Supernatural fic - "Saving Grace" (Part Two)
See the masterpost for disclaimer, summary, and previous parts.
The next time Dean saw Castiel was a week later. Dean was alone, again, in some crappy motel room while Sam was out. Dean got to where he dreaded to even wonder what Sam got up to at night. Half the time he came back in the morning with a new hunt or a huge clue to the one they were working, and it was pretty damn handy, but Dean cringed to think what Sam might have done to get the information. Or what he did before and after. He was used to worrying about his baby brother all the time, but not like this.
They’d been arguing earlier about collateral damage on a hunt… what was acceptable, what wasn’t, and Dean was appalled that Sam’s answer was anything other than ‘none’. Because when Sam talked about collateral now, he didn’t mean property or money, he meant people.
That’s how Dean ended up sitting at a motel room table at midnight, alone with a bottle of scotch.
The sound of ephemeral wings beating the air behind him made Dean swallow.
“Have you come for a pound of flesh?” Dean almost growled.
After a beat came Castiel’s voice behind him, sounding just as ragged as Dean felt. “What? No, I haven’t come for anything… I’ve just come.”
Dean relaxed and gestured to the empty chair across from him. “Well, then, pull up a seat. Though I can’t promise I’ll be very good company tonight.”
“That’s all right,” Castiel replied. “I won’t be, either.”
That made Dean chuckle hoarsely. “Having brother troubles, too?”
Castiel finally came slowly around the table and sat down in the empty chair. Dean looked up from his half-empty glass to peer at Castiel. Instantly, his sour glare turned into worry. “Cas…?”
Castiel looked up at Dean slowly, and no, it wasn’t a trick of the light. There was a bruise, purple and covering most of the left side of Castiel’s face.
“Damnit, Cas, what…” without thinking, Dean leaned forward and touched the tips of his fingers against the battered flesh. Cas tensed and started to pull out of reach, then he stilled himself and let Dean touch him.
“Things are difficult at the moment.”
“Cas… you have a great gift for understatement.” Dean prodded the skin carefully, relieved at least not to feel the slide of broken bones underneath, then he sat back and frowned. “Why haven’t you just healed yourself? I’ve seen you take bullets and pull knives out of you like it was nothing.”
Castiel sighed and Dean couldn’t help but notice, again, how worn the angel looked… bruise aside.
“I healed most of it.”
“Shit, how bad was it before?”
Ignoring Dean’s question, Castiel laid his arms on the table and let it take some of his weight. “Since I was brought back by God after Lucifer destroyed me, this body has been mine… Jimmy Novak did not resurrect with me.”
“Really?” Dean took a second to get his head around the idea that when he looked at Castiel now, it was just Cas he was seeing. “So… what happens to it when you’re not in it?” Dean shuddered to think that there was a Castiel-looking corpse lying somewhere whenever Castiel was up in the clouds being a wavelength of celestial intent.
“I… I’m not really certain. This body isn’t a vessel so much as a… manifestation, I think. It’s difficult to conceptualize. I only know that when I need to interact on this plane, I become this.” He held up his hands like it was indication of something cumbersome, a burden at best. “But Jimmy is gone… it’s only me in this form, and I’ve discovered that it’s more tied to my true state than Jimmy’s body would have been.”
Dean threw back the rest of his drink and moved to pour another. “So… when you get beat to hell up there, you look like this down here?”
Cas nodded wearily. “If it makes you feel better, it feels much worse than it actually looks.”
Dean snorted. “Dude… that makes me feel worse.”
“Oh… sorry.”
Dean filled his glass, considered the amber liquid a moment, then slid it across the table toward Cas.
Cas eyed it uncertainly before Dean capped the bottle and put it aside. “You look like you need it.”
Without further urging, Castiel picked up the glass and chugged the whole thing down in one go. Dean winced in sympathy and sat in silence with Cas. He didn’t know what to say, and he couldn’t stop staring at the bruise on Castiel’s face. How badly injured was Castiel’s true self if the body was showing signs of abuse?
“Cas?”
Castiel looked up wearily at Dean. Dean would almost swear they were bloodshot.
“I know this probably sounds like a flea talking to a lion, but… is there anything I can do to help?”
For a moment, Castiel looked pensive. Then he sagged and shook his head. “No… but thank you, Dean.”
Castiel sat up into the wee hours of the morning with Dean, drinking dry half of Dean’s stash and saying precious little. When Dean finally had to throw in the towel and go to bed, Castiel remained at the table, pale and damaged in the light from the street lights outside. Dean mumbled a drunken ‘goodnight’ and drifted off thinking…
…thinking of the moment’s pause before Castiel assured Dean there was nothing that he could do.
Part Three
The next time Dean saw Castiel was a week later. Dean was alone, again, in some crappy motel room while Sam was out. Dean got to where he dreaded to even wonder what Sam got up to at night. Half the time he came back in the morning with a new hunt or a huge clue to the one they were working, and it was pretty damn handy, but Dean cringed to think what Sam might have done to get the information. Or what he did before and after. He was used to worrying about his baby brother all the time, but not like this.
They’d been arguing earlier about collateral damage on a hunt… what was acceptable, what wasn’t, and Dean was appalled that Sam’s answer was anything other than ‘none’. Because when Sam talked about collateral now, he didn’t mean property or money, he meant people.
That’s how Dean ended up sitting at a motel room table at midnight, alone with a bottle of scotch.
The sound of ephemeral wings beating the air behind him made Dean swallow.
“Have you come for a pound of flesh?” Dean almost growled.
After a beat came Castiel’s voice behind him, sounding just as ragged as Dean felt. “What? No, I haven’t come for anything… I’ve just come.”
Dean relaxed and gestured to the empty chair across from him. “Well, then, pull up a seat. Though I can’t promise I’ll be very good company tonight.”
“That’s all right,” Castiel replied. “I won’t be, either.”
That made Dean chuckle hoarsely. “Having brother troubles, too?”
Castiel finally came slowly around the table and sat down in the empty chair. Dean looked up from his half-empty glass to peer at Castiel. Instantly, his sour glare turned into worry. “Cas…?”
Castiel looked up at Dean slowly, and no, it wasn’t a trick of the light. There was a bruise, purple and covering most of the left side of Castiel’s face.
“Damnit, Cas, what…” without thinking, Dean leaned forward and touched the tips of his fingers against the battered flesh. Cas tensed and started to pull out of reach, then he stilled himself and let Dean touch him.
“Things are difficult at the moment.”
“Cas… you have a great gift for understatement.” Dean prodded the skin carefully, relieved at least not to feel the slide of broken bones underneath, then he sat back and frowned. “Why haven’t you just healed yourself? I’ve seen you take bullets and pull knives out of you like it was nothing.”
Castiel sighed and Dean couldn’t help but notice, again, how worn the angel looked… bruise aside.
“I healed most of it.”
“Shit, how bad was it before?”
Ignoring Dean’s question, Castiel laid his arms on the table and let it take some of his weight. “Since I was brought back by God after Lucifer destroyed me, this body has been mine… Jimmy Novak did not resurrect with me.”
“Really?” Dean took a second to get his head around the idea that when he looked at Castiel now, it was just Cas he was seeing. “So… what happens to it when you’re not in it?” Dean shuddered to think that there was a Castiel-looking corpse lying somewhere whenever Castiel was up in the clouds being a wavelength of celestial intent.
“I… I’m not really certain. This body isn’t a vessel so much as a… manifestation, I think. It’s difficult to conceptualize. I only know that when I need to interact on this plane, I become this.” He held up his hands like it was indication of something cumbersome, a burden at best. “But Jimmy is gone… it’s only me in this form, and I’ve discovered that it’s more tied to my true state than Jimmy’s body would have been.”
Dean threw back the rest of his drink and moved to pour another. “So… when you get beat to hell up there, you look like this down here?”
Cas nodded wearily. “If it makes you feel better, it feels much worse than it actually looks.”
Dean snorted. “Dude… that makes me feel worse.”
“Oh… sorry.”
Dean filled his glass, considered the amber liquid a moment, then slid it across the table toward Cas.
Cas eyed it uncertainly before Dean capped the bottle and put it aside. “You look like you need it.”
Without further urging, Castiel picked up the glass and chugged the whole thing down in one go. Dean winced in sympathy and sat in silence with Cas. He didn’t know what to say, and he couldn’t stop staring at the bruise on Castiel’s face. How badly injured was Castiel’s true self if the body was showing signs of abuse?
“Cas?”
Castiel looked up wearily at Dean. Dean would almost swear they were bloodshot.
“I know this probably sounds like a flea talking to a lion, but… is there anything I can do to help?”
For a moment, Castiel looked pensive. Then he sagged and shook his head. “No… but thank you, Dean.”
Castiel sat up into the wee hours of the morning with Dean, drinking dry half of Dean’s stash and saying precious little. When Dean finally had to throw in the towel and go to bed, Castiel remained at the table, pale and damaged in the light from the street lights outside. Dean mumbled a drunken ‘goodnight’ and drifted off thinking…
…thinking of the moment’s pause before Castiel assured Dean there was nothing that he could do.
Part Three