Chapter 4

Dean paced back and forth outside the barn, anxiously waiting to get back in there and help Cas, who was hurting and afraid and probably didn't even know what was happening to him. It drove Dean mad to be so helpless.

Sam had gone off to get the ingredients the moment Crowley had texted the remedy, while Dean had stayed behind to guard the barn and make sure Cas didn't try to run off again. Sheriff Tanner had stayed with him, and at least was able to keep the rest of the sheriff's department from descending on them.

"Not the real FBI, huh?" the woman spoke up after a while, eyeing him with arms crossed. "Impersonating them is a felony, you know."

"We do what we have to, to get the job done."

She hummed. "So, what, you guys go around barging into cases of animal attacks?"

"When we suspect werewolves," he replied. "Vamp attacks can sometimes look like an animal, if the neck is shredded enough. Then there's ghosts and witches and demons."

Tanner blanched. "I don't think I want to know."

"No, you probably don't. But hey, knowing the truth means you'll look at things differently. You ever come across a death that seems weird, you give us a call."

She let out a snort. "So now you're the ghostbusters?"

Dean shrugged one shoulder. "Sometimes we save the world, too."

They fell silent after that, until a few minutes later when Sam finally returned, jogging up the dirt drive toward the barn.

Dean frowned. "Where's Baby?"

Sam was supposed to have gone back to retrieve her, since a few of the ingredients for the cure were in the trunk.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I left her at the access road. Remember how the sound of the engine scared Cas the first time?"

Dean winced. "Right. So you got it?"

Nodding, Sam reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a vial with a milky looking liquid inside. "I had to improvise a little, but I think it'll work."

Dean held his hand out. "One way to find out. I'll go in alone."

"What? Dean—"

"We don't want to overwhelm him," he said before Sam could argue further. "Especially if he's having trouble recognizing us, but he did 'claim' my soul in Hell or whatever, so that's gotta count for something, right?"

Sam's mouth pressed into a thin line, but he nodded and handed the vial over.

Dean took a steadying breath, and headed for the barn door. He slid it open as quietly as he could, though it was impossible not to make some sound. It was late afternoon now, approaching sunset, and yellow-orange rays were streaming through some holes in the shoddy barn walls and spilling what looked like gold dust everywhere.

Dean crept toward the stall Cas had been in, and carefully peeked around the corner of it. Cas was still there, huddled in a miserable ball and shivering. He didn't even notice Dean at first.

"Cas?" Dean called tentatively.

The angel flinched and turned his head sharply, eyes roving around wildly.

"Easy, there," Dean said softly. "It's just me. Dean."

"Dean?" Cas rasped.

"Yeah, buddy. Do you remember what happened?"

Cas's brow puckered, and he looked around at the animal stall. "Rowena," he gasped. "She cast a spell."

Dean's stomach dropped. "No, that was a year ago. We were hunting a hellhound, remember? You got torn up pretty bad and it bit you. It was sick, and now you're sick, too. But I've got the cure right here." He held the bottle between his fingers so Cas could see.

Cas frowned deeply, like he was trying to decipher some pop culture reference that didn't make sense. He slowly glanced down at his wounds. "Hellhound," he murmured. "I heard them baying—"

"Hellhound's dead," Dean interrupted. "Sam killed it." He held his breath and took a step into the stall, wary of Cas's reaction. "You gotta let me help you, man. You've lost a lot of blood and I bet you feel like crap, right?"

Cas's expression pinched as he regarded Dean uncertainly.

Dean slowly slid his other foot forward, bringing him to only a few feet apart, and painstakingly lowered himself to Cas's eye level, trying to be as non-threatening as possible.

"Cas," he said gently yet firmly. "You trust me?"

Cas furrowed his brow in confusion. "Of course."

"Okay." Dean tried not to tense as he shuffled closer, carefully reaching out to touch Cas's knee. "Now I gotta be honest with you, I don't know what this is gonna taste like." He uncorked the vial. "But you need to drink it all, okay?"

Cas's eyes were bloodshot and fever glazed, but he nodded. Dean lifted the bottle to his lips and tipped it back, pouring the potion into his mouth. Cas's throat bobbed as he chugged it down, thankfully not gagging or spitting any of it out. Once the vial was empty, Dean set it aside and waited with bated breath for some results.

Which happened to be Cas's eyes rolling back and him falling completely limp.

Dean's heart stuttered and he grabbed the angel's shoulders, keeping him upright. "Sammy!"

He heard the barn door grate open in a hurry and then Sam came rushing into the stall.

"What? Did it work?"

"I don't know," Dean scowled. "He drank it and passed out."

Dean shifted so Cas was slumped against him, head on his shoulder, and he lifted his free hand to Cas's face to see if he was breathing.

"I double checked with the Men of Letters archives," Sam said, distressed. "To make sure Crowley wouldn't try to screw us over. The cure was legit."

Sheriff Tanner came into view. "Do angels need hospitals?" she asked hesitantly.

Dean didn't know what to do, and was seriously trying to hold it together and not imagine that Cas was dying in his arms, when he noticed the jagged and inflamed fissures underneath the ripped clothes seemed to be melding back together.

Dean's hand flew to Cas's hem and he pulled it back, revealing the healing that was taking place after all, albeit a tad slower than typical angel healing. But Cas had been through the wringer.

"Sam, it's working."

His brother let out a heavy breath of relief. "Oh, thank god."

Dean watched as the feverish sheen to Cas's brow faded and color return to his complexion, banishing the pasty death tone. He wasn't waking up, but his breathing had evened out and lost that reedy whistling sound. After the night he'd had, Cas probably needed the sleep.

"So," Tanner spoke up, voice shaky with amazement. "How exactly am I supposed to write this up?"

Dean met her gaze and shrugged. "Wild bear."

Castiel woke to the scent of fresh linen and the sound of the radiator rumbling on the other side of the wall, and knew before he opened his eyes that he was in his room at the bunker. That didn't erase his confusion, though, and when he finally did take in his surroundings, he was even more perplexed to find that he was tucked in bed, wearing sweat pants and an old t-shirt. The fact that he had no memory of getting like this was somewhat distressing, and he briefly wondered whether this was some kind of hallucination or pocket dimension. What was the last thing he could remember? A case of animal mauling…or, hellhound. That was it.

Castiel slowly slid out of bed and placed bare feet on the cold concrete. He remembered the hellhound attacking. …Had it killed him? But, if he was dead, surely he wouldn't be in Heaven…

He ventured from his room cautiously, following the scent of cooking meat that was wafting down the corridor. He found Sam and Dean in the kitchen, the latter flipping a burger on the stove. Sam was sitting at the table and straightened upon seeing Castiel.

"Cas, you're awake!" he exclaimed with a relieved smile.

Dean spun around, eyes also lighting up. "About time, Sleeping Beauty. How you feeling?"

Castiel shifted his weight uncertainly. "Fine." He did feel all right—well-rested and grace intact. "Um, what happened?"

"You don't remember?" Sam asked.

He shook his head and shuffled forward to take a seat at the table. "Not really, no. Weren't we hunting a hellhound?"

Sam's expression sobered. "Yeah. You got torn up pretty bad in the fight. The hellhound was sick, too, which was why it was randomly killing people. And since it bit you, you got pretty sick."

"You had us chasing you halfway across the county because you thought we were demons," Dean interjected as he flipped the finished burger onto a bun and came to join them.

Castiel stared at him dubiously. "What?"

"You were delirious with fever," Sam explained.

He stiffened. "Did I hurt either of you?"

"Nah," Dean replied. "You did flip an ambulance and nearly gave the sheriff a heart attack, though."

Sam rolled his eyes in vexation, while Castiel was horrified.

"You didn't hurt anyone," Sam rushed to assure him. "Paramedics had a few bruises, and after we explained hellhounds and angels to the sheriff, she let us handle things. We found a cure for the hellhound sickness, and it worked pretty fast, but you were out for over a day." His expression softened. "We figured you needed the rest."

Castiel leaned back in his chair, stunned. "I'm sorry."

"Wasn't your fault," Dean said, and some of his glibness faded. "The important thing is you're okay."

Castiel dropped his gaze and fingered the hem of his borrowed shirt. He had flashes of his usual clothes being ripped when the hellhound's claws had torn into him.

"We saved your suit and coat," Dean said, as though able to read his thoughts. "They're in a bag in the laundry room. I figured you could repair them…?"

Castiel nodded. "Yes. Thank you."

Dean shrugged. "Couldn't let you sleep in bloodstained clothes."

Well, they could have, but Castiel appreciated that they hadn't.

"You hungry?" Dean added out of the blue. "I can make you a burger."

"That's not necessary," he replied. "And I really should get back to looking for Kelly. I've lost too much time already."

"You needed it," Dean said somewhat sternly.

That didn't change things, though.

"We can help with that," Sam put in. "Three heads have gotta be better than one."

Castiel stood up. "It's my responsibility."

Dean got to his feet sharply to mirror him. "It's all of our responsibility. We've been over that."

Castiel started to shake his head. "I'm the one who lost her…"

"All three of us could have been there and she still would have managed to give us the slip," Sam countered. "She's a mother protecting her child."

Castiel sighed. Yes. And that made this so much more complicated than hunting a simple monster.

"Here's the plan," Dean said. "You go mojo your Columbo look back to pristine condition, I'll make you a burger, and Sam will pull up some new searches we can do. We all meet in the library in ten." His tone brooked no argument, though Castiel readily would have given one…if a small part of him hadn't been grateful for the offer.

So he suppressed a sigh that would have only been half frustration, half fond exasperation, and nodded. "Alright."

Dean nodded in return, and went back to the stove. "Also," he threw over his shoulder, "no more hellhound cases."

Sam let out a soft snort, and Castiel scoffed.

But he didn't necessarily disagree.

A/N: The end! I've got a one shot for Monday, and hopefully I can start writing more soon, because my queue is woefully low. 0_o