SPN: The End of Innocence (4/8) [T]
Fandom:
Supernatural
Title:
The End of Innocence
Chapter 4:
Fallen
In which Claire and Dean bond and Castiel inadvertently gives the researchers an idea to defeat the Devil.
Author:
lt_indigo
Pairing(s):
suggestions of possible Dean/Cas. [Spoiler (click to open)]Unrequited, complicated Dean/Claire
Warning(s):
none
Disclamer:
Kripke owns, not me.
Word count:
2,204
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For two days, Claire sat by their side in the clinic. For two days, she watched Melody changing bags, ensuring that the IV and catheter lines were clear; uncertain at first but increasingly efficient. For two days, Jane agonised over what had happened, but ultimately she didn’t have the facilities, or the understanding of how envesseled angels worked, to make any real kind of diagnosis. She worried that he had suffered a haemorrhage of some kind; a supposition backed up by the nose-bleed they had suffered at the point Jimmy had collapsed, when Castiel’s tattered wings had burned to ashes around them. Jane didn’t know if either or both of them would wake up, but the fact they were still breathing was positive, she said.
Claire spent two days blaming Castiel for fighting Jimmy’s control and trying to speak when it was her dad’s opinion Dean had been interested in. She spent two days blaming her dad for fighting Castiel when the angel clearly wanted to say something he felt was important. She spent two days blaming Dean for putting the two of them in that situation in the first place. Only occasionally did it occur to her to blame Lucifer, who had put Dean in the position of needing to ask in the first place.
For two nights, Dean sat by her side, keeping watch when she dozed. The first night, he prayed to Michael, begging, saying ‘yes’ over and over, only would he consider helping Castiel and Jimmy in return? The second night, he was silent, his eyes haunted.
On the morning of the third day, hazy blue eyes opened and darted about the room, looking for something before sliding closed again as he turned away from them and wept, openly and bitterly.
“Cas? Jimmy?”
When there was no answer, not even any indication that he had been heard, Dean turned to Claire. She could feel the tears prickling in her eyes, but wouldn’t let them fall.
“Claire? Which of them is this?”
She didn’t want to tell him. She was in a ‘blame Dean’ moment.
“Castiel,” she said eventually, her voice cracking as she suddenly wondered what could make an angel cry.
“Cas?” Dean moved around the bed and crouched near Cas’ head, taking his hand gently. “Cas, what’s wrong? What happened to you?”
“Dean?” One broken word was all it took to melt Claire. She would never, never be able to hate these two men, no matter what.
“I’m here, Cas. I’m here.”
“Claire?”
“I’m here too,” she said, coming to stand beside Dean. She took Castiel’s other hand, careful to avoid the IV, as the angel looked up at her. His eyes stood out, an even brighter blue against the red rims.
“I’m alone.”
“You’re not alone, Cas,” Dean said, squeezing Cas’ hand tighter and bringing his other hand up to rest on Castiel’s shoulder as the angel curled back in on himself. “We’re both here.”
“That’s not what he means,” Claire said, her blood running cold as every single implication of that statement hit her. “He’s alone in his head: no angel radio, and…”
Dean’s head turned slowly, his eyes meeting hers. “Oh, Claire. I’m sorry.”
.oOo.
They stuck together like glue, neither of them leaving Castiel’s side for any longer than it took to pee. Claire knew that Dean couldn’t possibly understand what was wrong with Castiel: even she only had an inkling of what he was experiencing. When he had been with her, for all of five or ten minutes, her head had been filled not just with his tender, broken presence, but the songs sung by his brothers as well. Castiel had heard that music his whole existence, millions upon millions of years; a number so far beyond her comprehension it hurt even to think about it. In a rare moment of openness, a couple of months ago, he had told her that he still heard a whisper of it, in the back of his mind and, even if he was imagining it, both it and Jimmy’s steady presence comforted him, kept him tethered to reality.
Humans couldn’t really sing in Enochian, but she tried, for him. She held him to her and sang hesitant, translated nursery rhymes because she couldn’t manage anything else. Dean cottoned on eventually, and sang tunes Castiel would recognise from his cassette collection. Claire privately thought that while Castiel might be able to recognise the words, the tunes themselves were somewhat beyond Dean, with the peculiar and unique exception of 'Hey Jude'. He had an imperfection after all (aside from occasional assholishness). Jane eventually demanded that Dean stop butchering her beloved Led Zep and from then on, each time Claire’s voice refused to shape the harsh Enochian any more, Melody lived up to her name and sang every hymn she could think of (she had been the consummate professional and pretended not to hear what Dean, Claire and Jane had talked about as they discussed Castiel's condition, and she seemed to be taking it well so far. She was willing to help at least, even knowing that he was a possessing entity in a world where such things were always considered evil).
Claire gave up the torturous Enochian translations after a day and joined Melody in her hymns instead, losing herself in the familiar words. They reminded her of countless Sundays at Mass, standing between her parents, which inevitably led to her thinking about her father. She was so consumed by her thoughts that she missed the moment where Castiel picked up the tenor line of Abide With Me, his voice quiet at first, but gained in strength, drawing Jane’s attention.
“Hey,” she said softly from the door of Castiel’s tiny, crowded private room. “Welcome back.”
Castiel blinked at her. “Thank you,” he said, his voice now only a fraction of what it usually was, lacking its usual strength and conviction. “I… how long has it been?”
“Almost four days, man,” Dean said. Castiel had to tip his head up to see Dean, who was cradling him to his chest. “You were completely out for two and a half days, then catatonic for the last thirty-odd hours.”
Cas looked around slowly, from Dean to Claire, who was sitting at the end of the bed, her legs entwined with theirs, to Melody, leaning against the windowsill. “And you have been singing to me all this time?”
“Pretty much,” Jane said. “It was Claire’s idea, but they’ve all taken turns.”
“Even Dean? Perhaps I should be thankful I don’t recall that.”
“Hey!”
Claire laughed, and almost immediately clapped a hand to her mouth: it seemed wrong to have even a moment of happiness, of normality, when her dad was gone. Without uttering a word, Castiel held an arm out to her, and she scooted up, slotting into the familiar embrace, stupidly grateful that he was still willing to do this for her. Distantly, she was aware of Melody pressing a kiss to her forehead and slipping quietly out of the room as she finally let go and cried.
.oOo.
They had no body to burn, no-one else who would understand the necessity for a wake, so achieving closure was difficult. Castiel blamed himself although, once he was able to, he explained to Dean and Claire that the angels had finally slammed the pearly gates, leaving Earth to fend for itself. Once truly, absolutely cut off from everything that made him an angel, what was left of Castiel’s grace drained away and his wings burned. The pain Jimmy had felt was not Cas trying desperately to be heard, to dissuade Dean from his planned course of action, but Cas overreaching, trying to find the fine thread that had still connected him to his brothers even after he had chosen to leave.
“The thing I don’t get,” Dean said, the night Cas was released from the clinic, when they were finally alone, just the three of them, “is why they waited so long before closing up shop. I mean, Zachariah stopped bugging me over a year ago.”
Cas, still tired and tucked up in bed, sighed and glanced away. Dean prodded Castiel’s foot when he didn’t respond.
“I don’t know for sure,” he said eventually, “but I expect Michael made one last attempt to search for Gabriel, to bring him home before ensuring that Lucifer could never return to Heaven.”
“Gabriel?” Dean echoed, clearly not sure he had heard right. “As in the archangel?”
Cas nodded slowly, his eyes coming back to them: both Dean and Claire were sat at the foot of the bed, propped against pillows on the metal bedframe, one either side of Castiel. It was something Claire knew should be uncomfortable, having this gorgeous man who she may or may not be in love with practically in bed with her, but it just seemed right somehow. After spending a night with the three of them spooned on a twin bed in the clinic, both of them clinging to Castiel, not wanting to leave him feeling alone, Claire doubted there would be any weirdness left in this relationship, whatever it was.
“Gabriel took Lucifer’s fall badly,” Cas told them, fiddling with the edge of the comforter nervously. “They were close, and I don’t think Gabriel ever really forgave Michael, or our Father, for casting Lucifer into Hell. He left Heaven only a couple of millennia later.”
For some reason, Claire found Castiel’s casual reference to the timeframe deeply amusing. One glance at Dean, his forehead tightened into a baffled frown, told her he wasn’t quite processing it so readily. She reached out and squeezed his hand reassuringly. He gave her a tight smile and a squeeze in response.
“Do you think Gabriel’s hooked up with Lucifer? That we might have two archangels on our hands instead of just one?”
“No.” Castiel’s response was quick and harsh. He took a breath before explaining: “Gabriel was close to Lucifer, but he did not share Lucifer’s view of humanity. Gabriel was always very fond of you as a species. I… I believe Gabriel left because remaining would mean he would be forced to choose a side in the apocalypse; to choose one of our brothers over the other. By leaving, he… side-lined himself. Is that the correct word?”
Dean patted Cas’ foot. “Yeah, you got it. So, what, they found him?”
“Perhaps,” Castiel allowed. “Perhaps not. I expect we shall never know.”
They sat in companionable silence for a minute or so before Dean, brow still furrowed, spoke again: “Cas? Now you’re all powered down, does that mean Lucifer will be too?”
Castiel gave him a look. Claire had learned a lot of Castiel’s looks over the last six months: this one was his ‘humans are ridiculous and exasperating’ look, but it soon morphed into something infinitely more patient and understanding as comprehension dawned: he was the only example of angel-kind that Dean had to base suppositions on. “No. My power, as you know, was directly linked to Heaven; something that was designed to ensure my obedience. The archangels were not subject to the same restrictions: they are so powerful that the connection to Heaven is insignificant. My brother is just as dangerous as he has ever been.”
.oOo.
When Castiel dozed off, Dean turned to Claire.
“You got anything in that noggin of yours about Gabriel?”
She shook her head regretfully. “It doesn’t work like that,” she told him. “Castiel gave me knowledge he thought I might be able to use to protect myself and my mom, not anything personal. Not really. Plus, I think having millions of years’ worth of memories might break my brain.”
There was a soft snort of something resembling laughter. “Yeah, I guess. What do you reckon, though? Did they find Gabriel?”
Claire shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible, but whether he went back to Heaven or not, I really don’t know. I’m not even sure that Cas knows him well enough to be able to tell you to that: archangels didn’t really, you know, mingle with the commoners. At least, that’s the impression I’ve got. But, Gabriel might be fond of humanity, but Lucifer’s destroying us. Given the choice, I think I might go home, even if it meant picking a side.”
Dean sighed heavily. “Yeah, me too. I did in the end, didn’t I? I picked Heaven’s side because I had no other choice, so I guess Gabriel might have done the same thing.”
“But,” Claire said, shrewdly, “it wouldn’t hurt to keep an ear to the ground, would it? I mean, he’s stayed hidden from Heaven for centuries, so the chances of him having been found are pretty small, and having an archangel on our side might be handy.”
Dean flashed her the shadow of a smile. “No, it wouldn’t. Keep it on the QT, though: Cas will tell us we’re wasting time, and the others would just get excited.”
She nodded solemnly, her mind already whirring. Dean seemed to realise, got up and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight, Claire.”
“Night, Dean.”
And, for the first time since leaving Pontiac, Claire spent the night with just one other person for company. It was an oddly lonely feeling.
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