The Year of Redemption

Chapter 32: We All Fall Down

It was just before noon when Dean got back to the cabin. He had been fighting a hangover all morning, and he couldn't decide how much he actually regretted last night. His mind felt cloudy, and he couldn't quite clear it enough to think straight. But there had been something about Sandra that felt nice, comfortable, friendly. It didn't feel wrong even though he knew it probably should. One-night-stands typically aren't the most societally acceptable expressions of friendship.

But he remembered her words: "We've both been lonely too long." Somehow, it made him feel better. It was a good excuse at least.

When he arrived at the cabin, though, he cursed Sandra out loud. "Someone's waiting for you, my ass," he exclaimed. There was no one there. No car, no person, no sign of any life at all. The cabin was just as deserted as when he'd left it.

Dean heaved the door open and stumbled to the kitchen. The refrigerator was nearly empty. "Someone's been eating my cheeseburgers," he muttered, frustrated. "Fucking Goldilocks. I hate shopping." He grabbed half of a hamburger that was sitting on the shelf and flung himself into an armchair, devouring it in a couple of bites.

He closed his eyes to rest and found himself deeply asleep for the rest of the afternoon. He woke up to pounding on the door. It was already dark out. "Hold your horses, I'm coming," he mumbled, reaching over to turn on the lamp next to him and standing up slowly.

Dean opened the door tentatively, holding a pistol in his other hand. He aimed the gun outside and was suddenly awake at the sight of his visitor. "The hell are you doing here?" he demanded, lowering the pistol. "I thought I told you not to come back, Cas."

The angel stood there motionless for a few seconds, then his knees seemed to give out under him, and he fell forward a bit, catching himself on the open door.

"Dude," Dean said, surprised by the angel's condition. He grabbed Castiel's arm and put it over his shoulder, helping Cas hobble to the couch. Dean sat him down and gave him a once-over. He noticed red stains on Castiel's white button-up shirt, and there was a gash extending down his neck to underneath his collar. It was still wet with blood.

Without thinking, Dean knelt down and leaned his head forward to look at the wound more closely. He noticed numerous other small scratches along the angel's neck and face. "Cas, what happened?" he asked, lifting his hand and running it along some of the smaller scratches. They were red and swelling, and they throbbed underneath Dean's fingers.

"I was ambushed," Cas stated. "I didn't see it coming, I was not prepared."

Dean moved his hand to the larger wound on Cas's neck. He touched it gingerly, tracing its length. When he reached the collar of Castiel's shirt, he brought his other hand up to the top button and began undoing it absently. Cas gave him a curious look, but Dean didn't notice. He was focused, like a mother taking care of her child.

Dean unbuttoned Castiel's shirt all the way down. He kept discovering more scratches and marks along the angel's chest, and he gently ran his hands along them. They were bright red, and they each pulsed when Dean touched them. A couple of the deeper ones were still bleeding slightly, leaving narrow trails of red down the angel's chest and stomach. Dean softly traced the ragged edges of one of these, then stood up suddenly, as if breaking out of some reverie. "I'll be right back," he said quickly, deliberately not making eye contact with Cas.

Dean started to walk away, but Cas grabbed his arm. He'd noticed the way Dean's eyes shifted, the way they focused on his wounds, but refused to look at his face. He noticed the way Dean had carefully examined his scratches when he could have just left the angel standing at the doorway, but then how Dean had quickly put up a wall again as soon as he'd noticed himself getting a little too close.