Just Muse Me: 28.5.3 Dealing with a moment of heightened emotions
Her door crashed open loud enough to send her falling off the bed and crawling under it. Not reaching for the shotgun, crawling under the bed. If something was landing with that kind of force at her door she wanted a good look at what it was before she decided what to do. Maybe she could go out the window?
"Pamela!"
That was Remiel's voice. Pam wriggled out from under the bed, grabbed the shotgun and pounded down the stairs. If Remiel sounded like that it was trouble. Not to mention, Remiel. He was back? For good, for serious?
He was back. And he'd brought Cas with him.
That was the first thing she noticed, the two of them. The second thing she noticed was that Rem was either supporting or carrying Cas. And the third thing that she noticed was that Cas didn't have his shirt on. Or his coat, for that matter. Both were in tatters around his shoulders. It wasn't sexy, it was scary. Terrifying, considering the amount of blood that was seeping from his chest.
"Here..." Pamela set the shotgun down by the stairs. Took Cas by one arm, watching his head loll and his eyes roll so far back she could barely see the blue. "Shit... what happened?"
Together, they managed to carry him up the stairs. It was something more than awkward. In short bursts, Remiel told her as much as Castiel had told him. "Zachariah raised Adam to capture Dean Winchester. Adam was the bait. It failed. Castiel carved the banishing symbol on his chest and took out all of Zachariah's guards at once."
And, of course, since it was an angel banishing symbol it would banish Castiel too, and he wouldn't know what happened after that. "Great. You'd better..." Wait, no. Cas had carved those anti-angel-radar symbols on the boys, too. Double shit. "You'd better wait downstairs," she said finally, finishing peeling Cas's clothes off his upper body and it was definitely peeling. The blood was halfway to dry, tacky and clinging to the fabric. She didn't want to think about how much it would hurt if she'd done it while he was conscious. As it was, he seemed too tired to wake up, which was probably a good thing.
"Pamela..."
"Downstairs. Unless you have your angelic healing mojo."
Remiel looked pained. She did regret that, a little, but not much. "You know I do not."
"Downstairs, then. I'll handle this. And we'll talk in a bit."
The angel paused for a moment, then turned and thumped downstairs. Pamela spent a precious couple of moments just sitting by him, running her fingers through that messy hair, watching his energy coil and flicker and reassuring herself that he was still alive.
And then she grabbed the medicine kit from the bathroom, somewhat expanded since the Apocalypse had begun. Water to wash away the worst of the blood, then peroxide to clean the cuts. She had no idea if an angel could get an infection, but she damn well wasn't going to be the first one to find out. "Sorry, love," she whispered, wiping down the cuts with sure and steady motion. "Blood and mother, you did a number on yourself, didn't you." It was good, solid magic. It was also carved straight into his chest. He must have been desperate. And he didn't even wake up, either, which meant he must be exhausted. He twitched. Made little whimpering sounds, but he didn't wake up. She was as quick as she could manage.
She bandaged him up when she was done, gauze and medical tape, and tucked him into bed. As she went downstairs Rem followed her into the kitchen, shotgun in hand. Watched as she cleaned out the bowl of bloody bandages.
"Pamela..."
"Don't," she pointed a finger at him. "I'm upset, and I'm scared, and I'm really pissed off, and if you say just about anything right now I will yell at you, so just... don't."
Remiel's face creased and crinkled, but he didn't say anything. He waited while she scrubbed the bowl viciously, waited while she poured herself a tall glass of water and then a short glass of scotch and drank them both. Then another tall glass of water.
"You know..." She pointed a finger at him, then seemed to be at a loss for something to say. Remiel said nothing. Pamela dropped it. "Never mind."
"I helped as much as..."
"You could, I know, Rem, I know. But, seriously. Where have you been these past few days, huh? Cas needed you. He needed to have some kind of faith, some kind of hope that things were what he'd thought they were. Do you know what he went through up there, with the Winchesters and your family? With Dean falling apart the way he has been? Where the hell were you for your so-called brother when he needed you?" Her voice was spiraling higher, louder. Remiel looked somewhere between at her and down and didn't say a word.
"You were gone. You were nowhere to be found, the last ally he thought he had..."
"He had you."
Which stopped Pam in her tracks. Lips thinned, arms folded around herself as a shield against the sight of Castiel's ripped up chest, she looked down. "Yeah, he had me. Whole lot of good I did..."
"I will not argue with you," Remiel said, in tones that were as good as an argument anyway. "But he had you. He came here. And he found comfort here."
Pam didn't know what to say to that. "You sound like a Sarah McLachlan song."
They lapsed into silence, and she leaned up against the kitchen counter, the edge digging slightly into her hip. Took another big gulp of water, then very carefully put away the scotch. Too much was going around right now for her to trust herself with more than a glass of the stuff. Everything was grating on her nerves, every sound, every look Remiel gave her. Every creak and shift of the house upstairs, especially the upstairs sounds, where Cas was sleeping.
"Are you going to stick around this time?" she asked, acerbic, more biting than she wanted to be. She was on edge. Tired, and worried, and scared.
Remiel nodded; if he took offense to her tone at all he didn't show it. "I will stay. There is no-where else I should be."
"Damn right," Pamela muttered into her glass.
"Pamela!"
That was Remiel's voice. Pam wriggled out from under the bed, grabbed the shotgun and pounded down the stairs. If Remiel sounded like that it was trouble. Not to mention, Remiel. He was back? For good, for serious?
He was back. And he'd brought Cas with him.
That was the first thing she noticed, the two of them. The second thing she noticed was that Rem was either supporting or carrying Cas. And the third thing that she noticed was that Cas didn't have his shirt on. Or his coat, for that matter. Both were in tatters around his shoulders. It wasn't sexy, it was scary. Terrifying, considering the amount of blood that was seeping from his chest.
"Here..." Pamela set the shotgun down by the stairs. Took Cas by one arm, watching his head loll and his eyes roll so far back she could barely see the blue. "Shit... what happened?"
Together, they managed to carry him up the stairs. It was something more than awkward. In short bursts, Remiel told her as much as Castiel had told him. "Zachariah raised Adam to capture Dean Winchester. Adam was the bait. It failed. Castiel carved the banishing symbol on his chest and took out all of Zachariah's guards at once."
And, of course, since it was an angel banishing symbol it would banish Castiel too, and he wouldn't know what happened after that. "Great. You'd better..." Wait, no. Cas had carved those anti-angel-radar symbols on the boys, too. Double shit. "You'd better wait downstairs," she said finally, finishing peeling Cas's clothes off his upper body and it was definitely peeling. The blood was halfway to dry, tacky and clinging to the fabric. She didn't want to think about how much it would hurt if she'd done it while he was conscious. As it was, he seemed too tired to wake up, which was probably a good thing.
"Pamela..."
"Downstairs. Unless you have your angelic healing mojo."
Remiel looked pained. She did regret that, a little, but not much. "You know I do not."
"Downstairs, then. I'll handle this. And we'll talk in a bit."
The angel paused for a moment, then turned and thumped downstairs. Pamela spent a precious couple of moments just sitting by him, running her fingers through that messy hair, watching his energy coil and flicker and reassuring herself that he was still alive.
And then she grabbed the medicine kit from the bathroom, somewhat expanded since the Apocalypse had begun. Water to wash away the worst of the blood, then peroxide to clean the cuts. She had no idea if an angel could get an infection, but she damn well wasn't going to be the first one to find out. "Sorry, love," she whispered, wiping down the cuts with sure and steady motion. "Blood and mother, you did a number on yourself, didn't you." It was good, solid magic. It was also carved straight into his chest. He must have been desperate. And he didn't even wake up, either, which meant he must be exhausted. He twitched. Made little whimpering sounds, but he didn't wake up. She was as quick as she could manage.
She bandaged him up when she was done, gauze and medical tape, and tucked him into bed. As she went downstairs Rem followed her into the kitchen, shotgun in hand. Watched as she cleaned out the bowl of bloody bandages.
"Pamela..."
"Don't," she pointed a finger at him. "I'm upset, and I'm scared, and I'm really pissed off, and if you say just about anything right now I will yell at you, so just... don't."
Remiel's face creased and crinkled, but he didn't say anything. He waited while she scrubbed the bowl viciously, waited while she poured herself a tall glass of water and then a short glass of scotch and drank them both. Then another tall glass of water.
"You know..." She pointed a finger at him, then seemed to be at a loss for something to say. Remiel said nothing. Pamela dropped it. "Never mind."
"I helped as much as..."
"You could, I know, Rem, I know. But, seriously. Where have you been these past few days, huh? Cas needed you. He needed to have some kind of faith, some kind of hope that things were what he'd thought they were. Do you know what he went through up there, with the Winchesters and your family? With Dean falling apart the way he has been? Where the hell were you for your so-called brother when he needed you?" Her voice was spiraling higher, louder. Remiel looked somewhere between at her and down and didn't say a word.
"You were gone. You were nowhere to be found, the last ally he thought he had..."
"He had you."
Which stopped Pam in her tracks. Lips thinned, arms folded around herself as a shield against the sight of Castiel's ripped up chest, she looked down. "Yeah, he had me. Whole lot of good I did..."
"I will not argue with you," Remiel said, in tones that were as good as an argument anyway. "But he had you. He came here. And he found comfort here."
Pam didn't know what to say to that. "You sound like a Sarah McLachlan song."
They lapsed into silence, and she leaned up against the kitchen counter, the edge digging slightly into her hip. Took another big gulp of water, then very carefully put away the scotch. Too much was going around right now for her to trust herself with more than a glass of the stuff. Everything was grating on her nerves, every sound, every look Remiel gave her. Every creak and shift of the house upstairs, especially the upstairs sounds, where Cas was sleeping.
"Are you going to stick around this time?" she asked, acerbic, more biting than she wanted to be. She was on edge. Tired, and worried, and scared.
Remiel nodded; if he took offense to her tone at all he didn't show it. "I will stay. There is no-where else I should be."
"Damn right," Pamela muttered into her glass.