Fic: The Shattered One (2/?)
See the masterpost for disclaimer, summary, and previous parts.
A/N: Wow! I have to say, I was really blown away by the response so far from you guys to this fic. For such a squicky subject matter, y’all have been really brave to jump on this train with me :) Every one of you is awesome *yes, you*
*******************
It had been a ball-busting day, though it had involved little more than riding in the car. Still, it was the quality to the driving that made all the difference. Castiel was running them into the ground lately… or at least it felt that way.
Dean was that special brand of exhausted where he had actually passed the ability to sleep long ago, strung out on caffeine and nerves all shot to hell that they didn’t even know what the hell was going on anymore. Sam, luckily, hadn’t quite reached that point of ‘too tired to even sleep’. The second they stopped for the night, he flopped down on one of the motel beds and was out like a light in ten seconds flat. Dean watched him enviously a moment, then went outside to fetch a beer from the cooler in the back seat. It was the last beer, and all the ice had melted hours ago, so it was tepid at best, but the rote motion of hand to mouth, swallow, lower hand, repeat, had a soothing quality to it. He leaned against the car and took a rare moment to think.
For almost a week, they had been tearing up the highways putting out hellfires. Dean might have thought, once upon a time, that having an angel attack dog would be cool. After having one, he was beginning to think otherwise.
It was a pattern now, and a nerve-wracking one. Sam and Dean would scour the news for signs of demon activity. The big ones (big enough to suggest Lucifer-level hijinks), and the Winchesters were off. They got there, put their noses to the grindstone, researched like crazy… which was all pretty par for the course. But instead of identifying the fugly they were hunting and going after it with guns blazing, once they had a target they called Castiel. The angel showed up and the case was handed off with all the finesse of a game of hot-potato. There was no salting and burning and no guns blazing for the Winchester boys. The second Cas had the dirt on the latest beastie they’d found, the brothers were on the road again, racing after the next big bad breathing down humanity’s collective neck.
It made for frustrating work because: 1) it had yet to get them any closer to Lucifer himself (though he had to be mighty pissed that so many of his heavy-hitters were getting knocked on their asses while he was trying to host an apocalypse), and 2) fact was, Dean never realized before how relaxing the hard part of hunting was. A week of never sticking around long enough to follow through, and he was worn out. He loved his car to death, but he was starting to get sick of the sight of her dashboard. He couldn’t even guess how many miles they’d covered in a week.
It was hard to complain, because Castiel was kicking ass (and sometimes taking names) like gang-busters. Dean had never seen that wrathful side of him so out in the open. Dean could almost feel a tiny bit sorry for the demons they sicced Cas on, because he was working that ‘warrior of God’ thing lately. And all that was while he also searched for God. It was impressive to say the least, and pretty much screamed ‘stop being a baby and get the job done, Winchester’ at Dean (in a voice in his head that sounded eerily like John Winchester).
But on the other hand, Dean didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up. He didn’t know how much longer Sam could. And if they got frayed at the ends, so punch-drunk tired they tried gargling their shaving cream and shaving with mouthwash, well, that couldn’t help them resist the efforts of Michael and Lucifer to ride their respective asses, could it?
Of course, the alternative was to say ‘gee, this is tough, mind if we take a little break from saving the world?’ As long as Castiel was raring to go, a smiting machine, Dean and Sam dare not be the ones to fuck it all up. Again. Though at this rate, it might get to the point where it wasn’t a matter of choice anymore.
At a loss for what to do, Dean took another drink of his beer.
The quiet of the night was broken when Dean’s cell phone chirped in his pocket. With a sigh, he pulled it out and saw a message from Castiel.
where?
Dean steeled himself and texted back wichita falls texas scotland park motel
He’d no sooner hit ‘send’ when Castiel was right beside him. He landed with a thud on the gravel and for a split second his knees threatened to buckle. Dean thought Cas was about to pitch right into him, and he shot out a hand to catch him. “Whoa… you okay?”
In the next second, Castiel had gathered himself and was no closer to falling over than the Impala was. “I’m fine. What have you and Sam found?”
Dean could feel his eye right start twitching. “Nothing, man… Cas, we had to stop to sleep.”
Castiel didn’t say anything, but the tight press of his lips let Dean know he wasn’t happy about that.
“Look, no one wants to ruin Lucifer’s party more than me and Sam do, but…” Dean sighed, surrendering. If he had a white flag, he’d be waving it. “We can’t keep this pace up.”
Castiel looked at him curiously.
“We’re only human. We have limits. And I figure it can only play to Michael and Lucifer’s grand plans if we crack under the pressure.”
Castiel pondered that a moment. “You and Sam are… fatigued.”
“Fucking exhausted. I’m not too proud to say it - we can’t keep up with you. Maybe we could bring it down a notch?”
Castiel looked out across the near-empty parking lot and the highway beyond, silent. He hadn’t outright objected, so Dean was going to cross his fingers.
“What’s going on with you lately, anyway?” he asked. When Castiel looked his way again, Dean shrugged. “You’re kinda… manic. What’s the deal?”
Castiel stared unblinkingly at Dean, and there was something big and awkward squatting in the silence.
Dean shook his head. “Never mind, stupid question. Apocalypse.” Castiel neither agreed nor disagreed, but it was pretty fucking obvious. “Hey…” Dean cleared his throat. “You, ah… you’ve been looking kind of slammed whenever you show up lately. Your landing gear stuck or something?”
Castiel stiffened for a second, and Dean wanted to feel annoyed or exasperated or something by that, but he was mostly just tired. He was prepared for another brush-off (Castiel had a capacity for staying on point that would make an OCD terrier with a ball fixation proud), but then his posture relaxed (damn near slouched) and he shifted closer to Dean. “Flying has become more… taxing on me than it used to be.”
Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Shit, man, if this back-to-back hunting is running you ragged, too, maybe we all ought to step back.”
“There’s no time.”
“Well, make the time. Because a frazzled angel and two dead-tired hunters aren’t going to do the world a bit of good. One of the things my dad taught me is that you have to know when you’re tired to the point that you’re a danger to yourself and the people you hunt with.”
Castiel looked peeved by that, but he didn’t argue.
Dean counted that a victory. And a sign that Castiel was more exhausted than he would admit. It was reassuring and frightening at the same time. Reassuring to know that he and Sam weren’t total pussies for needing a break, because Cas did, too. Frightening, because Castiel was an angel… he shouldn’t need a break. Ever.
“So, uh… this ‘cut off from Heaven’ thing sucks ass,” he offered lamely in an attempt to be all caring and sharing on the matter.
Castiel glanced at him, brows furrowed.
“You know, the whole… first not being able to heal Bobby, then the trouble flying… just… sorry.”
Castiel hesitated a beat before answering lowly, “It’s not your fault.”
Dean snorted and took another drink. Castiel inched cautiously closer to Dean’s side and leaned back, copying Dean and putting his weight on the Impala, but doing it almost experimentally. Maybe trying out taking a load off, or maybe worried Dean would jump down his throat for touching his beloved car. Dean just lifted his eyebrows at Castiel giving in to any hint of weariness.
Castiel gave an abortive sigh and let his hands hang at his sides.
“I have an idea,” Dean said. Castiel looked up at him slowly. “Stick with us tomorrow. Do the hunting evil thing our way.”
Castiel frowned. “Your way is inefficient and slow.”
Kicker was, that wasn’t meant as an insult. So he tried not to take it as one. “Exactly… I’d say slow and steady would do you some good right now. And don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. Just ask the tortoise.”
Castiel’s face screwed. “Why would I consult a tortoise on methods of hunting?”
Dean snorted. “Never mind. Just… how about Sam and I meet you out here tomorrow morning, say eleven o’clock? We’ll grab lunch, pile in the car, and figure it out from there.”
Castiel didn’t look particularly sold on the idea, but Dean didn’t give him a chance to object. He pushed off the car, tossed his empty bottle into the night, and said, “See you tomorrow, Cas.”
Castiel relented with a sag of his shoulders. “Very well. Goodnight, Dean.”
The angel was still leaning against the Impala when Dean slipped back into the motel room.
*******************
Time had always been an unending thing to Castiel. There was the shore of the beginning, where God bade the very heartbeat of eternity to start beating, but everywhere else minutes and hours and days and years and centuries stretched on infinitely. An ocean of eons, rolling horizon to horizon and sinking to depths unknowable to any but God himself.
Castiel used to swim in that sea of timelessness and knew only peace. He reveled in everlasting. He floated on forever.
That was before the shattered one broke him in two… a split that would not heal. A crack that would slowly end his existence. Every second it was with him was another second chipped away from Castiel’s lifeline.
Now, the ocean of time had an edge, and Castiel was drifting ever closer to falling off.
*******************
Given Castiel’s less-than-enthusiastic reception of the idea of ‘doing it human-style for a day’ the night before, Dean was pleasantly surprised to find Castiel standing outside the motel waiting for them the next day near noon. He’d told Sam about inviting the angel to ride along for the day, and Sam just looked relieved that it meant Castiel had to slow down to do it. They all fucking needed this.
They all got in the car, Dean and Sam in front with Castiel in the backseat, and Dean drove until he found a Whataburger. Castiel quietly followed their lead and trailed them inside.
“Why don’t you guys grab us a table, I’ll order,” Dean offered. He knew what Sam would want just because he’d lived freakishly up in his business their whole lives. He probably could have gone into any restaurant in America, looked at the menu, and guessed what Sam would like. It was an obscure older brother super-power. He glanced at Castiel. “You want anything?”
Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “I do not eat.”
Mores the pity, Dean thought, but he shrugged and turned to get in line. Sam and Castiel went off in search of a semi-clean table.
When Dean made his way over with a tray laden with two drinks, two burgers (grilled chicken, in Sam’s case), and two orders of french fries, he had to pick between sitting next to his brother or sitting next to Cas… they were opposite each other at a booth. He opted for sitting next to Cas, because at least if he wasn’t eating Dean wouldn’t knock elbows with him while he chowed down on his own food.
Dean passed Sam his lunch, arranged his own in front of him, then turned to unwrapping his burger as he asked, “So… what’s the plan for today?”
Sam stuffed a fry in his mouth. “While we were passing through Tulsa yesterday and I could get some spotty wifi coverage, I read some weather reports out of Shreveport that might be promising.”
“We talking ‘biblical’ weird or just your run-of-the-mill demon action?” Dean asked, “Because really, at this point, we got to start being picky about what cases we take. No more small-time demons for this hunting trio. We’re strictly top-level evil-SOB-killers.”
Sam shrugged. “Well, I didn’t get to look into it much before the internet kicked out. I should have looked it up last night, but…”
Dean waved it off. He remembered what a zombie Sam had been yesterday when they finally stopped. “Well, maybe we should troll around looking for a place where you can jack in.”
“You are so dated, Dean… it’s been years since anyone actually ‘jacked into’ the internet.”
“It’ll never go away completely. Neo still jacked in.”
Sam just stared at him. “I don’t know if I should feel embarrassed or sad that you use the Matrix as a basis for reality.”
Dean opened his mouth to retort… but a loud growl beat him to the punch. For a split second, Dean thought it was his stomach telling him to shovel it in faster. Sam’s slightly shocked look made Dean realize… no, not his stomach.
He glanced over at Castiel next to him. “Dude, did your stomach just growl?”
Castiel was looking down at himself. He brought his chin up, and he looked flustered and perplexed. “I don’t… that has never happened before.”
Dean frowned while Sam ventured, “Uh… are you sure you’re not hungry?”
Castiel scowled.
Dean jumped in to spare Sam the withering weight of Castiel’s full glare. “Would you even know what hungry feels like?”
Castiel looked toward Dean and tilted his head. He seemed intrigued by the question.
Deciding there was only one way to find out, Dean tore his burger in half and offered one of them to Cas. “Here… try it.”
While Sam was gaping at Dean sharing his food (which, in Dean’s world, was right up there with letting someone play emo-music in his car), Castiel took the torn burger from Dean and studied it for a moment. He seemed to contemplate how to approach it, then took a tentative bite. He chewed methodically, seeming to catalogue the sensations, then he swallowed.
Dean waited.
Castiel’s eyes flickered from Dean to the burger and back again… then Castiel took a larger, more heartfelt bite.
“Huh,” Dean grunted. Not what he’d been expecting when he woke up that morning, but this was a surprise he could roll with. Better than the apocalyptic kind they got lately.
He shoved his order of fries between them so he and Cas could share. He ended up getting less than half of them. Apparently Castiel was not only hungry, he was ravenous. Dean had an uncomfortable thought that maybe Castiel had been hungry for days now… he just didn’t know it. The idea fairly horrified Dean. Personally, Dean could imagine few things worse than starving. He made a mental note to make it a point to feed the angel regularly. Apparently part of falling was the need to eat.
That was just as disturbing as the recent problems with flight, but Dean tried not to let it occupy his thoughts too much. He couldn’t give Cas a boost back up into Heaven, but he could work on tracking down Lucifer and ending his sorry ass and the apocalypse he rode in on.
Next
A/N: Wow! I have to say, I was really blown away by the response so far from you guys to this fic. For such a squicky subject matter, y’all have been really brave to jump on this train with me :) Every one of you is awesome *yes, you*
*******************
It had been a ball-busting day, though it had involved little more than riding in the car. Still, it was the quality to the driving that made all the difference. Castiel was running them into the ground lately… or at least it felt that way.
Dean was that special brand of exhausted where he had actually passed the ability to sleep long ago, strung out on caffeine and nerves all shot to hell that they didn’t even know what the hell was going on anymore. Sam, luckily, hadn’t quite reached that point of ‘too tired to even sleep’. The second they stopped for the night, he flopped down on one of the motel beds and was out like a light in ten seconds flat. Dean watched him enviously a moment, then went outside to fetch a beer from the cooler in the back seat. It was the last beer, and all the ice had melted hours ago, so it was tepid at best, but the rote motion of hand to mouth, swallow, lower hand, repeat, had a soothing quality to it. He leaned against the car and took a rare moment to think.
For almost a week, they had been tearing up the highways putting out hellfires. Dean might have thought, once upon a time, that having an angel attack dog would be cool. After having one, he was beginning to think otherwise.
It was a pattern now, and a nerve-wracking one. Sam and Dean would scour the news for signs of demon activity. The big ones (big enough to suggest Lucifer-level hijinks), and the Winchesters were off. They got there, put their noses to the grindstone, researched like crazy… which was all pretty par for the course. But instead of identifying the fugly they were hunting and going after it with guns blazing, once they had a target they called Castiel. The angel showed up and the case was handed off with all the finesse of a game of hot-potato. There was no salting and burning and no guns blazing for the Winchester boys. The second Cas had the dirt on the latest beastie they’d found, the brothers were on the road again, racing after the next big bad breathing down humanity’s collective neck.
It made for frustrating work because: 1) it had yet to get them any closer to Lucifer himself (though he had to be mighty pissed that so many of his heavy-hitters were getting knocked on their asses while he was trying to host an apocalypse), and 2) fact was, Dean never realized before how relaxing the hard part of hunting was. A week of never sticking around long enough to follow through, and he was worn out. He loved his car to death, but he was starting to get sick of the sight of her dashboard. He couldn’t even guess how many miles they’d covered in a week.
It was hard to complain, because Castiel was kicking ass (and sometimes taking names) like gang-busters. Dean had never seen that wrathful side of him so out in the open. Dean could almost feel a tiny bit sorry for the demons they sicced Cas on, because he was working that ‘warrior of God’ thing lately. And all that was while he also searched for God. It was impressive to say the least, and pretty much screamed ‘stop being a baby and get the job done, Winchester’ at Dean (in a voice in his head that sounded eerily like John Winchester).
But on the other hand, Dean didn’t know how much longer he could keep this up. He didn’t know how much longer Sam could. And if they got frayed at the ends, so punch-drunk tired they tried gargling their shaving cream and shaving with mouthwash, well, that couldn’t help them resist the efforts of Michael and Lucifer to ride their respective asses, could it?
Of course, the alternative was to say ‘gee, this is tough, mind if we take a little break from saving the world?’ As long as Castiel was raring to go, a smiting machine, Dean and Sam dare not be the ones to fuck it all up. Again. Though at this rate, it might get to the point where it wasn’t a matter of choice anymore.
At a loss for what to do, Dean took another drink of his beer.
The quiet of the night was broken when Dean’s cell phone chirped in his pocket. With a sigh, he pulled it out and saw a message from Castiel.
where?
Dean steeled himself and texted back wichita falls texas scotland park motel
He’d no sooner hit ‘send’ when Castiel was right beside him. He landed with a thud on the gravel and for a split second his knees threatened to buckle. Dean thought Cas was about to pitch right into him, and he shot out a hand to catch him. “Whoa… you okay?”
In the next second, Castiel had gathered himself and was no closer to falling over than the Impala was. “I’m fine. What have you and Sam found?”
Dean could feel his eye right start twitching. “Nothing, man… Cas, we had to stop to sleep.”
Castiel didn’t say anything, but the tight press of his lips let Dean know he wasn’t happy about that.
“Look, no one wants to ruin Lucifer’s party more than me and Sam do, but…” Dean sighed, surrendering. If he had a white flag, he’d be waving it. “We can’t keep this pace up.”
Castiel looked at him curiously.
“We’re only human. We have limits. And I figure it can only play to Michael and Lucifer’s grand plans if we crack under the pressure.”
Castiel pondered that a moment. “You and Sam are… fatigued.”
“Fucking exhausted. I’m not too proud to say it - we can’t keep up with you. Maybe we could bring it down a notch?”
Castiel looked out across the near-empty parking lot and the highway beyond, silent. He hadn’t outright objected, so Dean was going to cross his fingers.
“What’s going on with you lately, anyway?” he asked. When Castiel looked his way again, Dean shrugged. “You’re kinda… manic. What’s the deal?”
Castiel stared unblinkingly at Dean, and there was something big and awkward squatting in the silence.
Dean shook his head. “Never mind, stupid question. Apocalypse.” Castiel neither agreed nor disagreed, but it was pretty fucking obvious. “Hey…” Dean cleared his throat. “You, ah… you’ve been looking kind of slammed whenever you show up lately. Your landing gear stuck or something?”
Castiel stiffened for a second, and Dean wanted to feel annoyed or exasperated or something by that, but he was mostly just tired. He was prepared for another brush-off (Castiel had a capacity for staying on point that would make an OCD terrier with a ball fixation proud), but then his posture relaxed (damn near slouched) and he shifted closer to Dean. “Flying has become more… taxing on me than it used to be.”
Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Shit, man, if this back-to-back hunting is running you ragged, too, maybe we all ought to step back.”
“There’s no time.”
“Well, make the time. Because a frazzled angel and two dead-tired hunters aren’t going to do the world a bit of good. One of the things my dad taught me is that you have to know when you’re tired to the point that you’re a danger to yourself and the people you hunt with.”
Castiel looked peeved by that, but he didn’t argue.
Dean counted that a victory. And a sign that Castiel was more exhausted than he would admit. It was reassuring and frightening at the same time. Reassuring to know that he and Sam weren’t total pussies for needing a break, because Cas did, too. Frightening, because Castiel was an angel… he shouldn’t need a break. Ever.
“So, uh… this ‘cut off from Heaven’ thing sucks ass,” he offered lamely in an attempt to be all caring and sharing on the matter.
Castiel glanced at him, brows furrowed.
“You know, the whole… first not being able to heal Bobby, then the trouble flying… just… sorry.”
Castiel hesitated a beat before answering lowly, “It’s not your fault.”
Dean snorted and took another drink. Castiel inched cautiously closer to Dean’s side and leaned back, copying Dean and putting his weight on the Impala, but doing it almost experimentally. Maybe trying out taking a load off, or maybe worried Dean would jump down his throat for touching his beloved car. Dean just lifted his eyebrows at Castiel giving in to any hint of weariness.
Castiel gave an abortive sigh and let his hands hang at his sides.
“I have an idea,” Dean said. Castiel looked up at him slowly. “Stick with us tomorrow. Do the hunting evil thing our way.”
Castiel frowned. “Your way is inefficient and slow.”
Kicker was, that wasn’t meant as an insult. So he tried not to take it as one. “Exactly… I’d say slow and steady would do you some good right now. And don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it. Just ask the tortoise.”
Castiel’s face screwed. “Why would I consult a tortoise on methods of hunting?”
Dean snorted. “Never mind. Just… how about Sam and I meet you out here tomorrow morning, say eleven o’clock? We’ll grab lunch, pile in the car, and figure it out from there.”
Castiel didn’t look particularly sold on the idea, but Dean didn’t give him a chance to object. He pushed off the car, tossed his empty bottle into the night, and said, “See you tomorrow, Cas.”
Castiel relented with a sag of his shoulders. “Very well. Goodnight, Dean.”
The angel was still leaning against the Impala when Dean slipped back into the motel room.
*******************
Time had always been an unending thing to Castiel. There was the shore of the beginning, where God bade the very heartbeat of eternity to start beating, but everywhere else minutes and hours and days and years and centuries stretched on infinitely. An ocean of eons, rolling horizon to horizon and sinking to depths unknowable to any but God himself.
Castiel used to swim in that sea of timelessness and knew only peace. He reveled in everlasting. He floated on forever.
That was before the shattered one broke him in two… a split that would not heal. A crack that would slowly end his existence. Every second it was with him was another second chipped away from Castiel’s lifeline.
Now, the ocean of time had an edge, and Castiel was drifting ever closer to falling off.
*******************
Given Castiel’s less-than-enthusiastic reception of the idea of ‘doing it human-style for a day’ the night before, Dean was pleasantly surprised to find Castiel standing outside the motel waiting for them the next day near noon. He’d told Sam about inviting the angel to ride along for the day, and Sam just looked relieved that it meant Castiel had to slow down to do it. They all fucking needed this.
They all got in the car, Dean and Sam in front with Castiel in the backseat, and Dean drove until he found a Whataburger. Castiel quietly followed their lead and trailed them inside.
“Why don’t you guys grab us a table, I’ll order,” Dean offered. He knew what Sam would want just because he’d lived freakishly up in his business their whole lives. He probably could have gone into any restaurant in America, looked at the menu, and guessed what Sam would like. It was an obscure older brother super-power. He glanced at Castiel. “You want anything?”
Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “I do not eat.”
Mores the pity, Dean thought, but he shrugged and turned to get in line. Sam and Castiel went off in search of a semi-clean table.
When Dean made his way over with a tray laden with two drinks, two burgers (grilled chicken, in Sam’s case), and two orders of french fries, he had to pick between sitting next to his brother or sitting next to Cas… they were opposite each other at a booth. He opted for sitting next to Cas, because at least if he wasn’t eating Dean wouldn’t knock elbows with him while he chowed down on his own food.
Dean passed Sam his lunch, arranged his own in front of him, then turned to unwrapping his burger as he asked, “So… what’s the plan for today?”
Sam stuffed a fry in his mouth. “While we were passing through Tulsa yesterday and I could get some spotty wifi coverage, I read some weather reports out of Shreveport that might be promising.”
“We talking ‘biblical’ weird or just your run-of-the-mill demon action?” Dean asked, “Because really, at this point, we got to start being picky about what cases we take. No more small-time demons for this hunting trio. We’re strictly top-level evil-SOB-killers.”
Sam shrugged. “Well, I didn’t get to look into it much before the internet kicked out. I should have looked it up last night, but…”
Dean waved it off. He remembered what a zombie Sam had been yesterday when they finally stopped. “Well, maybe we should troll around looking for a place where you can jack in.”
“You are so dated, Dean… it’s been years since anyone actually ‘jacked into’ the internet.”
“It’ll never go away completely. Neo still jacked in.”
Sam just stared at him. “I don’t know if I should feel embarrassed or sad that you use the Matrix as a basis for reality.”
Dean opened his mouth to retort… but a loud growl beat him to the punch. For a split second, Dean thought it was his stomach telling him to shovel it in faster. Sam’s slightly shocked look made Dean realize… no, not his stomach.
He glanced over at Castiel next to him. “Dude, did your stomach just growl?”
Castiel was looking down at himself. He brought his chin up, and he looked flustered and perplexed. “I don’t… that has never happened before.”
Dean frowned while Sam ventured, “Uh… are you sure you’re not hungry?”
Castiel scowled.
Dean jumped in to spare Sam the withering weight of Castiel’s full glare. “Would you even know what hungry feels like?”
Castiel looked toward Dean and tilted his head. He seemed intrigued by the question.
Deciding there was only one way to find out, Dean tore his burger in half and offered one of them to Cas. “Here… try it.”
While Sam was gaping at Dean sharing his food (which, in Dean’s world, was right up there with letting someone play emo-music in his car), Castiel took the torn burger from Dean and studied it for a moment. He seemed to contemplate how to approach it, then took a tentative bite. He chewed methodically, seeming to catalogue the sensations, then he swallowed.
Dean waited.
Castiel’s eyes flickered from Dean to the burger and back again… then Castiel took a larger, more heartfelt bite.
“Huh,” Dean grunted. Not what he’d been expecting when he woke up that morning, but this was a surprise he could roll with. Better than the apocalyptic kind they got lately.
He shoved his order of fries between them so he and Cas could share. He ended up getting less than half of them. Apparently Castiel was not only hungry, he was ravenous. Dean had an uncomfortable thought that maybe Castiel had been hungry for days now… he just didn’t know it. The idea fairly horrified Dean. Personally, Dean could imagine few things worse than starving. He made a mental note to make it a point to feed the angel regularly. Apparently part of falling was the need to eat.
That was just as disturbing as the recent problems with flight, but Dean tried not to let it occupy his thoughts too much. He couldn’t give Cas a boost back up into Heaven, but he could work on tracking down Lucifer and ending his sorry ass and the apocalypse he rode in on.
Next