Chapter Text
A fist connects with his face, knocking him back against the brick wall. His mouth takes on a coppery tinge, and he can’t quite tell if he’s bleeding, or if it’s just the head trauma. In a moment, it doesn’t matter though. That same fist connects with his nose. Now everything tastes of blood. Getting his arms between himself and the assailant does nothing, only providing new targets. The hits rain over his upper body until one connects with his temple. He can feel himself falling, no part of his body responding fast enough to do anything about it.
He barely puts his hands down in time to stop his head from hitting the ground. There’s an ominous cracking noise, but the pain is lost in the sea of it he’s already drowning in. Trying to get up helps nothing, as he barely gets an inch off the ground before a boot connects with his ribs, toppling him back down.
Now downed, and still dizzy from the hits to the head, there’s nothing he can do but curl in on himself and hope it ends soon. There are kicks everywhere, and he’s too out of it to count, but it feels like there are too many feet for just the one person hitting him. It ends, but he has no idea how ling it’s been. It takes a minute of not getting hit before he realizes that he’s been left alone, and more time than that to shift himself enough to see what’s happening.
There’s someone standing at the mouth of the alley. His vision is blurry and darkening at the edges, but even like this he can see the way they’re framed by a halo of sunlight. They’re almost glowing, and they are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“-an?” they say. Their voice is low and sonorous. Hey, that that sounds like my name, he thinks, and squints against the sun. They approach, and suddenly he’s looking up at the face of an Angel. “Are you okay?” There’s a rushing in his head, and everything but the face of the man above him seems unnecessary, but Dean manages to get out some form of an affirmative noise. Why is an angel here? Am I dying?
A hand touches his cheek, and he almost flinches from it, but the pain brought about by even that small movement is like shrapnel in his head. The angel shushes him and moves his hand to the back of Deans head. He’s sure it should hurt more than it does, but everything’s starting to feel floaty.
His face crinkles in displeasure at what he finds. “I’m going to need to call an ambulance,” the angel says, reaching towards his coat pocket. It sends a sharp spike of panic through his hazy thoughts. I can’t afford that! ”No- don- Don’t.” The man’s hand is stopped halfway, Deans hand around his wrist. “Please.” He looks up at him, and the mans face seems to soften a bit. “Ok, no ambulance,” he says, carefully loosening Deans hand from his wrist. His eyes scan down the mangled body of the boy before him “You do need medical attention though,” he mutters.
“No hospital,” Dean gets out. It feels important to say, but he can’t remember why at the moment.
“I can help you.” The angel carefully cards his fingers through the blood matted hair of the boy. “You need to go to the hospital,” he says softly.
He can barely think, everything’s blurry, and the hand in his hair is close to putting him to sleep. He still manages to get out a vaguely dissenting noise and the angel seems to be resigning himself to something.
“I’m a doctor. You’re losing too much blood to stay here, but I can help you if you let me.” He rummages through his coat pockets and pulls out an ID from the state hospital. Castiel Novak, MD. “Why?” it’s weak but demanding. No one just picks up a stranger like that without expecting something back.
The man’s face is almost sad as he tucks his ID away. “I can’t just leave you here to die, can I?” his hand returns to Deans hair. “Let me help you.”
Dean doesn’t trust him, but he can already feel that he wouldn’t be able to make it home by himself.
The man’s hand rubs against Deans hair as he nods, and suddenly that’s that.
There are strong arms wrapping around him, lifting him up. Vertigo makes his head spin, and he’s suddenly staring at the wall behind him instead of the man above him. Where are we going? He wants to look around, but moving his head seems an impossible task.
He’s put down on something soft a short while later and can hear doors slamming shut. The rev of an engine shakes what he’s lying on. Dean’s already fuzzy mind started to fade, and before he knew it, he’s asleep.