Useless (Part 2)

They talk about little but the case over breakfast and Castiel does little but nibble on his maple-syrup drenched pancakes and listen to the Winchesters discuss. It is as yet unclear if they are hunting a lone vampire or group, so they narrow down the areas of the small town where a coven could be found. Castiel does not relish the idea of failing to find a conven and having to sweep the entire town and surrounding forest for one creature. Dean and Sam take on their usual disguises posing as government agents to interview victim's charge Cas with inspecting the murder sites for the sort of evidence that police might not recognize.

Dean and Sam drop him off at the first site in possession of a handgun and a cellphone. Dean rolls down the window and taps his fingers against the wheel, staring at Cas with indecision. Finally, he jerks his head and growls: "Don't do anything stupid."

Castiel barely has a moment to register the words before he's left in a cloud of dust as the Impala drives off. A twinge of annoyance makes him roll his eyes and he wonders if stupidity were even possible when the Winchesters have given him the least dangerous task. What would have, at one point in his life, taken three minutes to do trickles into long hours; three hours and two sites later, the only thing Castiel can say for sure is that there have been murders. Frustrated and finally at the third site (the four not being far from each other) he combs the place with a close eye, yielding little but some tattered pieces of clothing and dried up blood on the ground. A quick glance at the time tells him he's due to reconvene with the Winchesters soon, but he walks the few streets to the last murder site instead and searches the area. He realizes he's on the edge of town, a sparsely inhabited area with two closed down mechanic shops and a boarded off factory which he assumes was a doomed to fail attempt to bring industry into the town. Mentally mapping his route, Castiel turns about in place and wonders why the offender has retreated away from the centre of town, exchanging fresh blood for none at all. Curious, he decides to peruse the surrounding buildings.

Inside the first mechanic shop there's nothing but old car parts and rusted tools littered across one surviving work bench. Old newspaper pages flutter quietly as the wind blows in through the cracked glass of the windows. Castiel kicks through various piles of rubble with little aim but stops when he hears a squelch. Crouching down, he runs his fingers along the ragged edges of rusty exhaust pipes and sucks in a breath when the tips of his fingers whet with blood. Standing upright, he holds his breath and strains to hear for movement, counting to fifteen before exhaling. With trembling fingers Castiel withdraws his gun from his holster and holds it out in front of him as he walks. Each step sounds much too loud to his sensitive ears. He makes his way to the back office and, in true hunter fashion, he kicks the office door open and follows the momentum in, gun poised and ready. The room is empty aside from a computer desk and scattered papers. Castiel breathes out his relief and brings his hand to his chest, feeling his accelerated heart rate through his jacket. Turning to leave, he stumbles back, eyes widening. By the door a pool of fresh blood drains from the body of a young male, skin pale and jaw torn off on one end. Certain that he is alone in the abandoned shop, Castiel retraces his steps and runs the last metre to the front door.

Intending to call Dean immediately, he's distracted by the creak of a door closing barely three feet away. Unwilling to withdraw the hold on his gun, Castiel sidesteps his way toward the factory from where the sound had come and elbows his way into the building. It's dark and dusty, the little light filtering through the spaces between the boards nailed into the factory windows serving only to illuminate the dust in the room. Castiel keeps close to the wall, his legs steady, eyes slowly growing accustomed to the somberness of the room. Aside from the sound of his shoes dragging across the ground and periodically thumping against strewn garbage, it's silent. When he reaches the far end of the room, where a hallway extends around the corner he leans against the wall and pauses. A sharp vibration hits him and before he can adequately react, a shrill ring erupts in the room. A floor above him, footsteps thump against the floor and Castiel curses and backs away from the corner.

"Cas?"

Dean's voice is gruff and angry, a tone not unfamiliar to Castiel. "Dean," he hisses, straining to hear for the footsteps again, "Dean, I'm in the factory, it's here."

"Where are you?" Dean asks, voice simmering to a deadly calm.

"Where the last victim was killed," Castiel whispers, flinching at a crash resounding down the hall. "Dean, I have to hang up now."

"Just get out of there," Dean growls into the phone, gas pedal pressed to the floor.

Nodding, Castiel slides the phone back into his pocket and slowly continues to back away toward the door. The few minutes it took him to reach the the corner of the hallway going in feels doubled on the way back and the silence bears down on him. It's too dark to see and too dark to shoot, even for a decent shot like him. Just as he thought he'd reached the door a sharp blow on his left side flings him against the wall. Clutching his side, he drops his gun and warm blood soaks his shirt and hand. Somewhere in the room the vampire shrieks and Castiel curses his feeble human eyesight. With fingers splayed he searches the floor, curling his fingers around the end of a short pipe. Scrambling to his feet he follows the lit up film of dust above his head and drives the pipe into the window, smashing the glass before redoubling his efforts. The board gives way in three blows and clatters to the ground outside, allowing for a sizeable rectangle of light to enter the room. Whipping around, Castiel holds out the pipe defensively and scans the room, catching sight of a shadowy figure scale the wall and disappear into the unpenetrated darkness.

Two shots erupt and ricochet against the back wall, followed by Dean and Sam running into the room. Sam steps ahead of Dean with his gun poised, eyes scanning the room while Dean spies Castiel and hastens to his side, sweeping the fallen gun off of the floor.

"Cas, you alright?"

Wincing and clutching his side, Castiel nods. "This creature is particularly feral, Dean."

"There's no coven in town, it looks like it's just this guy. Not only that, but dude's been doing this every ten years," Dean explains, grabbing Castiel's arm to drag him toward the door. In the light he notices the blood on Castiel's jacket and pushes him outside. "Wait in the car."

Castiel stands back, letting go of his injury despite the fact that the gash from the vampire's claws continues bleeding and steps back into the room, snatching his gun from Dean's waist. His gaze is defiant when Dean turns on him and he considers Dean's silence a reluctant assent to his presence. Sam's already half way across the room, gesturing for Dean to go round the other side. Castiel hangs back and finds the pipe he had dropped, moving from window to window to let the late afternoon light penetrate the room. When finished with the last window he hears Sam shout Dean's name and take off running down the hallway, swifter footsteps audibly preceding Sam down the hall.

Considering his options as Dean's figure disappears into the dark after Sam, Castiel runs to the opposite end of the room and hits the stairwell leading to the second floor, intending to cut the vampire's escape route off. And whether luckily or unluckily for him, the creature comes running toward him and he pulls the trigger twice in the direction of its footsteps as it approaches in the dark of the second floor, only momentarily illuminated by Sam's flashlight. He can hear Sam calling his name from across the room: "BLOCK THE DOOR!"

Firmly planting his feet apart Castiel stands firm in the doorframe, holding himself back from jumping into the dark when he hears Sam grunt and fall to the floor. Dean spares no ammunition as he rushes to his brother, Castiel can hear him stand Sam up and curse the lack of light. The flashlights they hold illuminate too little in the room and the vampire is too quick, scuttling along the ceiling and the floor out of sight, attacking the legs to drop the hunter's to the floor. Castiel struggles to make out any shape in the dark and glimpses the vampire in a flash of light, then Sam as he follows it and Dean behind him, jerking the flashlight back and forth as he runs. One of the flashlights flies across the room and Castiel calls Dean's name, unable to tell whose flashlight it had been. He hurls himself after the fallen object and once in his hand he points it toward the other one, lighting up Sam's figure and behind him, a thin, hunched figure. Castiel raises his gun and shoots, hitting the vampire in the shoulder. When it shrieks and turns, he has his light pointed straight at it and follows it as it dashes out of sight. Sam corrals the creature toward Dean and a sickening slice echoes in the room. Castiel jumps back when something thumps against his leg and points his light down, illuminating a pale, bloodied face with deeply sunken in eyes, fangs glistening with saliva.

He rushes over to Sam, who's rubbing at his shoulder and silently follows the brothers out of the factory, the three of them panting. Dean starts laughing as they near the Impala and leans his back against the driver's door. "Man, that was one nasty vampire."

Sam shakes his head as he walks around to the trunk. "That was a vampire who'd never even tried to pass off as human, like what we would have been hunting a hundred years ago."

Castiel frowns as he nears Dean, eyeing the gashes on his cheek and the reddish marks along his neck critically. With a sigh he holds out his fingers and places them against the reddened skin above Dean's left eye. Dean winces at the pressure.

"Uh, Cas?"

Castiel ignores the questioning tone at first, but then the realization that Dean's still bleeding and still bruised settles in and Castiel's cheeks flush a deep red as he staggers back. "I," he falters, shocked and mortified by his mistake, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Dean smiles lightly and shrugs, waving his hand in the air. "Hey man, it doesn't matter. I survived worse long before you."

Though the words are clearly meant to reassure Castiel, they take the air out of his lungs and he drops his gaze. "Yes. I understand." He touches his wounded torso and presses against the gash until the pain sharpens, helping him move his stiff legs and walk around the car and climb into the backseat. The ride back to the hotel is quiet and Castiel stares out the window, cheeks still tinged pink.

When they arrive and Sam unloads the bags, he pops a questioning brow in Dean's direction, which his brother answers by rotating his index finger in the air. Nodding, Sam hands Castiel and Dean their bags, pausing to squeeze Cas' shoulder. "Well, I'm gonna head to bed, night."

Dean waits until Sam is gone before nodding in the direction of his room. "Let's go."

Castiel silently follows, registering the subtle yet conspicuous exchange between the brothers and knowing full well what it means. Inside, Dean shrugs off his jacket and disappears into the bathroom. Castiel sits down on the bed and gently removes his jacket, peeling off his t-shirt with equal care. With a certain amount of bitterness he inspects his wound, caked in dried blood and not as deep as he had imagined at first.

Dean emerges from the bathroom and stops, eyeing Castiel's state. He walks over with a medical kit and kneels down next to the former angel, soaking a towel with hydrogen peroxide before handing it to Castiel. He watches the angel clean his wound and sits back, reflecting on the horrified and helpless look that had crossed Castiel's face when he could not heal him. "Cas, don't smudge it around, wipe it off."

As he cleans, Castiel notices that the wound is flanked by bruises, strangely beautiful like red flowers with specks of blue. He runs his finger around the contours of the gash and looks up at Dean, reaching out to run his fingers by the similar claw mark across Dean's cheek. The hunter's eyelashes flutter in surprise but he does not move away. Castiel grazes the corner of Dean's lip when he lets his hand drop and he takes the cotton ball Dean has dipped in a thick white paste to apply to his wound. Dean silently finishes for him by placing a large adhesive pad over the now cleaned and blistering red area.

Dean stands up and sits down next to Castiel, turning to face him. He holds out a clean towel and a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, sparing words though his urge to write off any remotely intimate moment with a joke brings up a thousand useless comments into his throat. He follows Castiel's hand and closes his eyes when he feels the sting of the disinfecting alcohol on his skin. Neither of their cuts will need stitches but they'll both be sporting faint scars afterwards, for Dean one of many but for the former angel, his first. Castiel is gentle and meticulous, applying ointment and a bandaid with extra care, ghosting his fingers across Dean's skin as if he were afraid to touch it. Dean opens his eyes and pats down the bandaid, smiling. "See, there are other ways to heal, to help, it'll take some time, but still," he says reassuringly, holding Castiel's gaze. "You did good today, Cas."

Castiel narrows his gaze as he works out the discomfort in his chest, exhaling loudly. Dean's neck and forehead have begun to bruise and Castiel's bruises reflect the same hues and darkened tones. He looks down at the cotton balls and ointments and disinfectants in the medical kit and back to Dean, attempting a smile. "I forgot that losing my grace meant losing this," he mutters, lifting his hand and twitching his fingers, "healing was...redemption." To his surprise, Dean's fingers curl around his wrist and his hand is pulled toward Dean's face, gently placed against Dean's cheek.

"This is healing, the hard way. Redemption, the hard way, like it's supposed to be. Slow, tedious and with scars to show for it," Dean answers in a tone that is as much assuring as it is reflective. His fingers absently move against Castiel's, a ghost of a caress. "That's the only way it means anything, Cas."

Castiel nods slowly, letting Dean's words ease the struggle in his mind. Though his hands feel limp, devoid of their previous abilities, he wonders at their other abilities, like applying a bandage to a cut or pulling the trigger of a gun or feeling the warmth of another's skin. At this last thought, Castiel's eyes flicker to Dean's cheek, feeling the gentle pressure of Dean's hand over his own and his heart pounds.

Dean notices Castiel's attention and tenses, eyes dropping to Castiel's lips and then flicking back up to his eyes. For a moment Castiel seems to sway forward and Dean feels a violent pulse of energy shoot through him. He let's go of Castiel's hand and looks away, chuckling. "Besides, of all the things you could miss why isn't the teleporting one of them? You loved doing that crap."

Castiel lets his hand drop and tilts his head. "I've grown accustomed to other modes of transportation."

With a groan, Dean stands and stretches, wincing at the pull from his pained muscles. He nods absently. "Yeah, yeah. Speaking of, we'll head back early so get some sleep," he says, glancing at the single bed with misgiving. "I'll take the couch. Try to not to move around so much, you'll reopen the wound."

Castiel acknowledges the words with a nod and watches Dean change his t-shirt and plop down on the couch near the front door. He lies down on his back, ignoring the throbbing from his side. A thought wanders in his mind, one he cannot quite make out though he knows it is urging him toward something. Its elusive nature lies in his inexperience with humanity, but even if he had grown up reading classic novellas and watching dramas on television, it's meaning might have escaped him all the same. Castiel struggles to make sense of the thought for a few minutes but it culminates in him listening to the sound of Dean's breathing, soft and even. Castiel reflects on the way they'd hunted the vampire, his finger steady on the trigger, his touch careful on Dean's cheek, Dean's warm in return and he closes his eyes, unable to fathom why he'd felt so deeply appalled before when he could not heal. He had not lost the ability, just the instantaneity of the act. The very act of pressing the wet towel to Dean's cheek proved that; it felt important to him then and still now in bed. Castiel realizes that he can fight and heal and bleed, just as before, he just has the marks to show for it now.

This is healing.