[DCBB-FIC] Castiel Rising; NC-17; The Righteous Man
The Righteous Man
“So,” Sam starts, a little awkwardly, looking directly at Dean, “that was a good hunt.”
Dean grunts out an affirmative noise, eyes glued to the road ahead of them. Sam throws Castiel a begging look, and Castiel clears his throat.
“I’m glad we recovered her grimoire,” Castiel says, tapping the book lying in the seat behind him. “While we research ways to break the protection spells preventing us from burning it, I’d like to look through it.”
Dean blinks, drawn from his stupor. “What?” he says, looking into the rear-view-mirror. “Why?”
Castiel takes the book and starts flipping through the pages. “Once I’ve lost all my “grace”, I’ll need a new way to fight. I have no training in weapons,” he says, then frowns and looks up. “Or… anything human.” He shakes his head and looks back at the book, reading words written in blood.
“Um,” Sam says, high-pitched, nervous.
“Wait, wait,” Dean starts, and Castiel raises his gaze to Dean’s again, “you’ll take up witchcraft?”
Castiel frowns. “Witchcraft is a tool, Dean. Like an explosive or a gun.” He smirks slightly. “You know that all of your rituals are magic-based, don’t you?”
Dean scowls and looks away. And gasps.
“Holy shit!” he shouts and Castiel jerks up, staring out into the street. Seven bodies stand in the middle of the road, and Castiel sees their faces morph into rotting ones and grabs Dean’s shoulder.
“Demons!” he says, and Sam braces himself against the dashboard as Dean throws the Impala into reverse.
“Sorry,” Dean says under his breath and he rockets the car backwards as the demons start charging, and Castiel jerks against his seatbelt. “Sorry, sorry,” he says again as he turns the wheel and spins the car around. “Shit, baby, I’m sorry,” he says and jerks the Impala into drive and grips the wheel tighter, the tires screaming as they tear away.
Sam swallows, looking around. “Where did they come from?” he gasps, eyes twitching over the dark fields.
Castiel shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he says. “I wasn’t aware this was a location Lucifer wanted, but these demons could just be here on their own.”
“If you tell me,” Sam growls, glancing back at him, “that there are now rogue demons along with everything else…”
Castiel shakes his head. “The forces of Hell are very… separate,” he says. “They go off to do what they want, as long as it spreads chaos and fear, and keeps Heaven distracted.”
Dean scowls. “Well, this is certainly distracting-shit!”
The corner he turns leads right to a burning eighteen-wheeler stretched across the road. Sam jams his hands against the dashboard again and Castiel’s body jerks against the seatbelt once more as Dean slams on the breaks.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” Dean chants under his breath as he changes gears again. “Shit fuck shit!”
He reverses and turns again, but then Dean’s window explodes. Sam’s and Castiel’s follow and Castiel is quickly absorbed in the struggle to free himself from the arms wrapping around his neck. He could unleash his tightly bound power, blast away the demon, save himself. But what if he needed that power later? This was just a demon-was he so pathetic he couldn’t deal with a demon?
The choice is taken from him when water gushes through the window, coating him and the demon. The demon screams and releases Castiel, stream rising from his body. Castiel sputters, wiping his face off, when he hears it:
“Ol harg lit oiad bvtmoni ol ollor hami!”
He can’t believe it. He can’t believe it. The voice is amplified, which makes it so much more insane.
“You breed with the mouth of a goat!”
It takes all of Castiel’s self-control not to burst into laughter, which is easier when he watches the demons outside the car shudder as if exorcised and then escape from their meatsuits’ mouths. He stares, brow furrowed, at the men in the fire truck.
“Sammy? Hey, you okay?” Dean calls, and Castiel looks up and is surprised to see Sam’s door open. Sam pushes himself up from the ground, a gash in his cheek and dirt smeared over his nose.
“I’m fine,” Sam says, scowling.
Castiel calmly unbuckles his seatbelt and leans forward. “I’m fine as well,” he says, and Dean smiles back at him.
“Good,” he says, and then gestures outside. “What the fuck is this?” Dean murmurs, and Sam shrugs.
“One way to find out,” he says, and opens the door. Dean and Castiel quickly follow. One of the men from the fire truck trots over, holding a megaphone.
“Everyone alright?” he asks. Castiel watches him, tries to understand what he’s planning. Why he’d shout out something so… hilarious and random. Was he was working with the demons?
“We’re fine,” Dean says, staring at him. He motions at the bodies lying around the Impala. “How did you-”
“They were demons,” the man says frankly, an almost bored tone, meeting each of their eyes. “And we exorcised them. The truck is filled with holy water. And this is the apocalypse.”
Dean and Sam are silent, stunned, staring blankly at the man. Castiel frowns and asks, “You know about the apocalypse?”
The man stares back. “You know about the apocalypse?”
“Buddy,” Dean drawls, “you have no idea.”
“Rob,” the man operating the hose from the top of the fire truck calls, “what’s going on? Everyone will be waiting for us back at the church.”
Rob, the red-haired man with the megaphone, turns to him. “These guys are informed, Paul,” he shouts.
“Really?” Paul calls back. “Well, awesome. Let’s bring ‘em back with us. I’ll give them a free round at the bar.”
Rob looks over at them, raising an eyebrow. “You up for it? We could share our information.”
“Yeah,” Sam says quickly. “I’d love to learn that exorcism you used.”
Just thinking of it makes Castiel snort. All eyes fall on him and Castiel covers by coughing into his sleeve. “Smoke inhalation,” he says, and turns away. “I’ll be fine in a moment.”
“Alright,” he hears Rob say slowly. “Well, just follow us into town. There’ll be some road blocks along the way, but we’ll reach it by day break.”
“Sounds good,” Dean says. “Uh, by the way, I’m Dean.”
Castiel whirls around before Sam can speak. “I’m Carl, and this is Sam.”
Sam and Dean don’t even twitch at the lie. Sam extends his hand and shakes Rob’s. “It’s good to meet fellow hunters,” he says instead. “We’ll see you later.”
As Rob and the other two men pile into the fire truck, Dean leans over and whispers to Castiel, “There’s a reason for that, I hope.”
“There is,” Castiel says. “Get in the car.”
It only takes a few miles for Castiel to explain, and Sam just looks utterly baffled.
“With the mouth of a goat,” he says blankly.
Castiel can’t help smiling. “It loses something in the translation,” he offers, “but yes.”
“But why the fake name?” Dean asks, frowning. “Even if the people are involved, won’t the demons know you anyway?”
Castiel shrugs. “Not necessarily. Not all demons were at the camps, and Lucifer…” Castiel frowns, looking at his hands. “I believe Lucifer doesn’t want me hurt. He wants me back. So he won’t tell the demons that I’ve sided with you.”
Sam looks at him over the seat. “So you’re going to pretend to be Carl Weaver on the off chance that the Devil didn’t rat you out.”
Castiel blinks back at him. “Yes.”
Sam shakes his head at him. Dean finally says, “That level of trust is reserved only for families.”
“I don’t believe you would betray me, Dean,” Castiel says. Dean meets his eyes briefly in the mirror before looking away. Sam just stares.
“What about me?” he asks.
Castiel raises an eyebrow. “You and I share a mutual dislike.”
Sam frowns. “That doesn’t mean I’d betray you.”
Castiel tilts his head, watching Sam. He slowly smiles. “Thank you.”
Sam scowls and turns away, scrunching down in his seat. “It’s only for Dean’s sake. He’d bitch at me for it.”
Castiel keeps smiling not only because it makes Sam uncomfortable, but because Dean’s eyes look brighter and more alive than they have in a long while.
-----
As Castiel looks around the church basement, at children making salt rounds and the elderly making great vats of holy water, he realizes Lucifer’s forces would have been in far more trouble if there had been a few towns like this out there. He’s impressed, but feels Dean’s growing horror.
“They’re kids,” Dean says again to Rob. Rob just shrugs.
“We needed to keep them occupied,” he says. “And we needed the ammunition. It keeps everyone from feeling too helpless or useless.” He grins back at him. “We haven’t had one kid run out there and try to be a hero yet,” he says proudly.
Sam just stays silent, face pinched. Castiel nods. “It’s ingenious,” he says, ignoring Dean’s glare.
“Thank you,” Rob says. He spots someone and instantly raises his hand in a wave. “Pastor Gideon! I have people I want you to meet!”
A man who had been watching a child handle a basket full of salt rounds looks up. His eyes move from Castiel to Dean to Sam, and he nods. He whispers something in the ear of the young boy and walks to them, wiping extra salt from his shirt.
“Rob,” Pastor Gideon says, taking his hand in a firm grip. Then he turns back to Castiel, Sam, and Dean. “Who are these men you’ve brought with you?”
Rob shakes his head. “Hunters, they say,” he answers. At Pastor Gideon’s confused look, Rob shrugs. “Apparently they do this stuff for a living.”
“You boys hunt demons?” Gideon asks, looking back at them. Dean nods.
“Yeah, Father,” he says. “All our lives.”
Gideon stares at him. “I see.”
Sam frowns. “Is there something wrong?” he asks. “Everyone’s been kinda cool towards us. We’re not demons.”
“I know,” Gideon says. “It’s just-”
“Daddy, it’s okay,” a young woman says as she approaches, and the hairs on the back of Castiel’s neck rise. She grabs hold of the Pastor’s arm and pats it. “These two men are Sam and Dean Winchester,” she says. “The angels told me all about them.”
Dean blinks. “Angels?”
“Leah,” Gideon says, quietly, “are you certain?”
Leah smiles at him. “Yes, Dad. The angels haven’t been wrong before.”
“Angels,” Dean says again.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Leah says, smiling back at him. “They can’t see you here, because of your markings.” She gestures to her chest. Then she looks over at Castiel, and he resists the urge to step back. “But I don’t know you.”
“Oh,” Sam says, walking over and clapping Castiel hard on the shoulder, nearly making him fall forward. “He’s new.”
“Carl Weaver,” Castiel says, and belatedly extends his hand. Gideon cautiously shakes it.
“So,” Dean says to Leah, “you know all about us from the angels?”
Leah nods. “They’ve told me many things. Like the exorcism spell, or what a demon is weak against.”
Gideon draws himself up and wraps an arm around her shoulders. “She also tells us where the demons are going to be, and how to go in to fight them.” He smiles down at her. “She’s never been wrong.”
Leah flushes. “Dad, please.”
Castiel stares at her, frowning. There’s something wrong here. The way she describes it-angels giving her signs, clues, advice. It sounds like…
Sam and Dean share a quick look. “Do you get migraines right before they speak to you?” Sam asks. “So bad that aspirin or anything doesn’t help?”
Leah stares, wide-eyed, and nods. “How… how did you know?”
Sam glances at Dean. “We’ve met a prophet before.”
Castiel blinks, furrowing his brow, and looks away. Her name is not in his mind, not like the others. Although, maybe Castiel has fallen so far from Heaven that when a new prophet is chosen their name is no longer given to him, which would be odd-he knows of Charles Shirley.
“Wait,” Sam starts, frowning. “If you’re a prophet, where’s your guardian archangel?”
Dean makes a noise and Castiel snaps his eyes to him, and Dean meets his gaze with a slightly panicked expression. “Uh,” he starts, but Leah beats him to it.
“Raphael, the guardian of all prophets,” Leah says, “was killed by Lucifer’s forces early in the war.”
Sam twitches. “O-oh,” he says, and glances backwards, briefly, but long enough to meet Castiel’s gaze. “I didn’t know that.”
Leah smiles. “I know. I…” She pauses, and Castiel looks over at her. She blinks rapidly before collapsing backwards into her father’s arms.
“Leah?” Father Gideon whispers as he lowers her to the ground. “Leah, honey?”
Dean crouches down beside her while Sam lingers above him, frowning. “She’s probably having a vision,” Dean says as Leah starts to quake in Gideon’s arms.
It looks right, Castiel thinks, glancing over at Sam, whose face is pinched in concern. The symptoms fit, and it would make sense for Heaven to use humans to battle demonic forces instead of wasting their own garrisons on them. But what about the exorcism? What is Castiel missing?
“Dad?” Leah murmurs, and Castiel looks back at her, fighting not to scowl.
“Leah, what is it?” Gideon says to her. Leah stares at him.
“There are demons. Five miles out of town, off of… uh… Talmadge Road. I don’t know how many…” She trails off, panting in his arms. Gideon strokes her hair and smiles.
“You’ve done well, Leah. Thank you, honey,” he says. He looks at Dean, eyes narrow. “You interested?”
Dean smiles wide and wicked, and Castiel realizes he’s about to experience a trial-by-fire of hunting demons as a human does.
-----
It’s as bad as he could imagine.
The recoil of his shotgun makes him want to tear his shoulder off, and his aim is terrible-twice he’s almost struck Dean instead of the demon he’d been trying to ward off. The others in the hunting party keep giving him odd looks, like they know he doesn’t belong here, and maybe Castiel doesn’t. If worse comes to worst, Castiel thinks he’ll probably have to turn to witchcraft, Dean’s worries be damned. And that’s not even the worse part.
The demons are playing with them.
They’ll approach, shouting, waving their knives in the air and give chase to their human prey around the house, eyes black as night. Then someone will shout that ridiculous exorcism at them, and they’ll just flee their bodies, but Castiel can hear them laughing as they fly through windows. He still hasn’t figured out what game they’re playing, and what the angels could gain from this besides having something assuming to look at.
Annoyed, tired, and aching, Castiel stops bothering to shoot at the demon rushing towards him. “Ol harg lit oiad bvtmoni ol ollor hami!”
It’s going to kill him to keep from laughing. The demon expels from the corpse, which falls to the ground in a heap, and Castiel just takes a moment to compose himself. Then he marches through the abandoned, rickety house to find Dean and Sam.
Three demons later he does find them-outside, with the rest of the hunting party, after the all clear had been given. Paul watches him as Castiel walks down the stairs, raising an eyebrow.
“You’re a pretty shit shot,” he says frankly. Castiel shrugs at him.
“Before I joined Dean and Sam, I’d never held a gun before,” he says, frowning at the shotgun in his hands. “I need more practice.”
Paul laughs. “Ya think?” he says, clapping in on the back. “Well, at least you remembered the exorcism.”
“Yes,” Castiel says, looking beyond Paul, to where Dean and Sam are talking to one of the younger members of the hunting party. “I have perfect recall.”
“Well, we’re heading out,” Paul says and gestures to his truck. “Come round to the bar and I’ll give you and your friends that round I owe you.”
Castiel looks over at him and nods. “Thank you, Paul. Safe journey,” he says, and walks by him. Dean looks up at him as he approaches and waves his hand.
“Hey Carl,” Dean says once Castiel gets closer, “Dylan’s gonna ride in the back with you.”
Castiel nods. “Fine,” he says. He looks over at the young man and stops a few feet away, brow furrowing. “Is that a beer?” he asks, tilting his head.
Dylan just smiles at him. “It isn’t if we don’t tell my M-”
Dylan screams as a pair of hands snatch his ankles and pull him under the car, leaving a trail of nail marks in the sand. Dean dives to the ground and Sam pulls his knife from his jacket and Castiel rushes to the car. By the time he reaches it, Sam has already killed the demon, and Dean is staring at Dylan’s lifeless face, a deep bloody slash across is throat. Castiel shakes his head.
“Shit!” Dean shouts, pounding a fist into the dirt, and then runs his hands over his face. Sam dives into the Impala and starts honking the horn. Dean continues to ramble. “Fuck. Fuck, he’s just a kid. Why the fuck was she under there? Was she waiting for us? Did she grab the wrong person?”
Castiel doesn’t know what to say-it could be any of those things, or none of them, because demons live to propagate mayhem, and if that means hiding under cars and gutting people randomly, then they’ll do it. ‘Is that why we were sent out here?’ Castiel wonders, startled. But what could the angels gain from that? And why would demons work with angels in the first place?
Castiel lays a hand on Dean’s shoulder, looking at the street as the cars and trucks come racing back. “They’re coming, Dean,” he says, because he knows Dean would hate to look like this in front of anyone. Dean nods, wiping his face, and breathes as he shuts Dylan’s eyes.
“What’s going on?” Gideon shouts as he rushes out of his car. “Where’s Dylan? And Dean?”
Sam shakes his head. “A demon ambushed us,” he says, and looks at Rob, who’s clutching his car door with pale fingers. “I’m so sorry.”
Paul instantly grabs Rob’s shoulders, holding the man as his face turns white and he nearly falls. Gideon walks around the car, sees Dylan’s body, and closes his eyes. “Oh Lord,” he whispers under his breath, and Castiel shakes his head.
He’s not listening.
Dylan’s body is placed in the truck, because the Impala didn’t have enough space to lay him out and Rob wanted to be near him. Dean drives to town white-knuckled, silent.
“It’s not our fault,” Sam says again as they pull into town. “It was just stupid, dumb luck.”
Castiel sighs. “I agree with Sam,” he says, and Sam looks back at him, a small across his face. Castiel nods. “If it hadn’t been this car, it would’ve been some other, and Dylan would probably still be dead.”
Dean says nothing and Sam slouches back. Castiel reaches forward and lays a hand on Dean’s shoulder, and says nothing more until they pull up to the church. The bells are ringing as they step out of the car, and Sam frowns.
“Are they having the funeral already?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Paul says, walking to them. “We’ve gotten good at putting them together on the fly.” He looks at Dean. “Dylan isn’t the first person we’ve lost on these raids,” he says. “He is the youngest, though.” He pats Dean on the shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” he says, and walks away.
They walk into the church, carefully avoiding Rob and his wife, Jane, who looks like she’d rather kill them than hear their apologies, and take a seat in the back pew. At the front of the church is Pastor Gideon, looking down on the coffin holding Dylan, Leah at his side. Jane and Rob follow the last group of people in, and Paul closes the church door behind them.
“My friends,” Gideon starts, and then just shakes his head. “Jane, Rob, I’m so sorry,” he says. “I don’t know what to say. I was the one who baptized Dylan as a baby. And now I have to…” He shakes his head again. “There are no words of comfort for these times, nothing I can say to ease your pain. I-”
“Dad?” Leah says, and collapses to the ground.
“Leah!” Gideon shouts, rushing to her side as she thrashes against the floor.
It comes to Castiel suddenly, as he watches Leah, as he feels Sam and Dean rise to their feet. The thought is so much worse than anything else he could have come up with, and, for a moment, he desperately wants to believe he’s wrong.
“Daddy, Daddy,” Leah whispers, but her voice carries through the deathly silent church. “Dylan’s going to come back.”
Rob takes in a sharp breath, and Gideon helps Leah to her feet. She smiles, wide and bright, and the little piece of Castiel that had hope is viciously crushed beneath the truth. He sits back in his seat and tries to keep his face blank.
“We’ve been chosen,” she says, gesturing across the church. “The angels chose us, and we’re going to have paradise on earth. Once Judgment Day comes, all our loved ones will be resurrected, and we will all be together again.” She smiles serenely. “We just have to follow their commandments.”
Castiel stares at her and scoffs to himself. Fuck optimism.
-----
Sam waits until they’re safely away from the church and it’s patrons before he hisses, “A curfew? No drinking? No gambling? No homosexuality?” He runs a hand over his face. “What is this?”
Dean shrugs, eyes glued to the church doors. “It’s what the angels command,” he says. “Not our call.”
Sam shakes his head. “You’re not concerned about this? Dean, they’ve pretty much outlawed… well, you.”
Dean grins back at him, but it’s fake, dead. “All the girls like a bad boy,” he says as he pushes away from the Impala. “I’ll catch up with you later.”
Sam stares as Dean walks back inside. “Is he going to go bang the pastor’s daughter?” Castiel glares at him until Sam flinches. “Right, right, sorry.” Sam lifts his gaze to over Castiel’s shoulder and waves his hand. “Hey, Paul,” he calls.
Castiel turns around, watching Paul walk to them. “Hey, Sam, Carl,” Paul says. He looks around. “Where’d Dean go?”
“He’s having a crisis of faith,” Castiel says and glances at the church.
Paul chuckles. “Who isn’t?”
“Are you heading back to your bar?” Sam asks. When Paul nods, he grins. “Care to give us a ride?”
Paul raises an eyebrow. “You willing to risk the wrath of Heaven?” he drawls, smirking.
Sam grins. “Not without at least three shots in me.”
Paul smirks wider. “Good answer. C’mon, my car is over here.”
After a quick and quiet ride to the bar, Castiel finds himself with a shot of vodka in front of him and Sam smirking at his side. He glowers at the glass. “Is this necessary?”
“Oh, there’s only one way to introduce you to drinking properly,” Sam says, and downs his own shot. He blinks a few times and then smirks. “See?”
Castiel stares at him before throwing a quick look around the bar. Paul has vanished into the back to check on his inventory, and lock it down for the dry spell he’s probably about to endure thanks to Leah’s pronouncement. He looks back at Sam and slides his shot to him. “There’s something I need to tell you.”
Sam slides the shot back. “Shot first, then terrible news.”
“Fine,” Castiel growls and grabs his glass and throws the drink down his throat.
He chokes and sputters and gags all over the countertop, eyes watering, throat burning. He hears Sam laughing beside him and he scowls, still coughing, and grabs a napkin to try and clean up his mess.
“Oh my God,” Sam says, covering his mouth. “Oh my God, that was amazing.”
“I’m glad I could entertain,” Castiel grumbles, wiping his face off. “Now can I explain?”
Sam raises an eyebrow at him. “No.”
“What?” Castiel asks, voice rough. “You said-”
“What happened to Raphael?” Sam asks, face firm, and Castiel leans back slightly.
“Why is it important?”
“Because Dean knows,” Sam says, eyes narrowing. “Dean knows, you know, and I don’t. Why didn’t he tell me? What happened?”
Castiel stares at him, then sighs and looks away. “It happened while you were separated.” He looks back at Sam, who simply levels him with the blankest expression Castiel has ever seen on a human. He nods. “You knew that.”
Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I guessed. What happened?”
“I killed Raphael,” Castiel says, and the words sound strange in his mouth. Like the Castiel who killed Raphael and the one sitting here, in this bar, are two different beings. In a way, he thinks, they are.
Sam stares at him, agape, for several seconds. Then he sputters, “You killed Raphael, the archangel?”
Castiel nods, meeting his eyes. “I trapped him in a holy fire ring and forced him to pass through the flames. I…” He hesitates, eyes flicking away. He takes a breath, steeling himself, and meets Sam’s eyes again. “I used Dean as bait without his knowledge.”
Sam doesn’t explode like he expects. Sam blinks at him, and the tips of his ears flush, but he simply nods, jaw clenched. “I see,” he grits out.
“I regret that, now,” Castiel says, looking down at his shot glass. “I’m thankful that Dean doesn’t hold that against me. I don’t know…”
“You love him,” Sam says quietly, and Castiel closes his eyes. “Oh my God,” he says, even softer.” You love him.”
Castiel looks over at him, and doesn’t see anger there. He sees a strange sort of pity and amusement in Sam’s expression, but no anger. “Maybe,” he says. “Probably.”
Sam shakes his head, grabbing the bottle of vodka and pouring both of them another shot. “I don’t know whether to congratulate you, wish you luck, or tell you how sorry I am.”
Castiel looks at his glass. “All three would be nice,” he says, and downs his shot. He only coughs a little this time, and swallows more alcohol than sputters over the bar. Sam pats his back awkwardly. He looks over at Sam, wiping his mouth with napkin. “Can we please move on?”
Sam nods, leaning back a little on his bar stool. “Yeah,” he says, looking away briefly. “What’s happening in this town?”
Castiel shoves his feelings away, focusing more on the burning in his throat and nose to clear his mind. He meets Sam’s eyes, raising his chin. “Leah Gideon,” he starts, “is the Whore.”
-----
“She’s the what?” Dean asks, blinking at Samm from the motel bed, as Castiel reappears, holding the cypress spear in his hand, and looks between them. Sam stares at Castiel helplessly, and, with a sigh, Castiel sits down beside Dean.
“The Whore of Babylon,” he says. “She only walks the earth during the apocalypse.”
Dean scowls at him. “Where did you head off to?”
“Babylon,” Castiel says, holding up the spear. “To fetch this cypress branch that the Warrior of God must use to kill the Whore.”
Dean frowns. “So, what? Leah’s possessed by her or something, and you want us to go and kill her?”
Sam winces and Castiel shakes his head. “The Whore is more akin to a shapeshifter than a demon.”
Dean stares. “So you think Leah’s already dead.”
Sam sighs. “It makes sense, Dean,” he says. “No cell towers, no internet, no cable or satellite-this town is utterly disconnected.”
“It also explains the demons,” Castiel says. “Why they act like they’re being exorcised when they aren’t.”
Dean rubs his hands over his face and shakes his head. “I… I can’t believe that,” he says, roughly. “Something good has to be happening during all this shit.” Castiel furrows his brow and Dean just shakes his head. “I need some time. Some air.” He pushes himself to his feet and makes for the door. Sam stares after him.
“Dean,” he says. “Dean, there’s a curfew!”
The door slams as if Dean had never heard him. Sam groans, running his hands over his face. “I can’t believe this.”
Castiel rises to his feet and exhales, unfurling his wings, spreading his grace. It feels good to do. “I’m going to go find Dean more proof,” he says. Sam just frowns at him.
“You aren’t concerned she’ll figure you out if you keep flying all over the place?”
Castiel smirks. “I told you: she reads minds,” he says and Sam blushes. Castiel stretches his wings out, feeling his grace flow. “Unless you and Dean never once thought my name, or about my nature, then we’ve been discovered, and she was waiting until she had the whole town under her command.”
Sam scowls. “Which she now does, and soon they’ll be tearing each other apart.” He gestures to the room. “I’ll wait here for Dean, try and talk some sense into him, and figure out who could be this Warrior of God we need,” he says. Then he snaps his fingers. “Check out the Gideon house first, just across from that first roadblock into town,” he says. “Paul said Leah and her father moved into the church after the initial attack, and it was only then that Leah started having visions.”
Castiel’s eyes widen. “You think the Whore killed Leah in her house, and her body might still be there.”
Sam nods. “Good luck.”
“You, too,” he says, and takes flight. It feels good to spread his wings again, even for the short journey to the small, blue-roofed house at the edge of town. He slips through the walls and lands in a middle of a kitchen. A green and fly-infested pizza sits on the stove, and shattered glass from the window above the sink and plates are scattered over the floor. Castiel inhales deeply and frowns.
He smells death and the terrible odor of decaying flesh.
He walks across the kitchen and to two doorways, one leading to a living room, the other closed. Castiel sniffs the air again and opens the closed door, and it leads to stairs. Of course the body is going to be in the basement, Castiel thinks, and walks down them.
The walls of the basement are exposed, unfinished, and loose wires dangle between rafters on the ceiling. Castiel squints up into the darkness, looking for where a body could be stashed, following his nose. It leads him through another doorway and into what looks like the beginning of a bathroom, where the odor wafting through door is strong and wretched.
He walks inside, cautiously, and looks at the ceiling, the walls, to make sure he doesn’t miss her. But he already knows where Leah lies-beyond the shower curtain pulled around the bathtub in the back of the room. With a breath, Castiel strides over to the tub and throws open the curtain.
It’s a young woman in the bottom of the tub, stripped naked so that the Whore could wear her clothing. Blood and other juices have collected in the base of the tub, and the organs that spilt out of her ruptured rotten flesh lay in the liquid surrounding her. Her head, the flesh nearly rotted off, is twisted almost all the way around-at least it was a quick death.
Castiel sighs and runs a hand over his mouth. He has his proof, he thinks. Who else could this be? Her frame and hair color match Leah’s. Dean will be devastated.
“Pizin noco iad.”
Pain lances through Castiel and he gasps, sinking to his knees. He grabs hold of the tub for stability, and shakes.
“You poor thing,” the Whore says, circling around him. She shoves against his shoulder and Castiel collapses backwards, feeling as though fires were burning his soul-grace. Leah’s face looks down at him. “So weak without Lucifer to feed you, like a baby taken from its mother.”
Castiel gasps, fighting the pain. Fighting against the darkness encroaching on his vision.
“But I’ll take you back to him,” the Whore says, crouching down to him. Her face morphs into something terrible for an instant. “What’s left of you, anyway.”
-----
“Let me out! I’m not a sinner!”
“I’ve obeyed! Repented!”
Castiel returns to consciousness to the sound of shrieking people and the smell of kerosene and, oddly, holy oil. He realizes he’s in a tiny closet with a group of other people, old and young, and that the door is closed. They’re trapped and to be burned alive, sealing the fates of all the townspeople.
He’s too tired to care.
“It’s those two new guys! Help!”
“Help us!”
“Oh God, please!”
Castiel blinks up at the glass from his corner and watches as Sam’s face appears in it. “Hold on!” Sam shouts, and then whisks away.
“Don’t leave us here!”
“Kick her ass!”
“I promise, Lord, I will never masturbate again if you get me out of this.”
Castiel dozes off, listening to the cries of hope and shrieks of panic as Sam and Dean do battle outside their door. He wonders who they found to be the Warrior of God. Possibly the pastor.
Then the doors open and the people rush out, leaving Castiel stuck in the corner. Sam walks in first, crouching beside him. “Hey, Cas,” he says. “We’ve got you.”
Castiel blinks at him, and suddenly Dean appears beside Sam. “I, uh, Sam,” Dean says, giving Sam a gentle tug. “Go, go check on those guys.”
Sam nods, looking between Dean and Castiel. “Okay,” he says.
Dean crouches, brows scrunching together, eyes wide. “Cas, I’m sorry. I should’ve listened,” he whispers, stroking Castiel’s face. It’s calming, chases the pain away. He pulls Castiel into his lap and presses a kiss to his forehead. “I’ll make this better,” he says. “I’ll protect you.” Castiel feels his strength leaving again, now that he knows he’s safe, and Dean’s alive. Dean holds him closer. “I love you.”
Castiel’s asleep before he can say it back.
-----
“Cas! Cas! You gotta wake up!”
“Boy, you’ve been trying that for the past three hours. It didn’t work then, it ain’t gonna work now.”
Castiel’s eyes snap open at the sound of Bobby’s voice, and he flails his arms and wings at his strange surroundings, accidentally smacking Sam in the gut.
“Urk!” Sam grunts, stepping back and wheezing. Bobby frowns at him.
“You earned that,” he says, then turns his wheelchair to face Castiel. “Hey yer Holiness,” he drawls as Castiel pushes himself to a sitting position, eyes wide, “we’ve got a situation.”
Castiel shoves himself to his feet, looking around. “Where’s Dean?”
Sam smiles bleakly. “There’s the situation.”
Castiel feels himself go cold. “He didn’t-”
“He did,” Bobby says, frowning. “Stupid fool took off after you passed out, with the car.”
Castiel frowns and steps forward. “Then we have to get him.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Bobby says, wheeling around the couch. “Unfortunately, Dean’s got a three hour head start on us.”
Castiel nods. “Then Zachariah and Michael already have him,” he says, walking across the living room and into Bobby’s kitchen. “Dean will try to make a deal with Michael,” he says as he starts opening and closing cabinets, “to ensure our safety. Since Dean will withstand the torture they’re inflicting on him long enough to make Michael accept that deal, we may have an hour at most.” He hears Bobby wheel in after him.
“What are you doin’ in my kitchen?” Bobby asks, and Castiel pauses in his perusal of the upper shelves to look at his confused face.
“I need a large bowl for a location spell,” he says.
Bobby frowns. “Well, why didn’t you just say so?” he snaps, and wheels by Castiel to open the cupboards under the sink. He pushes himself back and narrows his eyes. “For Dean?”
Castiel crouches in front of the cupboard and shakes his head. “The markings I put on him make him invisible to all angelic and demonic location rituals,” he says, pulling a tower of bowls out. He sets the largest bowl on the counter and puts the rest back. “My target is Zachariah.”
By the time he gets back to the living room, Sam has laid out the necessary ingredients onto the small coffee table. He shrugs when Castiel tilts his head at him. “I figured you’d be going for these next.”
Castiel nods and grabs the holy water. “Thank you,” he says, and gets to work. Bobby looks on in interest as Castiel adds the rest of the ingredients, and by the time the bowl flares and Castiel feels his energy drain, Bobby’s found paper and has written down the steps. Castiel ignores him in favor of keeping his mind on the location.
“I have him,” he says, looking between Bobby and Sam. “Van Nuys, California.”
Sam nods, holding two angel blades in his hands. “Let’s go get my brother and drag him back here.”
Bobby shakes his head. “Good luck,” he says. “And give Dean a good kick in the ass for me!”
Sam nods and looks expectantly at Castiel. “Well?” he says, and Castiel narrows his eyes. He grabs hold of Sam’s forearm and takes them away. Castiel is already walking when they arrive on the Californian back alley, lit only by streetlamps, and Sam stumbles after him.
“That’s the building,” Castiel says, pointing across the parking lot.
Sam looks at it, frowning, and turns back to Castiel. “What’s our plan?”
Castiel blinks, reaching out, and senses the graces of five angels. There’s a small spot in the building Castiel can’t feel, a dead zone, and he swallows. “They’re keeping Dean in a warded section inside,” he says. “And there are five guards.”
Sam stays quiet for a moment. Then he looks over at Castiel. “We have to get past them.”
“I know,” Castiel says. He looks away, back at the building, and feels a sense of dread and fear inside him. “Stay here.”
“What?” Sam says, grabbing Castiel’s sleeve. “What do you mean? Where are you going?”
Castiel doesn’t look at him, because he knows Sam will see it in his eyes. “I’m getting rid of the guards,” he says.
“By yourself?” Sam says, low. “That’s suicide.”
Castiel breathes. “Tell Dean it’s not his fault,” he says, tearing his sleeve from Sam’s grip and spreading his wings.
“Cas!” Sam shouts, but Castiel is already in the air and racing away.
He tries not to think as he flies, because, when he does, all he can think about is how disgustingly unfair it all is, and how he hates his Father, and Lucifer, and Michael, and Zachariah, and even Dean, just a little bit, for giving in and throwing everything away. And he’s angry that he’s going to die feeling angry at Dean.
Then a pulse of power shoves him backwards, and he can’t feel his brothers anymore. With several quick flaps, Castiel dives into the middle of the building, tense, sword drawn, and looks around. He can’t feel another angel.
“Bravo, Clarence! Right on time.”
Castiel blinks, turning around, and peers into the darkest corner of the room. He takes two cautious steps forward, and sees a familiar smile and inky black eyes. “Meg?” he asks, lowering his sword. “What are you doing here?”
Meg spreads her arms, grinning, and trots out of the darkness. “Hello to you, too,” she says.
“Hello,” Castiel says, still feeling stunned. He sees her hand is covered with blood, and wonders if there’s a triggered banishing sigil hidden in the shadows. “What are you doing here?”
“Ensuring my survival,” she says, planting her hands on her hips. “Heard Deano was getting ready to sing for the choir, and decided to drop by and give you a hand.”
Castiel blinks. “How did you know? How did you know I’d be here?”
Meg smirks. “Crowley has this nifty little coin in the back of Dean’s ride, and it’s been giving us all sorts of awesome intel, like a some road-side bible-thumper telling Dean he’d be heading to Cali.” She grins wickedly, eyes lighting up. “Dean was full-on weeping all the way there. It was so sad!”
Castiel eyes narrow at her. “You came here to banish a few angels?”
Meg sighs, tilting her head slightly. “Look,” she starts, “You helped me out back in Carthage. It’s bad policy to owe people, so I’m here, and gave you a hand, and returned the favor of saving your life. We’re even, and now I can stop waiting for you to turn up and demand I do something awful.”
Castiel can’t help the small smile on his face. “Thank you,” he says, and Meg winces.
“Ugh, Clarence, stop, I’m gonna gag,” she says, holding her hands up. “Just go rescue your boy-toy or whatever so you two can get back to stopping the apocalypse.”
“It’s not going to be so simple,” Zachariah says, suddenly behind Castiel, and Castiel blurs out of the way of his sword. He turns, placing himself in front of Meg, and draws his own blade. Zachariah raises an eyebrow at him, shaking his head. “You’re so unbelievably arrogant, you know that?”
“Meg, run,” Castiel says, not looking back at her. Meg snorts.
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” she says, and pats him once on the shoulder. “Good luck and Godspeed, or whatever.”
Castiel feels her explode into black sand against his back, and sees her speed out a ventilation shaft towards the roof of the building. Castiel exhales, rolling his wings, and crouches lower. “I’m sorry. You said something?”
Zachariah smirks, twirling his sword, and chuckles. “You’re an idiot for coming here,” he says, and lunges forward.
“I was hoping you would be here,” Castiel says, blocking the downward strike. “You still have to die for what you did to my bloodline.” He kicks out, sending Zachariah staggering a few steps back. He rushes for him, flaring his wings, and thrusts his blade forward. Zachariah snaps his upper left wings out, striking Castiel across the side, and he tumbles for several feet before rolling up and catching his balance. Zachariah shakes his head again, spreading his hands.
“Your little crusade for the monkey you’re wearing is very touching,” he says, walking forward. “Futile, but touching. You’re weak.” Castiel grits his teeth, staying back, and Zachariah laughs at him. “I can feel it. You’re running on empty, practically dry, Castiel.”
Zachariah spreads is four wings and blurs to Castiel, punching him across the jaw before Castiel realizes what’s happened. Castiel drops, coughing up blood and tooth fragments. They heal quickly, and he kicks out, sweeping Zachariah’s feet from under him, and he falls hard on his back.
“I’m not gone yet,” Castiel snarls, lunging, and pounces, attempting to drive his blade through Zachariah’s chest. Zachariah grits his teeth, pushing back, and kicks Castiel in the gut and knocks him backwards a few paces.
“You might as well be,” he hisses, rising to his feet. “You’re always a step behind. Always. You’d be dead a million times over without Lucifer watching over you, and, now that that partnership is gone?” Zachariah sneers. “You won’t last a day.”
Castiel narrows his eyes. “How did you know-?”
“Besides the fact that you’re here chasing after the bow-legged wonder instead of preparing for battle with Lucifer?” Zachariah drawls. “Dean told us. Screamed it at us, actually, as I was busy pulling his kidneys out.”
Castiel feels the rage within him grow and he snarls, lunging forward, and stabs Zachariah through the wrist. “Bastard!” he shouts, pulling his blade free.
Zachariah cries out and shoves Castiel away with a flick of his wings. He cradles his wound close to his chest and freezes. He laughs, closing his eyes, and smiles. “We’ve already won, Castiel,” he whispers. Castiel takes a step back, bumping into a wall, heart pounding, and Zachariah steps forward. “Do you hear it? Do you hear them singing?”
“No,” he snarls, but he feels the pressure change, the power around them building, and he grits his teeth. “No.”
Zachariah laughs again, wickedly, eye wide. “Yes,” he says, and tosses his sword into Castiel’s wing.
Castiel shouts, feeling the sword pierce through and drive into the wall, and his eyes roll. He feels Zachariah take his blade from his limp hand, and forces himself to stare into his face. “Fuck you,” he rasps out.
Zachariah smirks, setting the edge of the blade against Castiel’s throat. “Glory unto Michael,” he says back.
And light explodes through Zachariah’s eyes, the tip of a sword rammed through his chest. The sword at Castiel’s throat falls to the ground and Castiel wants to go with it, but can’t for his wing. Zachariah slides to the ground, wings burnt beneath him, and Castiel raises his eyes to his savior.
He nearly screams, but no noise escapes.
Dean stands before him, eyes glowing red, six bronze wings spread wide, and he frowns. “Your safety from Heaven’s forces is guaranteed, Castiel,” Michael says with Dean’s voice, eyes narrowing. “I have sworn it.”
Castiel shakes his head. “Dean, no,” he whispers, reaching out, touching his leather jacket. “I didn’t want this.”
“You should be glad,” Michael says, raising Dean’s chin. “What I wanted done to you for your crimes against Heaven would make you cry out for the comfort of Hell.”
The words nearly kill Castiel themselves. He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Let him go, please. Please, let him go.”
“You may have had a sway over Lucifer,” Michael growls, “but don’t imagine you have any power over me.”
“Dean,” Castiel says, opening his eyes again and stares into red. “Dean, don’t give up. Fight it. Fight this.”
Michael turns his head away, toward the door, and then back at Castiel. “I have a battle to plan for, and a new world order to implement,” he says, looking Castiel up and down. “I’ll be back for you after it’s over.”
“Michael!” Castiel shouts as Michael takes off, flying away faster than Castiel could follow. “Dean!”
The doors of the warehouse burst open, but Castiel can’t look their way. It’s over, he thinks, dazedly. The pain of his wing is nothing compared to the pain his chest, and he gasps in breath.
“Easy Castiel,” a voice says, and Castiel blinks up, seeing Gabriel pull the sword out of his wing. “We’ve got you.”
Sam stands back a few feet, shaking, looking from Zachariah’s body to Castiel to the small room. “Is he gone?” he asks, voice rough. Castiel can’t breathe, can’t talk.
“Yes,” Gabriel says. “Michael has him.”
When no one else can speak, Gabriel snaps his fingers and takes them away, back to Bobby’s house. Castiel collapses onto the couch, wincing when he feels Gabriel touch his wing, but he doesn’t pull away. He raises his head, and spies Bobby sitting in the doorway to his kitchen, a shotgun in his lap.
Sam takes in a shuddering breath. “Bobby,” he sobs, and Bobby seems to deflate.
“Oh,” he says, softly, and Sam buries his face in his hands.
“I’m sorry,” Gabriel whispers, so soft that he can barely hear him. Castiel feels the pulse of grace that fixes his wing, but it does nothing. “I’m so sorry.”
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