Dean drifted into awareness slowly. The first thing he noticed was the fiery pain in his side and the aching pull in his shoulders. The next thing he noticed was the change of surroundings. When he'd last been conscious, he'd been strung up in the wendigo's lair, waiting for the wendigo to come and make a meal of him. It was supposed to be an easy job, a little side project for Dean while Sam recovered from a ruptured appendix at Bobby's. Dean hadn't wanted to leave his brother, but Bobby had assured Dean that he was more than capable of looking after Sam for a couple days while Dean took care of the wendigo that had already killed three hikers and kidnapped two others.

The third thing Dean noticed was that he seemed to be alone. He was in a small cabin, but his ostensible rescuer was nowhere to be found. He tried to rise, but the pain in his side lanced through his ribcage, making him gasp and fall back on the surprisingly comfortable bed. Dean heard a door creak, and a dark-haired man rushed to his side.

"You are awake," he said. Dean tried to push himself up once more, but the stranger stopped him with a hand on the uninjured part of his chest. "Do not try to move. You were badly injured." The man's piercing blue eyes seemed to cut straight through Dean to his very soul.

"Who are you? Where am I?" Dean asked, his voice raspy and cracked from disuse.

The man picked up a glass of water and helped Dean left his head to drink from it. "Easy. Take it easy," he warned. "I am Castiel. I rescued you from the lair of the beast."

Dean gulped down the precious water, draining the glass before making his reply. "I'm Dean. Winchester. And I guess a 'thank you' is in order."

Castiel frowned. "My father was not pleased that I took you in, but you would have died without my help."

"Then I shouldn't stay." Dean tried to get up again, but Castiel held him back.

"My father is not here. And you are not well," Castiel said, still implacable. "Your wound shows the beginning signs of infection. You must stay and heal. I will take care of you."

Dean reached for his phone to call Sam and tell him he might be a couple more days than he originally thought, but then he remembered it had been in his coat pocket. "Where's my coat? I need the phone in it."

"You did not have a coat when I rescued you," said Castiel. "And how does one carry a telephone on one's person?"

Dean narrowed his eyes. "You don't know what a cell phone is? Geez, you've been Swiss Family Robinson-ing it out here too long."

Castiel tilted his head slightly to the left, puzzled. "I do not know what you mean."

"Why do you talk so funny?" asked Dean, exasperated. "You sound like you just fell out of a Dickens book."

Castiel smiled enigmatically. Those piercing blue eyes stared at a point far off in the distance. "You might say I am a man out of time."

"What the hell does that mean?" Dean's voice, and his energy, was starting to fade.

"It is not important." Castiel smoothed a handmade quilt over Dean, being careful not to touch the wound in his side. "Sleep now. There will be time enough for explanations later." Dean grumbled a bit but couldn't fight off the sleep that quickly overpowered him.

When he awoke the next time, Castiel was once again at his side. "I have brought food. Are you hungry?"

Now that he mentioned it, Dean was starving. "Definitely," Dean answered. Castiel helped him prop his head on an extra pillow and held out a spoon of what looked to be mashed potatoes. Dean glared at him. "'m not a baby. I can do it myself." He tried to grab the spoon from Castiel, but his abused shoulder throbbed and pulled, stopping him from completing the coup.

"Humor me," said Castiel, a hint of amusement in his eyes. He brought the spoon to Dean's mouth and Dean dramatically rolled his eyes before indulging. Though it severely bruised his pride, he submitted to the feeding. He had to admit that the food was really damn good. You only got homemade mashed potatoes at the tiniest mom-and-pop diners, and Dean hadn't been to one of those in months.

Castiel continued to feed Dean until the spoon scraped against the bottom of the empty crock. "That was good," Dean allowed. He swallowed his pride and whispered, "Thank you."

Castiel grinned. "It is my pleasure."

Dean looked around the small cabin. There were several old-fashioned light fixtures, and a faint hum told Dean they were generator-powered. "Are we alone?" asked Dean.

"Yes, my parents are both away."

"Where are they?"

"In the next town. My father has gone to consult my mother and brother on the matter of my bringing you here. He was not pleased."

"Yeah, well, my dad would've freaked if I'd brought a strange guy home," said Dean, and he was finally far enough removed from his father's death that the mere mention of him didn't bring a lump to Dean's throat.

"You are not strange," said Castiel with a small smile. "A stranger, yes, but not strange."

"Can't say the same about you," Dean retorted. "You're the strangest dude I've ever met. And I've met some seriously strange dudes."

Castiel did the confused head-tilt thing again. "Dudes?"

Dean shook his head. "Thanks for proving my point." He shifted uncomfortably on the bed. "You think I could, uh...use the facilities?"

Castiel nodded and moved to help Dean up. "This will be painful," he warned. Fire radiated from Dean's wounded side into his stomach and back. Dean bit down on his tongue to keep from crying out. The few feet from the bed to the minuscule bathroom seemed like a mile. Dean felt shaky and lightheaded from lying down for so long, but he still shrugged off Castiel's attempt to enter the bathroom with him to steady him. Swallowing his pride only extended so far.

Castiel helped Dean back to the bed and got him settled on the mattress. "I must replace the bandage," Castiel said, and his face belied a gravity that worried Dean. "I will endeavor not to hurt you, but I can make no promises."

Castiel fetched a fresh bandage and tape from a chest across the room. He also brought a bowl of steaming water and a cloth with him when he returned. Dean took a deep breath and braced himself for what was to come. Castiel tried to be gentle as he peeled back the tape anchoring the bandage to Dean's side, but Dean still gasped and bit his lip to keep from screaming.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Castiel murmured, lifting the bandage clear of the wound. Dean winced when he saw the blood-drenched gauze, streaked a bit with greenish-yellow pus. Castiel sucked a breath in between his teeth. "The infection is progressing. How do you feel?"

Kind of terrible, if Dean really thought about it. He was hot and cold in turns, his head was pounding, and his arms and legs felt like they were filled with cement. "Not that good," Dean croaked.

Castiel sighed. "I was hoping it would not come to this." He dipped the cloth in the steaming bowl of water and wrung it out. He pressed the cloth to Dean's side and Dean didn't even bother trying to hold back the scream.

"I'm sorry, Dean, truly," Castiel said, low and soothing. Dean tipped his head back and tried to remember how to breathe. He hadn't felt this kind of pain since Sam was possessed and shot him.

*Sam*. God, Dean wished his brother were here. He'd make fun of him forever for it, but Sam would have let Dean hold his hand while he ministered to such a severe wound. Though Castiel was trying to be comforting, he was a poor substitute for Sammy.

Castiel wet the cloth again and applied it to the open wound. Dean howled his displeasure, clenching a fist and pounding it into his thigh. "I will be done soon," Castiel tried to assure him. two more times Castiel repeated the task, and two more times Dean shouted at the top of his lungs.

Castiel placed the new bandage with exaggerated care, but it still hurt like a mother. Castiel took the supplies away and returned with a clean, cool cloth for Dean's forehead. It only went a very small distance toward making Dean forgive him. Dean's side felt like it was split open with a hot poker.

Castiel stroked a thumb against the back of Dean's hand, and even though that was unforgivably girly, Dean had to admit that it felt kind of good. "I regret having to hurt you so grievously," said Castiel. "But I must try to draw out the infection. You are starting to show signs of blood poisoning as it is."

"Lucky me," Dean groaned. He kicked off what remained of the quilt. Castiel folded it and set it aside. He slipped a hand behind Dean's neck and raised a glass of deliciously cool water to his lips.

"You must rest, try to gather your strength," Castiel told him softly. "I will watch over you."

Maybe it was the fever, but Dean thought that sounded kind of nice.

Dean's fever spiked alarmingly a few hours later. One minute he was lucid, if a little tired, the next he was determined to retrieve his absent brother from the clutches of a monster only he could see. Castiel tried to reason with him, but it was a futile effort; only breaking the fever could give Dean any measure of peace.

"It's got 'im, I gotta-gotta-" Dean stretched an arm out to an invisible ally, his fingers trembling from the effort. Castiel gently returned Dean's arm to his side and continued to wipe his face and chest with cool cloths. One hand sat in the center of Dean's ribcage, anchoring him in place.

"I gotta go," Dean gasped. "He needs me, he's in trouble, I hafta-hafta go. Lemme go!"

"You must stay and rest," Castiel countered. "You are very ill." He dipped the cloth in the bowl of cool water and wiped some tears from the apples of Dean's cheeks.

"You don' unnerstand. 'm the big brother. I gotta find 'im. Save 'im. 's my job."

"Your brother is not in danger," Castiel told him for the tenth time. "He is not here. He is safe." Castiel hoped against hope that he was not lying. He only assumed that, since Dean's brother hadn't been with him in the cave, that he was safe at home, wherever that was for them.

"On'y safe when 'e's wi' me," Dean mumbled. "I keep 'im safe. 's my job. I promised, Dad. I promised."

"Shhhh." Castiel lay the cloth across Dean's throat. "There is no threat, Dean. You are safe. So is your brother."

"'m sorry, Dad," Dean continued, eyes focused on a point behind Castiel's head. "I messed up. Let Sammy get taken. Couldn't protect 'im. 's my fault. 'm sorry. 'm not a good soldier."

Castiel caught a few more stray tears with his thumb. "You are strong," he whispered. "You must fight this. You must overcome this infection. I do not-" His voice cracked. "I do not know what I will do if you... if you do not..." He couldn't make himself utter the word.

Castiel kept to his vigil, adding ice to the cloth when it became clear his efforts were falling short of effectiveness. Dean rambled and ranted and begged forgiveness from anyone who would listen. Castiel's heart clenched at how forlorn and broken he sounded. A man that young should not know that kind of pain. That was the kind of pain that had driven his oldest brother and his mother to the brink of insanity, the kind of pain that led Uriel to seek solace on the battlefield, and Gabriel to drink to excess and bed any willing creature who caught his eye. The kind of pain that turned his already-bitter father into a seething mass of rage and hatred. It was a kind of pain that Castiel would not wish on any sentient creature, no matter how wicked. It was pain borne of the deep guilt and despair of loss, the profound and crippling pain of the survivor.

"Please," Dean wept. "Please, 's so hot, 'm burning, lemme go, please."

"I am trying," Castiel assured him, swiping the ice-filled cloth across Dean's face. He'd placed an ice cube in the hollow of Dean's throat and the crease of each shoulder, but each was melting so rapidly that Castiel doubted their ability to affect the near-infernal temperature of Dean's skin.

"Don' wanna stay 'ere," Dean moaned. "Wanna go 'ome."

"I wish you could." Castiel wrong the ice water out of the cloth and placed it flat across Dean's sternum. "I will allow you to leave when you are well. And you will be well. I refuse to accept any other outcome."

Not for the first time, Castiel was tempted to fetch water from the spring. Sure its-unique-properties would immediately heal Dean's injury, an injury he would not have even sustained were he protected by the spring's power in the same manner as Castiel and his family. But he could not make a decision of that magnitude, an irrevocable decision, without Dean's input. It was merely a short-term solution that would ultimately cause numerous long-term problems.

But as hours passed and the fever burned unabated, Castiel knew he would have to take drastic measures if he were to keep his promise to Dean. As Dean whimpered and moaned and begged for forgiveness from his absent-and likely deceased-father, Castiel knew what he had to do. He would just have to hope and pray he was taking the right course of action.

He carried the bowl of ice water outside and carefully set it down at the edge of the spring. He prayed that the solution he was about to attempt would work the way he planned, but he had no true way of knowing whether it would work at all. He dipped his fingers in the spring and allowed a few drops of spring water to mingle with the well water. It could have been a trick of the light, but Castiel thought the tap water shimmered slightly when the spring water joined it. He didn't dare add more than a few drops of spring water without knowing what the outcome would be. He could only hope that diluting the spring water would preserve just enough of the healing property to clear up the infection in Dean's wound.

Castiel carried the bowl of water back to the cabin and set it next to the bed with exaggerated care. Dean's sleep was restless; his head tossed back and forth and he was muttering words that Castiel couldn't make out. Castiel retrieved a fresh cloth and dipped it in the bowl of healing water. He carefully removed the bandage from Dean's side and pressed the cloth against the infected wound, causing Dean to howl in pain and fear. Castiel murmured reassurances as he allowed the healing water to penetrate the festering wound.

Castiel applied more healing water to the wound at the top of each hour until the water was gone. He could only hope that the intervention had come in time. Each time he repeated his task the wound seemed less inflamed, but Castiel did not know whether he could trust his own vision. It could have merely been a figment of his imagination. But after a few hours, Dean slipped into a peaceful, seemingly dreamless sleep, and slept on until the early hours of the morning.

When Dean awoke, his eyes immediately fixed upon Castiel's. "What happ'ned?" he muttered, his eyes rolling around to take in all sides of the cabin. "Where 'm I?"

"You have been very ill," said Castiel. "I am Castiel, and you are in my home. I rescued you from the beast of the forest, but you were injured, and your wound became infected. The infection has finally started to clear."

Dean scrubbed a hand over his eyes. "No wonder I feel like I've been through a meat grinder."

"I have been tending to you for more than a day now," said Castiel. "I believe the worst is over."

"Thank God." Dean winced and shifted on the bed. "I could use some pharmaceutical assistance here. My side hurts like a motherfucker."

Castiel shook his head. "I am afraid I do not have any modern medication on hand," he replied. "My family does not believe in it." That was a lie, of course; they simply had no need for it. But he couldn't in good conscience tell Dean that.

"Figures, buncha hippie freaks," Dean grumbled, his voice strained with pain and lingering weakness. "Maybe some ice, then?"

"I can do that," said Castiel. He retrieved some ice from the icebox and wrapped it in a cloth. He pressed the small bundle to Dean's side. Dean gasped and winced, but quickly settled.

"I am relieved that you are feeling better. I will admit, for a while I was not sure that you would pull through." Castiel chanced to look Dean straight in the eye. He had beautiful eyes, deep-set and celadon green, framed by the longest eyelashes Castiel had ever seen on a male human.

"I'm tougher than I look," said Dean, a hint of darkness in his voice.

"I believe you," said Castiel, allowing a small smile. He picked up a glass of water and held it to Dean's lips. Dean drank it greedily.

After a short time, Dean spoke. "I don't know if you told me what your deal is before, but I don't remember."

"My deal?"

"Why you live out here all alone, in the middle of nowhere." Dean raised himself up on one elbow.

Castiel took a deep breath. "My family is...different," he said, wondering how much of the truth of his existence he should disclose. He did not want to lie outright to Dean. Dean trusted him, and Castiel felt it was only right to return the favor as much as possible. "They do not believe in many of the modern conveniences you take for granted."

"You're not Amish, are you?" asked Dean, eyes clear and alight with interest.

"No, but the belief system is similar," Castiel replied, dancing nimbly around the truth. "My parents have, in essence, withdrawn from modern life. My brothers have gone out into the world to experience new things, but I have no desire to leave the forest. It is peaceful here."

"Don't you get lonely?" Dean asked softly.

Castiel broke eye contact with Dean. "Sometimes," he answered truthfully. "Since I found you, for the first time I am questioning whether I have made the right choice in staying here."

"Well, don't that make me feel special." Dean smirked, but there was a hint of pride underneath the sarcasm.

"You are special," Castiel told him. "You are unlike anyone I have ever known."

Dean shifted on the bed, not meeting Castiel's intense gaze. He did not speak for a long time. When he did, it was not what Castiel expected. "You got any more water?"

"Of course," said Castiel, moving to refill the glass at the kitchen tap.

"Can I ask you a favor?"

"Anything," replied Castiel, handing the glass over to Dean.

"Can you go back to where you found me and see if you can find my coat and my phone? I really do need to call my brother." Dean drained the glass of water. "I'd do it myself if I could, but..."

Castiel nodded. "I will go look for your belongings when the sun fully rises. It will be too hard to see otherwise."

Dean turned toward the window, only then noticing the darkness outside. "Oh yeah, I didn't realize it was so late. Or early, I guess."

"I am not surprised. You were delirious for quite some time," said Castiel.

"I was?" Dean's eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. "That explains a lot." He looked up at Castiel with a fondness that Castiel would not have expected. "You took care of me."

Castiel swallowed with some difficulty. "I did."

"Guess I should thank you for that." Dean smiled, which sent a frisson of warmth down Castiel's spine. "So, thanks a lot. I don't know what you did, but it obviously worked."

Castiel returned the smile with a slight bit of hesitation. He had done something he was never supposed to do, and he was extremely lucky the gamble had worked. But whether the powers of the spring water had stopped at simply healing the wound, Castiel couldn't know. Not without further testing, of a nature that would surely alert Dean that something was amiss. Eventually, he would have to know, but it could wait a few more days. "I was happy to do it," said Castiel. "I am glad you seem to be healing well."

Dean pressed a hand to his injured side and winced. "Guess it feels slightly better than it did before," he said, his voice strained. "Still hurts like a bitch, though. You don't have anything at all for that?"

Castiel shook his head. "I am truly sorry."

Dean sighed. "I'll survive. I've had worse." The shadowed look in his eyes told Castiel he was telling the absolute truth.

"I wish there was more I could do," said Castiel.

"Don't worry about it. It's not so bad," said Dean, putting up a front of bravado that Castiel could easily see through. Dean was suffering, he knew, and it tore at Castiel's heart that there was nothing he could do about that.

Once the sun finally peeked over the treetops, Castiel headed out to search for Dean's possessions. After about forty-five minutes, he finally located the brown leather jacket tangled in a bush, seemingly undamaged. Castiel took the bounty back to the cabin, only to find Dean trudging weakly back to the bed.

"You should not be up," Castiel admonished him. He helped Dean settle back down on the mattress. "I wish you would have waited for me."

"Couldn't wait anymore," grumbled Dean, but his face lit up when he noticed the jacket on Castiel's arm. "You found it! Awesome." He reached in the pocket and pulled out a small electronic device. He poked at a tiny button for a few seconds, then his face fell. "Shit. It died." He tossed it on the bed with more force than was strictly necessary.

"I am sorry you cannot contact your brother," said Castiel.

Dean narrowed his eyes. "I never told you about my brother."

"You do not remember, but you talked about him quite a bit while you were ill." Castiel smiled reassuringly as Dean fumed. "His name is Sammy, correct?"

Dean's eyes remained clouded with suspicion. "That's what I call him. To the rest of the world it's Sam."

"You obviously care for him very much," said Castiel. "You were extremely concerned about his safety."

"Yeah, well, it's my job to look out for him," Dean replied, and the sour look on his face was starting to soften. "He's all I got."

"He did not come with you on your travels, though."

The corner of Dean's mouth quirked up. "Yeah, he's outta commission right now. His appendix ruptured ten days ago. He's resting up at our friend's place."

"I see," said Castiel. "He is in good hands, I assume."

Dean broke into a genuine smile. "The best."

"He must be concerned about you, being out of contact for so long."

Dean shrugged. "Nothing I can do about that with a dead phone and no charger."

"When you are more recovered, I can take you to the ranger station to use the phone," Castiel offered. "It is about thirteen miles further into the woods."

Dean was quiet for a long moment. His eyes locked with Castiel's and Castiel shivered slightly. There was no mirth left in his face. Castiel swallowed with difficulty. "How lonely are you, Cas? Out here in the woods alone, nobody but your crazy family for company. I'd lose it in a week."

Castiel's heart clenched. "I have never minded it before," he answered truthfully. "But meeting you has changed my perspective on the matter."

Dean's eyes bore into Castiel's, as though he were trying to look past them into Castiel's very soul. Dean shook his head, a small grin ghosting over his features. "I don't know what it is. You're so weird, but...it's a good kind of weird, I think. I've never met anyone like you, and I've been just about everywhere. You're one-of-a-kind, Cas."

Castiel allowed himself to smile at the nickname. It wasn't one he had ever heard before, but he quite liked the sound of it. "I assume that was meant to be a compliment."

Dean's grin was true this time. "Yeah, it was."