The Wild Ones: Chapter Six
Castiel went, once again, from starving to full of warm soup.
He inhaled the warm, spicy scent wafting from the bowl Bobby had given him-it was butternut squash. Castiel knew it had been a recipe of Karen’s. Bobby broke it out for special occasions, which meant that Gabriel and Samandriel must have arrived fairly recently.
Samandriel was sitting next to him, his head resting on Castiel’s shoulder, all but purring his contentment. “I’m really glad to see you, Castiel.”
“I’m glad to see you, too.” Castiel used his free hand to squeeze Samandriel’s arm, and smiled. He took two quick mouthfuls of soup and then turned his eyes to Gabriel, who was watching them with a smile that seemed inordinately sad for the occasion. “You, too, Gabriel.”
Gabriel kept smiling, but didn’t say anything, which made Castiel’s heart sink.
It had been a while since he’d been in touch with his brothers, it was true. But the years couldn’t have changed Gabriel that much. His brother had always been quick with a comeback, and this tight-lipped silent treatment was worrisome.
“Gabriel?” His second attempt was met with more silence. He frowned up at Bobby, who made a point of not meeting his eyes.
“I’m glad you’re home.” Gabriel’s voice was quiet, and when he was done he got up from the table, pushed his chair in, and headed out of the kitchen.
“Gabriel,” Castiel called, but his brother didn’t stop.
Bobby sat heavily in the chair across from Castiel’s, a beer in his hand, and took a deep breath.
“Your brother’s been worried about you. Worried sick. Nobody’s heard from you in months, and even then we didn’t hear much. You just showin’ up, no explanation?” Bobby sighed and took a long pull of his beer, then ran a hand over his face. “We’re all glad to see you, boy. Don’t think we’re not. But it ain’t been easy on any of us, the not knowing.”
Castiel turned his eyes down, swallowing hard against the lump that had formed in his throat.
He could have called more often. He should have. But to say what? To tell them the truth? No. They would have come for him, tried to find him, and he couldn’t bear that. They had their lives. He’d given his up when he ran away, but that was not something he could ask of his brothers.
He hadn’t ever wanted them to see him like this.
Gabriel was angry. He understood. He'd left, but he hadn't intended to disappear like he had. He'd planned to leave, get his feet under him, learn to take care of himself, and then come back to his family as a man. As someone his father couldn't hurt anymore.
That hadn't happened. He was no less easily hurt than he'd been when he left, and significantly more broken.
He pulled Dean's jacket closer around his body, more to cover the banishing sigil than to keep warm, and nodded solemnly. “I know, Bobby. I'm sorry. I should have.”
“You're damn right you should have,” Bobby said, but pushed over a bread basket with a couple of pieces of a homemade wheat loaf in it, which Castiel took as an acceptance of his apology.
“Where have you been, Cas?” Samandriel asked, his head still on Castiel's shoulder, tilted up to look his brother in the eye.
Castiel hesitated in tearing apart a piece of bread, took a bracing breath. “Illinois, mostly. Pontiac. That's sort of where I landed. A couple of other places but mostly the Pontiac area.”
“What did you do there?” Samandriel asked. Castiel's breath caught.
Bobby noticed, luckily. He stood, distracting Samandriel. “Kid, I think we still got some of that godawful cherry cobbler your big brother made, you want to get Cas a piece?”
The change of subject worked, proving that Samandriel's attention span was as short as it had ever been. He grinned at Castiel. “It's not godawful. Do you want some?”
Castiel smiled weakly. “Yes, please. I would love some.”
Samandriel bounded toward the fridge. Castiel turned grateful eyes to Bobby, who shook his head and rolled his eyes. Samandriel's back was still turned, so he said, “Don't think this means you've gotten out of talking about it,” but very quietly.
Castiel nodded morosely. He hadn't thought he'd be so lucky.
Samandriel came back with two plates of cobbler. He grinned at Bobby when he got A Look. “I didn't want Castiel to have to eat alone,” he said, his eyes widening in exaggerated innocence.
“You and your biggest brother are both gonna get fat,” Bobby grumbled, but let it slide.
The cobbler was perfect, crumbly and sweet and buttery, and so Gabriel that Castiel felt tears prick at his eyes. Gabriel always used more butter than the recipe called for. More sugar, too, but somehow it was never cloying or too rich. They'd rarely had the luxury of treats like this when they were growing up, but Gabriel always made sure they had them for special occasions. Birthdays, Christmas. Having it now, on his homecoming after four long, hard years...it tasted like home. Like being safe.
Even if he was very very much not safe.
The room seemed colder at that thought, and he wrapped the jacket around himself a little bit tighter.
“Where’d you get the coat?” Bobby sounded wary, and Castiel shot him an anxious glance. What could he possibly divine from the coat? Not the truth, of course-that was far too unlikely to be Bobby’s first guess-or thirtieth guess-but something.
“Some guy,” Castiel replied, before realizing that that was the single worst thing he could’ve said.
Bobby’s eyes darkened, and Castiel wished desperately he had said I stole it off of my guardian angel after using a banishing sigil his brother drew for me so he wouldn’t take me away to start the Apocalypse.
“Some guy,” Bobby repeated.
Castiel looked away.
“Samandriel, go upstairs,” Bobby said.
Samandriel looked betrayed.
“He just got here and I'm not even done with my cobbler, and-”
“Samandriel.” Bobby had put on his dad voice, and Samandriel wilted under it, pausing only long enough to give Castiel a quick hug before slinking upstairs.
Castiel slumped down in his chair, resting his head against the back. Once the door to Samandriel’s room had shut, Bobby stood and rounded on him.
“The hell have you been doing, boy?”
Castiel screwed his eyes shut. “Bobby-”
“Don’t you Bobby me. I want to know what you’ve been up to that you can steal jackets off men twice your size. Or did he give it to you? Was it a damn barter?”
“No. No. It wasn't like that. I just-I got into some trouble, and I got away but I grabbed the coat on the way out.”
Bobby braced himself against the table. Castiel found that he couldn’t look him in the eye anymore.
“You coulda come to me,” Bobby said quietly.
“You can’t tell me this isn’t the first place my father looked after I left.”
Castiel could feel Bobby’s eyes on him. “You’re right. He looked here. But damn it, boy, he didn’t look here forever, and you’ve been gone from that house for four years. I would’ve helped you.”
“I know.” Castiel’s chest felt too tight. He rolled his spoon between his hands to distract himself.
Bobby was quiet for a long time. Castiel eventually gave in and looked up. The older man’s brow was furrowed, and it was with audible effort that he eventually said, “You been hurt, son?”
Castiel forced himself to keep looking at Bobby.
“It’s been hard.”
Bobby drew in a breath like he was about to yell, but when he saw Castiel brace himself, he let it out. He sagged, seemingly spent, and sat down.
“I know, boy. No, hell, you know what? I don’t.” He leaned over and gripped Castiel’s shoulder, and he melted into it. “I’m just glad you’re home, safe and sound.”
Castiel smiled weakly, in silent appreciation of the joke that was the word safe. Bobby’s smile, reluctant as it already was, faded. He studied Castiel’s face, and then sighed.
“It was safe, wasn’t it?”
There was no use denying it, so he didn’t.
“What’d you get into?” Bobby didn’t even sound angry anymore, just tired. “Do I need to bring out something bigger than my shotgun?”
“You won’t believe me.” Castiel turned to him and shrugged. “I wouldn’t believe me.”
“Try me.”
Castiel ran his hand over his face and gave a hollow laugh. “Okay. Um. I was-I was really low on money. And my friend Brady was trying to help me-to help me learn how to pick pockets.”
“Some friend,” Bobby scoffed.
Castiel felt a pang. Some friend indeed.
“So I went into this convenience store and tried it, but the guy I tried to steal from-he caught me, and he made me go to his motel room with him-don’t worry, he didn’t do anything, you know, like-but he took me to this motel where my friend Brady showed up, and the guy-the guy killed him because he said he was possessed by a demon-”
“A demon?” Bobby sat up straighter. “What’d this guy look like, Cas?”
“Bobby, hang on. I haven’t gotten to the weird part yet.” Bobby didn’t relax, but quieted, at least. “He killed Brady and then I-I stabbed him, but he didn’t die. It didn’t even really hurt him. So he knocked me out somehow and brought me to this other room where he told me he’s an angel. We kept running for a couple of days, going from motel to motel. Eventually his brother showed up and he’s an angel, too.”
“Cas,” Bobby said, “there’s no such thing as angels.”
“I know.” Castiel sighed. “But the first one-Sam-he showed me his wings. And they started talking about the Apocalypse and all this stuff and I had to get out of there. So I ran, and I came here.”
Bobby took off his hat, ran a hand over his head and put his hat back on-a classic Bobby considering gesture.
Then he leaned forward and said, “I need you to tell me how your angel buddy-why your angel buddy thought your friend was a demon.”
Castiel frowned at Bobby. He’d expected more along the lines of Goddammit, boy, how many times did you hit your head?
“He was stronger than usual, meaner, too, but it was his eyes, Bobby. They turned black. Like, all black.”
Bobby sat back, propped his elbows on the table and held his head in his hands.
“I know. You’re gonna find the number to the nearest institution.” Castiel tried to laugh, but it came out more like a choking cough. “I don’t expect you to believe me. But Bobby-”
“I believe you, son.”
Silence.
Castiel opened his mouth, then shut it.
Then, “What?”
Bobby didn’t say anything for a while. Castiel waited, watching him. He looked older, suddenly, pale and drawn.
“There’s a lot I ain’t told you.” Bobby didn’t look up from the table. “A lot that I guess I should have. I didn’t mean to do wrong by you, son, and neither did your daddy.”
Castiel felt his hands begin to tremble.
“I don’t understand.”
“And you’re not gonna, not in this state.” Bobby stood and extended a hand, which Castiel took. “This is gonna need a rested brain, so you get some sleep.”
“I don’t think Gabriel wants me to share the room,” Castiel whispered as Bobby pulled him standing. He felt the tears threaten to spill as he said it. Bobby’s expression softened, and he guided him into the library.
“We got pillows and blankets for the couch, son. You and your brother can duke it out tomorrow and then fight over the beds.” Bobby led him to the couch and helped him down, grabbing pillows from an armchair and a couple of ragged old quilts. Castiel shrugged off Dean’s jacket and snuggled down under the blankets. “Sleep, boy. God knows you need it. Talk can wait til tomorrow.”
Despite his grief and alarm, he was warm, fed, and in the presence of his family. Castiel was asleep almost before Bobby was done talking.
The sun wasn’t fully up when Castiel woke.
He caught his breath raggedly, and buried his face in the pillow. He’d taken so many naps on this couch before that he knew precisely how much room he had before he rolled off, how far his toes could stretch. The familiarity soothed him, calmed him, almost as much as the overstuffed cushions and the warmth of the quilts.
He was about to try to fall back asleep when he realized why he’d woken.
A rifle cocked in the kitchen. He could hear it. And Bobby’s voice-
“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but I want you out of my house now.”
“I’m not here to hurt anyone. I just need to talk to Castiel.”
“The hell you do. That boy’s sleeping under my roof and ain’t nobody gonna go near him.”
A heavy footfall, a pause. Then the voice in the kitchen-Sam-said, “He’s not asleep.”
“Aw, hell, boy, I don’t care if he’s sleeping or up doing the moonwalk, you ain’t talking to him.”
Castiel threw the quilts onto the ground, scrambled off of the bed, and threw on Dean’s jacket, skidding on the blankets he’d just thrown. He stumbled into the kitchen and braced himself on the door frame.
“Bobby, don’t.”
“Castiel,” Sam said, sounding surprised and relieved in nearly equal measure. “You scared me, man, I didn’t think you’d take off like that.”
“This the guy you got the jacket from?” Bobby had raised the rifle again and had it aimed right above Sam’s ear. Sam didn’t even turn to look at him.
“His brother.” Castiel wrapped the jacket tighter around himself. “This is Sam.”
“The one who kidnapped you?” Bobby took a step closer. Sam did turn then, but he looked more confused than worried. “Yeah, Cas told me about you, you son of a bitch. Stealin' scared kids off the street. Ain’t you just a big fuckin’ man.”
Sam drew up, and his height advantage on Bobby became starkly apparent. Castiel took a step forward, to put himself between them, but Sam just shook his head and said, “I didn’t hurt him. That’s not why I found him. I'm here to help.”
“He doesn’t need help from whatever the hell you are. You can take your help and get out of my house before I shoot you clean through your skull.”
“It won’t do anything,” Castiel said dully. Sam and Bobby both turned to him. He shrugged. “Will it?”
Sam studied him and frowned. “It wouldn’t kill me. No.”
“These are blessed salt rounds,” Bobby said, narrowing his eyes. “I ain’t a fool.”
Sam smiled grimly. “No, you’re not.”
He grabbed the barrel of the rifle and wrenched it out of Bobby’s hands, quickly and efficiently emptying it of the ammunition. Bobby froze, his hands still open as though his body hadn't caught up with what had happened.
Sam handed the rifle back, and Bobby took it cautiously. He showed Bobby the rounds, sitting in his hand, showed him the unmarred skin underneath the blessed and salted metal.
“You can’t hurt me, Bobby. Not like this.”
Sam turned to Castiel, who was frozen with his hand over the banishing sigil he’d painted on his shirt. Sam stilled, raising his hands. His wary tone matched his posture when he said his name.
“Castiel.”
Castiel drew his hand away from his shirt, letting the jacket fall back to cover it. He took in a shaky breath. “I didn’t want you to hurt Bobby.”
“I won’t.” Sam slowly reached out and handed the salt rounds to Castiel, who pocketed them in the jacket. “I just want to talk to you. I swear.”
“Okay.” Castiel glanced at Bobby, who was still glaring at Sam. Castiel knew he’d be calculating how far it was the next nearest weapon he’d stashed. “Bobby. It’s okay.”
“I’m just going to sit,” Sam said, his voice calm and soothing. He did so slowly, and held his arms away from himself when he was done: a happy now? Gesture.
Bobby clearly was not happy, but he sat, too, and Castiel took the seat between them after a long, uncomfortable pause.
“I’m listening,” he said.
Sam sighed heavily and leaned forward slightly, his hands spread again. Castiel wondered how long he’d been in that body. No, vessel-that was the word Sam had used to describe Dean’s body, with the implication that it was new. Sam seemed like he was more comfortable in his, but still very aware of it. The size of it, how he appeared to others. To humans. It was comforting, how mindful he was about it; at the same time that very awareness never let Castiel forget what he was up against.
A clattering of footsteps sounded down the staircase, and Castiel's heart plummeted.
“Cas?” Samandriel’s voice was muffled, sleepy.
Gabriel’s was anything but as he barged into the kitchen.
“Who is this?” he demanded, staring in turn at Castiel’s pale face, the gun lying useless on the floor, and Sam, sitting in the chair. “What the hell is going on?”
Sam rose.
“You must be Gabriel,” he said, and held a hand out. “I’m Sam. I’m a friend of Castiel’s.”
“I find that really unlikely.” Gabriel moved himself between Castiel and Sam, and glanced at Bobby for confirmation
Bobby sighed heavily. “He won’t leave, but he hasn’t done anything stupid yet.”
Gabriel scowled threateningly, and Bobby snorted.
“Boy, you might want to sit down before you get your ass handed to you.”
Gabriel made a noise of dissatisfaction, and did not sit down. Instead he went to stand next to Samandriel, towards whom Sam had been walking. The angel stopped, and Castiel could see his eyebrow lift in what he was pretty sure was amusement.
“Samandriel,” Sam said from the distance clearly prescribed by Gabriel. “It’s nice to meet another Sam.”
“You’re Cas’ friend?”Samandriel asked.
Sam hesitated, his eyes cutting to Castiel, then nodded.
“You’ve been taking care of him?”
Sam turned, brow furrowed, to look fully at Castiel, who shrugged.
“I’ve been trying to,” Sam replied, but his expression didn’t even out-just shifted, slightly. If it had been someone else, Castiel would have thought that perhaps he looked hurt.
“Oh, you have?” Gabriel said, taking a step towards Sam, who frowned at him.
Castiel saw his brother's eyes cut to Bobby's, saw Bobby nod, and realized what was going to happen about two seconds before it happened.
Gabriel pulled his knife-a wicked-looking thing, serrated and well-used-and took another step forward, his arm drawn back to sink it into Sam's heart.
Bobby had a pistol that had probably been hidden beneath the table and was swinging it up to draw a bead on Sam's head. Castiel could even see the way his finger tightened, ready to pull the trigger.
He also saw the expression that flashed across Sam's face-hurt and anger in equal measure, before resolving into resignation.
Castiel drew a breath to shout for them to put down their weapons, but before he could speak, Sam lifted his hands in a loose, easy gesture.
Gabriel and Bobby both stopped.
Just...stopped.
Castiel could see the stiff fear on their faces, frozen in the moment they had realized something was wrong, and he held his breath. Sam looked pained, but resolved, as he looked from Gabriel to Bobby.
Samandriel's eyes widened. Castiel was horrified to see him, too, reach for a weapon, perhaps a knife, something hidden in the waistband of his jeans, but Sam fixed him with a look and he hesitated.
“Samandriel,” Sam said quietly. “Don't.”
Samandriel's breath was coming quick and shallow, but he let his hands fall to his sides, staring up at Sam like he was waiting for further instructions.
Sam took the knife from Gabriel's hand and the gun from Bobby's, put them both on the table. He closed his hands into loose fists before bringing them back down to his sides.
Gabriel and Bobby both stumbled forward a step. Gabriel staggered all the way into Sam, who held him by the arms as he regained his balance.
They stared at each other for a moment.
“Please don't do that again.” Sam's voice was rough, tight. He had a strained look like doing that had cost him. Castiel couldn't imagine that it had been physically difficult for him-it was a wave of his hand, after all-but maybe it had been unpleasant some other way.
It was somewhat comforting to think that he hadn't liked doing it.
“I'm not going to let you hurt my brother,” Gabriel said, wrenching himself away. “Whatever you are.”
“I'm not going to,” Sam said. “I swear.”
“Your word means exactly fucking nothing to me,” Gabriel said, but he was pulled away more than he had been, his body leaning more toward Samandriel behind him than toward Sam, his expression cagey and wary.
Sam looked down at Gabriel for a moment before returning to his chair. Castiel thought it an unusual kindness, to put himself lower than someone who was yelling at him. He wondered why Sam did it.
Then again, it wasn’t like the angel needed a height advantage if he wanted to hurt any of them. He could’ve been in a vessel smaller than Gabriel and it wouldn't slow him down.
Sam shifted so that he could speak to the assembled humans together.
“Okay. I need you to listen to me. My name is Sam. I’m an angel of the Lord, and I’m here to protect you. Heaven and Hell are waging war and they want Castiel and Gabriel at the forefront.”
“What does that mean?” Samandriel asked, but Gabriel was already shaking his head.
“You're full of crap. There’s no such thing as angels.”
Sam narrowed his eyes, tilting his head a little. “There’s so much evil in the world, Gabriel. You know that. You've known that for such a long time. You can’t believe there’s something good to balance it out?”
Castiel saw Gabriel’s hands tremble. “I’ve never seen any proof that there might be.”
It took a while for Castiel’s brain to catch up to the conversation, but when it did, he froze.
Gabriel knew.
Not all of it. Obviously. Not about angels. But the way he was talking, the way Sam was talking to him…
He knew. About something in this. Demons, maybe, maybe not even anything specific, just that there were things out there that Castiel had never imagined, never dreamt of until they were right in front of him, battling for control of him.
Had he known the whole time? Had Gabriel had kept it from him, never breathing a word, for his entire childhood? The idea left him reeling, and he barely heard Sam’s response to his brother.
“Let me be that proof, Gabriel. Let me help you.”
“I don’t think so,” Gabriel said. “I think you should leave.”
“Hell and Heaven want you and Castiel to agree to be vessels for my brothers, Michael and Lucifer, in the final acts of the Apocalypse.”
Sam’s voice seemed very loud in the kitchen, suddenly, strangely resonant, and Castiel clapped his hands against his ears.
Samandriel made a pained noise in the back of his throat and followed suit. Gabriel grit his teeth.
Castiel felt his eyes drawn to his older brother. When Gabriel looked up their eyes met, and he grew very still. He shook his head. Castiel wasn't sure what that meant-whether it was an apology or a don't you be mad at me, or just this is not the time.
Castiel turned away.
“The hell?” Bobby, one hand over his ear, reached towards the rifle again before seeming to remember that it was empty.
Sam swallowed visibly and held his hands out. “Sorry. Sorry.” His words were quieter, now, singular: not the multitude of voices Castiel had seemed to hear before. “I need you to listen because Heaven and Hell are both after you, and they are going to do whatever it takes to pull you into this. Michael and Lucifer have to have vessels for their final fight, and you are their ordained vessels. They will stop at nothing to gain your consent. That includes hurting you, the ones you love, killing you-because they can just bring you back. They want you ready to say yes, and Castiel, they-”
He broke off, and Castiel's stomach turned.
After all that had been said, what could make Sam hesitate?
“They need you to go to Hell,” Sam said.
Silence fell.
Castiel opened his hands and shook his head, fumbling for words. Bobby filled in the gap.
“What’d you say?”
“They need Castiel to go to Hell. A Righteous Man needs to shed blood in Hell for the Apocalypse to move forward. They are going to try to force him-” Sam broke off, turning from Bobby to Castiel. “-to force you to make a crossroads deal. To sell your soul to a demon in exchange for something.”
“Why would I do that?” Castiel spread his hands in front of himself, helpless. “Why would I even consider that?”
Sam looked down at Castiel’s hands.
“For the same reason anyone accepts a crossroads deal,” Sam said, his voice soft. “Because the alternative is unbearable.”
The angel sighed and addressed the group once more.
“You have to understand. You have to let me hide you, or teach you how to hide yourselves, because I don’t have much time. They’re after me. They know what I’ve done.”
“Did Dean tell them?” Castiel asked, surprised to find himself startled and even hurt by the notion. When Sam shook his head, he wondered at the relief he felt.
“I don’t think so. I think it’s more likely that someone just-said something in the wrong place.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, rolled his shoulders back, and then peered at Castiel’s shirt. “Looks like you memorized the banishing sigil pretty quick. Any chance you remember the one I drew under the table at the first motel?”
Castiel frowned, trying to recall the intricacies of it. “I remember the circle and the pentagram, but not the marks inside,” he admitted.
Gabriel sighed and when Castiel looked at him he was rolling his eyes. “A Devil’s Trap.”
He very purposefully did not meet Castiel's gaze.
“I’m assuming you can draw one,” Sam replied, his tone mild.
“Damn house is covered in ‘em,” Bobby said. “If it’s demons you’re worried about, this house is sealed and locked.”
Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then opened his eyes and nodded.
“Yeah. No, you did a good job. I just wish it was only demons I was worried about. Castiel, you need to draw some banishing sigils around the house-anywhere you or Gabriel might get cornered. It has to be blood. I need a piece of paper, please.”
Samandriel, still with an awe-stricken look on his face, ran into the library and came back with some printer paper and a pen.
“Here,” he said, breathless.
When Sam smiled up at him, he turned bright red.
“Thanks.” The angel clicked the pen open and started drawing an intricate hexagon shape, filled with tiny designs. “I know this is tricky, but this will ward angels away. When you draw them, they have to be precise.”
“What about you?” Castiel asked. “Will they keep you and Dean away, too?”
Sam’s hand stilled over the paper, but he didn’t look away. “Do you want the wards to keep us out?”
Castiel didn’t respond.
Sam’s lips tightened. He continued drawing, picking up the pace. “Fine. This one on the left has my name inscribed within the warding-an exception. If you draw this one, I’ll still be able to come here. Not Dean, just me. The next one I’m drawing will be to ward against all angels, myself included. I’m leaving them open so they don’t affect me now, but connect that last line and they’ll be effective.”
“And we’re supposed to trust you,” Gabriel said.
Sam looked up at him and closed the pen. He handed Castiel the paper, never breaking eye contact with Gabriel. “You don’t have a lot of choice.”
Before Gabriel could come up with a retort to that, Sam snapped his head around to stare out the kitchen window.
“No, no, come on, not yet,” he hissed.
“Sam?” Castiel stood when the angel did, and had to jog to follow his quick steps towards the front door. “Sam! What’s going on?”
Sam stopped at the front door, Castiel barely managing not to slam into him, and took a deep breath.
“They’ve found us,” he said.
“Who?”
Sam turned around and surveyed all of them-Gabriel, Samandriel, and Bobby having followed after Castiel-before extending his arm. The silver blade that Castiel had seen on the night of Brady’s death slipped into Sam’s hand.
Sam looked down at the blade, his fingers curling and uncurling around it like it hurt him to touch it too long.
“My brothers.”