Title: You'll Be Given Something to Stand On (Or You'll Be Taught To Fly)
Author:![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
callitcruel
Genre: General
Rating: PG13
Words: 6,337
Disclaimer: Supernatural doesn't belong to me. I owe apologies to Mr. Eoin Colfer, too.
Author's Notes:powerof3 did the most excellent beta, and green_griffen1 and moonofwinds gave it a once over, too. Thanks guys.
Summary: An attack is planned on Dean's life, and Castiel is there to stop it. Unfortunately for Castiel, he doesn't stop the attack on himself.
“When you have come to the edge
Of all light that you know
And are about to drop off into the darkness
Of the unknown,
Faith is knowing
One of two things will happen:
There will be something solid to stand on or
You will be taught to fly”
Patrick Overton
Castiel has just discovered, to his delight, that snow gets crunchier as the temperature drops. He’s been standing outside this motel room for a while, making footprints in the stuff. The clouds don’t look like they’re going to clear anytime soon, so no one has bothered to plow the sidewalk. A string of small lights around the roof of the motel make the flakes glitter different colors. It’s not the first stand of this sort that Castiel has seen, but he wonders what the multicolored lights are for, not that they aren’t beautiful.
Inside, Dean and Sam are talking, but it is fast becoming an argument. He can hear the raised voices through the window glass, which, he discovers, has developed lovely little cracks along the bottom of the sill. He touches a finger to one, hoping to fix it, and it melts coldly onto his finger. He takes a breath in surprise. It’s ice, frost. He smiles and pokes at it some more, melting it into a star shape, the first thing that comes to mind.
His vessel doesn’t like the cold so much, and is trying to protect itself by tightening blood vessels, and shaking slightly to produce warmth. Castiel wishes he could supply it with the warmth it needs, but it is important that right now he saves his energy.
A roar comes from the sky, and then a gigantic metal bird flies overhead, airplane. The lights on the fake wings blink at him rhythmically, and he watches it disappear into the clouds.
He wonders if he could out-fly it.
Castiel brings his attention back down to the ground, and walks in another circle to hear the snow, and gets the idea to pile it up. In a park a couple weeks ago he saw kids making a man out of snow, using an entire playground's worth to do it. Could he do that? He did have the time. There would be at least four hours before Dean was even in danger; that is, if his brothers couldn’t prevent the attack before it reached them.
He bristles, sensing danger, and looks up. Standing a safe distance away is a young woman whose loose black curls resemble the stain shifting inside her. Castiel recognizes her as Sam’s demon by her appearance, also by the energy she gives off. Demonic, yes, but there’s a human chord there. Usually demons forget they were ever human. Memories are burned out of them, until all that's left are the black ashes, but this one remembers. It’s peculiar, and he doesn’t have an explanation for it.
She sees him and instinctively blackens her eyes as she recognizes him as a threat. Power is called to the surface.
'A witch,' he thinks. That is even stranger. This demon has never used demonic powers, only the ones that she had while she was alive. That is respectable, he decides, but also completely atypical.
He is satisfied that this demon will be enough to protect Sam, although he doesn't think Sam will need protecting. It would be a foolish move on Lilith's part to eliminate their common enemy so they can focus on her. The alternate isn't true; it would be most wise for them to kill Sam, but they are delaying per Dean's orders.
The demon, realizing perhaps that he isn't going to hurt her, that he's here to guard Dean, clears her eyes and continues on her way to the brothers’ motel room, and knocks softly.
They've arrived at a truce, which Castiel is most glad for. He doesn't want to face two enemies tonight.
He goes back to what he was doing, playing in the snow. Castiel is suddenly struck with the urge to pick up some of the powder to see what it feels like, so he crouches down to grab a handful from the small pile he's made. He stands upright again, and smiles softly at the glittering white before he notices the sting. It starts out light enough, but then it becomes actual pain, and he drops it. This doesn’t help. It clings to him, hurting his hands, and he doesn’t know what to do. He flails a little before rubbing in on his coat.
The demon snorts at him and shakes her head right before the door opens and Sam lets her in.
Castiel cannot wait here much longer he realizes. He knows the extended cold would cause the vessel distress but he didn’t anticipate the damage.
Humans can freeze solid. He’ll remember it from now on.
They argue, the three of them inside the warm room. He cannot hear what it is about, but he knows. It’s recurring, and it seems like every conversation Dean and Sam have with one another lead to it. He hasn’t been privy to them, but he's had similar disagreements with Dean.
There’s a tug at the back of his mind, and his wings bristle. More demons, this time in numbers, surround the city. He is not supposed to fight this evening, but he is prepared to defend himself. While his brothers have mobilized, Castiel has one job, and that is to protect.
A new volume is reached inside the room, and something shatters. Soon after, the motel door opens again and out comes Dean, raging and slamming the door behind him. Small ice crystals - how did he not notice the beautiful little crystals? - fall and pierce the blanket of snow.
“Dean,” Castiel says gently.
The reaction is not what Castiel was expecting.
“Oh, great, now I have to deal with your sorry ass, too? My brother is fucking a demon and I’m being harassed by an angel who can’t tell his head from his ass!” Dean’s hands are in fists. He’s wrathful, and he kicks the small little mound of snow Castiel had worked to build.
Dean used to get angry before, but not like this, not before Hell got to him.
“Well, you know what? I don’t need this shit right now, so whatever you want can fucking wait, you hear me?! Leave me alone!”
Castiel decides it’s best to wait until Dean is finished. His jaw clatters uncomfortably, but he cannot seem to stop it.
Dean walks up to his car, pats himself down and doesn’t find the key. This seems to be the breaking point, where things are just too much for him, and all rage leaves him. He braces his arm on the roof of the car and sets his forehead against it.
“Perhaps we should take a walk,” Castiel suggests.
Dean doesn’t move for some time, breathing in the cold air and exhaling white puffs. His body sags against the car, exhausted. Finally he picks himself up. “And where should we go? Huh?” He takes a closer look at Castiel for the first time and frowns. “Hey, Cas, are you okay? You look kind of ... frozen.”
“I am not frozen.”
“Jesus. It’s gotta be, like, -50 out here, and that’s what you’re wearing? Come here.” Dean walks to the back of his car, and unlocks the trunk with a special key in his pocket. “I know it’s here somewhere,” he says, and rummages through piles of books and bags of clothes. “Ah.”
He pulls out a down jacket, thick and weighty, but undoubtedly warm. “Here. It’ll be a lot better than that crap coat. We keep this one around for emergencies.”
“This is an emergency?”
“You don’t have a coat. That’s the emergency. Put it on. You’re a bit smaller than he was, but it should fit.”
Castiel wonders exactly whose coat it is that he’s putting on, but Dean is right. It does fit, more or less, and instantly he can feel the difference. His vessel is cold, but the body heat is building in this coat like it wasn’t in the other. He decides to help it along even though he’s supposed to be saving his energy, and lets heat run through him.
“Thank you.”
“Not like I’m going to let you turn into a popsicle.”
He doesn’t ask what that is, but he wants to.
“Let’s go someplace warm. Leave the two 'lovebirds' alone. Can you eat? I could eat,” Dean says, and tilts his head towards the street. “Come on.”
They walk a couple blocks along busy streets covered in what seems to be a brown mushy gel of some kind, to a diner where a giant cardboard turkey wishes them Thanksgiving greetings. It also has the strange string of multicolored lights around it, and a wreath. It’s a very strange display. Castiel spends some time staring at the turkey, trying to puzzle out what it all means until Dean grabs his coat and tugs him along.
It’s not busy this time of night. Castiel knows that humans prefer to eat three times a day, and this isn’t one of those times. He looks at the other people here, mostly people eating by themselves, but there is also a large family. Two parents, four children, the oldest not even able to see over the tabletop and the youngest a pair of twin babies, sleeping soundly as they feed from bottles.
They picked a bad night to be traveling through this town.
They’re brought to a booth with bright red vinyl covering the padding. Dean sits down on one side of the table, and the host who seated them waits for him to sit, smiling politely.
Castiel looks at the seat where he’s supposed to be sitting.
“I’ll stand,” he suggests.
The host looks startled, and Dean rolls his eyes before commanding, “Sit." He apologizes to the host, “I’m sorry, he’s not from around here.”
Castiel doesn’t understand what he did wrong, but delicately he sits, wondering if he could maneuver himself so that he doesn’t squish his wings.
He winds up sitting awkwardly with his back to the aisle, and Dean giving him this look like he’s the strangest thing he’s ever seen, which, for him, would be saying something. Castiel looks back at him innocently until Dean sighs. ”Alright. I’ll ask. What the hell are you doing?”
Castiel isn't sure about the amount of privacy they have, so he replies, “Sitting isn’t easy. Neither is lying down. They get in the way.”
Dean’s eyes fly to his shoulders, and search for them, but he isn’t going to see anything. Castiel would never be so careless, and even if he were, Dean would be blind.
“Wait a minute. You sat down fine in 1973, remember? In the car? Or the bench at Halloween?”
“I bought them in then."
“Can’t you do that now?”
“It’s... uncomfortable. Imagine trying to stuff your arms into your torso,” he explains. “They need to be out right now. They are extremely sensitive and can pick up on... activities”
Dean kind of looks impressed. “So they’re like... What do you call it? ATC RADAR?”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“The grid on TV shows sometimes. Tracks airplanes?”
Castiel thinks through it. Sometimes if a memory is strong enough the brain of his vessel will supply him with a definition or images of information that he needs. This doesn’t provoke a response, but he learns what a TV is.
“TV stands for television, right?” he asks.
Dean stares at him and then chuckles. “Okay. I get it. Nevermind.”
Castiel shakes his head and wonders if Dean is doing this on purpose, making him feel like an outsider. He’s trying. He is. There are much more important things that need doing than learning how to blend in perfectly. Even still, he doesn’t like this feeling of being small and different, so he brings in his wings so that he's able to sit properly.
“You’re upset about your brother and the demon,” Castiel tries.
Dean shrugs and throws an arm onto the back of the seat. “Wouldn’t you be if your brother were fucking a demon?”
Castiel smiles shyly. “I think one of my brothers having that kind of knowledge of a demon would be even more upsetting than yours.”
“Scandalous,” Dean agrees. “You know we actually make movies about that. Forbidden romance, gets the old ladies going. And the teen girls.”
Castiel takes it in, and looks around the dining room while he does so. He checks in with Uriel and a few other angels following his orders tonight. They’re fine, no casualties, and several demons killed. It’s good, and Castiel allows his vessel a relaxing deep breath.
“How are you liking it?” Dean asks.
Castiel mimics Dean’s earlier shrug, hoping the gesture’s placement is correct. “It’s warmer than standing outside. I enjoy being around nature in all seasons but my body doesn’t.”
Dean makes a peculiar signal with his hand, “No, that’s not what I meant. How do you like being human?”
“I’m not-”
“I mean living inside a human.”
He ponders on this for a moment. “It’s rewarding. Your world is... enchanting.”
“Yeah. Right. Enchanting, that’s a good one,” Dean says, and sips from a cup of coffee. Castiel seems to have one too. He decides not to try it.
“I wasn’t expecting your emotions, though.”
“What? I thought you couldn’t feel,” Dean says. When the coffee cup meets the wood of the table it makes a deep thunk. Castiel instantly loves the sound, and picks his cup up to make the same noise.
“Read the Bible.”
Dean squints at him angrily, and loses interest in talking to him. This upsets Castiel, who thinks it’s worthwhile advice. He doesn’t enjoy this feeling, so he tries to bring Dean’s focus back to him.
“We can feel the same emotions you do. It’s just... when you feel them, your body feels them too. When I am angered in my true visage I feel anger. When you are angered, you feel the anger but your heart beats faster, your breathing increases, and you tend to focus only on what angers you. When I’m sad, I feel misery, but when you’re sad your body feels hollow and weak, and you cry. Do you understand? You should know us better than that. I’m sorry if that’s how we come across to you, but the idea that we don’t have emotions... I don’t understand where you got it.”
Dean makes a small ‘huh’ sound, but doesn’t offer a source. Castiel sets his coffee cup down again, and smiles gently at it. This sound is almost as good as a car door closing. Dean says, “I’ve never thought about it that way.”
The salt and pepper shakers are represented as a farmer and his wife. Castiel fixes them so they’re right next to each other. He notices the napkin dispenser, and pulls one out. He’s surprised when it is immediately replaced by another napkin and grabs that one, too, and then the next, and the next, and the next, trying to see the second where there isn’t one.
Dean grabs his arm and says sternly, “No.”
Castiel lowers his eyes for a second, and then grabs another, mostly to annoy Dean. That’s a strange emotion, too, the need to provoke.
A woman carrying two plates of food sets them down on their table. “There you go. Anything else guys?”
“No, thanks, Rachel,” Dean says, grinning.
She winks at him, before turning away.
Castiel is confused, and looks down at the food. “Did you know her?” he asks.
“Dude, she’s our waitress. You were completely spaced when I ordered. I tired to call you out of it but your answering machine picked up.”
“I don’t-”
“I know you don’t have one, okay? It’s a joke. It’s funny. Humor. You laugh at it if it’s funny, make fun of it if it isn’t. Got it?”
Castiel nods. “Got it.”
“Good. Now, let’s eat. Sam and I stopped for dinner at five. I haven’t eaten since. I'm practically starving to death."
Castiel has no idea how to eat this.
He watches Dean open the bun and pick off little green circles, making a face as he does it. He picks it up with his hands, holds it up, and bites into it without using the supplied flatware.
Castiel tries it for himself. He opens the bun and picks off the little green vegetables - pickles, the vessel informs him - like Dean did, and then notices the meat which makes him feel sickened.
“Cas, no. You don’t have to eat it the way I do. You might like the pickles. Have you tried them before, ever?”
“I can’t eat this. This is... flesh.”
Dean doesn’t move and stops chewing, before wincing. “Oh, great. I should’ve known you’d be one of those hippie types.”
“Hippie?”
“Vegetarian,” Dean says, “a person who won’t eat meat because it’s wrong.” The way Dean says it coneys just how 'wrong' he thinks it is.
“You’re supposed to eat it. It was provided for you in the Garden.”
“I know that, Cas, I love a good steak. Wait, if you agree with me, why won’t you eat it?”
Castiel searches for the words. “It would be disrespectful. You need to eat it to survive. I don’t. This is another of my Father's creations. It would be like eating art."
Dean runs a hand over his jaw. “Okay. I guess Sam’s getting a sandwich then. Do you want something else?”
“You have to pay for something else, don’t you?” Castiel shakes his head. “Then, no. I won't benefit from it. I'm content to sit here with you."
“Sometimes it’s not about whether you benefit from it or not. You should try it. Take off the patty and have a bite.”
Castiel looks down at it with wide eyes and examines it. The seeds on the top of the bun, the lettuce that runs over the edges, and the red ketchup overflowing onto the plate. He flicks his eyes up to Dean.
“You know how you’re so interested in looking at everything? Well taste is another sense you should try. This? Tastes really good.”
He feels like he’s been given permission when he asks, “How do you pick it up?”
Dean pays for their meal with a piece of plastic that is returned to him before they leave. He’s not sure what to make of that.
The ‘hamburger’ wasn’t so bad, but Castiel liked eating the vegetables better without the meat, or the processed bun. Dean just rolled his eyes and told him he was wasting it, but in the end ‘forked over’ some of his vegetables, except for the onions.
Going back to the motel room seems to be a daunting prospect for Dean, so they circle around the area. They’re on the eastern side of the river which divides the country, and they walk towards that.
It starts to snow. He doesn’t notice at first, but he can’t figure out what’s stinging his face. He wipes away water, and then sees the flakes drifting down in numbers. He stops dead to marvel at it.
Dean snorts, “Did you know when I was living in Louisiana, our neighbors actually called the police when it started to snow? Never seen it before.”
“I saw it earlier, but it wasn’t calm like this. It didn’t dally before it settled.”
Dean takes a second to meditate on it with him, which is probably more than he’s ever taken, but then he wants to move on. Reluctantly he walks with Dean, but his eyes never leave the sky. He can’t see the flakes when they’re against the clouds, but he sees them in front of tree tops and trunks, in front of the store roofs and everything dark colored.
They pass under a street lamp where the light makes the flakes golden, and he wants to weep.
Dean sighs heavily and grabs his coat again. He gets a step away before he looks behind Castiel, equally enthralled with whatever he’s seeing as much as Castiel is with the snow.
“Um. You gotta little. Build up there,” Dean says tightly, looking back and forth. “Amazing.”
Castiel looks over his shoulder to see snow sticking to the top of his wings. He gives it a little shake, and it falls, but more just accumulates.
“How annoying,” he says, but brings his wings in tightly anyway. If only they weren’t in public. Tonight is too important to get distracted.
They continue down towards the Mississippi, onto a bridge. Downtown is barely visible through the snowfall and low lying clouds.
Castiel would’ve preferred to be in the exact center of the city to give them more time when Lilith does attack, but this is good, too. Worst comes to very worst, the Mississippi is salt water. It would take effort, but traveling through it like a fish would be an option. Dean may object but his comfort isn’t as important as his life.
Dean cuts into his thoughts. “So why are you here tonight, huh? I bet you didn't come here just to hang out.”
“I didn’t,” Castiel agrees. He sighs softly, and checks in with his group.
One section of the city is clear. Everywhere else, demons, and many angels. He is informed that they have lost one of their brothers, but the demon responsible has been killed.
He thinks about how to explain this to Dean in a way which Dean will understand without getting violent.
“You’d probably care to know first," Castiel begins, "that Sam is safe. He was never in danger, but just in case he’s being protected.”
Dean gives him this startled look. “What would he need protection from?”
“We heard this morning that an attack was going to be made on your life. From what I know, the city is completely surrounded, and a.... " He scratches his neck. "Ah, it doesn’t translate well. I suppose the closest word you have is ‘rinse,’ a rinse is being set up. Has been set up.”
“Okay. What’s that?’”
“It used to be our favorite way to purify a city. A rinse washes through the town, and destroys all life. Everything. From the largest mammals to mold growing under floorboards. Uriel would've done this to prevent Samhain from rising. Long ago one of my brothers was tricked into giving away the secret. Since then demons have figured out how to alter it to suit them.”
“You’re telling me that the entire city, all two million people, are going to die tonight? Cas! This is something you should’ve told me as soon as you found out! We could’ve stopped this!”
“The rinse will only target you; they only want to kill you, whether that means catching you with the magic or doing it personally when you came to stop it. You do not go walking into the lion’s den! We would not have let you.”
“Sam-”
“Sam is being protected. I've already told you. Your demon is an excellent witch. She will handle it.”
“Ruby? You trusted Ruby?”
“We could not protect him, Dean. We cannot. Any wards we use, any type of protection, will fall flat. He is not human.”
“He’s as human as I am! You know I’m sick of you judging him, he hasn’t done anything wrong!”
“Not yet,” Castiel says, and Dean hangs his head for just a second before walking away.
Castiel throws up his arms in fustration but moves in front of him to block his way. Dean is startled that he moved so fast, but grunts, “Move.”
“This is unacceptable,” Castiel says. “My orders were to keep you safe. I will not let you go.”
“You’re going to keep me here?”
“Yes. By any means. Dean, I am warning you. This is not the time.”
Dean wants to say more. He raises a finger and jabs it at him, but takes a deep breath and gives him a loathing look. “You’re right. I'm going to kick your ass later, but you're right. How do we fight it?”
“We can't. We can only run.”
Dean opens his arms widely. “So let’s run.”
“We cannot leave the city. It's surrounded.”
“How do we escape then?”
“The rinse can only travel in two directions at once. This way,” Castiel says, point off to the side, “and this way,” raising his other arm at a right angle.
“So we go the opposite way?”
“We go the third way, and dodge it completely. Up.”
Dean’s eyes get as wide as he’s ever seen them. “Like. Like, up in the air?”
Castiel nods once, pleased with himself for finding such an easy method to escape.
“No fucking way. I.... No fucking way.”
He doesn’t understand the problem, and examines Dean closely. There’s more then just fear, it’s panic. It’s a chill crawling around Dean's insides when he thinks about it. “I don’t understand. You don’t have problems with being up high. I saw you jump out of a church tower a couple weeks ago.”
Dean swallows. “I just don’t like, y’know. Being suspended. My dad tried to take me on a hunt in Hawaii once, and I almost passed out in the airport. I’m not kidding, Cas. I’m staying on the ground.”
“You don’t trust me to keep you safe.”
He shakes his head. “No. I don’t. I don’t trust anything. Not planes, not you.”
“It’s strange your phobia is so specific, Dean.”
Dean hesitates, not sure if he should be offended or not. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Castiel shrugs, and gives Dean a wide eyed look. The way it makes Dean angrier, though, makes him think he’s misinterpreted the meaning of the gesture, and here it’s inappropriate.
“What? Tell me. Tell me, Cas, or so help me.”
"You aren't scared of being up high, but you are scared when you can't see the forces holding you there. Like those which held your mother.”
Dean looks stricken, but remains stoic about it. It’s a warrior quality, and if Castiel hasn’t been so close be would’ve admired how Dean took it.
Castiel runs a hand through his hair, something he saw Sam do once, and adds, “If it bothers you that much... there might be an alternative way, but we’d have to do it fast.”
“See? Flying away is not the only solution. What do you have?” he asks.
“By land, by air, by sea. We could travel through the river, past the city limits, assuming they haven’t thought we’d be so reckless.”
“Okay. Okay, I’m likin’ it. So far. Why don't we just do that?”
Castiel bites his lip and debates with himself. Dean doesn’t understand how flimsy that way is. Salt water will protect them, but it would be like dousing oneself in water in order to protect from a fire. It would hurt, and might be enough to kill him.
“I should have acted earlier,” Castiel realizes.
Castiel. They have started it. Go, says the first voice, and then a hundred other voices, the Choir, tell him to run.
“There’s no time left, Dean,” he says, spreading his wings to prepare for flight.
“No. Cas, no. Please?” he offers. “Aren’t you supposed to obey my ‘field orders’ or whatever?”
There’s no time for this, and Castiel takes a step. Dean, in kind, holds out an arm and shuffles backwards. “No. I mean it. I will kick and scream. I am not leaving the ground.”
“You are the most stubborn man I have ever known.”
“You’ve never met my dad,” Dean says, trying to joke and ease his own panic.
Castiel feels it, and while he doesn’t need the vessel’s eyes to see, it’s a strong enough force that his head does turn. Light in the distance, the brilliant blue touching the clouds.
He looks back to Dean, who whines one last time, “Castiel!” but Castiel moves quickly.
It’s been too long since Castiel has allowed himself the luxury of flight. Angels were never meant to be grounded for so long. Even though he’s out-flying death he still finds joy in it.
Dean, of course, is terrified, so Castiel refrains from flying like he wants to and focuses on flying levelly, which is not easy. He does remember this time that humans cannot withstand the extreme cold at high altitudes, or the thin oxygen. He creates warmth, an air supply, and an appropriate surrounding pressure, also not easy.
Once they are safely above the city, Castiel comes to a relative stop and creates the illusion of something solid underneath them. Dean must feel it beneath his feet, but he refuses to even open his eyes. It’s a shame since they can see the entirety of the city. It’s a beautiful view, one Dean will probably never see again.
“I’m never forgiving you for this,” Dean says.
It makes Castiel sad to hear it, but Dean has never understood how important following orders are.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to,” he says, eyes tracking the rinse as it flows through the buildings, filling in the streets and alleys between the buildings and everything else, the deep royal blue crackling with white-gold energy he’s come to associate with death. But they are not in it’s path, narrowly avoiding it, and now there is nothing around them.
It occurs to him in a bolt of sickness, that this - being ‘smoked out’ of the city - could’ve been Lilith’s plan all along.
The warrior in him delights in the tactic even though it comes from the other side, but he panics knowing that he’s fallen for this trick. His stomach drops, which has got to be the worst emotion he’s felt so far, and focuses everything he has on sending Dean somewhere safe, to the one place on earth Lilith, nor any demon, could ever enter, no matter how badly they wanted to. He pours everything he has into it.
Dean vanishes just as Castiel sees the light, a brilliant white. It’s Lilith’s magic, and he does not have enough strength left to get away.
Castiel wakes up thinking clearly, but in order to properly possess a vessel he had to create ties to the mind, and the mind creates a fog that’s hard to navigate through. He’s in a room with an angel, a demon, and the only human-demon hybrid on the planet. He opens his eyes to see Uriel advancing on Sam, who has an arm out to the side, protecting the demon from Uriel. They are arguing, and Castiel recognizes that Uriel's intention is to destroy Sam's demon.
He cannot allow that. He thinks this demon could be useful to them, if she would stop fighting only for herself.
“Uriel,” he calls, and is embarrassed when it comes out slurred. What happened to him? He can tell the body is in distress even though the vessel isn’t communicating with him. For a second, he wonders if Lilith managed to kill the vessel, but upon turning his focus inwards he discovers an injury to the brain, and consequently, the vessel unconscious.
“Brother,” Uriel says softly, sitting on the bed next to him. “This is very important, Castiel. Where did you send Dean Winchester?”
The question confuses him. “Dean?’
It hurts so much. His body hurts all over.
“Yes. Dean. Before you were attacked. You must’ve sent him somewhere, Castiel. Can you remember where?”
It comes to him, and he smiles. “To the Lord.”
Uriel looks put out. “That.... You don’t mean that. Castiel, we need a place. You can remember this. You must remember this.”
He tries to sit up because lying in bed like this is so undignified, but it causes something to go wrong inside his head, and his vision goes black.
It’s annoying, these limitations on the human body. Short of death, he has never before had to worry what happened to him. He tries to reach Uriel through their own language but it seems he’s too weak. The effort exhausts him. He decides to rest for just a second, and then falls asleep.
Castiel wakes up before his body does. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so drained in his life, but there’s enough energy present to heal up the body some. He decides the brain is the most important thing. It’s been hemorrhaging blood, but he puts it right, and a few broken bones and punctured organs. The bruises and cuts he can live with, for now.
He calls out, wanting information. Two of his brothers dead. Considering the numbers they were in, and the number of demons dead, this could almost be considered a win, but....
They’ve known each other for thousands of years. Each and every one of his brothers is a personal friend. He mourns for them.
There’s the sound of a car door slamming, not that he recognizes it as such, and he opens his eyes, shifting a little to see how bad the damage he didn’t heal is. It’s warm in the room, enough so that he notices even though he rarely pays attention to temperature. He tries to sit up with some effort.
An arm around his chest keeps him down.
“Not so fast,” Dean says. “Legally, you died from what the M.E.s would call a ‘heart attack,’ which, strangely enough, is about the only thing you didn’t have.”
Dean's presence makes Castiel feel more alert. He doesn't want to appear weak, and he shifts his body to a better angle to talk to Dean. “You’re unhurt?”
“You’re worried about me? Dude, you were practically jelly. You do realize you fell out of the sky, right? Hit the water, luckily. We had you bundled up in blankets for the hypothermia, and were trying to patch you up, and then Uriel comes in here to give us a lecture on why he'd be a more effective doctor then we would, mostly because he's the only one who knows what you really look like."
"Give it time, Dean. You may find out, although I'd wish to speak to you first to test before I blind you," he says.
"Good thinking," Dean scoffs. "So I'm curious. Of all the places in the world, why Rome?"
He takes this in. “I didn’t send you to Rome. I sent you to God. There exists on the earth one place where God is present at all times, in Vatican City, inside the Basilica of Saint Peter. There He talks to the Pope directly. I sent you there.”
“You could’ve just sent me to the next town over. Saved yourself the trouble. You know I had to listen to Uriel gripe at me the entire way back?”
Castiel smiles softly, and rises, pushing back blankets. He can imagine what that is like. "Did you enjoy it? You're probably the only man whose been in that room who doesn't possess rank inside the Church."
Dean flicks his eyes away. "It wasn't bad. It was actually, I don't know," he says, and looks down at his boots. "Spiritual? Does that make me sound like a chick?"
Castiel gives him a smile. "I hope it helped you and your faith." Something in his back cracks loudly. “I will need to go. Assess the damage.”
“The people didn’t even notice anything had happened last night. No one died. Well, I mean, some old guy had a stroke and one girl was hit by a car, but no one died because of Lilith. I thought you said the entire town would be destroyed?”
“That’s good. I was hoping she wouldn’t be foolish enough to destroy the city,” he says, pulling on some of his clothes. He lets the vessel guide him through it, and uses muscle memory for the tie. "The spell can be altered so it looks for just one person. Whenever we have needed to kill just one man, we do it personally. The rinse is for big jobs. Lilith didn't want you escaping."
Dean sits on the bed. Bounces once, looks around. “You think she’s going to try again?”
“Not soon, but be careful. Be prepared to be attacked on the streets.”
"When am I not prepared for anything?"
Castiel looks up and studies Dean. He does seem all right. Maybe a bit confused, having spent hours in the presence of the Lord. Castiel senses sadness, and it troubles him.
“Thank you,” Castiel says. “For bringing me back to health.”
Dean shrugs. “You might be annoying as hell but there are only so many of you. Each one makes a difference, right?”
“That’s right,” Castiel says. He leans down and places a kiss on the top of Dean’s forehead, and Dean gives him another look like he’s crazy.
“I’m sorry if it was out of place. It was the closest human gesture of affection to what I wanted to do.”
Dean is still looking at him like he’s crazy. “Cas, a little advice. Guys doesn’t kiss other guys unless one of them is under eight."
“I’ll remember it,” Castiel says, and pulls on his coat.
“What were you going to do?” Dean asks slyly. “Great, do I even want to know how angels get their freak on?”
Like many things Dean says, Castiel does not understand this, but he answers his question. “Brush wings. It’s typical of warriors, who’ve helped each other in battle. You have a ‘manly slap on the back’ for it, but I felt it didn’t carry enough weight.”
Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head at him. “Crazy.”
"Make peace with your brother, Dean. Fighting like this isn't doing either of you good," he offers.
There seems to be an interesting spot on the wall to look at, since Dean spends some seconds staring there, and then wipes a hand across his jaw.
Castiel recognizes that Dean is comforted. He gives Dean a slap on the back, and then leaves before he can retaliate. He’ll see Dean again soon.
Author:
callitcruelGenre: General
Rating: PG13
Words: 6,337
Disclaimer: Supernatural doesn't belong to me. I owe apologies to Mr. Eoin Colfer, too.
Author's Notes:
powerof3 did the most excellent beta, and green_griffen1 and moonofwinds gave it a once over, too. Thanks guys.Summary: An attack is planned on Dean's life, and Castiel is there to stop it. Unfortunately for Castiel, he doesn't stop the attack on himself.
“When you have come to the edge
Of all light that you know
And are about to drop off into the darkness
Of the unknown,
Faith is knowing
One of two things will happen:
There will be something solid to stand on or
You will be taught to fly”
Patrick Overton
Castiel has just discovered, to his delight, that snow gets crunchier as the temperature drops. He’s been standing outside this motel room for a while, making footprints in the stuff. The clouds don’t look like they’re going to clear anytime soon, so no one has bothered to plow the sidewalk. A string of small lights around the roof of the motel make the flakes glitter different colors. It’s not the first stand of this sort that Castiel has seen, but he wonders what the multicolored lights are for, not that they aren’t beautiful.
Inside, Dean and Sam are talking, but it is fast becoming an argument. He can hear the raised voices through the window glass, which, he discovers, has developed lovely little cracks along the bottom of the sill. He touches a finger to one, hoping to fix it, and it melts coldly onto his finger. He takes a breath in surprise. It’s ice, frost. He smiles and pokes at it some more, melting it into a star shape, the first thing that comes to mind.
His vessel doesn’t like the cold so much, and is trying to protect itself by tightening blood vessels, and shaking slightly to produce warmth. Castiel wishes he could supply it with the warmth it needs, but it is important that right now he saves his energy.
A roar comes from the sky, and then a gigantic metal bird flies overhead, airplane. The lights on the fake wings blink at him rhythmically, and he watches it disappear into the clouds.
He wonders if he could out-fly it.
Castiel brings his attention back down to the ground, and walks in another circle to hear the snow, and gets the idea to pile it up. In a park a couple weeks ago he saw kids making a man out of snow, using an entire playground's worth to do it. Could he do that? He did have the time. There would be at least four hours before Dean was even in danger; that is, if his brothers couldn’t prevent the attack before it reached them.
He bristles, sensing danger, and looks up. Standing a safe distance away is a young woman whose loose black curls resemble the stain shifting inside her. Castiel recognizes her as Sam’s demon by her appearance, also by the energy she gives off. Demonic, yes, but there’s a human chord there. Usually demons forget they were ever human. Memories are burned out of them, until all that's left are the black ashes, but this one remembers. It’s peculiar, and he doesn’t have an explanation for it.
She sees him and instinctively blackens her eyes as she recognizes him as a threat. Power is called to the surface.
'A witch,' he thinks. That is even stranger. This demon has never used demonic powers, only the ones that she had while she was alive. That is respectable, he decides, but also completely atypical.
He is satisfied that this demon will be enough to protect Sam, although he doesn't think Sam will need protecting. It would be a foolish move on Lilith's part to eliminate their common enemy so they can focus on her. The alternate isn't true; it would be most wise for them to kill Sam, but they are delaying per Dean's orders.
The demon, realizing perhaps that he isn't going to hurt her, that he's here to guard Dean, clears her eyes and continues on her way to the brothers’ motel room, and knocks softly.
They've arrived at a truce, which Castiel is most glad for. He doesn't want to face two enemies tonight.
He goes back to what he was doing, playing in the snow. Castiel is suddenly struck with the urge to pick up some of the powder to see what it feels like, so he crouches down to grab a handful from the small pile he's made. He stands upright again, and smiles softly at the glittering white before he notices the sting. It starts out light enough, but then it becomes actual pain, and he drops it. This doesn’t help. It clings to him, hurting his hands, and he doesn’t know what to do. He flails a little before rubbing in on his coat.
The demon snorts at him and shakes her head right before the door opens and Sam lets her in.
Castiel cannot wait here much longer he realizes. He knows the extended cold would cause the vessel distress but he didn’t anticipate the damage.
Humans can freeze solid. He’ll remember it from now on.
They argue, the three of them inside the warm room. He cannot hear what it is about, but he knows. It’s recurring, and it seems like every conversation Dean and Sam have with one another lead to it. He hasn’t been privy to them, but he's had similar disagreements with Dean.
There’s a tug at the back of his mind, and his wings bristle. More demons, this time in numbers, surround the city. He is not supposed to fight this evening, but he is prepared to defend himself. While his brothers have mobilized, Castiel has one job, and that is to protect.
A new volume is reached inside the room, and something shatters. Soon after, the motel door opens again and out comes Dean, raging and slamming the door behind him. Small ice crystals - how did he not notice the beautiful little crystals? - fall and pierce the blanket of snow.
“Dean,” Castiel says gently.
The reaction is not what Castiel was expecting.
“Oh, great, now I have to deal with your sorry ass, too? My brother is fucking a demon and I’m being harassed by an angel who can’t tell his head from his ass!” Dean’s hands are in fists. He’s wrathful, and he kicks the small little mound of snow Castiel had worked to build.
Dean used to get angry before, but not like this, not before Hell got to him.
“Well, you know what? I don’t need this shit right now, so whatever you want can fucking wait, you hear me?! Leave me alone!”
Castiel decides it’s best to wait until Dean is finished. His jaw clatters uncomfortably, but he cannot seem to stop it.
Dean walks up to his car, pats himself down and doesn’t find the key. This seems to be the breaking point, where things are just too much for him, and all rage leaves him. He braces his arm on the roof of the car and sets his forehead against it.
“Perhaps we should take a walk,” Castiel suggests.
Dean doesn’t move for some time, breathing in the cold air and exhaling white puffs. His body sags against the car, exhausted. Finally he picks himself up. “And where should we go? Huh?” He takes a closer look at Castiel for the first time and frowns. “Hey, Cas, are you okay? You look kind of ... frozen.”
“I am not frozen.”
“Jesus. It’s gotta be, like, -50 out here, and that’s what you’re wearing? Come here.” Dean walks to the back of his car, and unlocks the trunk with a special key in his pocket. “I know it’s here somewhere,” he says, and rummages through piles of books and bags of clothes. “Ah.”
He pulls out a down jacket, thick and weighty, but undoubtedly warm. “Here. It’ll be a lot better than that crap coat. We keep this one around for emergencies.”
“This is an emergency?”
“You don’t have a coat. That’s the emergency. Put it on. You’re a bit smaller than he was, but it should fit.”
Castiel wonders exactly whose coat it is that he’s putting on, but Dean is right. It does fit, more or less, and instantly he can feel the difference. His vessel is cold, but the body heat is building in this coat like it wasn’t in the other. He decides to help it along even though he’s supposed to be saving his energy, and lets heat run through him.
“Thank you.”
“Not like I’m going to let you turn into a popsicle.”
He doesn’t ask what that is, but he wants to.
“Let’s go someplace warm. Leave the two 'lovebirds' alone. Can you eat? I could eat,” Dean says, and tilts his head towards the street. “Come on.”
They walk a couple blocks along busy streets covered in what seems to be a brown mushy gel of some kind, to a diner where a giant cardboard turkey wishes them Thanksgiving greetings. It also has the strange string of multicolored lights around it, and a wreath. It’s a very strange display. Castiel spends some time staring at the turkey, trying to puzzle out what it all means until Dean grabs his coat and tugs him along.
It’s not busy this time of night. Castiel knows that humans prefer to eat three times a day, and this isn’t one of those times. He looks at the other people here, mostly people eating by themselves, but there is also a large family. Two parents, four children, the oldest not even able to see over the tabletop and the youngest a pair of twin babies, sleeping soundly as they feed from bottles.
They picked a bad night to be traveling through this town.
They’re brought to a booth with bright red vinyl covering the padding. Dean sits down on one side of the table, and the host who seated them waits for him to sit, smiling politely.
Castiel looks at the seat where he’s supposed to be sitting.
“I’ll stand,” he suggests.
The host looks startled, and Dean rolls his eyes before commanding, “Sit." He apologizes to the host, “I’m sorry, he’s not from around here.”
Castiel doesn’t understand what he did wrong, but delicately he sits, wondering if he could maneuver himself so that he doesn’t squish his wings.
He winds up sitting awkwardly with his back to the aisle, and Dean giving him this look like he’s the strangest thing he’s ever seen, which, for him, would be saying something. Castiel looks back at him innocently until Dean sighs. ”Alright. I’ll ask. What the hell are you doing?”
Castiel isn't sure about the amount of privacy they have, so he replies, “Sitting isn’t easy. Neither is lying down. They get in the way.”
Dean’s eyes fly to his shoulders, and search for them, but he isn’t going to see anything. Castiel would never be so careless, and even if he were, Dean would be blind.
“Wait a minute. You sat down fine in 1973, remember? In the car? Or the bench at Halloween?”
“I bought them in then."
“Can’t you do that now?”
“It’s... uncomfortable. Imagine trying to stuff your arms into your torso,” he explains. “They need to be out right now. They are extremely sensitive and can pick up on... activities”
Dean kind of looks impressed. “So they’re like... What do you call it? ATC RADAR?”
“I don’t know what that is.”
“The grid on TV shows sometimes. Tracks airplanes?”
Castiel thinks through it. Sometimes if a memory is strong enough the brain of his vessel will supply him with a definition or images of information that he needs. This doesn’t provoke a response, but he learns what a TV is.
“TV stands for television, right?” he asks.
Dean stares at him and then chuckles. “Okay. I get it. Nevermind.”
Castiel shakes his head and wonders if Dean is doing this on purpose, making him feel like an outsider. He’s trying. He is. There are much more important things that need doing than learning how to blend in perfectly. Even still, he doesn’t like this feeling of being small and different, so he brings in his wings so that he's able to sit properly.
“You’re upset about your brother and the demon,” Castiel tries.
Dean shrugs and throws an arm onto the back of the seat. “Wouldn’t you be if your brother were fucking a demon?”
Castiel smiles shyly. “I think one of my brothers having that kind of knowledge of a demon would be even more upsetting than yours.”
“Scandalous,” Dean agrees. “You know we actually make movies about that. Forbidden romance, gets the old ladies going. And the teen girls.”
Castiel takes it in, and looks around the dining room while he does so. He checks in with Uriel and a few other angels following his orders tonight. They’re fine, no casualties, and several demons killed. It’s good, and Castiel allows his vessel a relaxing deep breath.
“How are you liking it?” Dean asks.
Castiel mimics Dean’s earlier shrug, hoping the gesture’s placement is correct. “It’s warmer than standing outside. I enjoy being around nature in all seasons but my body doesn’t.”
Dean makes a peculiar signal with his hand, “No, that’s not what I meant. How do you like being human?”
“I’m not-”
“I mean living inside a human.”
He ponders on this for a moment. “It’s rewarding. Your world is... enchanting.”
“Yeah. Right. Enchanting, that’s a good one,” Dean says, and sips from a cup of coffee. Castiel seems to have one too. He decides not to try it.
“I wasn’t expecting your emotions, though.”
“What? I thought you couldn’t feel,” Dean says. When the coffee cup meets the wood of the table it makes a deep thunk. Castiel instantly loves the sound, and picks his cup up to make the same noise.
“Read the Bible.”
Dean squints at him angrily, and loses interest in talking to him. This upsets Castiel, who thinks it’s worthwhile advice. He doesn’t enjoy this feeling, so he tries to bring Dean’s focus back to him.
“We can feel the same emotions you do. It’s just... when you feel them, your body feels them too. When I am angered in my true visage I feel anger. When you are angered, you feel the anger but your heart beats faster, your breathing increases, and you tend to focus only on what angers you. When I’m sad, I feel misery, but when you’re sad your body feels hollow and weak, and you cry. Do you understand? You should know us better than that. I’m sorry if that’s how we come across to you, but the idea that we don’t have emotions... I don’t understand where you got it.”
Dean makes a small ‘huh’ sound, but doesn’t offer a source. Castiel sets his coffee cup down again, and smiles gently at it. This sound is almost as good as a car door closing. Dean says, “I’ve never thought about it that way.”
The salt and pepper shakers are represented as a farmer and his wife. Castiel fixes them so they’re right next to each other. He notices the napkin dispenser, and pulls one out. He’s surprised when it is immediately replaced by another napkin and grabs that one, too, and then the next, and the next, and the next, trying to see the second where there isn’t one.
Dean grabs his arm and says sternly, “No.”
Castiel lowers his eyes for a second, and then grabs another, mostly to annoy Dean. That’s a strange emotion, too, the need to provoke.
A woman carrying two plates of food sets them down on their table. “There you go. Anything else guys?”
“No, thanks, Rachel,” Dean says, grinning.
She winks at him, before turning away.
Castiel is confused, and looks down at the food. “Did you know her?” he asks.
“Dude, she’s our waitress. You were completely spaced when I ordered. I tired to call you out of it but your answering machine picked up.”
“I don’t-”
“I know you don’t have one, okay? It’s a joke. It’s funny. Humor. You laugh at it if it’s funny, make fun of it if it isn’t. Got it?”
Castiel nods. “Got it.”
“Good. Now, let’s eat. Sam and I stopped for dinner at five. I haven’t eaten since. I'm practically starving to death."
Castiel has no idea how to eat this.
He watches Dean open the bun and pick off little green circles, making a face as he does it. He picks it up with his hands, holds it up, and bites into it without using the supplied flatware.
Castiel tries it for himself. He opens the bun and picks off the little green vegetables - pickles, the vessel informs him - like Dean did, and then notices the meat which makes him feel sickened.
“Cas, no. You don’t have to eat it the way I do. You might like the pickles. Have you tried them before, ever?”
“I can’t eat this. This is... flesh.”
Dean doesn’t move and stops chewing, before wincing. “Oh, great. I should’ve known you’d be one of those hippie types.”
“Hippie?”
“Vegetarian,” Dean says, “a person who won’t eat meat because it’s wrong.” The way Dean says it coneys just how 'wrong' he thinks it is.
“You’re supposed to eat it. It was provided for you in the Garden.”
“I know that, Cas, I love a good steak. Wait, if you agree with me, why won’t you eat it?”
Castiel searches for the words. “It would be disrespectful. You need to eat it to survive. I don’t. This is another of my Father's creations. It would be like eating art."
Dean runs a hand over his jaw. “Okay. I guess Sam’s getting a sandwich then. Do you want something else?”
“You have to pay for something else, don’t you?” Castiel shakes his head. “Then, no. I won't benefit from it. I'm content to sit here with you."
“Sometimes it’s not about whether you benefit from it or not. You should try it. Take off the patty and have a bite.”
Castiel looks down at it with wide eyes and examines it. The seeds on the top of the bun, the lettuce that runs over the edges, and the red ketchup overflowing onto the plate. He flicks his eyes up to Dean.
“You know how you’re so interested in looking at everything? Well taste is another sense you should try. This? Tastes really good.”
He feels like he’s been given permission when he asks, “How do you pick it up?”
Dean pays for their meal with a piece of plastic that is returned to him before they leave. He’s not sure what to make of that.
The ‘hamburger’ wasn’t so bad, but Castiel liked eating the vegetables better without the meat, or the processed bun. Dean just rolled his eyes and told him he was wasting it, but in the end ‘forked over’ some of his vegetables, except for the onions.
Going back to the motel room seems to be a daunting prospect for Dean, so they circle around the area. They’re on the eastern side of the river which divides the country, and they walk towards that.
It starts to snow. He doesn’t notice at first, but he can’t figure out what’s stinging his face. He wipes away water, and then sees the flakes drifting down in numbers. He stops dead to marvel at it.
Dean snorts, “Did you know when I was living in Louisiana, our neighbors actually called the police when it started to snow? Never seen it before.”
“I saw it earlier, but it wasn’t calm like this. It didn’t dally before it settled.”
Dean takes a second to meditate on it with him, which is probably more than he’s ever taken, but then he wants to move on. Reluctantly he walks with Dean, but his eyes never leave the sky. He can’t see the flakes when they’re against the clouds, but he sees them in front of tree tops and trunks, in front of the store roofs and everything dark colored.
They pass under a street lamp where the light makes the flakes golden, and he wants to weep.
Dean sighs heavily and grabs his coat again. He gets a step away before he looks behind Castiel, equally enthralled with whatever he’s seeing as much as Castiel is with the snow.
“Um. You gotta little. Build up there,” Dean says tightly, looking back and forth. “Amazing.”
Castiel looks over his shoulder to see snow sticking to the top of his wings. He gives it a little shake, and it falls, but more just accumulates.
“How annoying,” he says, but brings his wings in tightly anyway. If only they weren’t in public. Tonight is too important to get distracted.
They continue down towards the Mississippi, onto a bridge. Downtown is barely visible through the snowfall and low lying clouds.
Castiel would’ve preferred to be in the exact center of the city to give them more time when Lilith does attack, but this is good, too. Worst comes to very worst, the Mississippi is salt water. It would take effort, but traveling through it like a fish would be an option. Dean may object but his comfort isn’t as important as his life.
Dean cuts into his thoughts. “So why are you here tonight, huh? I bet you didn't come here just to hang out.”
“I didn’t,” Castiel agrees. He sighs softly, and checks in with his group.
One section of the city is clear. Everywhere else, demons, and many angels. He is informed that they have lost one of their brothers, but the demon responsible has been killed.
He thinks about how to explain this to Dean in a way which Dean will understand without getting violent.
“You’d probably care to know first," Castiel begins, "that Sam is safe. He was never in danger, but just in case he’s being protected.”
Dean gives him this startled look. “What would he need protection from?”
“We heard this morning that an attack was going to be made on your life. From what I know, the city is completely surrounded, and a.... " He scratches his neck. "Ah, it doesn’t translate well. I suppose the closest word you have is ‘rinse,’ a rinse is being set up. Has been set up.”
“Okay. What’s that?’”
“It used to be our favorite way to purify a city. A rinse washes through the town, and destroys all life. Everything. From the largest mammals to mold growing under floorboards. Uriel would've done this to prevent Samhain from rising. Long ago one of my brothers was tricked into giving away the secret. Since then demons have figured out how to alter it to suit them.”
“You’re telling me that the entire city, all two million people, are going to die tonight? Cas! This is something you should’ve told me as soon as you found out! We could’ve stopped this!”
“The rinse will only target you; they only want to kill you, whether that means catching you with the magic or doing it personally when you came to stop it. You do not go walking into the lion’s den! We would not have let you.”
“Sam-”
“Sam is being protected. I've already told you. Your demon is an excellent witch. She will handle it.”
“Ruby? You trusted Ruby?”
“We could not protect him, Dean. We cannot. Any wards we use, any type of protection, will fall flat. He is not human.”
“He’s as human as I am! You know I’m sick of you judging him, he hasn’t done anything wrong!”
“Not yet,” Castiel says, and Dean hangs his head for just a second before walking away.
Castiel throws up his arms in fustration but moves in front of him to block his way. Dean is startled that he moved so fast, but grunts, “Move.”
“This is unacceptable,” Castiel says. “My orders were to keep you safe. I will not let you go.”
“You’re going to keep me here?”
“Yes. By any means. Dean, I am warning you. This is not the time.”
Dean wants to say more. He raises a finger and jabs it at him, but takes a deep breath and gives him a loathing look. “You’re right. I'm going to kick your ass later, but you're right. How do we fight it?”
“We can't. We can only run.”
Dean opens his arms widely. “So let’s run.”
“We cannot leave the city. It's surrounded.”
“How do we escape then?”
“The rinse can only travel in two directions at once. This way,” Castiel says, point off to the side, “and this way,” raising his other arm at a right angle.
“So we go the opposite way?”
“We go the third way, and dodge it completely. Up.”
Dean’s eyes get as wide as he’s ever seen them. “Like. Like, up in the air?”
Castiel nods once, pleased with himself for finding such an easy method to escape.
“No fucking way. I.... No fucking way.”
He doesn’t understand the problem, and examines Dean closely. There’s more then just fear, it’s panic. It’s a chill crawling around Dean's insides when he thinks about it. “I don’t understand. You don’t have problems with being up high. I saw you jump out of a church tower a couple weeks ago.”
Dean swallows. “I just don’t like, y’know. Being suspended. My dad tried to take me on a hunt in Hawaii once, and I almost passed out in the airport. I’m not kidding, Cas. I’m staying on the ground.”
“You don’t trust me to keep you safe.”
He shakes his head. “No. I don’t. I don’t trust anything. Not planes, not you.”
“It’s strange your phobia is so specific, Dean.”
Dean hesitates, not sure if he should be offended or not. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Castiel shrugs, and gives Dean a wide eyed look. The way it makes Dean angrier, though, makes him think he’s misinterpreted the meaning of the gesture, and here it’s inappropriate.
“What? Tell me. Tell me, Cas, or so help me.”
"You aren't scared of being up high, but you are scared when you can't see the forces holding you there. Like those which held your mother.”
Dean looks stricken, but remains stoic about it. It’s a warrior quality, and if Castiel hasn’t been so close be would’ve admired how Dean took it.
Castiel runs a hand through his hair, something he saw Sam do once, and adds, “If it bothers you that much... there might be an alternative way, but we’d have to do it fast.”
“See? Flying away is not the only solution. What do you have?” he asks.
“By land, by air, by sea. We could travel through the river, past the city limits, assuming they haven’t thought we’d be so reckless.”
“Okay. Okay, I’m likin’ it. So far. Why don't we just do that?”
Castiel bites his lip and debates with himself. Dean doesn’t understand how flimsy that way is. Salt water will protect them, but it would be like dousing oneself in water in order to protect from a fire. It would hurt, and might be enough to kill him.
“I should have acted earlier,” Castiel realizes.
Castiel. They have started it. Go, says the first voice, and then a hundred other voices, the Choir, tell him to run.
“There’s no time left, Dean,” he says, spreading his wings to prepare for flight.
“No. Cas, no. Please?” he offers. “Aren’t you supposed to obey my ‘field orders’ or whatever?”
There’s no time for this, and Castiel takes a step. Dean, in kind, holds out an arm and shuffles backwards. “No. I mean it. I will kick and scream. I am not leaving the ground.”
“You are the most stubborn man I have ever known.”
“You’ve never met my dad,” Dean says, trying to joke and ease his own panic.
Castiel feels it, and while he doesn’t need the vessel’s eyes to see, it’s a strong enough force that his head does turn. Light in the distance, the brilliant blue touching the clouds.
He looks back to Dean, who whines one last time, “Castiel!” but Castiel moves quickly.
It’s been too long since Castiel has allowed himself the luxury of flight. Angels were never meant to be grounded for so long. Even though he’s out-flying death he still finds joy in it.
Dean, of course, is terrified, so Castiel refrains from flying like he wants to and focuses on flying levelly, which is not easy. He does remember this time that humans cannot withstand the extreme cold at high altitudes, or the thin oxygen. He creates warmth, an air supply, and an appropriate surrounding pressure, also not easy.
Once they are safely above the city, Castiel comes to a relative stop and creates the illusion of something solid underneath them. Dean must feel it beneath his feet, but he refuses to even open his eyes. It’s a shame since they can see the entirety of the city. It’s a beautiful view, one Dean will probably never see again.
“I’m never forgiving you for this,” Dean says.
It makes Castiel sad to hear it, but Dean has never understood how important following orders are.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to,” he says, eyes tracking the rinse as it flows through the buildings, filling in the streets and alleys between the buildings and everything else, the deep royal blue crackling with white-gold energy he’s come to associate with death. But they are not in it’s path, narrowly avoiding it, and now there is nothing around them.
It occurs to him in a bolt of sickness, that this - being ‘smoked out’ of the city - could’ve been Lilith’s plan all along.
The warrior in him delights in the tactic even though it comes from the other side, but he panics knowing that he’s fallen for this trick. His stomach drops, which has got to be the worst emotion he’s felt so far, and focuses everything he has on sending Dean somewhere safe, to the one place on earth Lilith, nor any demon, could ever enter, no matter how badly they wanted to. He pours everything he has into it.
Dean vanishes just as Castiel sees the light, a brilliant white. It’s Lilith’s magic, and he does not have enough strength left to get away.
Castiel wakes up thinking clearly, but in order to properly possess a vessel he had to create ties to the mind, and the mind creates a fog that’s hard to navigate through. He’s in a room with an angel, a demon, and the only human-demon hybrid on the planet. He opens his eyes to see Uriel advancing on Sam, who has an arm out to the side, protecting the demon from Uriel. They are arguing, and Castiel recognizes that Uriel's intention is to destroy Sam's demon.
He cannot allow that. He thinks this demon could be useful to them, if she would stop fighting only for herself.
“Uriel,” he calls, and is embarrassed when it comes out slurred. What happened to him? He can tell the body is in distress even though the vessel isn’t communicating with him. For a second, he wonders if Lilith managed to kill the vessel, but upon turning his focus inwards he discovers an injury to the brain, and consequently, the vessel unconscious.
“Brother,” Uriel says softly, sitting on the bed next to him. “This is very important, Castiel. Where did you send Dean Winchester?”
The question confuses him. “Dean?’
It hurts so much. His body hurts all over.
“Yes. Dean. Before you were attacked. You must’ve sent him somewhere, Castiel. Can you remember where?”
It comes to him, and he smiles. “To the Lord.”
Uriel looks put out. “That.... You don’t mean that. Castiel, we need a place. You can remember this. You must remember this.”
He tries to sit up because lying in bed like this is so undignified, but it causes something to go wrong inside his head, and his vision goes black.
It’s annoying, these limitations on the human body. Short of death, he has never before had to worry what happened to him. He tries to reach Uriel through their own language but it seems he’s too weak. The effort exhausts him. He decides to rest for just a second, and then falls asleep.
Castiel wakes up before his body does. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so drained in his life, but there’s enough energy present to heal up the body some. He decides the brain is the most important thing. It’s been hemorrhaging blood, but he puts it right, and a few broken bones and punctured organs. The bruises and cuts he can live with, for now.
He calls out, wanting information. Two of his brothers dead. Considering the numbers they were in, and the number of demons dead, this could almost be considered a win, but....
They’ve known each other for thousands of years. Each and every one of his brothers is a personal friend. He mourns for them.
There’s the sound of a car door slamming, not that he recognizes it as such, and he opens his eyes, shifting a little to see how bad the damage he didn’t heal is. It’s warm in the room, enough so that he notices even though he rarely pays attention to temperature. He tries to sit up with some effort.
An arm around his chest keeps him down.
“Not so fast,” Dean says. “Legally, you died from what the M.E.s would call a ‘heart attack,’ which, strangely enough, is about the only thing you didn’t have.”
Dean's presence makes Castiel feel more alert. He doesn't want to appear weak, and he shifts his body to a better angle to talk to Dean. “You’re unhurt?”
“You’re worried about me? Dude, you were practically jelly. You do realize you fell out of the sky, right? Hit the water, luckily. We had you bundled up in blankets for the hypothermia, and were trying to patch you up, and then Uriel comes in here to give us a lecture on why he'd be a more effective doctor then we would, mostly because he's the only one who knows what you really look like."
"Give it time, Dean. You may find out, although I'd wish to speak to you first to test before I blind you," he says.
"Good thinking," Dean scoffs. "So I'm curious. Of all the places in the world, why Rome?"
He takes this in. “I didn’t send you to Rome. I sent you to God. There exists on the earth one place where God is present at all times, in Vatican City, inside the Basilica of Saint Peter. There He talks to the Pope directly. I sent you there.”
“You could’ve just sent me to the next town over. Saved yourself the trouble. You know I had to listen to Uriel gripe at me the entire way back?”
Castiel smiles softly, and rises, pushing back blankets. He can imagine what that is like. "Did you enjoy it? You're probably the only man whose been in that room who doesn't possess rank inside the Church."
Dean flicks his eyes away. "It wasn't bad. It was actually, I don't know," he says, and looks down at his boots. "Spiritual? Does that make me sound like a chick?"
Castiel gives him a smile. "I hope it helped you and your faith." Something in his back cracks loudly. “I will need to go. Assess the damage.”
“The people didn’t even notice anything had happened last night. No one died. Well, I mean, some old guy had a stroke and one girl was hit by a car, but no one died because of Lilith. I thought you said the entire town would be destroyed?”
“That’s good. I was hoping she wouldn’t be foolish enough to destroy the city,” he says, pulling on some of his clothes. He lets the vessel guide him through it, and uses muscle memory for the tie. "The spell can be altered so it looks for just one person. Whenever we have needed to kill just one man, we do it personally. The rinse is for big jobs. Lilith didn't want you escaping."
Dean sits on the bed. Bounces once, looks around. “You think she’s going to try again?”
“Not soon, but be careful. Be prepared to be attacked on the streets.”
"When am I not prepared for anything?"
Castiel looks up and studies Dean. He does seem all right. Maybe a bit confused, having spent hours in the presence of the Lord. Castiel senses sadness, and it troubles him.
“Thank you,” Castiel says. “For bringing me back to health.”
Dean shrugs. “You might be annoying as hell but there are only so many of you. Each one makes a difference, right?”
“That’s right,” Castiel says. He leans down and places a kiss on the top of Dean’s forehead, and Dean gives him another look like he’s crazy.
“I’m sorry if it was out of place. It was the closest human gesture of affection to what I wanted to do.”
Dean is still looking at him like he’s crazy. “Cas, a little advice. Guys doesn’t kiss other guys unless one of them is under eight."
“I’ll remember it,” Castiel says, and pulls on his coat.
“What were you going to do?” Dean asks slyly. “Great, do I even want to know how angels get their freak on?”
Like many things Dean says, Castiel does not understand this, but he answers his question. “Brush wings. It’s typical of warriors, who’ve helped each other in battle. You have a ‘manly slap on the back’ for it, but I felt it didn’t carry enough weight.”
Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head at him. “Crazy.”
"Make peace with your brother, Dean. Fighting like this isn't doing either of you good," he offers.
There seems to be an interesting spot on the wall to look at, since Dean spends some seconds staring there, and then wipes a hand across his jaw.
Castiel recognizes that Dean is comforted. He gives Dean a slap on the back, and then leaves before he can retaliate. He’ll see Dean again soon.
20 comments | Leave a comment