[DCBB-FIC] Castiel Rising; NC-17; The Ghost
The Ghost
Castiel stumbles when he lands in the open field where Lucifer is waiting, his left wing throbbing from a cut down the white membrane between the bones. He catches himself before he falls, though, and keeps his injured wing curled tight behind him, trying to keep from leaking so much grace… or whatever it is inside him. The closeness to Lucifer helps though-already the wound has started sealing itself shut. He looks up at Lucifer, whose face is pinched with concern. Then the concern is wiped away and Lucifer stands tall, all six wings spread proudly.
“Report, Castiel,” Lucifer says, and Castiel bows his head. He’s earned this coldness, he knows that. It doesn’t make the past weeks any easier to handle.
“Of course,” he says, chest tight. Three angel swords clank his inner coat pocket. “We encountered Michael’s forces where you said they would be, and engaged them as ordered. Seven demons were…” A buzzing noise in the back of Castiel’s head unnerves him, makes his wings curl closer. He shakes his head and pushes on. “Seven demons were killed in the battle, and three angels-”
“Hail Castiel, full of whatever, my soul needs your ass right here right now. Please! We need your help!”
Castiel is gone before he can consciously decide to fly. Another failure that he just can’t bring himself to care about. He doesn’t know where he’s going-he just follows the prayer, getting sucked into its pull as if it were a jet stream.
He lands unsteadily, injured wing throwing his balance, and he staggers into a wall. He sees Dean and Sam sitting on one of the motel beds-Sam shirtless, bandages wrapped around his chest, and Dean’s left wrist is bound-and then notices the angel banishing sigil on the wall, already triggered. He turns wide eyes onto Dean, who gives him a weak smile.
“So,” Dean starts, “Anna’s alive and, uh, mostly well.”
Castiel sits down on the other bed, relieved that Dean is safe. “From your injuries, I take it this isn’t good news.”
“Okay, so, I was sleeping, and she visited me in my dream,” Dean says, his eyes darting away briefly. “She said she had a plan to stop the apocalypse and, silly me trusting angels, I gave her our location.”
Castiel frowns. “She did this?” he asks, gesturing to the wrecked room. A lamp lies shattered on the floor, the walls are scratched, and both of their duffel bags have their contents spewed over the room. When Dean nods, Castiel shakes his head. “She’s the one who saved you.”
Dean’s smile turns bitter. “I guess being in the heavenly prison rattled her brains a bit.”
“Heaven’s prisons must have changed since I was last in one,” Castiel says, ignoring the way Sam and Dean look at one another. “For her to suddenly attack without reason-”
“No,” Sam says. “She has a reason.” Castiel narrows his eyes at him and Sam touches his side lightly. “She said that she could stop Lucifer if she killed me and spread my atoms across the galaxy.”
Dean snorts. “He makes it sound like she appeared and explained this to us before attacking. I wasn’t even awake when she started trying to kill Sam. Their fighting was what woke me up. She was shouting it at me the whole time I was trying to draw the banishing sigil.”
Sam stares at his feet on the floor. “Was she right?” he asks quietly, raising his head. He meets Castiel’s eyes, and, for the first time, Castiel doesn’t see mistrust in their depths. “Would that plan work?”
“Of course not!” Dean shouts, shoving Sam’s shoulder and making him wince. “She was out of her fucking mind.”
Castiel frowns, staring at Sam. Finally, he shakes his head, and Dean sags with relief. “Without the carvings on your ribs being complete, Lucifer would be able to find all the pieces of you and put you back together. He wouldn’t even have to find them all-just enough to heal and revive you.”
Sam’s face twists. “That’s disturbing.”
Castiel tilts his head to the side. “It’s also telling that Anna wouldn’t realize this for herself,” he says. He pushes himself to his feet and winces when he tweaks his wing. “I’m concerned what she’ll do now that this plan has failed.”
Dean also rises, cradling his hand to his chest. “You think she’ll pull something else?”
“Yes,” Castiel says, looking around the room. “We have to move.”
“Move?” Sam says, getting up as well. “Move where?”
“Unimportant,” Castiel says as he waves his hand. Clothing flies from around the room and shoves itself into one of the bags. He waves his other hand, and the weapons fall into the next duffel. “Pick a location. She could return at any moment.”
“Uh, Hell,” Dean mumbles, running a hand over his mouth, and Castiel nods.
“Fine,” he says, and reaches out for them.
“W-wait!”
-----
“It’s good I brought you here when I did,” Castiel says once he reappears inside the abandoned building on the outskirts of Hell, Michigan. He looks over at Dean and Sam, who now wears a shirt over his bandages, sitting on the overturned refrigerator left in the middle of the living room. Castiel sets a clay bowl onto the only table in the room at the center of the chalk marks he’d drawn on it earlier. As he pours a container’s worth of holy water into it, he says, “I looked at your hotel, and she had visited.”
Sam’s jaw clenches and he looks away. Dean pushes himself to his feet and walks over to Castiel’s side. “So, what’re you cooking?”
Castiel frowns at him. “I’m not cooking anything,” he says. “It’s a locator spell for angels. Also,” he says, “I would ask any future angels to swear a grace-oath to you.”
“‘Grace-oath’?” Sam chirps, and Castiel looks at him. He frowns. “What’s that?”
“Much like a demon’s deal,” Castiel admits, and Sam’s face darkens. “However, it’s the angel that swears its grace to you instead of you offering your soul. Not that a grace or a soul need to be exchanged,” he admits, looking back at his bowl. “It’s simply a binding promise.”
Dean closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Yeah, okay. I’m sure we’ll run into a lot of other angels that’ll ask to visit before dropping in on us,” he drawls, and watches Castiel work. “What’s your plan?”
“Kill her before she kills you. Either of you,” Castiel says as he crushes yew branches in his hand and dumps them into the holy water at the bottom of the bowl. He takes a pinch of ash and sprinkles it over the water.
He feels the crackle of magic at his fingers, feels it stirring his grace. He looks down as he picks up the vial of holy oil with his scarred hand. He stares at it for a moment before he pulls the cork from it and starts to pour it into the pot. “Zod ah ma ra la,” he chants as he moves the vial in a circle, “ee est la gi ro sa.”
He steps back as he feels the magic spark. A flash of red fire springs from the bowl, and in that flash comes the knowledge Castiel seeks. He closes his eyes, focusing on it, on the fire, and breathes.
“I know,” Castiel says, eyes snapping open. “She’s more desperate than I thought.”
Dean grabs his shoulder, and Castiel faces him. “Where is she? Is she goin’ after Bobby?”
Castiel shakes his head. “Not where. When.”
Sam walks over to them. “She jumped through time?”
“Yes,” Castiel says, looking over at him. “She’s gone to nineteen seventy-eight.”
Sam frowns, brows furrowed. “Why? I wasn’t even born…” His eyes widen, and he looks at Dean the same moment that Dean’s face loses its color. “Oh God.”
“She’s after our parents, isn’t she?” Dean asks, turning to Castiel.
He nods. “It’s the easiest way.”
Sam grabs Castiel’s sleeve, eyes narrowing. “You’re taking us back there.”
He narrows his eyes at Sam, but Dean shakes his head and squeezes Castiel’s shoulder again. “They’re our parents, Cas. You can’t leave us back here.”
Castiel looks at him and swallows. “Time travel is… difficult. I’ve never done it before, but I know it requires a great amount of power. Power I’m not sure I have.”
Dean just smiles weakly and claps him on the back. “I know you can do it.”
Castiel curls his good wing closer to his body, the other one twitches. “I could ask Lucifer-”
“No,” Sam says immediately and Dean just shakes his head.
“We have to do this now, Cas, and you know it,” he says, and Castiel grits his teeth.
“Fine,” he says, turning away. “Get what you need.”
He hears them scramble behind him, jars and guns clanking together as they are stuffed them into whatever duffel Dean and Sam have emptied out. He wants to argue his point-this is dangerous, Castiel can’t be sure he’ll make it out the other side if he attempts it alone, that Lucifer will understand the problem and would give Castiel the power to both heal his wing and get them all to the past-but he knows that Sam already doesn’t trust him, and Dean would sooner die than willingly let Lucifer near his brother.
“Father,” he whispers, bowing his head, “give me strength.”
“Okay,” Dean says, and Castiel looks back at them. Dean stands with a duffel in his arms, his head held high. “We’re ready.”
Sam scoffs. “We hope.”
Castiel turns around and walks to them. “That will have to do,” he says, and hovers his fingers over their foreheads. “Are you certain?”
Dean winces automatically. “Bend your knees,” he says to Sam and Sam braces himself. Castiel knows that’s as good as an answer, and presses his fingers to their foreheads and spreads his wings.
It’s like fighting his way through Hell all over again, or breaking free of Gabriel’s prison-time takes hold of him, sinking hooks into his grace and wings and weighing him down. It tears and cuts and Castiel just doesn’t have the energy to keep himself unscathed while protecting Dean and Sam.
So he pulls everything he has around Dean and Sam, and lets time tear him apart.
-----
“C’mon, Cas, c’mon… Open your eyes. Open your eyes.”
Castiel isn’t used to hearing Dean sound so upset. He blinks blearily and finds himself staring at Dean’s wide eyes and weak smile. Sam’s head hovers behind Dean’s, face scrunched. Castiel opens his mouth to speak, but coughs up blood and sputters to bring air into his vessel’s lungs.
Dean leans closer, and Castiel can feel his arm wrapped around his shoulders. “Whoa, whoa, easy there, tiger.”
Castiel looks around at the buildings in front of him and feels the cement sidewalk beneath his fingers. He reaches out tentatively with his inflamed grace and every touch erupts in pain. But he can tell that the ground is younger, and, reaching out further, concentrating, he can tell he’s come into the right time, the right place. He smiles.
“We all survived the trip,” he says, and turns his head to spit out more blood onto the ground. He inhales and grabs Dean’s arm. “Help me to my feet.”
“Uh,” Sam says and Dean’s eyes widen, “are you sure? You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“It’s a bad idea, Cas,” Dean says, hands clutching tighter to Castiel’s trench coat. “You’re bleeding out of your mouth and nose.”
Castiel frowns at him and wipes his face off. His fingers quiver and he stares at them. “I’ll be fine,” he says, and pushes against Dean to rise to his shaky feet. He meets Dean gaze as he steadies himself. “I’ve been through worse.”
He doesn’t know if that’s entirely true-some of the rooms in Hell had given him greater injuries, or more pain, but Castiel had been constantly healing and taking energy from Lucifer. Here, there’s nothing, and his grace is too raw to fix himself. Dean seems to understand, however, and nods, clenching his jaw. He doesn’t let Castiel go, though, and wraps a supporting arm around his shoulders.
Sam clears his throat, and Castiel tries not to glare at him. “Well, now what?” he asks, looking at Dean.
Dean frowns at the sidewalk, furrowing his brow. Then he smirks and looks between Castiel and Sam. “Anna’s gotta be rogue, right? Cut off from Heaven?” Castiel nods, and Dean grins wider. “Then she should be in just as much trouble as you are. Probably more.”
Sam stares at him. “Are you saying you want to go after Anna directly? Right now?”
Dean nods. “Get her while she’s off her game.”
“Dean,” Castiel starts, drawing both of their attentions. He shakes his head. “I can’t do the ritual. Even if I had the energy to perform it, I wouldn’t be able to fly to gather the materials.”
Dean swears under his breath, looking away. Sam stays quiet, staring at the ground. Slowly, he raises his head and watches Dean.
“I want to see Mom and Dad,” he says. Castiel feels Dean tense and watches his face switch from pained to blank. Sam narrows his eyes. “We can keep an eye on them from there instead of wandering randomly and hoping we find Anna.”
Dean still looks hesitant, so Castiel swallows his pride, and some blood. “I agree with Sam,” he says, and Sam’s jaw drops open. Castiel scowls. “She will come after your parents, of this I have no doubt. It’s best to be prepared there.”
With a sigh, Dean nods. “Fine. So, where are they staying?”
Castiel simply reaches forward and grabs Sam’s arm. “I have that handled,” he says, and spreads his wings once again.
And nearly passes out from the pain.
“Shit!” Dean hisses, catching Castiel as his knees give out. “You dumb fucker!”
Castiel stares dazedly into Dean’s furious green eyes. “That was… poorly planned.” He feels a second arm wrap around his other side and he looks up to see Sam there. He blinks at him, stunned, and Sam frowns back at him.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Sam grumbles, and helps Dean start dragging him down the sidewalk. “Dean’ll pull something if he tries to move you himself.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he says. “First things first-we need to find out where they’re staying right now. Then we get a car or something.”
“So… phonebook?”
“Phonebook.”
-----
“What are we going to say?” Dean snaps at Sam as they drive into their parent’s neighborhood. “Our average stuff isn’t going to fly here.”
Castiel watches Sam as he taps his fingers against the dashboard. Then he turns around, scanning over him. “Are you still in rough shape?”
Castiel frowns. “I’ve stopped bleeding,” he offers as an answer. Still too weak to clean the blood off of his face and clothing, though.
Sam frowns back. “Can you walk?”
Better question. “I… I don’t know,” Castiel says, looking out the window.
“Well, there we go,” Sam says. “Our dear friend Carl got mugged and we ran until we felt safe.”
Dean taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “Shit, that’s the best we’ve got. It’s not like we can just walk in there with Castiel covered in blood and not mention it.”
“I’d like to avoid that confrontation, yeah,” Sam says, and then points across Dean’s nose. “There’s the house.”
“Great,” Dean says, driving past it, and turns on the next street. He parks the car and turns around in his seat, grinning at Castiel. “You up for some running?”
Castiel digs into his pockets and pulls out James Novak’s wallet. He presses it into Dean’s hand. “For a time,” he says. ‘For three steps,’ he thinks, watching Dean tuck the wallet into an interior pocket. Dean frowns at him, as if hearing him, but nods.
They exit the car and hook their arms beneath Castiel’s, steadying him, ready to carry him when his legs give out. They don’t speak, just share a glance, before starting to sprint from the end of the block. Castiel underestimated himself-he makes it eight running steps before he’s gasping for air again. By the time they reach the door, blood is falling out of his nose and every muscle in his body hurts. He’s barely aware when the door flies open and a young, brunet man stares at them with horrified eyes.
“Please,” Dean says, holding Castiel up higher, “my friend, Carl… he was mugged.”
“Oh man,” John says, holding the door open wider. “Bring him in. Mary!” he calls as Dean and Sam drag him inside, Sam’s fingers twitching on his arm. “Mary! Get some bandages.”
“What?” Mary says, rounding a corner, and freezes. Her eyes bounce between Dean and Castiel, stunned.
“Mary,” John says, leading them through the house. “Bandages. And that ice bag, please!”
Mary shakes herself. “Yes, of course,” she says, and bolts down the hallway. Castiel lets his head go limp, leaning into Dean’s side. They drag him down the hallway and into the living room, where Sam carefully extracts himself and Castiel is set on a chair. Castiel blinks and suddenly John is in front of him, eyes narrow.
“No blood from his mouth, which means he’s probably not bleeding internally,” John says, looking next to him, and Castiel realizes it’s Dean keeping him upright. Sam stands behind John, staring unabashedly at Mary, whose expression alternates between being concerned for Castiel, disturbed by Sam, and openly glaring at Dean. John lifts Castiel’s chin, squinting at his nose. “But the nose bleed probably means his nose is broken, and that he’s got a concussion.” He frowns. “But I don’t see or feel a break,” he says, running a finger down Castiel’s nose. He shakes his head and smiles, looking Castiel in the eye. “It’s probably a small one. Lucky you.”
“Shit,” Dean says, and Castiel briefly closes his eyes when feels a hand run through his hair. “It could be worse.”
“Yeah,” John says, moving back. He tears off a few pieces of cotton and swiftly stuffs them up Castiel’s nose. He blinks, startled, and John grins. “To try and keep the bleeding down until it clots. Lean your head back.”
Castiel nods, closing his eyes, and leans against Dean. In the distance, he hears the sound of a telephone ringing, and he feels John pull away. “I got it,” John says. “Keep an eye on him, would you, Mary? He should be fine, but, better be safe.”
“Of course,” Castiel hears Mary say as John leaves the room. Once his footsteps fade, Mary closes in on them. “What are you doing here?” she hisses.
“We’re,” Sam starts, voice wrecked. “Sorry, Mo-Mary,” he says, “but-”
“Did you beat this man up to get into my house?” Mary hisses back.
“What?” Dean says, and Castiel can hear his pain. “No! No, Cas, he’s… He got hurt on the way here.” Castiel feels his grip tighten. “He’s a friend.”
There’s a moment of tense silence. “Fine,” Mary says. “What are you doing here?”
“Something’s after you and J-John,” Sam says, voice still rough.
Castiel hears Mary take a seat in one of the other chairs. “The demon?”
“No,” Dean says. “Angels.”
There’s silence for a long time. “Angels?” Mary whispers. “No, no, they don’t…”
“Don’t say they’re not real ‘cause you’ve got one in your living room,” Dean says, and gives Castiel a gentle shake. “He’s usually a bit more intimidating. And clean.”
Castiel grunts lifting a hand and waving it. “I am Castiel,” he says, and frowns at the odd tone of his voice. “I sound strange.”
“That’s from your nose being stuffed,” Dean says, and he can hear the grin in his voice.
Sam clears his throat. “Well, we need to get you and… and John out of here. This place isn’t safe.”
Castiel’s tempted to point out that no place is safe from an angel, not unless a ring of holy fire surrounds it. He doesn’t though, and instead clenches his burned hand into a fist.
“I can’t believe I believe you,” Mary says softly, and Castiel hears her rise to her feet. “Let me… Let me get John. I’ll tell him that we need to get, uh, Carl to the hospital.”
“Sounds good,” Dean says. “We’ll figure it out from there.”
Castiel sighs as she leaves the room, and sags against Dean again. He hears Sam shift in his seat and Dean breathe.
“John?!” Mary’s shout makes Dean bolt from the couch, and Castiel flops onto it ungracefully. He lays there and gasps instead of trying to move, pain arcing through his every nerve.
“Mary? What’s wrong?” Dean asks.
“John’s gone,” Mary says. “He left a note.”
“Okay,” Sam says. “Where would he go? Why would he go?”
Castiel hears Mary trotting across the floors. “The closest place is the garage where he works,” she says. “But I don’t know why…”
Castiel opens his eyes and stares at the blurry ceiling. “Anna could have lured him there. The phone call,” he says. “She could have been on the other line.”
“What?” Sam says. “You think he’d go out there and meet some strange girl?”
Castiel turns his head, narrowing his eyes and the abnormally large blur of Sam. “Anna is an angel, Sam,” he says, slowly. “She probably altered her voice.”
There’s a pause. “Angels can do that?” Sam whispers, voice even more broken than before.
“Doesn’t matter!” Dean shouts. “We gotta go there. Now. Cas, you up for it?”
He forces his vessel to comply, rising to his feet, his vision clearing. “No,” he says, and Dean’s face falls. Castiel pulls out an angel sword and hands it to Mary. “But I can buy you some time.”
Dean’s eyes go wide and Castiel just smiles. “Cas-” Dean starts, but Castiel spreads his wings and takes to the skies once more.
It only takes a moment to find John with his searing grace, and another to get to the all-but abandoned garage. He sees Anna before he feels her, approaching an unaware John Winchester from behind, and Castiel knows what he must do. He folds his wings in tight and dives forward, tackling her and sending them careening into a car.
“Oh my God!” John shouts, and Castiel lets out a moan, coughing up blood and writhing as he tries to get himself off his stomach. He glances at Anna when she groans, lying limply on her back, red wings spread lamely at her sides. He turns back to John, who stands frozen between two vehicles. “Oh God, oh God, what the fuck?”
Castiel narrows his eyes at John, seeing the man’s horror-widened gaze, hearing his heart racing, smells his fear. He spits a mouthful of blood onto the cement floor and rasps out, “Run.” When John just blinks at him, Castiel shoves himself to his hands and knees, baring his teeth. “Run!” he shouts, imbuing a touch of his true voice, making the floor vibrate.
John takes two stumbling steps backward before turning around and fleeing through the building’s nearest door. Castiel shudders, collapsing to his elbows and nearly sobbing at the electric pain seared across his grace. His wings twitch, and he feels Anna stir beside him.
He turns to her just as Anna’s eyes open. “Castiel?” she asks, blood dripping from a cut on her forehead.
“Hello Anael-Anna,” he says, and pulls an angel sword out of his coat.
Anna stares at him. “I thought I failed you,” she says, pulling herself backwards and away from him. “But I’ve realized there was something wrong with you long before that.”
Castiel slowly rises to his feet, one foot in front of the other, and Anna pushes herself up. He glares. “Perhaps it was your leadership,” he says, holding the blade, ready. “I joined Lucifer and helped in creating demons, Uriel joined Lucifer and started killing off others of the garrison…” He tilts his head at Anna’s paled face. “And now you’re here, fighting the host of heaven.” He spreads his wings in a mocking gesture. “Welcome, dear sister.”
Anna glares and rushes forward, reaching out. Castiel slashes across with his blade and slices her hand, but she twists her wrist around, grabbing the top of its handle. “I’m nothing like you,” she hisses and flares her wings high, feathers missing in some spots.
“So you’re Zachariah’s lackey?” Castiel growls, tugging at the blade. Anna’s eyes flare amber and she snarls.
“I would never work for that maniac,” she snaps, and jerks the blade down. It slips through both their fingers and bounces away. Castiel attempts to chase after it, and that momentary distraction is all Anna needs. She grabs his trench coat and yanks them together.
“I don’t fight for Heaven or Hell,” she hisses and tries to throw him, but he grabs her arms and keeps his feet firmly on the ground.
Castiel winces when she strikes out with her wings, and uses his own to hold them back. “Who do you fight for?” he snarls. “Humanity?”
“It’s what’s right,” Anna says, and bashes her head into Castiel’s.
The world spins again as he stumbles away, hands useless, and he topples backwards onto the trunk of car. His vision blurs but he follows the movements of the red-colored smear in his vision. “Nothing is right,” he says.
Anna laughs, bitterly. “What about Dean?” she asks, and Castiel freezes. She takes a few steps forward. “Exactly. It’s always him,” she says, stooping down to grab Castiel’s lost angel sword. “Despite everything you’re taught, everything you’re supposed to be and believe in, he’s the one thing that makes you want something different.” She walks the next few steps until she stands over Castiel.
Castiel’s vision clears just as she lunges, and he spins away and crawls to safety. He twists to his feet, wings spread. “You won’t have him if you murder John.”
Anna shakes her head, tilting it slightly. “You idiot, don’t you know math?” she asks. “Can’t you feel him?”
Castiel’s brow furrows. “No,” he says. “He has the markings-”
“Not him,” Anna says. Then she holds the blade out. “It’s May, Castiel,” she says, raising an eyebrow.
“I don’t understand,” Castiel snaps, and tosses a nearby tire at her.
It hits her in the gut and she stumbles backward, bumping into another car and denting it, but glares at him through her red hair. “It won’t matter. You’ll be dead soon anyway.” She tosses the tire aside and stalks closer, raising her blade. Castiel knows she was the best swordswoman in the garrison; it was part of the reason she was made their leader. He knows he can’t win this fight without a sword, not now, not as injured as he is, and not without his speed.
He hopes he bought John enough time to run. He hopes that someone, maybe Lucifer, will be able to find Dean and Sam, bring them back. He hopes they manage to murder Anna.
“Anna,” Dean says from somewhere behind him. “Anna, what happened to you?”
Anna looks over at him and Castiel turns slightly, catching sight of Sam instead. He lurks by the back wall, painting a circle in his blood, and Castiel understands.
“I’m sorry it had to be this way,” Anna says. Sam starts in on the inner symbols, working quickly. Castiel waits.
“You’re not going to do it,” Dean says, firm.
“I don’t have a choice,” Anna says. As Sam’s fingers leave the bloody wall, Castiel flees the building. He soars straight up, higher and higher, looking down briefly, and curls in when he feels the shove of the banishing sigil. It sends him toppling back a few feet, but, weakened by the distance, Castiel manages to fight through it.
He exhales, spreading his wings further, and glides toward the ground instead. Why would it matter if it was May? The question nags at him as he follows John’s soul out of the building and into a car: the Impala, younger and fresher. He hovers over the car as it moves down the highway, torn between just wanting to land and rest his weary wings, and not wanting to be jammed into the small metal box.
His wings decide it for him, nearly giving out, and Castiel phases into the car and into the seat between Dean and Sam.
“Jesus!” John shouts from the front seat as he rematerializes. The car zigzags on the highway for a few feet before it straightens out and Castiel just sits there, blinking at the interior.
“Cas?” Dean grips his shoulders and Castiel feels the tenseness leave him.
“You’re all safe,” he says, looking up at Dean. “I’m glad.”
The world fades out as he slumps forward.
-----
The first thing he sees when he reawakens is Dean, sitting next to him on a sheet-covered couch. Castiel blinks, looking up at the wooden walls and ceiling, smelling the dust and age of the house. It reminds him of all the other abandoned houses he’s been in over the past few months.
“I told Mom we were from the future,” Dean says, drawing Castiel’s attention. He has his hands folded in front of him, between his knees.
“Did she believe you?” Castiel asks, voice raspy, mostly to make Dean aware he was awake. When he simply smiles bitterly, Castiel figures he knew.
“I had to convince her, but, yeah,” he says. He looks up, staring across the room. “I told her who we really were.”
Castiel pushes himself to his feet, watching him. “Was that wise?”
Dean shrugs, turning his head further away from him. “Probably not,” he mutters. “No. But I…” He slowly looks to Castiel. “I want to ask her to leave Dad. So that Sam and I are never born. That way this can never happen.”
“You’d merely be postponing it,” Castiel says instantly, then his memory jolts and he shoots straight up. Dean stares at him, eyes widening, but Castiel just breathes. “It’s May.”
Dean frowns, brows furrowing. “So?”
“It’s too late,” Castiel says, turning to him. Dean opens his mouth and Castiel shakes his head. “You’ve already been conceived, Dean.”
Dean goes pale and flinches. He slouches back into the seat and stares blankly at the space ahead of him. “That’s why Anna just went after John. Why she came here now.”
“Without John, there would be no Sam,” Castiel says. “She wanted to spare you.”
Dean buries his face in his hands, shaking his head. “What is it about me that makes you rebellious angels wanna save me?”
“You’re inspiring,” Castiel says simply, and Dean glares up at him over his fingers.
“Dean!” Sam shouts, bursting into the room. Castiel whips his head around, watching Mary and John follow in after, and Dean rushes to his feet. Sam raises a bloody hand. “The sigils are ruined.”
“What?” Dean says, looking around. Mary nods.
“All the oil is gone, too,” she says.
Castiel rises, feeling better, healthier, and reaches out with his grace, and pulls an angel sword from his coat.
“How many of those do you have?” Dean asks.
Castiel keeps his eyes on the ceiling, looking through it and to the sky, trying to catch sight of red wings. “One more. I was in a battle with some of my brothers before you summoned me.”
He feels the grace just before it materializes and he moves in front of the group, glaring at Uriel, whose green wings are pulled close to his back.
“Castiel,” Uriel says, holding his own sword out. “I should have known you’d ally yourself with anyone who stands against Heaven.”
Castiel frowns. “Whatever Anna’s told you, it’s a lie.”
Uriel spreads his wings. “She said you’d say something like that.”
Castiel narrows his eyes. “Then we have nothing else to say.”
“Look out!” Dean calls, yanking Castiel’s coat back. He goes, trusting Dean, and Anna appears right where he stood, blade stabbing into the floor boards.
“Holy shit,” John whispers. Sam lunges out with his angel sword, nicking Anna across the arm as she flies to the other end of the room, beside Uriel.
Castiel digs the other angel sword out of his coat and blindly hands it to John, the only one without an angel-slaying weapon. “Aim for the throat or chest,” he says as he marches forward, flaring his wings to block them from view of the two angels.
Anna turns her head to Uriel, but keeps her eyes on Castiel. “Deal with the Winchesters,” she says, and darts forward. Castiel meets her in the middle of the floor, blocking her swipe with his own blade off to the side. She darts away, blurring through the nearest door, and Castiel follows after.
He feels her waiting and he ducks down as soon as he enters and feels Anna stab where his chest would have been. He sweeps out with his arm and slices through the skin on her leg, and Anna cries out, limping back, and glares.
“Do you know what I saw in Dean’s head when I went into his dreams, Castiel?” she asks, moving her blade to a more defensive hold.
Castiel ignores her and stabs forward. Anna blocks the swipe away and lashes out, slashing his inner arm. He hisses, pulling away, and looks at the bleeding wound in the middle of his forearm. He quickly looks back, curling his wings up when Anna smirks.
“I saw you there,” she says, starting to circle him.
Castiel steps away, countering her circle. “What do you mean?”
Anna blinks. “You really don’t know?” she says, and darts forward, slashing at his arm again. He blocks, but she twirls around him and slices a line down his injured membrane, and Castiel chokes down a shout as he stumbles away. He grits his teeth, folding his bleeding wing further behind him. Anna narrows his eyes. “He dreams of you. Intimately,” she says, then pauses, furrowing her brow, and tilts her head. “I envy you.”
Castiel forces the shock away as Anna charges him again. He waits for the last second and rushes around her, swiping through her wing as she spins. He can see the line in her wing leaking grace, feathers falling to the wooden floor and charring their image onto them. Anna pants, smiling, tucking her own injured wing away.
“Play to your strengths,” she says, nodding. “You can’t beat me in a sword fight, so you have to slow me down.”
Castiel nods. “I am faster,” he says. “Even in this form.”
Anna nods again, still smiling. “Glad to see some of my lessons sunk in.”
“You were a good teacher,” he offers, and holds his sword higher. “I wish it didn’t have to be like this.”
Anna just stares at him. “I know.”
The sound of wood breaking and people screaming snaps Castiel’s attention away, and he looks through the doorway. He sees a hole in the living room wall, and can’t see John anywhere. Then he senses something behind him, and shifts.
The pain as the angel sword pierces his right wing and shoulder is immense and stunning. The blade is jerked out and Castiel stumbles forward, dumbly, and into the living room. The floor rushes up to him, and he drops onto his face, his right arm useless, his left numb. He gasps into the wooden boards, seeing the light of his grace seeping out of his vessel’s wound.
He hears more screaming, Dean’s frantic cries, and forces his left arm to work, pushing himself to his knees. He looks at the room, sees the shattered windows and lights. Then his eyes fall to something on the floor, and it takes a moment for Castiel to realize it’s Sam, run through with a metal bar, dead.
He feels Uriel grab his hair and force his head back, and Castiel stares up into his smirking face. “You chose your allies poorly, Castiel.”
Castiel just smiles. “I know your future,” he whispers.
Uriel’s face morphs into anger and Castiel feels him winding back to finish him-
They both still and turn at once, toward the sudden presence at the opposite side of the room. John stands there, before Anna, but Castiel can see the familiar bronze wings and red eyes.
“Michael,” Anna says, stepping backwards, towards Mary.
Michael just stares before reaching out and touching her shoulder. Castiel feels the power the Michael sends into her, and watches as Anna’s wings catch fire and she screams, her true voice shaking the building and breaking the shattered shards of glass further. Her vessel blazes next, fire shooting from her eyes, and Anna dies as her vessel crumbles around her.
Castiel feels Uriel release him and he slumps backwards onto his heels. “I… Michael,” Uriel says, and Castiel can feel his fear reflected in his voice. “I didn’t know she-”
Michael just stares at Castiel. “Goodbye, Uriel,” he says and snaps his fingers. Uriel vanishes, most likely to the prisons. It’s probably where his hatred of Heaven and love of Lucifer sprang from, Castiel thinks dazedly as Michael bears down on him.
“Michael,” he says, staring into his red eyes. What once held calm indifference now hold anger, rage, and hatred so bright that Castiel almost feels proud of invoking such a response from an archangel.
“You,” Michael says. “I can’t believe it’s you.”
He reaches down and grabs Castiel’s wounded shoulder, squeezing it and forcing a shout of pain out of his throat. His wings beat weakly-there is no escape from this. He has failed so, so greatly. He grabs Michael’s arm with his one usable hand and glares. “May God have mercy on you, Michael,” he hisses.
Michael’s eyes blaze red once more and then Castiel is burning and burning and burning until there is nothing in him but screams.
-----
Castiel feels warmth. Warmth, as opposed to burning. A caress of a hand as opposed to the lick of a flame. It enwraps him, enfolds him, keeps him close and safe and keeps the darkness of oblivion away.
It consumes him, unlike the fire that destroyed him.
He wants to curl in close and never leave, because Castiel has never felt so loved in his entire existence as he does now.
But the presence eases him away, as if returning a captured fish to water. Castiel doesn’t struggle, because he feels the presence’s love for him even after the cocoon of warmth vanishes. It stays with him until he takes his next breath.
-----
Castiel’s next breath smells like mothballs. Which means he is in yet another motel room, and this one has lavender walls with white flowers printed on them. He wonders if all scenes of resurrections are so unimpressive.
“Look,” he hears Sam says as the motel room door unlocks, “all I’m saying is that at least we’re both ali-”
Castiel looks at the door, meeting Sam’s stunned and pale face. Behind Sam, Dean’s face is equally pale, but a smile is slowly spreading across it.
“How are?” Sam starts, stepping awkwardly into the room. “How are you alive?”
Dean shoves by Sam, who grumpily closes the door, and goes straight to Castiel. He pauses, muscles going rigid, before he slowly reaches out and grabs the lapels of Castiel’s trench coat. “You came back,” he says, staring.
Castiel smiles back at him, feeling lighter and happier than he has in… a long time. “I was dead,” he says, reaching up and cupping Dean’s face, “but God brought me back.”
“God?” Sam says from behind them. His face tightens and he shakes his head. “God brought you back.” His face morphs into something dark, and Castiel doesn’t have to be an angel to know he’s wondering why, out of everyone, did God bring him back. Castiel isn’t certain himself, except that the other Castiel was also revived by God. Perhaps it was universal symmetry.
Dean scowls at him but turns back to Castiel. “Why?” he asks, then clears his throat, glancing away briefly. “Not that I’m ungrateful or anything.”
Castiel frowns and looks down. “Usually, it’s because there is more to be done,” he says. “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
Dean lets out a chuckle, and Castiel raises his eyes to him. “I want to tell you it’s to work with us,” he says, “but I don’t know that. I do know you won’t leave your brother.”
Castiel swallows. “I’m sorry.” His desire to be with Dean and his need to be with Lucifer war within him, but he can’t abandon Lucifer, not like everyone else. Not like their Father.
Dean leans in and kisses him quickly, rolling his eyes when Sam snorts in disgust. Then he smirks and squeezes Castiel’s shoulder. “Stay safe.”
Castiel nods and pulls away. “Call me when you need me,” he says and takes to the sky.
He plans on staying safe. It’s why he won’t be telling Lucifer about this beyond that Anna attacked. That’ll satisfy him.
He hopes.
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