Fate Comes on Dark Wings, Part 3
Castiel woke up in restraints. The doctors had used some sort of strong plastic to tie his wrists to the bars on his bed. To his delight, the ties easily tore when he pulled them. His strength was returning. Already he could feel his Grace repairing the damage dealt by the explosions. The hellfire would be a little more tricky, but he could deal with it. What he could really use, Castiel decided, was enough holy water in which to bathe, so he could disinfect the tainted burns.
The real question was what to do about the Winchesters. Castiel had no idea how much time had passed since his confrontation with Dean, but he guessed it was enough for them to check out of the hospital. Even if they hadn't, Dean would be on guard for him. Despite his growing strength, Castiel did not feel ready to take on the hunter just yet. He wasn't certain if he could put people to sleep yet, and a proper fight would quickly attract attention. A frontal assault was useless, he decided. Best to wait until the middle of the night and hope the Winchesters did not leave before then.
After a while a nurse came in with forms to fill out, only to make noise when he found that he had broken his restraints and torn off his wrappings. So then he had to endure humans fussing over him for a full hour as they reapplied ointments and bandages and all the other things mortal treatments had required. They insisted on asking all sorts of personal information for their precious forms, too. Castiel had always been a little fuzzy on the methods of human doctors. Now he was learning far too much for his own taste. But he peaceably accepted their attentions and ate the food they insisted on feeding to him (the latter part, he grasped, was very important in human healing). He had obeyed sillier mores before. When the humans finally left, Castiel sank back into his bed, relishing the time he had before he made his strike.
Nearly an hour later, the door swung open. Startled, he looked up to find Dean Winchester hovering just over the threshold. Castiel brightened. "It's you. Please, come in."
Dean regarded him with a canny eye, then hesitantly moved to stand by the bed, his hands clenching and unclenching. "I talked to a couple of nurses about you," he said after a moment. "I'm guessing 'Castiel Winchester' isn't your real name."
"Castiel is. I don't have a last name."
"Yeah? What kind of name is that?"
"A holy one."
Silence fell again as Dean looked him over, checking for...Castiel could not say for sure. Eventually the hunter said, "Show me your chest."
Castiel blinked. "Sure, let me--" Before he could break the restraints, Dean reached back to yank free the hospital gown's ties and pull it down. Castiel flushed and looked away from Dean.
Dean studied the sigil layout. Then he pulled up a chair and sat down, folding his arms. "You're the guy from the church."
It took Castiel a second to understand the meaning of his words. "Sam has woken up?"
"Oh, he's been awake since yesterday, he just hasn't been coherent," Dean barked. "You know, I thought you were some crazy hunter, maybe a psychic. But hunters don't appear out of thin air in a burst of light. Or blow out people's eardrums and a whole crypt's worth of windows. So what are you? One of the special kids?"
"No!" Castiel snapped. He busied himself by fixing the gown, but in a few moments he had to face the question again. "It's complicated. But that doesn't matter. Like I said, I'm a friend."
"Bullshit! You came at my brother with a scalpel!" Dean leaned forward. "The way I see it, friends are honest with each other. About the big stuff, at least. You want to be bestest friends with me? Put your money where your mouth is."
“I’m an angel of the Lord,” Castiel said helplessly, and then, just to get it out of the way, added, “From the future.” Dean threw his head back and laughed. "I'm serious, Dean! How do you think I know so much about you? I know your whole life. Your mother used to sing 'Hey Jude' to you when she put you to bed. Your brother made the amulet you wear and gave it to you on Christmas Eve in 1991. You lost your virginity to a girl named Sally when you were fourteen and you learned to drive a year later. The most important thing to you is your family, but the three of you split up after Sam left for college, and now that you've got Sam back you think that everything is going to be sunshine and pie. It's not going to work." Castiel braced himself on the railing and reached out for Dean, only for the hunter to jerk away from his touch. Unsurprising, but it still hurt to see Dean look at him so coldly. "Let me help you. I will tell you what Azazel plans to do in the future, places, dates, everything. We can set up an ambush. We can even save Sam. If Azazel gets his hands on him, it's all over."
Dean regarded him for a moment, face and soul unreadable. Then he said, "Let me ask you something, Marty McFly. What year do you think you landed in?"
Castiel cocked his head at the question. "2005, maybe 2006."
"It's 2007." Dean sat back with a smile as the news sunk in. "Your information? Is pure, unadultered shit. That stuff with my dad, that happened last year. And funnily enough, me'n'Sam have been doing just fine till now."
"No, that's not true, that' can't be true," Castiel burst out. "Dean, this is too cruel for you--" Dean pointed to the display on the machine connected to Castiel. Beneath a group of mysterious numbers and abbreviations glowed the date: 03.07.2007.
The world crumbled.
He...
He did not belong here. Would never belong here. Wherever "here" was. This beautiful, peaceful world, it did not have his family in it, the brothers and sisters who had defied the will of Heaven when he spread word of their superiors' intentions. It did not have the humans, brilliant and bright in their ferocity, standing strong against incomprehensible horrors. It did not have Dean, his Dean, his Dean. Whom he had rescued from Hell and who had rescued him from Heaven.
Castiel had lost his home before. On the day he decided to rebel, he resigned himself to exile or (more likely) death. Even after the Resistance had negotiated a truce with the orthodox angels, he had known that any permanent treaty would ban him from Heaven. That, Castiel could live with. He had found a home among the friends he had made on Earth. This time, he had nothing.
No, that wasn't quite right. He had a Dean, a Dean similar to his Dean in many ways. Less broken for sure, but with the same fundamental goodness shining in his soul. This Dean hated him, but he was the closest thing to a home Castiel had left. This Dean--
This Dean, Castiel suddenly realized, had walked out the door some time ago.
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