castiel finding out what an iron deficiency is
The motel room was bathed in the amber glow of a single lamp, its light fighting against the encroaching darkness of the evening. Dean stood with his arms crossed, his jaw set in that particular way that meant he was about to argue a point he knew he'd lose. Sam sat on the edge of the bed, a thick lore book balanced on his knees, his brow furrowed in concentration. And you were sprawled out beside your brother, your own book resting on your stomach, your eyes growing heavier with each passing minute.
Castiel stood near the window, his presence a quiet anomaly in the cramped space. His head was tilted slightly, that perpetual expression of divine confusion painted across his features as he listened to Dean's latest protests.
"The seal is in St. Louis," Dean was saying, pacing now. "We've got maybe three days before Lilith tries something. We need to mov-—"
"Move where?" Sam interrupted, not looking up from his book. "We don't even know what the seal is yet, Dean. You want to just wander around Missouri until something happens?"
"Better than sitting here reading-"
"I'm hungry." you announced suddenly, your voice cutting through the tension like a warm knife through butter. You stretched, your spine cracking pleasantly as you set your book aside.
Dean's entire demeanor shifted. The argument drained from his shoulders as he turned toward you, and Castiel watched the transformation with muted fascination. It was remarkable, really, how quickly Dean's focus could pivot from divine missions to his little sister's stomach.
"Your sandwich is in my bag," Dean said, jerking his thumb toward his duffel bag near the door. "From lunch. Should still be good."
Sam's head snapped up, his expression shifting from focused hunter to concerned older brother in the span of a heartbeat. "Wait, you didn't eat lunch?"
"She said she wasn't hungry," Dean defended, already moving toward his duffel bag. "What was I supposed to do, force-feed her?"
"Yes!" Sam's voice rose just as he did from the bed, frustration bleeding through. "Yes, Dean, that's exactly what you're supposed to do! How many times do I have to tell you? She needs to eat three meals a day. Three. Not two, not one and a half—three!" He counted, holding out a finger for each number.
"Hey, I offered it! She refused!"
"She needs to eat! She's a growing girl, Dean! Do you have any idea-"
"She's sixteen, Sam, I think she's grown enough to know when she's-"
"Her body is still developing! And with her condition-"
"I know about the condition! I was there-"
"It doesn't seem like you were there if you're letting her skip-"
"You're blaming me for this? She's the one who-"
Castiel's head swiveled between them, like a viewer on a tennis match watching the ball go from player a to player b, his vessel's brow creasing deeper with each exchange. This was… strange. He understood conflict, of course. He had witnessed millennia of wars, battles, arguments between celestial beings that had shaken the very foundations of Heaven. But this was different. This was born not of anger or pride or any of the other sins that typically fueled discord among humans. This seemed to spring from something else entirely. Something soft and warm that had twisted itself into sharp edges.
Care. They were fighting because they cared.
It was one of those human paradoxes that continued to baffle him.
You, meanwhile, had reached Dean's duffel bag and were rummaging through it with the single-minded determination of a very hungry teenager. You found the sandwich—wrapped in slightly squashed foil—and straightened up with a triumphant noise.
"See? Found it. Crisis solv-... ed.."
You froze.
The words died in your throat. The sandwich slipped from your fingers and landed on the floor with a soft thud. Your eyes went wide, unfocused, and your hand reached out blindly as if searching for something solid to anchor yourself.
Castiel saw it happen in fragments. The way your body suddenly went still. The way your weight shifted unevenly on your feet. The way your expression crumpled into confusion, like you weren't quite sure where you were anymore.
And then Dean was moving.
Castiel barely registered the motion. One moment Dean was halfway across the room, and the next he was right beside you, his hands closing around your arms with practiced efficiency.
"Sam," Dean said, his voice a low command. "It's happening again."
Sam was already there, his book abandoned, his earlier frustration transformed into something sharp and focused. "I see her. Dean, get her down."
"Right, I know how to do this, I've done it before-"
"Then stop talking and do it!"
Dean's hands tightened on your arms. "Hey, sweetheart, he, I've got you. We're just going to go down nice and slow, okay? Just like we practiced."
Your knees buckled.
Dean caught you fully, now your whole weight resting on his arms, easing you down to the floor with an expertise born of experience. But by the time your back touched the ratty motel carpet, your eyes were closed, your body limp in his arms.
"Damnit, Dean! I told you-"
"I know what you told me! She wasn't hungry!"
"She's never hungry!"
"Forgive me for not wanting to shove a sandwich down her throath!"
Castiel had not moved.
He stood frozen by the window, his blue eyes wide and fixed on the scene before him. The angel, who had faced demons and monsters and the very wrath of Heaven itself, was utterly paralyzed. His vessel's heart—a human heart that had been beating steadily for decades—now hammered against his ribs with alarming speed.
Because from his perspective, from the divine lens through which he viewed the world, something had just gone horribly wrong.
One of his charges. One of the fragile humans he had been tasked with watching over. The youngest one. The one who was smaller than her brothers, softer, more in need of protection.
She had simply… stopped.
She had been standing, speaking, living, and then she had stopped.
Her vessel had collapsed, her consciousness had flickered, and Castiel had felt something that he had not experienced in the long eons of his existence. Something that was not quite fear and not quite terror and not quite grief but hovered somewhere in the space between all three.
"The child," he said, and his voice came out strange. Thicker than usual. Rougher. "She is—"
"She's fine, Cas." Dean was already shifting, trying to make you more comfortable on the floor. "She's just passed out. It happens."
"It happens?" Castiel's head snapped toward Dean, and the hunter actually recoiled slightly at the intensity of the angel's gaze. "You mean this is a common occurence?"
"Uh… yeah?" Dean looked at Sam, who nodded grimly. "I mean, not all the time. But every now and then-"
"And you did not think to inform me of this vulnerability?"
"Man, it's not a vulnerability, it's just—it's a medical thing." Dean waved a hand vaguely. "It's not like she's dying or anything."
Castiel didn't wait for further explanation. He was already moving, crossing the room and dropping to his knees beside you with none of the grace that usually accompanied angelic movements. His hands hovered over your prone form, and a low sound of distress escaped his lips.
"Something is wrong with her body." Castiel's eyes were darting over your form, cataloging, analyzing. "Her vessel is not functioning properly. I can sense a deficiency. A lack. But I cannot identify-"
"Cas, calm down—"
"DO NOT TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!" Castiel's voice boomed through the motel room, and for just a moment, the lights flickered, just shy of exploding into a cascade of sparks. Dean and Sam both flinched back, their hands raised in instinctive surrender.
Castiel's chest was heaving. His hands were trembling. He looked down at them, those hands that had smote demons and healed wounds and once held the very fabric of time, and found them shaking.
This was wrong. This was all wrong.
"Her vessel is flawed.." he said, his voice dropping to something quieter, more horrified. "There is something.. wrong.. with her blood. I can sense it. Her blood is… thin. Inadequate. It lacks something essential."
"Alright, that's actually pretty accurate." Sam said cautiously. "She has iron deficiency anemia. Her body doesn't store enough iron. It makes her-"
"Iron deficiency?" Castiel repeated the words like they were foreign.
"Uh…" Sam looked at Dean, who shrugged helplessly. "Yeah, um, Iron. It's a mineral? It's in food. You need it to make hemoglobin, which carries oxygen in your blood."
"Oxygen," Castiel repeated. His eyes had gone very wide again. "Her blood lacks oxygen?"
"Not exactly—"
"You mean to tell me." Castiel's voice had become dangerously quiet. "That this human has been walking through this world with blood that is starved of oxygen?"
"Technically, yeah, but-"
"And you have allowed this?" Castiel rounded on Dean, his eyes blazing with a fury that made both hunters flinch. "You allowed your charge to develop such a deficiency? You did not feed her sufficient iron?"
"Whoa, whoa, whoa-" Dean held up both hands. "First of all, I didn't allow anything. She's had this since she was a kid. Since before I even knew-"
"Since childhood? This affliction has persisted since childhood?"
Dean realized he was lowkey making everything worse the more he opened his mouth.
"Yeah, but we've got her on supplements now. She takes them every day. Sam makes sure of it."
"Clearly not effectively enough!" Castiel gestured toward your limp form. "She passed out. Her vessel shut down. Because she did not consume this- this iron you speak of."
"Man, it's not like I forgot to give her food. She just wasn't hungry. And if she doesn't want to eat, I can't force her-"
"Forgive me for my bluntness, Dean Winchester, but you clearly can." Castiel's voice had an edge of something that might have been panic. "If the alternative is her vessel shutting down, then yes, you must force her. You ensure she consumes whatever her body requires to remain functional. This is not a difficult concept."
Castiel lifted his eyes from your body and realized Sam looked like he was trying very hard not to smile and Dean looked like he was trying very hard not to laugh.
He looked between them with growing frustration.
"Something about this situation is humorous to you?"
"No, no, man, it's just-" Dean's composure cracked, and he let out a short bark of laughter. "You're really freaked out about this, aren't you?"
"Of course I'm freaked out!" Castiel's voice had risen again. "One of my charges just lost consciousness in the middle of a completely non-dangerous activity! She was standing. She was speaking. And then she was not. And you are not concerned?"
"We are concerned." Sam said, his voice gentle. "But we've been dealing with this for a while now. We know what to do. She'll wake up in a few minutes, and then we'll make her eat her sandwich, and she'll be fine."
"Make her eat her sandwich." Castiel repeated slowly. "You are certain this will restore her?"
"As long as she keeps up with her supplements, yeah. It's a manageable condition, Cas. It's not going to kill her."
Castiel stared at Sam for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then, very slowly, he turned back to look at you.
You were still unconscious, your face peaceful in a way that was somehow more alarming than if you had been grimacing in pain. Your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. Your skin, Castiel noticed, was pale. Paler than it should be. Paler than it had been just moments ago, before—
Before you had dropped like a stone.
"You must teach me." Castiel said suddenly.
Sam blinked. "Teach you what?"
"How to ensure she consumes enough sustainance. I will… I will make certain she eats. Every day. Multiple times per day. She will not skip meals. She will not- she will not collapse again."
It was such a practical, logical solution that Castiel could not understand why Sam was looking at him with that strange expression. And Dean—Dean was definitely laughing now, though he was at least trying to hide it behind his hand.
"Cas," Sam said, and there was a warmth in his voice that Castiel did not quite understand. "You want me to teach you how to make sandwiches?"
"I want you to teach me how to make anything that prevents this situation." Castiel's brow furrowed. "If the deficiency is caused by a lack of this mineral in her diet, then the solution is simple. I will ensure she consumes it in adequate quantities. I will monitor her intake. I will-"
"Cas." Sam's voice was soft. "You know you don't have to do that, right? We've got it handled."
"You clearly do not." Castiel's voice was flat, deadpan as can be. "She collapsed. Under your watch. She collapsed because you did not feed her appropriately."
"Ouch," Dean muttered. "Right in the ego, man."
"You are not listening to me." Castiel was growing more agitated, his vessel's heart still racing, his grace pulsing with anxiety. "I have a duty. I have a purpose. Which is keeping the Winchester Sibiligns alive, Heaven's orders. And if that purpose involves standing guard over a fragile human child to ensure she consumes the necessary nutrients to maintain her vessel, then that is what I will do."
He turned back to you, and something in his expression softened.
"She is so small," he said, almost to himself. "So fragile. You twoy are also fragile, but she is… she is younger. Younger and smaller and more vulnerable. And she has been walking through this world with oxygen-starved blood for years. How is that possible? How has she survived?"
"Adaptation," Sam said. "Kids are resilient. Her body just kind of… adjusted to it."
"It should not have had to adjust." Castiel's voice was fierce. "She should have been cared for. Protected. FED."
"Yeah, well, our dad was kind of—" Dean made a vague gesture that conveyed about a thousand words of frustration. "..He wasn't exactly the nurturing type."
"Then it falls to you." Castiel's eyes met Dean's. "And it falls to me."
Dean's expression had shifted. The amusement had faded, replaced by something more serious. More appraising.
"You really care about her, don't you?" he said quietly.
Castiel hesitated.
The question was not one he had expected. Care was a human concept, a human emotion. Angels did not feel things the way humans did. They existed in a state of divine purpose, of celestial duty, of-
And yet.
And yet, when he looked at you.. he felt something that was not quite duty. Not quite purpose. Something that made his vessel's heart beat faster and his grace thrum with a need to protect.
"Yes," he said finally. "I suppose I do."
Sam was smiling now, a soft, almost fond expression that Castiel did not quite know what to do with.
"Alright," Sam said. "I'll teach you how to make her favourite sandwiches. And I'll show you the supplements she needs to take. And you can help make sure she doesn't skip meals."
"I would appreciate that," Castiel said, and his voice was steadier now. "I would appreciate that very much."
Dean was grinning now, slapping Castiel on the shoulder with a force that would have staggered a normal man. "Look at you, Cas. A regular mother hen."
"I do not appreciate that comparison." Castiel said flatly.
"Yeah, you do. You definitely do."
