"My name is Agent Sandler, and this is Agent Bates and Agent Balk. We're here to speak to the victims of the shooting in Warwick yesterday."

The nurse looks between the three fake badges being presented to her, her expression showing just how uninterested she is. "You're welcome to try, but you won't get much of a response. Only two of them are awake."

"That's okay," James says. "Where can we find them?"

They're escorted to the rooms housing the victims, and though the doctor asks to stay, all it takes is a threat and an FBI badge to convince him otherwise. Emma closes the door behind them, leaving them alone with one of the unconscious victims.

"Oh my god," Emma whispers. "Look at all the wires and tubes and —"

"If you're going to be like this the whole time, maybe you should wait outside," James says. "No one's going to believe we're feds if you act like you've never been in a hospital before."

Emma glares at him but shuts her mouth.

Castiel crouches down next to the victim. He's a middle-aged man, disheveled from being in the hospital. Though there's no one waiting for him to wake up, there's a stack of cards by his bed, presumably from people who stopped by to with him well.

Castiel puts a hand on his forehead and closes his eyes. It takes a few moments, but he can feel the bullet hole closing. When he opens his eyes and removes his hand, nothing about him looks different, but Castiel knows better than to believe that.

"Are you awake?" Castiel asks quietly.

The man's eyes flutter open. He looks to Castiel, his brows drawn together in confusion. Castiel smiles slightly, hoping it will be a nicer sight to wake up to than a random man just leaning over his bed.

"What happened?" the man asks.

"You were shot at a shopping mall when a gunman opened fire," Castiel says. "You've been unconscious for about 24 hours."

"Oh my god," he whispers. "At the mall — I work at the mall. The Warwick one? At Target? Was that where I was?"

"I don't know," Castiel admits. "I don't know what happened or how you got here. What I do know is that you're okay. You've been healed. When the doctors return, they'll think it was a miracle. Whatever you do, whatever you say, please do not tell them I was here."

"What? Why?" he asks. "Who are you?"

"That's not important," Castiel says. "I'm here to help you. I don't consider it 'help' if they send you to an insane asylum, so, for your sake, I would suggest not mentioning me."

"Did — did you help me?" he asks. "Are you a doctor?"

"I'm not a doctor." He smiles slightly. "But I did heal you. And, if you'd like to repay the debt, I'd appreciate it if you would pretend to be unconscious for at least half an hour longer while I help the rest of the victims. Once the doctors realize something is different, suspicions will fall on me and my friends."

"But you said it was you," he says, confused. "Didn't you?"

"It was," Castiel says. "But no one needs to know that."

And with that, they're on to the next room.

~~

The next victim was shot in the head. How she's still alive, Castiel will never understand, but it must have something to do with all the machines surrounding her. He crouches by her side and takes her hand. She's young, probably in her 20s, and apparently very popular, if the gifts by her bed are anything to go by.

There were three people in the room with the hunters entered, but they excused themselves as soon as they saw the badges. Though the man was a bit hesitant, his female friends convinced him before Castiel had to say it himself. Federal agents are definitely intimidating to the average civilian, he's noticed.

He heals her wounds, but nothing concerns him more than the presence he senses in her stomach. She's pregnant, though it doesn't seem she's far along, and her baby seems to be suffering, too. He heals the baby as well as he can, though healing a fetus is definitely one of the strangest things he's ever done. As a former friend of the Winchesters, he has a high standard for weird.

When the girl wakes up, he can't help but smile. He doesn't know how she survived the initial gunshot, but he does know that the odds of her ever being the same — or even living through this — were incredibly low until a few moments ago.

"Where am I?" she asks groggily.

"The hospital," Castiel replies.

"Why?" She pauses. "Wait, I remember, I... I got shot, didn't I?"

He nods. "You did. But you're healed now."

"What?"

"You're healed," he repeats. "You and your son will be okay."

"You must have me confused with someone else," she says. "I don't have a son."

"You will," he says. "In about eight months, I'd predict."

"I'm... Am I pregnant?" she asks.

He just nods.

"Oh my god," she whispers. "Christian's gonna be thrilled. You said a son? That's perfect. Christian always said he wanted a son."

"Well, don't tell him yet," Castiel says. "Any pregnancy test will show that you're pregnant, but you won't be able to find the sex of the child for months."

"Then how do you know?" she asks.

"That's not important," he says. "You have a good life. I wish you and Christian the best. Take care of your son."

"But —"

Castiel doesn't listen to the rest of her questions. There are a lot of people to help, and only so much time to do it. As long as his grace holds out, he should be able to heal all the victims of the shooting, and hopefully other patients as well. But he'll have to move quickly, before the hospital staff starts asking questions. So he's off to the next room.