Chapter Text
Dean had been a part of rescuing angels practically his whole life, but he'd never once been taken by surprise like he was by this new rescue. The angel was out, fully tranquilized, on the bottom of his cage which, while not completely unusual, was still somewhat rare. They liked to cause as little trauma to the already traumatized angels they rescued, but if one was fighting too hard, they had to knock them out so they didn't hurt themselves or the rescuers. Bobby unlocked the truck and Sam and Jo climbed in and carefully maneuvered the angel to the edge of the opening. Dean was standing there, ready to take the angel's weight when suddenly he came to life.
He grabbed Sam's head in his hands and slammed it back against the inside of the truck and then threw himself backwards, crushing Jo between his body and the wall of the truck. They had both crumpled to the ground before Dean even really registered what had happened and then the angel was on him. He struggled, but the angel had the element of surprise and the strength of his race on his side, and before Dean could even shout for help he was on his back, the snarling angel on top of him. Dean could hear Bobby shouting, but it was all he could do to hold the angel at bay, trying to grab his wrists, get them flipped. He thought he had it, he had both of the angel's wrists in his hands, but the angel somehow twisted out of his grip and suddenly had Dean's arms pinned to the ground. The angel spread his wings and Dean had only a second to register how destroyed they were before the tips were driving down toward him. He screamed as the exposed bones drove through the meat of his shoulders and then his scream was cut off as the angel's hands wrapped around his throat. Dean flailed helplessly as the angel crushed his throat, his face a mask of rage as he looked down into Dean's.
Finally, Rufus appeared with a tranq gun and unloaded a dart into the enraged angel. There was a terrifying moment when the angel squeezed even harder and Dean was sure he was a goner, but then his grip eased and he collapsed on top of Dean. Bobby and Rufus rushed forward to pull him off Dean. As soon as they did, Dean turned onto his side, drawing in a huge breath and coughing, the pain in his shoulders not even registering in his need for air.
All told, it took less than a minute.
"Jesus, he got you good," Bobby said as he knelt next to Dean.
At their mention, the wounds in Dean's shoulders flared in pain, but he ignored it as he sat up and looked toward the truck. "Sammy? Jo?"
"Wobbly, but coming around. You're the one I'm worried about right now; you're bleeding like a stuck pig."
Dean looked down and saw two large patches of blood stretching all the way down to his waist. "Jesus fuck it hurts," he gasped as Bobby helped him to his feet.
"You need to get to the doctor, son." Bobby supported Dean as they made their way to the med ward in the main building. Chuck, the doctor on staff, cleaned out the wounds and patched Dean up before giving him a shot of antibiotic.
"Take these for two weeks," he said, ripping off a prescription for an oral antibiotic.
"Really?" Dean groused and Chuck nodded.
"From the smell of you, that angel was covered in his own filth and has been for a while. Trust me, you want the antibiotics."
"Well, when you put it that way," Dean said, shoving the prescription into his pocket.
Chuck smiled. "Now I'm probably going to go diagnose your brother and Jo with another concussion."
"Good thing they've got hard heads." Dean hopped off the table, wincing a little. "Tell Sam to text me when you're done poking him."
Dean wandered back out to the yard and found Bobby washing out the truck.
"Where'd he come from?" Dean asked as he got closer.
"Shouldn't you be resting?" Bobby shot, looking over his shoulder.
Dean shrugged. "Got some pain killers, antibiotics. Apparently I smell."
"I warned you about them hygeine habits of yours."
"You're hilarious, Bobby. So where'd he come from? Chuck said he must have been covered in his own filth. And I saw his wings before he stabbed me with them."
Bobby sighed and jumped out of the back of the truck and sat on the bumper. "It was bad, Dean. Owner used him for underground fights. He… I ain't ever seen an angel in such bad shape. He's fed well to keep him strong, but the damage he's taken…" Bobby shook his head. "Bastard who owned him'll be facing charges."
"You get his paperwork? What's his name?" Dean asked and Bobby quirked an eyebrow at him.
"Yeah, we got it. Name's Castiel."
"He didn't…" Dean looked back at the house. The angel would likely be in the basement right now, still unconscious, being cleaned by Pamela and then looked over by Chuck before being assigned a room. "He didn't seem," he looked back to Bobby and waggled a finger by his temple. "All there."
"Wouldn't be surprised if he ain't. According to his owner, he's had that angel fighting for the better part of ten years."
"Jesus," Dean muttered, and Bobby continued.
"Might turn out we can't save him."
Dean didn't answer. He knew that sometimes - rarely, but sometimes - an angel came in so psychologically damaged that they could never be reintegrated. They were violent, feral, and the only method of dealing with them was to put them down. Dean hated it, but it was the law. They had six months to rehabilitate any rescued angel, but after that…
Dean blew out a breath. "Fucking ridiculous. It's fucking ridiculous, Bobby. They're not animals."
"Preachin' to the choir, kid. But we do what we can and we gotta let that be enough."
"It's not enough," Dean growled, angry at the whole system that kept angels as slaves.
"You can't let it get to you, Dean," Bobby said, climbing back into the truck and Dean kept his mouth shut. He wasn't going to have this fight with Bobby again. Neither of them thought it was right how angels were treated, but their opinions about what they could do about it differed greatly.
"If you don't need me, I'm gonna find Sam and head home."
"Nope, I'm good. You go home and have a drink, get some rest," Bobby said, resuming his scrubbing.
"Night, Bobby." Dean found his brother as Sam was heading back to the truck. "How's the noggin?"
"Lumpy. That angel's strong," Sam said. "Jo's got a cracked rib."
Dean winced in sympathy. "Bobby said he was on the underground fight circuit."
"Explains the rough shape he was in." Sam swallowed. "Did you see his wings?"
"For a second, right before he stabbed me with them."
Sam's eyes went wide. "He stabbed you? How's that even possible?"
"He's missing that many primaries and primary coverts, and the bone's exposed," Dean said, feeling his stomach roll. "Got me with the phalanx."
"That must have hurt like a motherfucker," Sam said.
Dean nodded. "Wasn't fun."
"No, I meant for him," Sam said and Dean shot him a look.
"Thanks for the sympathy, Sammy." But Sam was right, it must have been incredibly painful for the angel to stab him with the end bones of his wings, but he'd obviously been out of his mind with rage. "Come on, let's go home."
:::::::
Bright and early the next morning, Dean and Sam showed back up at work at the shelter. Sam went off to the offices and Dean headed into the shelter proper. He checked the roster to find out where they'd put the new angel - Castiel - and then headed there to check on him. He hadn't been able to get the angel out of his mind last night, about how horrifically damaged his wings were and how filthy he was. About what he must have had to do in the ring to stay alive this long.
When he got to Castiel's room, he looked through the window and stiffened. Castiel was standing, facing the door, head down. He was fastened to the far wall by a length of chain attached to a restraint around his neck, his wrists were loosely bound to a belt around his waist, and his wings were bound. Dean knew the idea was to let the angel have some freedom of movement and use enough of their hands so they could feed themselves and take care of basic hygiene needs while also keeping the staff safe, but Dean hated to see it.
He must have made some sound because Castiel suddenly looked up. Dean could see the muscles in his shoulders bunching, like he was trying to flare his wings in a dominance display, but the bindings kept them folded. Castiel's upper lip pulled back from his teeth and Dean moved away from the window, not wanting to agitate the angel any more than he already had and mumbled, "Shit."
He stalked out of the shelter and across the yard to the main offices. He burst into Ellen's office.
"Why is he in a neck restraint?"
"Dean Winchester you do not barge into my office demanding answers about anything," she said, not quite shouting.
"Ellen, come on," he continued, unperturbed. "You gotta know he was a fighter. Hasn't he been dehumanized enough?"
"He's not human," Ellen started and Dean shook his head.
"Aw, don't give me that bullshit. You know what I mean."
"He has to be restrained, Dean, or else we can't even begin to help him. He needs medication, but he even tries to attack them the way he is now!"
"He attacked someone?"
"Yeah, you, for starters, dumbass! But since he woke last night he's attacked two people. Thankfully no one other than you was seriously hurt, but that's because he's restrained."
"Jesus," Dean breathed and Ellen's expression softened.
"I'm thinking of having him put down now. I don't think we're going to be able to save him."
"No!" Dean shouted and Ellen looked surprised.
"Sam and Joanna are hurt because of him. He put two holes in you. We've never had an angel this far gone, Dean, and we've had to euthanize ones who were less violent."
"If you're gonna kill him, Ellen, just say it like it is. It's murder. He's a living, intelligent, empathetic being. We're not euthanizing him, we're murdering him. State sanctioned murder." He noticed how Ellen twitched slightly every time he said 'murder' and he got a little vicious amount of pleasure out of it. "Let me work with him. Just me. Maybe, you know, maybe just having to get used to one person will help him calm down, even out."
"Why are you so intent on helping this angel?" Ellen asked, confused.
"Because!" Dean shouted and then forced himself to calm down. "Because all he's done was be born an angel. What's in that room right now? That's what we did to him. We let him be tortured 'til he's been boiled down to nothing but rage and hurt. And if there's any chance, any chance at all, that I can help give him a shot at something better… I gotta try and do it."
Ellen stared at him for a moment. "You always surprise me at the strangest times, kiddo. You got it. Rehab him if you can. Just try not to get killed in the process."
"Thanks, Ellen," he said and dashed away before she could change her mind. He went to the kitchen so he could help prepare the morning meals, and when Kevin and Gadreel came to collect them, he made sure to tell them that he would be delivering all of Castiel's meals himself and that no one was to enter the room unless it was for emergency medical care. He then made a special tray for Castiel - paper plate and cup instead of ceramic and glass, plastic utensils instead of metal - and headed to his room. He took a deep breath to calm himself before he went inside.
He opened the door slowly, looking at the angel.
"Morning, Castiel," he said softly. The angel had moved, was crouched against the wall, but as soon as the door opened, he stood. Dean could see the tension and readiness in his muscles, and now that he had a chance to look more closely, he could see the scars littering the angel's arms and chest. Some were raised and twisted and the wounds that created them must have been awful, but Dean made himself look away. He kept moving slowly and deliberately, keeping his voice soft and even. "I brought you some breakfast. I'm going to be taking care of you while you heal up." He stepped forward, into Castiel's range if the angel decided to lunge, and set down the plate and cup of juice on the floor. He stood and backed out of range again.
"You might remember me as the guy you aerated," he gestured briefly toward his shoulders, "but you can call me Dean."
Castiel's eyes were darting between the food and Dean, but he made no move toward it, even though he probably hadn't eaten since Bobby had rescued him yesterday morning.
"You can go ahead and eat if you want. I'll be back later to check on you, alright?" As soon as Dean started to move, the angel's eyes locked on him and didn't leave him until he moved out of his sight. Dean didn't hang around to wait and see if Castiel ate or not. He wanted the angel to feel like he had some privacy, respect. He went back down to the kitchen to help Benny clean up from breakfast and to start on lunch and dinner.
"So why are you the only one taking the new rescue his meals?" Benny asked after a little bit.
Dean shrugged. "He's really traumatized. Like, bad."
"And you're gonna hand feed the baby bird?"
"Baby bird that put two holes in me yesterday," Dean said, tugging the collar of his shirt down so Benny could see one of the bandages.
Benny whistled. "How'd he manage that?"
"Wings're totally fucked up. The phalanx is exposed and he just…" Dean made slicing sound effect and jabbed Benny in the shoulders with his fingers.
"Christ almighty." Benny shook his head. "Be careful with him, Dean."
Dean knew his friend was worried about his safety, but Dean was thinking about Castiel's recovery when he said, "I will be."
