Title: Accident prone
By: jennine_9
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel, various dead things.
Genre: Attempted comedy. PG, but Castiel does get Dean bundled up in bed.
Warning: Not proof read.
Disclaimer: Praise and homage to Master Kripke who owns all.

***

Sam and Dean staggered out of the old weather beaten barn as flames danced from the roof and poked out the holes along its walls. Both brothers
had looked better. Sam was covered in sawdust, while Dean's face was smeared with black and red. The black was mud and ash, the red was blood.

"How about I drive?" Sam said, trying to sound as casual about the offer as possible.

"No need dude, it's just a scratch." Dean wiped the blood from the gash across his forehead with the cuff of his sleeve.

"A scratch, Dean? It almost took your head off! "

"I saw it coming, ducked in plenty of time. Now it's roasting." Dean gestured to the burning rubble. He regretted the motion as a dizzy
wave passed behind his eyes.

"You fell, Dean. You're damn lucky you fell when you did too." Sam sighed, getting Dean to admit weakness was like getting politicians to
speak the truth. It went against all natural laws.

"You know," Sam started, "If we had waited until after we had rested from the last gig, you -"

Dean glared over his shoulder at him, trying to mesh the two blurry copies of his brother back into one. "We've got an apocalypse on our
asses, the more evil sons of bitches we can kill the better."

"I'm just saying that we're running ourselves down. Soon we won't be any good to anyone."

"I know my limits Sam."

"Yeah, and you push past them every time."

"I think its endearing." Dean wasn't too sure it'd be all that endearing when his lunch made its reappearance. "˜Waste of a good pie.'

Sam groaned in frustration, which Dean was thankful for as it covered his own meek moan. Damn if Sam didn't catch the end of it though,
knitting his brows in concern. Biting his lip Dean prayed he wasn't going to pass out in front of him.

The twin Sammy's moved forward in a nauseas wave, and Dean tried to back up only to realize too late that he was already toppling over
and Sam was trying to catch him.

But the rescue wasn't needed and Sam pulled back as Dean straightened and steady himself, blinking in relieve and surprise. His body
still ached like a mother, but the throbbing in his skull had blissfully eased.

"See Sammy. I'm peachy."

"You almost- forget it. Give me the keys." Sam held out his hand and Dean tossed them over with a muffled complaint before he let himself
fall into the passenger seat.

The morning sun crested the horizon, spilling out rays of light to illuminate a silent figure. Castiel watched the Impala drive off in
a cloud of country dust. He turned his glazed down to the hand he had used to push Dean out of harm's way in the barn and then laid on

Dean's wounded head a moment ago, flexing it slowly before letting it fall to his side.

The field of war had been silent these past few days. It was unsettling. In battle they could see the enemy, could see what Lilith
was up to. The She-Demon and her forces were trying to throw them off her tracks. He needed a break from the silence of waiting, so he
had decided to monitor his charge, discreetly.

///

"So what you got?" Dean sat crossed legged on a motel bed cleaning their shot guns in systematic order.

"Hmm? Nothing that looks like our kind of thing." Sam pulled off a head phone and peered over at Dean before ducking back behind
his lap top.

"Nothing?"

Sam nodded, clearing his throat.

"That's bull." Dean hopped the bed and swivelled the lap top around before Sam could close the screen. "iTunes? What the fuck is this?"

"Dean, we need a break. You need a break."

"No, what I need is a brother who helps me fight evil not listens to-" Dean squinted at the screen, "Rudolf. Dude, lame much?"

"Kevin Rudolf's Let it rock-"Sam stopped when Dean waved his palm in his face.

"I don't wanna hear about your wussy music. Find us a hunt. I'm getting pie."

*

Dean came out of Del's Dinner happily clutching a greasy box of pie in one hand, and a plastic container of chicken salad for Sam
in the other.

He could smell the sweet apple & cinnamon aroma and consider abandoning all civility, nudge open the lid with his nose and bite right
in. Consideration, of course, lead to the definite decision to approve of said plan, and he proceed across the parking lot doing just that.

Content like a fat house cat Dean grinned with his head buried in the box when he heard the blare of a truck horn. He didn't have the
chance to raise his head before he felt a cool pressure on his back and fell forward landing on his stomach with a mouthful of dirt. He
felt the heavy rumble of a truck pass behind him and the distinct sounds of cursing from its operator.

Standing up he growled in anger and disappointment at the messy remains of the pie smeared across his shirt. The salad, by some great
cosmic joke, had survived the fall.

Dean waved absent mindedly at the old pudgy waitress who was calling out from the dinner door asking if he was alright. He surveyed the
scene for the cause of the pie's death. Not a single person nearby or even a twinge on the ground. He shrugged off the creepy feeling and
left the dearly departed pie where it fell.

Castiel crouched down and scoped up the box, the dirt fell away from the bottom before it graced his lap. "˜Dean likes these' He thought
without meaning to make the association. He raised his hand and eyed the splattered crumbs of pie on his index finger curiously, then
licked it off. Had Dean been there to see Castiel's face he might have made a porn reference.

///

Dean gestured over to Sam who was squatting behind a putrid mattress across the room, in a half sunken cottage deep in southern swamp
country. The gesture was understood immediate and a roll of the eyes was the response. Flashing his "˜crazy and I know it smile' Dean went
into operation, giving up his position from behind a dresser and calling out, "Hey bitch, got all the bran you need right here."
The less then human creature began its rickety turn of head away from the prize behind rotting mattress, jerking its hips side to side
to move closer to its new victim. The smell alone was enough to raise the flavour of bile in Dean's throat.

Hoping his gag reflex would hold, Dean charged the creature swinging a plank of wood at its head. The plank hit its mark and sunk into
the flesh like jello. It seemed to have no effect besides forcing the thing to readjust its balance.

"Dude, so wrong." Dean tried freeing the unfortunately piece of wood for another swap. But the creature moved first, swinging its head
to the side, tossing Dean across the room and through a moulding wall. The splash that followed indicated that there was no floor in the

next room.

"Dean!" Sam yelled standing up from his place of hiding. The creature turned and resumed its wormy movements for him. "Ah crap." Sam
darted his eyes between the advancing creature, the hole Dean had sailed through and the empty kerosene container they had brought to fry
the thing with.

*

Dean thrashed under the murky water, a reed or rope or god only knew what, had tangled up around his legs when he had barrelled into
the junk ridden waters beneath the shack. The "˜don't panic' philosophy was losing its value at the speed of air from his lungs.

He curled in on himself and groped for the knife he tucked into his boot. But the boot had come off during his frantic kicking.

"˜Drowning. Fuck. Sammy needs me and I'm fucking drowning!' Wrapping his hands around his bindings Dean whirled himself around, certain
that he was doing more harm than good, but refusing to go out gently.

Castiel looked down through the brownish soup seeing Dean as clearly as if he was standing in front of him. "How do you manage without

supervision?" Castile spoke to himself, than he slipped into the swamp without so much as a ripple.

Dean felt his back press into the bottom of the swamp floor. He could barely see a foot in front of him, couldn't breathe, hadn't breathed
in maybe 3mintues, and now he could hardly move as garbage fastened its deadly embrace. As his fear beat down his anger, a lump of leather
and lace bumped into him, and the familiar grip of his knife glided into his hands as if being handed to him.

*

Walking back to the Impala, Dean grumbled with every uneven squishy step. He hadn't thought to grab his boot once he hacked through the
old fish netting that had nearly drowned him.

"Dude, you smell worse than the swamp beast." Sam smiled, laughter just dancing in his eyes.

Dean snickered and swatted the back of Sam's head with a filthy hand.

"Where'd you find the lantern by the way?" Sam asked wiping the muck out of his hair.

"It was just there when I dragged my ass out of the water. Maybe the freak was afraid of the dark, or some Cub Scouts left it in case
of monster attack."

"Don't you think it's kind of weird that it was there? I mean c'mon? Since when do we have luck like that?"

"Luck! I nearly-"

"Nearly?" Sam could only hope that Dean was going to admit that he needed a break, that he wasn't Batman.

"Nearly didn't make it in time to save your scrawny ass. Dude, it was totally chasing you in circles around the bed. I think it liked you."

"Sure. You're limping, let's get back to our room."

"Stop it Sam. I'm fi-" Dean stopped as his bare foot sank into a pool of mud with a wet "˜thunk' sound. "Fine. Just freak'in fine."

///

Castiel had been standing over Dean's sleeping form when he received the call to arms from Heaven. Lilith was on the move, another seal was
in jeopardy. He felt a creeping fear settled in his heart for all the wrong reasons. He would have to suspend his vigil over Dean until official
guidance was required. It was a good thing he told himself, he should maintain a certain degree of detachment.

The man was proving to be more work then witches, warlocks and marching Roman armies. He'd hoped that Dean would finally listen to his brother
and rest after nearly drowning, but Dean had pressed until they were off after a Banshee. Castiel had watched in fascination as the brothers
fought using only their mortal means. It was amazing to see what human will and ingenuity could accomplish, it gave him hope. He himself had only

stepped in when he felt he must. In this recent instance it was to keep Dean from stumbling, disoriented from the Banshee's screams, over the
railing of a 16th story balcony.

With a heavy sigh that he knew he should not make, Castiel began to fade from the room, but he stopped as a less then divine thought came to
mind. He smiled. He was definitely spending too much time around Dean.

*

Dean groaned as he woke up to morning light streaming directly into his eyes and his whole body gave an aching cry. "Damn Banshees."He moaned
and attempted to roll over into a more comfortable position on his stomach, his eyes widened when he found he couldn't move.

"What the fuck? SAM!"

Sam bolted up from his bed, arms up and hands clenched into fists prepared to fight or defend. His body froze and his jaw dropped when he saw
his brother's predicament.

Only Dean's head was visible from atop a sea of pillows that had been taped over his entry body, neck to feet, rope criss-crossed the pillows
tying Dean down to the mattress. The whole job was done rather neatly.

"I get it, I need to rest, be careful? Now untie me so I can kick your ass!" Dean ground out between clenched teeth.

"It wasn't me, Dean." Sam rose swiftly from his bed drawing a gun from the night stand. The room appeared empty and quite, but someone or
something had been there and could still be. Sam kept his gaze and gun aimed outward and inched over to Dean's bed reaching out a hand to grab
the rope.

His fingers brushed against something soft and fluffy instead and he looked down in confusion.

Sam was sure Dean was cursing, but he couldn't hear much over his own laughter as he held up a single silver feather that had been lying
across Dean's chest.

The End.

***