he waits for the blow to land, for the door to open as Dean makes his escape, to die.

Instead, he hears the fabric of his shirt tearing, and opens his eyes to look up and see Dean still there, talking about stitches, and... blood donation? Castiel's chin lifts and his eyes narrow as he forces the blurry image of Dean above him into focus. ]

You're helping me.

[ It's a mumbled observation Castiel makes, just in time to watch Dean cut the rest of his bonds and exit the vehicle. Castiel's heart drops to his stomach, feeling strangely abandoned, oddly disappointed when he's the one who confronted Dean, shot him, apprehended him... Kidnapped him, really—

Dean returns a moment later, armed with Castiel's own supplies, and it must be guilt choking Castiel because if there were blood in his lungs, he would've been dead long before now. Castiel struggles to get his undamaged left arm underneath of him, to sit up, and to drag his blurry vision into focus on Dean. He opens his mouth to ask him "why," only to have a flask pushed to his lips.

Castiel doesn't have much strength to resist, but he tries, and mostly just ends up choking and coughing up half of what Dean fed into his mouth, only to be immediately distracted by the pain as his arm is tugged and maneuvered through his vest. Castiel groans and grits his teeth through the pain, and though he'd like to help Dean get his bloodied clothing off and his arm where it needs to be, his arm isn't responding to his brain's requests, and his thoughts are slow and thick-feeling as it is. Castiel's breath huffs. He squeezes the fist of his left hand in Dean's jacket and he watches, eyes almost unseeing, the gold horned amulet bounce against Dean's chest as Dean digs the bullet from his arm. ]

Is that— Is... all this necessary?

[ Stitches, Dean had said. A transfusion, he'd mentioned. And he'd poured alcohol down Castiel's throat. This is what he does for himself, isn't it? Apparently Castiel isn't the only one not new to being shot. ]

Yeah, I don't know why. [ Why he's helping, that is. ] Now stop moving.

[ It isn't easy work, fishing a bullet out of someone. Like, Dean's done it, a lot, but that doesn't mean it doesn't hurt or that he particularly likes it. His hands will quickly be slick with blood that he absently wipes on his jeans before going back to his task at hand. He's leaned in close, face hovering over the wound, squinting as he works. ]

It's necessary. [ Dean answers Castiel absently, pausing long enough to glance up, lips twisted in some unreadable expression. ]

You need a hospital, but unless you've got hidden transfusion supplies in this pimpmobile, you're gonna have to just get some sleep and wait for your blood to replenish.

[ If he makes it.

Dean is aware of Cas' hand gripping the dirty jacket he's wearing, but Dean doesn't pay him any mind. He's biting his lower lip in concentration, carefully, as gently as possible, fishing the bullet out of Castiel's shoulder. He's almost there, almost... ]

Got it. [ He holds it up, then takes it and sets it in Cas' lap. ] A souvenir.

[ Another drink is needed - for the both of them - and he's setting the flask down on the floorboard and wiping the needle down with an alcohol pad to sterilize. ]

If you make it through the blood loss, the biggest worry will be infection. We'll have to keep this clean, okay? [ He's talking as he's threading the needle; regular fabric thread isn't thick enough to hold skin together, but he's used dental floss often enough to know that it'll do the trick. Plus - added bonus! It'll smell nice and minty. ]

[ It's not. None of this is necessary. Castiel knows from experience what the bare minimum looks like. But he also knows what it looks like to hold someone in your arms and watch them die. Castiel doesn't watch Dean work; he watches Dean, instead: the concentration in his expression, the flush of red through his lower lip as he bites it in distraction. He's avoiding guilt, Castiel decides. He'd rather have Castiel's blood on his hands literally than metaphorically. That's what this is. That's why.

The excuse sounds incomplete and hollow in Castiel's head, but the waves of pain as Dean digs around his shoulder is a distraction from serious thought, anyway. Castiel is silent through the blinding flashes of pain that spark behind his eyes. He squeezes them shut, grits his teeth, and squeezes his fist in Dean's jacket until his knuckles go white. His brain can't even process what Dean means by a souvenir. He doesn't feel the bullet dropped in his lap, only collapses back against the seat once the pain returns to a dull, hot throbbing, and he allows his panting breaths to escape him and his eyes to crack open.

Dean is still there in front of him when Castiel opens his eyes: threading a needle, talking about avoiding infection. "We'll have to keep this clean," as if Dean is going to stick around that long, rather than escape. Castiel doesn't call him on it. His mind is a marble rolling and clacking endlessly around a wooden labyrinth. ]

I'll be fine.

[ Castiel doesn't believe it, but if it's guilt that's keeping Dean here, then Castiel feels as if he owes it to Dean, to say as much. ]

[ Stupid, Dean. Stupid, stupid, stupid. This is so stupid. He should be halfway to the highway, on the phone with Sam and the FBI, turning himself in for crimes he hasn't even committed. Surely prison would be safer than wherever Castiel wants to take him.

But he just... can't leave him to die. Something inside him won't let it happen. It's infuriating. ]

Yeah, course.

[ Dean flashes a thin smile up at him, tugging the floss through the end of the needle. ]

You're gonna be okay, Cas. Drink. [ Dean is pushing the flask to Cas' lips again, forcing another swallow - burns the throat, numbs the body. It's the only medicine Dean has on him at the moment, so it's gonna have to work.

Cause once he takes another drink himself, he's dumping a little on the bullet hole, then jabbing Castiel with the sanitized needle, and setting to work. ]

[ The idea still rolls around in his head, why Dean would be doing this, what he has to gain, and none of the answers can possibly be satisfactory when Dean had said himself that he doesn't know why. He could do all of this, and smile like that, and then stab Castiel through the heart. Maybe this is elaborate torture.

Or maybe Dean really is a gift from God.

Castiel is confused, muddled, and in pain. Dean lifts the flask to his lips again, and Castiel tilts his head away, but he chokes less this time, swallowing the liquid down, feeling it burn through his chest. ]

Dean, you've done en— nngh...

[ That is a needle digging under his skin, and Castiel grits his teeth against the resurging spark of pain and the strange, uncomfortable sensation of his skin being pulled together. His hand had loosened in Dean's jacket, but now it goes to Dean's shoulder, and he grips him hard as he holds his breath, then blinks through the dizziness and tries to concentrate on his own breathing, instead. ]

[ Dean's really glad his own bullet wound is in his arm and not his shoulder, because Castiel is holding onto him tight enough to bruise. It hurts, but Dean doesn't stop what he's doing, gently tugging Cas' skin back together, piercing it with the needle again and again.

He works quickly, because he knows it hurts like a bitch and it isn't fun, and as tempting as it is to drag it out because fuck this guy, he doesn't. Dean moves as fast as he's able, scooting closer to make sure he's got a good angle, that the wound is stitched as tight as it can be, and no more blood is lost.

Cause...man. Castiel's lost a lot.

A few more quick stitches and he's knotting it off, snipping the spare floss and tossing it aside before dumping a little more whiskey to wash away any bacteria. It's how he's treated himself over the years, it's how he treats Castiel now. He gives a final sweep of the alcohol wipe before carefully drying the area with gauze, before he unceremoniously slaps a bandage on Castiel's shoulder, gently smoothing the medical tape down and reaching to pat the hand that's clutching at his shoulder. Ow. ]

That's the best I can do, man.

Edited 2021-06-23 17:48 (UTC)

[ The backseat is a mess of blood, pools of his, smears of Dean's. The shirt that hangs half off of Castiel is more red than white, and even Dean is striped in it, from his wrists to the smear of a handprint that remains on his jacket's shoulder as Castiel finally releases him and lets his hand fall away. His shoulder, or what little Castiel can see of it when he looks down, might just be the cleanest thing in the vehicle now: cleaned and freshly bandaged.

Castiel stares at it, exhausted and disbelieving. Maybe he passed out already, he thinks, and this is all imagined. Maybe they hit that tree after all. It would make more sense than Dean saving his life when Castiel has done nothing to deserve it and everything to deserve Dean's ire.

Slowly, wide-eyed with confusion and disorientation, he looks at Dean again. ]

Thank you.

[ There's a rumbling of a car on the road as it drives slowly past where they've careened off, the first car to pass theirs in miles, even before Castiel took them into the brush. Up the road it pulls over, and apparently having noticed the crash, it begins to back up towards them. ]

...Yeah. You're welcome.

[ And fuck me, I guess. Idiot.

Dean peers at Cas, reaching to carefully cup his face, studying those big blue eyes, his clammy skin and blown pupils. He's in shock most likely, and Dean carefully shifts to maneuver them, needing to get Cas' feet elevated more than they are.

The sound of a car engine stops him dead in his task, a cold thrill of fear slithering down his spine.

He's screwed himself, that's what he's done. Instead of bolting into the woods or leaving Castiel to bleed out and die, Dean's sealed his own fate because he's pretty sure that's not just a concerned citizen, and if it is, they're gonna call the cops because Castiel and Dean are covered in blood. ]

Shit. [ He's already moving, groping for the gun he'd stolen out of the trunk. ] Is that one of yours?

Edited 2021-06-23 18:20 (UTC)

[ When Dean reaches out and touches his face to examine him, Castiel doesn't flinch, but he holds his breath as he watches Dean look at him with... possibly the most concern anyone has ever looked at him. This is definitely a dream, Castiel decides. Not death, not Heaven, but unconsciousness of some kind, surely. There is no reality in which Dean should treat him with such kindness, not just as a stranger, but as person who attacked and restrained him.

He watches Dean, staring with dizzy, unfocused reverence as Dean moves about the car, propping Castiel's feet, then freezing as he stares out the window. Dean readies a gun and Castiel frowns. He hasn't heard or seen the other vehicle arrive and has no idea what Dean's referring to. He strains to sit up and the view through window swims. Castiel squints through the fog, but all he can make out is a black passenger vehicle of some kind, possibly the blurry shape of someone exiting from the driver's side, but it's all dripping together like watercolors. Castiel gives up trying to see. He lets his head tilt back against the window instead and closes his eyes. ]

I can't be sure. What do they look like?

The cars a black SUV.

[ Dean absently reaches to rest a hand on Cas' good shoulder, touch light, palm flat on his chest. Stop moving so much.

Dean's heart is jumping all around in his chest, no matter how calm he sounds. This has been the worst day ever. ]

Tall guy. Looks kinda like he sucked on a lemon. Black. Talk to me Cas, do I need to get us outta here?

[ Castiel's eyes open, not to the description, but to the surprisingly gentle pressing of Dean's hand against his chest. He doesn't move, pinned by the light but firm press of Dean's hand and his own fluttering consciousness, but his head tilts slightly at Dean's question. ]

Us?

[ He parrots back, uselessly confused. Why would he need to go anywhere? Why would Dean go anywhere with him? They need to go home. That's why Uriel is here. To take them home. Where else would Dean take them? What other option is there. His right arm feels heavy, pain radiating through his shaking fingers in waves, but he lifts it just enough to rest his hand over Dean's on the gun. The last thing he wants is a repeat of what's happened. He doesn't want Dean injured more than he is; he doesn't want Uriel to die. ]

No. Uriel... is my brother. He'll care for us.

[ Don't shoot him, Dean. Castiel's eyes fall closed again, but he keeps his hand where it is, heavily rested over the top of the gun Dean holds and Dean's wrist, pressing it down. ]

[ Every single instinct in Dean's body is screaming at him to run, to get away, to shoot first and ask questions later. Nothing good can come of this - nothing. Dean owes Castiel nothing, not a damn thing - he came at him in a convenience store, threw a knife at him, shot him, hit him over the head and kidnapped him. He shouldn't have saved him, shouldn't have dawdled.

He's gonna pay a hefty price for that, because there's no way he's gonna get out of another encounter without more bullets and blood, and if Castiel's indoctrination is any sort of reference to go by, Dean can kiss his essence goodbye. ]

...Okay, Cas. [ He says, quiet, a little defeated, covering Cas' hand with his. ] Okay. You win. But I want you to remember when they're brainwashing me and turnin' me into some kinda monster that I saved your lily white ass out here.

[ And that's how Uriel will find them, then - crammed in the backseat of Castiel's Lincoln. Castiel's eyes are closed, his feet propped up on the backseat, shirtless but bandaged, Dean hovered on the floorboard next to him, both covered in blood. ]

[ More than having his wound bandaged and stitched or hearing Uriel arrive, it's Dean's reassurance that he'll go home with them that has the adrenaline in Castiel's body truly dispersing. Of course, he disagrees with what Dean's said. He won't be brainwashed or made into a monster. He is already God's chosen, a savior of mankind, and Castiel was foolish to doubt that for as long as he did. He sighs in relief. His hand falls slack under Dean's, and he almost manages a smile, but not quite. He goes limp against the backseat, dropping into comfortably numb unconsciousness, and the "thank you" he means to say is lost to the darkness.

Uriel peers in through the window to see the mess of them, bloody all over each other. His hands are in his suit pockets as if he's completely unbothered by the sight of all that blood, of Castiel unmoving, and of a gun in Dean's hand. After tapping his knuckles on the window and not being immediately shot at, he meets Dean's eyes, then circles the car. He pulls open the opposite door but doesn't leave any space for Dean to get out, but rather drops an arm on the hood and leans in, smiling. ]

Dean Winchester.

[ He drawls out the words like they're enjoyable to say, as if the taste of of the sound in sweet in his throat. His smile breaks into a grin. ]

You're a hard man to find. And apparently an even harder one to catch.

[ As his eyes skip over to Castiel and back, his expression evens out and his voice drops to a less enthusiastic, more casual register of concern. ]

Is he alive?

[ Having Castiel pass out on him is bad in a couple ways. One, he's completely on his own with this new guy and by the looks of him, Dean figures he could use backup, even if it's by way of a religious freakazoid. Two, Dean isn't super sure Cas passing out right now is the right thing to do - yeah, he needs rest so his blood count will slowly replenish, but Dean can't be sure of just how much was lost, so it's also possible Castiel just slid into a coma that he won't wake up from.

So, that's worrisome.

Mostly though, with Cas on the outs, Dean's by himself in this predicament and it looks...well. Bad. Like Dean just tortured him or something, which isn't the case, at all.

More like they tortured each other by way of trying to play combat medic in the backseat of an ugly ass car. ]

What can I say, I like to stay out of sight out of mind.

[ Dean likes this guy even less than he initially liked Castiel. There's something slimy about him, something that's ersatz in the way he smiles and speaks to Dean. It makes his skin crawl far more than Castiel ever did, the knot in his stomach swelling in size. ]

He's alive. I stitched him up, but he needs a blood transfusion, soon. You don't happen to have a field kit in that fancy car of yours, do you?

[ It does look like Dean dragged Castiel into the backseat and got a little too friendly with his knife, doesn't it? Especially with Dean not being restrained in any way. And yet, Uriel is strangely casual as he leans against the car, looking between them the way someone might judge between two cuts of fish at the seafood counter.

Uriel's eyebrows lift comically high at Dean's explanation, and he laughs sharply, like it's being punched out of him. ]

You're looking to give Castiel a blood transfusion? With a field kit? So speaketh the Righteous Man.

[ Uriel doesn't wait for an answer, but leans back, chuckling. ]

Leave the laying-on-of-hands to the professionals, Winchester. Our little Castiel here already told me he was shot, by you, and there's an ambulance on the way. You and I have got more important places to be, now. Hurry up.

[ Uriel directs, turning his back on Dean fearlessly and walks back towards his own vehicle, expecting Dean to follow. He brings a phone to his ear as he walks, and presumably after someone on the other end had picked up, Uriel gives their location's coordinates, along with Dean and Castiel's condition. ]

[ It really isn't a good look for Dean, no. He's aware of that, and he's worried there's some kind of retribution coming but if it is, Uriel doesn't seem inclined to dole it out at the moment. ]

I'm a universal donor. [ Asshole.

Dean knows how to do it, he's done it before, but if there's an ambulance on the way that's infinitely better.

If. ]

He shot at me first. [ Dean mutters, feeling the need to defend himself, but he's not getting out of the car just yet. Instead, he's trying to wake Castiel up. They can't just...leave him like this. So, he...not so gently slaps a little at Cas' face. ]

Hey. Cas. Wake up.

Edited 2021-06-23 20:39 (UTC)

[ When Uriel reaches the SUV, he turns around and leans against the passenger door. He types on his phone for another few seconds before pocketing it, and he watches the silhouette of Dean leaning over Castiel instead of interfering either way, as silent and unmoving as circling vulture.

In the backseat of the Lincoln, Castiel's eyes flutter as he's slapped, and he gradually blinks them open with a grunt of discomfort. Eyes narrowed into thin slits, he blinks at Dean. ]

I'm awake.

[ He mumbles, and struggles to sit up, rolling his head to look around, but his body feels heavy and weighted down. Even lifting his head is a struggle. He's been exhausted before, stayed up for days at a time, but he's never felt quiet so useless, as if there's an ocean of water pressing down on him, hard to move through and equally hard to think through. He has no idea how long he's been out, seconds or hours, but he's pleased to see Dean in front of him, still alive and capable as Castiel remembers him being earlier. ]

Are we home?

[ You're gonna have to wait, you giant douchebag. Dean isn't getting out of this car until Castiel is taken care of. ]

No. Your buddy Uriel is here. [ The expression on Dean's face is telling; he does not like your 'brother', and is still contemplating the merits of putting a bullet in him. ]

He says there's an ambulance on the way for you. [ Dean shuffles a little, peering to lean half in the front seat before finding what he's looking for. A half drank bottle of water. ]

Drink this, it's just water this time. [ He smiles, thin and lacking mirth. ] Promise I won't force any more whiskey down your throat.

[ For now, anyway. And he doesn't really get a chance to do that anyway, because Uriel is not known to be a patient man, and it wont be long before he comes back over to see what the hell it is Dean is doing.

In the interim, he chooses to watch the scene play out, watch Dean Winchester, the Righteous Man, dote over his captor like he's Patty Hearst. It's got him curious, because Dean doesn't seem like he's interested in killing Castiel. Not at the moment, anyway - it seems like something he could have easily done by now, what with the way he'd found them hovered in the backseat, smeared in blood.

Dean can't hear anything but the thundering of his own blood in his ears; his arm and thigh ache at this point and his consciousness swims. Sirens are on the horizon, though - and eventually, they break through the thick cloud that has settled in Dean's brain like a heavy fog before rain. ]

Think that's my cue. [ If he stays here any longer, the paramedics will be required to treat him, too, and probably call the cops which isn't something anyone wants.

Especially not Uriel, since he's already on his way back, and it looks like he has a gun tucked in his jacket. ]

You're gonna be okay, man. [ Just try to remember I helped you, he thinks to himself as he backs out of the car, just in time for the butt of Uriel's gun to come down on the back of his head, sending him into darkness once more. ]

Edited 2021-06-29 18:51 (UTC)

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