SuperWhoLock: Demons Run [COMPLETED]

Chapter Seven

"Whoa, take it easy, there."  Clara's voice came out of the darkness, gentle yet firm. 

"Sam?  Dean?  Who is this?"  Castiel let out a small cough of pain.

"Don't try to sit up," Clara instructed.  "You might hurt the-"

Cas groaned.

"- knife wound," Clara finished. 

There was a small click and then light flooded the room.  Clara squinted against the sudden brightness.  Dean picked himself up off the floor where he'd been sitting and moved over to the bed.  "Cas?"

Sam shifted in his sleep, then sat up from where he had been stretched out on the small motel's couch.  He passed a hand over his face, fighting a yawn, and glanced at the clock.  11:02 P.M.  "Is he awake?" he asked, swinging his legs off of the couch cushions.

Castiel raised his head awkwardly from his position on the bed.  Sitting up, as he had just found out, turned out to be too painful a feat to accomplish.  Gingerly, he touched the gauze around his midsection.  "Dean, who is she?" he asked, indicating Clara.  "What happened?"

Clara reached across the gap between beds and gave John a slight push to wake him.  The retired army doctor muttered, then rolled over and sat up, rubbing his eyes.  "What is it?"

"Castiel's awake," Clara explained.  She turned back to the angel and offered a small smile.  "My name is Clara Oswald.  I'm the Doctor's companion."

John pushed himself up off the bed and went over to check on Castiel.  "You didn't bleed through the gauze," he said.  "That's good."

Castiel craned his neck to look at the bandage wrapped around his torso.  "What happened?" he repeated, looking to Dean for an answer.

"We could ask you the same thing," Dean responded.  "You appear in here with a huge freaking stab wound in your stomach, then faint from blood loss before you can tell us anything."

"John's a retired army doctor," Sam offered.  "He stitched up your stomach and cleaned you up."

Cas tried to sit up and failed once more.  He grimaced.  "I can't sit up."

John took one of his arms and gestured for Dean to take the other.  "Help me pull him to the head of the bed and then lift him to a sitting position," he instructed.  Clara slid off the bed and went to sit on the couch by Sam so she wouldn't be in the way.

Carefully, Dean and John pulled/lifted Cas up the bed until he was leaned against the headboard, not quite sitting up straight.  Cas pulled what was left of his shirt out of the way to peer again at the bandage.  "Thank you," he said to John.

John shrugged.  "It was my job.  Still is, kind of."

Castiel pressed his hand to the gauze, waited a few seconds, then sighed and pulled his hand away.

Dean gestured to the wound.  "What, you can heal everyone else except yourself?"

Cas turned a flat stare on him.  "My 'angel mojo,' as you always put it, isn't working right now.  I'm 'all out of juice.'"  He made air quotes with his fingers.

Sam tilted his head to one side.  "Can you tell us what happened to put you in this state?" he asked.  "You just said you were going to go find out all that you could on Moriarty and the weeping angels."

"Any information you have collected on Jim Moriarty would be incredibly valuable at the moment," Sherlock said in his baritone voice.  He was still seated in the armchair, but now his eyes were open and his hands were on the arms.