Spoilers: Are You There God? It's Me, Dean Winchester
Summary: Once again, Dean finds himself in the hands of fate. Takes place sometime after 4x02 on a random hunt.
Word Count: 563
Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and co. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author. This is for entertainment purposes only; no financial profit has been gained from this story. This story is not mean to infringe upon the rights of the above-mentioned establishments.
The familiar stench of death surrounded him.
Dean sat in silence, his body too cold and raw to move. In one hand, he clutched his cell, his numb fingers struggling to hit the right numbers while his other hand pressed onto the soaked stain over his abdomen.
He could feel the warmth drain from his body as the blood gushed from his wound. He hadn't counted on the spirit having its own ghostly gun. Now it was after Sam. He had to warn Sam.
But his strength was quickly fading. Dean felt himself slipping as he dropped his cell phone. He could only hope that his next destination wouldn't be as warm as his last.
Dean tried to focus as he struggled to keep his eyes open. There was a heavy weight all around him, pressing harder and harder…
"I need for you to look at me."
Dean nodded – or at least he thought he did – and squinted into the dark. The blur in front of him finally took shape and he smiled, feeling a growing peace.
"Hey, Cas. Nice timing."
Castiel didn't answer. Instead, he held out his hand, pressing his palm against the open wound. Instantly, Dean felt the blood flow stop, his skin fold back, and the sensation of gushing warmth changing into a localized icy prick. When he glanced down, there was nothing but smooth skin under the hole in his shirt.
"I will not keep saving you."
"Oh, sure you will." Dean winced as he poked at the spot, but he couldn't feel any real pain. While Castiel and his buddies hadn't shown up when Meg and her friends had tried to eat them alive, Dean was starting to get the impression Castiel was hovering around a lot more than he wanted him to believe.
The fogginess of the near death started to lift, allowing Dean's mind to snap back into focus. He remembered the ghost and Sam, and immediately he reached for his cell and his gun.
Castiel gently lowered his hands.
"The spirit has been freed," he said.
"He is fine."
Dean mulled over the information. "Did he see you?"
Perfect. Castiel continued to be shy. He swore if Bobby hadn't seen Castiel in the flesh, no one would believe he was talking to angels.
Castiel remained impassive. "I will not condone such recklessness. We have work to do."
"How was I supposed to know that ghost was packing heat?"
Castiel stared at him.
Dean could only sigh. He and Castiel both knew he hadn't been reckless. He hadn't really had as many brash impulses since he'd come back, whatever that meant. Whatever was going on, if this was how Castiel and his angel folk showed affection and compassion, it was okay with Dean. As soon as they broke out the harps and the hugs, he was gone.
"Take better care," Castiel warned him. "There may be a time where I am unable to assist you."
Dean nodded, but kept quiet this time. He didn't like the ominous tone in Castiel's voice, but he wasn't going to push his luck tonight with a series of twenty questions. Not when he'd flown all the way out to Montana to save him from a ghost shot.
No, Dean decided he would have to be extra careful in the coming days – for all of their sakes.