Fic: Firestarter 3/6 (Supernatural; Dean/Castiel, Superhero AU, R)
Fic Title: Firestarter (Art Masterpost)
Author: misachan
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural (Superhero AU)
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel (also featuring Sam, Balthazar, Uriel, Gabriel and Alastair)
Rating: R
Word Count: 6712
Warnings: Brief descriptions of violence, minor character death
Summary: Dean Winchester was raised to be a hero, fighting alongside his father to protect the innocents of Lawrence City. Was he ever glad his old man wasn't alive to see him now. A Supernatural superhero AU.
*
A solid week went by with no sign of Castiel. It had been long enough that Dean had gone from a mix of relieved and annoyed to kind of worried. If Castiel had really meant to kill him he'd thought the hammer would have fallen by now. Maybe one of his supervisors had decided he'd taken too long.
Dean shook the thought away. Castiel was a big bad angel, he could take care of himself.
He just wished all of his “friends” could be nice enough to stay away. “Are you hesitating, Dean?”
Dean glared at Alastair, prompting the demon's sick smile. “You know I'm not. Stop crowding me or this won't work.”
Alastair stepped back, his hands up like he was begging forgiveness. “I shouldn't have doubted. You're just taking longer than the last few times.”
Dean didn't bother responding to that, instead taking his jacket off and dropping it to the pavement. The night was unseasonably warm and opening portals to Alastair's increasingly precise instructions could work up a sweat in a blizzard.
And yeah, maybe he was stalling a little bit. The handprint worked just as Castiel had promised at keeping the hellfire under control but he didn't know if it would affect the portal opening too.
When Dean felt his power building in his chest he realized he'd been hoping the power would be blocked. Bet you wished you'd thought of that now, huh Cas? Hell, if anything Dean thought the brand was making the process easier; when he braced for the usual pain it didn't come, not even when the tendrils of hellfire reached out for him.
At least Dean hoped that was the brand. If he'd gotten to the point where pure hellfire didn't even tickle Dean knew there was no coming back. Alastair had him hold the portal longer than any of the others and eventually the strain of that started to hurt, a dull ache spreading across his shoulders and down his back. “How much longer?” he shouted over the howl of energy.
“A few more seconds.” No matter how loud the roar Alastair's voice could always slide just underneath it. In the end it was more like twenty but when he finally felt Alastair's hand on his shoulder all Dean cared about was that he could stop. “Good boy.” Dean's knees buckled and he felt Alastair grab both arms to steady him. “Easy, now.” Alastair set him down against the wall, all but cooing over him like an overprotective mother.
Then Dean felt the demon freeze. “What did you do to yourself?” he asked, starting to trace the bottom edge of the brand visible beneath the sleeve of Dean's t-shirt. The oily tinge to his voice was back, like he knew exactly what Dean had done and just wanted it confirmed.
Dean's mind seized up in a moment of sheer panic. Stupid. Shouldn't have taken the jacket off, fuck. He cringed away before Alastair could actually touch it. “It's not a big deal,” he said, pulling his sleeve down and ducking under Alastair's arm so he could stand. “A thing happened. I got it handled.”
“A thing,” Alastair repeated. Dean had expected him to sound angry but instead the words came out thoughtful. “I see.”
Dean shrugged back into his jacket, brushing himself off like nothing was wrong. “We done here?”
“For now.” Alastair stopped him at the mouth of the alley when he tried to leave, one hand on Dean's shoulder. “Is there anything you need to tell me, Dean?”
It took every ounce of Dean's self control to not back away and throw up. “What? No.”
Dean could swear the demon looked worried. “You know that if anyone is giving you trouble you can tell me, don't you? No matter what they may have threatened.”
Dean wondered if he was having some kind of psychotic break. “Dude, I'm fine,” he said, finally shaking Alastair off. “Can I go?”
“Of course.” Alastair stepped aside and Dean rushed past him, managing to not break into a full run until he knew he was out of Alastair's sight. He didn't slow down until he slammed the door of the motel room shut behind him, testing every lock twice. “Cas, you better show up tonight,” he said, half to himself and half to the air in the hopes that maybe that worked with angels. “'Cause I think you're in trouble and I can't warn you if I don't know where the fuck you are.”
Dean waited in the room until midnight but there was no sign of Castiel. The short patrol he managed that night was a distracted waste and sleep was a very long time coming.
***
They'd found another set of wings. Castiel crouched down, tracing just his fingertip along the outer edge; the impression had long since gone cold, meaning the murder had happened hours before, perhaps even a full day.
Castiel sat back on his heels, taking in the whole sweep of the wings with one mournful glance. He'd desperately hoped this plan would work.
That they'd failed to prevent the murder just made the reminders from his conscience that it had been seven days since he'd left Dean without a word that much more painful. His plan had been to show up the next night as if nothing had happened, to show Dean his disposition toward him hadn't changed, but then Balthazar had found him and asked for help. He'd suspected someone of watching him and had hoped that if he and Castiel alternated duties it would throw whoever it was off Balthazar's scent and would increase their chances of catching the criminal in the act. It had been a good plan, Balthazar's often were, but it took all of his time and he'd worried that if he told Dean what he was doing Dean would want to help and get caught in the crossfire. Or worse, be compelled by the demons to betray him, if the demons were in fact responsible.
And Castiel was still not at all convinced that Dean was responsible. The timing of the portal openings and the attacks were convincing but that could mean the culprit was using the energy surge that came from opening a portal to cover its tracks. Angels didn't die easily and certainly never quietly, the attacker had to have some method. Castiel didn't want to add to Dean's already staggering burdens if he didn't have to.
But Castiel was beginning to worry that time was coming. This was too many, they would have to come up with another plan and Castiel doubted he could keep Dean away from it a second time.
Castiel was about to alert Balthazar of what he'd discovered when a shadow fell over him. “Well, well, well,” he heard from behind, a strange, sing-song quality to the voice. “You took some effort to find.”
Castiel turned and saw Alastair behind him, the demon's eyes milky white. He didn't have time to breathe before the demon's hands wrapped tight around his neck.
***
Dean woke screaming. At first he thought it was a just a nightmare, one of those nasty ones he could never remember once his eyes opened, God knew he had enough of those, but after a few disoriented seconds Dean realized the brand on his shoulder was burning. He sat up and pressed one hand against the brand; the skin was tender and inflamed like it had gotten infected and his whole arm felt like it was on fire.
Then it started bleeding.
Dean pushed himself up and pulled on a pair of jeans and his boots before he even knew what in the hell he was going to do. He doubled over when another wave of pain hit, almost forcing him down to his knees. It felt like hellfire but a thousand times stronger. The pain came again, weaker this time than the first, but Dean knew down to his bones that wasn't a sign this was passing.
And he knew he had been absolutely right to worry about Castiel.
Dean crouched next to the bed and tried to clear his head. He didn't know why he was sure this had to do with the angel but he didn't waste time doubting the hunch. He just didn't know what to do about it.
Huh. That's an idea.fast. It could be done with a focus, he'd used Sam's computer.
Dean pressed his hand as hard as he could take against the brand. “Work,” he whispered. “Please work.” Dean felt his power pull tight within his chest, like a balloon being pulled, then he opened his eyes to see a glowing line floating in space. Dean gritted his teeth and focused on the line, visualizing grabbing it with both hands and tearing it open. He felt sweat drip into his eyes and forced himself to ignore it; pain started drumming behind his eyes as the portal pulled open inch by very slow inch, the bright light giving way to glimpses of a drab nighttime alley.
From the other side of the portal Dean thought he heard a distorted, muffled cry.
Dean focused for one more second to stabilize the portal and launched himself through.
He landed hard enough to almost black out. Portal traveling was rough under perfect circumstances and this was as far from perfect as Dean could imagine. It took a few seconds for him to be able to breathe.
Dean heard that cry again and jolted to his feet, feeling like he'd been hit with a taser. He thought the sound was coming from the alley nearby and staggered toward it; there was so much hellfire in the air Dean could taste it. He rounded the corner and skidded to a stop, a surge of pure rage wrapping around him like barbed wire. He felt the hellfire in his own blood come to the surface in response, fire wreathing his fists without Dean having to command it. His vision shaded and Dean wondered if his eyes had gone black.
Alastair had Castiel up against the wall, his hands tight around the angel's neck. Alastair wasn't trying to strangle him, though; the reek of burning flesh filled the alley, Castiel's clothes starting to smolder off him. When Castiel screamed again Alastair clamped one hand over his mouth and Castiel started to thrash, convulsing hard enough for Dean to hear his head slam against the brick wall behind him. “Let him go!” Dean said, grabbing Alastair by the shoulder and trying to wrench him away.
Alastair looked over his shoulder, smiling like a child at a carnival. “I understand why you didn't confide in me,” he said, letting out a little chuckle. “I'm more than happy to take care of this for you.”
“It's not a problem,” Dean said, real horror sinking in that Alastair genuinely seemed to think he was helping. “I said I had it handled.”
Castiel's eyes opened, going wide when he saw Dean. Castiel tried to shake his head, pushing back on Alastair's hand in a futile attempt to get him to let go. Alastair looked back to him, wrapping both hands around his neck and squeezing hard enough that Dean saw white in the demon's knuckles. Castiel let out a desperate little sob of pain and then went limp, his eyes rolling back.
Two seconds later he started to glow. Bright white light drifted from his eyes and nose and mouth as his body spasmed. Dean felt the brand on his shoulder go from burning to ice cold, like the whole area was covered in frostbite. “Let him go,” Dean repeated, again trying to pull Alastair away. Alastair just pushed him away and went back to work, the joy of throttling the life out of the angel apparently more tempting than slowly burning him.
The worst part of it all was that little voice in Dean's mind, that corruption in his blood, was whispering to Dean to sit back and enjoy it. A sick piece of him the demons already owned was appreciating the beauty of Castiel hanging there helpless in the demon's grip, had cataloged what he'd sounded like when he'd screamed and how very blue his eyes were when they were wide with terror. The voice told Dean to ask Alastair to step aside, to let Dean finish him off. It whispered to Dean what it would be like to squeeze the life out of someone who had tried to help him, to feel Castiel struggle against him and to finally feel him stop.
That voice had been getting so loud lately sometimes Dean couldn't hear anything else. Someday Dean knew he wouldn't be able to say no to it.
Dean clenched his jaw tight. That was sure as hell not going to be today. “Let him go or I'll never open another portal again.” Dean felt so light-headed he could barely stand and prayed Alastair didn't call his bluff because he didn't think he could follow through on it.
Alastair turned to look at him again, his eyes human instead of demon white. “I'm not sure if you mean that,” he said, that thoughtful tone back in his voice.
“I said I had it handled,” Dean said, keeping one eye on Castiel. The glow was brighter and he'd stopped moving. “I got him on a string. The thing on my shoulder, that helps me with the hellfire. And they all know he's after me, if you kill him I'll be the one on the hook for it and I can't open up any portals for you if every angel in the world comes and kills me.”
Alastair tilted his head to the side almost the way Castiel did sometimes, but he let Castiel drop. “Only because it seems so important to you, Dean,” he said and Dean felt almost faint with relief when Castiel let out a soft groan when he hit the ground. Alastair grabbed a handful of Castiel's shirt and held him up, shaking him hard until his eyes opened. “Don't ever lay a hand on my protege again,” Alastair said before shoving Castiel back to the filthy alley pavement and disappearing.
Dean rushed over to Castiel, dropping to his knees beside him; Cas' eyes were wide and he was breathing like he'd just run ten marathons back to back. “I'm gonna sit you up, okay?” Cas' eyes looked blankly in Dean's direction, clearly just following the sound of his voice. “I'm gonna take that as an okay.” He wrapped his arms underneath Castiel's shoulders and eased him up, leaning him against the wall of the alley; he was as gentle as possible but Castiel still whimpered. “Sorry, man, I know you gotta feel like shit right now.”
Castiel nodded as if Dean had made a very good observation. After a few seconds Castiel's vision started to clear, blinking at Dean as if what he was looking at didn't make sense. “Dean?” he whispered, fumbling to put one hand on Dean's shoulder and managing it on the third try. “I didn't think I would see you again.”
He started using Dean as leverage to stand back up and Dean stayed close, ready to catch Castiel if he fell over. “Whose fault is that?” Dean said, trying not to look at the blackened, beyond third degree burns on his face and neck. “What was with the disappearing act?”
“That was why,” Castiel said, nodding to something over Dean's shoulder. Dean turned around and saw an impression of huge black wings burned into the pavement. “Something's hunting us. Killing us. I was helping my brother find out what.”
“Fuck. I guess now you know.”
Castiel shook his head. “No. No, Alastair was after me specifically. He's not what we've been searching for.”
“But I just saw him.....”
“If he could have killed me he would have. He wanted to hurt me and....” Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, as if searching for the right word. “Exorcize me,” he finally said, frowning as if that wasn't quite right but would have to do. “Pull me out of my body.”
“Yeah, I know what exorcize means.” Dean touched just under the burn on his neck, which was slowly fading from necrotic black to a painful livid red. “You do heal fast, I'll give you that. I thought you said demons couldn't burn you.”
“Alastair is far from a common demon.” A full body shiver rushed through him. “I don't want Balthazar to know this happened,” he said, sounding every inch like shock had just caught up with him.
“We'll get out of here,” Dean said, putting both hands on his shoulders in an attempt to calm him down. “Take a few minutes to catch your breath first, okay?” Castiel nodded and swallowed hard, as if he was trying to stop his body from shaking through sheer force of will. “What was the point of trying to rip you out of the meat suit, anyway?” he said, hoping to give Cas something to focus on.
“I told you, we can't operate on Earth in our true forms.”
“Yeah, I know, but if this one breaks just grab another one, right?”
Cas shook his head. “There very few humans capable of being vessels. Most of the population would explode if they tried,” he said, and Dean tried to push away that lovely mental image. “It runs along bloodlines. You could be one,” he said, giving Dean something close to his normal, examining look.
“Me?”
“Yes, but not for me. Of the tiny percentage capable of it an even smaller fraction is suitable for each specific angel. The chances of there being more than one suitable vessel is microscopic and then there's the issue of getting the person to agree. If we lose our vessels it's an almost certainty we won't find another.”
“So, good as dead, then.”
“In a way.”
Cas' legs buckled under him and Dean wrapped both arms around him to hold him up. “Easy, easy. I got you.”
Castiel nodded, his face pressed against Dean's shoulder. “I tried to scream. I cried out and no one heard me except you.” He clung so tight onto Dean he could barely breathe. “How did you know I was in distress?”
“This thing you put on my arm felt like it was on fire, Cas. I knew something had to be up.”
“It was?” he said, pulling back and looking genuinely surprised.
“Yeah. You didn't rig it to do that?”
Castiel shook his head. “I intended nothing of the kind. I suppose I was rushed.”
“I'm not exactly complaining. Really. Especially considering how it worked out.” He leaned Castiel back against the wall and couldn't quite bring himself to pull away. “Hey,” he said, suddenly not able to look at Castiel. “About what that jerk said, about you putting your hands on me. Forget that. You can touch me whenever you want.”
For an instant Dean thought Castiel was just going to fly off in disgust. Expected it,really. Instead he felt Castiel's hand slide up his arm, coming to rest just over the handprint.
Dean had always been good at picking up hints; he rolled up his sleeve and shuddered when Castiel touched the handprint, the warmth of it spreading under his skin. “You felt that too, huh?” he said, not missing that Cas had shivered too.
“Very much,” Cas said, his usually deep voice reduced to a rasp. “I must have created a connection without meaning to.”
The burns on his face had all but healed; Dean ran the pad of his thumb under Castiel's lower lip, watching for signs of pain. “That hurt?” When Castiel shook his head no Dean traced just the edge of his lower lip. He didn't even know why he was doing this. He wanted to blame the handprint but he knew the truth was that he was so touch starved just this was enough to get him lightheaded, like being drunk but better.
Dean stopped caring about whys when Castiel's lips parted in response, his breath hot against Dean's skin. They were still standing so close Dean only had to angle his head to lean in for a kiss, first just brushing his lips against Castiel's. When Cas didn't pull away Dean pressed closer, coaxing Castiel's lips open until that first taste of him made Dean moan. When he finally pulled back he was shaking just as hard as Castiel had been a few minutes ago. “You should have killed me that first night,” he said, that vicious memory of Alastair squeezing until Castiel went limp suddenly all he could see. “I'm a dead man walking anyway, no one gets away clean this far in.”
When he was able to look up again Castiel was giving him that head-tilted look, almost the same as from that first night in that other alley. Then he grabbed a handful of Dean's shirt and pulled him back into an unpracticed but very acceptable kiss of his own, his hands cradling Dean's head as if he was afraid Dean might break. “You said I could touch you,” he said, his voice so low and rough Dean almost couldn't make out the words. “Show me how you would want me to touch you.”
Dean was beginning to wonder if maybe he hadn't actually woken up and this was all a strange and wonderful dream. “Later,” he said, knowing that if Castiel did touch him now it was going to very quickly move on to things they'd want something softer than asphalt to do them on. “When we're back at the motel, after we patrol. We can spend all morning with you learning how to touch me if you want.”
Castiel's hand moved to Dean's waist, his thumb brushing the skin between his shirt and jeans as he leaned close to Dean's ear. “All morning and the rest of the day,” he whispered.
***
Although he knew he could never admit it aloud a secret part of Castiel was almost grateful to Alastair. The morning after the attack had been a...revelation, one that had continued to unfold throughout the next week. Castiel didn't think he could ever be as fond of a place as he'd become of Dean's motel room. And Castiel was determined that this progress meeting with Balthazar would have no power to sour his mood.
He felt a little prick of conscience at even thinking that. Castiel would be the first to admit that from an outside perspective his priorities as of late would look skewed. So far as he was concerned he was still on his mission, saving Dean (though he knew Balthazar and Uriel would be the first to point out that his stated mission had been to stop Dean, but Castiel refused to believe those two goals could not be one and the same.) If his methods were becoming less than orthodox, well, Dean Winchester wasn't the type who responded to orthodox solutions.
Castiel closed his eyes and thought about the way Dean's eyelids fluttered at even the slightest touch, the way it felt when Dean pressed his lips to the curve of Castiel's neck. The hellfire in Dean's touch was growing stronger, enough that Castiel could feel the echo of it now even though it was still too weak to cause harm. The mark was helping but even it couldn't hold that back forever; another opening, a handful at the most, and Dean might be beyond saving.
Everything in Castiel recoiled just from the thought. He needed time and he needed advice. As transporting as this week had been Castiel hoped speaking with his brothers would help give him some clarity.
It slowly dawned on Castiel that Balthazar was late.
The faint drizzle hanging in the air all morning had developed into a cold, steady rain; Castiel huddled on the rooftop and looked up into the overhanging clouds. This was unlike Balthazar. Castiel hadn't checked in as well as he'd promised since reuniting with Dean but Balthazar had been acting strangely all week himself; he'd confided to Castiel a few days ago - in secret, which also struck Castiel as odd when he thought about it - that he thought he was getting close but then shut Castiel out entirely. Even getting him to agree to meet had been like pulling teeth, as Dean would put it. Well, as Dean would put it with less profanity.
Castiel decided to tap his connection to the garrison as he waited. It had been too long since he'd taken the chance to commune and he hoped hearing the voices of his brothers and sisters would give him some reassurance.
What he did hear was something very different. Castiel felt his mind get forcibly pulled away and forced somewhere smaller and static, one mind instead of many. A memory instead of a changing thought. The impression was rushed and murky; Castiel could feel and hear but not see, making him feel like an eavesdropper in a dark room. He could feel Balthazar close by, near enough to touch; he could feel drizzle on his skin, hear the wet thud of footsteps as people passed by. Then the impression jumbled and Castiel wasn't sure how much time was passing; he heard a wingbeat, perhaps more than one, then Balthazar's voice, resignation mixed with terror. Oh. So that's how it is.
The next thing he felt was pain, spikes of it driving through him and cutting off his air. Castiel knew he'd be screaming were he able; the pain was worse than when Alastair had touched him, worse than anything he'd felt in any battle. Castiel hadn't known pain like this was possible.
Everything stopped. There was nothing but darkness and cold; for a moment Castiel wondered if this was what death felt like.
He snapped out of the meditation curled up on the edge of the roof, his clothes soaked and his hair plastered down to his face. It took a few moments to remember how to open his eyes.
When he finally managed it he saw Balthazar crouching there looking down at him. “Guess you never know how things will work out, do you Cassie?” Balthazar looked solid but when Castiel tried to touch him his hand passed through.
An implanted message then. This was in his head, a vision left for him to find when he tried to commune. Balthazar rubbed his hands over his face, looking around like he was worried about being overheard. “If you're seeing this it's safe to say I turned my back on someone I shouldn't have. Listen to me very carefully: we were both wrong. If I'm right - and considering what you're watching looks like I am - you need to hide. Go to ground. Don't communicate with any of us, in person or otherwise. Hate to say it, but you might be safer with Winchester than anyone else right now.” He looked over his shoulder again. “I didn't tell you and I'm not sorry for it. You'd want to believe it even less than I did.” He felt his head snap up, like Balthazar had wanted to make sure Castiel was looking him in the eye. “Remember what I said.”
The message shimmered and faded, leaving Castiel alone on the roof. He reflexively reached out for the garrison, instinct telling him to report this, but he pulled back at the last instant. Instead Castiel focused on that first nightmarish vision he'd had. That had been a message too, a wall keeping him from the rest of the garrison. Castiel focused until the streets of the city spread below him, the place where Balthazar had sent the message glowing like a beacon. Castiel flew toward it, the blind flight and the downpour making him slip to his knees on the wet pavement.
The glint of something metal caught his eye. Castiel pushed himself back to his feet and reached for it, almost coming off his feet again when he fished out a cut crystal vial hanging on a broken silver chain from one of the glowing puddles. The vial in his hand was empty and for a few desperate seconds Castiel tried to will it to glow.
Castiel knew what he'd find when he looked up and couldn't force himself to do it. Finally he heard the sound of footsteps approaching and made himself stand, turning the corner into an ordinary looking alley.
The wings spanned almost the entire length of the narrow alley. When Castiel touched the impression it was still warm.
Castiel staggered back a few steps, squeezing his eyes shut as he severed his connection to the garrison. He spread his wings and flew back to the motel like every demon in hell was at his heels.
***
Dean found Castiel huddled in the doorway of the motel, which made zero sense since he'd given the guy a key days ago in the hopes of encouraging him to use that instead of appearing out of thin air. “Cas? You forget your key?”
Castiel didn't look up. “You reek of hellfire.”
Dean winced. “Yeah, sorry, I had to...you know.” Worry itched at the back of Dean's skull; Castiel hadn't said that like he was angry, just like he was making an observation. “You okay?”
Castiel shook his head. “I can't hear them. I've always been able to hear them. I didn't know it could sound this empty.”
“...Okay.” Dean sat down next to him, having to squeeze to fit in the doorway. Cas was shaking like he was hypothermic and Dean knew him too well to think that had anything to do with the rain. “Cas, what happened?”
Castiel startled, like he just realized Dean was there. “You weren't at the room. I was concerned that if I searched you would get into trouble.”
“Why didn't you wait inside?” Castiel frowned, like it hadn't occurred to him. “Never mind. The hell is wrong with you? You get attacked again?”
Castiel chuckled at that, which was frankly kind of terrifying. “No. No, I wasn't.” He let out a deep breath. “Do you remember the brother I told you about? Balthazar, the one who was investigating the killings?” Dean nodded. “He's dead. He was murdered, like all the others.”
“Fuck. Cas, I'm sorry....”
“He thought the killer was one of us.” Castiel wrapped his arms around himself. “He left me a message telling me to hide, to cut myself off.” He looked at Dean for the first time, his eyes wide. “How could that be? We don't kill each other. We never have.”
“I don't know. Maybe he was wrong....”
Castiel shook his head. “He's very canny, Dean, he must have trusted whoever it was if they surprised him.” His expression went bleak. “I felt him die. That's what that was,” he said, horror growing with every word. “Do you think he was reaching for me? Is that what left that impression?”
“Nah,” Dean said, trying to keep his voice calm. Cas needed to hear there was nothing he could have done whether that was true or not. “If he went through all that effort to warn you off he wouldn't have tried to drag you in blind.”
“He died in pain. He died in so much pain he couldn't scream.”
“Cas, don't think about it.”
“If it was your brother would you be able to not think about it?”
Dean tried not to think about the shape he'd been in if he'd been in Castiel's place. “C'mon,” he said instead, pulling Cas to his feet. “Let's get you inside, you're soaked.”
“So are you,” Cas said, but he let Dean herd him inside and sit him on the bed.
Dean crouched in front of Castiel so he'd have to look in Dean's eyes. “He said you have to lay low. Can you do that?”
Castiel's brows furrowed, the same way they did when he and Dean were trying to come up with a way to get in and out of a henchman-infested warehouse without being seen. “Yes,” he finally said. “Severing my connection goes a long way toward that but there are other ways. Certain sigils.” He looked around the little room. “This place would be easy to make secure.”
“Good. Good, you work on that, okay? I gotta head out.”
Castiel just looked more confused. “But you just got here.”
“I know, I won't be long. You magic the place up and I'll be right back, then we'll go patrol. Take your mind off things.” Castiel nodded and Dean was glad to see the shock starting to fade as he found something to focus on. Dean patted his shoulder and slipped back out the door, flipping his collar up against the downpour and finally letting the anger he'd been fighting down shake through him.
Something was killing angels and Dean reeked of hellfire. Once could be a coincidence.
But this was twice because a week ago Dean had fresh hellfire running though his veins too.
“Alastair!” Dean shouted, pacing the alley where he'd opened a portal barely two hours before. “Get the fuck back here!”
“Language.” Dean spun around and saw Alastair leaning against the alley wall. “You don't usually call for me so soon after a playdate.”
“I don't call for you ever.” Dean got right up into the demon's face, rage letting him forget what a stupid idea that was. “You said I wasn't killing anyone by working for you.”
“You aren't. Did someone tell you we were? I'd hate to be left out of such an important detail.”
“Why do angels keep dying every time I open one, then?”
“Well. Not every time. Not at first, anyway.”
“That was the only condition I had.”
“Don't be so sensitive. It's not like they're actually people, are they?” He let out an exaggerated sigh. “And to ease your precious conscience, you aren't killing anyone. It's more that you're working in concert with those who are.” Dean took a swing at Alastair, who just caught his fist. “That's the only one you get.”
“No more. No portals, I don't do anything you say anymore.”
Alastair picked him up by the collar and threw him against the wall. “I think you've forgotten your position, Dean,” he said. “You shouldn't care about how many angels die. There is only one life that you should concern yourself with and that is that poor boy sleeping peacefully in my domain.” Alastair gestured and the vision of Sam he sometimes showed Dean after openings hovered in the air. “Has it been so long you've forgotten? Perhaps you'd like me to wake him up. Let him see exactly where he is.”
Dean swallowed hard, his eyes locked on Sam. “No,” he finally said when it was clear Alastair expected an answer. “Don't do that.”
“I thought so.” He let Dean go. “Remember that your brother's life is hanging in the balance when you wonder whether you should shut your mouth and do as you're told.”
Dean nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. He was not going to cry in front of Alastair. “I only work for you one more month, that's it. Then you can't tell me anything.”
“Dean, look at me,” Alastair said and Dean found his eyes opening entirely against his will. And he could tell Alastair knew that. “Yes, one more month. But what will you be by then?” Alastair rolled Dean's sleeve up, forcing him to look at his hellfire blackened veins. “You're already not human anymore. In your heart you know that,” he said, splaying on hand against Dean's chest. “Your eyes have already changed once. By the time your tenure is over this,” he said, running one finger along Dean's ruined veins, “will burn through your body and you'll need a new one. Like us.” He leaned forward to whisper into Dean's ear. “And we'll welcome you home.”
Dean tried to pull away but Alastair wouldn't let him. “Look at yourself now, Dean. Think of what would happen if anyone found out what you are. You'll be hunted. And unlike us, you can still be killed. Is that what you want? To get your brother back only to have him watch a howling mob tear you apart?”
“I'll never be like you.”
“You already are. I meant it when I told that thing you were my protege. More than that. You are my work of art. One of us hewn from a living human soul. And we have so many things ahead of us.” Alastair finally let Dean free, taking a step back. “So have your fun with the angel. Just remember where you belong.” With that he disappeared, a satisfied smile on his face.
Dean spent the next few minutes on his knees vomiting everything he'd eaten that day. When he trudged back to the hotel he found the walls covered in strange, faintly glowing symbols that changed as he watched them and burned his skin when he tried to touch them. Castiel was passed out across the bed, still in his clothes. Dean hadn't even been sure if angels slept, but Cas was so deep he barely stirred when Dean shifted him to a chair so he could swap out the sopping linens from the bed for clean ones. The chore kept Dean from thinking about Alastair's breath against his ear and how the demon in his blood had started his heart pounding from it. Once the bed was dry Dean worked Castiel out of his wet clothes, spreading them across the radiator to get them dry in time for patrol.
Dean wanted nothing more than to slide in next to Castiel and try to forget the past hour had ever happened but he curled up on the floor instead. He didn't want to know if his touch had finally started to burn.
Dean rolled up his sleeve and stared at his black veins. Deep down, nothing Alastair had told him had really been a surprise. He'd always known he'd sold his soul.
He buried his head in his hands, thought about Sam and told himself it was worth it.
- On To Chapter 4 -
- Back To Masterpost -
- Back To Chapter 2 -
Author: misachan
Fandom/Genre: Supernatural (Superhero AU)
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel (also featuring Sam, Balthazar, Uriel, Gabriel and Alastair)
Rating: R
Word Count: 6712
Warnings: Brief descriptions of violence, minor character death
Summary: Dean Winchester was raised to be a hero, fighting alongside his father to protect the innocents of Lawrence City. Was he ever glad his old man wasn't alive to see him now. A Supernatural superhero AU.
*
A solid week went by with no sign of Castiel. It had been long enough that Dean had gone from a mix of relieved and annoyed to kind of worried. If Castiel had really meant to kill him he'd thought the hammer would have fallen by now. Maybe one of his supervisors had decided he'd taken too long.
Dean shook the thought away. Castiel was a big bad angel, he could take care of himself.
He just wished all of his “friends” could be nice enough to stay away. “Are you hesitating, Dean?”
Dean glared at Alastair, prompting the demon's sick smile. “You know I'm not. Stop crowding me or this won't work.”
Alastair stepped back, his hands up like he was begging forgiveness. “I shouldn't have doubted. You're just taking longer than the last few times.”
Dean didn't bother responding to that, instead taking his jacket off and dropping it to the pavement. The night was unseasonably warm and opening portals to Alastair's increasingly precise instructions could work up a sweat in a blizzard.
And yeah, maybe he was stalling a little bit. The handprint worked just as Castiel had promised at keeping the hellfire under control but he didn't know if it would affect the portal opening too.
When Dean felt his power building in his chest he realized he'd been hoping the power would be blocked. Bet you wished you'd thought of that now, huh Cas? Hell, if anything Dean thought the brand was making the process easier; when he braced for the usual pain it didn't come, not even when the tendrils of hellfire reached out for him.
At least Dean hoped that was the brand. If he'd gotten to the point where pure hellfire didn't even tickle Dean knew there was no coming back. Alastair had him hold the portal longer than any of the others and eventually the strain of that started to hurt, a dull ache spreading across his shoulders and down his back. “How much longer?” he shouted over the howl of energy.
“A few more seconds.” No matter how loud the roar Alastair's voice could always slide just underneath it. In the end it was more like twenty but when he finally felt Alastair's hand on his shoulder all Dean cared about was that he could stop. “Good boy.” Dean's knees buckled and he felt Alastair grab both arms to steady him. “Easy, now.” Alastair set him down against the wall, all but cooing over him like an overprotective mother.
Then Dean felt the demon freeze. “What did you do to yourself?” he asked, starting to trace the bottom edge of the brand visible beneath the sleeve of Dean's t-shirt. The oily tinge to his voice was back, like he knew exactly what Dean had done and just wanted it confirmed.
Dean's mind seized up in a moment of sheer panic. Stupid. Shouldn't have taken the jacket off, fuck. He cringed away before Alastair could actually touch it. “It's not a big deal,” he said, pulling his sleeve down and ducking under Alastair's arm so he could stand. “A thing happened. I got it handled.”
“A thing,” Alastair repeated. Dean had expected him to sound angry but instead the words came out thoughtful. “I see.”
Dean shrugged back into his jacket, brushing himself off like nothing was wrong. “We done here?”
“For now.” Alastair stopped him at the mouth of the alley when he tried to leave, one hand on Dean's shoulder. “Is there anything you need to tell me, Dean?”
It took every ounce of Dean's self control to not back away and throw up. “What? No.”
Dean could swear the demon looked worried. “You know that if anyone is giving you trouble you can tell me, don't you? No matter what they may have threatened.”
Dean wondered if he was having some kind of psychotic break. “Dude, I'm fine,” he said, finally shaking Alastair off. “Can I go?”
“Of course.” Alastair stepped aside and Dean rushed past him, managing to not break into a full run until he knew he was out of Alastair's sight. He didn't slow down until he slammed the door of the motel room shut behind him, testing every lock twice. “Cas, you better show up tonight,” he said, half to himself and half to the air in the hopes that maybe that worked with angels. “'Cause I think you're in trouble and I can't warn you if I don't know where the fuck you are.”
Dean waited in the room until midnight but there was no sign of Castiel. The short patrol he managed that night was a distracted waste and sleep was a very long time coming.
***
They'd found another set of wings. Castiel crouched down, tracing just his fingertip along the outer edge; the impression had long since gone cold, meaning the murder had happened hours before, perhaps even a full day.
Castiel sat back on his heels, taking in the whole sweep of the wings with one mournful glance. He'd desperately hoped this plan would work.
That they'd failed to prevent the murder just made the reminders from his conscience that it had been seven days since he'd left Dean without a word that much more painful. His plan had been to show up the next night as if nothing had happened, to show Dean his disposition toward him hadn't changed, but then Balthazar had found him and asked for help. He'd suspected someone of watching him and had hoped that if he and Castiel alternated duties it would throw whoever it was off Balthazar's scent and would increase their chances of catching the criminal in the act. It had been a good plan, Balthazar's often were, but it took all of his time and he'd worried that if he told Dean what he was doing Dean would want to help and get caught in the crossfire. Or worse, be compelled by the demons to betray him, if the demons were in fact responsible.
And Castiel was still not at all convinced that Dean was responsible. The timing of the portal openings and the attacks were convincing but that could mean the culprit was using the energy surge that came from opening a portal to cover its tracks. Angels didn't die easily and certainly never quietly, the attacker had to have some method. Castiel didn't want to add to Dean's already staggering burdens if he didn't have to.
But Castiel was beginning to worry that time was coming. This was too many, they would have to come up with another plan and Castiel doubted he could keep Dean away from it a second time.
Castiel was about to alert Balthazar of what he'd discovered when a shadow fell over him. “Well, well, well,” he heard from behind, a strange, sing-song quality to the voice. “You took some effort to find.”
Castiel turned and saw Alastair behind him, the demon's eyes milky white. He didn't have time to breathe before the demon's hands wrapped tight around his neck.
***
Dean woke screaming. At first he thought it was a just a nightmare, one of those nasty ones he could never remember once his eyes opened, God knew he had enough of those, but after a few disoriented seconds Dean realized the brand on his shoulder was burning. He sat up and pressed one hand against the brand; the skin was tender and inflamed like it had gotten infected and his whole arm felt like it was on fire.
Then it started bleeding.
Dean pushed himself up and pulled on a pair of jeans and his boots before he even knew what in the hell he was going to do. He doubled over when another wave of pain hit, almost forcing him down to his knees. It felt like hellfire but a thousand times stronger. The pain came again, weaker this time than the first, but Dean knew down to his bones that wasn't a sign this was passing.
And he knew he had been absolutely right to worry about Castiel.
Dean crouched next to the bed and tried to clear his head. He didn't know why he was sure this had to do with the angel but he didn't waste time doubting the hunch. He just didn't know what to do about it.
Huh. That's an idea.fast. It could be done with a focus, he'd used Sam's computer.
Dean pressed his hand as hard as he could take against the brand. “Work,” he whispered. “Please work.” Dean felt his power pull tight within his chest, like a balloon being pulled, then he opened his eyes to see a glowing line floating in space. Dean gritted his teeth and focused on the line, visualizing grabbing it with both hands and tearing it open. He felt sweat drip into his eyes and forced himself to ignore it; pain started drumming behind his eyes as the portal pulled open inch by very slow inch, the bright light giving way to glimpses of a drab nighttime alley.
From the other side of the portal Dean thought he heard a distorted, muffled cry.
Dean focused for one more second to stabilize the portal and launched himself through.
He landed hard enough to almost black out. Portal traveling was rough under perfect circumstances and this was as far from perfect as Dean could imagine. It took a few seconds for him to be able to breathe.
Dean heard that cry again and jolted to his feet, feeling like he'd been hit with a taser. He thought the sound was coming from the alley nearby and staggered toward it; there was so much hellfire in the air Dean could taste it. He rounded the corner and skidded to a stop, a surge of pure rage wrapping around him like barbed wire. He felt the hellfire in his own blood come to the surface in response, fire wreathing his fists without Dean having to command it. His vision shaded and Dean wondered if his eyes had gone black.
Alastair had Castiel up against the wall, his hands tight around the angel's neck. Alastair wasn't trying to strangle him, though; the reek of burning flesh filled the alley, Castiel's clothes starting to smolder off him. When Castiel screamed again Alastair clamped one hand over his mouth and Castiel started to thrash, convulsing hard enough for Dean to hear his head slam against the brick wall behind him. “Let him go!” Dean said, grabbing Alastair by the shoulder and trying to wrench him away.
Alastair looked over his shoulder, smiling like a child at a carnival. “I understand why you didn't confide in me,” he said, letting out a little chuckle. “I'm more than happy to take care of this for you.”
“It's not a problem,” Dean said, real horror sinking in that Alastair genuinely seemed to think he was helping. “I said I had it handled.”
Castiel's eyes opened, going wide when he saw Dean. Castiel tried to shake his head, pushing back on Alastair's hand in a futile attempt to get him to let go. Alastair looked back to him, wrapping both hands around his neck and squeezing hard enough that Dean saw white in the demon's knuckles. Castiel let out a desperate little sob of pain and then went limp, his eyes rolling back.
Two seconds later he started to glow. Bright white light drifted from his eyes and nose and mouth as his body spasmed. Dean felt the brand on his shoulder go from burning to ice cold, like the whole area was covered in frostbite. “Let him go,” Dean repeated, again trying to pull Alastair away. Alastair just pushed him away and went back to work, the joy of throttling the life out of the angel apparently more tempting than slowly burning him.
The worst part of it all was that little voice in Dean's mind, that corruption in his blood, was whispering to Dean to sit back and enjoy it. A sick piece of him the demons already owned was appreciating the beauty of Castiel hanging there helpless in the demon's grip, had cataloged what he'd sounded like when he'd screamed and how very blue his eyes were when they were wide with terror. The voice told Dean to ask Alastair to step aside, to let Dean finish him off. It whispered to Dean what it would be like to squeeze the life out of someone who had tried to help him, to feel Castiel struggle against him and to finally feel him stop.
That voice had been getting so loud lately sometimes Dean couldn't hear anything else. Someday Dean knew he wouldn't be able to say no to it.
Dean clenched his jaw tight. That was sure as hell not going to be today. “Let him go or I'll never open another portal again.” Dean felt so light-headed he could barely stand and prayed Alastair didn't call his bluff because he didn't think he could follow through on it.
Alastair turned to look at him again, his eyes human instead of demon white. “I'm not sure if you mean that,” he said, that thoughtful tone back in his voice.
“I said I had it handled,” Dean said, keeping one eye on Castiel. The glow was brighter and he'd stopped moving. “I got him on a string. The thing on my shoulder, that helps me with the hellfire. And they all know he's after me, if you kill him I'll be the one on the hook for it and I can't open up any portals for you if every angel in the world comes and kills me.”
Alastair tilted his head to the side almost the way Castiel did sometimes, but he let Castiel drop. “Only because it seems so important to you, Dean,” he said and Dean felt almost faint with relief when Castiel let out a soft groan when he hit the ground. Alastair grabbed a handful of Castiel's shirt and held him up, shaking him hard until his eyes opened. “Don't ever lay a hand on my protege again,” Alastair said before shoving Castiel back to the filthy alley pavement and disappearing.
Dean rushed over to Castiel, dropping to his knees beside him; Cas' eyes were wide and he was breathing like he'd just run ten marathons back to back. “I'm gonna sit you up, okay?” Cas' eyes looked blankly in Dean's direction, clearly just following the sound of his voice. “I'm gonna take that as an okay.” He wrapped his arms underneath Castiel's shoulders and eased him up, leaning him against the wall of the alley; he was as gentle as possible but Castiel still whimpered. “Sorry, man, I know you gotta feel like shit right now.”
Castiel nodded as if Dean had made a very good observation. After a few seconds Castiel's vision started to clear, blinking at Dean as if what he was looking at didn't make sense. “Dean?” he whispered, fumbling to put one hand on Dean's shoulder and managing it on the third try. “I didn't think I would see you again.”
He started using Dean as leverage to stand back up and Dean stayed close, ready to catch Castiel if he fell over. “Whose fault is that?” Dean said, trying not to look at the blackened, beyond third degree burns on his face and neck. “What was with the disappearing act?”
“That was why,” Castiel said, nodding to something over Dean's shoulder. Dean turned around and saw an impression of huge black wings burned into the pavement. “Something's hunting us. Killing us. I was helping my brother find out what.”
“Fuck. I guess now you know.”
Castiel shook his head. “No. No, Alastair was after me specifically. He's not what we've been searching for.”
“But I just saw him.....”
“If he could have killed me he would have. He wanted to hurt me and....” Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, as if searching for the right word. “Exorcize me,” he finally said, frowning as if that wasn't quite right but would have to do. “Pull me out of my body.”
“Yeah, I know what exorcize means.” Dean touched just under the burn on his neck, which was slowly fading from necrotic black to a painful livid red. “You do heal fast, I'll give you that. I thought you said demons couldn't burn you.”
“Alastair is far from a common demon.” A full body shiver rushed through him. “I don't want Balthazar to know this happened,” he said, sounding every inch like shock had just caught up with him.
“We'll get out of here,” Dean said, putting both hands on his shoulders in an attempt to calm him down. “Take a few minutes to catch your breath first, okay?” Castiel nodded and swallowed hard, as if he was trying to stop his body from shaking through sheer force of will. “What was the point of trying to rip you out of the meat suit, anyway?” he said, hoping to give Cas something to focus on.
“I told you, we can't operate on Earth in our true forms.”
“Yeah, I know, but if this one breaks just grab another one, right?”
Cas shook his head. “There very few humans capable of being vessels. Most of the population would explode if they tried,” he said, and Dean tried to push away that lovely mental image. “It runs along bloodlines. You could be one,” he said, giving Dean something close to his normal, examining look.
“Me?”
“Yes, but not for me. Of the tiny percentage capable of it an even smaller fraction is suitable for each specific angel. The chances of there being more than one suitable vessel is microscopic and then there's the issue of getting the person to agree. If we lose our vessels it's an almost certainty we won't find another.”
“So, good as dead, then.”
“In a way.”
Cas' legs buckled under him and Dean wrapped both arms around him to hold him up. “Easy, easy. I got you.”
Castiel nodded, his face pressed against Dean's shoulder. “I tried to scream. I cried out and no one heard me except you.” He clung so tight onto Dean he could barely breathe. “How did you know I was in distress?”
“This thing you put on my arm felt like it was on fire, Cas. I knew something had to be up.”
“It was?” he said, pulling back and looking genuinely surprised.
“Yeah. You didn't rig it to do that?”
Castiel shook his head. “I intended nothing of the kind. I suppose I was rushed.”
“I'm not exactly complaining. Really. Especially considering how it worked out.” He leaned Castiel back against the wall and couldn't quite bring himself to pull away. “Hey,” he said, suddenly not able to look at Castiel. “About what that jerk said, about you putting your hands on me. Forget that. You can touch me whenever you want.”
For an instant Dean thought Castiel was just going to fly off in disgust. Expected it,really. Instead he felt Castiel's hand slide up his arm, coming to rest just over the handprint.
Dean had always been good at picking up hints; he rolled up his sleeve and shuddered when Castiel touched the handprint, the warmth of it spreading under his skin. “You felt that too, huh?” he said, not missing that Cas had shivered too.
“Very much,” Cas said, his usually deep voice reduced to a rasp. “I must have created a connection without meaning to.”
The burns on his face had all but healed; Dean ran the pad of his thumb under Castiel's lower lip, watching for signs of pain. “That hurt?” When Castiel shook his head no Dean traced just the edge of his lower lip. He didn't even know why he was doing this. He wanted to blame the handprint but he knew the truth was that he was so touch starved just this was enough to get him lightheaded, like being drunk but better.
Dean stopped caring about whys when Castiel's lips parted in response, his breath hot against Dean's skin. They were still standing so close Dean only had to angle his head to lean in for a kiss, first just brushing his lips against Castiel's. When Cas didn't pull away Dean pressed closer, coaxing Castiel's lips open until that first taste of him made Dean moan. When he finally pulled back he was shaking just as hard as Castiel had been a few minutes ago. “You should have killed me that first night,” he said, that vicious memory of Alastair squeezing until Castiel went limp suddenly all he could see. “I'm a dead man walking anyway, no one gets away clean this far in.”
When he was able to look up again Castiel was giving him that head-tilted look, almost the same as from that first night in that other alley. Then he grabbed a handful of Dean's shirt and pulled him back into an unpracticed but very acceptable kiss of his own, his hands cradling Dean's head as if he was afraid Dean might break. “You said I could touch you,” he said, his voice so low and rough Dean almost couldn't make out the words. “Show me how you would want me to touch you.”
Dean was beginning to wonder if maybe he hadn't actually woken up and this was all a strange and wonderful dream. “Later,” he said, knowing that if Castiel did touch him now it was going to very quickly move on to things they'd want something softer than asphalt to do them on. “When we're back at the motel, after we patrol. We can spend all morning with you learning how to touch me if you want.”
Castiel's hand moved to Dean's waist, his thumb brushing the skin between his shirt and jeans as he leaned close to Dean's ear. “All morning and the rest of the day,” he whispered.
***
Although he knew he could never admit it aloud a secret part of Castiel was almost grateful to Alastair. The morning after the attack had been a...revelation, one that had continued to unfold throughout the next week. Castiel didn't think he could ever be as fond of a place as he'd become of Dean's motel room. And Castiel was determined that this progress meeting with Balthazar would have no power to sour his mood.
He felt a little prick of conscience at even thinking that. Castiel would be the first to admit that from an outside perspective his priorities as of late would look skewed. So far as he was concerned he was still on his mission, saving Dean (though he knew Balthazar and Uriel would be the first to point out that his stated mission had been to stop Dean, but Castiel refused to believe those two goals could not be one and the same.) If his methods were becoming less than orthodox, well, Dean Winchester wasn't the type who responded to orthodox solutions.
Castiel closed his eyes and thought about the way Dean's eyelids fluttered at even the slightest touch, the way it felt when Dean pressed his lips to the curve of Castiel's neck. The hellfire in Dean's touch was growing stronger, enough that Castiel could feel the echo of it now even though it was still too weak to cause harm. The mark was helping but even it couldn't hold that back forever; another opening, a handful at the most, and Dean might be beyond saving.
Everything in Castiel recoiled just from the thought. He needed time and he needed advice. As transporting as this week had been Castiel hoped speaking with his brothers would help give him some clarity.
It slowly dawned on Castiel that Balthazar was late.
The faint drizzle hanging in the air all morning had developed into a cold, steady rain; Castiel huddled on the rooftop and looked up into the overhanging clouds. This was unlike Balthazar. Castiel hadn't checked in as well as he'd promised since reuniting with Dean but Balthazar had been acting strangely all week himself; he'd confided to Castiel a few days ago - in secret, which also struck Castiel as odd when he thought about it - that he thought he was getting close but then shut Castiel out entirely. Even getting him to agree to meet had been like pulling teeth, as Dean would put it. Well, as Dean would put it with less profanity.
Castiel decided to tap his connection to the garrison as he waited. It had been too long since he'd taken the chance to commune and he hoped hearing the voices of his brothers and sisters would give him some reassurance.
What he did hear was something very different. Castiel felt his mind get forcibly pulled away and forced somewhere smaller and static, one mind instead of many. A memory instead of a changing thought. The impression was rushed and murky; Castiel could feel and hear but not see, making him feel like an eavesdropper in a dark room. He could feel Balthazar close by, near enough to touch; he could feel drizzle on his skin, hear the wet thud of footsteps as people passed by. Then the impression jumbled and Castiel wasn't sure how much time was passing; he heard a wingbeat, perhaps more than one, then Balthazar's voice, resignation mixed with terror. Oh. So that's how it is.
The next thing he felt was pain, spikes of it driving through him and cutting off his air. Castiel knew he'd be screaming were he able; the pain was worse than when Alastair had touched him, worse than anything he'd felt in any battle. Castiel hadn't known pain like this was possible.
Everything stopped. There was nothing but darkness and cold; for a moment Castiel wondered if this was what death felt like.
He snapped out of the meditation curled up on the edge of the roof, his clothes soaked and his hair plastered down to his face. It took a few moments to remember how to open his eyes.
When he finally managed it he saw Balthazar crouching there looking down at him. “Guess you never know how things will work out, do you Cassie?” Balthazar looked solid but when Castiel tried to touch him his hand passed through.
An implanted message then. This was in his head, a vision left for him to find when he tried to commune. Balthazar rubbed his hands over his face, looking around like he was worried about being overheard. “If you're seeing this it's safe to say I turned my back on someone I shouldn't have. Listen to me very carefully: we were both wrong. If I'm right - and considering what you're watching looks like I am - you need to hide. Go to ground. Don't communicate with any of us, in person or otherwise. Hate to say it, but you might be safer with Winchester than anyone else right now.” He looked over his shoulder again. “I didn't tell you and I'm not sorry for it. You'd want to believe it even less than I did.” He felt his head snap up, like Balthazar had wanted to make sure Castiel was looking him in the eye. “Remember what I said.”
The message shimmered and faded, leaving Castiel alone on the roof. He reflexively reached out for the garrison, instinct telling him to report this, but he pulled back at the last instant. Instead Castiel focused on that first nightmarish vision he'd had. That had been a message too, a wall keeping him from the rest of the garrison. Castiel focused until the streets of the city spread below him, the place where Balthazar had sent the message glowing like a beacon. Castiel flew toward it, the blind flight and the downpour making him slip to his knees on the wet pavement.
The glint of something metal caught his eye. Castiel pushed himself back to his feet and reached for it, almost coming off his feet again when he fished out a cut crystal vial hanging on a broken silver chain from one of the glowing puddles. The vial in his hand was empty and for a few desperate seconds Castiel tried to will it to glow.
Castiel knew what he'd find when he looked up and couldn't force himself to do it. Finally he heard the sound of footsteps approaching and made himself stand, turning the corner into an ordinary looking alley.
The wings spanned almost the entire length of the narrow alley. When Castiel touched the impression it was still warm.
Castiel staggered back a few steps, squeezing his eyes shut as he severed his connection to the garrison. He spread his wings and flew back to the motel like every demon in hell was at his heels.
***
Dean found Castiel huddled in the doorway of the motel, which made zero sense since he'd given the guy a key days ago in the hopes of encouraging him to use that instead of appearing out of thin air. “Cas? You forget your key?”
Castiel didn't look up. “You reek of hellfire.”
Dean winced. “Yeah, sorry, I had to...you know.” Worry itched at the back of Dean's skull; Castiel hadn't said that like he was angry, just like he was making an observation. “You okay?”
Castiel shook his head. “I can't hear them. I've always been able to hear them. I didn't know it could sound this empty.”
“...Okay.” Dean sat down next to him, having to squeeze to fit in the doorway. Cas was shaking like he was hypothermic and Dean knew him too well to think that had anything to do with the rain. “Cas, what happened?”
Castiel startled, like he just realized Dean was there. “You weren't at the room. I was concerned that if I searched you would get into trouble.”
“Why didn't you wait inside?” Castiel frowned, like it hadn't occurred to him. “Never mind. The hell is wrong with you? You get attacked again?”
Castiel chuckled at that, which was frankly kind of terrifying. “No. No, I wasn't.” He let out a deep breath. “Do you remember the brother I told you about? Balthazar, the one who was investigating the killings?” Dean nodded. “He's dead. He was murdered, like all the others.”
“Fuck. Cas, I'm sorry....”
“He thought the killer was one of us.” Castiel wrapped his arms around himself. “He left me a message telling me to hide, to cut myself off.” He looked at Dean for the first time, his eyes wide. “How could that be? We don't kill each other. We never have.”
“I don't know. Maybe he was wrong....”
Castiel shook his head. “He's very canny, Dean, he must have trusted whoever it was if they surprised him.” His expression went bleak. “I felt him die. That's what that was,” he said, horror growing with every word. “Do you think he was reaching for me? Is that what left that impression?”
“Nah,” Dean said, trying to keep his voice calm. Cas needed to hear there was nothing he could have done whether that was true or not. “If he went through all that effort to warn you off he wouldn't have tried to drag you in blind.”
“He died in pain. He died in so much pain he couldn't scream.”
“Cas, don't think about it.”
“If it was your brother would you be able to not think about it?”
Dean tried not to think about the shape he'd been in if he'd been in Castiel's place. “C'mon,” he said instead, pulling Cas to his feet. “Let's get you inside, you're soaked.”
“So are you,” Cas said, but he let Dean herd him inside and sit him on the bed.
Dean crouched in front of Castiel so he'd have to look in Dean's eyes. “He said you have to lay low. Can you do that?”
Castiel's brows furrowed, the same way they did when he and Dean were trying to come up with a way to get in and out of a henchman-infested warehouse without being seen. “Yes,” he finally said. “Severing my connection goes a long way toward that but there are other ways. Certain sigils.” He looked around the little room. “This place would be easy to make secure.”
“Good. Good, you work on that, okay? I gotta head out.”
Castiel just looked more confused. “But you just got here.”
“I know, I won't be long. You magic the place up and I'll be right back, then we'll go patrol. Take your mind off things.” Castiel nodded and Dean was glad to see the shock starting to fade as he found something to focus on. Dean patted his shoulder and slipped back out the door, flipping his collar up against the downpour and finally letting the anger he'd been fighting down shake through him.
Something was killing angels and Dean reeked of hellfire. Once could be a coincidence.
But this was twice because a week ago Dean had fresh hellfire running though his veins too.
“Alastair!” Dean shouted, pacing the alley where he'd opened a portal barely two hours before. “Get the fuck back here!”
“Language.” Dean spun around and saw Alastair leaning against the alley wall. “You don't usually call for me so soon after a playdate.”
“I don't call for you ever.” Dean got right up into the demon's face, rage letting him forget what a stupid idea that was. “You said I wasn't killing anyone by working for you.”
“You aren't. Did someone tell you we were? I'd hate to be left out of such an important detail.”
“Why do angels keep dying every time I open one, then?”
“Well. Not every time. Not at first, anyway.”
“That was the only condition I had.”
“Don't be so sensitive. It's not like they're actually people, are they?” He let out an exaggerated sigh. “And to ease your precious conscience, you aren't killing anyone. It's more that you're working in concert with those who are.” Dean took a swing at Alastair, who just caught his fist. “That's the only one you get.”
“No more. No portals, I don't do anything you say anymore.”
Alastair picked him up by the collar and threw him against the wall. “I think you've forgotten your position, Dean,” he said. “You shouldn't care about how many angels die. There is only one life that you should concern yourself with and that is that poor boy sleeping peacefully in my domain.” Alastair gestured and the vision of Sam he sometimes showed Dean after openings hovered in the air. “Has it been so long you've forgotten? Perhaps you'd like me to wake him up. Let him see exactly where he is.”
Dean swallowed hard, his eyes locked on Sam. “No,” he finally said when it was clear Alastair expected an answer. “Don't do that.”
“I thought so.” He let Dean go. “Remember that your brother's life is hanging in the balance when you wonder whether you should shut your mouth and do as you're told.”
Dean nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. He was not going to cry in front of Alastair. “I only work for you one more month, that's it. Then you can't tell me anything.”
“Dean, look at me,” Alastair said and Dean found his eyes opening entirely against his will. And he could tell Alastair knew that. “Yes, one more month. But what will you be by then?” Alastair rolled Dean's sleeve up, forcing him to look at his hellfire blackened veins. “You're already not human anymore. In your heart you know that,” he said, splaying on hand against Dean's chest. “Your eyes have already changed once. By the time your tenure is over this,” he said, running one finger along Dean's ruined veins, “will burn through your body and you'll need a new one. Like us.” He leaned forward to whisper into Dean's ear. “And we'll welcome you home.”
Dean tried to pull away but Alastair wouldn't let him. “Look at yourself now, Dean. Think of what would happen if anyone found out what you are. You'll be hunted. And unlike us, you can still be killed. Is that what you want? To get your brother back only to have him watch a howling mob tear you apart?”
“I'll never be like you.”
“You already are. I meant it when I told that thing you were my protege. More than that. You are my work of art. One of us hewn from a living human soul. And we have so many things ahead of us.” Alastair finally let Dean free, taking a step back. “So have your fun with the angel. Just remember where you belong.” With that he disappeared, a satisfied smile on his face.
Dean spent the next few minutes on his knees vomiting everything he'd eaten that day. When he trudged back to the hotel he found the walls covered in strange, faintly glowing symbols that changed as he watched them and burned his skin when he tried to touch them. Castiel was passed out across the bed, still in his clothes. Dean hadn't even been sure if angels slept, but Cas was so deep he barely stirred when Dean shifted him to a chair so he could swap out the sopping linens from the bed for clean ones. The chore kept Dean from thinking about Alastair's breath against his ear and how the demon in his blood had started his heart pounding from it. Once the bed was dry Dean worked Castiel out of his wet clothes, spreading them across the radiator to get them dry in time for patrol.
Dean wanted nothing more than to slide in next to Castiel and try to forget the past hour had ever happened but he curled up on the floor instead. He didn't want to know if his touch had finally started to burn.
Dean rolled up his sleeve and stared at his black veins. Deep down, nothing Alastair had told him had really been a surprise. He'd always known he'd sold his soul.
He buried his head in his hands, thought about Sam and told himself it was worth it.
- On To Chapter 4 -
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- Back To Chapter 2 -