Meanwhile, Castiel puts his sword away. It disappears into the space-between-spaces where he keeps it near his soul, ready to be drawn again next time the next time he needs it.
"Wait," he says, hearing Dean's question. He approaches where Dean is tending Phil's leg. Not waiting for permission - he suspects if he were to ask, he'd be met with vehement panicked and violent refusal at worst, or stubborn decline at best - he bends down, extending two fingers to Phil's torn limb.
It's not as much as he wants, but he can still do this much at least. And he'll never regret the reason for his waning powers.
When he touches it, the flesh knits back together in the time spanning one second to the next, and Phil's other minor scrapes are gone. It's not complete: the leg will still be sore and tender, and had the wound been fatal, Cas' abilities would have helped little. But it's better than it was.
He stands again then, backing away a little, giving space to the two men who know each other better.
no subject
"Wait," he says, hearing Dean's question. He approaches where Dean is tending Phil's leg. Not waiting for permission - he suspects if he were to ask, he'd be met with vehement panicked and violent refusal at worst, or stubborn decline at best - he bends down, extending two fingers to Phil's torn limb.
It's not as much as he wants, but he can still do this much at least. And he'll never regret the reason for his waning powers.
When he touches it, the flesh knits back together in the time spanning one second to the next, and Phil's other minor scrapes are gone. It's not complete: the leg will still be sore and tender, and had the wound been fatal, Cas' abilities would have helped little. But it's better than it was.
He stands again then, backing away a little, giving space to the two men who know each other better.