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Some instruction would be nice, [Castiel agrees, like he's soooo patient because he's a jillion years old and wise and wizened and whatever.

His hands gentle under Dean's direction, though, the movements slower and more deliberate as he winds the tie across the handkerchief, folds it over the blade of Dean's shoulder, under the pit of his arm. It's not ideal; the bullet is still in there and Dean shouldn't move it until it can be healed, but at least this way it won't keep gushing blood every time Dean has to run. It's enough for now.

Castiel's glare on the blood lingers, until Dean clears his throat and Cas lets his fingers fall from the dressing. It should hold fine. It will be enough, for now.

The quiet of a state park is never fully quiet, but still silent in a way devoid of human influence. Their voices feel too loud.] I believe what killed those rangers might have been a druid, not a witch. We should expect more traps.

[ There's a way to feel about the. The this whole thing of it all. Probably. Dean doesn't know what it is so he mostly skips out on that.

Just weird. It's always weird being the focal point of Cas's attention because the guy only does full-intensity, and it's always weird getting handled like... whatever.

There's no space for weird. Chock it up to Cas having quirks and call it a day, Part of the offputting charm. That's all it is. ]

Think you might be right. [ Boooooo. ] Or maybe we'll get lucky and it's only a bunch of jumped-up hillbillies that wanna hunt people for sport.

[ It's happened once! It could happen again! Imagine something that easy... wow. ]

[There. Binding a shoulder wound Dean's likely had half a dozen times before with all the care and concentration of restoring a six hundred year old painting: complete.]

"Jumped-up hillbillies" that know how to utilize celestial-binding magic, [Castiel muses, tone reflecting just how likely he finds that to be. He squints as he scans the woods around them; everything looks so...same from down here. Once again he flexes his wings on the metaphysical pain and barely holds back a grimace when it feels as if he's trying to press the joints against an iron net. Without the use of his wings, a whole slew of abilities available to him are likewise crippled.]

This way. [He truly has not a fucking clue the quickest way out of the forest, but standing around won't reveal any more clues. They need to get walking.]

... so some real jumped-up hillbillies.

[ Finnneeeee, it's probably Druids and their celestial-binding magic. It can never be a fun one anymore. As much as being hunted for sport by regular joes can be fun, comparatively.

Dean will dutifully go along with Cas's complete asspull of a direction to pick, because it's probably about the same direction he would have picked anyway. It's a forest, dude. Pick a direction and stick to it until you get a better idea. Watch out for snakes, do not step onto a bear trap. Or a landmine.

Damn, he hates the unknown.

All the more reason to keep an extra sharp eye out for Cas until this is handled. No more slacking. ]

Ugh. Sam's never gonna shut up about carryin' around a compass after this. [ Dean gets a handle on some long-enough dead branch so he can start poking at underbrush that he personally deems suspicious. When in doubt: make do, soldier. ] I swear it's like he's gunning for the world's tallest Boy Scout award.

[A compass. Ugh.] With my wings bound, I can't orient myself towards any of the forces. [Nose scrunch of displeasure.] A compass would be...useful...here.

[What wouldn't be useful is a sudden high ping like struck glass; a twang, a whistle, and then a soft thuck as Castiel staggers back a step, a crossbolt suddenly sticking out of his chest.

He holds out a hand to keep Dean from moving around him, head practically on a swivel as he looks for the source, uncaring of the bolt dribbling blood through his white office shirt.]

[ Thanks! Dean hates it. He looks stricken and pissed off in the way of a man who might as well have taken a crossbolt himself. Or maybe like a man about to shatter his own jaw from excessive clenching. ]

Cas, [ is all he manages first, ground out and quiet and warning more than anything.

He needs to be moving around, actually, is the thing. He needs to be closing ranks, he needs to be checking, he needs to-- gank something.

And restraint is not Dean Winchester's foremost virtue. It's actually a hate crime against him to ask it while Cas looks around like some kind of velociraptor. ]

Cas, if you seriously think I'm just gonna freakin' stand here--

[ You might be right but also might be wrong. Dean is vibrating with that very indecision.

Let him maim???? ]

[Cas seriously thinks a lot of things, but things rarely proceed how he hopes they will, especially with Dean Winchester involved.

Cas turns, about to interrupt when that same ping and subsequent trio of sounds does it for him; he moves less this time, a second bolt now jutting from his shoulder, but the two attacks now give him an idea of where it's coming from. Dean's probably worked out the direction too, so Castiel has to get there before he does something insane like put his fragile mortal body in the path-

So Castiel has to m-

With a horror that doesn't dawn so much as snap into place, Castiel realizes the bolts are also magicked, pinning him into place like a moth on a cork board. He shares a second of a look with Dean before flailing out a hand to try and catch him, keep him from going in search of the trap or assailant alone,] Dean, wait-

[ Cas catches him by the jacket sleeve, and Dean doesn't give thought to like, what a weirdly solid counterweight he's suddenly pulling against. His shoulder gets jarred, but consider: it doesn't fucking matter. ]

Wait for what? You wanna talk it over while someone turns you into a pincushion, huh? What the hell? [ Dean wait, Dean, wait, and what the hell good is that gonna do? This can't- keep happening, he can't hang back and be worthless when this is what he does.

He turns to scrabble for a hold on Cas's shoulders, awkward around the second bolt, too rough, too tight.

(Dean doesn't know any other way to hold onto things.) ]

I'm gonna go take care of this!

[ And also of this (everything generally and vaguely about this) situation, and whatever lets him do a murder faster. First aid? Is there first aid to give? To have? Unsure. But he'll do that too. ]

[YOU INFURIATING MAN. Castiel growls,] This can't kill me, but you-

[Ting, but Cas's hand snaps out beside Dean's neck and in his fist is a crossbolt, the runes carved into the shaft and tip burning white hot. He looks at the three runes in the shaft.] -traveling spell.

[Fuck. Okay. Options are officially limited.

Cas holds the crossbolt out for Dean to take.] Find the runes on the shaft. They'll be carved or painted onto rock. Scratch them, wash them off, however you need to interrupt them. Go that- [Cas points to the side and another cluster of noises, a bolt sinking into his cheek just below his eye.] ...that way.

Edited 2025-11-07 20:54 (UTC)

[ It's kind of incredible how Cas still thinks "this won't kill me" factors into the equation. It simply doesn't.

In a way, being able to go, to do something, is a huge relief. Having a mission. Not having to watch-- not having to watch more of this. It's damn selfish, Dean knows it is, but he can't help himself.

He takes that crossbolt like a drowning man grabs at a life raft. If he's doing one thing other than New Mission, it'll be being freaked out enough for both of them. ]

I will. [ There's some aborted gesture, making to reach up and poke around the bolt in Cas's face before thinking, hey, probably a crappy idea whether pain's a factor or not.

Best way to handle things is to not sound guilty or worried or freaked. Just be gruff and confident. ]

We'll-- get you fixed up when I get back. Stay here.

[ BITCH WHAT ELSE IS HE GONNA DO?

Too late he's charging the hell off before thoughts can catch up to him. Fuck these runes fuck these druids fuck this forest and fuck this LIFE.

On the bright side, Dean's gonna be super easy to hear tromping around kicking rocks and stuff. Don't worry babe he's your knight in shining flannel right now. brb. ]

[Thank fuck Dean moves because Castiel was about to start vibrating at the frequency of I cannot fucking heal you so get out of the line of fire you idiot mortal any second. What is it Dean doesn't get about this? Cas getting crossbow bolts all in his body is like a human ripping their favorite t-shirt, it's not even in the realm of a big deal, why does he always-

Dean's fingers just barely tap the bolt below his eye just before he leaves and something...strange. Happens.

It's as if his vessel swallowed a stone. Its heart rate kicks up, and something like a high-pitched whir rings in his ears, though Castiel knows it's not a real sound. It doesn't sound like magic either, it sounds like- well, it's like what he heard, when was it? When they saved Kevin? What was it?

Dean is already in the thicket by the time Castiel blinks, coming back to himself, and realizes his vessel hadn't even been breathing. Cas touches the bolt in his cheek but it doesn't illicit the same response. What had that been? What was that?

The runes, thankfully, are quite a bit larger and spray painted onto a rock face about three feet tall. Dean might have to dodge crossbow bolts as they fly out of the runes as if it has a secret mechanism, though Castiel manages to get his sword out of his sleeve and deflect the majority coming his way. Still, though the bolts fly out from different sections of the spray painted runes and at different angles and trajectories, it's as if they're able to home in on the stationary angel nearly twenty feet away now, almost completely obscured by foliage and craggy old tree trunks.]

Edited 2025-11-08 00:14 (UTC)

[ Imagine feeling confusing feelings. Definitely couldn't be Dean.

It's a nice straightforward job. Find runes, scratch up some runes, shoot someone if they happen to pop up. (They don't pop up. Honestly disappointing on a lot of levels.)

But hey, it's definitely hard to miss a big painted rock that won't stop shooting FUCKING crossbolts. So Dean can scrape the hell outta that easy enough. No more runes, no more puncture wounds. One less thing to worry about.

For now. There's probably a dramatic cut back and forth between Dean messing up spray paint and Cas dealing with getting shot at, because this is Supernatural. You know.

Dean making his way back is somehow even less graceful than him taking off. Who is stealth, we don't know her. ]

Cas? [ ANSWER QUICKER PREEMPT HIS CALL!!! Too late. ] Cas, buddy, how we holding up?

[ It's fine just another day another person who matters looking like they should be bleeding to death. No biggie.

Dean can fix this up. Of course he can. They'll make it work. And hopefully there's not like angel poison on any of these stupid things. ] Target practice is not a good look on you, dude.

[ He grabs Cas's shoulders again, and it's up for debate whose sake he does it for. Whose reassurance. ]

[Well, there's a crossbolt in his cheek, so it's kind of hard to talk clearly- which is fine because Dean is right there and has no wounds of which Castiel can discern.]

'm fine, [Cas ekes out, and he is; bleeding, sure, but not in visible pain or distress, and with only a couple more bolts than before, many more littering the ground at his feet whole or in pieces.

Instead of beginning the arduous task of explaining what he needs, Cas reaches to take one of Dean's wrists and guides it over to the bolt sticking out if his chest. Yank 'em out, man. Though if Dean reaches for the one in his face, Cas will jerk his head away entirely on reflex, startling even himself.]

Fine. Yeah. Great. [ Oh well he's fine, problem all solved.

Okay, no, it does... help. To get the attempt at confirming that. And maybe it doesn't make the image easier to swallow, maybe it doesn't really kill the urgent worry, but it helps a little anyway. Makes a thing in Dean's ribcage feel more grounded.

Cas is an angel. 'course he's fine. Still standing, still answering the question. Damn if it's hard to tell whether he even feels pain or is just great at tolerating it, but at least he's not freaking out.

Blood's nothing new, neither is violence, and regrettably not even yanking arrows out of someone is all that new. It just sucks. No one else is here to do it, though, so Dean will, one bolt at a time. The relative quiet of the forest starts seeming all too apparent as Cas guides his hand to the first one, palm of his other hand pressing flat to brace as he pulls it loose.

You learn to separate yourself from this stuff early. Hand the physical reins over to some part of your brain that's like, a job-doer. More efficient about it. Let your hands work, don't think about anything. If it were Sam, he'd be coming up with some really stupid jokes or something, maybe picking up a dumbass petty argument from a lifetime ago to keep him distracted. Or he'd at least be trying to do it.

He's been using all his material up at Sam's bedside this week. Better to just get this done fast. Which goes a little bit to hell when Cas jerks his head back before Dean can get a handle on this last one. Dean feels-- some way about that, too. Undefinably bad. ]

Whoa whoa whoa, take it easy. [ When in doubt, treat this like dealing with a wounded animal. Dean gentles out, the teeniest bit. Tries to get his hand on the side of Cas's head at the temple, either to force some eye contact or to be in position to make him hold still for the next try.

Exactly which one of those it is depends on where Cas lands on the reasoning scale. Dean's keeping his options open. ] C'mon, Cas, last one. Last one, okay? Less than three seconds, you can bitch about it all you want.

[ However much that even is. ]

I'm fine, [Cas says again woodenly, eyes wide as he stares into Dean's. He didn't...mean to? It's just Dean, doing what Castiel asked of him, his palm pressed so solidly against his ear. Always steadfast and sure in a way Castiel hasn't felt since he met the man.

Why did he move away? His vessel is doing it again, the elevated heartbeat, the stone in its throat. Something is wrong. The bolt must come out. Castiel nods minutely against Dean's hand, keeping his own pointedly to himself, clutching at his coat sleeves to give his fingers something to grip. It's just Dean. Dean wouldn't hurt him- is he scared of being hurt?

Why?

It doesn't matter. What matters is Castiel control himself and hold perfectly still so Dean can extract the bolt, and so he can close that last wound. And so he does so, all movement ceased, the motionlessness of dust in the void of space, just waiting for a force to act upon it. Nearly lifeless.

But he keeps his eyes on Dean's.]

[ Less than three seconds, as promised. Done and done. Dean goes ahead and chucks the bolt on the ground as the garbage it is. And if his other hand stays put for just a second longer than necessary, like he's maybe trying to personally transfuse some being-okay into Cas through it, that's his business.

Maybe Cas's business. Since it's his head.

Because if there's one thing this world has more than any other, it's Intricate Rituals. Especially since something seems... off. Weirder than normal, even after those injuries close up. ]

You sure? [ You're SURE sure? Girl? ] If we're runnin' down the timer against some angel tranqs here, you gotta let me know.

[ It's easier to carry someone through the woods when you get a chance to stretch first, obviously. ]

[Castiel manages to find his voice some time after Dean's already tossed the bolt aside; the stone disappears and the heart in his chest slows when nothing horrific happens. Nothing horrific would have happened; Dean wouldn't have allowed it, as always.]

-no, [he answers, and bends down to pick up one of the bolts he'd managed to deflect. With all the bolts removed his wounds have since closed, even the blood and holes in his clothes vanished as if they were never there to begin with, his mobility returned to him entirely.

The shaft of the bolt holds the runes for the traveling spell, of course; move things from one point to another. The rock face wasn't firing the bolts so much as allowing the bolts to be moved from it; they'd have been fired from elsewhere. And there, on the metal tip of the bolt, is another tiny rune etched into its surface almost haphazardly.] This symbol, [Cas touches it with a finger before showing Dean,] is likely the same one being used to ground me. An immobilization enchantment, targeting angelic creatures. [It's very old magic, at least two thousand years old, but the druids of the 4th century BCE didn't have the kind of magic that could permanently disable or kill angels.

Or at least, he hopes so. Magic like that is powerful but so very, very rare, and he needs to be here to protect Dean, because now Castiel is sure of it. They are being hunted, not the other way around.]

It'll be dark soon. [Already the woods are taking on that damp, color-bleached effect of falling dusk, much too reminiscent of Purgatory to be comfortable. This much is familiar at least, and Castiel knows how to navigate this part.] We won't be able to travel well after dark. We should find water and shelter, and wait for morning to resume.

Edited 2025-11-09 19:23 (UTC)

[ The main sticking point Dean chooses to take away here is "targeting angelic creatures."

Just them all jacked up in the woods with limited gear, probably outnumbered, and Cas specifically being targeted. Every day it's something. Every day, week, month, year, decade and century, it's something.

These assholes had him going, he'll admit it. Not a bad plan or anything. Make it seem like one thing, lure 'em in looking for a witch fight. Might've been watching them for a while first.

As long as Sammy doesn't get it in his head to do something stupid, he'll be safe holed up where they left him. One less thing to be afraid for, for now.

Targeting angelic creatures. So matter-of-fact for a concept that rings in his ears for a minute. It's enough to make Dean's fingers start to go cold and numb, for part of him to seize up around a ragged hole in his heart that's barely stitched together as-is. Never totally healed. Most of them don't.

He's not walking out of this with a fresh one. He'd just as soon not walk out of it at all. (As if he's ever really had that option.) ]

Heard a creek about half a klick back that way, [ is all that he says to all that, jerking his head in whatever the hell direction it even is. No compass. Stupidest shit in the world. ] Shelter, we'll figure out when we get there. But they probably know we're gonna be lookin' for both, so stick close and stay sharp. No hero crap. 'til we hit sunrise, we're regular cowards.

[ This town's only big enough for one drama queen, okay. One sacrificer, if there has to be any for some godforsaken reason.

These druid actions will suffer dire and possibly homicidal consequences. The only one of them who knows how to even pretend to be normal about this team is laid up rn. That was their first mistake. ]

[Considering druids largely complete human sacrifices, Castiel is so much more concerned that these angelic-trapping runes are more to just cage the guard dog, so to speak, so the druid(s?) can do whatever they want with Dean. Which is not going to happen. He needs to stick around Dean to protect him, so he's got to make sure Dean doesn't leave him being by being a hero.

So he'll let Dean think they're after him instead. It's just...good strategy.]

You've never been a coward a day of your life, [Castiel says matter-of-factly, though he sniffs the air just faintly, searching for the mineral and water molecules that always sprinkle the air near running water before taking the lead in the direction Dean had gestured. Water for Dean, maybe also to clean up that wound if possible. Castiel could dig the bullet out, but without anything to close the wound later it's not a good idea. It would also likely be extraordinarily painful with no alcohol to dull it or tweezers to grasp it.

For fuck's sake. They're gonna be here overnight. If Sam is conscious and keeping track of time, he's going to be wild with worry.]

[ Sounds fake because Cas is definitely the one in real danger from these angel-hunting fuckos. Source: Dean decided that.

He doesn't know what to do with that response in the meantime, meaning it must still be a day that ends in 'y'. He never feels used to it. Because Cas never says this stuff like he's trying to make him feel better or nursing his bruised ego so he'll keep on trucking. He never says it like it's potential, like it's stuff that Dean Winchester Could Be. He just-

He always says it like it's true. A fact that can't be debated, even though he's always way off-base. ]

Yeah, man. Sounds like me. [ Dean can't help an amused scoff after the fact, but on the other hand: gift horses. This is a great time to feed into the unrealistic pedestal and hold it all down. ] But I figured, what the hell? We're already screwed six ways from Sunday on this little Blair Witch Project someone put together for us. Maybe tonight we try it on for size.

[ Let's be little bitches together. And survive this long enough to be later killed by Sam. ]

[The Blair witch...? Who is this creature...]

Well, [grunts, rocking a large boulder out of the way to allow Dean to pass up the shortcut on a slope, letting it rumble down the hillside after him,] druids might be similar to witches, but they tend to use ambient magic instead of the power available in demonic pacts. Druids would observe the beats of a bird's wing or the spray of blood from a man sacrificed to peer into the future.

[ Hi boulder. Bye boulder. Well worth the price of admission to see that happen.

Note to self: beef up movie nights a little more. Not that Cas's lack of reference-getting isn't one of his charm points. The man needs a real education is all. ]

Yeah, yeah, tree-huggers on ambient steroids. [ Weirdos, unsurprisingly. Dean never needs to think a nice thing about them because of this situation that they're in right now. ] You think they ever-- you know. [ Dumb bitch throat chopping gesture. ] Glimpse the future and all they see is someone cleaning up the sacrifice blood?

[ We are so normal. We are not even hypervigilant and worried, we're having fun with the horrors. ]

It isn't out of the realm of possibility. [Dean always asks such practical philosophical questions...it's nice.] Though one time, approximately 600 BC, a druid of some renown by the name of Lóegaire Lorc reported the bleeding of the dead foretold the collapse of their sacrificial grounds. He convinced his peers to move locations, and two days later the temples burned to cinders. They made him High King for saving their people, I believe.

[Pauses thoughtfully. Holds a branch aside for Dean to walk past.] He'd burnt the temples down himself, though. Hated that the floor was so sticky. [Lets go of branch, which smacks him. Considers smiting it]

[ Dumbass question: indulged. Followup storytime: received. Cas: smacked by the very branch he was holding.

If this quick bark of a laugh is the most Dean's laughed in probably a month, that's his business. All he knows is it's nice to get one in. ]

Dude was ahead of his time. [ Let him bravely and heroically pull that branch back from the other side for you, buddy. Your most loyal weirdo knight. ] I would've loved to hustle pool with that psycho.

[ Even though it's like, so easy to make a floor not sticky. Dean could do that shit in his sleep. One day he'll demonstrate aaaaall his domestic knowledge that he knows in his heart he'll never actually use again for the rest of his life. Like a peacock. For No Real Reason. ]

[Thank you but there is a misunderstanding here, because you see. HE is the loyal weirdo knight here, obviously

Like always though, even if Cas doesn't fully understand the circumstances, he feels a dangerous flare of pride at being the reason Dean laughs. They might be in a truly precarious situation, but Dean finds joy so rarely in his life. Even if it comes at Castiel's expense, he must be allowed to keep it.

Fuck that branch tho.

The creek comes into view shortly after, trickling and pooling over rocks into a slightly deeper section. Dean carries a flask so a container isn't a problem, but Castiel will touch a couple fingers to Dean's hand or flask first to purify the water of any microbes. The last thing they need in this situation is incontinence.]

Barometric pressure doesn't indicate rain tonight...we could stay here. [Cas looks around. Out in the open, but it's not like he sleeps. He can stand guard while Dean is out, though...it'll be chilly.]

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