You Soar & You Drown (Destiel AU)

Chapter Thirteen

The next day, Sam dragged himself through all of his classes, unable to focus on the teacher’s lecturing. When the bell finally rang, marking the end of the day, he practically ran to Jess’ locker. He was there before her.

“You look good,” she said in a way of greeting. “Is Dean all better?” She grabbed her backpack, slid her books in, and followed Sam out to his car.

“He’s great now, actually,” Sam said, smiling at her. “But let’s not talk about that. I was promised a date?”

Jess leaned up on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his mouth. “Yes you were, Sam, but you’ve got to wait a few seconds. I forgot my history textbook in my locker. Be right back.” She handed Sam her backpack and ran back into the school.

Sam’s phone vibrated again. He shoved Jess’ backpack into the passenger seat, got into the car himself, and opened the phone. He had a few texts: some from his friends, one from Dean, and that one from yesterday, sent from the “unknown number”. He still hadn’t looked at it. Curious, he opened the text.

Hey moose. Nice to talk again. Now, do you know who let Castiel out of hell?

* * *

Dean wiped his hands on the rag and sat back on his heels, admiring his work. The Impala glistened in the sunlight, the new coat of black paint shining in the hot afternoon sun. He’d made Sam take his beat up old car to school so he could work on his baby, but his little brother hadn’t been happy about it. At least the grueling work on the car gave Dean something to think about, instead of Cas and Crowley.

Dean went inside and changed into some clean clothes. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and turned on the TV. Then he fell back on the couch and closed his eyes, welcoming the soothing background noise.

Then something heavy fell out of nowhere and crashed down on top of him.          

“OH FUCKING HELL!!!” The Winchester almost screamed. The beer flew out of his hand and crashed to the floor, spilling liquid and shattered glass everywhere. Dean spit a string of obsencties so strong it would’ve made Lucifer flinch as he wriggled out from under the deadweight object.

No. It wasn’t an object, it was a person. Its body was almost scarlet-black with blood and dirt, and it wasn’t even recognizable as a male or female. Maybe it wasn’t either. Its clothes were torn and it was almost naked. Its hair could’ve been black or blonde, Dean wouldn’t have known—it was too dirty and matted with blood to tell the difference. And of course, it was unconscious. But all the same, when he took its pulse, he knew it didn’t have long to live. And it didn’t deserve to die, either, especially when it could be human.

So Dean dragged the “it” into his bathroom and undressed it. He could tell it was male instantly, but instead of flushing with embarrassment, he turned the shower on, shoved the man in, and climbed in after him.

He set to work with soap and shampoo, gently cleaning the blood from the various wounds. The man was really beaten up, like he’d gone through a torturing session. Dean forced thoughts of Cas in hell out of his mind and finished washing the man down. After dragging him back out of the shower, Dean toweled him down and started to bandage all of the cuts, remembering to be gentle.

That was when Dean noticed something strange about the unconscious man’s chest. Because underneath all the fresh cuts and scars, there were a few long white gashes that looked familiar to Dean. Almost like cuts from an angel blade…

The man’s eyes flicked open, and he sat up. His ocean-blue gaze locked with Dean’s. They were eyes the Winchester thought he’d never see again, eyes that for him held love and loss and pain and sacrifice. Dean’s eyes filled with tears that he couldn’t, for once, hold back.

It was his angel. His angel was back from hell.