MNIC - Ch. 3: Please Allow Me to Introduce Myself
Title: My Name Is Castiel
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Word Count: 4100 (Running Total: 12000)
Summary: After escaping from Death's clutches yet again, Cas jumps right into the fight against the Leviathans. Post-7x10. "I am an angel of the Lord. Let me tell you my story. Let me tell you everything."
Chapter 3 - Please Allow Me to Introduce Myself
I sit on the bench that I had occupied a few months ago, in the town where the rise of Samhain took place.
So much has happened in so short a period of time.
As I watch the children playing in the playground, I think about what Dean said to me when we were here. If it weren’t for him and Sam, this place would be gone.
This much is true. Yet we are closer to the Apocalypse than ever before. The seals are still breaking, despite our best efforts, and I cannot understand why. Are we, the Host of Heaven, not strong enough to hold down the locks on our own cage? The demons may outnumber us, but we are more powerful than they. How is it that we are still losing the battle?
Deep down, a part of me thinks that something is going terribly wrong. And after what happened with Uriel… is it possible that other angels from other garrisons have turned as well? Could they be letting the seals break intentionally?
The possibility is frightening.
Even more disheartening is the fact that our one best hope has lost his faith. The knowledge of his role in bringing about the Apocalypse was more damaging to Dean than I had expected. I should have known better-I rebuilt him, reconstructed every inch of him. I know him.
I really should have known better.
I recall the pain in his eyes, pain that had near nothing to do with the physical beating he’d taken from Alastair. No, this was emotional. Something that I was not supposed to sympathize with. But I couldn’t stop myself. I still can’t stop myself. I wish there were a way for me to take his pain away, but there is nothing I am allowed to do for him.
I get to my feet and watch as a child launches himself off a swing and shouts excitedly to his friends, “I’m flying! I’m flying!”
I wonder if he would be as excited to fly if he knew the true nature of flying. I spread my wings and shift into another dimension. Upon landing, I walk through a maze of cubicles and enter an elevator, cloaked. The elevator is empty, but I do not show myself. I am not authorized to check on Dean, but I just want to see him-I will not interfere. I reach a room that says, “Dean Smith-Director, Sales & Marketing.”
After entering the room, I see Dean sitting at a desk. But he is not the Dean that I know-his hair is neatly parted on the side and gelled in place, and the clothing he wears is certainly different from anything I’ve ever seen him wear. And it irritates me, much more than it should. I’m itching to fix this, to bring back my Dean.
Then I freeze.
My Dean? I don’t even know where that came from.
I look at the man behind the chair, the stranger who’s wearing Dean’s face as he eats a salad, drinks from a protein shake, and looks over a set of spreadsheets.
Feeling disgusted, I turn away and take flight. I can only hope that Dean will come back soon.
As I return to Heaven, I get the sense that these thoughts should worry me much more than they actually do.
****************************************
Hell looks… well, mostly the same.
Crowley has kept that endless line of souls, but I do not sense him nearby. Instead of sneaking through silently, worrying about being seen, I clear my throat and let out my Voice, calling out one word.
“Crowley!”
The walls shake around me, and the souls waiting in line cry out in alarm, but they apparently cannot leave their positions.
Crowley doesn’t show himself, but neither do the hordes of demons that had attacked me the last time I ventured alone into Hell. When I close my eyes and search for my target, I find his quarters at the lowest level, near Lucifer’s cage. I dislike the idea of going back down there, but I need to speak to Crowley, and if he will not come to me, then I will go to him.
But before I can unfurl my wings, I feel the shifting of air that precedes his arrival.
“Well, hello there,” he says from behind me. “Are you lost? We don’t get many heavenly visitors these days.”
I don’t turn around to face him and speak with the voice of my modified vessel. “Hello, Crowley. I am honored that you would answer my call personally.”
I am not accustomed to the female voice that comes out of my mouth, but it is not unpleasant.
“Well I aim to please, and you did ask for me by name. So, what can I do for you?”
“Nothing’s changed at all for you, has it?”
A brief pause.
Then he says, “I’m sorry-have we met?”
I turn around and fix my eyes on him. “You tell me.”
He blinks a few times, clearly surprised. “Castiel? I thought you’d… well, I thought the Leviathans had turned you into lunch already.”
I don’t respond.
“What are you doing here? You’re clearly not God anymore-you can’t threaten me in my own playground.”
“No, but I thought we could help each other.”
His eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “Like the last time? Oh, I’d rather not have a repeat performance of that.”
I shake my head. “All I want from you is information. And a temporary truce. In return, I’ll take on the Leviathan problem.”
“You’ll be doing that anyway, won’t you?”
“It will go much faster with knowledge about the enemy.”
Crowley considers it for a moment. “You say you want information. Do you mean…”
“Send some demons out. Collect data on what the Leviathans are doing. I already have some knowledge of them, as they took my vessel for a short period of time.”
“You want me to gather information? Get your angel friends to do it for you.”
“There is a reason why they are angels and you are demons. They do not do well with reconnaissance.”
It should probably disturb me that I am referring to the angels, my brothers and sisters, as “they” rather than “we.” But I don’t identify with them so much anymore. I haven’t for a while.
A small smile spreads across the demon’s face. “So, what’s in it for me?”
“You want the Leviathans gone. I’ll make it happen.”
“I could turn you away, and you would try anyway. So I’ll ask this again: what’s in it for little ol’ Crowley?”
I glare at him, then grasp his neck and pin him up to the nearest wall. His attempt to throw me back nearly succeeds-we are in his territory, after all-but I unfurl my wings, holding my ground.
His eyes widen as he gasps. “You-your wings-”
“What’s in it for you, you ask. Help me, and I’ll let you live. Don’t, and I’ll smite you right here. I’m sure Meg would love to take your place. It’s your choice,” I say. My voice doesn’t sound as threatening as it did when I was male, but my statement seems to have the desired effect on Crowley.
“I’ll help-I’ll help!” he wheezes.
I pull my hand back, and he drops to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall.
“You might have gotten smaller, but you’ve gotten stronger,” Crowley huffs. “Tell me, why the change in appearance? Vying for that denim-clad brat’s attention, are you?”
“That does not concern you. We have an accord. If you betray me, I will kill you.”
“Yes, yes, I got that the first time.”
It still surprises me how quickly the demon can go from being terrified, on the brink of death, to bored and impatient.
“Goodbye, Crowley,” I say, turning away.
“Just one last thing.”
I turn back to look at him.
“Do the Winchesters even know you’ve returned?”
I may be better at lying than before, but I am still too transparent. It’d be pointless to attempt to hide the truth from this slippery demon.
“Ah,” Crowley says. “So you haven’t told them. Is that why you’ve transformed from an ugly duckling into a swan? In their eyes, at least. Personally, I thought the other meatsuit looked better on you.”
I squint at him.
“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You know exactly what I’m getting at, Cas.”
“I’m leaving. Do not anger me. I do not see any benefit for you in doing so.”
“Do you think they’ll accept your help? Even after you betrayed their trust?”
I glare at him for a long moment before clipping him in the head, hard, with one great wing. I’m still a little surprised by its size, but at the moment I’m glad for it.
Before he can get back up, I take off.
****************************************
Zachariah is furious. Fuming. He just returned from meeting with Raphael directly. If he’s angry, then Raphael must have given him a serious warning. That bodes well for the Winchesters-for Dean-but not so much for me.
My superior rounds on me, proverbial steam coming out of his ears, and I prepare myself for the tirade that’s sure to begin as soon as he collects himself enough to speak in a halfway-civilized manner. But instead of a rant, when Zachariah finally opens his mouth, it’s to ask a loaded question.
“You met with Dean Winchester just before this mess. What did you do?”
I frown at him. “I did not do anything. I could not interfere.” Then, reciting the words about prophets that I recently used on Dean, I say, “What the prophet has written can’t be unwritten. As he has seen it, so it shall come to pass.”
Zachariah glares at me. “The prophet was not supposed to be in the same room as Lilith. Dean Winchester could not have known of the prophet’s protection without having been informed.”
I just watch him calmly, not allowing him to stare me down.
“Castiel, what did you do?”
My eyes flash at him a bit as anger crosses through me. “My conscience is clear.”
“We aren’t supposed to have consciences, Castiel. If you interfered-”
“I did not do anything. I do not lie. You should know that after so many millennia of passing orders down to me.”
A dangerous gleam flickers in Zachariah’s eyes, but still I do not back down.
And the questions start sounding off in my head. What am I doing? When did Zachariah become an opponent, someone from whom I am now attempting to hide a white lie? But is it still a white lie if it caused as much trouble as it did for Raphael and, by extension, Zachariah?
I have difficulty telling what is wrong from what is just. I used to have such conviction.
But Uriel betrayed us and killed our kind in an attempt to bring on the Apocalypse. Dean chose to save a town of innocent people, but in the process, we lost a seal on Lucifer’s cage. Anna Fell and should have been taken or killed, yet Dean was so adamant that she be protected. And when Uriel turned against me, his partner for so many millennia, Anna was the one who appeared and delivered me.
Who is right? Whose side am I really on?
Yet even as these questions go through my head, some instinctive part of me knows the answer. It’s the part that was inexplicably drawn toward that pristine soul in the depths of Hell, the part of me that took extra care in removing each and every blemish that marked the receptacle for the pure soul in my protection.
I was made to serve God, yet I care so much for this single man. Perhaps that is what makes me different.
Then I realize that I have been staring blankly back at Zachariah for some time, but I don’t bother to change my expression. He’s started to look uncomfortable already, and I am fully capable of keeping our gazes locked for any length of time.
“This is your final warning,” Zachariah finally says. “If I discover anything fishy-anything at all-you will be disciplined. Understand?”
I nod once.
“Now get out of my sight.”
I am only too happy to oblige.
****************************************
When I arrive, hidden, at the motel room, Sam and Dean appear to be packing to leave.
“Are we gonna talk about this, Dean?”
“Talk about what?”
Sam sighs. “About last night. About your drinking. About Bobby and Cas.”
Dean looks at him. “Not talking about it. If you want to share feelings, go talk to a girl.”
The concern in Sam’s eyes morphs into anger, and I wonder whether it would be a bad idea to show myself now. Meanwhile, Dean finishes throwing things into his bag.
“Dean, look at me,” Sam says.
Dean strides toward the exit.
“Dean.”
Sam’s voice is louder this time, filled with barely contained anger, and Dean turns around to look at his brother.
“You are not the only one in pain here. I’ve also lost them. The world doesn’t revolve around you and your pain, despite what you might think.”
“Sammy-”
“No, just let me get this out. You have been a monumental pain in the ass for the last few weeks, even before we lost Bobby. I know this is about Cas, Dean. And I’m willing to try and help you through it, but… you’re going to have to talk about it if you want it to get better. Every time you try to ignore these things, you just end up with a wound that festers and, and gets worse and worse. I don’t want you exploding on me one day.”
Dean turns away again. “You done yet? We should get going.”
Sam heaves a sigh. “Fine. When your head implodes, don’t tell me I didn’t try.”
I manifest myself in front of the motel door before Dean can reach it, and he leaps backward with a surprised yelp. If I were in less control of my actions, I would be smiling in amusement.
“Hello, Dean, Sam,” I say.
“What the hell?” Dean says.
I notice that both brothers have drawn weapons-Dean has the demon knife, and Sam wields an angel blade. It takes me a moment to recognize that it’s my blade.
“Who are you?” Sam asks.
“My name is Camael. I am an angel of the Lord,” I reply.
Dean narrows his eyes at me. “No freaking way.”
I frown. “You have met my brothers and sisters before. Why do you not believe me?”
“Oh, are we supposed to believe that you’re an angel just because you said so?”
I look at them patiently. “I have no reason to lie to you. But I see that you will not trust me unless you test me,” I say. Then I spread my arms out to either side. “Do your worst.”
Dean looks at me with well-concealed unease, but I’ve known him long enough to see the indicators. His mouth is set in a hard line, and his jaw twitches slightly. But it’s not anger that’s forcing his jaw to clench-I can see in his eyes that he’s wary, doubtful, but not angry. For some reason, I find this observation comforting.
Then he’s standing by my arm, holding the demon knife, and I watch him expectantly.
“Stop staring at me,” he says.
“I apologize,” I reply.
Balthazar’s words echo in my mind, and I can’t help but wonder what Dean thinks, whether he’s recognized my eyes or not.
He wraps a hand around my wrist, holding on more tightly than necessary, as though he’s worried that I’m going to resist, and slides the knife across my flesh. It tingles, but the pain is dull, and I instantly make the wound fade away.
“Okay,” he says, releasing a shaky breath. “Sam.”
I frown. Are they really going to use the blade on me? That will actually injure me.
“We already know it’s not a demon,” Sam says. “And I doubt a Leviathan would be standing here for so long without attacking us-at least verbally, if not physically.”
Dean seems to realize just then that I could be a Leviathan, and he backpedals rapidly.
“I am not a Leviathan,” I say.
Dean snatches the blade-my blade-from Sam and comes toward me again.
“Dude, we can just use Borax on it-her,” Sam says. “If she’s really an angel, do you really think we should be hurting her?”
Dean ignores his brother and continues to approach me, this time seemingly trying to stare me down. I meet his eyes calmly. The only pair of eyes from which I’ve had to shy away is the one that is currently fixed on mine. But this time, I’m not weighed down by a guilty conscience, and I can return the stare evenly.
He lifts the blade and presses it to my chest, just above my sternum.
“Do you want to kill me, Dean?” I ask quietly.
Unbeknownst to him, I’ve unfurled my unwieldy wings and am prepared to shift out of this dimension if need be. But I can’t believe that he would truly try to kill me, even if he doesn’t know who I am yet. His eyes harden for a moment, still boring into mine, and it’s impossible that he hasn’t recognized my eyes yet.
“No,” he finally says.
He presses the blade downward just slightly, and I feel it go through the layers of clothing, nicking the skin of my vessel. I gasp, and Sam immediately steps forward, yanking Dean backwards.
“Hey-I wasn’t going to kill her!” Dean protests.
A thin ray of light from my Grace is shining from the small puncture wound, and I clasp a hand over it, resisting the urge to cry out. Angel blades burn.
“Are you satisfied now?” I ask tightly.
Dean nods begrudgingly but doesn’t put the blade down. “So you’re an angel. What are you doing here?”
“Yeah, we haven’t seen any angels since… well since-”
“Since Castiel died,” I finish for him as I heal the skin of my vessel. It was only a nick, not serious enough that I couldn’t fix it.
Dean flinches visibly at my words. “He’s really gone, then? He’s not just dicking around in Heaven?”
Anger flashes through me, and before I can control myself, I’m stepping closer to Dean. His grip tightens on the blade, and although I’m fairly certain that he won’t use it on me, I hate that he does not trust me. The feeling is irrational, yet unreasonably strong, and I cannot stop the words from leaving my mouth.
“Is that what you think of him? That he would willingly abandon you, force you to deal with the Leviathans without assistance? Do you really think so low of your own friend? Or has he already fallen so far in your eyes that he’s lost the right to be called a friend of yours?”
Dean blinks a few times. “Wow. You feel strongly about that, don’t you? Who was Cas to you?”
“My brother and friend,” I lie, finally reining myself in.
I have a difficult time looking away from Dean, but I manage it. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to have noticed.
Then Sam speaks. “Uh… Camael, was it?”
I nod.
“You didn’t answer our question. What are you doing here?”
I look at the tall man. Now that I’m in a smaller woman’s body, Sam looks larger than ever.
“I am here to offer assistance against the Leviathans,” I report.
“Oh. Great,” Sam says. “Do you know-”
“No, I know of no way to kill them. I do not know if it is possible for them to be killed by any of us-the only way for them to die, as far as I know, is for them to be killed-precisely, eaten-by others of their own kind.”
“Awesome,” Dean says.
I’d almost missed his sarcasm.
“What do you know about them, then?” Sam asks.
“I believe there may be a way to banish them back to Purgatory.”
“How do we do that?” Sam asks.
“I’m working on it,” I reply.
“Freakin’ fantastic. You got anything useful for us, feathers?” Dean says.
I turn to him, meeting his eyes, letting discontent show. “Dean. Are you going to be so openly antagonistic toward me simply because of what I am? You always referred to angels as ‘dicks’ because of their disdain for humanity. How is your own behavior any better than theirs?”
He stares at me. “How did you know-”
“Did you think that we angels never spoke to one another? I was a member of Castiel’s garrison and fought alongside him in the war against Raphael. He shared stories with me and some of the others.”
“Camael, have you seen Bobby?” Sam asks, clearly trying to change the subject.
“Bobby?” I say, pretending not to know to whom they are referring.
“Bobby Singer,” Dean clarifies.
After a pause, I say, “I imagine he would be in Heaven. But no, I have not seen him.”
Sam sighs. “Is there any way you can get in contact with him? He gave us a set of numbers and we still haven’t figured out what they stand for.”
I nod. “I can search for him if need be. Give me the numbers.”
“Four, five, four, eight, nine.”
“I will do my best.”
Sam smiles. “Thanks. Oh, and by the way, we found out that Leviathans are burned by Borax.”
“It’s like holy water, but for Leviathans,” Dean adds.
“I am aware,” I say. “Are you aware that removing their heads will temporarily incapacitate them?”
Sam nods. “Bobby figured that out for us. Apparently we have to keep the head and body apart, or they’ll just reattach and come back to life again.”
“Yes. Regeneration is a simple trick for them. They are older than any of the angels.” I pause for a moment. Then I say, “I wanted to stop here and tell you that Heaven has not abandoned you. You two made many sacrifices, and we know how much-”
“Cut the crap, angel. We don’t need your pity,” Dean interrupts.
“My name is Camael. And were you not the one who called for our assistance last night? Do not scorn us. I do not need to be here.”
Dean’s cheeks flush slightly, but he doesn’t respond. I stretch my wings out-invisible to the brothers-and shift into the other dimension.
“Good job, Dean,” Sam says.
“What?”
“An angel finally shows her face to help, and you immediately manage to piss her off. Can’t you just keep your damn mouth shut?”
“When have you ever known me to keep my mouth shut, Sammy?”
Sam just sighs wearily. “Dean, if she shows up again, can you not piss her off? We could use her help. We don’t have Cas or Bobby anymore, so-”
“Fine, fine, I’ll be civil,” Dean grumbles. “Now let’s go. We’ve wasted plenty of time here already.”
They leave their motel room, and I follow them silently to the car, realizing that this is not Dean’s baby. What happened to it-her?
“Sam…” Dean says as they load the trunk. His brow is furrowed, and I wonder what’s on his mind. “Do you think angels are all related to each other equally, or do you think some are more closely related than others?”
Sam closes the trunk as Dean circles around to the driver’s side. “You noticed, too?” Sam asks as he gets into the passenger seat.
I shift into the backseat of the car to continue listening to the conversation.
“It wasn’t just me, then,” Dean says.
Sam nods. “Her eyes looked just like Cas’s. And she even dresses like him-that coat is the same color. I was wondering whether you would bring that up or not.”
“Well, what do you think?”
Sam shrugs. “Um, I don’t know, Dean. She did talk like she was close to him. Why don’t you just ask her, next time?”
Dean shifts uncomfortably and starts the car. “I’ll think about it.”
As the car pulls out of its parking space, I depart, this time heading up.
I have someone to find.
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Word Count: 4100 (Running Total: 12000)
Summary: After escaping from Death's clutches yet again, Cas jumps right into the fight against the Leviathans. Post-7x10. "I am an angel of the Lord. Let me tell you my story. Let me tell you everything."
Chapter 3 - Please Allow Me to Introduce Myself
I sit on the bench that I had occupied a few months ago, in the town where the rise of Samhain took place.
So much has happened in so short a period of time.
As I watch the children playing in the playground, I think about what Dean said to me when we were here. If it weren’t for him and Sam, this place would be gone.
This much is true. Yet we are closer to the Apocalypse than ever before. The seals are still breaking, despite our best efforts, and I cannot understand why. Are we, the Host of Heaven, not strong enough to hold down the locks on our own cage? The demons may outnumber us, but we are more powerful than they. How is it that we are still losing the battle?
Deep down, a part of me thinks that something is going terribly wrong. And after what happened with Uriel… is it possible that other angels from other garrisons have turned as well? Could they be letting the seals break intentionally?
The possibility is frightening.
Even more disheartening is the fact that our one best hope has lost his faith. The knowledge of his role in bringing about the Apocalypse was more damaging to Dean than I had expected. I should have known better-I rebuilt him, reconstructed every inch of him. I know him.
I really should have known better.
I recall the pain in his eyes, pain that had near nothing to do with the physical beating he’d taken from Alastair. No, this was emotional. Something that I was not supposed to sympathize with. But I couldn’t stop myself. I still can’t stop myself. I wish there were a way for me to take his pain away, but there is nothing I am allowed to do for him.
I get to my feet and watch as a child launches himself off a swing and shouts excitedly to his friends, “I’m flying! I’m flying!”
I wonder if he would be as excited to fly if he knew the true nature of flying. I spread my wings and shift into another dimension. Upon landing, I walk through a maze of cubicles and enter an elevator, cloaked. The elevator is empty, but I do not show myself. I am not authorized to check on Dean, but I just want to see him-I will not interfere. I reach a room that says, “Dean Smith-Director, Sales & Marketing.”
After entering the room, I see Dean sitting at a desk. But he is not the Dean that I know-his hair is neatly parted on the side and gelled in place, and the clothing he wears is certainly different from anything I’ve ever seen him wear. And it irritates me, much more than it should. I’m itching to fix this, to bring back my Dean.
Then I freeze.
My Dean? I don’t even know where that came from.
I look at the man behind the chair, the stranger who’s wearing Dean’s face as he eats a salad, drinks from a protein shake, and looks over a set of spreadsheets.
Feeling disgusted, I turn away and take flight. I can only hope that Dean will come back soon.
As I return to Heaven, I get the sense that these thoughts should worry me much more than they actually do.
****************************************
Hell looks… well, mostly the same.
Crowley has kept that endless line of souls, but I do not sense him nearby. Instead of sneaking through silently, worrying about being seen, I clear my throat and let out my Voice, calling out one word.
“Crowley!”
The walls shake around me, and the souls waiting in line cry out in alarm, but they apparently cannot leave their positions.
Crowley doesn’t show himself, but neither do the hordes of demons that had attacked me the last time I ventured alone into Hell. When I close my eyes and search for my target, I find his quarters at the lowest level, near Lucifer’s cage. I dislike the idea of going back down there, but I need to speak to Crowley, and if he will not come to me, then I will go to him.
But before I can unfurl my wings, I feel the shifting of air that precedes his arrival.
“Well, hello there,” he says from behind me. “Are you lost? We don’t get many heavenly visitors these days.”
I don’t turn around to face him and speak with the voice of my modified vessel. “Hello, Crowley. I am honored that you would answer my call personally.”
I am not accustomed to the female voice that comes out of my mouth, but it is not unpleasant.
“Well I aim to please, and you did ask for me by name. So, what can I do for you?”
“Nothing’s changed at all for you, has it?”
A brief pause.
Then he says, “I’m sorry-have we met?”
I turn around and fix my eyes on him. “You tell me.”
He blinks a few times, clearly surprised. “Castiel? I thought you’d… well, I thought the Leviathans had turned you into lunch already.”
I don’t respond.
“What are you doing here? You’re clearly not God anymore-you can’t threaten me in my own playground.”
“No, but I thought we could help each other.”
His eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “Like the last time? Oh, I’d rather not have a repeat performance of that.”
I shake my head. “All I want from you is information. And a temporary truce. In return, I’ll take on the Leviathan problem.”
“You’ll be doing that anyway, won’t you?”
“It will go much faster with knowledge about the enemy.”
Crowley considers it for a moment. “You say you want information. Do you mean…”
“Send some demons out. Collect data on what the Leviathans are doing. I already have some knowledge of them, as they took my vessel for a short period of time.”
“You want me to gather information? Get your angel friends to do it for you.”
“There is a reason why they are angels and you are demons. They do not do well with reconnaissance.”
It should probably disturb me that I am referring to the angels, my brothers and sisters, as “they” rather than “we.” But I don’t identify with them so much anymore. I haven’t for a while.
A small smile spreads across the demon’s face. “So, what’s in it for me?”
“You want the Leviathans gone. I’ll make it happen.”
“I could turn you away, and you would try anyway. So I’ll ask this again: what’s in it for little ol’ Crowley?”
I glare at him, then grasp his neck and pin him up to the nearest wall. His attempt to throw me back nearly succeeds-we are in his territory, after all-but I unfurl my wings, holding my ground.
His eyes widen as he gasps. “You-your wings-”
“What’s in it for you, you ask. Help me, and I’ll let you live. Don’t, and I’ll smite you right here. I’m sure Meg would love to take your place. It’s your choice,” I say. My voice doesn’t sound as threatening as it did when I was male, but my statement seems to have the desired effect on Crowley.
“I’ll help-I’ll help!” he wheezes.
I pull my hand back, and he drops to his feet, leaning heavily against the wall.
“You might have gotten smaller, but you’ve gotten stronger,” Crowley huffs. “Tell me, why the change in appearance? Vying for that denim-clad brat’s attention, are you?”
“That does not concern you. We have an accord. If you betray me, I will kill you.”
“Yes, yes, I got that the first time.”
It still surprises me how quickly the demon can go from being terrified, on the brink of death, to bored and impatient.
“Goodbye, Crowley,” I say, turning away.
“Just one last thing.”
I turn back to look at him.
“Do the Winchesters even know you’ve returned?”
I may be better at lying than before, but I am still too transparent. It’d be pointless to attempt to hide the truth from this slippery demon.
“Ah,” Crowley says. “So you haven’t told them. Is that why you’ve transformed from an ugly duckling into a swan? In their eyes, at least. Personally, I thought the other meatsuit looked better on you.”
I squint at him.
“Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. You know exactly what I’m getting at, Cas.”
“I’m leaving. Do not anger me. I do not see any benefit for you in doing so.”
“Do you think they’ll accept your help? Even after you betrayed their trust?”
I glare at him for a long moment before clipping him in the head, hard, with one great wing. I’m still a little surprised by its size, but at the moment I’m glad for it.
Before he can get back up, I take off.
****************************************
Zachariah is furious. Fuming. He just returned from meeting with Raphael directly. If he’s angry, then Raphael must have given him a serious warning. That bodes well for the Winchesters-for Dean-but not so much for me.
My superior rounds on me, proverbial steam coming out of his ears, and I prepare myself for the tirade that’s sure to begin as soon as he collects himself enough to speak in a halfway-civilized manner. But instead of a rant, when Zachariah finally opens his mouth, it’s to ask a loaded question.
“You met with Dean Winchester just before this mess. What did you do?”
I frown at him. “I did not do anything. I could not interfere.” Then, reciting the words about prophets that I recently used on Dean, I say, “What the prophet has written can’t be unwritten. As he has seen it, so it shall come to pass.”
Zachariah glares at me. “The prophet was not supposed to be in the same room as Lilith. Dean Winchester could not have known of the prophet’s protection without having been informed.”
I just watch him calmly, not allowing him to stare me down.
“Castiel, what did you do?”
My eyes flash at him a bit as anger crosses through me. “My conscience is clear.”
“We aren’t supposed to have consciences, Castiel. If you interfered-”
“I did not do anything. I do not lie. You should know that after so many millennia of passing orders down to me.”
A dangerous gleam flickers in Zachariah’s eyes, but still I do not back down.
And the questions start sounding off in my head. What am I doing? When did Zachariah become an opponent, someone from whom I am now attempting to hide a white lie? But is it still a white lie if it caused as much trouble as it did for Raphael and, by extension, Zachariah?
I have difficulty telling what is wrong from what is just. I used to have such conviction.
But Uriel betrayed us and killed our kind in an attempt to bring on the Apocalypse. Dean chose to save a town of innocent people, but in the process, we lost a seal on Lucifer’s cage. Anna Fell and should have been taken or killed, yet Dean was so adamant that she be protected. And when Uriel turned against me, his partner for so many millennia, Anna was the one who appeared and delivered me.
Who is right? Whose side am I really on?
Yet even as these questions go through my head, some instinctive part of me knows the answer. It’s the part that was inexplicably drawn toward that pristine soul in the depths of Hell, the part of me that took extra care in removing each and every blemish that marked the receptacle for the pure soul in my protection.
I was made to serve God, yet I care so much for this single man. Perhaps that is what makes me different.
Then I realize that I have been staring blankly back at Zachariah for some time, but I don’t bother to change my expression. He’s started to look uncomfortable already, and I am fully capable of keeping our gazes locked for any length of time.
“This is your final warning,” Zachariah finally says. “If I discover anything fishy-anything at all-you will be disciplined. Understand?”
I nod once.
“Now get out of my sight.”
I am only too happy to oblige.
****************************************
When I arrive, hidden, at the motel room, Sam and Dean appear to be packing to leave.
“Are we gonna talk about this, Dean?”
“Talk about what?”
Sam sighs. “About last night. About your drinking. About Bobby and Cas.”
Dean looks at him. “Not talking about it. If you want to share feelings, go talk to a girl.”
The concern in Sam’s eyes morphs into anger, and I wonder whether it would be a bad idea to show myself now. Meanwhile, Dean finishes throwing things into his bag.
“Dean, look at me,” Sam says.
Dean strides toward the exit.
“Dean.”
Sam’s voice is louder this time, filled with barely contained anger, and Dean turns around to look at his brother.
“You are not the only one in pain here. I’ve also lost them. The world doesn’t revolve around you and your pain, despite what you might think.”
“Sammy-”
“No, just let me get this out. You have been a monumental pain in the ass for the last few weeks, even before we lost Bobby. I know this is about Cas, Dean. And I’m willing to try and help you through it, but… you’re going to have to talk about it if you want it to get better. Every time you try to ignore these things, you just end up with a wound that festers and, and gets worse and worse. I don’t want you exploding on me one day.”
Dean turns away again. “You done yet? We should get going.”
Sam heaves a sigh. “Fine. When your head implodes, don’t tell me I didn’t try.”
I manifest myself in front of the motel door before Dean can reach it, and he leaps backward with a surprised yelp. If I were in less control of my actions, I would be smiling in amusement.
“Hello, Dean, Sam,” I say.
“What the hell?” Dean says.
I notice that both brothers have drawn weapons-Dean has the demon knife, and Sam wields an angel blade. It takes me a moment to recognize that it’s my blade.
“Who are you?” Sam asks.
“My name is Camael. I am an angel of the Lord,” I reply.
Dean narrows his eyes at me. “No freaking way.”
I frown. “You have met my brothers and sisters before. Why do you not believe me?”
“Oh, are we supposed to believe that you’re an angel just because you said so?”
I look at them patiently. “I have no reason to lie to you. But I see that you will not trust me unless you test me,” I say. Then I spread my arms out to either side. “Do your worst.”
Dean looks at me with well-concealed unease, but I’ve known him long enough to see the indicators. His mouth is set in a hard line, and his jaw twitches slightly. But it’s not anger that’s forcing his jaw to clench-I can see in his eyes that he’s wary, doubtful, but not angry. For some reason, I find this observation comforting.
Then he’s standing by my arm, holding the demon knife, and I watch him expectantly.
“Stop staring at me,” he says.
“I apologize,” I reply.
Balthazar’s words echo in my mind, and I can’t help but wonder what Dean thinks, whether he’s recognized my eyes or not.
He wraps a hand around my wrist, holding on more tightly than necessary, as though he’s worried that I’m going to resist, and slides the knife across my flesh. It tingles, but the pain is dull, and I instantly make the wound fade away.
“Okay,” he says, releasing a shaky breath. “Sam.”
I frown. Are they really going to use the blade on me? That will actually injure me.
“We already know it’s not a demon,” Sam says. “And I doubt a Leviathan would be standing here for so long without attacking us-at least verbally, if not physically.”
Dean seems to realize just then that I could be a Leviathan, and he backpedals rapidly.
“I am not a Leviathan,” I say.
Dean snatches the blade-my blade-from Sam and comes toward me again.
“Dude, we can just use Borax on it-her,” Sam says. “If she’s really an angel, do you really think we should be hurting her?”
Dean ignores his brother and continues to approach me, this time seemingly trying to stare me down. I meet his eyes calmly. The only pair of eyes from which I’ve had to shy away is the one that is currently fixed on mine. But this time, I’m not weighed down by a guilty conscience, and I can return the stare evenly.
He lifts the blade and presses it to my chest, just above my sternum.
“Do you want to kill me, Dean?” I ask quietly.
Unbeknownst to him, I’ve unfurled my unwieldy wings and am prepared to shift out of this dimension if need be. But I can’t believe that he would truly try to kill me, even if he doesn’t know who I am yet. His eyes harden for a moment, still boring into mine, and it’s impossible that he hasn’t recognized my eyes yet.
“No,” he finally says.
He presses the blade downward just slightly, and I feel it go through the layers of clothing, nicking the skin of my vessel. I gasp, and Sam immediately steps forward, yanking Dean backwards.
“Hey-I wasn’t going to kill her!” Dean protests.
A thin ray of light from my Grace is shining from the small puncture wound, and I clasp a hand over it, resisting the urge to cry out. Angel blades burn.
“Are you satisfied now?” I ask tightly.
Dean nods begrudgingly but doesn’t put the blade down. “So you’re an angel. What are you doing here?”
“Yeah, we haven’t seen any angels since… well since-”
“Since Castiel died,” I finish for him as I heal the skin of my vessel. It was only a nick, not serious enough that I couldn’t fix it.
Dean flinches visibly at my words. “He’s really gone, then? He’s not just dicking around in Heaven?”
Anger flashes through me, and before I can control myself, I’m stepping closer to Dean. His grip tightens on the blade, and although I’m fairly certain that he won’t use it on me, I hate that he does not trust me. The feeling is irrational, yet unreasonably strong, and I cannot stop the words from leaving my mouth.
“Is that what you think of him? That he would willingly abandon you, force you to deal with the Leviathans without assistance? Do you really think so low of your own friend? Or has he already fallen so far in your eyes that he’s lost the right to be called a friend of yours?”
Dean blinks a few times. “Wow. You feel strongly about that, don’t you? Who was Cas to you?”
“My brother and friend,” I lie, finally reining myself in.
I have a difficult time looking away from Dean, but I manage it. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to have noticed.
Then Sam speaks. “Uh… Camael, was it?”
I nod.
“You didn’t answer our question. What are you doing here?”
I look at the tall man. Now that I’m in a smaller woman’s body, Sam looks larger than ever.
“I am here to offer assistance against the Leviathans,” I report.
“Oh. Great,” Sam says. “Do you know-”
“No, I know of no way to kill them. I do not know if it is possible for them to be killed by any of us-the only way for them to die, as far as I know, is for them to be killed-precisely, eaten-by others of their own kind.”
“Awesome,” Dean says.
I’d almost missed his sarcasm.
“What do you know about them, then?” Sam asks.
“I believe there may be a way to banish them back to Purgatory.”
“How do we do that?” Sam asks.
“I’m working on it,” I reply.
“Freakin’ fantastic. You got anything useful for us, feathers?” Dean says.
I turn to him, meeting his eyes, letting discontent show. “Dean. Are you going to be so openly antagonistic toward me simply because of what I am? You always referred to angels as ‘dicks’ because of their disdain for humanity. How is your own behavior any better than theirs?”
He stares at me. “How did you know-”
“Did you think that we angels never spoke to one another? I was a member of Castiel’s garrison and fought alongside him in the war against Raphael. He shared stories with me and some of the others.”
“Camael, have you seen Bobby?” Sam asks, clearly trying to change the subject.
“Bobby?” I say, pretending not to know to whom they are referring.
“Bobby Singer,” Dean clarifies.
After a pause, I say, “I imagine he would be in Heaven. But no, I have not seen him.”
Sam sighs. “Is there any way you can get in contact with him? He gave us a set of numbers and we still haven’t figured out what they stand for.”
I nod. “I can search for him if need be. Give me the numbers.”
“Four, five, four, eight, nine.”
“I will do my best.”
Sam smiles. “Thanks. Oh, and by the way, we found out that Leviathans are burned by Borax.”
“It’s like holy water, but for Leviathans,” Dean adds.
“I am aware,” I say. “Are you aware that removing their heads will temporarily incapacitate them?”
Sam nods. “Bobby figured that out for us. Apparently we have to keep the head and body apart, or they’ll just reattach and come back to life again.”
“Yes. Regeneration is a simple trick for them. They are older than any of the angels.” I pause for a moment. Then I say, “I wanted to stop here and tell you that Heaven has not abandoned you. You two made many sacrifices, and we know how much-”
“Cut the crap, angel. We don’t need your pity,” Dean interrupts.
“My name is Camael. And were you not the one who called for our assistance last night? Do not scorn us. I do not need to be here.”
Dean’s cheeks flush slightly, but he doesn’t respond. I stretch my wings out-invisible to the brothers-and shift into the other dimension.
“Good job, Dean,” Sam says.
“What?”
“An angel finally shows her face to help, and you immediately manage to piss her off. Can’t you just keep your damn mouth shut?”
“When have you ever known me to keep my mouth shut, Sammy?”
Sam just sighs wearily. “Dean, if she shows up again, can you not piss her off? We could use her help. We don’t have Cas or Bobby anymore, so-”
“Fine, fine, I’ll be civil,” Dean grumbles. “Now let’s go. We’ve wasted plenty of time here already.”
They leave their motel room, and I follow them silently to the car, realizing that this is not Dean’s baby. What happened to it-her?
“Sam…” Dean says as they load the trunk. His brow is furrowed, and I wonder what’s on his mind. “Do you think angels are all related to each other equally, or do you think some are more closely related than others?”
Sam closes the trunk as Dean circles around to the driver’s side. “You noticed, too?” Sam asks as he gets into the passenger seat.
I shift into the backseat of the car to continue listening to the conversation.
“It wasn’t just me, then,” Dean says.
Sam nods. “Her eyes looked just like Cas’s. And she even dresses like him-that coat is the same color. I was wondering whether you would bring that up or not.”
“Well, what do you think?”
Sam shrugs. “Um, I don’t know, Dean. She did talk like she was close to him. Why don’t you just ask her, next time?”
Dean shifts uncomfortably and starts the car. “I’ll think about it.”
As the car pulls out of its parking space, I depart, this time heading up.
I have someone to find.