Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Dean half carried, half dragged his brother to his impala, his injuries and Sam’s height making it a hell of a lot more difficult to do any more than that. His wolf daemon didn’t have quite the same problem; Indira was carrying Sam’s unconscious crow daemon carefully in her jaws.

It had been as if his brother’s strings had been cut, Sam had collapsed to the ground and Rosa had followed suit, dropping straight out of the air with a sickening thud as her body crashed onto the frozen soil of the graveyard. The witch’s magic had been almost instantly effective. Sam hadn’t stood a chance.

Panic had swelled in the hunter’s chest as if it were a black hole sucking out the oxygen in his lungs. He couldn’t even yell Sammy’s name. Not that it would’ve done anything; his brother was completely motionless except for the pained rise and fall of his chest.

When Dean had managed to pull himself together, he’d pushed through his own injuries, trying to stifle the winces of pain he felt from being thrown around like the witch’s own personal rag doll, reached for the gun that had been knocked from his hands and pulled the trigger until he’d emptied the entire magazine into the witch’s chest. The only way it could have been more satisfying would have been if Sam was functional.

“Come on, little brother,” Dean murmured, his voice strained as he lifted him on the backseat of his car. He tried not to stare at the terrifying thin black lines creeping up Sam’s arm, reminding Dean of rain down a window pane. Dean guessed he wouldn’t like what happened when those dark streams reached his brother’s heart.

Once Indira had placed Rosa softly onto Sam’s upper body without touching him, she stayed next to Sam, sitting on the floor mats instead of jumping into her usual position in the passenger seat. A seat that Sam always insisted he should be able to sit on. Indira always disagreed.

She hadn’t said a word since Sam had been injured.

Dean slammed the door shut, opened the driver’s door and clambered awkwardly into the seat. He shifted uncomfortably as he revved the engine. When he’d figured out what to do with Sam, he needed to check his own injuries. He was bitterly aware of his lack of options. Dean thumped his fist on the steering wheel. Shit. How was he supposed to solve this? His brother couldn’t die. Protecting Sam was his job, a job which had been drilled into him from the moment his mother had passed.

As the hunter drove, he didn’t know where he was going, just that standing still felt less productive. One single thought was going through his head. Magic had done this to his brother and Dean couldn’t help the feeling in his gut that told him that magic was also the answer.

God, he hated witches.

He also didn’t have any on speed dial – no surprises there. But he did have the next best thing. Sort of.

Keeping his eyes on the road, he slid his right hand into his pocket and got out his phone, dialled and put it to his ear. The moment the older man had answered, Dean blurted out, “Bobby, I need your help.”

Probably sensing Dean’s fear, Bobby didn’t respond with his usual sarcastic comment whenever Dean said something of the kind. “That’s what I’m here for,” he responded gruffly, “What’s wrong, boy?”

Dean swallowed heavily. “It’s Sam. I don’t know what to do,” his voice wavers. Damnit. He sounded so weak, he felt pathetic.

“It’s okay, kid, just tell me what happened,” Bobby does a better job than Dean could ever do at remaining calm when Sam is hurt.

“A witch. He’s got these black lines and he’s unconscious. Bobby I-” Dean didn’t know how to finish that sentence. He knows he’s failing as sounding like he’s keeping it together because, guess what? He was freaking the fuck out.

“He’s gonna be fine, boy. Where are you?”

“Pontiac, Illinois.”

“He’ll be fine,” Bobby reiterates; his blunt tone calmed Dean. He sounded so sure that Dean almost believed him. Almost. He’d believe it when he sees it. “I know someone who can help,” he said and then added in afterthought, “Just try not to piss him off.”

**** 

Sofia prowled across the table top, pacing back and forth until Castiel gave her a stern glare. Briefly she stopped, tilting her head and then, deliberately slow, continued to cover the surface of the table and brushed her tail across the screen of Castiel’s laptop every time she went past.

The warlock rubbed his eyes with fingers, “You’re agitated, I understand, but would you please stop.” He moved Sofia’s tail from the top of his laptop. “I need to concentrate.”

His margay daemon gazed at him with her massive eyes, which Cas thought could melt even the toughest person’s heart, “I don’t understand,” she finally leapt down off of the table and into the chair next to him, “Why now?”

Castiel knew she wasn’t referring to his mild annoyance with her behaviour but rather a recent email. He had no answer for why his mother had decided after years of radio silence to suddenly get into contact. She’d kicked him out when he rejected their lifestyle and beliefs and hadn’t heard from his family since. He was only in contact with one of his siblings and that was how Castiel preferred it. He seriously doubted they had changed.

So why now?

He closed his laptop and pushed it away, finally admitting defeat to actually getting any written work done, “I don’t know what to do,” he said it so quietly that even if there were other people present, only Sofia would be able to hear him, “I should hate them but I don’t.”

“I hate them.”

Castiel couldn’t help a small smile at the directness of the statement. He didn’t know what he would have done without his daemon, especially after he’d left home. The bond between a person and their daemon was the strongest bond there was. Sofia was the external physical manifestation of his soul – without her he’d be nothing more than a shell. A life without a daemon, Cas thought, must be incredibly lonely.

He swallowed hard and supressed any further thought on the matter.

“They must want something from us,” the margay daemon hissed.

Absentmindedly, Cas stroked a hand down her back, her tawny yellow fur sliding smoothly between his fingers, “I imagine we’ll find out soon enough.”

Sofia’s tail flicked once, “We shouldn’t trust them,” though her voice was aggressive, her eyes showed nothing but concern. She was right, as far as the warlock was concerned. They didn’t deserve anything from him but his family had always thought themselves entitled and his mother’s male daemon had a way of making him feel incredibly uncomfortable. Thankfully Sofia was nothing like that of his mother’s.

Castiel had been delighted when Sofia had settled into her margay shape; he would have been pleased with whatever had become her permanent form but this one in particular somehow felt perfect. A daemon always reflected their counterpart; they were after all part of the same entity though they acted somewhat independently from each other.

His daemon stayed put as he made his way into the pantry where he kept most of his ingredients for potions. The shelves were full of different concoctions and base ingredients, some of which he never used nor, he doubted, he ever would but thought he’d keep anyway just in case. To some it might seem rather untidy, but Castiel preferred the term ‘organised mess’. In fact, the warlock considered, it may even be hazardous to others attempting to retrieve anything from within the small space, but no one but Castiel and his daemon (though she refused to take advantage of that invitation) should be in the pantry. In that respect, it could perhaps be seen as a safety measure. Sofia didn’t have quite the same view as Cas in that matter.

It took only a moment to find what he was looking for; a jar of rare purple flowers that in the world of magic were associated with healing. Making mild healing substances, amongst others things, were how Cas made a living. This was his last jar and as far as Cas could tell, no one was selling. His usual supplier had told him that they wouldn’t be available for another few weeks.   

As Cas returned to the kitchen, he felt a powerful jolt run through him. The jar he was carrying slipped through his hand and smashed on the tiled floor. Castiel flinched away from the mess. Pieces of glass and petal lay before him but he couldn’t even comprehend the damage – too distracted by the force. Someone had just tripped his wards. Actually it was more like they stumbled into them so violently that Cas could still feel a sort of aftershock. A ricochet from the contact. Sofia’s head whipped round to his and she made a deep rumbling sound.

It seemed like whoever had wandered onto his property had no sensitivity to magic whatsoever. Cas inferred that they were likely human. When supernatural creatures came along, he felt more of a slight buzz because walking directly through wards was somewhat uncomfortable for those who had connection to magic, and if they were trying to surprise him, wandering through his wards was not the way to do it. It would be like someone telling him their precise location and then expecting him to be surprised that he knew they were there.

There was a knock at the front door that sounded more like the person was trying to put their fist through the glass. It certainly got Cas’ attention but he rather thought that that was the entire point. Castiel had no idea of who it was but he believed anyone who wished him harm would probably not make themselves known first. Still, he approached with caution, going through his living room and into the hallway. He could see a figure of a male through the fuzzy glass panel so he unlocked the door and opened it, poking his head round first. His eyes instantly widened and he let the door swing fully open.

Before him stood a roughed up man, his clothes soaked in what Cas thought was the man’s own blood, judging by the state of him. He had a large gash down his cheek and there was a tear that had ripped through to the skin of his chest. He looked like he’d gone through a few rounds with a grizzly bear. Accompanying him was his wolf daemon who didn’t look to be in much better shape – but she wouldn’t be. Even if the she hadn’t been fighting another daemon, she’d feel the pain her human was in.

Cas could tell instantly exactly what this man was. It was written all over his body language.  

A hunter.

As a rule, Cas didn’t like hunters and hunters didn’t like him, though it was more of a species thing than a personal dislike. Although, saying that, a lot of hunter personalities were quite repellent. Stabbing first, questions later - it certainly made it difficult to communicate with them.

The man gave him a glance up and down and grumbled out, “You’re a witch,”

Castiel barely suppressed an eye roll, “Warlock,” Cas corrected, witches and warlocks were entirely different species (alright – maybe they shared a few traits but they were still different). People often thought warlocks were male witches. They were not. Male witches were just…witches.

Despite the pain the man before him must be feeling, he hadn’t lost his sass since he proceeded to roll his eyes at Castiel, “Whatever.”

“You’re a hunter,” Cas said smoothly, leaning against the door frame, his daemon standing slightly behind him, her posture infinitely more rigid. This man didn’t look like he should be standing, much less fighting anything so Castiel wasn’t worried, “What do you want?”

“I need your help.” The words seemed to be almost forced from his mouth, obviously unable to conceal his disgust at the very thought of asking a non-human for help. Typical hunter. It was also said in such a way that it felt like an order more than a request which really made Castiel want to slam the door in this guy’s face. With the attitude the hunter displayed, the warlock didn’t feel that inclined to help him, in fact Cas was more tempted to finish him off more than anything. By the looks of it, it wouldn’t take much.

The wolf daemon growled, sight fixated on Cas’ hissing margay, perhaps sensing that he was not feeling particularly charitable today – at least to hunters. Cas didn’t care. Like he said, the man in front of him currently looked like he was about to fall over without any help whatsoever from him, so he wasn’t exactly feeling threatened.

Since there had been a fairly long pause; each party weighing one another up and the hunter waiting for Cas’ response, the man eventually seemed to lose his aggressive posture and his shoulders caved in as he sighed and stared towards the floor. He ran a hand through his short hair.

Although not directly staring at Cas any longer, it made the warlock think he’d misjudged his age - he appeared younger than had Cas first thought. Younger than him by a few years, Castiel estimated. But not many.

And then the hunter spoke a word that instantly dissolved Castiel’s resolve.

“Please,” it was whispered, almost too quiet for Cas to hear. Even the hunter’s red wolf had backed off and ceased her snarling.

It was clear that he didn’t want to say it but Cas was mildly impressed that he actually had. Combined with just how sad the man looked, Cas just couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t totally heartless.

“Alright. How can I be of assistance?”  

Chapter Text

The unconscious man, that Castiel had just learned was the hunter’s brother, was now lying shirtless on the bed in his guestroom, his crow daemon by his side. Her black feathers hiding any similar physical effects she may have been suffering. The younger hunter’s shirts had been removed so Cas could see just how far the infection had spread.

The warlock hovered over him, avoiding contact with the daemon, looking at the curse that was spreading up his arm and had started its track along the man’s shoulder. Twisting the guy’s arm so that Cas could see the palm of his hand, he could inspect the thoughtful little signature that the witch had gifted to him - a small black mark that looked almost like a knotted rope. 

As far as Cas was aware, the man’s body shouldn’t reject his healing technique because he couldn’t feel any magical resistance, so he rolled up the left sleeve of his navy shirt and moved his hand towards his bare chest. But before Cas could so much as get his hand into position, the hunter very suddenly seized his wrist, holding it in a vice like grip, Dean’s wolf snarled viciously in his direction, stopping Cas from putting his hand over the sleeping man’s heart, “What are you doing?” The hunter growled.

“Trying to help your brother,” Cas deadpanned. If the hunter was going to let him, that was. And from the corner of his eyes he could see Sofia’s position; she looked ready to attack if necessary. “Do you want me to save him or not? I would estimate that he has but a few hours left.”

“If you try anything, I swear to god-”

A spark of energy flickered in the warlock’s eyes. It wasn’t the first time Cas had been threatened within his own home and the last time it happened, it had ended with a hunter immobile (but still breathing – if barely) on the porch. In fact, the only reason he hadn’t thrown the rudely behaved man out of his house was because that he was clearly terrified for his sibling, “I don’t appreciated being threatened by the person I’m trying to help,” his voice rumbled out calmly but with a hit of a warning that the hunter couldn’t fail to miss. Cas wouldn’t continue to tolerate it. There was a limit to his patience.

The hunter let him go, his fingers unfurling from him slowly, but didn’t back up.

“It would be advisable for you to say quiet. I need to concentrate.” With a glance at the hunter for his consent, of which he gave with a nod, the warlock placed a warm hand over the chest of his patient. He closed his eyes and unlocked a mental barricade to the river of power he held within his body. It flowed through him in a fierce charge of energy. Cas tensed and tried to visualise it as a calm stream so it wouldn’t overwhelm the younger man. Burning him from the inside out would not be a desired outcome.   

The only effect this session would have would be to slow or even stop the rate of infection. Stopping it wasn’t going to be biggest problem - it was removing the damaging magic of the curse from his arm and then, most difficult of all, the source of dark magic in his palm.

Castiel opened his eyes, fully in control of his magic, and watched the blue tinged power flow from his palm through his patient’s chest. If someone were to touch his hand, Cas knew, it would feel burning hot but he couldn’t feel anything but a tingle – almost like pins and needles. Starting from the heart would help protect it from any effects of the dark magic and then Cas would work backwards. Unfortunately there were several reasons it couldn’t be done all at once.

With his spare hand he returned to examine the origin of the magic currently trying it’s best to kill. He could feel the power it was giving out and now that he was pushing his magic against it, it was a little more difficult that he had first believed.  

Cas could feel the hunter watching him like a hawk; he was stood on the opposite side of the bed seeming as if he might pounce if Cas so much as looked at his brother wrong. He decided to break the silence, “What do I call you?” he let the unconscious man’s hand fall to the mattress.

The hunter blinked and took a moment to respond, as if shocked by Cas’ question in some way.  “Um Dean.” He cleared his throat, “Dean Winchester. And that’s Sam,” his voice was guarded, like Cas was tricking him in some way.

“Castiel,”

“What?”

“My name. It’s Castiel.”

“What kind of-” Dean began but when he saw the glare Castiel was giving him, he stopped talking. Maybe he’s realised that antagonising the man healing his brother wasn’t the smartest move.

Castiel didn’t bother asking the name of Dean’s daemon; it would be seen as, at the very least, rude. And Dean didn’t ask him either.

Sofia, incidentally, was sat in the chair in the corner of the room not so subtly watching Dean’s daemon, who was sat on the corner of the bed, through suspicious eyes, her tail flicking occasionally. Dean’s daemon wasn’t that much better; between mirroring her counterpart’s protective expression, she copied Sofia’s mistrustful gaze.

As Cas straightened his posture from leaning partially over the bigger Winchester, he asked, “So Bobby sent you?” Dean had name dropped the much older hunter when they moved Sam into the house. Cas wished he’d known in advance. It was possible that Bobby he called him but he’d not had his phone with him.

“Yep. Can you fix him?” Cas could detect a hit hope that he would bet the hunter was trying to conceal from him.

Cas nodded, “I’m fairly certain that it’s within my power, though it will take time. The curse is powerful so to eradicate it completely will be a fairly long process,” he would need to concoct something that would increase the rate of healing. The quicker they were out of his hair, the better. 

“How much time we talking here?”

“I am uncertain. There are many factors to consider but your brother seems strong.” Cas frowned slightly and glanced curiously at Dean, “You say a witch did this?”

“Yeah?” Dean mumbled as he stared down at his brother as if the force of his gaze would heal him, “We weren’t expecting her to have the level of juice she did,”

Castiel contemplated this for a moment. She must have been very powerful to put such a strong curse on another being. It was even possible for Cas to say that this kind of power rivalled a warlock’s. If a witch could inflict this level of damage, he had to wonder what kind of rituals she must have completed to produce this kind of spell.

It shouldn’t be possible - not for their kind and managing to sustain it? Definitely impossible.   

“And you killed her?”

“You think we’d be alive if I hadn’t?”

“I suppose not,” Cas muttered. If Dean said she was dead, then he supposed it didn’t really matter anymore.

Sam jerked on the bed, his body tensing and his head thrashed on the pillow. His eyes were screwed shut. The magic was resisting him after all.

Cas sighed offhandedly, “Would you please hold him for me?”

“What’s wrong with him?” the hunter barked, panicked, quickly leaning in to touch his brother shoulders to keep him from moving too much.

“I imagine he’s in excruciating pain,” Castiel said bluntly but when he saw Dean’s face fall and his eyes reflecting distress at the comment, he sort of wished he’d told him differently. Or lied. He didn’t know why he cared. What he hadn’t informed the hunter of, though, was that Cas’ power was probably making things worse; the poisonous black magic wasn’t reacting well and causing a more painful experience for its host. But it wasn’t the pain that would kill him. Worse was that Sam’s skin was beginning to glow noticeably which was the tell-tale sign that too much power was gathering within his body.

Another problem to add to the list was Castiel’s magic was starting to feel like an elastic band that was ready to snap; he needed a break to regroup himself before beginning again but he continued. He knew that stopping now would not stop the curse running through the younger hunter. Sweat begin to form on his forehead. Starting from scratch was not a viable option; now that the path was carved, the curse would quickly return to where it had reached previously. Just a little more power and he could stop it from spreading.  

“Hey, Cas, you don’t look so good,” Dean commented slowly, staring at the warlock warily.

Castiel didn’t mistake it for actual concern for him, but rather the man’s brother, “I’m fine,” he lied. He didn’t comment on the fact that the hunter had already nicknamed him.

The hunter looked doubtful but returned his concentration to his brother.

But Cas was now struggling to keep his head up and his concentration was wavering. The only mercy was that Cas didn’t have the power for there to be a surge that would surely obliterate Sam’s insides instantly, but much more of it and the younger hunter wouldn’t be able to handle that either. 

It had been a while since he’d been drained like this and he forgotten how dizzy and sickened he became.  Magic was part was his very essence and it was declining dramatically within him. The room appeared to be spinning round at an alarming rate and the fact he hadn’t passed out yet was a miracle in itself. He was no longer certain on whether it was the room shaking, or him.

And that’s when he blacked out.

********** 

Dean noticed that the warlock had become significantly paler; he looked about as good as Dean felt. His own wounds put out of mind, he kept a cautious eye on the guy also noticing how his daemon wobbled where it was perched. Dean didn’t have the foggiest to what kind of cat it was. It looked to him like a slightly overgrown, spotty housecat. Or a really small leopard.

As Bobby had recommended him, he was allowing himself to let the warlock do his work but he obviously wasn’t about to start trusting him. The warlock was a means to an end to help his little brother. He didn’t even know how well Bobby knew the guy. Bobby was a hunter, so why he even knew a warlock was a mystery.

And then the warlock fell backwards, Dean swore and his instincts caused him to snatch at the guys arm to stop him cracking his head on the floor. He pulled the guy onto the foot of the bed, wincing at the pain it caused his chest, but Sam’s gigantic body was so big that Cas was lying at an awkward angle over Sam’s feet. Sam had stopped shaking and the black magic had, as far as Dean could see, retreated somewhat.

Reluctantly and with a string of curses at both the situation and the pain, Dean lifted Cas into his arms. This was not how he had pictured spending his Friday night. His Friday night plans had had a little less warlock and a whole lot more women. But this, apparently, was his life.

Cas’ daemon was slumped in the chair. She seemed comfortable enough but if he was going to move Cas, she had to come with them. Indira sighed heavily and then prowled over to the other daemon who was thankfully smaller than her and grabbed her between her teeth and began pulling the cat lightly by her neck.

The warlock probably had the better deal.

Dean shoved a couple of the upstairs doors open until his found a bedroom and took the passed out man in his arms to the bed and dropped him on to it – or tried to because then Cas returned partly to the world. 

Castiel’s eyes flickered open and widened comically, “Dean? Wha-” he reached out to push himself away from the hunter, placing a hand over his shoulder in the process.

It seemed like it was Dean’s turn to do something dramatic. He didn’t have time to prepare for pain because it was a sudden, unexpected white hot burning on his shoulder. He couldn’t think - his only response was to scream. He was only vaguely aware of his daemon whining and someone shouting his name. Later he realised it must have been Cas.

But almost as quickly as it had started, it stopped. The source of it disappeared and his left shoulder only ached. Dean found himself kneeling on the floor but he can’t remember how he got there. His daemon was slumped a meter or so away from him. He reached out to her and she edged forwards to nuzzle into his side, still stunned.

What the fuck had that been?

He must have said it aloud because Cas responded, “Dean, I am so sorry. It was an accident,” and then Cas was crouched down with him, the warlock reached out to steady himself on the bedframe obviously still affected by trying to heal Sam. The cat daemon pushed her head against Cas and flicked her tail around his ankle.

Dean didn’t know exactly what the other man had done to make him say that. Sure, he’d put two and two together and knew that the warlock was the source of that little episode. But the way Castiel was looking at him – well it wasn’t making him feel all warm and fuzzy. The hunter was left speechless and a little disorientated, words remained unformed in his mouth.

Then Castiel’s concerned gaze morphed into something a whole lot more horrified as he found something new to stare at.

His shoulder.

Dean’s head whipped round. His eyes widened and for a moment he said absolutely nothing because burned through the top of his left sleeve was a handprint. A fucking handprint. What the hell?!

“What the fuck did you do to me, you bastard?!” words finally escaped him in rapid succession. He no longer cared that he should probably try to be polite for Sammy’s sake because the warlock had branded him as if he were cattle. His daemon agreed, if her snarling was anything to go by. She was on her feet in less than a second, her ears flat and teeth bared..

“I - I-”

Dean was not impressed by Cas’ response, or lack of response for that matter. Dean threw himself to his feet, stumbling slightly. He swirled his head to return to stare at his brand new mark, “Seriously what the hell, man?” His eyes were filled with rage as he glowered at the warlock, who Dean could only describe as appearing shell shocked.

Castiel stepped towards him but Dean backed away at the same time. A sigh came from the other man, “Dean, please, I need to see it. I need-”

Dean cut him off, “See it?! Are you blind? It’s the colour of a fucking tomato! You can see it perfectly well from there!” He didn’t want that asshole any closer to him. If he couldn’t control his magic then he shouldn’t be anywhere near him. And neither should Sam. Bobby had been wrong about this guy.

The other man grew even paler than before, “I’m sorry, Dean, I am. You must know it was an accident. You think if I were going to harm you, I would have waited for when I was at my weakest?”

“Weakest?!” How could he say that? At his ‘weakest’ he’d given Dean an agonising burn. That didn’t sound weak to him. But sure, whatever he said.

Indira’s ears were still flattened and a constant rumbling growl sounded from her during the exchange.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Dean blinked in surprise as he heard the other man’s daemon for the first time. She snapped the statement, her tone like ice as she stepped in front of Cas and unsurprisingly Indira met the challenge, prowling closer to the middle ground.

“Sofia, enough,” the daemon who’s name he’d just learned, didn’t change her positon but ceased the obvious hissing at Castiel’s request, “I need to make sure it’s just a burn,” Cas’ voice was tired and he rubbed his eyes.

The hunter froze. “Just a burn?” he said slowly. What was they meant to mean? If this had some freaky magical consequences, he just might kill him...after he knew his brother would be alright. But then he would kill him.

“When I channel my magic as I’ve just done for your brother, my hand feels hot to the touch.” Dean snorted but there was no humour in it. “But it’s my magic that burned you,” Cas clears his throat, “I’m unaware of the reason. It wasn’t conscious – I wasn’t truly aware of what was happening. My magic reacted for me and I suppose it was a defence of kind,” Cas gave him an earnest stare, “I truly am sorry.”

No, Dean did not trust him, but in this moment Cas seemed genuinely apologetic about it so he stopped glaring daggers at him and since Cas wasn’t going to approach him, learning his lesson from before, Dean shuffled in his direction. The slightly shorter man warily reached out with his hand, meeting Dean’s eyes briefly, and then continued to hover over the burn. Heat was coming from Castiel’s hand but definitely not at the same intensity as before.

Thank God.

The warlock visually relaxed and he looked truly exhausted, “I believe you will be fine,”

“Yeah?” Dean backed off from Castiel and ran his fingers the fir on his daemon’s head. “Okay, well, next time I’ll just leave you where you are,”

“Probably for the best,” he agreed. “I can get you something that’ll promote healing?”

Dean nodded. He really did not want to have a hand print scorched on to his arm any longer than necessary. Castiel lead the way, followed by his weird cat daemon who’s balance was presently faring better than her warlock’s. Dude needed to take a break. As soon as he got his weird healing crap from the warlock, he’d mention it. 

Chapter Text

Burning a hand print into Dean’s arm wasn’t the most shameful things Castiel had done, but it was up there in the greatest hits. At least this mark would heal, which he couldn’t say was the case for some of the other things he’d done. Speaking of healing, though, the Winchesters were going to put a rather large dent into his supplies. But, he supposed, some of that was his own fault. He was just relieved that there would be no long lasting damage to the hunter. Not because he was attached to Dean in any way - that would be ridiculous - but because he didn’t want any of his magic causing harm someone who didn’t deserve it.

His magic had never reacted like that before. It had never burned anyone – it had done more harm than Cas wished but he’d (for the most part) been consciously making those choices. Consciously used his power violently. But that was a thing mostly of the past and now he sold remedies.

Remedies of which the main ingredient was strung all over his kitchen floor. He sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that day. He was too tired for this. He longed to fall into his bed and, for the second time that day, pass out. His daemon was doing a lot better job of disguising the exhaustion he knew she must be feeling. There was also another feeling he couldn’t deny. It was something he’d missed without realising it after having adjusted to it all these years. Company. Of course, he had Sofia but she was part of him. Dean was entirely separate and whilst he was aggressive, he obviously cared a lot for his brother and his presence was making life more interesting despite the fact he’d not been here long.

Castiel stopped before the open arch into the kitchen and felt a twinge of irritation at the mess. He didn’t even have the magic to fix up his kitchen quickly. Healing magic was, for him, particularly tiring. But that’s one of the things his family liked about him – his magic was better used as a weapon. The hand print glowing on Dean’s shoulder was a reminder of that. His brother Lucifer’s magic was just the same. He suppressed a shudder at the thought.

Sofia met his eyes curiously. There was no point smiling reassuringly because he couldn’t lie to her; she would know.

“Does your kitchen usually look like this?” Dean asked, crossing his arms and kicking some of the broken glass lightly across the floor. His daemon sniffed at some of the stray plant resting on his floor but came no further in to avoid getting glass in her paws.

“No. But your insensitivity to magic as you went blindly through my wards, caused my concentration to slip,” Cas carefully hopped over the mess on the floor and grabbed the brush out of one of the cupboards and began to sweep up. Sofia stayed perched near Dean’s daemon.

Dean looked as if he didn’t know whether or not to be offended by Cas’ comment or not and then he shrugged, “I don’t like magic.”

“I’m aware.”

There was an uncomfortable pause in conversation and Cas noticed Dean playing with the sleeves of his dirty plaid shirt. The hunter’s mouth twitched several times as if he if were about to say something before stopping himself and deciding against it. And then finally after a few minutes, “Hope, ah, hope those flowery things aren’t too important,”

“I’ll purchase more,” he would just have to make do for now. He didn’t bother mentioning that Sam may need them. It would feel cruel. Cas imagined he would have to spend some time trying to make sure that when he separated the flowers from the tiny shards of glass that there was no more glass to be found on the plant. He missed the slightly guilty look passed over Dean’s face.

He swept the pile into the corner to reduce the chance of an accident. It was lucky that he had some stock that would help both Dean already and he didn’t have to make it from scratch because he didn’t think he’d be able to do that right now. His brother was a different story. There was a jar of a healing salve he’d created for nasty burns which should help Dean. The recipe was based on one his family used for their business but with a few important differences. There were no surprising and ultimately nasty or profit worthy side effects, just to name a few.

He handed the small jar to his unexpected guest, “Use sparingly. You don’t need a lot for it to make a huge difference,” he was just sorry Dean had to use it at all, “and, ah, I get you some dressing to wrap around it.”

“Thanks,” Dean turned the jar in his hand with a thinly vailed look of disgust, “Looks kinda funky, man. And you’re certain this’ll help?”

“Positive.”

Dean dropped his hand to his side and his daemon sniffed at it. Her nose wrinkled. Cas watched as the other man and his daemon shared a moment, communicating silently through their body language. Castiel looked away and found some dressing in a first aid tin for Dean to wrap round his arm.

“Bathroom?” Dean asked.

“Up the stairs, to your left,”

When they’d gone Sofia hoped up on to the table and lied down. Castiel pulled out a chair and slumped into it. Today was doing its best to kick him to curb. He needed to check up on the unconscious hunter lying in his guest bed but he couldn’t convince himself to move. Unless Sam’s condition changed, there was nothing Cas could do for the time being – he didn’t want to rick overloading the Winchester and he himself wasn’t doing too well either. The next step was to figure out some remedy that would help the process quicker, but currently Castiel was more concerned he’d add to the mess on the floor by dropping ingredients.

“You almost pushed us too far,” Sofia’s voice was neutral, too tired to put any emotion behind it.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he pushed his hand into her fur. It was comforting and she purred softly in response.

“We can’t do that again,”

Castiel didn’t say anything. If he were honest with himself, he wasn’t sure why he was going to such lengths to help a stranger – a hunter no less. His relationship with Bobby Singer was little more than acquaintance and yet here he was doing him a difficult and trying favour. His mother always said he was too soft and Cas could see that maybe she was right. But he’d take soft over his mother’s more cruel and manipulative nature any day.

Cas was yanked out of his internal thoughts a little time later by the impact of the glass jar being placed on the table. Dean was back.

“That was quick,”

“What tell ya; I’ve had to take care of more than my fair share of injuries – though none quite like this, gotta say.” Dean shot him a charming smile but Cas wasn’t convinced of the carefree attitude that Dean was presenting himself with. He couldn’t think that having to stitch yourself back up over and over again was anything less than miserable. He felt a pang of sympathy for the hunter. Hunting was, needless to say, a dangerous job. A job which you weren’t paid for doing nor got much, if any, thanks for and it almost always ended in the inevitable demise of the hunter.  

Castiel didn’t smile back - it would have felt hollow. “Hunting is perilous.”

The hunter shrugged, “Someone’s got to do it,” he said, trying to make himself comfortable on the chair across from Castiel, “Why not us?” His face grimaced as he wriggled in his chair.

“That’s…honourable, I suppose,” unless they hunted creatures whose only crime was not being human.

Dean appeared to remember who, or rather, what, he was talking to and he squared his shoulders, “You wouldn’t understand.”

Cas scowled, “Just because I’m not human, doesn’t mean that I don’t have an understanding of why you hunt. What I disagree with is when prejudice hunters murder my kind or someone who does not deserve it,” he bit out savagely.

“Everything I kill had it coming. If it hasn’t done shit, I leave it alone,” Dean folding his arms and stared him down.

He titled his head and met Dean’s glare, “And yet you treat everyone who’s not human with distrust and distain?”

“You’re a stranger and I trust you just enough to save my brother. Forgive me if I’m not comfortable enough to have a slumber party with you and braid each other’s hair.”

There was a beat of silence where both men glowered at each other but neither of their daemons had begun to hiss or snarl as they had done previously. In fact Sofia appeared the most relaxed, lazing on the table as if an intense exchange of words was not happening around her. And Dean’s daemon did little more than watch from the chair next to the hunter, still, but only slightly, cautious. The warlock knew very little about Dean but he knew his own daemon and he knew himself. He didn’t feel offended by Dean’s words and Sofia knew it because he’ll admit, though maybe not to the hunter, that Dean made perfect sense. If he were in his situation, Cas wouldn’t trust him either. Actually, if Dean knew him at all, Castiel estimated that the hunter would want to be as far away from him as possible.  

Cas resigned to losing this debate, deciding that he was too tired to shoot snarky comments back and forth about their lifestyle choices and instead tried for a joke, “I don’t think our hair’s long enough to braid,” he kept his voice level and in the same serious tone as before.

Dean stared at him, incredulous, as if he were trying to tell whether or not he was being serious, “You missed the point.”

In for a penny, in for a pound, “Your brother’s hair, now that you could braid, I’m sure of it.” At first, Cas could tell, that Dean was struggling to comprehend what had just happened to their conversation but the slight smile that his lips curved into told Cas all he needed to know. A warm feeling fluttered in his stomach. Cas swallowed. Hard.

This was not good.

He shouldn’t be thinking about how the man before him would look if he really smiled and was, well, a little less covered in blood. Cas imagined that it would light up his whole face. He wondered when the last time Dean smiled genuinely. Hunting is not the kind of occupation that made a person feel happy. It went hand in hand with pain and loss. Not much to smile about in Cas’ book. A sudden desire to make Dean laughed startled him inwardly.

Not good was a little bit of an understatement.

He tried to shove the feeling down and a shape pain pulled him back out of his thoughts. Sofia was digging claws into his arm, not so much to draw blood, but enough to almost hurt and snatch away from her in instinct.

Dean cleared his throat awkwardly, “You look awful, man. Maybe you should get some rest.”

Rest sounded incredibly appealing. But there was just one slight problem; Cas was not comfortable Dean, a fully functioning hunter no less, roaming around his house whilst he slept.

The hunter knew the hesitation for what it was and rolled his eyes, “See, you don’t trust me either. I’m not going to trying and kill you or whatever. You’re helping my brother – it’d be a pretty shitty move on my part,” Cas still wasn’t convinced so Dean continued, “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll be with Sammy. I’m not gonna snoop. I promise.”

Castiel gave him one last look, weighing up what the hunter had just said. On one hand he could be lying and Cas didn’t wake up in the morning and Dean’s gone through his stuff, or, more likely, Dean was going to stay by his brother and make sure he was alright. Cas admired it; the devotion to his brother.

But a part of him was also jealous.

He did his best to ignore it.

“Okay.” Cas briefly nodded. “Stay in the guest room.” 

 ***

Dean had absolutely no intension of snooping. He didn’t. Once Cas had gone to get some sleep, he had sat down by his brother. That was where he stayed throughout the rest of the night, drifting into unconsciousness occasionally and then waking up an hour or so later. When light began streaming through the closed blinds, Dean blinked and rubbed his eyes, yawned and stretched until he felt he would no longer doze off. His entire body ached. That was what he got for picking a fight with a crazy witch and sleeping a chair. He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck.

The worrying black lines on his brother’s arm hadn’t gone anywhere since Castiel’s interference. That was the biggest relief. His brother wasn’t getting any worse and he no longer writhed in pain as he had done when Cas had begun his treatment.

But he didn’t seem to be getting better either. 

Dean told himself that that was to be expected considering the warlock had told him it would be a long process. Patience, however, was definitely not one of his strong suits. It never had been. His brother got all huffy when Dean got bored during stake outs and then Rosa would flap her wings in a gesture that Dean took to mean as giving him the finger.

“Castiel’s magic is working,” Indira stated, tiredly. It wasn’t a conversation starter – it was more as if she was reassuring them. There was a hint of surprise that she’d almost covered in her tone.

Dean felt another twinge of relief that his daemon was no longer remaining silent. It was almost like being able to breathe again. And when Sam woke up he’d feel even better. The guilt wouldn’t go away, but he’d feel a hell of a lot better than he did now.

“If Castiel hadn’t pulled that handprint stunt, I might even be impressed.” She was lying at the foot of the bed, Sam’s legs next to her under a white quilt, her head rested on the soft fabric.

Dean scooted the wooden chair forward, cringing at the horrid noise it made against the flood. Hopefully that hadn’t disturbed Cas. Reaching forward he ran his fingers down her soft flank and she shifted from her spot to nuzzle her head alongside his.

“We’re gonna be alright,” she said. Indira was always the one to say it ever since they were young and she would curl around his neck as a small furry creature or he’d hug her into his chest when he was upset or scared. It had happened regularly since his old man had been, more often than not, drunk or messed up after rough hunts. And then he had to keep Sam out of the way.   

Just as Dean was about to follow his daemon’s comment up, his phone began to buzz incessantly in his jacket pocket. He took it out, Bobby’s name flashing on screen, “Hey, Bobby,” he answered.

“You sound better, kid, how’s that gigantic brother of yours?” Bobby sounded relieved.

“Not conscious but alive and not getting any worse,”

“That’s good news,” Dean sensed something in Bobby’s tone that made him tense, “but I got some bad news.” When did they not? “I’m tellin’ you this, not because I want you involved, but because I need you and Sam to stay out of trouble.”

There was no point in making promises that he couldn’t keep, “What’s wrong, Bobby?”

Bobby sighed, “Hunters are dropping like flies. They disappear and then they turn up dead a couple days later. I don’t want either of you boys getting yourself involved so you stay with Castiel until this all blows over.” It sounded like Bobby was flicking through the pages of a book.

Dean’s blood ran cold and neither of them said anything for a few moments. How could he not get involved in this? Hunters were getting ganked and Bobby thought he should just sit here and look pretty. He felt completely useless here with Sam sprawled out unconscious and relying on a warlock to fix him. And Bobby wanted him to stay with Cas until it blew over, however long that lasted, as if he couldn’t protect himself. He stood up, needing to pace because staying still didn’t feel like a viable option, “Bobby-”

“You listen here, boy,” Bobby interrupted, sensing Dean was about to protest, “Good people are on it. You do not need to get involved with this,”

“I know, but-”

“Dean, stay with your brother. He needs you, so you’re gonna stay exactly where you are and suck it up.”

Dean didn’t say anything. His brother was lying peacefully on the bed next to him, occasionally his left arm twitching. It was so subtle that it was barely noticeable. He met his daemon’s eyes, which were widened with concern and her ears were pricked straight up, trying to listen in to the conversation with Bobby.

“Fine, whatever,” there was no point arguing with him. “About Cas, how do you know the guy?”

“He gave me and Rufus a hand a while back. He’d be a talented hunter. We’re damn lucky he’s on our side.”

Dean wasn’t sure Cas was on anyone’s side particularly, “How did you even know he would help us?”

“He’s a good guy, Dean. He’s helping your brother, isn’t he?”

It was good to hear the reassurance, “Yeah. I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up, too distracted to have meaningful conversation. He toyed with the idea of researching the hunter’s deaths, maybe making a few calls to some other hunters. But if he did that, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from going out and trying to gank the sonofabitch who was behind this. And then he’d have to leave Sam. He couldn’t do that right now. He couldn’t leave him with someone he barely knew. Not a chance. Especially when that guy was probably passed out and unable to monitor Sam’s condition.

A heavy breath left the hunter and he caught his reflection in the corner of his eye in the mirror hung on the wall over a wooden chest of draws. A sudden awareness came over him. Damn, he didn’t look good. He was sporting a nasty shiner under his right eye and he still had traces of blood on his face. He looked as if he could have walked straight out of a horror film; his clothes were covered in dried blood and sweat and now he wanted nothing more than to get into something more comfortable. The bandage around his bicep was the cleanest thing he had on.

Not necessarily wanting to pry, but wanting desperately to get into some other clothes, Dean began opening a shutting doors on the draws until he found a plain shirt. There were only a few garments, a few shirts and some socks. Dean was almost surprised to find anything considering that this wasn’t Castiel’s room. As he shook the T-shirt out, a flash of light on a piece of photo paper caught his attention. His forehead creased slightly and he reached into the draw to pick it out, his curiosity getting the best of him. Dean felt a soft sound leave him at the surprise; it was a young Castiel and his family. His frown deepened and he couldn’t tear his gaze away. And then his stomach dropped and his heart began to race. There was no mistaking the family in the photo.  

He knew who Castiel was. 

Chapter Text

Cas was awoken suddenly by the sound of pained grunting and cursing coming from beyond his closed bedroom door. It sounds like someone was attempting to move something heavy along his corridor, like a large box filled with heavy items or small elephant, maybe. Castiel surmised that neither of those thing were very likely and it was obviously his guest making all the racquet. He ran his hand through his hair which he knew would be stuck up in every direction. Every attempt to tame it failed until Cas gave up.

Sofia stretched out next to him, showing her razor sharp teeth in a massive yawn. She blinked lazily and made no move to stand and didn’t look like she would any time soon. Cas shifted slowly, rolling from his side onto his back but he couldn’t bring himself to slide off of the mattress and on to his feet. Through blurry eyes, he noticed the soft morning light was peeking through the edges of the blackout curtains and quietly groaned - today would likely be as tiring as the previous. And judging by the sound coming from outside his bedroom door, it may even be more so.

There was a loud bang followed by several curses from the fowl mouth hunter. What the hell was he even doing? Castiel groaned again and let his arm flop over his face so it was covering his eyes but there was no avoiding it. He needed to find out why Dean sounded like he was doing his best to wreck his house and he should probably stop him. Couldn’t Dean have done the considerate thing and done this a few hours later so he didn’t have to move?

Finally, after hearing several more grunted out swearwords, Cas decided enough was enough and shoved the sheets off of himself and dragged himself from his position on the bed onto his feet. His daemon was unimpressed and her big eyes displayed the mild irritation she was feeling towards Dean disturbing them.

“He better have an excellent excuse for this noise,” Sofia grumbled, flexing her claws. Cas watched through narrowed eyes – he didn’t wanted claw sized holes in his bed sheets. They’d already had to replace several sets since she’d settled for that reason. He didn’t understand why she kept doing it.

He turned away and stared down at himself, realising that he’d slept in the clothes he’d worn the day before. Great. As soon as Dean was dealt with, he’d change out of his wrinkled outfit. He opened the door into the hallway and Sofia gradually followed suit and padded after him as he left the room.

What he saw next was not at all what he’d expected. His patient was lying on the floor just before the stairs at the top of the hall, his raven daemon on his chest. A couple of boxes filled with old items destined for his loft were no longer stack neatly, but cluttering up the path along the upstairs.

The fuck?

His ‘guest’ really was wrecking his house, “Dean!” Castiel barked, gaining the other’s attention instantly.

Dean shot round like a startled cat, his face immediately darkening at the sight of him. Castiel was at a loss to why that would be. He can’t have done anything in his sleep. So why did Dean look like he was ready to gut him? The hunter’s mood swings were already starting to bother him and he hadn’t known the man more than a day.

“Stay the hell away from us,” Dean spat at him. Cas could do nothing but relay his look of confusion, he didn’t break away from Dean’s thunderous face to give his daemon a look for fear that the moment he did so, Dean would do something they’d both likely regret. The wolf by Dean’s side was showing off her equally lethal teeth, aiming it at Sofia. Sofia didn’t bother responding; she didn’t know what they were meant to be fighting about this time.

“Dean? What’s going on?” he asked, but it just seemed to make the man in front of his furious and his daemon even more so. “What do you think I’ve done? At least give me a clue so I can apologise.” Evidently he must have done something horrendous. Was Sam alright? Had he gotten worse in some way whilst Cas was half in a magic induced coma?

“Stop lying,” Dean tugged at his brother, attempting to pick his up but not having an easy time of, still injured from the day before.

“Lie to you?” Castiel couldn’t remember being dishonest with the hunter at all. Dean hadn’t been here long enough for that. The hunter had barged into his life – Cas didn’t owe him anything. And now, the hunter was beginning to irritate him. He was not a morning person and he temper was starting to stir. “Tell me what’s going on.”

“You bastard,” Dean gave up moving his brother to abruptly charge at Cas.

Cas was officially pissed off.

Dean’s momentum as he crashed into him sent them both straight to the floor. Cas didn’t even try to avoid it, he only braced himself and restrained the tight coil of magic that hissed at him to be let free. His magic had reacted oddly to Dean last time; he didn’t want to find out what it would do at almost full strength.

That being said, he wasn’t going down without a fight and he could control his magic. He was about ninety percent sure of it. And Dean had one huge flaw – he was fighting with no forward thinking. He was reckless and letting his emotions cloud his judgement. For that reason, his technique had only one aim, brute strength. Fortunately Castiel knew how counter it.

As Dean came down to swing his fist, Cas reacted instantly, pushing his hand to Dean’s chest and let his grip on a small fraction of his magic pulse straight into the hunter as the fist came down – but it never landed. Magic sent him flying back down the hall where he started. Except this time he was on the floor. But it wasn’t for long. The move had already served its purpose, though, and Cas was up on his feet.  

The hunter tried again, but Castiel was ready for him and he knew the only way Dean would tell him what was going on, was if he didn’t have a choice. Evidently, Dean wasn’t using his head and Cas didn’t know how to calm him down. This was the problem with hunters, Cas glowered. Dean was turning out to be no different. He couldn’t believe Bobby had sent him this mess of a man. How had Bobby expected this to go?

He felt a phantom pain in his arm. It must have come from Sofia, who was brawling with Dean’s daemon. He had to trust she could handle herself. She could, he knew that, but there was a huge amount of vulnerably that came with having a daemon. There was no avoiding it. Knowing he was connected to an entity that was separate and that could be injured which could, in turn, could injure him always made Cas feel nervous when in a fight. But everyone else had the same problem. Well, mostly everyone.

Cas blocked the fist that pummelled towards his face, using his magic to strengthen himself against the blows so he’d be less effected. Just one of the many tricks he’d learned from his brother Gabriel. Cas stumbled backwards. There were a few way this could go: Cas could wait for Dean to tire himself out and continue using his magic defensively, or he could subdue Dean and get him to inform him what the problem was. It was taking all of his restraint not to unleash his power and the more Dean tried to hurt him (or kill him – because Cas wasn’t sure the man would stop) it yanked at the threads that were tightly wrapped round his magic and his control.

The latter was chosen when Dean began yelling insults and ‘monster’ slipped out of his lips. For a second, Cas saw only red. And it only took that fraction of a second for him to slip up. His magic reacted without him even thinking.

Dean was in front of him and then he wasn’t. Cas’ mind emptied. The hunter was back on the floor propped haphazardly against a wall near to his brother. Dean’s daemon was on the ground next to Sofia where the wolf daemon had been trying to rip her to pieces.

Once Cas had pulled himself together to finally react, he skidded to the hunters side. His heart lurched. Theoretically, there was no way that Dean should be still breathing after all that magic had slammed into him, but it didn’t stop him asking, “Dean?”

Dean shifted groggily, his eyes clenched. “Jesus fuck,” was his eloquent response.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” and he was. “What’s wrong?” Cas asked urgently, “What do you think I’ve done?” He spared a glance at the brother he’d yet to meet conscious. Dean seemed to suddenly remember he’d been furious at Cas and tried to push him away but his body wasn’t quite ready for movement and Cas barely felt a small nudge. “Dean, listen to me, I can heal you but you’ve got to tell me what’s happened since I saw you last night,” he reached out to stop Dean toppling to the side. How was he still functioning?

Oh, no. He supressed the thoughts that felt like poison in his veins.

“Heal me?” Dean laughed, cruelly. “I’m sure,” even in the concussed state he was in, he hadn’t lost his sarcasm. Cas tried not to let it grate at his nerves but Dean had a way of get on every single one of them and he’s known him for less than twenty-four hours. As Cas was considering giving up and fixing him with the brush of his fingers, Dean mumbled, “You’re a Milton.”

Cas’ stomach dropped. He lurched clumsily away from Dean. He felt sick. How did Dean know that name? He no longer wanted anything to do with them, it why he was avoiding them by refusing to respond to their attempts to contact him, no matter how many times that did so. He’d left Milton behind and adopted Novak as his new identity.

He swallowed the lump of fear in his throat and whispered, “Not anymore,” He shook his head violently, “I want nothing to do with them…How do you even…?” Castiel didn’t understand at all.

Dean finally gaged his eyes open and he gave Cas an unhappy smile, “You left a damn picture in the guest room.”

For a moment, Cas had no idea what he was talking about. But then it hit him – the family photograph taken when he was much younger on a holiday. Before Cas knew – before they all knew – what the family business really was. Though Cas suspected Michael and Lucifer, the more he thought about it, probably already knew or were at least vaguely aware of what was truly happening. How they made their fortune. It had been a rude awakening when he found out and he hadn’t even been meant to, at least not at that point. Naomi, his mother, hadn’t believed him to be ready. Cas supposed she was right but he never stopped feeling relieved that Gabriel at told him.

“Please believe me when I say that I left them as soon as I was able.” Technically, that was true but he’d been young and too afraid to leave when Gabriel did. He’d left years after his brother and regretted every moment that he’d stayed with his family and not took off with Gabriel.

Dean was no longer glaring at him but now he wouldn’t look at him. Neither of them said anything for what felt like hours, but was probably only minutes. Castiel was too afraid to slide himself towards Dean and remove any injuries that he’d attained when Cas had released his magic accidentally.

“Milton Medicine ruined my life,” Dean finally looked at him again, his eyes brimmed with anger that Cas didn’t think was still aimed at him, though god only knows he deserved it. At the forefront of all of it was pain. Cas could read it off him a mile away. His parents business had caused a lot of pain to an awful lot of people. He felt he should be used to it by now, the guilt, the stab of pain in his chest that almost took his breath away, but every time he thought about it, every time he came across anyone affected, it was as heart breaking as the last.

Naomi wanted to leave this legacy to her five children. Cas had spat it right back in her face. They were monsters and Cas would be damned if he ended up anything like them.

Castiel didn’t know whether or not Dean would appreciate, or even want, his apology but he said it anyway. Dean didn’t react. Cautiously, Cas shuffled towards Dean and reacted out to touch the hunters left arm. He responded with a jerk when he realised Cas was touching him but their brief moment of contact had been long enough to heal the injuries he’d caused and then some. It was so much easier than magical injuries. Cas still felt his magic drain from him, but it wasn’t as severe as dealing with Sam.

He backed away from the hunter, knowing that he needed space but there weren’t many places he could go because the unconscious brother was blocking the stair way. He would respect whatever choice Dean made about what to do with his brother. If he chose to take him away, Cas doubted he would recovered without the help of another warlock and it didn’t take much to realise that Dean didn’t know another warlock or he would have gone to them in the first place.

“Are you leaving?” he did his best to make his voice sound soothing and hoped that didn’t upset Dean further.

The only response Cas received was silence and after a minute or so, he thought that was the only answer he would get. He expected a nod, nothing more, because he couldn’t blame him if wanted to leave. Bobby might know someone else anyway and now that Sam was stable it gave them chance to consider somebody else.

Finally Dean shifted. “You ever killed anyone?”

Castiel hid the shock at such a blunt question, though he knew he shouldn’t have expected anything less. His heart thumped heavily against his chest and he gave the most honest answer he could, “Only in self-defence.”

Dean studied him for any sign he was lying until he saw whatever it was that he needed. “You even still want us here?”

There was no easy way to answer that question. At heart, Cas wanted to help people but right now the person who needed his help happened to be an overly-protective hunter who had tried to kill him. So why hadn’t he kicked him out already? Somehow he’d managed over the period of half a day to grow invested. Bobby trusted that Cas could fix Sam so he felt a measure of responsibility to do what he could.

And then there was Dean, not the hunter, but the brother who was desperate enough to come to stranger in the middle of the night to ask for help. Dean didn’t strike Cas as the type of person who did that often. He didn’t half frustrate him but god knows he didn’t have the heart to tell Dean to leave until he wanted to go and there was also a tiny intrusive thought at the back of his mind that he was doing his best to ignore – telling Dean was out of the question. Honesty was meant to be the best policy, but somehow he didn’t think that telling the man that actually the mark could be something more than they thought, would be a good idea. It might not be a huge problem, if Cas ignored it, it might even go away on its own. He hoped that it would.

Milton Medical had hurt Dean and whilst Cas didn’t know how, or to what extent and Cas himself certainly hadn’t had anything to do with it, helping his brother was the least he could do. It might even prove to Dean that he was on the opposite side of the spectrum to most of the rest of his family.

“I think you would regret leaving,” Cas said.

Dean nodded but it was more in consideration of but Cas said than an actually admittance that he thought Cas was right.

“I would prefer if you would refrain from attacking me in future.”

Dean kept his expression blank and responded, “Duly noted.” Dean rolled on his feet and Cas watched as he considered his own body, his lips parted in surprise when he felt no pain. His green eyes flickered over to Cas but he said nothing and then just as quickly looked away.

 *****

As soon as Sam had been settled back in the guest room and the warlock had check him over for any sign of deterioration, he’d insisted that they have breakfast but Dean wasn’t feeling hungry at all after he’d found that picture. He attempted to, as politely as he could, refuse the offer but Cas insisted. It was also hard to refuse a bacon sandwich. He was only human.

The problem was that Dean felt guilty; there was a pit in his stomach and the fight was replaying in his head like a goddamn film clip that wouldn’t stop repeating. It was driving him nuts He should have asked Cas to explain himself but all he’d done was work himself up and start a fight before Cas even knew what was wrong. He hadn’t been able to think straight and now instead of kicking him out, Cas was making him breakfast as if Dean hadn’t tried to assault him twenty minutes ago. He still felt the shock of magic hitting him - he didn’t blame Castiel though, how could he?

He didn’t understand the guy. There was no way he’d let himself stay if he was in Cas’ position.

He’d offered to help out but Cas refused and told him to sit down. Neither of them had spoken, waiting for the other to make the first move. Dean was vividly aware he should apologise, he’d just never been very good at it. Sorry had wedged itself into his throat and was making it difficult to breathe, much less talk.

His mother was a sore spot. Somehow, like fate was fucking with him, he’d ended up in the same house as a member of the very same family who’s caused Mary Winchester’s death. Being in the same space as a Milton was forcing his feelings to rear their ugly heads and Dean Winchester did not deal well with them.

Having Castiel tell him that he had nothing to do with them did nothing to make him feel better because that wasn’t the issue – the damage had already been done. He remembered the bright light of hope that he’d felt and then the crushing weight of the lie they’d been sold and the inevitable tragedy that followed. It didn’t matter that Cas was not responsible because it was no longer Cas he was upset with.

A cruel thought entered his mind and a flash of agony went through him; Cas might have bought this house with his family’s blood money. Outwardly, he tried to keep his face blank but he was unaware of how successful that was.

Another wave of guilty flowed through him as he sat in the same space he had the previous night. He didn’t want to look at Cas or his daemon, so he avoided him by staring down at the table and tapping his fingers silently on the glazed wooden surface.

Indira was lying curled up beside his chair, her head down and tail brushing the floor near her nose. At least she could hide beneath the table whilst Dean had no choice but to be seen by the warlock and the daemon who’s form was still unknown to him. Asking about Cas’ daemon would be unthinkable – he wouldn’t stoop that low, especially when he’d been terrible towards the other man.

The sizzling of bacon on the oiled pan was the only thing stopping the room from being dead silent. Dean was thankful for it.

His thoughts buried him in his own mind, so much so that he barely noticed the plate being placed in front of him on the place mat and he certainly didn’t hear Cas’ question.

“Dean?” Cas repeated, relaying concern that Dean didn’t want to hear right now.

Dean blinked. “Sorry,” he murmured, pulling the plate further towards him.

They didn’t talk until after both of them had finished their breakfast. Dean tried to ignore the quiet and he now realised that there must be a clock somewhere because he could hear the unrelenting ticking.

Castiel cautiously met his eyes but Dean was way too uncomfortable to maintain the eye contact.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot. I would like to remedy that, if you’ll allow it,” Cas said slowly. It sounded unsure to Dean’s ears and Dean made no comments which Cas seemed to take as a confirmation to continue. “I’ve not been the best host. You are, after all, my guest and I want us to get along, at least until you can leave with you brother. I know you don’t want to be here but whilst you are here, I believe it would be better was us to try and work out our differences. If we can’t do that, we’ll just have to avoid each other best we can,” he began to ramble but Dean didn’t stop him as he wasn’t quite ready to talk.

Castiel took both of their plates over to the sink and turned the tap on, “If you have any questions, I’ll answer them honestly.”

He was trying to prompt Dean into saying something. He saw right through it but he responded anyway, “I’ve hardly been a great guest myself. If we could just forget the last hour happened, that would be,” he didn’t finish the sentence, trusting Cas to understand.

Castiel nodded turned his head and tried for a smile. It didn’t quite meet his eyes but Dean appreciated what he was trying to do.

Cas grabbed at a towel and dried his hands. He came over to Dean and held out a hand. “Hello, my name’s Castiel Novak. I’m a warlock and my social skills are a little rusty.”

His blue eyes seemed so open and genuine that Dean couldn’t help but humour him, “Hi. I’m Dean Winchester. I’m a hunter and a bit of an asshole,” he joked, half-heartedly. It felt ridiculous but it made him feel better, even if it was only very slightly.

The warlock gave him a small smile, “I’m under the impression your brother is in need of some help. Shall we?” he motioned towards the door, but he didn’t move and Dean was grateful, knowing that he was waiting for Dean’s permission.

He pushed out of his chair and led the way. Maybe Cas wasn’t that bad, maybe he wasn’t lying and maybe, just maybe, everything would be alright.