FIC: I've come to be the stranger that you keep (1 of 2)
Title: I've Come To Be the Stranger That You Keep (Part 1 of 2)
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 12,850
Warnings: bit of violence
Spoilers: kind of an AR of 7x03
Summary: All three Winchesters go undercover at a high school to catch a killer. Their world is turned upside-down when Dean meets Castiel, an Angel of the Lord, in homeroom.
Author notes: This is kind of a retelling of 7x03, with some vague themes from season six thrown in. Title from Joe Pug's "Hymn #101." Many, many thanks to my betas, kel_reiley and dizzzylu. Originally written for apokteino as part of the deancas_xmas holiday fic/art exchange.
"I got you Pete Wright's old locker." Dad said it like it was a gift, like Sam should be grateful for having a dead boy's locker in the third high school he'd attended since September.
"That's awesome, Dad," Dean said before Sam could speak up. Sam looked out the backseat window of the Impala and held his tongue. There'd be another assignment, something probably even more unsavory and dangerous for Dean. The locker next to their prime suspect, perhaps. Only they didn't have one here, just a vague theory based on who had access to all the kids (too many people) and who could cover it up (still too many people, in Sam's opinion). They were flying in blind, which was stupid, stupid, stupid. Not that Dad cared for Sam's opinion.
"You're directly across from Vice Principal Mulligan's office," Dad continued, addressing Dean now as he looked for a space in the faculty parking lot. "If he's our shtriga, I want you close."
Sam clenched his fists. Of course Dean was nodding his head in the passenger seat, all proud that their father trusted him with the role of live bait. Not that he saw it that way.
"When we're not in classes, you mean," Sam interrupted. "You remember that little thing called high school, right, Dad?"
Dean snaked a hand back between the seats and whacked him on the knee.
"Your education is very important," Dad said vaguely, for once not jumping on the implied insult. He finally found a spot and put the Impala in park. "After all, I'm a guidance counselor now."
Dean snorted, amused. Sam snorted, disgusted. Dad pulled a pair of wire rim glasses out of his tweed jacket with the elbow patches and turned to address both his sons.
"Okay, men, our target is live and unaware," Dad began. A shiver ran down Sam's spine and he hated himself a bit for getting caught up in the quasi-Army speak, though it happened every time. "Be on guard. Four disappearances in one high school, two bodies found, and don't forget those truckers on Highway 9. Just because they had no connection to the high school, doesn't mean we should dismiss them. That's an awful lot of deaths for such a small town."
It really was. Vice Principal Mulligan was one arrogant prick if he thought he could feast on high school kids and truckers alike and have no one notice. Which was why Sam had pushed for more research. The two missing bodies were why Dad hadn't even listened to him.
Grover Cleveland High School wasn't all that different from the other two high schools Sam had attended thus far his freshman year. Same cream colored paint on the walls, same cheap tiles on the floors, same jammed locks on the lockers. It took a good five minutes of tugging and twisting, and finally the clandestine application of his lockpick, before Pete Wright's old locker opened for Sam. He had to stand on his tiptoes to see all the way in. Of course it was on the top row.
It was empty, and smelled vaguely of rotten banana. Awesome. Sam carefully took out his lunchbox and placed it on the shelf. There was no lunch inside, just an EMF scanner. He should be able to tell if it had picked up on anything while he was at classes, not that he really expected it to. It was good to cover all bases, at any rate. He slammed the door shut and adjusted his bag on his shoulder. He hadn't taken one step before the hair along the back of his neck stood up.
He knelt down and fiddled with his shoelaces, glancing up and down the hall from beneath his hair. Dad was always on him about getting a haircut, but it was coming in handy now, wasn't it? He couldn't tell who'd been staring at him, though. The EMF scanner was covered up anyhow, so why would anyone stare? He was about to give up when he spotted her.
She was taller than him, on the skinny side, and had long dirty-blonde hair in a braid pulled over her shoulder. Her leather jacket made her look badass. She wasn't watching him anymore, but Sam was sure she had been, just a moment ago. Maybe she'd seen him pick his lock. Surely there couldn't have been any other reason for her to notice him.
He picked up his bag once more and headed to class.
***
"Two new students on the same day. I must have pissed in someone's cornflakes." Dean raised a brow at that, but his new homeroom teacher just carried on in the same flat, dry voice. "You can sit next to him in the back."
The rest of the class either ignored him while surreptitiously cutting their eyes at him, or downright stared (a few of the girls and one boy - great, his new buddy). Dean slid into the seat next to the starer.
"Hey man," he said. "I'm Dean." He held out his hand. The other boy stared at it. "Uh, so, usually I'd ask which teachers are trolls and where I could get my hands on some cheese fries, but..." He let his voice trail off.
The teacher began a slow recitation of the roll. The kid kept staring at Dean with piercing blue eyes. It was starting to get under Dean's skin.
"Look, man, you don't want to be buddies, I get it, that's cool, but will you stop with the damn staring?"
The bell rang for first period. Dean was never happier to go to an actual class and shot up from his seat. Or tried to. The starer grabbed his wrist; he had a deceptively strong grip.
"None of the teachers are trolls, but there are perhaps a couple of demons hiding amongst them," he said in an unusually deep voice. "And I am not your 'buddy'; I am Castiel, an Angel of the Lord. And I have work for you, Dean Winchester."
Dean gaped at him. That hadn't just happened. For starters, there were no such things as angels, and secondly - demons? They were hunting a shtriga. But what really chilled him to the bone was the fact that he couldn't get his wrist free, not until the Castiel creature released him and took a step back.
"What?" Dean croaked.
The so-called Angel of the Lord pushed past him and into the hall. Dean's head was spinning.
"Wait!" he hissed. "Wait, damn you!"
Castiel stopped abruptly, causing Dean to collide with his back, an oof escaping his lips. Dude or Angel or Psycho, Castiel was solid, and when he turned to face Dean, his eyes were too intense to be sane, surely.
"What do you mean, you're an angel?" Dean demanded, quelling the surge of fear that seemed to shoot up from his wrist. He just needed to do even more push-ups, that was all. "How did you know my last name? There are demons here? How can you tell? What do you mean, you have work for me?"
"I know everything about you," Castiel replied, taking a step forward. "You are Dean Winchester, brother of Sam, son of John and Mary. You are training to be a hunter like your father, and this high school is a job to you, not an opportunity for academic betterment. You are looking for the creatures responsible for the deaths and disappearances in this town." Dean's back slammed into a locker. He'd had no idea he'd been walking backwards. Castiel did not pause, crowding even closer. "I am here for the same thing. I will help you, and then you shall help me."
"You're insane," Dean managed.
Quick as lightning, Castiel dipped his hand into the pocket of Dean's jeans and pulled out Dean's Swiss Army knife, flicking it open. Dean didn't even have time to gasp at the uninvited intimacy, the bared blade or the fact they were still in a high school hallway with a handful of students passing by. Castiel sliced open his own palm and held it up for Dean to see.
"What the fuck, dude?" Dean protested. "You're fucking-"
He choked on the thought as the wound closed up before his eyes. Castiel wiped the bloody knife on his own shirt, and that stain also faded as he calmly closed up the knife and slipped it back into Dean's pocket. Dean shivered.
"Now we have a class called World History for first period. I will be attending all of the same classes as you. This will make it easier for me to help you. Come along."
And then he took Dean by the hand and tugged. A couple of guys in Grover Cleveland High athletic wear catcalled. Dean yanked his hand away.
"Don't fucking hold my hand, are you nuts?" He pushed Castiel out of his way and grimaced at the group of jocks. "Foreign exchange student," he said, jerking his thumb at Castiel.
"Really? Are you from France? I'd like to meet a French girl, if you know what I mean!" One of the jocks said, the others laughing quietly, already moving down the hall.
"I don't know what you mean," Castiel answered, frowning.
"It's cool, man. Welcome to Grover Fucking Cleveland!"
The jocks turned the corner. Dean let his breath out. That could have gone much worse.
"Rule one: no hand-holding. Rule two: no taking things out of my pockets. Got it?" Dean waited expectantly. Castiel gave him a flat look.
"World History is at the other end of the school." He pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead and Dean blinked. They were in the back of a classroom. How the hell had Castiel managed that?
"All right, everyone take a seat," the teacher said. Dean tuned her out as he watched Castiel. His father was going to flip his shit when they met.
***
John rifled through the files on his desk. They could all do with a stint in the army, he decided. Especially the pierced and tattooed juvenile delinquent in front of him.
"So, Marcus," he said, essaying a small smile. It was the one he'd used on Dean's last girlfriend, a blonde bombshell who'd suddenly begged off with an upset stomach, leaving Dean free for target practice with his old man and kid brother as nature had intended. It made Marcus shift in his chair and eye the door. "Word is you pantsed a kid in your gym class last week. That true?"
Marcus tried to play it cool, but John could already see the flop sweat. "Heshwafuete," Marcus mumbled.
"Didn't quite catch that," John said. Who the hell taught kids how to speak nowadays? Some days he thought his sons were the only teenagers with decent elocution.
"He was an asshat," Marcus said clearly.
"See now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Marcus gave him a sullen look. "I was just reading through your file, Marcus. It says you were good friends with Pete Wright and Jacob Marsh."
"Am," Marcus whispered, his fingers clenching on his armrests.
"Hmmm?"
"Am. I am good friends with Jacob Marsh."
John paused. After one quick defiant look, Marcus's eyes skittered away, his eyelashes fluttering as he tried not to cry. "The kid you pantsed - he say something about Jacob?"
"Jacob's missing. He's not dead." Marcus's voice hitched on the last word, a flush crawling up his neck to stain his cheeks red. In that moment, despite the tattoos and piercings, he looked just like Sammy had, the first time they'd been on a hunt that hadn't worked out right in the end.
"Tell me about him, Marcus," John urged. "What was he into? What do you think happened to him? Was anyone hanging around him who gave you a weird feeling? Did you see anything strange the day he disappeared?"
Marcus stared up at him, his mouth hanging open.
"Well? Come on, kid."
Marcus closed his mouth, swallowing. "So… you believe me?" he asked after a moment.
John gave the kid his most charming smile. "You ever see Ghostbusters? 'We're ready to believe you.' That's my motto. So tell me what you know."
Marcus took a shaky breath and began to speak.
***
Sam flopped his backpack onto the table. An hour, and then the school would clear out enough that they could snoop without interference. Across the library, the badass girl with the dirty blonde ponytail and leather jacket spread out the contents of her bag and frowned fiercely. Sam eyed her curiously as he unearthed his geometry homework. They were doing proofs in this school, which he hadn't started in his last, but the concept was clear enough.
Girl A wears a leather jacket. Dean wears a leather jacket. Dean is a badass. Therefore Girl A is a badass.
He snorted to himself. He was missing a rule in there, something to exclude non-badasses from wearing leather jackets. It was a waste of time anyhow; he should get his homework done while he had the chance. He'd moved on to biology, and the girl was flipping angrily through a massive tome, when the silence of the library was broken by a gravelly, deep voice.
"That was not a good class, Dean. It is impossible to condense the history of the world into one single class. They were quite foolish for trying."
Dean? Sam turned in his seat. Sure enough, his brother had just come into the library, trying to shush his companion, a dark-haired boy about Dean's height. Had Dean made a friend? Stranger things had happened, Sam supposed, but not many. Dean caught his eye and led his companion over to Sam's table.
"Squirt," Dean greeted him, and Sam bristled. He'd grown a quarter of an inch in the past year. It wasn't fair.
"My name is Sam," he said instead, addressing the other boy. Who was staring at him like he was surprised Sam had the power of speech. Great.
"Don't mind him, Sam, Cas here is an Angel of the Lord." Dean's words and tone might have been flippant, but the look he gave his little brother was anything but nonchalant. Dean looked freaked, the crazy glint in his eyes even more pronounced than the time a ghost had burst through their father and wrapped its ethereal hands around Dean's throat. But still…
"You're an angel?" Sam asked, eyes narrowing. It would be so cool if he really was. Dad said there were no such things, but Dad was hardly infallible, and again Sam thought of that ghost attacking Dean. The angel looked at him for a long moment.
"I am Castiel, an Angel of the Lord," he said finally.
"Nice to meet you," Sam said politely and held out his hand. The angel glanced at Dean, back down to Sam's hand, and back to Dean before he clasped Sam's hand in both of his. Sam resisted exchanging looks with his brother, but only just. If Castiel wasn't an angel, he was the most socially awkward kid Sam had ever met.
"You seen Dad yet?" Dean asked, looking around the library.
"No. Have you introduced him to Castiel yet?" Sam cut his eyes at Castiel. Maybe they didn't have biology in Heaven, as Castiel was frowning down at Sam's homework.
"Haven't had a chance yet," Dean muttered.
"You gonna tell him your friend's an angel?"
"Maybe it won't come up?"
Sam gave him an incredulous look as Dad marched into the library and spotted them.
"Dean, Sam," he greeted them curtly, coming up to the table. He gave Castiel a sidelong glance. "I'm afraid I have to steal my sons back now," he said, and bared his teeth in a smile that he clearly thought was charming but which Sam knew for a fact made him look like a thug. (A really hot thug, according to a waitress at a truck stop in Idaho, leaning across the counter to watch Dad walk back to the men's room, and Sam had lost his appetite.)
"Uh, I think it'd be good to take Cas with us, sir," Dean said, shifting on his feet. Dad gave him a sharp look.
"Take him with us?" Dad asked. His eyebrow twitched and Sam braced himself for the inevitable explosion.
"I think you'll find that I am well-suited to the task, John," Castiel interrupted. Sam's jaw dropped, Dean flinched, and Dad's eyebrows went from twitchy to escalating. "The creature you believe is hunting children in this school is no match for me. Of course, that is not the creature you should be worrying about."
"Sam, Dean," Dad said quietly, "I want you to step away from this thing right now."
Sam gulped. Dad was serious, and freaked. Sam scrambled to his feet, clutching his homework to his chest, and took a step back. Dean stood rooted to the spot.
"Sir, he's…" he whispered, a bit at a loss. Sam narrowed his eyes at Castiel. He must be an angel. Dean would never defy Dad. Everyone else, all the time, but Dad? When Dad said "Jump," Dean said "How high?"
"I am an Angel of the Lord," Castiel intoned. He laid his hand on Dean's shoulder and suddenly the room grew dark, and everyone except for Castiel and the Winchesters froze. Sam blinked. A page in Badass Girl's book stood straight up, suspended in air. A kid crossing the room stopped, foot in the air and head turned to talk to a buddy. Thunder rumbled in the school library before a flash of lightning lit up the room.
"Oh my God!" Sam gasped, his heart swelling as the outline of two gigantic wings appeared behind Castiel. Dean swiveled his head to stare, awe widening his eyes. Beside Sam, Dad was, if anything, even more tense.
"Fine," he spat out. "Fine. You're an angel. That doesn't mean I'm letting you near my sons."
Castiel cocked his head. "It's not up to you, John. I have my orders."
"Orders. Right." Dean shook his head, like a diver breaking the surface, and shrugged Castiel's hand off his shoulder. The sky cleared and people began to move again, none the wiser. "Sir, we could use the added protection. He doesn't get hurt."
Dad was going to refuse again, Sam could tell. Which was stupid; who would turn their noses up at help from an angel? It wasn't as if Castiel was going to listen to Dad anyhow. "I think Dean's friend should stay," he heard himself say.
Dean frowned at him over his choice of words, but Castiel gave him a solemn nod. "Thank you, Sam."
"Thank you, Sam? I'm the one you have to convince here," Dad grumbled. His hands were shoved into his pants pockets. Sam had no idea what were in those pockets that could hurt an angel, but there was probably something there. He caught his brother's eye.
"He says there are demons here," Dean said, pitching his voice low. Sam glanced nervously around the library as Dad went absolutely still. No one was paying them any mind, thankfully.
"Demons?" Dad asked roughly. Dean nudged Castiel in the side, the universal symbol for 'tell him,' but Sam noted that Dean did it wrong. His hand slid down Castiel's side and rested for a moment on his hip before Dean let go.
"Of course there are demons here," Castiel said, "and not the one you're looking for."
Dad rocked back on his heels as if slapped. "What... how... could you find him?"
"If he left Hell," Cas replied.
Sam watched the exchange through narrowed eyes. Dad was looking for one specific demon? There was only one thing that put that look on his dad's face - Mom. If Castiel could lead them to Mom's killer, then he was in like Flynn, despite any reservations Dad might have.
"Okay," Dad said, sitting down at the little table. Sam scooted over a bit to accommodate him. Dean quickly sat down across from them, and, after another nudge/half-squeeze of his hip, Castiel joined him. "Okay," Dad said again. "That's why you're here, to fight the demons?"
"Your son is very important to my plans. I will help him with these demons, then I will need him to come with me," Castiel replied.
"Wait, what?" Dean twisted in his chair to glare at Castiel. "You didn't say anything about leaving!"
Sam fought back a whimper. Dean couldn't go away. Leave Sam alone with John Winchester? It was untenable.
"There will be no leaving," Dad said firmly. "Winchesters are a package deal. This is what's going to happen: we work together to find what's been killing the students here, be it demons or a shtriga or something else. And then we have a nice long talk about demons and we decide what we do from there."
And by 'we,' Dad meant 'John Winchester,' but Sam was still heartened. Dad wouldn't let Castiel take Dean away. Sam glanced across at the angel. Castiel was staring at Dad with an inscrutable expression on his face.
"We will talk when this is done," he said finally. It was the best they were going to get.
***
They didn't find anything that afternoon. John sat in the front seat of the Impala as the sun began to set. It acted as his office more often than not, and had a further advantage that evening. He could observe the angel through the parted motel curtains where he sat on his sons' bed, awkwardly holding a slice of pizza. Dean was sprawled out on his stomach next to Castiel, his feet up by the headboard as he leaned over the foot of the bed to snatch another slice of pizza out of the greasy box on the floor. John could just see the side of Sam's face where he sat in one of the room's three chairs. Both of his sons were smiling and laughing as they watched Castiel try to eat. John wished he could let his guard down enough to go in there and laugh with them.
Instead he pulled out his cell phone and placed a call.
"Singer Automotive."
"Bobby. What do you know about angels?"
There was a snort on the other end of the line. "Nice to hear your voice, Bobby," Bobby said in a sing-song tone at odds with his gruff speech. "The boys are doing well. Lookin' forward to a visit. How are you?"
"Mmm, sorry, forgot you were Ann Landers there for a minute," John said, smiling naturally for the first time that day.
"Idjit. It's called common courtesy," Bobby said in his normal tone of voice. "Now what's this about angels?"
John sighed and filled Bobby in on his impressions of Castiel, Angel of the Lord. Bobby was silent for a full minute, processing.
"What does Dean think of him?" he asked finally.
"Dean? Dean thinks he's found a new best friend." Inside the motel room, Dean leaned over and stole a piece of pepperoni off Castiel's slice of pizza. He was grinning, and looked his age for once. John's stomach gave a strange quiver.
"I've never known Dean to take well to a stranger before," Bobby remarked.
"No, that's usually Sam's raison d'être. But anyhow. He knows things about demons, Bobby. Demons. So what I need to know is-"
"If he knows what he's talking about." Bobby sighed, and John could hear something in the background - the desk chair squeaking, perhaps. "Yeah, sure. If he's an angel, better believe he knows about demons. Now I ain't ever met anyone who's ever met an angel, and I know you've never thought they were real, but… it's logical, ain't it? If there are demons, shouldn't there also be angels? I think your question shouldn't be 'is he an angel?' but 'what is an angel doing here?'"
John's eyes were drawn to the window again. Dean had slung an arm across Castiel's shoulders and both were leaning down, heads touching to look at something in Sam's hands. "I can't lose Dean." He blinked rapidly and cleared his throat. "I won't."
"You won't," Bobby agreed.
They talked about the case then, pushing John's fear aside for the time being. Bobby even had a good chuckle at the idea of John as a tweed jacket-wearing guidance counselor. All trace of mirth vanished as John reviewed the facts of the case with him: dead teenagers, missing teenagers, dead truckers, all somehow connected to Castiel's supposed demons - who had somehow managed to hide from an angel that afternoon during their search. John got the impression that was unusual.
"It'd have to be, if he can track a demon outside of Hell," John mused. "Maybe they're biding their time, waiting for us to leave."
"Hrm. You'll have to invest in tweed."
"Cheery thought." John was still looking in the window, and caught the second Castiel stiffened and rose, face blank and turned toward the corner of the room. He disappeared in a blink of John's eyes. "Shit!" John exclaimed. "I have to go, Bobby, call you later," he said hurriedly, already getting out of the car.
"Dad!" Sam yelled, flinging open the motel door as John reached it. "Dad, he just-"
"I saw, Sam. Where did he go, what did he say?"
Dean was still crouched on the floor, blinking at where Castiel had been standing.
"Dean?" John asked.
A whoosh, the slight but distinctive smell of ozone, and then Castiel was back. But not alone. A teenage boy, bleeding profusely from a cut on the head, stumbled out of his arms the moment they appeared and collapsed on the stained motel carpet.
"Cas, what the hell, man?" Dean said angrily, even as he moved closer to the boy, pulling off his own t-shirt to staunch the flow of blood.
"Is this one of the missing teens?" John barked, flipping open his cell and holding his thumb poised over the keys. He needed medical attention right away, but at the same time… This was really going to mess up their investigation. "Were there demons?" he asked instead.
"Please step aside, Dean, I can heal him." Castiel pushed at Dean's shoulders and knelt by the boy's head, ignoring John's questions.
"Dad, it's Jacob Marsh," Sam said, tugging on John's sleeve. "I looked the missing kids up in the school yearbook."
"Smart thinking," John told him. Sam positively beamed. "Now, did-"
John forgot what he was going to ask. As Castiel moved his hands over Jacob's face, the wound closed and the blood disappeared. Jacob Marsh took an unsteady breath and passed out.
"Wow," Sam breathed. John could admit to himself that he, too, was a bit impressed, though he wasn't going to say anything. Dean looked like he'd seen it before. In fact, Dean looked furious.
"What the hell were you thinking, rushing off alone like that?" he snarled, getting up in Castiel's face. "You don't go off on your own! You just agreed we'd do this together, you just said you needed my help! What gives? You could've gotten your ass killed!"
John almost laughed at the strong sense of déjà vu he got, hearing his own admonitions in his son's mouth, but Castiel frowned. "My ass was in no danger. It was just one demon, and he fled Jacob's body the moment he reappeared in the town. You would have slowed me down."
"I would have - excuse me? Who asked who for whose help?"
"Who's on first?" Sam muttered under his breath.
"All right, before this gets out of hand," John interrupted as Dean's face turned red. "Jacob Marsh." John pointed to the unconscious kid. "Is he going to remember anything?"
"Not with that head wound," Castiel said. "I believe that was its purpose, or else he would retain the memories of what the demon was doing while it wore his skin."
Sam shivered at that, and even John felt a bit uneasy. Damn demons.
"Okay, then we need to get him out of here."
Castiel immediately knelt to scoop Jacob up into his arms.
"Wait, wait, wait," John admonished. "Where are you taking him?"
"Home," Castiel said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and they both vanished, leaving the Winchesters with a sticky red stain on the carpet.
"Fuck!" Dean swore.
John raised an eyebrow.
"Sorry, sir," his son muttered. Dean picked up his bloody t-shirt and strode angrily to the bathroom sink to rinse it out. John watched him go with a frown.
"I guess that leaves me with carpet duty, huh?" Sam asked, wrinkling his nose at the stain.
"Hmm? Oh." Really, the carpet was littered with such stains. Even by Winchester standards, the motel was nothing to write home about. "Let's just pour a little bleach on it to disguise the smell and call it a night."
Sam gave him a grateful look and went to get the bleach out of the trunk. By the time they were done cleaning, and Dean's wet t-shirt was hanging in the shower, Castiel still hadn't come back. Sam went to bed, and Dean soon followed. John wrote a bit in his journal, double-checked the salt lines, and was about to turn off the lamp by his bed when Dean spoke up.
"Do you think he's mad at me?" he asked softly.
John looked over at him. He was lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, hands clasped above the blankets, jaw tight.
"He's got no right to be mad at you."
"Do you think he's in trouble?"
"He's an angel."
Dean took a deep breath. "Do you think he'll come back?"
"He'll definitely come back."
Of course he would. And he'd try to take Dean away. John's gaze lingered on Dean's face for a moment before turning out the light. At eighteen, Dean didn't ask for assurance from his old man for much anymore, but when he did, John could still see the toddler he'd been, and his heart ached for what was coming.
Part Two here.
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 12,850
Warnings: bit of violence
Spoilers: kind of an AR of 7x03
Summary: All three Winchesters go undercover at a high school to catch a killer. Their world is turned upside-down when Dean meets Castiel, an Angel of the Lord, in homeroom.
Author notes: This is kind of a retelling of 7x03, with some vague themes from season six thrown in. Title from Joe Pug's "Hymn #101." Many, many thanks to my betas, kel_reiley and dizzzylu. Originally written for apokteino as part of the deancas_xmas holiday fic/art exchange.
"I got you Pete Wright's old locker." Dad said it like it was a gift, like Sam should be grateful for having a dead boy's locker in the third high school he'd attended since September.
"That's awesome, Dad," Dean said before Sam could speak up. Sam looked out the backseat window of the Impala and held his tongue. There'd be another assignment, something probably even more unsavory and dangerous for Dean. The locker next to their prime suspect, perhaps. Only they didn't have one here, just a vague theory based on who had access to all the kids (too many people) and who could cover it up (still too many people, in Sam's opinion). They were flying in blind, which was stupid, stupid, stupid. Not that Dad cared for Sam's opinion.
"You're directly across from Vice Principal Mulligan's office," Dad continued, addressing Dean now as he looked for a space in the faculty parking lot. "If he's our shtriga, I want you close."
Sam clenched his fists. Of course Dean was nodding his head in the passenger seat, all proud that their father trusted him with the role of live bait. Not that he saw it that way.
"When we're not in classes, you mean," Sam interrupted. "You remember that little thing called high school, right, Dad?"
Dean snaked a hand back between the seats and whacked him on the knee.
"Your education is very important," Dad said vaguely, for once not jumping on the implied insult. He finally found a spot and put the Impala in park. "After all, I'm a guidance counselor now."
Dean snorted, amused. Sam snorted, disgusted. Dad pulled a pair of wire rim glasses out of his tweed jacket with the elbow patches and turned to address both his sons.
"Okay, men, our target is live and unaware," Dad began. A shiver ran down Sam's spine and he hated himself a bit for getting caught up in the quasi-Army speak, though it happened every time. "Be on guard. Four disappearances in one high school, two bodies found, and don't forget those truckers on Highway 9. Just because they had no connection to the high school, doesn't mean we should dismiss them. That's an awful lot of deaths for such a small town."
It really was. Vice Principal Mulligan was one arrogant prick if he thought he could feast on high school kids and truckers alike and have no one notice. Which was why Sam had pushed for more research. The two missing bodies were why Dad hadn't even listened to him.
Grover Cleveland High School wasn't all that different from the other two high schools Sam had attended thus far his freshman year. Same cream colored paint on the walls, same cheap tiles on the floors, same jammed locks on the lockers. It took a good five minutes of tugging and twisting, and finally the clandestine application of his lockpick, before Pete Wright's old locker opened for Sam. He had to stand on his tiptoes to see all the way in. Of course it was on the top row.
It was empty, and smelled vaguely of rotten banana. Awesome. Sam carefully took out his lunchbox and placed it on the shelf. There was no lunch inside, just an EMF scanner. He should be able to tell if it had picked up on anything while he was at classes, not that he really expected it to. It was good to cover all bases, at any rate. He slammed the door shut and adjusted his bag on his shoulder. He hadn't taken one step before the hair along the back of his neck stood up.
He knelt down and fiddled with his shoelaces, glancing up and down the hall from beneath his hair. Dad was always on him about getting a haircut, but it was coming in handy now, wasn't it? He couldn't tell who'd been staring at him, though. The EMF scanner was covered up anyhow, so why would anyone stare? He was about to give up when he spotted her.
She was taller than him, on the skinny side, and had long dirty-blonde hair in a braid pulled over her shoulder. Her leather jacket made her look badass. She wasn't watching him anymore, but Sam was sure she had been, just a moment ago. Maybe she'd seen him pick his lock. Surely there couldn't have been any other reason for her to notice him.
He picked up his bag once more and headed to class.
***
"Two new students on the same day. I must have pissed in someone's cornflakes." Dean raised a brow at that, but his new homeroom teacher just carried on in the same flat, dry voice. "You can sit next to him in the back."
The rest of the class either ignored him while surreptitiously cutting their eyes at him, or downright stared (a few of the girls and one boy - great, his new buddy). Dean slid into the seat next to the starer.
"Hey man," he said. "I'm Dean." He held out his hand. The other boy stared at it. "Uh, so, usually I'd ask which teachers are trolls and where I could get my hands on some cheese fries, but..." He let his voice trail off.
The teacher began a slow recitation of the roll. The kid kept staring at Dean with piercing blue eyes. It was starting to get under Dean's skin.
"Look, man, you don't want to be buddies, I get it, that's cool, but will you stop with the damn staring?"
The bell rang for first period. Dean was never happier to go to an actual class and shot up from his seat. Or tried to. The starer grabbed his wrist; he had a deceptively strong grip.
"None of the teachers are trolls, but there are perhaps a couple of demons hiding amongst them," he said in an unusually deep voice. "And I am not your 'buddy'; I am Castiel, an Angel of the Lord. And I have work for you, Dean Winchester."
Dean gaped at him. That hadn't just happened. For starters, there were no such things as angels, and secondly - demons? They were hunting a shtriga. But what really chilled him to the bone was the fact that he couldn't get his wrist free, not until the Castiel creature released him and took a step back.
"What?" Dean croaked.
The so-called Angel of the Lord pushed past him and into the hall. Dean's head was spinning.
"Wait!" he hissed. "Wait, damn you!"
Castiel stopped abruptly, causing Dean to collide with his back, an oof escaping his lips. Dude or Angel or Psycho, Castiel was solid, and when he turned to face Dean, his eyes were too intense to be sane, surely.
"What do you mean, you're an angel?" Dean demanded, quelling the surge of fear that seemed to shoot up from his wrist. He just needed to do even more push-ups, that was all. "How did you know my last name? There are demons here? How can you tell? What do you mean, you have work for me?"
"I know everything about you," Castiel replied, taking a step forward. "You are Dean Winchester, brother of Sam, son of John and Mary. You are training to be a hunter like your father, and this high school is a job to you, not an opportunity for academic betterment. You are looking for the creatures responsible for the deaths and disappearances in this town." Dean's back slammed into a locker. He'd had no idea he'd been walking backwards. Castiel did not pause, crowding even closer. "I am here for the same thing. I will help you, and then you shall help me."
"You're insane," Dean managed.
Quick as lightning, Castiel dipped his hand into the pocket of Dean's jeans and pulled out Dean's Swiss Army knife, flicking it open. Dean didn't even have time to gasp at the uninvited intimacy, the bared blade or the fact they were still in a high school hallway with a handful of students passing by. Castiel sliced open his own palm and held it up for Dean to see.
"What the fuck, dude?" Dean protested. "You're fucking-"
He choked on the thought as the wound closed up before his eyes. Castiel wiped the bloody knife on his own shirt, and that stain also faded as he calmly closed up the knife and slipped it back into Dean's pocket. Dean shivered.
"Now we have a class called World History for first period. I will be attending all of the same classes as you. This will make it easier for me to help you. Come along."
And then he took Dean by the hand and tugged. A couple of guys in Grover Cleveland High athletic wear catcalled. Dean yanked his hand away.
"Don't fucking hold my hand, are you nuts?" He pushed Castiel out of his way and grimaced at the group of jocks. "Foreign exchange student," he said, jerking his thumb at Castiel.
"Really? Are you from France? I'd like to meet a French girl, if you know what I mean!" One of the jocks said, the others laughing quietly, already moving down the hall.
"I don't know what you mean," Castiel answered, frowning.
"It's cool, man. Welcome to Grover Fucking Cleveland!"
The jocks turned the corner. Dean let his breath out. That could have gone much worse.
"Rule one: no hand-holding. Rule two: no taking things out of my pockets. Got it?" Dean waited expectantly. Castiel gave him a flat look.
"World History is at the other end of the school." He pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead and Dean blinked. They were in the back of a classroom. How the hell had Castiel managed that?
"All right, everyone take a seat," the teacher said. Dean tuned her out as he watched Castiel. His father was going to flip his shit when they met.
***
John rifled through the files on his desk. They could all do with a stint in the army, he decided. Especially the pierced and tattooed juvenile delinquent in front of him.
"So, Marcus," he said, essaying a small smile. It was the one he'd used on Dean's last girlfriend, a blonde bombshell who'd suddenly begged off with an upset stomach, leaving Dean free for target practice with his old man and kid brother as nature had intended. It made Marcus shift in his chair and eye the door. "Word is you pantsed a kid in your gym class last week. That true?"
Marcus tried to play it cool, but John could already see the flop sweat. "Heshwafuete," Marcus mumbled.
"Didn't quite catch that," John said. Who the hell taught kids how to speak nowadays? Some days he thought his sons were the only teenagers with decent elocution.
"He was an asshat," Marcus said clearly.
"See now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Marcus gave him a sullen look. "I was just reading through your file, Marcus. It says you were good friends with Pete Wright and Jacob Marsh."
"Am," Marcus whispered, his fingers clenching on his armrests.
"Hmmm?"
"Am. I am good friends with Jacob Marsh."
John paused. After one quick defiant look, Marcus's eyes skittered away, his eyelashes fluttering as he tried not to cry. "The kid you pantsed - he say something about Jacob?"
"Jacob's missing. He's not dead." Marcus's voice hitched on the last word, a flush crawling up his neck to stain his cheeks red. In that moment, despite the tattoos and piercings, he looked just like Sammy had, the first time they'd been on a hunt that hadn't worked out right in the end.
"Tell me about him, Marcus," John urged. "What was he into? What do you think happened to him? Was anyone hanging around him who gave you a weird feeling? Did you see anything strange the day he disappeared?"
Marcus stared up at him, his mouth hanging open.
"Well? Come on, kid."
Marcus closed his mouth, swallowing. "So… you believe me?" he asked after a moment.
John gave the kid his most charming smile. "You ever see Ghostbusters? 'We're ready to believe you.' That's my motto. So tell me what you know."
Marcus took a shaky breath and began to speak.
***
Sam flopped his backpack onto the table. An hour, and then the school would clear out enough that they could snoop without interference. Across the library, the badass girl with the dirty blonde ponytail and leather jacket spread out the contents of her bag and frowned fiercely. Sam eyed her curiously as he unearthed his geometry homework. They were doing proofs in this school, which he hadn't started in his last, but the concept was clear enough.
Girl A wears a leather jacket. Dean wears a leather jacket. Dean is a badass. Therefore Girl A is a badass.
He snorted to himself. He was missing a rule in there, something to exclude non-badasses from wearing leather jackets. It was a waste of time anyhow; he should get his homework done while he had the chance. He'd moved on to biology, and the girl was flipping angrily through a massive tome, when the silence of the library was broken by a gravelly, deep voice.
"That was not a good class, Dean. It is impossible to condense the history of the world into one single class. They were quite foolish for trying."
Dean? Sam turned in his seat. Sure enough, his brother had just come into the library, trying to shush his companion, a dark-haired boy about Dean's height. Had Dean made a friend? Stranger things had happened, Sam supposed, but not many. Dean caught his eye and led his companion over to Sam's table.
"Squirt," Dean greeted him, and Sam bristled. He'd grown a quarter of an inch in the past year. It wasn't fair.
"My name is Sam," he said instead, addressing the other boy. Who was staring at him like he was surprised Sam had the power of speech. Great.
"Don't mind him, Sam, Cas here is an Angel of the Lord." Dean's words and tone might have been flippant, but the look he gave his little brother was anything but nonchalant. Dean looked freaked, the crazy glint in his eyes even more pronounced than the time a ghost had burst through their father and wrapped its ethereal hands around Dean's throat. But still…
"You're an angel?" Sam asked, eyes narrowing. It would be so cool if he really was. Dad said there were no such things, but Dad was hardly infallible, and again Sam thought of that ghost attacking Dean. The angel looked at him for a long moment.
"I am Castiel, an Angel of the Lord," he said finally.
"Nice to meet you," Sam said politely and held out his hand. The angel glanced at Dean, back down to Sam's hand, and back to Dean before he clasped Sam's hand in both of his. Sam resisted exchanging looks with his brother, but only just. If Castiel wasn't an angel, he was the most socially awkward kid Sam had ever met.
"You seen Dad yet?" Dean asked, looking around the library.
"No. Have you introduced him to Castiel yet?" Sam cut his eyes at Castiel. Maybe they didn't have biology in Heaven, as Castiel was frowning down at Sam's homework.
"Haven't had a chance yet," Dean muttered.
"You gonna tell him your friend's an angel?"
"Maybe it won't come up?"
Sam gave him an incredulous look as Dad marched into the library and spotted them.
"Dean, Sam," he greeted them curtly, coming up to the table. He gave Castiel a sidelong glance. "I'm afraid I have to steal my sons back now," he said, and bared his teeth in a smile that he clearly thought was charming but which Sam knew for a fact made him look like a thug. (A really hot thug, according to a waitress at a truck stop in Idaho, leaning across the counter to watch Dad walk back to the men's room, and Sam had lost his appetite.)
"Uh, I think it'd be good to take Cas with us, sir," Dean said, shifting on his feet. Dad gave him a sharp look.
"Take him with us?" Dad asked. His eyebrow twitched and Sam braced himself for the inevitable explosion.
"I think you'll find that I am well-suited to the task, John," Castiel interrupted. Sam's jaw dropped, Dean flinched, and Dad's eyebrows went from twitchy to escalating. "The creature you believe is hunting children in this school is no match for me. Of course, that is not the creature you should be worrying about."
"Sam, Dean," Dad said quietly, "I want you to step away from this thing right now."
Sam gulped. Dad was serious, and freaked. Sam scrambled to his feet, clutching his homework to his chest, and took a step back. Dean stood rooted to the spot.
"Sir, he's…" he whispered, a bit at a loss. Sam narrowed his eyes at Castiel. He must be an angel. Dean would never defy Dad. Everyone else, all the time, but Dad? When Dad said "Jump," Dean said "How high?"
"I am an Angel of the Lord," Castiel intoned. He laid his hand on Dean's shoulder and suddenly the room grew dark, and everyone except for Castiel and the Winchesters froze. Sam blinked. A page in Badass Girl's book stood straight up, suspended in air. A kid crossing the room stopped, foot in the air and head turned to talk to a buddy. Thunder rumbled in the school library before a flash of lightning lit up the room.
"Oh my God!" Sam gasped, his heart swelling as the outline of two gigantic wings appeared behind Castiel. Dean swiveled his head to stare, awe widening his eyes. Beside Sam, Dad was, if anything, even more tense.
"Fine," he spat out. "Fine. You're an angel. That doesn't mean I'm letting you near my sons."
Castiel cocked his head. "It's not up to you, John. I have my orders."
"Orders. Right." Dean shook his head, like a diver breaking the surface, and shrugged Castiel's hand off his shoulder. The sky cleared and people began to move again, none the wiser. "Sir, we could use the added protection. He doesn't get hurt."
Dad was going to refuse again, Sam could tell. Which was stupid; who would turn their noses up at help from an angel? It wasn't as if Castiel was going to listen to Dad anyhow. "I think Dean's friend should stay," he heard himself say.
Dean frowned at him over his choice of words, but Castiel gave him a solemn nod. "Thank you, Sam."
"Thank you, Sam? I'm the one you have to convince here," Dad grumbled. His hands were shoved into his pants pockets. Sam had no idea what were in those pockets that could hurt an angel, but there was probably something there. He caught his brother's eye.
"He says there are demons here," Dean said, pitching his voice low. Sam glanced nervously around the library as Dad went absolutely still. No one was paying them any mind, thankfully.
"Demons?" Dad asked roughly. Dean nudged Castiel in the side, the universal symbol for 'tell him,' but Sam noted that Dean did it wrong. His hand slid down Castiel's side and rested for a moment on his hip before Dean let go.
"Of course there are demons here," Castiel said, "and not the one you're looking for."
Dad rocked back on his heels as if slapped. "What... how... could you find him?"
"If he left Hell," Cas replied.
Sam watched the exchange through narrowed eyes. Dad was looking for one specific demon? There was only one thing that put that look on his dad's face - Mom. If Castiel could lead them to Mom's killer, then he was in like Flynn, despite any reservations Dad might have.
"Okay," Dad said, sitting down at the little table. Sam scooted over a bit to accommodate him. Dean quickly sat down across from them, and, after another nudge/half-squeeze of his hip, Castiel joined him. "Okay," Dad said again. "That's why you're here, to fight the demons?"
"Your son is very important to my plans. I will help him with these demons, then I will need him to come with me," Castiel replied.
"Wait, what?" Dean twisted in his chair to glare at Castiel. "You didn't say anything about leaving!"
Sam fought back a whimper. Dean couldn't go away. Leave Sam alone with John Winchester? It was untenable.
"There will be no leaving," Dad said firmly. "Winchesters are a package deal. This is what's going to happen: we work together to find what's been killing the students here, be it demons or a shtriga or something else. And then we have a nice long talk about demons and we decide what we do from there."
And by 'we,' Dad meant 'John Winchester,' but Sam was still heartened. Dad wouldn't let Castiel take Dean away. Sam glanced across at the angel. Castiel was staring at Dad with an inscrutable expression on his face.
"We will talk when this is done," he said finally. It was the best they were going to get.
***
They didn't find anything that afternoon. John sat in the front seat of the Impala as the sun began to set. It acted as his office more often than not, and had a further advantage that evening. He could observe the angel through the parted motel curtains where he sat on his sons' bed, awkwardly holding a slice of pizza. Dean was sprawled out on his stomach next to Castiel, his feet up by the headboard as he leaned over the foot of the bed to snatch another slice of pizza out of the greasy box on the floor. John could just see the side of Sam's face where he sat in one of the room's three chairs. Both of his sons were smiling and laughing as they watched Castiel try to eat. John wished he could let his guard down enough to go in there and laugh with them.
Instead he pulled out his cell phone and placed a call.
"Singer Automotive."
"Bobby. What do you know about angels?"
There was a snort on the other end of the line. "Nice to hear your voice, Bobby," Bobby said in a sing-song tone at odds with his gruff speech. "The boys are doing well. Lookin' forward to a visit. How are you?"
"Mmm, sorry, forgot you were Ann Landers there for a minute," John said, smiling naturally for the first time that day.
"Idjit. It's called common courtesy," Bobby said in his normal tone of voice. "Now what's this about angels?"
John sighed and filled Bobby in on his impressions of Castiel, Angel of the Lord. Bobby was silent for a full minute, processing.
"What does Dean think of him?" he asked finally.
"Dean? Dean thinks he's found a new best friend." Inside the motel room, Dean leaned over and stole a piece of pepperoni off Castiel's slice of pizza. He was grinning, and looked his age for once. John's stomach gave a strange quiver.
"I've never known Dean to take well to a stranger before," Bobby remarked.
"No, that's usually Sam's raison d'être. But anyhow. He knows things about demons, Bobby. Demons. So what I need to know is-"
"If he knows what he's talking about." Bobby sighed, and John could hear something in the background - the desk chair squeaking, perhaps. "Yeah, sure. If he's an angel, better believe he knows about demons. Now I ain't ever met anyone who's ever met an angel, and I know you've never thought they were real, but… it's logical, ain't it? If there are demons, shouldn't there also be angels? I think your question shouldn't be 'is he an angel?' but 'what is an angel doing here?'"
John's eyes were drawn to the window again. Dean had slung an arm across Castiel's shoulders and both were leaning down, heads touching to look at something in Sam's hands. "I can't lose Dean." He blinked rapidly and cleared his throat. "I won't."
"You won't," Bobby agreed.
They talked about the case then, pushing John's fear aside for the time being. Bobby even had a good chuckle at the idea of John as a tweed jacket-wearing guidance counselor. All trace of mirth vanished as John reviewed the facts of the case with him: dead teenagers, missing teenagers, dead truckers, all somehow connected to Castiel's supposed demons - who had somehow managed to hide from an angel that afternoon during their search. John got the impression that was unusual.
"It'd have to be, if he can track a demon outside of Hell," John mused. "Maybe they're biding their time, waiting for us to leave."
"Hrm. You'll have to invest in tweed."
"Cheery thought." John was still looking in the window, and caught the second Castiel stiffened and rose, face blank and turned toward the corner of the room. He disappeared in a blink of John's eyes. "Shit!" John exclaimed. "I have to go, Bobby, call you later," he said hurriedly, already getting out of the car.
"Dad!" Sam yelled, flinging open the motel door as John reached it. "Dad, he just-"
"I saw, Sam. Where did he go, what did he say?"
Dean was still crouched on the floor, blinking at where Castiel had been standing.
"Dean?" John asked.
A whoosh, the slight but distinctive smell of ozone, and then Castiel was back. But not alone. A teenage boy, bleeding profusely from a cut on the head, stumbled out of his arms the moment they appeared and collapsed on the stained motel carpet.
"Cas, what the hell, man?" Dean said angrily, even as he moved closer to the boy, pulling off his own t-shirt to staunch the flow of blood.
"Is this one of the missing teens?" John barked, flipping open his cell and holding his thumb poised over the keys. He needed medical attention right away, but at the same time… This was really going to mess up their investigation. "Were there demons?" he asked instead.
"Please step aside, Dean, I can heal him." Castiel pushed at Dean's shoulders and knelt by the boy's head, ignoring John's questions.
"Dad, it's Jacob Marsh," Sam said, tugging on John's sleeve. "I looked the missing kids up in the school yearbook."
"Smart thinking," John told him. Sam positively beamed. "Now, did-"
John forgot what he was going to ask. As Castiel moved his hands over Jacob's face, the wound closed and the blood disappeared. Jacob Marsh took an unsteady breath and passed out.
"Wow," Sam breathed. John could admit to himself that he, too, was a bit impressed, though he wasn't going to say anything. Dean looked like he'd seen it before. In fact, Dean looked furious.
"What the hell were you thinking, rushing off alone like that?" he snarled, getting up in Castiel's face. "You don't go off on your own! You just agreed we'd do this together, you just said you needed my help! What gives? You could've gotten your ass killed!"
John almost laughed at the strong sense of déjà vu he got, hearing his own admonitions in his son's mouth, but Castiel frowned. "My ass was in no danger. It was just one demon, and he fled Jacob's body the moment he reappeared in the town. You would have slowed me down."
"I would have - excuse me? Who asked who for whose help?"
"Who's on first?" Sam muttered under his breath.
"All right, before this gets out of hand," John interrupted as Dean's face turned red. "Jacob Marsh." John pointed to the unconscious kid. "Is he going to remember anything?"
"Not with that head wound," Castiel said. "I believe that was its purpose, or else he would retain the memories of what the demon was doing while it wore his skin."
Sam shivered at that, and even John felt a bit uneasy. Damn demons.
"Okay, then we need to get him out of here."
Castiel immediately knelt to scoop Jacob up into his arms.
"Wait, wait, wait," John admonished. "Where are you taking him?"
"Home," Castiel said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and they both vanished, leaving the Winchesters with a sticky red stain on the carpet.
"Fuck!" Dean swore.
John raised an eyebrow.
"Sorry, sir," his son muttered. Dean picked up his bloody t-shirt and strode angrily to the bathroom sink to rinse it out. John watched him go with a frown.
"I guess that leaves me with carpet duty, huh?" Sam asked, wrinkling his nose at the stain.
"Hmm? Oh." Really, the carpet was littered with such stains. Even by Winchester standards, the motel was nothing to write home about. "Let's just pour a little bleach on it to disguise the smell and call it a night."
Sam gave him a grateful look and went to get the bleach out of the trunk. By the time they were done cleaning, and Dean's wet t-shirt was hanging in the shower, Castiel still hadn't come back. Sam went to bed, and Dean soon followed. John wrote a bit in his journal, double-checked the salt lines, and was about to turn off the lamp by his bed when Dean spoke up.
"Do you think he's mad at me?" he asked softly.
John looked over at him. He was lying flat on his back, staring at the ceiling, hands clasped above the blankets, jaw tight.
"He's got no right to be mad at you."
"Do you think he's in trouble?"
"He's an angel."
Dean took a deep breath. "Do you think he'll come back?"
"He'll definitely come back."
Of course he would. And he'd try to take Dean away. John's gaze lingered on Dean's face for a moment before turning out the light. At eighteen, Dean didn't ask for assurance from his old man for much anymore, but when he did, John could still see the toddler he'd been, and his heart ached for what was coming.
Part Two here.