The Wild Ones: Chapter Seven
Castiel held his breath as Sam opened the door.
The morning sun was bright, and he shielded his eyes against it. Once the glare had faded he could make out five forms in the yard in front of Bobby’s house, in a line. In formation, he thought.
At the head was a dark-skinned man, who stood and surveyed the house with his lip curled into the suggestion of a sneer. The others were all still, facing the doorway, their bodies turned slightly towards the man in the center.
“Sam!” he called out. “Game’s over, Sam. Come on out.”
Sam ran his thumb over the grip of his blade, his shoulders rising and falling with his breath but otherwise totally still. Castiel peered around him to the-the angels, he supposed, who waited with an eerie patience.
“They’re here for me.” Sam barely turned his head, just enough for Castiel and the others to hear him. “Not for you. If they have me they’re likely to leave.”
“I can just banish all of you,” Castiel said, shifting Dean’s jacket aside so the dried blood was visible.
Sam shook his head. “No, the sigil’s damaged. Did you sleep in that?”
His tone was slightly accusatory, like Castiel should’ve known better than to sleep on a sigil. And okay, maybe so, but this was still very new to him. He hadn’t had much of a choice. Castiel frowned, and Sam sighed.
“You’d have to draw a new one,” Sam continued. “You’ll need fresh blood, human or angel. You can draw one once I’m outside, but I really don’t think they’re going to come after you. But if you banish us, they’ll know I’ve gotten that far in telling you about everything. It’s likely to get worse, then.”
“Did they find us because of you?” asked Gabriel, abruptly, from behind them. Castiel was about to respond-about to tell Gabriel to lay off, actually, when Sam took a deep breath.
“Probably,” he said.
“Then you go deal with your dick brothers, and I’ll stay here and protect mine.” Gabriel glanced at Samandriel, who looked hurt, and he paused. “You’re not a dick.”
“Is this the time? Gabriel?” Castiel asked, narrowing his eyes.
Gabriel didn’t even look at him, so Castiel gritted his teeth and turned to Sam instead.
“Are they going to hurt you?”
Sam paused, looking at Castiel like he was just now seeing him, and started to shake his head. He stopped. “Maybe. I don’t know, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is you staying safe. Bobby, bring Samandriel somewhere safe. He’ll go with you.”
Bobby hesitated, looking between all three Novaks, but eventually nodded. “Don’t get your idjit selves killed in my house,” he ordered, and led Samandriel upstairs.
“Gabriel, do you have chalk to draw the ward I gave you?”
Gabriel nodded.
“Okay. Good. Stay in here, and Castiel, whatever you see, do not come outside. They want me, but they’ll take you, too. Victor won’t hesitate.”
Castiel felt a sudden, unexpected surge of panic at the idea of these angels taking Sam, of Victor-the leader he’d seen, no doubt-taking Sam. That surge propelled him forward until he was gripping Sam’s sleeve.
They stared at each other for a moment. Castiel wasn’t sure who was more surprised.
“Castiel?” Sam’s voice was hesitant.
“I don’t want you to get hurt.” Castiel bit the inside of his cheek to try to contain his unsteady breathing before he continued. “I don’t-I don’t understand much of this, but you’re the only one who doesn’t seem to want something from me. I don’t know what I need to know yet. What am I supposed to do if they take you?”
It came out sounding more self-serving than he’d hoped-what am I supposed to do-but he didn’t know how else to say that he was frightened for Sam. How was he supposed to say that? How could a human have the right to be scared for something like Sam?
But he remembered the empty sadness in Sam's voice when they had shared their stories of rejection at the motel. He remembered that fear as they had jumped from room to room, the panic in the moments before Sam knew that it was Dean who had found them.
Sam was frightened now. And Castiel was frightened for him.
He startled as he felt Sam’s hand wrap around his. The angel’s eyes were fixed on his. “I will do everything I can to come back to you. This isn’t the first time they’ve tried to take me, and I’m still here. But if you’re not safe, if you’re taken, then there will be nothing to come back to-not for me, not for anyone. Do you understand? You have to be your own priority for once.”
Castiel nodded, drawing his hand back and sticking both of his hands in his pockets. He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t trust himself to.
Sam took a step toward the door, then, without turning, said, “The ward first. Then, if you need it, the banishing sigil. If you do the sigil, it needs to be drawn in blood.”
“I got it,” Gabriel replied from behind them. Castiel saw that he had the chalk already in his hand and was sticking the paper Sam had given him to the wall for reference. “You go.”
Castiel watched as Sam took a deep breath, braced himself, and stepped out of the house, shutting the door behind him.
He raced to the window and opened the curtains.
Sam walked out to the other angels, his blade clearly visible-but held wrong. He wasn’t threatening them, not yet. But his posture made it clear that he would react to an attack in kind.
He stopped a distance away from the angel Castiel thought was Victor. His voice didn’t carry into the house with the door closed, but he was gesturing broadly, though Victor didn’t seem moved. Sam’s case was made with sweeping arms and lots of gesticulation back toward the house, some toward the sky, and some toward himself and Victor. The last, especially, spoke to Castiel: the flat hand pressed to the chest then moving from Sam toward Victor in supplication. We’re brothers. You and I.
“Castiel!”
Gabriel’s voice startled him and he let the curtains fall over the window.
“If you’re done checking out the angel’s butt you could come and paint the banishing sigil.”
Castiel felt a wave of relief and familiar annoyance at his brother's words, but it didn’t completely cleanse the anger, or the sense of betrayal he’d felt last night. But he obeyed nonetheless because that’s what he did-he listened to Gabriel.
“Where’s a knife?” he asked, but Gabriel handed him a small, shallow bowl already filled with half an inch or so of blood. Castiel saw that the edge of the bowl was smeared slightly from where Gabriel had passed it to him. He winced at the long cut across his brother’s palm.
“Don’t waste it.” Gabriel went back to drawing careful, intricate lines on the wall in chalk. “I made it myself.”
Castiel dipped his finger in the bowl and began painting the sigil on the wall, staying as close to the window as he could so he could peer out.
Sam was closer to Victor, now. His blade had been righted. He held it away from the other angel, but the threat was clear, now.
Castiel’s breath caught and he had to take his hand off of the wall so he didn’t make an error in the design.
“Castiel, get cracking.”
Victor had a blade in his hand, too, now-identical to Sam’s. Castiel knew, without knowing how, that while his meager little blade hadn’t done anything, this blade would be enough to kill Sam.
He realized that Victor might not just take Sam. He might kill him.
“Castiel, come on, the blood is gonna dry and I don’t have that much to start with-”
Victor nodded toward the house. Sam drew up, his broad shoulders rolling back and the blade firm in his hand, stepping closer. They were in arm’s reach, now. Close enough for the blade.
Would Sam kill Victor?
No, there were four others. He’d never make it out if he killed one of them. Castiel was sure that even Sam couldn’t take on four other angels at once.
“Cas!”
“Do not shout at me!” Castiel whirled around, the blood sloshing sickeningly in the bowl. Gabriel froze, stunned. Castiel drew a breath, then another. “Please. Don't-please.”
Gabriel continued to stare, nodded slowly. “Cas. You have to finish that sigil.”
Castiel nodded, too, flexing his bloody hand to relax the tense muscles. He turned back to the window.
His finger completed the last arm of the sigil right before he dropped the bowl, shattering it on the ground.
Victor had Sam by the throat, the tip of the blade pressed against his chest.
He was going to die.
Sam was going to die and it was going to be Castiel’s fault.
So despite his firm practice over the last several days of no prayer, don’t let them hear you, don’t even think their names, he shut his eyes and he focused all of his intention, all of his fear, all of his wish for Sam to be saved, into a single word:
Dean!
Castiel felt himself rise like it was happening to someone else-
Whatever you see, do not come outside-
-and he gripped the handle of the door and swung it open-
-just in time to see Victor rear back and begin to plunge the blade into Sam’s chest-
-just in time to see Dean appear behind Victor and pull him away.
Victor fell to the ground. Dean stood over him and grabbed him by the lapels. Victor’s blade had fallen away, and Dean kicked it further.
Sam collapsed to the ground.
Dean pulled Victor close. His voice rang out across the salvage yard like a church bell, like judgment.
“If you ever touch him again, I will end you, angel or not.”
“You never could really see him, Dean.” Victor’s voice was thick and choked from Dean’s hold on him. “He blinds you. He will lead you to your Fall.”
Dean stepped back, still holding Victor, and surveyed the other angels.
“Castiel Novak is my charge,” he said, “and Sammy is my responsibility. I will deal with this. Return to your garrison, and you can spread the word: the next angel who touches Castiel or Sam will answer to me.”
He released Victor, who crouched to retrieve his blade. By the time he was standing, Dean’s weapon was also in hand.
The two angels faced each other, their weight forward on their feet like they were ready to spring at any moment, but Victor seemed less sure than he’d been with Sam.
“John will find him, Dean,” Victor said.
Castiel could see Dean tense at the word John, and he wondered who that was.
Victor continued. “This is pointless. You'll just go down alongside him.”
“You tell John what I told your posse,” Dean said. “Hands off Sammy, hands off Cas. I have this under control.”
Castiel watched as Victor's fingers flexed over his blade, his eyes dropping to Dean’s. Dean smiled, a feral and fearsome thing even from Castiel’s distance.
“Oh, please. Give me a reason,” he said. “I’m begging you.”
Victor narrowed his eyes, but vanished along with the other angels.
Castiel ran outside as Dean crashed down next to his brother, who had managed to get himself kneeling. When he reached them, Dean’s hands were tangled in Sam’s hair and he was staring urgently at his brother.
“Did he cut you? Sammy! Answer me! Did his blade catch you?” Dean didn’t spare a glance for Castiel as he knelt by his brother. “Sammy, shit, come on, man.”
Sam swayed, nodded, and shrugged his overshirt off. Dean helped him out of his undershirt.
Castiel couldn’t contain his hiss at the wicked-looking, faintly glowing stab wound over the right side of Sam’s chest.
“Sit,” Dean ordered, and what Sam did in response was more of a collapse than real intentional sitting, but Castiel hurried behind him to support him. The angel was heavy-heavier than he’d expected-but he was able to prop him up, at least to an extent.
Dean slipped his hand around the back of Sam’s neck, forcing him to make eye contact. “It’s just a nick, Sammy. Stay with me. Cas’s got you, I’ve got you. I’m here. I’m gonna make this right.”
“Dean,” Sam rasped. “How-”
“Our buddy here put out the SOS. Lucky for you I had my ears on.” Dean pressed a hand over the injury, and Sam sucked in a ragged breath.
Castiel struggled to hold his position, but he couldn’t drop Sam, not now. Not after he’d almost died to protect them. He let Sam’s head fall back onto his shoulder, let Dean guide his brother’s broad back against Castiel’s chest.
He watched as Dean worked-not that he could see what he was doing. It just looked like he was touching Sam’s chest, but he knew that it was healing the wound. Just like they’d both healed him, back at the motel. He could almost see underneath Dean’s hand, not well enough to see the deepest part of the wound but enough to see the rough edge of the cut, where Victor’s blade had stuttered along Sam’s skin while Dean pulled him away. Those edges were knitting themselves together, sealing up that streaming light.
“Thanks.”
Castiel looked up at Dean, who hadn’t looked away from the wound. The angel spoke quietly, haltingly, as though expressing gratitude was a human custom he wasn’t familiar with.
“For calling me. For-I know you didn’t want to, and I don’t blame you. But I would’ve-I would’ve lost-”
Dean’s lips screwed down into a scowl, but Castiel could see the sheen of tears in his eyes.
Yes, Castiel thought. Angels did seem to feel brotherhood like humans did.
“Thank you for coming,” Castiel said, keeping his voice soft. “For saving him. Us.”
“It’s my job, Cas. Protecting him. Protecting you. You two make it fuckin’ hard, but it’s my job.” Dean pulled his hand away from Sam’s chest, and the skin was flawless, only marred by the blood from the wound. Sam heaved a deep sigh as Dean grabbed him by the forearm, helping him up. Castiel stood awkwardly after.
Sam swayed a little. Dean gripped his shoulder, steadying him. “Let’s get your stupid ass inside so we can figure out what the hell we’re going to do now, since I pissed Victor off.” He started off for the house. Castiel started after him, but Sam didn’t move.
“Dean.”
Dean turned, walked cautiously back to Sam. He opened his mouth, only to be cut off by Sam engulfing him in a desperate embrace.
Castiel hovered awkwardly at a distance, but was close enough to hear Sam say, “Thank you. Dean, thank you.”
“Shut up.”
“Dean, I know you don’t-”
“No, Sam, seriously, shut up.” Dean pulled away and framed Sam’s face with his hands. “If you’re suggesting you thought for a second that I’d let that dick Victor hurt you-if you think I’d let anybody put their hands on you-then you’re dumber than I thought you were. And I thought you were pretty dumb.”
Sam burst out laughing, helpless, surprised sounds, and Dean slung his arm under Sam’s and hauled him inside, unable to smother a grin of his own.
“Only one gets to punch that stupid face is me,” Castiel heard him mutter.
They walked into the house together. Castiel felt a shiver, as if he'd walked into a room with a radically different temperature. The wards were nearly complete.
Gabriel stopped midway through a line to stare at them.
As Dean passed Gabriel in the hallway he slipped out from underneath Sam’s arms, resting his brother gently against the wall. He grabbed the chalk from Gabriel’s hands.
“Hey! Who the fuck are-” Gabriel began, indignant, but Dean cut him off.
“Your brother’s Heavenly babysitter. Just gonna slip me and Sammy’s names in here real quick.” Dean’s fingers moved quickly over the design, adding characters in the outline of the hexagram and finishing the rest of the lines Gabriel had still been painstakingly measuring out.
“And what if we don’t want you here?” Gabriel demanded, uncowed when Dean turned to him.
“Too fucking bad.” Dean tossed the chalk back and grabbed the template off of the wall. “Good luck telling the Enochian for our names apart from the Enochian that keeps the douchebags out.”
“Obviously it’s not keeping all the douchebags out,” Gabriel grumbled, frowning at the design as if it had betrayed him.
Dean rolled his eyes. He glanced up the stairs when footsteps announced Bobby and Samandriel coming back down. “Ah, the rest of the goon squad.”
“Anybody dead?” Bobby’s words belied the anxiety-the fear that Castiel could hear in his voice. That wasn’t something he’d ever heard from Bobby before. It made his stomach twist uncomfortably.
“Everybody’s alive, Bobby,” he called back. “We’ve got extra company, though.”
Bobby arrived at the bottom of the stairs and held Samandriel back behind him, glaring suspiciously at Dean. “I hope you sons of bitches don’t eat too much, ‘cause I barely got enough for these idjits.”
“Dean saved us,” Castiel said. He felt it was important that Bobby knew.
The old hunter narrowed his eyes further. “I still ain’t got much food.”
Dean laughed, but it was a weary sound, He went back to pick Sam up off the wall. “No food, thanks. Think you can find me somewhere to set him down? I’d say he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother, but he’s really both.”
“This way.” Castiel ducked in front of Dean and led him into the library, where he gestured to the couch. Gabriel snuck in ahead of him, in turn, and pulled out a sheet from under the couch.
It was off-white, stained in lots of places-stained with blood. Dean didn’t look twice, just held Sam until Gabriel had spread the sheet out. The two of them laid Sam on top of it.
“That’s for all the times someone’s come in bleeding from a fight against a demon or something, I suppose,” Castiel said when Gabriel retreated, giving the angels their space.
Gabriel took a deep breath. He looked more hesitant talking to Castiel than he’d ever seemed before. Guilty, maybe. What a nice thought, but he didn’t find it likely. “Don’t be mad, Cas. I couldn’t tell you. Don’t be mad at me.”
“They came for me, Gabriel.”
Castiel clenched his hands into fists, and felt Gabriel’s eyes heavy on him. He didn’t care; he wanted Gabriel to hurt. He had had no right to keep this from him, for so long. And if his brother couldn’t have anticipated how it would all fall out, it wasn’t relevant. There were demons in the world. Angels, and who knew what else. How was Castiel supposed to protect himself without knowing? How many times had he been so vulnerable, so ignorant of all the things that could hurt him?
“They came for me when I had no one.”
“And whose fault is that?” Gabriel snapped. “You didn't have to leave.”
The words hit like a physical blow, and Castiel took in a shaky breath. “You-Gabriel. You know why I left. Gabriel, you helped me pack. You said I had to get out.”
A flash of what might have been guilt passed across Gabriel's face, but it returned to stoniness. “Doesn't mean you had to never come back. You're a big boy, now, Cas. I think you could've stood up to Dad by now.”
Anger hit Castiel like a wave. “That's not-”
“Now is not the time,” Bobby said quietly from behind them.
From the couch, Sam laughed. It was hoarse, and it turned into a cough halfway through, but it was the first noise he’d made since coming into the house, so Castiel took it as the relief it was. He propped himself up on his elbows and grinned a kind of lopsided grin at Castiel and Gabriel.
“You sure they’re not supposed to be our vessels, Dean?” he asked. He didn’t seem to notice the way Dean stilled. “That sounds like a familiar fight.”
“You need to rest.” Dean pushed Sam down gently, glaring at the wound. “You also need to shut up before you say something you don’t mean to.”
Sam looked up at his brother and nodded, looking subdued.
“I’m gonna go get some air.” Dean turned and left the house, closing the door behind him.
An uncomfortable silence fell in the living room, multiple opportunities for awkward conversations hanging over them. The quiet felt precarious, like any errant word would be the one that tipped them over into a fight about any one of the numerous possibilities.
“Castiel.”
He looked up at Sam’s voice, which sounded small and hesitant.
“I just-thank you. For calling Dean.”
“I didn’t want you to die.”
Sam chuckled, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah. Me, neither.” He sighed, rolling back his shoulder and hissing slightly as, Castiel guessed, the movement pulled at his newly-healed skin. “Can you-can you go check on Dean? He gets-down, when something happens to me.”
Castiel froze. “I don’t-know what I could say, Sam. I don’t think he wants to see me right now, he said he needed some-”
“I know what he said.” Sam smiled sadly. “He’s worried. He’s not gonna do anything to you, Castiel, I promise. I wouldn’t ask you otherwise. Please, just-just ask him to come back inside, inside the warding.”
He was about to argue-this wasn’t fair, he shouldn’t be responsible for Dean’s welfare, he could take care of himself-but Sam looked so tired. And that was Castiel’s-not his fault, not precisely, but it was because of him. Sam had almost died trying to protect him. He could go outside and talk to Dean.
“Okay,” he said. Sam closed his eyes and smiled.
He was in the hallway, almost out the door, when Bobby stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “You gonna be safe out there, boy?”
The curtains were still pushed aside where he’d watched Sam face off with Victor, so he could see Dean sitting on the steps, head in his hands, looking remarkably fragile and human. He wasn’t fooled.
“He’s not going to hurt me.”
“And he ain’t gonna take you?”
Castiel looked up at Bobby, and shook his head. “I believe Sam. When he’s felt that Dean is a danger, he’s told me. If he says I’m safe, I believe I’m safe.”
He took another step before Bobby caught his arm, and said, “Leave the door open. He starts lookin’ shady you come back in or you holler good and loud.”
“If he tries something, Bobby, I won’t have time.” He didn’t want to alarm Bobby, didn’t want to sound grim-but whatever Bobby already knew about the supernatural, he needed to understand what Castiel knew. He needed to understand that the only times he’d gotten away from an angel were when another was aiding him.
He guessed, at some level, that he wanted him to understand what it meant that he was putting his trust in Sam.
Bobby didn’t seem to know how to respond to that, so Castiel was able to get out of the house without further impediment.
He did leave the door open, though.