The Wild Ones: Chapter Four
Castiel knew he wouldn’t get far.
The fact that they had let him out of the motel at all surprised him, in a distant sort of way. He’d jumped out of the chair and around Dean and yanked the door open so fast it slammed against the wall, and took off, feet pounding against the concrete.
The Apocalypse. This was insanity. He had to deal with the fact that there were angels-okay. He’d seen Sam’s wings and he’d seen Dean disappear (fly away?) and he'd flown himself with Sam and he’d been healed not once but twice by some scruffy guy putting two fingers together and touching him. He might even consider buying the idea that Brady had been possessed, because he had been unreasonably strong when he’d pulled Castiel out from under the table, and because the things he’d been saying were pretty strange. So to try to keep himself from going insane, okay. Brady was a demon, Sam and Dean were angels.
But there was no way that Castiel Novak, runaway, twenty-year-old dropout and nobody, was the lynchpin designed to start the end times.
The Righteous Man.
He couldn’t tell if it hurt more when he thought that Sam was telling the truth, or when he thought that they were making fun of him.
His thin sneakers did little to cushion his footfalls and his arches were screaming at him to sit, to stop punishing himself. He wasn’t wearing nearly enough for the thirty-three degree weather, but he kept going and going until-
Until he ran straight into someone, sending both of them crashing to the ground.
The fact that his victim also fell told him instantly that he hadn't managed to run into Sam or Dean, which made a sizable dent in his panic, but his adrenaline was pumping so hard and his heart was racing so fast that he trembled as he stood and looked cautiously at the other person.
She was probably a little older than him, but not much, and considerably smaller. Her pale hair splayed out around her on the road, but she groaned and started to pick herself up so he knew he hadn't actually killed her. She dusted off her jeans and straightened her crop jacket, too thin for the weather, and rolled her shoulders. She stared at him.
“Oh, shit,” she said, “you're bleeding.”
Castiel frowned-that was not the reaction he'd been expecting-but she reached out and drew her fingers across his cheek, where he'd leaned into the fall and scraped against the asphalt. Her pale fingertips came away red.
“Are you okay?” she asked, waving at him a little. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Three,” Castiel replied. He wondered if the dazed feeling he was experiencing might actually be a concussion, or if it was just the result of having a normal human conversation after the completely insane several days he'd just had.
The woman laughed. “Okay, good. Man, you scared me.”
Castiel shook himself out of the stupor. “Jesus, I'm-sorry, I'm sorry, are you okay? I didn't even see you, I-”
She laughed again, and put her hand on his arm. He almost flinched away from the contact but managed to restrain himself in time. She was human. It was okay for her to touch him. It was even kind of nice, to be touched instead of manhandled.
“I'm fine,” she said. “But you look pretty freaked. Want to sit for a sec?”
Before he could answer she took him by the arm and pulled him to the sidewalk, where she sat down and pulled him alongside her. He sat ungracefully, catching himself with an already-bleeding hand.
“I should really go,” he said haltingly, but she was already shaking her head.
“Not until I know you're not gonna get hit by the first car that drives by.” She ducked to peer at his eyes. “Seriously, you look like you've seen a ghost.”
Castiel had to laugh at that.
She grinned, too, and stuck out her hand.
“I'm Ruby,” she said.
“Castiel.” He couldn't quite figure out why he'd told her his real name, but he grasped her hand nonetheless. “And it's just been a hard couple of days.”
She hummed sympathetically, and bumped his shoulder with hers. He swallowed hard against tears at the simple, comforting gesture.
“Wanna talk about it?” she asked.
He shook his head. “Not in particular. Thanks, though.”
“You sure?” she asked. “Maybe you'll feel better.”
He smiled, shaking his head again. “No, it's-personal. And weird.”
He stood, shivering, and flashed her one more smile.
“Thanks for the...for checking on me. And I'm sorry I ran into you. I, um. I've got to go. Have a good night.”
He started across the street, hugging his jacket to him.
“It's horrible, what they did to Brady.”
Her voice stopped him cold.
She walked up to him, her shoes clipping quietly on the asphalt. She stopped a few feet away, shoved her hands in her pockets. “I mean, not the best first impression, right?”
He turned around. “Who are you?”
She smiled, a sad thing, but he couldn't help but think that it was affected. “I'm a friend, Castiel. I'm here to help you.”
“I don't have friends,” Castiel said. “What do you want?”
“Same thing you want. To get you away from those psycho angels.”
“And why should I trust you?”
“You trusted Brady, right?”
Castiel paused, steadied his breathing. Nodded, because, yes, he had trusted Brady.
That's not your friend.
He had trusted Brady.
Ruby closed her eyes. When she opened them, they were flat beetle-black.
“I'm like Brady,” she said.
Castiel cried out and stumbled back. Ruby blinked again, her eyes returning to normal-or not normal? Was that awful jet black normal? This was only the mask, wasn't it?
She was a demon.
Brady had been a demon. Sam had told the truth.
The reality of it hit him like a punch to the gut. He found his heart racing, his breathing pick up. Ruby was saying something, but he hadn't been paying even the slightest attention to it because she was right there, her eyes flipped black. He couldn't deny it, not this time.
“I can protect you from them, if you come with me,” she said, holding out her hand. Castiel ducked away from it.
“I don't want your help,” he said. “I don't need it.”
Her smile slipped somewhat. “I find that hard to believe.”
Castiel began to back up, jabbing his finger at her. “You stay away from me. You stay away. I don't want them, and I don't want you. Stay away!”
“They're gonna go after your family, Castiel,” Ruby said. “Your brothers. You need allies, and I'm a good one to have.”
His breath caught in his throat, but he turned and ran, even faster than he'd run from the motel.
His lungs eventually gave out on him and he crashed down onto a rusty roundabout in the middle of a decrepit little playground.
His legs trembled. He pulled one up to his chest, pushing himself off with the other. The roundabout squealed in protest as it started a half-hearted circuit.
His chin trembled and he covered his mouth with both hands.
This wasn’t fair. He was just doing what he had to do, doing what he could to survive. He didn’t deserve to be-to be-
To be fucked around with.
The profanity sounded weird in his head. He’d been raised better than that, his mother would have said, but he was raised better than pickpocketing, too, so…
So fuck it.
He laughed out loud, then slapped his hands back over his mouth and giggled.
He’d just run away from two angels and a demon. Nowhere was safe. Everyone had eyes on him everywhere. How much more trouble could he get into?
“Heya, Cas.”
He wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry when Dean's voice reached him.
He settled on doing neither.
The angel's heavy boots crunched the dead leaves on the ground. Castiel looked up at him.
“Hi,” he said dejectedly.
Dean chuckled and stopped the roundabout with his foot. “You went a lot farther than we'd expected. Did you really think you were getting away? Not trying to sound all villainous, but I mean...you had to know we could find you.”
“I wasn't thinking much at all,” Castiel said. “Are you going to bring me back?”
There was a silence, then the creak of protesting, rusting metal as Dean lowered himself onto the roundabout, sitting on the section next to Cas.
“Yeah,” he said. “But in a minute.”
Castiel nodded, pulling his legs up onto the equipment and crossing them. Dean rocked the roundabout slightly, experimentally, like he wasn't sure if that was what he was supposed to do.
“Are you going to bring me to Heaven?” Castiel asked.
Dean pushed off, then, sending them spinning lazily, the protestation of the wheel loud in the dead silence of the playground. Castiel looked up at his face. He looked contemplative.
“I promised Sammy I wouldn't,” he said, finally. “He fought me pretty hard. He wanted to be the one to come out and find you. But he needs to stay behind the wards. He's pissed off a lot of people, taking you.”
“It wasn't my plan for the day, either,” Castiel muttered.
Dean laughed, which startled Castiel, and forced a little smile out of him.
“I know. Look, my brother-he means well. He's just confused. What I think we ought to do is head back to the motel, talk this out, figure it out like grown ups. What do you say?”
Castiel frowned, sticking his foot out and dragging his heel against the dirt, slowing them to a stop. Dean looked surprised.
“I'd say that I guess that a vote about what happens to me doesn't sound great, when you can reach a majority without me, and everyone involved in that majority can force me to do whatever they want anyway.”
Dean turned to him and grabbed his arm. Castiel's heart lurched, but there was no further movement, just the grip.
“Nobody can force you to do this thing, Cas,” Dean said. “You have to consent to it. You have to say yes, or it doesn't happen.”
“And what does that mean?” Castiel asked. “How am I supposed to say no to you? You can do whatever you want to me-Sam did-but I'm supposed to believe that you'd just say oh, okay and leave me alone if I say I don't want to help you start the Apocalypse?”
Dean looked, hard as it was to believe, hurt. He released Castiel's arm, then leaned back against the bars of the roundabout. He studied Castiel, shaking his head.
“I'm not going to hurt you,” he said. “That's not how this is gonna happen. I think I can convince you that I'm right.”
“And if you can't?” Castiel asked.
Dean smiled sadly. “Still not gonna hurt you.”
He made a sweeping gesture with his arm.
“Shall we?” asked Dean.
Castiel looked at him.
“Gonna wait for you to say you're ready.”
“I get it, you're asking permission, waiting for consent. It's all very heavy-handed,” Castiel complained. Dean grinned.
Castiel sighed.
“Fine. Okay, I'm ready.”
Two fingers pressed lightly against Castiel's forehead , and they disappeared.
When he’d finished retching, Castiel crawled up onto his hands and knees and sat back on his heels, glaring up at the two angels who were hovering over him.
Dean looked away first. He turned away and stood, shrugging out of his jacket and leaving it draped on the bed. Sam put a hand on his arm but Dean shook it off, muttering something about going to patch up the sigils before he walked away.
Sam watched him for a while, then turned to Castiel. “You okay?”
Castiel nodded, standing stiffly and walking to the bed, sitting heavily.
“I’m sorry about all of this.” Sam sat down next to him, propped his elbows on his legs and let his head hang. “I thought you might need some space. I don’t...think I was wrong, but you shouldn’t have been alone for that long.”
“Are my brothers in danger?” Castiel asked. Ruby's words had been playing in his head since he heard them. Now that he was back, his pitiful attempt at escape predictably foiled, he had to ask.
Sam didn’t say anything for a long while, and Castiel shifted on the bed. “I deserve an answer.”
“You do,” Sam agreed. “And yes. Your brothers are a part of this. At least Gabriel is. The younger one, I’m not sure about.”
“Samandriel.” Castiel covered his face with his hands. He would not cry. Not again. “His name is Samandriel.”
“I haven’t been in touch with Heaven in a while. You heard Dean yelling about that earlier.”
Sam sounded bitter. His eyes were fixed on his brother across the room, and Castiel knew that look. He knew what it was to miss your brother. “If there’s a plan for Samandriel, it was only revealed to the Host after I...left.”
“Sam.” The angel turned back to him, looking startled, which meant that maybe Castiel sounded as firm as he’d hoped to. He swallowed hard. “I’ll-I’ll do what you want. Whatever it is you want from me, I’ll do it, but you have to protect my brothers. I won’t-I won’t obey if my brothers are in danger.”
“That’s exactly what I want, Castiel.” Sam leaned forward, eager, but stilled when Castiel pulled back. “I want your brothers safe from Heaven. You, too. It isn’t fair, what they’re doing to you. I want to help you, Castiel. If you’ll let me.”
“I want my brothers safe,” Castiel said, knowing that it wasn’t quite assent. It wasn’t quite disagreement, either. He wondered how much a human had to be actually on board with an angel’s idea before compliance was taken as a given.
Sam nodded and opened his mouth to speak again just as the sound of Dean's hollow laughter broke the brief silence.
Sam and Castiel both turned to him. He was shaking his head, his finger against the wall, paused in the midst of fixing a sigil.
“That's the biggest load of shit I've ever heard,” he said, his voice threatening in its measured quiet. He wiped the paint off of his finger with a rag, then threw the rag onto the ground with surprising violence.
Castiel shivered.
He didn’t think Dean would hurt him-not really. Of the two of them, Dean was the one he was less afraid of. Every move Dean had made had been to help him, or, at worst, to bring him back, but never to hurt him. But like this, tense and radiating anger...Castiel was glad he was behind Sam, but he wasn’t sure Sam could take his brother if it came to a fight. And it looked like it might well come to a fight.
“Dean,” Sam said, hesitant.
Castiel watched as Dean flexed his hands, took two deep breaths, and turned to face them. Castiel tensed preemptively, but when he saw Dean’s face, he frowned.
Dean looked sad more than anything, more than angry, though he still definitely looked angry. He shook his head.
“Dammit, Sammy, what are you doing?”
“Fixing this.” Sam took a step toward his brother.
Dean shook his head again and Sam stopped.
“Don’t make him promises you can’t keep, man. He’s been let down enough.” Dean scrubbed his face harshly, and stared at his brother. “You know how this is gonna end.”
“That’s up to you, Dean.” Sam’s movements were small, cautious. His fingers kept making these little twitches like he wanted to touch Dean but knew he wouldn’t be allowed to. “You’re the only one who knows what I’ve done. If you don’t say anything-”
“Sam, if you do this, you’re asking me to rebel.” Dean’s face was pale and drawn with anger, but he looked sick, too, nauseous. Castiel wondered if angels could feel nauseous. “You get that, right? That you’re asking me to risk falling?”
“We’re talking about the Apocalypse.”
“We’re talking about the Will of God!” Dean shouted. “You want me to deny my duty and our family because you think you know better?”
Sam hesitated, then tilted his head so that it was clear he was talking to Castiel. He turned more fully towards Dean, using all of his broad body as a shield between his brother and Castiel. “Go under the table. If anything happens, press your hand against the sigil underneath.”
Castiel felt like his breath was caught in his throat as he stared between Sam and Dean, but finally he made up his mind and decided he liked his odds better with whatever kind of escape hatch Sam had cooked up. If they were going to get into some kind of heavenly sibling brawl, he didn’t want to be standing near them.
He ducked beneath the table and Dean made an aborted lunge towards him, then stopped himself, glaring at Sam instead. “What is this?”
“Banishing sigil.” Sam set his jaw as though bracing himself for a fight, and Dean swore loudly. “I figured somebody would find us eventually. Didn’t know it would be so soon. I didn’t think it would be you, Dean.”
“Well, it was, Sammy, and now what?” Dean stepped right up to Sam’s face. Castiel raised his hand off of the ground, peering up at the sigil-again in blood, probably Sam’s, similar but not identical to the one he’d hidden under at the motel. He didn't know when Sam had drawn this one-possibly while Castiel had been reading.
It was comforting to know that he could make this go away, if he had to-if it got to be too much. But they were talking, now, angry as they sounded, and if he stayed to hear it maybe he could learn something valuable.
“He hits the eject button, you’re gone, too,” Dean reminded Sam. “And we both know where he is, and I’m pretty sure I’m faster than you.”
“And every time I stall you, you have to think a little harder about what it is you’re planning to do.”
Castiel couldn’t see Dean’s face much from where he was, but he could see shoulders grow tense as Sam spoke.
“Every minute that goes by you have to really think about what you’re going to do to him by following your orders.”
“This is not personal, Sammy,” Dean began, only to be cut off by Sam’s quiet laugh.
“It wasn’t.” Sam smiled, but it was a sad, rueful thing. “Now it is. That’s the point.”
“I will save him.” Dean’s voice took a minute to come after Sam finished talking, but when it did, it was quiet and firm and had only the slightest hint of pleading in it. “Believe me.”
“I do,” Sam said. “Dean, I do. But we can do more this way.”
Castiel’s breath caught in his throat as he saw Dean’s heavy-booted foot move just slightly towards him-little enough that he might’ve just been leaning away from Sam, or shifting his weight, but Castiel felt his stomach drop because he didn’t think so. Dean kept his eyes locked on Sam’s face, or at least he kept facing toward his brother, but Castiel could feel all the weight of the angel’s focus on him, beneath the table.
“What are you gonna do, Sammy?” Dean’s heel slid mostly sideways, but enough back, towards the table, that Castiel tensed. “Move him and his brothers into a safe room for the rest of their lives? Ward ‘em up? Burn sigils into their ribs so our brothers can’t find them? You gonna stay with them, on the run, forever? You thought about any of this, Sammy?”
Sam’s brows were furrowed in frustration. He looked to the side, so he didn’t notice Dean moving until he was already at the table, crouched down with a hand around Castiel’s wrist.
“It’s nothing personal,” he repeated.
His voice sounded genuinely sorry, but Castiel couldn’t give less of a damn.
He pushed in towards Dean with his captured wrist, and it was enough to startle the angel, who released him. “No,” Castiel said, “it’s not,” and he slammed his palm against the sigil.
Bright white, and then an empty motel room.
This time, when Castiel ran, he had Dean’s jacket around his shoulders and a destination in mind.
He had to get to Bobby.