Supernatural: Burn so brightly: Chapter 6/8
Title: Burn so brightly
Author: Judin
Rating: R
Genre: Angst, romance, age-regression.
Pairing/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Sam, Bobby, and several surprises.
Spoilers: S1-S6. Goes AU post-S6.
Warnings: Violence.
Chapter specific summary: Zachariah looked decidedly unimpressed.
(As did my beta when she read this.)
Author's notes: It's here! And ... it's honestly far from my best work, but it's the best I can do for this particular chapter. The boys needed a breather, since the last chapter was so very chatty and plotty, and the next one will be ... wait, I'm not telling you that. Anyway ...
More fanart! I'm just ... I don't even ... What? IT'S SO CUTE! *dead*
Chapter 1
Chapter 2a and 2b
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
They had pie. Dean couldn’t praise Bobby’s cooking enough, and ate twice as much pie as everyone else, but that was okay. After a day of too many words and too many emotions, it was a relief to turn on the TV and drown in mindless entertainment for a while.
The first time Sam yawned, Castiel disappeared. After a moment of alarm, they found him behind the sofa.
“No bed time!” he yelled up at them, suddenly obstinate.
“We can watch more TV tomorrow,” Dean said. “Come out of there.”
“No!”
Sam, Dean and Bobby looked at each other helplessly.
“Well, it’s not unexpected,” Bobby said, peering into the space where a pair of blue eyes were glaring up at them from inside a quivering mass of dark feathers. “I wouldn’t want to sleep either after a dream like that.”
Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “Then I’ll stay up with him. Sammy can sleep upstairs for once.”
Sam frowned, even though a night’s sleep in a proper bed sounded amazing. “He might be able to stay awake all night, but I don’t know that you will.”
Dean barked a laugh. “We are the kings of all-nighters. I’ll be fine.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “Come wake me when you start nodding off. We can take turns.”
“Okay.” Dean reached both hands down to Castiel. “Did you hear that, featherhead? Now come help me make some coffee. We can watch cartoons until we go cross-eyed.”
Two chubby arms appeared from out of the feathers, and Castiel let Dean haul him up.
Castiel’s wings and hair were a mess from being squashed behind the couch, and he looked guarded and a little ashamed. Dean just smiled at him. “Say goodnight to Sam and Bobby.”
Castiel wiggled out of Dean’s arms and onto the sofa, to give first Bobby and then Sam a hug. Sam let himself linger for a moment with Castiel’s silky-soft cheek against his own. The angel’s body was so small.
Somehow, today’s crisis had given Sam a good kick forwards on the road to true forgiveness. What retribution of his could have caused more harm than Castiel was causing himself with his guilt? And now that he had what amounted to the justice he had wished for, Sam found it tasted bad.
Dean carried Castiel into the kitchen in search of caffeine, leaving Sam and Bobby to shuffle off to their beds.
“Can I have coffee?” Castiel said in the kitchen.
“If I give you coffee, will you stop trying to find out where we hid the beer?” Dean replied.
Sam followed Bobby up the stairs, his bag hanging over his shoulder. A little while later, he was in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. Downstairs, the TV was on again. Sam spit into the sink and rinsed his mouth, and when he looked up, Bobby was standing outside the open door.
“I figured Dean needed some time alone, but I didn’t know what it was about,” the old man confessed, voice kept low to avoid being heard below. “And then you go after him and come back with your head hanging. So what did he tell you?”
Sam shrugged. “That after this is over, we might not see Cas again. Not until we die.”
“I see,” Bobby replied after a moment.
Sam wiped his mouth and hands and stepped out of the bathroom. “Night, Bobby.”
“Goodnight, son.”
Sam went to bed with Bobby’s melancholy half-smile as comfort.
Thanks to the superior comfort of a proper bed, he woke feeling much better the next morning. Except he was supposed to have been woken up by Dean sometime in the night. Sam sighed, got out of bed and pulled his pants on before tiptoeing downstairs, avoiding the creaky step on the way down.
Dean lay sprawled on the sofa, fast asleep and snoring. Castiel was trying to stealthily manoeuvre a blanket over him, but didn't have the reach to do more than lift and throw the same corner at him over and over. Sam came up behind the angel, took hold of the blanket and spread it out over Dean.
“Good morning,” he whispered.
Castiel looked up at him, tipping his head way back. “Hello, Sam.”
“Has Dean been asleep long?”
“No.”
Considering Castiel's ability to do literally nothing for hours, Sam wasn’t sure how accurately the angel measured time, but he let it go. He had caught sight of a piece of paper lying mostly hidden underneath a bookshelf. He pulled it out and discovered it to be Castiel’s very first drawing; a smiling yellow dinosaur that Sam vaguely remembered having seen adorning cups, pacifiers, rattles and other things at the mall where they’d been shopping. A logo, almost perfectly replicated.
“Look what I found, Cas,” he said absentmindedly. Something was bothering him about the drawing. It felt significant somehow.
Castiel tore himself from staring adoringly at Dean’s drooling face, but when he saw the drawing he let out a little gasp and ran into the kitchen. Sam followed, unsure of whether to be alarmed or not. There were crayons scattered all over the kitchen table, and the sketch book lay open. Castiel jumped up so he was hanging over the side of the table, grabbed the sketch book and slid back to the floor. Then he ran to the nearest cupboard, practically threw the sketch book inside, shut the door and turned around to look innocently up at Sam.
But Sam had already gotten a glimpse of the latest masterpiece, and it had made him realise what the first drawing had been trying to tell him. “What were you drawing, Cas? Don’t I get to see?” he asked, heart pounding.
Castiel's wings spread out in a rush, covering the cupboard, and he looked at Sam with wide eyes as if to say “I have no idea what you're talking about”. Sam raised an eyebrow at him, and the innocent look became a little strained.
“Look, I promise I won't tell Dean,” Sam said, crouching down. “But I think it's kind of important that I take a look at your drawings.”
Castiel sighed.
Sam put up a puppy-eyed look of his own. “Please?”
Castiel twisted his upper body back and forth, trying to hold out, but in the end he gave up with a scowl, folding in his wings and stepping aside with his arms crossed over his chest.
Sam retrieved the sketch book from the cupboard and sat down at the kitchen table, placing the old drawing next to the new. After a second, Castiel followed him, standing on his tip toes in order to see what Sam was doing, so Sam lifted the angel up and put him down on his lap. The last sketch, in black crayon, was a drawing of Dean, fast asleep. The lines weren't exactly steady, and the proportions were a bit off, but the drawing nonetheless showed talent far beyond that of a two-year-old; Dean was immediately recognisable.
“You're good,” Sam said, and Castiel squirmed, hands pushed down between his knees and face growing pink.
Sam closed the book and opened it again on the very first page. At the top of the book was the jagged line where the page with the dinosaur had been torn out. The contrast between that first drawing and the next few pages couldn't have been greater. It began with numerous sketches in black crayon, all of the same structure, simplistic, but recognisable as a church. Slowly the images became more detailed, more colourful, seemingly more skilfully rendered, but Sam knew better now. Castiel hadn’t improved; he was already the perfect imitator, rather it was the motif which had become slowly clearer to the artist. Sam conjectured that while Castiel’s grace was actively fighting the poison, the hallucinations had probably been brief and hard to recall in the morning.
“Why did you draw these?” Sam asked.
Castiel looked up at Sam and pointed at his own head.
“Because you were dreaming about looking down on St. Mary’s.” The drawing looking nothing like St. Mary’s, but then Dean had said as much yesterday, after his brief mind-meld with Cas. What we have never seen, our minds cannot accurately reproduce in dreams.
Castiel nodded slowly, looking like he was ready to run if the conversation got any more uncomfortable. Sam held him a little closer.
“But why draw it? Why didn’t you tell us about the dreams?”
“I didn’t understand,” Castiel said, his voice so clear, for a moment he didn’t sound like a child at all, though of course that had been the very problem. Over and over he had sketched out the increasingly detailed vision that repeated itself every night, in an attempt to comprehend, but the tools he needed to make the connections had been locked away by God. Even the logic that would have made him tell Sam, Dean and Bobby what he was experiencing hadn’t been available.
Sam continued to turn the pages, and Castiel began to grow restless and uncomfortable. In the end he climbed down from Sam's lap and ran back into the living room to sit down with his back against the sofa. Sam let him go. One of Dean's arms had fallen over the edge, hand hanging limply, and Castiel leaned his forehead against it very carefully.
When Sam finally closed the book and looked up, Dean had opened his eyes and was running his fingertips through Castiel’s hair. “Looks like I fell asleep,” he said, and gently tweaked Castiel's nose. “You shouldn't have let me, Cas.”
Castiel bumped his head against Dean's hand and didn't say anything.
Dean stretched luxuriously, groaning.
“Dean,” Sam called softly through the wide-open door.
Dean looked up and found him. “Hey. I’m surprised you manage to stand upright after sleeping so long on this couch. We need to get you a mattress.”
“Dean ... I think I know who poisoned Cas.”
Dean sat up, immediately awake.
Sam sighed. “Cas, will you go wake Bobby? Tell him we’re making breakfast.”
Cas looked hopeful. “Pancakes?”
“Sure, Cas, we’ll make pancakes.”
Bobby took his time, so when he finally came wandering downstairs, it was to find a big stack of pancakes waiting for him.
He breathed deeply and smiled. “When I get old and helpless, I'd like to hire you two to cook and clean for me.”
“And me!” Castiel cried. “I helped.”
“S'true,” Dean added, popping a stray piece of pancake into his mouth. “Cas set the table.” The Winchesters had decided not to mention the two broken plates and the chipped mug.
Bobby gave Cas a pat on the head when he passed the angel to get to his chair, and Castiel nodded in satisfaction.
They ate in silence at first, until Bobby was thoroughly convinced that something was wrong and called them on it.
Dean was moodily stabbing his pancakes with his fork. “Sam thinks he’s got a lead on who poisoned Cas, but he won’t say.”
“I’m still trying to work it out in my head,” Sam said in apology.
“You can work it out out loud, can’t you?” Bobby asked.
Sam sat back in his chair with another sigh before closing his eyes and folding his hands. “Hey, Gabriel, we figured out what happened to Cas. Wanna come down?”
Seconds ticked by, a full minute passed, and no Gabriel. “We have pancakes,” Sam added on his second try, but there was no response.
“Guess he’s busy,” Bobby said. “Now share.”
Sam grabbed the sketchbook from the counter. Earlier, he had carefully removed the drawing of Dean and given it to Castiel to do with what he wanted. Now he found the dinosaur and passed it around.
“Cas drew this on Wednesday, and then Thursday morning, we get our first church.”
“And it’s been nothing but ever since,” Bobby added.
Sam hesitated, glancing at Castiel, who glared back at him. “... Exactly, which means Castiel’s first hallucination happened Thursday night.”
Dean cottoned on. “Which means he was poisoned sometime on Thursday.”
Bobby was running his hand through his beard thoughtfully. “Must have been when you three were out shopping. Did you ever lose track of the toddler?”
“I’m right here,” Castiel grumbled.
Dean’s eyes grew wide as he came to the same conclusion that Sam had already come to.
“THAT LITTLE BRAT!”
“Sorry!” Castiel shouted, covering his head in his hands.
“No, no, not you,” Dean amended quickly.
Sam quickly filled Bobby in on the incident with the little girl. “They must have been Djinn. The mother had tattoos, and they had blue eyes, and Djinns’ poison is transmitted through touch; the little girl grabbed Cas’ wings. It fits.”
“And you were ready to blast her to Purgatory,” Dean said, looking at Cas with wide eyes. “If you knew what she was why didn’t you say?”
Castiel picked at the hem of his t-shirt. “Cause it was wrong. You said so.”
Dean got a pained look on his face as he tried to remember what he might have said on the occasion. Sam thought he could recall.
“Cas, Dean didn’t know she was a monster. He only meant that it is wrong to hurt normal little girls.”
“Oh,” said Castiel and looked miserable.
“What was her game, though?” Bobby mused out loud. “Are Djinn kids naturally mean or did she react to an angel in particular? Or did her mom make her do it?”
Unfortunately, no amount of speculation could bring them close to an answer, and eventually there was nothing to do but close the subject and get the dishes done.
Once the kitchen was tidy, Dean found Bobby behind his newspaper. “Hey, Bobby, that old lake still out there?”
Bobby lowered the paper with an unimpressed expression. “Course it is, idjit. Ever heard of a lake getting up and taking off before?”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Whatever. What say we pack some lunch and hike out there? We could swim.”
“But Dean, but Dean,” Castiel yelled, running up to him. “I can’t swim!”
“Then we can teach you.”
“And my wings will get wet!”
“Not if we’re careful.”
“And I don’t have anything to wear.”
Dean just looked at him for a moment, before looking around at Sam and Bobby. “Anyone other than Shirley Temple have any objections?”
“My name is Castiel.”
“I’m for it,” Sam said. “And Cas can swim in his briefs.”
Bobby shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs.”
So it was decided. Bobby and Castiel made sandwiches, Sam and Dean packed the rest of the essentials, and just half an hour after the suggestion had been made, the four of them were walking down the dusty road where Sam had had his epiphany the day before.
They were all alone out here, surrounded by tall, twisting green trees. Apart from their footfalls there was only the wind and the birds to be heard. Bobby didn’t have many neighbours, so they could be relatively certain not to meet anyone, but they kept a careful lookout anyway, in case Castiel needed to hide. The angel was jogging to keep up with the men, but he didn’t seem to tire. Even so, Sam eventually lifted Cas up and let him ride on his shoulders.
It grew hot quickly, but the wind was strong and took the sting out of the sun.
They walked in comfortable silence for a while, until they reached a cross in the road that sent Sam down memory lane. Prompted by the bittersweet nostalgia of the place, he told Castiel about how he and Dean had first been introduced to Bobby. How John had taken them here several times when he needed help in his hunt for the Yellow-Eyed Demon. The boys would play in the yard while John and Bobby were inside, talking shop. Once, John had gotten what he thought was a hot lead, and had rushed Sam and Dean to Sioux Falls to beg Bobby to look after them for just a few days. Bobby had agreed only reluctantly, and at first it had been pretty awkward between the three of them, but then Dean had taken an interest in Bobby’s cars, and Sam had buried himself in Bobby’s books, and the realisation of all their mutual interests had broken the dam between them.
“Dad didn’t come get us for nearly two weeks, but Bobby never complained.” Sam smiled and breathed deeply of the familiar air.
“I didn’t complain to you,” Bobby said.
“We went for so many walks in these woods,” Dean said like he was only now remembering, looking around with renewed emotion.
By the time they came to the lake they were more than ready for a cooling swim. They spread their things out on the bank, and Bobby settled down against a tree, folding his hands on his stomach and pulling his cap down to shade his eyes. Sam and Dean got into their swimming trunks.
Sam was the first to enter the water. The lake was deep, so despite the heat of the past few weeks, the water was chilly. Taking a fortifying breath, Sam let himself fall forward, arms stretched out and ready to make the first stroke through the water. He swam some little distance and then turned back towards the shore. He dived, getting his hair wet, and when he came back up the sunlight in his eyes was sharp and delicious.
On the bank, Castiel was down to his blue Ninja Turtles boxer briefs; he was dipping his bare toes into the shallows. Dean was pulling his own clothes off and trying to make Bobby come swim with them.
“Come on, Bobby. Don’t be a sissy.”
“Leave me alone. I’ll keep the beer cold while you kids splash around.”
“Cold in the bucket or cold in your stomach?”
Sam came up and lifted Cas into his arms.
“Cold!” Cas cried, leaning back from Sam’s chest, his wings spreading out and bristling in protest.
“You think so?” He supposed Castiel’s wasn’t use to even being aware of temperatures, and that he might be more sensitive for this reason. He waded back out until the water reached his waist, and held Castiel over the still surface so that he could dip his feet in again.
“That’s cold,” Cas said seriously, hanging from Sam’s hands and idly kicking his feet. “That is very cold.”
“You didn’t use to feel cold or warmth.” Sam said, lifting the angel back out.
Castiel shook his head. “I was more angel before. Now I am only a little angel.”
“It’s cool. If you weren’t a little angel, I couldn’t do this.” He lifted Cas high into the air. Castiel laughed and flapped his wings. He laughed even harder when Sam began to tip him forwards, so he was hanging upside down. Sam let him hang for a moment before tipping him the right way again.
Just then, Dean ran past them and threw himself into the water, splashing them both.
“Dean!”
“Sorry.”
Dean swam up to them, a wicked glint in his eyes, and Sam gave him a warning look and held Cas up between them in a significant gesture. There would be no dunking, no splashing and no wrestling. Instead, Dean heaved himself up and snapped after Castiel’s toes like a shark.
They swam out to the middle of the lake, Castiel riding on Dean’s back. Sam followed close behind in case Castiel should need a hand, but the angel held on without tiring, cheek pressed against Dean's wet hair.
Eventually, Bobby called to them from the bank, warning them that he was starving and that if they didn't come now, he'd eat all the food by himself. So they swam back to shore, dried off, and sat down to eat. Bobby handed out beer and sandwiches, careful to keep the former out of Castiel’s reach. Dean seemed to have another plan, though.
“Hey Cas,” he said casually. “Want a beer?”
Castiel shook his head with a grimace.
The other two gave Dean questioning looks, and he looked pleased with himself.
“Last night, right? I’m drinking coffee, and when that runs out I grab a beer, and the little guy won’t leave me alone about it. So I figured, what the hell, he wants a beer so badly, he can have it.”
Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean held up his hand, asking him to wait. Then he turned to Cas. “Show them the face you made when I let you have the bottle.”
Cas made a big happy face.
“Now show them your face when you drank from the bottle.”
Castiel scrunched up his face, closed his eyes and stuck his tongue out in disgust. “Yuck!”
Dean nodded in satisfaction. “Lesson learned.”
It grew hot again, and Castiel especially wanted back into the water, so Sam and Dean gave him swimming lessons, which he was too young to properly benefit from, but which he seemed to enjoy anyway. He paddled around with his wings held high and Sam and Dean's hands carefully cradling him.
And finally, in the end, even Bobby waded in to join them for a short swim. “I'm old,” he said grumpily as Sam and Dean called him on how quickly he went back on the bank.
On the way back, Dean told Bobby about the progress he had made on the Impala, and what was left before she was ready to run again. This gave Sam the opportunity to lift Castiel into his arms again and fall back a little.
Castiel looked at him expectantly, and Sam gave him a quick smile and plunged right into what was on his mind. “Cas, you know that when you were big, we were arguing, you and Dean and Bobby and I.”
The angel nodded solemnly. He lifted a hand, two fingers reaching out as if he would place them on Sam’s forehead, but he thought better of it quickly. “Because I was bad.”
“Because ...” It was hard to find the words, hard to speak them. “We didn’t agree with each other. Thing is, it’s not okay to be mad at someone who is small for something they did while they were big, so we’re going to wait until you’re big before we talk about it.”
Castiel nodded. “Okay.”
“But I need to tell you that even though you are small, it was pretty difficult for me not to be mad at you in the beginning. I think you could tell.”
More nodding. “You were scary.”
“Because I was hurting.” Sam was walking a fine line between keeping the blame from Castiel’s tiny shoulders on the one hand, and not bending over backwards on the other, but he was only walking it because Castiel was not fully a child, which was also the reason he needed to have this conversation with the angel. “I want to tell you now, even though we’re not supposed to talk about it, that I have forgiven you. Really, truly forgiven you.”
To Sam’s horror, Castiel’s eyes filled with tears.
“No, no, no, don’t cry. Dean’ll kill me.”
But Castiel was smiling. “Thank you, Sam.”
By the time they got back to Singer Salvage Yard, the sky had turned cold and pale. As they crossed the porch, Dean’s stomach rumbled.
“Dinner-time,” he announced.
“And you can make it,” Bobby said. “I’m gonna have a nap.”
Dean winked. “Don’t sweat it, old man, I’ve got us covered.” In the living room, he pulled out Sam’s laptop and googled the nearest pizza place.
Bobby fell down on the couch, pulled his hat over his eyes, and was snoring away before Dean had finished placing his order.
Not ten minutes later, the doorbell rang. Sam and Dean exchanged glances.
“That was fast.”
Sam went to open.
It took him a full couple of seconds to understand the tableau standing on Bobby’s porch, but when he did his face immediately split into a grin so wide it was painful.
“Let’s see,” said the man on the porch, checking his clipboard. “That’s three extra-large pepperoni and beef pizzas for Mr. Singer, his two gorillas, and the little marmoset.”
Sam couldn’t speak at first because he was grinning so hard. “That’s ... that’s a nice uniform.”
Zachariah looked decidedly unimpressed. And humiliated. “If you would just sign-”
“Guys, come say hello to Zachariah!” Sam shouted into the house.
Zachariah sighed long-sufferingly. He had a bag full of pizzas standing by his feet, and was still holding the clipboard and pen out towards Sam. He was wearing a pizza boy’s uniform: a shirt and a cap in two appealing purple shades that alternated in broad stripes. The logo on his breast was a winged and haloed pizza.
Dean appeared behind Sam with Castiel on his arm, and Bobby followed sleepily behind them.
“Like I said,” Zachariah said loudly. “If you would just sign for the pizza-”
Sam cleared his throat, to keep from laughing, and put on a serious face. “I’d rather stop and linger in the moment for a while, wouldn’t you? We haven’t seen each other in so long.”
Dean looked like this was Christmas come early with a side of Valentine’s Day. Bobby had never dealt with Zachariah in person, but had heard the stories and seemed content to hang back and watch the boys get a little revenge. Even Castiel had a slightly satisfied glint in his eyes, though he was hiding against Dean’s chest and had flattened his wings against his back.
“Do we have a camera?” Sam asked Dean.
Dean considered it. “I don’t know. Bobby, do you have a camera?”
“You know I do.”
“Can we set it up?”
“I guess I could go-”
“Will you sign for the damned pizza?” Zachariah growled furiously before wincing as if he had been given a electric shock.
Sam and Dean stared at him. “What was that?” Dean asked.
“That was nothing,” Zachariah replied firmly, trying to glare a hole in Dean’s forehead. “Now listen up you bunch of -” He winced again and continued more mildly. “Gabriel is too busy to attend to your little problems, so instead you get pizza. You sign for the pizza, I hand the pizza over, I promise to forgo the tip and you promise not to mention this to anyone ever or so help me I will-” Another wince.
“It’s like he’s wearing a shock collar,” Sam observed.
Dean snorted, but the laughter fell when they noticed Zachariah’s face. “Are you?” Dean asked.
“No.” Zachariah smiled pleasantly and not very convincingly. “Now if someone would please sign their name on the dotted line …” he said through clenched teeth, holding the pen out to everyone in turn, including Castiel. “An X would do. I’m really not that picky.”
“There’s no visible collar,” Sam said.
“True,” Dean replied.
As one, they dropped their gazes down.
“You’re not serious.”
“Mary and Jo,” Bobby said behind them. “That’s just cruel.”
“Sign for the pizza.”
“Well, Gabriel was a trickster. Giving assholes their due and all that.”
“Sign for the pizza!”
“But how does it work? How does it know when to activate?”
“Sign for the damn - ugh - pizza!”
“Can we see it?”
“JUST TAKE THE DAMN PIZZA!” Zachariah roared, wincing as he was given another shock. “WHAT THE HELL - OUCH - DO I CARE IF YOU SIGN FOR THE THING!” He threw the clipboard to the ground, kicked the bag of pizza, and with another emphatic wince he disappeared, accompanied by an almost electric sound of fluttering wings.
“I’m going to send Gabriel flowers,” Dean said.
“And chocolates,” Sam agreed. “And possibly an offer to have his babies.”
Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam. “Dude, too much information.”
“What?” Sam asked. The other three proceeded back into the depth of the house. “WHAT?” He grabbed the pizzas, closed the door and hurried after them. “Zachariah removed my lungs! I’m grateful, okay?”
The pizza was delicious. They ate in front of the TV; Dean insisted on it once he realised that Dr Sexy MD was on. Everyone gave their best effort at seeing whatever it was Dean saw in the show, but by the end of the episode they had concluded that Dean was as much a girl on the inside as the next man, and his complaints against The Little Mermaid were for this reason invalidated.
During dinner, the phone on the kitchen wall labelled “F.B.I.” began to ring. Bobby went to answer it.
“Willis, FBI.” He listened for a moment before grabbing a kitchen chair and falling heavily down on the seat. “Garth? Garth, shut up. No, you’re not dead, I can hear that, and it’s a damn miracle.” He listened for a moment, rubbing his eyes with his free hand.
“What happened to Brent? Don’t tell me you didn’t call him.” Bobby frowned like a thundercloud while the man on the other end explained himself. “Then you should have called me again! You don’t hunt Djinn alone, you just ...” He straightened up in his chair suddenly, eyes distant. “Garth? Garth, where are you? Yeah, but where’s that?” Another moment of listening. “Shit. And it’s a whole family. You’re sure?” Sam and Dean sat up slowly as they began to realise the possible significance of the call.
“No, no, don’t do anything,” Bobby was saying. “Stay put, board the doors and windows, get your gun and don’t go to sleep. Don’t let anyone touch your skin, I don’t care if it’s your Grandma; no one touches you, got it? I’m sending you backup. Sam and Dean Winchester. They’ll be there in a few hours.”
He hung up and shared a silent, loaded look with Sam and Dean. “It might just be a coincidence,” he warned them.
“What’s going on, Bobby?” Sam asked quietly.
“This guy’s hunting a family of Djinn, and not half an hour’s drive from your Mall of Monsters.”
“Who is this guy?” Dean asked.
Bobby came back into the living room. “His name is Ted Garth. He’s dumber than Sarah Palin, but damn enthusiastic about the job, poor sucker. Lost his family to ghouls, if I recall.”
Sam got up. “I’ll go get my stuff. No point in waiting.”
Castiel had been watching them silently, but now he reached for Dean with a sound of distress. Dean scooped him up.
“It’s just a couple of Djinn, Cas. We can take ‘em.”
“I don’t like this, Dean,” Castiel said, and once again Sam thought he sounded almost like his grown-up self.
Dean looked at the angel searchingly. “Is there something more we should know? Something you haven’t told us?”
Castiel shook his head, but he was frowning. He brought his little fists up and hit himself on the head like there was something he was trying to remember.
Dean quickly stopped him. “Hey. What is it?”
Castiel huffed. “I don’t know,” he said with emphasis. “But I don’t like this.”
Dean pursed his lips. “Look ... We’ve got a shot at finding the little monster who hurt you. I’m not letting that opportunity go, Cas. Not for all the bad gut-feeling in the world.”
Castiel bowed his head unhappily.