Western Rising, 11/?
“We shouldn’t leave him alone,” said Becky.
The first meal at the new base was rations from their packs, as they sat in a circle on the floor of the storage room. The new and ample water supply let them rehydrate some grains, and Dean felt fuller than he had since setting out. As Becky spoke she was eyeing Cas, who was sitting in a corner tracing a pattern on the stone floor. Dean and Becky had offered him ration bars which he’d accepted but made no move to open.
“Damn right,” spoke up Hamid. “He could go off at any second.”
“Or sell us out,” said Rachel, another of the women: “I’m still not convinced he isn’t a spy.”
“Don’t talk about him like he isn’t here,” said Becky.
“Becky,” said Rosemary: “Look at him. Here would definitely be an overstatement.”
Sure enough, Castiel appeared to be taking no notice of them at all.
“What I meant,” said Becky, ignoring Rosemary, “Was that someone should room with him to make sure he’s okay.”
“Why don’t you?” Hamid asked her.
“No, Dean should,” said Rachel. “He wants to keep the guy here, and he’s best prepared if he tries anything.”
“Hey, whatever,” Dean shrugged, but the truth was he’d kind of been planning on it anyway. Cas intrigued him and kept his mind occupied enough that he didn’t miss Sam so intently.
“Ain’t like I get any privacy to miss.”
They all ate in silence for a moment.
“So I thought this place was supposed to be by the ocean,” Dean said to Chuck. “That’s what your vision said, right? Sea all around us?”
Chuck shrugged. “That’s what I saw. Guess that part was wrong.”
“It’s out there,” everyone jumped as Castiel spoke suddenly. They all turned to look at him. “They drained the delta,” Castiel went on calmly, as though he’d been in the conversation all along. “Haven’t you noticed the ground?”
Dean frowned, thinking. Yes, the base was set in a dip, recessed ground, which at the time he’d thought was natural. Perhaps it wasn’t.
“There was delicate work here,” Castiel said. “If they needed to get rid of us, they could pierce the dam and flood the delta again.”
“Charming,” Chuck grimaced. “So, uh, Cas…. you’re ex-State? Me too. Feels good to be free of the old ball and chain, huh?” he indicated his forearm. Castiel raised his eyes and looked
directly at Chuck.
“Faith is a state of being,” he said coolly, then returned his gaze to the floor. Chuck gulped. Hamid and Rachel exchanged significant looks.
Everyone was exhausted, and after the meal and quick cold showers, they retired to the quarters they had claimed individually or in pairs. Chuck and Becky, Dean noted with approval, had taken up together. Chuck needed someone, and Becky needed to stop obsessing over Sam. He returned from the showers to the room he had found Castiel in - the soldier was standing in the middle of the floor, shirtless with his hands behind his back.
“Uh…” said Dean.
Castiel continued to stare at the floor. Dean started getting ready for bed. He sincerely hoped Castiel was not going to stand there all night.
After several moments, Cas peeked sideways. Dean looked back. Castiel returned his eyes to the floor at once.
Dean blew out his breath. “What are you doing?” he asked.
“I am…” In contradiction to his posture, Castiel sounded unsure. “You are here now.”
“I noticed.”
“I am waiting to be disciplined.”
Dean winced. He’d been deliberately avoiding looking at the scars, but the pink shiny skin
was obvious even in the poor light from his wind-up torch.
“I told you already, I’m not State,” Dean said patiently. “Neither are you anymore.” He tapped the chip removal scar on his forearm. “I’m not gonna discipline you. I’m going to bed.” With that, the obvious problem occurred to him - there was only one bunk. The bed didn’t look like anyone had slept in it for months, but Dean still felt obligated to get his bedroll out - Castiel was here first, after all. He undressed with his back to the soldier and got under the covers. Castiel had dropped the posture, but was still standing in the middle of the room as though waiting for something.
“Look, would you sit down or something?” Dean said: “You’re kind of weirding me out.” Cas sat immediately on the edge of the bunk. Huh. “How about lying down?” Dean asked. It was very late and he wanted to put the light out. Castiel obeyed the instruction. Okay that was - creepy, but useful. “Go to sleep,” Dean instructed, and turned the torch off. He closed his eyes and wished he could obey himself.
* * *
The smart thing to do would be ignore Castiel as much as possible, but Dean had never prided himself on being smart. Also, Cas could be useful, if given specific and clear instructions, and if Dean didn’t instruct him he did nothing. Within 72 hours, utilizing Cas’s knowledge, the bar lights flickered to life, to weak cheers from everyone in the compound.
“And on the third day there was light,” said Dean facetiously.
“The evening and the morning were the third day,” Cas corrected, frowning. “God created light in the beginning. Most authorities believe that ‘evening’ and ‘morning’, in the Hebrew, refer to the creation of time marked by periods of light, which light as a concept predates. Light is the beginning of creation.”
“Hm.” Dean was busy with the insulation on the second external generator - one good rainstorm and half the base would be back to darkness at the moment. Most of the Ghosts were out foraging, but he kept Castiel around - in case he needed his instruction on where to find things, he told himself. “You believe that stuff?” he pushed himself out from under the bulky generator and squinted. Castiel was sitting primly in the dirt with his back against the wall.
“What stuff?” Castiel blinked.
“You know……the State stuff…big daddy up there…” Dean waved desultorily towards the sky.
“In God?” Cas looked mortified. “Of course I do. What else is there?”
“Ah.” So that’s how it is.
“I was ex-communicated for believing that the State had strayed from God’s will,” Castiel went on calmly.
“Oh!” said Dean. “Um, right. Never heard of that scenario before.”
“You’ve met others?” Castiel looked at him wide-eyed. This was the most he had spoken since Dean had met him. Dean just held up his forearm and indicated the chip-removal scar. Castiel pressed his lips together and dropped his eyes. “God has not abandoned us,” he said firmly.
“Um, okay.”
“You have doubts.” Those creepy sad blue eyes pinned Dean momentarily. “I have known doubt too. But God will never abandon us.”
Dean coughed. He wanted to say that it looked like God had abandoned poor Cas pretty thoroughly, getting out when his henchmen did. Castiel said,
“Our perspective is slight in this vale of sorrows.”
“Oh, jeez!” Dean jerked and ducked back under the generator. “Don’t do that! You’re not a psychic are you?”
“No,” Cas said with a sad smile.
“So you’re a heretic, they tried to torture you into believing them, and when they didn’t work, why didn’t they kill you?” Dean as trying to put the pieces together. Cas looked briefly guilty and didn’t answer.
“Alright,” Dean shrugged. “So, any chance there’s some insulating tape around here?”
* * *
By then end of his second week at the base, Crowley and a mechanic had one of the cars running. More or less. It was mostly Crowley’s work, and the mechanic, Liam didn’t try to steal his glory. The Ghosts, crowded into the kitchen, toasted him with some piss-poor beer. Even Sam offered him a smile. Then:
“I have an announcement to make,” he said. The Ghosts all turned to their leader.
“We need to leave in the morning then,” Sam said: “Everyone who’s coming.”
“Have you spoken to Chuck?” asked one of them eagerly.
“Yes,” Sam said. “They found it.” The Ghosts all started to talk at once, excited and overwhelmed. Some got tears in their eyes or put their hands to their mouths. Sam was lying, or at least not telling the whole truth: as an expert in the art, Crowley could tell precisely the moment at which the boy made the decision to lie and did so. He looked tired, Crowley noted too, unshaven and with shadows under his eyes. He filed the information for future usage.
“Are they all alive?” asked one of the women.
Sam hesitated. “I couldn’t tell,” he said at last. “Or Chuck couldn’t tell me. But now that we have a vehicle we need to get going. Judging by the map and the progress they’ve made in 2 weeks I’m estimating a 200 mile journey. It’ll still be a day’s drive in what we’ve got - we’re not risking a breakdown in the middle of the badlands.” Hah. They were risking a breakdown simply by taking the vehicle out there. Crowley smiled politely, his respect for the boy increasing a little bit. All the Ghosts were nodding.
“This first trip, I’ll take Bobby and Sophia with the children.” He gestured to the woman that seemed to be caring for them the most - the baby was hers, apparently, and the little ones had attached themselves. “Jack, you come too: we need a mechanic with us and a mechanic here to work on the other cars,” here his gaze went to Liam. Crowley smiled. “And…”
“Lydia,” Crowley suggested. It was a risk - he was new enough here that suggestions were audacious - but Lydia too was ex-State, one of the few remaining, and knew her way around most standard weapons. Sam raised his eyebrows at Lydia in question. She thought for a moment, then nodded shortly.
Crowley loved being smart.
* * *
Sam dreamed of the blonde woman.
She was slender and fox-eyed, predatory, and carried herself with an intelligence that made the vixen act one of total calculation. She was kissing him, hard forcing tongue, and her hands were like brands on his sides. He didn’t want her to, but God, she was powerful, and her powers were waking the thing in him, stronger.
“Why can’t you believe?” she pulled back, asked him fiercely, and then, spat in his face. He jerked awake, and the moisture on his face was his own sweat. He flung an arm out automatically for Dean, but of course the bed was empty.
He could still feel the heat of her hands.
In the morning, he tried to contact Chuck, failed, and checked that the Ghosts who were scheduled to leave were fully organized. The van was a six-seater, but two of the seats were missing at the back, and Sophia had arranged the little kids there with blankets.
“Okay, Jack and I will trade off driving, Lydia in the back with Sophia, I’ll sit up front to navigate when I’m not driving, Bobby can take the middle seats and we’ll put supplies-”
“Just supplies,” Bobby cut him off. He had hobbled out to the yard with the rest of them, squinting in the early sun. he was stone sober and hunched over the cane he used sometimes, mouth set in defiant line.
“But, uh, where will you sit?” Sam asked dumbly.
“Back here in the same chair I always sit,” Bobby said. “I ain’t going.”
Silence.
“Boy, this has been my home more years than you been alive,” Bobby sighed finally. “You know and I know I ain’t got much longer in this life. Best thing for me to do is just stay here, get drunk, and keep an eye on the rest of these poor saps when you ain’t around to do it.”
“But…” Sam said. “You’re our doctor.”
“Sophia was a nurse,” Bobby shrugged. Sophia nodded. “I been teachin her a thing or two, and with the supplies we get out here, there’s nothin’ I could do for folk that she couldn’t.”
“But you’ll die here,” said Sam.
“That’s the plan,” said Bobby. “Better than dyin on the road and slowin the rest of you down.”
“You wouldn’t be-“
“Kid,” Bobby cut him off. “I ain’t leavin.”
Sam stared at Bobby. Bobby stared back.
“Well,” Sam said at last. “If that’s your decision.”
Bobby nodded shortly, then before Sam could hesitate, pulled him in for a rough hug. Sam had to bend down considerably, and he realized the old man was more stooped than he had been. In Sam’s ear, Bobby said,
“Look out for your boy.”
Sam pulled back and met his eyes. Bobby regarded him evenly.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Bobby said dryly, “I appreciate y’all sparing me the details. But all I know is, Dean is more alive now than he has been in all the years I’ve known him. Any scrap of happiness folks can grab in this life, I say take it and hold on to it.”
Sam felt tears prick at his eyes. “Thank you,” he said.
“Now go on, get out of here,” Bobby said. “Y’aint got all day.”
Sam nodded jerkily, and got into the front seat beside Liam. Just before they turned the corner, he looked back, Bobby’s stooped figure dark in the dawn light.
* * *
“They’re on their way,” Chuck sat upright in his bunk and blinked.
“Really? That’s awesome!” Becky sat up next to him, immediately wide awake. “What did you see?”
Chuck frowned. “It was flashes, mostly. It’s hard to describe. They’re on their way but…”
Becky grabbed his hand.
“Something’s wrong. No, not wrong. Sad.”
“Is everyone okay?” She meant ‘Is Sam okay?’. Chuck smiled to himself. He could hardly blame her, even though she was sort of his girlfriend now.
“Yeah he’s fine,” Chuck said. “If he was dead I wouldn’t be getting anything.”
“Are you okay?” Becky frowned at him.
“Uh - yeah, sure I guess. I could use a drink…”
“No drinking,” Becky said firmly. “We need the alcohol to disinfect stuff. Besides…” she lay back down and tugged him to lay beside her. “It’s bad for you.”
Chuck snorted.
“I know you don’t care,” she wrapped her arms around him, affectionate: “But I don’t want you to die of liver failure.”
“Yes boss,” said Chuck drily.
“You know it,” she squeezed him briefly and wriggled a bit, something she did when she was exicted. “Oh I can’t wait till everyone gets here. Then maybe we’ll start, like, training.”
“Becks, I don’t think Sam and Dean want to lead a war on the State, you know.”
“But they can’t see the future,” she said somberly. “You can.”
Part Twelve