Fic: Hide and Seek 4/?

[catrinasusanne]

Chapter 4 of Hide and Seek
Mature/ R rating.
Un-beta'ed.
Suddenly I own Supernatural. LOL JK.
Warning for blood and language.
Love y'all for reading and commenting!

Chapter Four
“Seriously dude, I’m Buzz and you’re Woody. It just ain’t fair,” Dean said to Sam around a mouthful of spaghetti.

Sam smirked and chuckled. “How do you figure?”

“They’re both toys who get left places around the house by Andy. He just throws ‘em on the floor and expects them to still be there when he comes back. And when he does come back, he picks ‘em up and shoves ‘em around and makes them do shit. Cas is Andy. We’re Buzz and Woody,” Dean said before shoving an entire meatball in his mouth. The corners of his mouth lifted in a grin as he chewed. He was proud of his analogy.

Sam’s nose was scrunched in revulsion at Dean’s horrible table manners. He put down his fork and stopped eating his seafood linguini. One would think that after all those years he’d be used to it, but there was no getting used to Dean’s level of disgusting. “I think you need to lay off the pay per view.”

They were staying at a Hilton Garden Inn near West Palm Beach, where Cas had left them. Cas had been gone a week without contact to Dean or Sam. Dean wanted to go somewhere, anywhere, besides sitting and doing nothing in a hotel room. He had resorted to watching almost endless movies because they took his mind out of reality for a while. Most recently, he had watched Toy Story.

The hot waitress of their hotel’s restaurant, who had introduced herself as Luce (Dean had outright laughed), came back to their table. “Is everything tasting alright for you boys?” she asked. She eyed both Sam and Dean with an expression of lust.

“Perfect,” Dean said after swallowing.

Sam nodded in agreement.

“Great,” Luce said and looked back to the bar before continuing. “Hey, I get off here at eleven. Are you two interested in doing something later?”

Dean and Sam exchanged looks of amusement. “What did you have in mind?” Dean asked her. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table.

“Maybe dancing? I know a good club out of the way of tourists,” she said, flicking her brown eyes between Sam and Dean.

Sam and Dean looked at each other again. “We don’t dance,” Dean said.

“I do,” Sam said. He looked at Luce.

“What?” Dean laughed.

“I… dance,” Sam said, clearly unsure of his own words.

“Well, one is better than none, I guess,” Luce said with a slow smile. “Meet you down here at the bar at eleven?”

“Sure thing,” Sam said and grinned at her.

She set down their bill and gave Sam a wink before walking back to the bar.

“Looks like Woody found his Little Bo Peep,” Dean said before taking a sip of his Pepsi to hide his smirk.

“Shut up,” Sam laughed. “I’m getting restless here. Maybe dancing will help.”

Dean barked out a laugh that ended with “Oh, Sammy. I’ve seen you dance. Flailing your long ass arms around doesn’t constitute as dancing. It’s an assault.”

“Yeah, well, when I’m not here in the morning, don’t worry about me,” Sam said teasingly.

“Have fun lassoing in chicks, Woody,” Dean said before standing up, leaving Sam with the bill.

<<{--}>>

The next day, Dean and a sunglasses wearing Sam, had breakfast at a nearby greasy spoon. Sam hadn’t come back after going out with the girl Dean had been calling Loose Luce the night before and had left Dean alone to watch movies and porn all evening.

Sam refused to give up any sordid details over breakfast and Dean was disappointed.

“Have you heard from Cas?” Sam asked instead of answering one of Dean’s more pointed questions.

“No, I haven’t,” Dean replied. His expression went from Teasing Sammy to brow scrunching, jaw twitching worry. “It’s been a week.”

Sam looked down at his mostly untouched breakfast.

Dean rationalized. “He’s probably busy being an angelic leader and all.”

Dean was really worried. While he hadn’t tried contacting Cas, Cas had said he’d only be gone a day or two. That was a week ago and now Dean was getting anxious. There was a huge war going on and Cas was right in the middle of it. Dean feared the worse but knew Cas had probably gotten distracted. Maybe all of his house plants died while he was on Earth or some shit like that. Maybe he had met a girl angel. Maybe he was bored with Dean and Sam. Dean knew that time moved differently in Heaven so maybe Castiel had just lost track of Earth time. But mostly Dean feared Raphael had him.

It was too early in the game to pronounce Cas as dead or missing. It didn’t stop Dean from jumping every time he thought he saw a tan coat out of the corner of his eye, though. His heart was still racing from the last time that happened as he and Sam walked back to the hotel. Obviously, he was just worried about getting the location of where Raphael was going to be next. It had nothing to do with him worrying about Cas. He was restless. That was all.

“Sam, I’m going to take a walk, I’ll see you later,” Dean said distractedly.

Sam said something to him but Dean wasn’t listening. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked into the congested tourist strip of West Palm Beach. There were bodies closing in on him on all sides but he pushed forwards. Everyone was laughing and talking in groups. While he was close in age with most of the people there, he still felt disconnected from them. At one time he had felt at home around people that statistics declared his peers, but not now. Now all he saw was People He Saved and they were just numbers. It wasn’t that he felt above them, superior to them, but he felt like they all owed him more respect than to cut him off on the sidewalk. He and Sam had never stuck around much after they saved someone’s life for that reason. It was a hunter’s curse. Dean figured it was one of the reasons Sam never went back to see Sarah, and why he didn’t go back to see Cassie.

Dean found himself heading towards the beach. The sun was blaring down on him and his thin black t-shirt and holey jeans felt like a straight jacket. He was sweating and he felt his skin tightening with sunburn on his forearms, nose, neck, and ears. The air was hot even as it entered his lungs and smelled like sun tan lotion and salt. He took off his shoes and socks and walked along the beach for a little while. He dodged drunken college chicks that really should be nowhere near a body of water, a stray volleyball, and three fights.

He decided that trying to contact Cas just to check in was a good idea. Even if the conversation was three seconds long and consisted of Cas telling Dean to not call him ever again would satisfy Dean. A three second phone call wherein Cas sasses him would tell Dean that Cas was alive. And that’s all he needed.

Dean pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed Cas’s number. It rang and rang and rang until Castiel’s awkward voicemail picked up (Dean was going to have to help him fix that). He waited and tried again. Still, no answer. A bad feeling rested at the bottom of his belly. Something was wrong; he just knew it. So, he tried another approach- praying.

Cas, it’s Dean Winchester. Is everything okay? Where are you? He waited and when there was no answer he continued. You better not be in any kind of trouble without me there to help you. You better be okay. Sammy and I are still at that hotel you left us in. Let me know you’re okay.

It wasn’t that Dean was needy or pushy. He simply had too few friends to lose. And Castiel was his friend. His friend who just so happened to hold the fate of the world in his trench coat pocket. Castiel wasn’t just important to Dean; he was important to everybody. So it was totally okay and acceptable for Dean to call him at ever decreasing time intervals throughout the day.

Dean eventually went back to the hotel to meet Sam that evening. When Dean walked into the room, Sam was lounging on his bed with his sock clad feet propped up on pillows and his laptop on his stomach. Dean stopped in the doorway and noticed that the pillows under Sam’s feet were the ones from his bed, and Sam was eating the rest of his Cool Ranch Doritos. He made a sound of shocked disapproval and attracted Sam’s attention.

“What?” Sam asked, yanking out his earbuds.

Dean only gestured to the scene before him looking scandalized and outraged.

“I did a lot of dancing last night,” Sam said with a shrug and a glance at the pillows under his feet.

Dean could only glare because any words that would come out of his mouth would only induce various Bitch Faces from Sam. Anything Dean wanted to say would only end in pouting. He went and sat down heavily at the table.

“Any word from Cas?” Sam asked, crunching on a Dorito.

“No,” Dean said. The mention of Cas sent a jolt of fear through his bones. “I’ve been calling and praying to him basically nonstop since this morning and he hasn’t responded.”

“I’m sure everything’s fine,” Sam said with a casual sigh.

Sam’s nonchalance irked Dean. Sam was relaxing, eating (Dean’s) Doritos, browsing the internet with his feet up (on Dean’s motherfucking pillows) while Dean sat there, terrified for Castiel. Dean was sure that if anybody was going to care more than him it would be Sam. The kid was made of empathy, puppies, glitter, and rainbows for fuck’s sake! Something had to be wrong with Sam for him to not give a shit about the angel who was supposed to be saving the world. Dean was going to keep his mouth shut about it though. If Sam was going to go dark side, Dean didn’t want to provoke it without Cas there to help.

“Have you called Bobby to tell him what’s going on?” Dean asked.

“No. What would I tell him?” Sam asked, still looking at his computer screen.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe that we’re saving the world again!” Dean sassed.

Sam shrugged. He sat up, moving his laptop onto the bed, and pulled out his cell phone.

“And ask him to do research for some omens around the towns Raphael took. There must be something that we missed,” Dean said.

While Sam was on the phone with Bobby, Dean looked over the newspapers from the weeks leading up to the day Raphael’s angels showed up again. He’d looked over the weather forecasts, the stories, and even the comics again and again but he wasn’t finding anything. As far as he could see, there were no blatant omens. There was nothing helpful on the internet, and nobody in West Palm Beach had mentioned anything. Dean figured that if somebody knew anything or suspected anything, they would have spoken out and at least some of the people would have left. But if anything, the beach had only become more crowded since they’d arrived.

Bobby had not been surprised to hear from Sam when they called him days earlier. Apparently, Sam had stayed with Bobby for some time since he got back. This sent a stab of hurt through Dean’s body. Sam had spoken to everyone but him. Dean thought that he had mattered more to Sam than that. Yeah, he got that Sam wanted him to have a nice, safe life with Lisa and Ben, and he appreciated it so much. But he would have been more at peace with his life with them and his decisions if he knew that Sammy was alive. Sammy could have lived at the house that was for sale down the street. There could have been Sunday dinners and Monday night football. Barbeques. Fuck, there could have been Scrabble tournaments. Maybe Dean would have turned Cas down for the case if he knew that Sammy was alive and coming over for Thursday night poker. But that was all a big What If.

Sam told Bobby about Raphael’s plan and what they were doing to stop it. Bobby agreed to do more extensive research on any omens around the areas that were taken. After hanging up with Bobby, Sam expressed to Dean that he was feeling confident in their case. “We’ve got Bobby helping us, Cas is in Heaven finding out everything he can, and we’re down here ready to do some fighting,” Sam said brightly.

This baffled Dean because they were completely in the dark on everything concerning the case. They were hidden away in a hotel room with nothing besides a huge ass pay per view and room service bill and absolutely no clue where Raphael was going next. Hell, their biggest player was missing in action. Without Cas, they were scrap bookers without opposable thumbs. So, Dean didn’t respond to Sam’s statement and muttered something about going to bed early instead.

Dean did fall asleep but he woke up what felt like a blink later. The room was completely dark and he no longer heard the hum of Sam’s laptop fan. Dean didn’t know what woke him up from such a deep sleep. He looked blearily at Sam’s bed and saw him sound asleep. Dean gripped the knife under his pillow and concentrated on listening as hard as he could. He heard Sam’s even, deep breathing and when he listened harder he heard short and staggered breaths from near the end of his bed. It sounded like every breath pained the breather. Dean quickly sat up on his bed and was about to wield the knife in his hand but he stopped. It was Cas.

Dean’s breath hitched when he saw the blood. Cas’s eyes were pleading and terrified and then they were rolling back in his head as he fell to the ground at the foot of Dean’s bed. Dean dropped the knife and jumped out of bed. He ran around to where Cas was crumpled on the floor.

“Cas? Cas! What’s wrong? What happened to you?!” Dean demanded as he kneeled next to the angel. Dean tapped Cas’s face, trying to wake him up. Why wasn’t he healing himself? Why was he hurt?

“Raph…ael,” Cas coughed. Dean could see the blood coating his tongue and teeth.

“Raphael did this to you?” Dean questioned.

Cas nodded and winced. He raised a hand shakily and waved it to turn on the light. Then he pointed to his chest where his white shirt was completely soaked with dark red blood.

“Can’t you heal yourself?” Dean asked, his panic rising.

“New weapon,” Cas choked out. He turned his head and spit out blood.

There was a new weapon that could hurt angels? Raphael used it on Cas? Dean’s vision turned red with anger and he looked down at the broken angel on the floor in front him. Before he could go hunt down Raphael and rip his fucking head off, he had to help Castiel. Dean pushed Cas’s trench coat and suit jacket out of the way. He gingerly peeled away the blue tie that was plastered with blood to Cas’s shirt and tossed it over Cas’s shoulder. There were thin slices in Cas’s white shirt where the knife had entered his chest. Dean, as carefully as he could, unbuttoned Cas’s shirt and moved it to either side of his chest. The entire time Cas groaned and hissed in pain as every breath and movement hurt him.

Dean looked at the wounds. They would be fatal to any human because of blood loss. But Cas wasn’t human and was probably replenishing his own blood supply. The cuts were sloppy because no doubt Cas fought back, but they were deep. All of the visible flesh of Cas’s chest was covered in blood and some had even pooled in his navel. First things first, he needed to clear away the blood.

“I-I’m going to need the first aid kit and some towels,” Dean said, his voice hoarse. He started to stand up, his hands covered in blood and leaving prints on the bed as he used it to help himself up on shaky legs. But before he stood up completely, there was everything he needed right next to him. “Thanks,” he said and kneeled next to Cas again.

Dean reached for the clean, white towels and began delicately wiping away the blood. Even the littlest bit of pressure brought involuntary tears to Cas’s eyes. Dean’s hands were shaking. Cas was never supposed to be hurt like this. Cas was supposed to be able to heal himself. Cas was supposed to be their unbeatable leader. Now he was lying quivering, crying, bleeding, and dying on a hotel room floor with nobody but Dean to stitch him up.

Dean glanced over to the still sleeping Sam. He was opening his mouth to wake Sam up when Cas cut him off. “No, not Sam. Just you.”

Dean didn’t know why. And right then he didn’t care because Cas needed him. So he took a deep breath and reached for the rubbing alcohol.

“Maybe you should drink another liquor store before we start this,” Dean said, holding a clean towel with rubbing alcohol on it.

Cas’s lips twitched and he shook his head.

“This is going to hurt like Hell. Actually, probably worse than Hell. You ready?” Dean asked him.

Cas nodded and swallowed hard.

Dean swiped the alcohol over the nastiest looking cut. Cas cried out in pain and slammed a fist down on the floor. Dean paused for a second and looked at Cas’s face. “Want me to keep going or call 911?”

“You,” Cas gasped.

“Alright, but you better not hold a grudge against me for this later,” Dean said, trying to lighten the mood. It was a coping mechanism. Very Freudian. Give him a break.

He cleaned up the deepest cut just above Cas’s heart. Cas was groaning in a horrible way and (Dean noticed after the numbness set in) gripping Dean’s left knee tightly in one hand. His hand was hot against Dean’s knee despite the blood loss. The heels of Cas’s feet dug into the floor as he fought the urge to shrink away from the rubbing alcohol. When Dean finished cleaning the cuts, Cas had mostly stopped making horrible groaning sounds and had the hand that wasn’t gripping Dean’s knee over his face, leaving a bloody smear.

“I’m going to stitch up the cuts now, Cas, okay?” Dean asked.

Cas only nodded from under his bloody hand.

Dean threaded the needle with shaking fingers and began sewing up Cas like a throw pillow. Cas’s jaw was set tightly as Dean carefully and slowly stitched him up. His breathing was labored still and hitched every time the needle when into his skin. When Dean was done stitching him up, he used a generous amount of cream antiseptic medication on each cut. When the cool cream came in contact with Cas’s skin, the muscles in his stomach jumped. Dean watched it happen every time, amused to see that the angel had visible abs. Because he would have never guessed that the nerd angel was fit. The grip Cas had on Dean’s knee was loosened but still present.

“You still with me?” Dean asked as he ripped open a bandage.

“Yes,” Cas replied gruffly, still hidden under his hand.

“Good. I’m almost finished,” Dean said and put some folded gauze over the cuts and then bandages over the gauze. “Can we get some warm, soapy water and another towel?” He asked Cas.

Both requested items appeared with the rest. Dean used the hand towel and water to clean away the blood that had dried on Cas’s skin. He swirled the towel and took most of the blood from Cas’s navel and the drips that led to the top of his pants. Cas was almost relaxed now, his breathing was closer to normal. Dean was wary of his relaxed state.

“How are you doing?” Dean asked.

“Not well,” Cas replied.

“Should I call 911? You know I’m not a doctor,” Dean said and looked to his cell phone on the nightstand.

“No, don’t call anybody. I’m not doing well because I can’t heal myself. This is very painful,” Castiel replied.

“Why can’t you heal yourself, Cas?” Dean asked. “You still have your mojo.”

“I still have all of my power except the weapon Raphael used prevents me from healing myself,” Cas explained. His voice was agitated and tense with pain.

“Can’t you have one of your angels heal you?” Dean asked. He pulled Cas’s bloody hand away from his face and used the soapy water and towel to clean him. He was sure to get around Cas’s nails and between each finger.

“No, no angelic power can be used. I am sorry to burden you,” Castiel said.

“Cas, you’re not a burden. I was just trying to make sense of the situation,” Dean said truthfully. “It didn’t make sense as to why you came to me instead of having someone else heal you in a second.”

“I trust you,” Cas said.

There was blood on his face, smeared over his eyes and the tops of his cheeks. Dean knew that Cas could clean the blood off on his own, but he felt as though he needed to do it. He wiped away the blood from around Cas’s eyes slowly. Streaks of salty tears ran from the corners of his eyes into the hair at his temples. Dean cleaned those away too. He avoided looking directly at Cas’s eyes as he did this.

“Why do you trust me?” Dean asked, his voice was barely more than a whisper.

Castiel was quiet for a few moments. “Because you care. Not just about the case, or beating Raphael. You care about the people we will save. You don’t want glory or recognition. You want a world for Ben to grow up in and a good place to get pie. And I know you don’t like it, but I can see into your soul and I know what and who you care about. You care about good things. Your soul is made of all good things. I trust you.”

Dean looked towards Sam.

“His soul is confusing,” Cas said, knowing what Dean was thinking. “I can not get a good read on him. It is frustrating. I do not trust him. I do not want him to know of tonight or of the weapon Raphael holds.”

Dean nodded, still not looking directly at Cas. He looked at his own blood streaked hands. With a blink, they were clean. “Thanks,” Dean said, still not looking at Cas.

“No, Dean, thank you,” Cas said and slowly sat up. He looked down at his body and cleaned his clothes of the blood and mended his shirt, but left it unbuttoned.

Dean looked at Cas’s chest. The cuts were covered with bandages that stuck to his smooth skin. It was painful just to look at. Dean ached seeing an angel’s body torn up like that. He ached seeing the blood and agony covering the perfect skin of his angel. It just wasn’t right. But Cas came to him for help when he needed it most. Cas wanted Dean to stitch him up in the dead of night on the dirty floor of a hotel. Cas let Dean see him broken and vulnerable because he trusted Dean. Dean could have sworn his heart grew three sizes that night. He was still staring at Cas’s chest and he didn’t even think about his actions when he saw a drip of blood escaping from under one of the bandages and he reached to swipe it away. After he’d done it, he looked up at Cas, hoping Cas wasn’t looking at him like What The Fuck. He wasn’t. His eyes were hooded from pain and exhaustion. He was propped up on extended arms with his palms flat against the floor and his shoulders up to his ears. They locked eyes and Dean could have sworn he felt Cas probing around in his mind.

“So, uh,” Dean cleared his throat and stood up. “Tell me about your day.” He reached a hand down to help Cas up, but in a blink he was standing in front of Dean.

Cas looked at Dean confusedly for a second, like he was wondering where Dean had even been the last hour and forty five minutes. Then he figured Dean out. “I was with my garrison when we received word of a surprise attack from one of my spies. This was five days ago, so had there not been an attack, I would have been back here on time. We fought for four days before Raphael himself joined us. He does not fight amongst his garrison; he sends them out to die for him.” Cas was practically vibrating with rage and the nauseated feeling crept through Dean’s body again. He took a step back to relieve himself of some of the angel’s wrath. “Raphael and I were fighting head to head. I had the sword we use to kill angels and I was, as you would say, ‘in the lead.’ But I was caught off guard and lost the sword just before Raphael stabbed me in the chest with the dagger he had been holding. I had not thought that the weapon was as powerful as the sword. I figured he was just threatening me to give up.”

“You lost the sword?” Dean asked, his heart sinking.

“Yes, and I’m sorry. You have lost many important things,” Cas said as if he were trying to point out Dean’s hypocrisy.

“No, I get that, I was just thinking about how screwed we are now. Do you have any idea where it could be?” Dean asked him.

“I found it,” Castiel said as if it were obvious.

“You just said that you’d lost it,” Dean pointed out.

“I had lost it. But I found it. I was not finished with my story,” Cas said and put his hands on his hips and looked at Dean like he was an impatient child.

“Okay, okay, finish your damn story,” Dean said with a gesture that said The Floor’s All Yours.

“Raphael and his entire garrison left as soon as I was injured. They must have figured me for dead. I had thought I was dying as well. So, I used the rest of my strength to race them to the sword, which had fallen to Earth, and brought it back here. Though, I had not foreseen the damage that my true form would have transferred to my vessel. Hence, the blood. Now I’m finished with my story,” Castiel said with a slight smirk.

“You brought the sword back here?” Dean asked, and looked around the room.

Cas pointed to the sword which had been about three feet away from Cas and Dean when Dean was stitching him up. “Yes, it has been there this whole time,” Cas said, seemingly reading Dean’s mind. Or he just really knew Dean well. Either way, Dean felt kind of silly for not noticing the gleaming sword three feet away from him.

“Sorry, I was kind of distracted by the bare chested and bleeding angel on my floor,” Dean said defensively. He stooped to pick up the bloodied supplies he had used on Cas.

Castiel was silent for a few minutes as Dean put away the first aid kit and threw the bloodied towels into the tub in the bathroom. He waited for Dean to come out of the bathroom and Dean found him sitting on the edge of Dean’s bed. “The magic in the dagger is different than the magic in the sword. I don’t know how it is different. I have no knowledge of any magic that can take away an angel’s ability to heal magically,” Cas said to Dean.

“Could it be demon magic? Maybe something Lucifer cooked up and sold to Raphael?” Dean asked, sitting next to Cas on the bed.

“No, I doubt it. Raphael is trying to eliminate the impurities on Earth, demons included, so it is doubtful that Lucifer aided him in any way. We must figure it out, Dean,” Cas said.

“We can begin research in the morning. We’ll even get Bobby on it, if that’s alright,” Dean said optimistically. His optimism was forced because he knew that if an angel who was God knows how old didn’t know what it was, Bobby probably didn’t have a book on it in his library.

Dean stifled a yawn but Cas noticed it. “Research can begin tomorrow, yes. And Bobby Singer’s help would be greatly appreciated. He is a good man with a large amount of books,” Cas stood up. “Dean, I can not thank you enough for helping me.” His eyes were earnest and grateful.

Dean stood up as well and looked at Cas’s shoulder instead of his face. “You’re welcome, Cas.”

“I am unsure how I am to repay you. This has never happened to me before and I’m unaware of protocol,” Cas said, a hint of awkwardness in his voice.

Dean had kind of missed that awkwardness. He smiled. “Just send breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“Food?” Cas was baffled. “You save my life and I bring you waffles?”

“Or pancakes,” Dean chuckled. “No, but seriously Cas, we need to focus on stopping Raphael. We can’t do that without you alive and kicking.”

“Fair enough,” Castiel said. His ears turned red with embarrassment. “Good night, Dean.”

“’Night, Cas,” Dean said just before Cas disappeared.

Dean crawled back into his bed and was asleep before his head hit the pillows.

AN: I love me some h/c. Hope you do too! :)