Revolt Chapter 3: Taste Earth's Blood and Hunger
Title: Revolt
Author: safiyabat
Artist: stormbrite
Characters & Pairing(s): Castiel/Sam Winchester, Castiel/Meg
Rating: M
Word Count: 39,134 / 4,968 (chapter)
Warnings: Past non-con (not described, but it exists.) Violence. Consent issues involving possession. This chapter contains brother punching - no more than canon levels.
Summary: The brothers try the reunion thing again. Castiel gets a new job.
Dean got up from his chair and left the chamber. Castiel followed him, but he didn’t make the mistake of thinking that they would go immediately to Sam’s tent, and he wasn’t disappointed. Dean led Castiel to the Haven Rose Garden, a maze of thorny bushes with fragrant blooms that offered more privacy than anyplace else in the city. Dean often retreated there when he required discretion with one of his temporary partners, and it naturally followed that he would seek such a refuge now that he needed privacy of a different sort.
Once they’d found a little dead end in which to seclude themselves, and Castiel ascertained that no one could hear them, the commander turned to the angel. “What do you think, Cas? You think he’s full of crap?”
“I think your brother has gone for several days without food or water. His intestines are likely empty.” He frowned at himself. He shouldn’t have referred to the youth as Dean’s brother, but in a less humanizing way. Perhaps part of him didn’t want to? That would bear thinking about later.
Dean palmed his face. “Not that. It’s a figure of speech, Cas. Come on. Work with me here. Do you think he’s lying?”
Castiel considered. He could lie, but he found that felt uncomfortable to him. “I didn’t sense any kind of falsehood to his words. He could be hiding something from me - demons choose to create cambions because in many ways they are more powerful than full demons and they aren’t restrained by the normal methods that affect demons. But I’m not aware of any issues regarding truthfulness on his part.”
The warrior nodded once. “So I should what, spare him?”
“His blood makes him an abomination in the eyes of Heaven, Dean. No angel will suffer his company.” That wasn’t entirely true. Castiel wouldn’t mind spending a little more time with the abomination. The thought itself was a blasphemy, needing re-alignment. “Your own people loathe him and you yourself don’t trust him. His life since you parted has been one of pain and misery. It might be kinder to end his life than to force him to continue living.” He held up a hand when Dean opened his mouth to object. “At the same time, you’ve worked for years to find him and now you have him. You should at least have the opportunity to know your brother and to make your own mind.”
Dean took a deep, shuddering breath. Castiel knew he was privileged to see this. Dean didn’t let many people see him this unguarded, this indecisive. Bobby Singer might, on rare occasions, might get to see him in a state of anxiety but never this bad. “Okay. Okay, I’ll do it. Thanks, Cas.”
“I will be right here with you, Dean.” He tried to smile at his friend, but the gesture felt alien to his features.
Dean didn’t seem to mind. He schooled his face back into its usual cocky mask and strode through the maze, back toward the tents. Castiel trailed along behind him, beige cloak billowing in their wake.
No one questioned them as they strode into Sam’s tent. No one would dare to question their commander, even though Castiel could think of at least three different creatures that could masquerade as him right now. Perhaps they thought that the presence of an angel made tests unnecessary. Sam looked up from his bed when walked in, then blinked the surprise away from his eyes and sat up when he recognized Dean.
“Heya, Sammy,” Dean greeted. He kept his arms by his side, didn’t offer the kind of embrace or handshake or physical affection that Castiel would have expected from other humans in similar situations, but then again there were no similar humans or similar situations. “I heard you wanted to see me with your own eyes.”
Sam swallowed. For a split second, just a fraction of a moment that Castiel almost missed, his hurt showed on his face. Why should he be hurt? It wasn’t as though he had any right to expect warmth. He was tainted, unworthy, and he knew it. He’d come here to face execution, after all. “Yeah,” he swallowed, before forcing his face into a neutral expression. “Yeah. I did. You look good.”
“Thanks.” Dean took a deep breath. “So. It’s been a while.”
“Yeah.” Sam’s hazel eyes skittered away from Dean’s and rested on Castiel for a split second, and something bubbled up in the angel’s Grace. Maybe it was compassion? “How do you want to do this?” He slid to the ground, on his knees. “Less mess to clean up this way, I guess.”
Dean stared in horror. “You want me to just cut your throat here and now.”
Sam shrugged. “Why wait?”
“You’re pretty convinced I’m going to kill you at all, Sammy.” Dean’s face twisted. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
“Just that I’ve missed you.”
Dean snorted. “Right. That’s why it took you all this time to come find me.”
Castiel frowned. “Dean. He has been held by Lucifer. It would not have been easy for him to get away.”
Dean rewarded him with a flinty stare, and Castiel had to wonder at himself. Why was he defending the abomination, anyway? His job was to drive a wedge between the brothers, encourage Dean to do as Sam expected and kill him, not try to broker forgiveness.
“He still could’ve done it if he’d wanted to. But hey. All’s well that ends well, right?”
“Sure, Dean.” Sam forced a little smile, eyes clouded.
“So what is it that you want here?” Dean grabbed Sam’s chin and tilted his face up to look him in the eye. “What do you think that Haven has to offer you?”
Castiel frowned. They’d been over this already. Sam blinked.
“I don’t want anything. Well, I’d like you to release Meg. She helped me get away. Other than that I’ve done everything that I wanted.”
“Everything, huh? Got married, had kids, became a cleric -“
Sam glowered. “You know that’s all gone now.”
“Thought you did ‘everything you wanted to do,’ Sammy?” Dean smirked. “Because when you were a kid that’s all you ever did. Pushed at Dad about wanting to be Mr. Normal, get married, have a family of your own, become a cleric or a scholar, live a nice and sedentary life instead of being out there and fighting evil like you were supposed to.” Dean dropped Sam’s chin like the touch of his brother’s skin burned him.
Castiel frowned. He recognized the technique, of course. He’d seen Dean do it before, using words to cut finer than any of his special knives could. It wasn’t likely to be something he’d learned in captivity, but it had the desired effect every time. Castiel had never objected to it before - after all, an aim achieved without bloodshed or physical harm had to be better than the alternative. Now, however, he found that the words made his Grace sit uneasily within him. Was it just because they were aimed at Sam?
“Pretty sure none of that’s feasible anymore.” Sam glared. “Just kill me and get it over with, Dean.”
Castiel stepped forward, ready to intervene.
“It never was feasible,” Dean said. “No matter how many times Dad and I tried to drive that through your thick skull, you just wouldn’t listen and now look at us. You’re - whatever the hell you’re supposed to be, and I’m still working off Alastair’s legacy thanks to getting caught while I was out there looking for your sorry ass.” He shook his head.
“You can thank John for that.” Sam stood up. “If he’d let me go to live with Pastor Jim instead of selling me directly to the thing that killed your mother -“
Dean punched Sam. “Dad wouldn’t do that!” he yelled. “You -“
Castiel jumped between the brothers. “It is true, Dean,” he insisted. “Whatever else is at work here, whatever else must be done, your brother is not lying.” He’d have to answer for this, for the inappropriate compassion and the disobedience. Adjustment would be painful, but he never remembered it later so it was of little import. For now, he needed to keep Dean in control.
Dean struggled against Castiel’s grip for a moment, then let his arm go limp. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He mopped over his face with his newly freed hand. “So where do we go from here, huh? I mean, what are we supposed to do?”
“You put me down,” Sam insisted. His voice was strong, confident; the voice of a leader. “You do what you know needs to be done. I’m a monster. You kill monsters.”
Dean’s face twisted again, this time with pain instead of rage or hate. “What’ve you done that makes you have to die, Sam? Huh?”
The cambion glanced away. When he looked back, his eyes had changed back to gold. “Isn’t this enough?”
Dean shuddered. “It should be. Have you killed humans?”
Sam didn’t answer, so Castiel scanned his mind. “Not who weren’t possessed. Sam was unable to avoid harming some possessed people, but I’m getting the impression that he’s a skilled exorcist.” He felt the young man erect some barriers against him, and he placed a hand on the cambion’s bare arm. “Don’t fight me, Sam. I’m trying to help you.”
“Angels don’t help people.” Sam’s lips folded together.
Castiel squinted at him, prepared to challenge the creature’s arrogance, but Dean let out a tired little chuckle. “Most of the time you’re right. Nine out of ten of them are first-class dicks but Cas here, he’s all right. He’s the one that pulled me away from Lilith’s band.”
Sam nodded. “Thanks for that.”
Castiel tilted his head. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. On the one hand, he didn’t think that telling Sam that he’d done the deed on orders from Heaven would go over well. On the other hand, he didn’t know why he cared.
“Plus,” Dean continued, oblivious to Castiel’s internal war, “I’m told that you’ve met with one angel and he’s not exactly the kind you pray to.”
Sam’s responding smile could best be described as a rictus. “I suppose you could, if you wanted,” he offered. “Just make sure I’m far away.”
“Not eager to meet up again?” Dean asked with levity that had to be at least partially forced.
“No. And I definitely don’t want to see what happens if he gets his hands on you.” Sam moistened his lips. “So.” He glanced at the short sword on Dean’s belt.
“So. No little Sammies running around?” Dean leered, waggling his eyebrows. He’d seen Sam’s glance, Castiel was sure of it, but seemed determined not to say anything about it.
“No.” Sam folded his lips together again. “The tribes are… well, you were out there. You know.”
“I was a prisoner.” A shadow passed over Dean’s face. “I didn’t exactly get to socialize.”
Sam nodded. “The thing is, everyone’s a prisoner out there in the wastelands. I got to Azazel’s tribe and I tried to make some friends. Make the best of a bad situation. You know? It wasn’t all demons, there. There were other cambions, a few shifters, a few other creatures. Any time that I started to get close, attached, to anyone that Azazel didn’t want me getting attached to -“ Sam drew his long finger across his throat. “I learned pretty quickly not to form attachments after that.”
“Except to Meg.” Castiel raised an eyebrow. “You’re quite attached to her.”
Sam nodded. “She’s Azazel’s daughter. Demons don’t care that Azazel was possessing John Winchester when I was conceived. The human side of me isn’t important to them except that it makes me less than. The genetics aren’t important to them. As far as demons are concerned Meg and I are siblings.” He shrugged. “When we were with Azazel I hated her, anyway.”
“Why?”
Castiel gleaned the information from Sam when the younger brother wouldn’t speak. “She was responsible for a lot of his training.”
“It was only after Azazel was killed and Lucifer absorbed us into the fold that Meg and I got closer.” Sam shuddered. “I don’t resent her anymore, not for the way she treated me then. She was trying to teach me, to train me with abilities that would have become out of control if she hadn’t taught me. She’s a demon, a full demon, and demons don’t do sweet or gentle. When she saw me handed over to Lucifer and saw what he did she helped me, until she could help me escape.”
Dean folded his lips together. “So you want me to let her go because she tortured you less than someone else.” A muscle twitched in his jawline.
“No. I want you to let her go because she helped me and got me out.”
“So you could be killed!” Dean smacked his fist into his open left palm.
Sam flinched. “She didn’t know, Dean.”
Castiel turned to face his friend. “This is consistent with what I’ve heard from Meg. She had no idea that he expected execution. She expected them to both run off and seek freedom with Abaddon’s tribe.”
Sam spread his hands wide. “We didn’t exactly discuss the ‘after.’ I pointed out that Abaddon would take her, and she assumed.”
“That was a little manipulative, there, Sammy.” Dean glared.
“She possessed me. I’d say we’re even. Just… she doesn’t need to die for this. I’d never have gotten away from Lucifer if it weren’t for her, and Abaddon’s tribe has almost nothing to do with humans that don’t come looking for them. Just - please. Let her go.”
“Sammy.” Dean shook his head. “You know I can’t get away with letting her out. For that matter I’m not entirely sure what I should do with you. The council is kind of in a logjam about it.”
Sam waved a hand. “You already know what my vote is.”
Castiel frowned and leaned closer to Sam. “I realize that you have been cut off from humanity for some time, Sam,” he told the abomination, “but you don’t have a vote on the council. You aren’t technically a resident of Haven, since you’re not human.”
A wry grin played around the corners of Sam’s mouth. “Valid.”
“You really want me to kill you, Sammy?” Dean’s voice dropped to a near whisper.
Sam shrugged. “What else is there?”
Dean stepped forward and put a hand out, but pulled it back before he could touch his brother. “I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out together. Just like the good old days, right?”
Sam gave a hesitant little smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.
***
Dean and Castiel returned to the council chamber where the others waited for them. Missouri Mosley stood up and touched Dean’s face with a gentle hand as soon as he walked into the room. “Oh, Dean!” Her large, dark eyes gleamed with tears. “That must have been so painful for you!” Her eyes dropped to his bloodied knuckles, however, and she reached up and swatted the back of his head. “That’s how you greet your long lost brother? Punching him in the face?”
Pamela snickered. “They’re Winchesters, Missouri. They are what they do.”
Bobby let out a low chuckle at that, even as Jim Murphy and Missouri glared. “You’re your father’s son alright, Dean. So. What’s the verdict?"
Dean sat back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “We can’t trust him. Not for any specific reason, but he is what he is. Who knows if the sudden change in environment will make him snap, or if Lucifer did something to him that will make him go off at some point in the future?”
“Which is why we should put him down now,” Pamela insisted. “It’s not… I mean it’s not the happy ending you always dreamed about with him, but…”
“We’re Winchesters. There aren’t any happy endings. Not for us.” He wouldn’t look at her, or at Castiel. “But I don’t think it’s right to just end him because of something that’s not his fault. If and when he turns, we’ll take him down. Until then, he’s…” Dean trailed off, looking for a word to describe a state of being that was wholly unknown to the people of Haven.
“He shouldn’t be left alone,” Castiel suggested. “Both because of his origins and because of his mental state. Everything here will be like a new experience to him; there’s no telling how much of his old life he’ll even remember. He hasn’t been around humans since he was a teenager and his experiences may leave him frightened or confused.”
Jim Murphy nodded. “That makes sense. I have a room in my home that he can have - the one I’ve been holding for him since your father told me he wanted to be rid of him.” The priest’s muscles began to relax, slowly. “I think he’ll be safest there. Feel safest there, you know? Holy ground and all that.”
“Will he even be able to go onto holy ground?” Dean blurted.
“He always was before,” Missouri snapped. “He’s still the same boy he ever was -“
“You can’t know that any better than I can.” Pamela folded her hands together on the table. “Something’s blocking him from us both, and you know it.”
Dean glanced between the women. “Is that true?”
Castiel nodded. “It’s the tattoos. They were designed to ward him against human psychics. Some of them were, at any rate. He was no trouble for me, once I convinced him to allow me in. I will watch him, Dean.”
Both Dean and Bobby raised eyebrows. “Is that a good use of your time?” the latter asked, in a tone that clearly suggested otherwise.
“It will allow me to understand the dangers he poses in greater depth. It might also grant me a better insight into Lucifer’s tribe. He is an angel, but he’s long been exiled from our kind.” Castiel offered them an attempt at a grin. “And as I have no need of sleep there will be no need to schedule shifts; simply to send someone to relieve me should I have other duties to attend to.”
“Well, I’ll be right there,” Jim Murphy said with a huge smile. He leaned back in his chair. “This is fantastic news. Dean, why don’t you show Sammy to the house, while I get his room ready? It shouldn’t take long; I’ve kept it ready since he was all of what, eight?”
Castiel moved out into the night. Dean followed him for a moment. “I’m going to go talk to Sammy, explain the situation to him,” the warrior informed him. “He should be happy. He and the priest always did get along like a house on fire, you know?”
Castiel did not know, but he nodded anyway. It seemed to be expected. “I will inform the demon Meg of the decision. We can use her as a hostage for his good behavior. He seems to be attached to her.”
Dean stared at him for a long moment, and Castiel wondered if his friend had guessed at his attraction toward the foul being. Then he shrugged. “Whatever, man. I guess it can’t hurt. She probably knows things about Lucifer’s folk, that kind of thing. She might be useful.”
Castiel flew to Meg’s cell and admitted himself. The dark-eyed monster smirked up at him from her cot. Why she’d been provided a cot mystified him; she needed no sleep. “Aw, Clarence. You missed me.”
He had, but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of admitting it. “The Council has decided to forestall the execution of the abomination - your brother.” He tugged at his breastplate, a useless gesture. “For now, at any rate.”
She raised her eyebrows. “How did you pull that off?”
He stepped backwards. “What makes you think I had any effect on the decision?”
She snorted. “Really? I’m evil, not stupid. I saw your eyes all over him like flies on shit the moment you walked into the cell where we were being held. Not that I can blame you. He’s certainly pretty. I suppose I should be grateful that you didn’t just reach out and take what you wanted, but maybe normal angels are shy about that sort of thing in public.”
Angels didn’t blush. If they did, if they could, his face would be flaming and scarlet right now. He couldn’t deny that the sight of Sam’s body had been arousing. The sight of Sam’s bound body had been more arousing, and in ways that should send him to seek revelation and possible adjustment. Her implication, however, was another thing entirely. “Angels do not take by force,” he snarled, perhaps a bit harsher than he’d intended. “We require consent in all things.”
She frowned and looked up at him, making him feel like a recalcitrant human child. “Come on, Castiel, you don’t really think that you’re the only angel we’ve met?”
“Lucifer is hardly representative of our species. He was cast out and for cause.” He drew his eyes away from her tattooed arms, which left his eyes to fall to her tattooed legs. That didn’t help. He looked at the wall.
She stood up and walked right over to him, getting into his personal space. “I wasn’t talking about him and you know it.”
“If you’re referring to Azazel’s status as one of the Fallen, he was no longer an angel by the time you knew him.” Castiel cleared his throat.
“Not where I was going with this either, Halo Boy.” She thumped a hand onto his chest, tilting her head up to look into his eyes.
Something inside of Castiel felt dizzy. “Are you trying to convince me that real angels, people who appear to be aligned with Heaven, have come among your tribe and associated with the Morningstar?”
“Believe me or don’t.” She sniffed, a wicked grin splitting her face. “It’s no skin off my nose. Ask Samael. Not, I think, that you’re all that interested in talk when it comes to him.”
“We had an extensive conversation. I did not touch him.” Castiel glared. “I am an angel and he is -“
“Right. As if that’s stopped the thoughts in that pretty little head before. You’ve never tried a little sulfur-flavored sugar?” She gave a low, dirty laugh that didn’t repulse him in the least. “So, tell me, Castiel. How is it that you managed to screw up convincing Dean to execute our shared baby brother?”
This time Castiel’s gulp had very little to do with the proximity of the demon. “You think I was ordered to keep them apart, to encourage him to destroy the abomination?”
Meg stood on her tiptoes and whispered into his ear, breath hot on his skin. “I know it.”
Castiel stepped backward again. “Why would Heaven so manipulate our champion among the humans?” There was no possible way for Meg to know that those had been his orders. Now that he heard them from her point of view, they sounded… impure. Unrighteous.
Meg’s delighted little laugh rang out like bells. “I can’t do all your thinking for you, Clarence. You’ve got something between your ears, even if all your blood is rushing south right now. Where’s Samael? I bet you’d like for him to go help you take care of that little issue.” She smirked.
“Sam is being moved to lodgings with the city priest.” Cas glanced at her and wondered if he should have disclosed that information. It wasn’t as though she could escape the cell, after all. “He will not be left alone at any time, so don’t think that he will be available to release you.”
She waved a tiny, elegant hand. “We’ll get there, Castiel. We’ll get there.” She stepped back into his space. “Maybe you’ll be the one to do it.”
“Highly unlikely. I’m an angel of the Lord, you’re a demon.”
She pulled his face down to hers and kissed him.
Castiel had never kissed someone before. He was familiar with the theory, of course, and as a near-constant companion of Dean Winchester he was more than familiar with the mechanics but the feel of hot, wet lips or a slippery, demanding tongue was a revelation to him.
At first he flinched but once his body processed the sensations associated with the act he roughly seized Meg’s head and tangled his fingers into her hair. He could taste the sulfur ever so slightly at the back of her mouth, and blood, but he could also taste centuries of pain and rage and humor and a bizarre protectiveness for Sam that shocked even her. He found that he liked kissing, he liked it very much, and he found that it ramped up the need that had been hovering on the edge of his consciousness.
It was that need - all-consuming, terrifying, devouring - that made Castiel pull himself away. “What have you done to me?” he gasped, wiping at his mouth with his van brace. “You’ve bewitched me somehow.”
She snorted. “Hardly. I do know some seductress demons - succubae, that sort of thing - but the kind of magic Azazel’s spawn perform rarely feels good. And you feel pretty good right now, don’t you Castiel?” She smirked. “Go ahead. Talk to Samael, if you dare. Watch your finely feathered friends.” She winked. “And come back and see me any time, if you don’t think that John Winchester’s mini-me would look kindly on you fraternizing with precious little Sammy.”
Castiel fled.
He made his way over to the priest’s house, choosing to walk rather than fly so that he could calm his too-excited blood. The cool evening gave him some time to reflect on what he’d seen - and done - that evening, reflection that he knew he sorely needed.
The kissing had been exciting. It had awakened feelings inside of him that he’d never known he could experience. Some angels, he knew, partook of matters of the flesh but he had been firmly warned against them by his superiors. “Such tawdry rutting is best left to the humans, Castiel,” Zachariah had told him once, as they watched Dean from an invisible perch. “You see how they are consumed with this need, this urge. It creates occasions to sin, pathways to doubt. Do not let yourself be ensnared.”
And when he thought about it, those angels who had “become ensnared” were no longer around, were they? Gabriel, Balthazar, Anael. None of those names rang out among the Host any longer. Pathways to doubt indeed. He would do best to insulate himself from such base instincts, possibly after a good long soak in the chill of the Lawrence River.
At the same time, he had felt those instincts, and not only tonight. He’d felt them as soon as he’d laid his eyes on the demonic half-siblings. When Meg had kissed him he’d thought only of getting more - well, of getting more and of how different it would be if those lips had belonged to Sam. Meg had said that Azazel’s spawn had no magic that included seduction and he knew of no intelligence that contradicted that, so these must truly be his feelings, his own instincts, his own desires.
Would Sam also kiss him?
He frowned at the intrusive thought. He was not sent to rut his way through Azazel’s unholy spawn. His mission was to guide and defend the Righteous Man. Meg could insinuate whatever she wished about angels in league with Lucifer, but he would require more proof than the poisoned words of a demon with her own interests to serve.
He had brought himself, much calmer now, to the priest’s door. Light shone out from behind the drawn shutters and Castiel hesitated. He’d said he would keep guard over the young man, but did he dare? Knowing that he harbored lust for the creature in his heart, should he not recuse himself from such close contact with Sam?
He flew inside. His appearance never startled the priest anymore, even though there was no way that the human could possibly sense him. Jim Murphy was not alone, of course. He sat with Missouri Moseley and Sam Winchester at his simple wooden table trying to convince the youth to eat a bowl of what looked like bean stew. “Good evening, Castiel,” Jim greeted.
Missouri looked up at him and smirked but said nothing. She couldn’t possibly know what he’d just been doing with Meg, could he?
Sam looked at him, then glanced away and stirred the bowl with his spoon. “So,” he said. “You’re the one they sent to be my jailer?”
Cas didn’t like that word. “It is my responsibility to remain by your side, both for the protection of Haven and for your protection,” he affirmed, hands behind his back. He took in Sam’s form and repressed a shudder. “Have you consumed anything since your arrival? I know I ordered water sent to you.”
Sam gave a listless shrug. “You saw Meg.”
Now Castiel gave a start. “You can see that?”
Sam let his eyes flash golden, just for a second, and twisted his lips into a smirk. “She’s safe, then.”
“You’re devoted.” He swallowed as Sam looked away from him. “Sam, have you… encountered… angels other than Lucifer?”
“Of course.” He shrugged. “Why would I not have?”
“Who were they?”
Sam gave a bitter little laugh, still not meeting anyone’s eyes. “It’s not like they gave their names. Why do you want to know?”
“If there are traitors in the ranks, they must be reported.” He stepped forward. “They must be adjusted.”
Sam snorted. “I’m tired. I’d like to get some sleep.”
Back to Chapter Two -- On to Chapter Four
Author: safiyabat
Artist: stormbrite
Characters & Pairing(s): Castiel/Sam Winchester, Castiel/Meg
Rating: M
Word Count: 39,134 / 4,968 (chapter)
Warnings: Past non-con (not described, but it exists.) Violence. Consent issues involving possession. This chapter contains brother punching - no more than canon levels.
Summary: The brothers try the reunion thing again. Castiel gets a new job.
Dean got up from his chair and left the chamber. Castiel followed him, but he didn’t make the mistake of thinking that they would go immediately to Sam’s tent, and he wasn’t disappointed. Dean led Castiel to the Haven Rose Garden, a maze of thorny bushes with fragrant blooms that offered more privacy than anyplace else in the city. Dean often retreated there when he required discretion with one of his temporary partners, and it naturally followed that he would seek such a refuge now that he needed privacy of a different sort.
Once they’d found a little dead end in which to seclude themselves, and Castiel ascertained that no one could hear them, the commander turned to the angel. “What do you think, Cas? You think he’s full of crap?”
“I think your brother has gone for several days without food or water. His intestines are likely empty.” He frowned at himself. He shouldn’t have referred to the youth as Dean’s brother, but in a less humanizing way. Perhaps part of him didn’t want to? That would bear thinking about later.
Dean palmed his face. “Not that. It’s a figure of speech, Cas. Come on. Work with me here. Do you think he’s lying?”
Castiel considered. He could lie, but he found that felt uncomfortable to him. “I didn’t sense any kind of falsehood to his words. He could be hiding something from me - demons choose to create cambions because in many ways they are more powerful than full demons and they aren’t restrained by the normal methods that affect demons. But I’m not aware of any issues regarding truthfulness on his part.”
The warrior nodded once. “So I should what, spare him?”
“His blood makes him an abomination in the eyes of Heaven, Dean. No angel will suffer his company.” That wasn’t entirely true. Castiel wouldn’t mind spending a little more time with the abomination. The thought itself was a blasphemy, needing re-alignment. “Your own people loathe him and you yourself don’t trust him. His life since you parted has been one of pain and misery. It might be kinder to end his life than to force him to continue living.” He held up a hand when Dean opened his mouth to object. “At the same time, you’ve worked for years to find him and now you have him. You should at least have the opportunity to know your brother and to make your own mind.”
Dean took a deep, shuddering breath. Castiel knew he was privileged to see this. Dean didn’t let many people see him this unguarded, this indecisive. Bobby Singer might, on rare occasions, might get to see him in a state of anxiety but never this bad. “Okay. Okay, I’ll do it. Thanks, Cas.”
“I will be right here with you, Dean.” He tried to smile at his friend, but the gesture felt alien to his features.
Dean didn’t seem to mind. He schooled his face back into its usual cocky mask and strode through the maze, back toward the tents. Castiel trailed along behind him, beige cloak billowing in their wake.
No one questioned them as they strode into Sam’s tent. No one would dare to question their commander, even though Castiel could think of at least three different creatures that could masquerade as him right now. Perhaps they thought that the presence of an angel made tests unnecessary. Sam looked up from his bed when walked in, then blinked the surprise away from his eyes and sat up when he recognized Dean.
“Heya, Sammy,” Dean greeted. He kept his arms by his side, didn’t offer the kind of embrace or handshake or physical affection that Castiel would have expected from other humans in similar situations, but then again there were no similar humans or similar situations. “I heard you wanted to see me with your own eyes.”
Sam swallowed. For a split second, just a fraction of a moment that Castiel almost missed, his hurt showed on his face. Why should he be hurt? It wasn’t as though he had any right to expect warmth. He was tainted, unworthy, and he knew it. He’d come here to face execution, after all. “Yeah,” he swallowed, before forcing his face into a neutral expression. “Yeah. I did. You look good.”
“Thanks.” Dean took a deep breath. “So. It’s been a while.”
“Yeah.” Sam’s hazel eyes skittered away from Dean’s and rested on Castiel for a split second, and something bubbled up in the angel’s Grace. Maybe it was compassion? “How do you want to do this?” He slid to the ground, on his knees. “Less mess to clean up this way, I guess.”
Dean stared in horror. “You want me to just cut your throat here and now.”
Sam shrugged. “Why wait?”
“You’re pretty convinced I’m going to kill you at all, Sammy.” Dean’s face twisted. “Is there something you want to tell me?”
“Just that I’ve missed you.”
Dean snorted. “Right. That’s why it took you all this time to come find me.”
Castiel frowned. “Dean. He has been held by Lucifer. It would not have been easy for him to get away.”
Dean rewarded him with a flinty stare, and Castiel had to wonder at himself. Why was he defending the abomination, anyway? His job was to drive a wedge between the brothers, encourage Dean to do as Sam expected and kill him, not try to broker forgiveness.
“He still could’ve done it if he’d wanted to. But hey. All’s well that ends well, right?”
“Sure, Dean.” Sam forced a little smile, eyes clouded.
“So what is it that you want here?” Dean grabbed Sam’s chin and tilted his face up to look him in the eye. “What do you think that Haven has to offer you?”
Castiel frowned. They’d been over this already. Sam blinked.
“I don’t want anything. Well, I’d like you to release Meg. She helped me get away. Other than that I’ve done everything that I wanted.”
“Everything, huh? Got married, had kids, became a cleric -“
Sam glowered. “You know that’s all gone now.”
“Thought you did ‘everything you wanted to do,’ Sammy?” Dean smirked. “Because when you were a kid that’s all you ever did. Pushed at Dad about wanting to be Mr. Normal, get married, have a family of your own, become a cleric or a scholar, live a nice and sedentary life instead of being out there and fighting evil like you were supposed to.” Dean dropped Sam’s chin like the touch of his brother’s skin burned him.
Castiel frowned. He recognized the technique, of course. He’d seen Dean do it before, using words to cut finer than any of his special knives could. It wasn’t likely to be something he’d learned in captivity, but it had the desired effect every time. Castiel had never objected to it before - after all, an aim achieved without bloodshed or physical harm had to be better than the alternative. Now, however, he found that the words made his Grace sit uneasily within him. Was it just because they were aimed at Sam?
“Pretty sure none of that’s feasible anymore.” Sam glared. “Just kill me and get it over with, Dean.”
Castiel stepped forward, ready to intervene.
“It never was feasible,” Dean said. “No matter how many times Dad and I tried to drive that through your thick skull, you just wouldn’t listen and now look at us. You’re - whatever the hell you’re supposed to be, and I’m still working off Alastair’s legacy thanks to getting caught while I was out there looking for your sorry ass.” He shook his head.
“You can thank John for that.” Sam stood up. “If he’d let me go to live with Pastor Jim instead of selling me directly to the thing that killed your mother -“
Dean punched Sam. “Dad wouldn’t do that!” he yelled. “You -“
Castiel jumped between the brothers. “It is true, Dean,” he insisted. “Whatever else is at work here, whatever else must be done, your brother is not lying.” He’d have to answer for this, for the inappropriate compassion and the disobedience. Adjustment would be painful, but he never remembered it later so it was of little import. For now, he needed to keep Dean in control.
Dean struggled against Castiel’s grip for a moment, then let his arm go limp. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He mopped over his face with his newly freed hand. “So where do we go from here, huh? I mean, what are we supposed to do?”
“You put me down,” Sam insisted. His voice was strong, confident; the voice of a leader. “You do what you know needs to be done. I’m a monster. You kill monsters.”
Dean’s face twisted again, this time with pain instead of rage or hate. “What’ve you done that makes you have to die, Sam? Huh?”
The cambion glanced away. When he looked back, his eyes had changed back to gold. “Isn’t this enough?”
Dean shuddered. “It should be. Have you killed humans?”
Sam didn’t answer, so Castiel scanned his mind. “Not who weren’t possessed. Sam was unable to avoid harming some possessed people, but I’m getting the impression that he’s a skilled exorcist.” He felt the young man erect some barriers against him, and he placed a hand on the cambion’s bare arm. “Don’t fight me, Sam. I’m trying to help you.”
“Angels don’t help people.” Sam’s lips folded together.
Castiel squinted at him, prepared to challenge the creature’s arrogance, but Dean let out a tired little chuckle. “Most of the time you’re right. Nine out of ten of them are first-class dicks but Cas here, he’s all right. He’s the one that pulled me away from Lilith’s band.”
Sam nodded. “Thanks for that.”
Castiel tilted his head. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. On the one hand, he didn’t think that telling Sam that he’d done the deed on orders from Heaven would go over well. On the other hand, he didn’t know why he cared.
“Plus,” Dean continued, oblivious to Castiel’s internal war, “I’m told that you’ve met with one angel and he’s not exactly the kind you pray to.”
Sam’s responding smile could best be described as a rictus. “I suppose you could, if you wanted,” he offered. “Just make sure I’m far away.”
“Not eager to meet up again?” Dean asked with levity that had to be at least partially forced.
“No. And I definitely don’t want to see what happens if he gets his hands on you.” Sam moistened his lips. “So.” He glanced at the short sword on Dean’s belt.
“So. No little Sammies running around?” Dean leered, waggling his eyebrows. He’d seen Sam’s glance, Castiel was sure of it, but seemed determined not to say anything about it.
“No.” Sam folded his lips together again. “The tribes are… well, you were out there. You know.”
“I was a prisoner.” A shadow passed over Dean’s face. “I didn’t exactly get to socialize.”
Sam nodded. “The thing is, everyone’s a prisoner out there in the wastelands. I got to Azazel’s tribe and I tried to make some friends. Make the best of a bad situation. You know? It wasn’t all demons, there. There were other cambions, a few shifters, a few other creatures. Any time that I started to get close, attached, to anyone that Azazel didn’t want me getting attached to -“ Sam drew his long finger across his throat. “I learned pretty quickly not to form attachments after that.”
“Except to Meg.” Castiel raised an eyebrow. “You’re quite attached to her.”
Sam nodded. “She’s Azazel’s daughter. Demons don’t care that Azazel was possessing John Winchester when I was conceived. The human side of me isn’t important to them except that it makes me less than. The genetics aren’t important to them. As far as demons are concerned Meg and I are siblings.” He shrugged. “When we were with Azazel I hated her, anyway.”
“Why?”
Castiel gleaned the information from Sam when the younger brother wouldn’t speak. “She was responsible for a lot of his training.”
“It was only after Azazel was killed and Lucifer absorbed us into the fold that Meg and I got closer.” Sam shuddered. “I don’t resent her anymore, not for the way she treated me then. She was trying to teach me, to train me with abilities that would have become out of control if she hadn’t taught me. She’s a demon, a full demon, and demons don’t do sweet or gentle. When she saw me handed over to Lucifer and saw what he did she helped me, until she could help me escape.”
Dean folded his lips together. “So you want me to let her go because she tortured you less than someone else.” A muscle twitched in his jawline.
“No. I want you to let her go because she helped me and got me out.”
“So you could be killed!” Dean smacked his fist into his open left palm.
Sam flinched. “She didn’t know, Dean.”
Castiel turned to face his friend. “This is consistent with what I’ve heard from Meg. She had no idea that he expected execution. She expected them to both run off and seek freedom with Abaddon’s tribe.”
Sam spread his hands wide. “We didn’t exactly discuss the ‘after.’ I pointed out that Abaddon would take her, and she assumed.”
“That was a little manipulative, there, Sammy.” Dean glared.
“She possessed me. I’d say we’re even. Just… she doesn’t need to die for this. I’d never have gotten away from Lucifer if it weren’t for her, and Abaddon’s tribe has almost nothing to do with humans that don’t come looking for them. Just - please. Let her go.”
“Sammy.” Dean shook his head. “You know I can’t get away with letting her out. For that matter I’m not entirely sure what I should do with you. The council is kind of in a logjam about it.”
Sam waved a hand. “You already know what my vote is.”
Castiel frowned and leaned closer to Sam. “I realize that you have been cut off from humanity for some time, Sam,” he told the abomination, “but you don’t have a vote on the council. You aren’t technically a resident of Haven, since you’re not human.”
A wry grin played around the corners of Sam’s mouth. “Valid.”
“You really want me to kill you, Sammy?” Dean’s voice dropped to a near whisper.
Sam shrugged. “What else is there?”
Dean stepped forward and put a hand out, but pulled it back before he could touch his brother. “I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out together. Just like the good old days, right?”
Sam gave a hesitant little smile. It didn’t reach his eyes.
***
Dean and Castiel returned to the council chamber where the others waited for them. Missouri Mosley stood up and touched Dean’s face with a gentle hand as soon as he walked into the room. “Oh, Dean!” Her large, dark eyes gleamed with tears. “That must have been so painful for you!” Her eyes dropped to his bloodied knuckles, however, and she reached up and swatted the back of his head. “That’s how you greet your long lost brother? Punching him in the face?”
Pamela snickered. “They’re Winchesters, Missouri. They are what they do.”
Bobby let out a low chuckle at that, even as Jim Murphy and Missouri glared. “You’re your father’s son alright, Dean. So. What’s the verdict?"
Dean sat back in his chair with a heavy sigh. “We can’t trust him. Not for any specific reason, but he is what he is. Who knows if the sudden change in environment will make him snap, or if Lucifer did something to him that will make him go off at some point in the future?”
“Which is why we should put him down now,” Pamela insisted. “It’s not… I mean it’s not the happy ending you always dreamed about with him, but…”
“We’re Winchesters. There aren’t any happy endings. Not for us.” He wouldn’t look at her, or at Castiel. “But I don’t think it’s right to just end him because of something that’s not his fault. If and when he turns, we’ll take him down. Until then, he’s…” Dean trailed off, looking for a word to describe a state of being that was wholly unknown to the people of Haven.
“He shouldn’t be left alone,” Castiel suggested. “Both because of his origins and because of his mental state. Everything here will be like a new experience to him; there’s no telling how much of his old life he’ll even remember. He hasn’t been around humans since he was a teenager and his experiences may leave him frightened or confused.”
Jim Murphy nodded. “That makes sense. I have a room in my home that he can have - the one I’ve been holding for him since your father told me he wanted to be rid of him.” The priest’s muscles began to relax, slowly. “I think he’ll be safest there. Feel safest there, you know? Holy ground and all that.”
“Will he even be able to go onto holy ground?” Dean blurted.
“He always was before,” Missouri snapped. “He’s still the same boy he ever was -“
“You can’t know that any better than I can.” Pamela folded her hands together on the table. “Something’s blocking him from us both, and you know it.”
Dean glanced between the women. “Is that true?”
Castiel nodded. “It’s the tattoos. They were designed to ward him against human psychics. Some of them were, at any rate. He was no trouble for me, once I convinced him to allow me in. I will watch him, Dean.”
Both Dean and Bobby raised eyebrows. “Is that a good use of your time?” the latter asked, in a tone that clearly suggested otherwise.
“It will allow me to understand the dangers he poses in greater depth. It might also grant me a better insight into Lucifer’s tribe. He is an angel, but he’s long been exiled from our kind.” Castiel offered them an attempt at a grin. “And as I have no need of sleep there will be no need to schedule shifts; simply to send someone to relieve me should I have other duties to attend to.”
“Well, I’ll be right there,” Jim Murphy said with a huge smile. He leaned back in his chair. “This is fantastic news. Dean, why don’t you show Sammy to the house, while I get his room ready? It shouldn’t take long; I’ve kept it ready since he was all of what, eight?”
Castiel moved out into the night. Dean followed him for a moment. “I’m going to go talk to Sammy, explain the situation to him,” the warrior informed him. “He should be happy. He and the priest always did get along like a house on fire, you know?”
Castiel did not know, but he nodded anyway. It seemed to be expected. “I will inform the demon Meg of the decision. We can use her as a hostage for his good behavior. He seems to be attached to her.”
Dean stared at him for a long moment, and Castiel wondered if his friend had guessed at his attraction toward the foul being. Then he shrugged. “Whatever, man. I guess it can’t hurt. She probably knows things about Lucifer’s folk, that kind of thing. She might be useful.”
Castiel flew to Meg’s cell and admitted himself. The dark-eyed monster smirked up at him from her cot. Why she’d been provided a cot mystified him; she needed no sleep. “Aw, Clarence. You missed me.”
He had, but he wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction of admitting it. “The Council has decided to forestall the execution of the abomination - your brother.” He tugged at his breastplate, a useless gesture. “For now, at any rate.”
She raised her eyebrows. “How did you pull that off?”
He stepped backwards. “What makes you think I had any effect on the decision?”
She snorted. “Really? I’m evil, not stupid. I saw your eyes all over him like flies on shit the moment you walked into the cell where we were being held. Not that I can blame you. He’s certainly pretty. I suppose I should be grateful that you didn’t just reach out and take what you wanted, but maybe normal angels are shy about that sort of thing in public.”
Angels didn’t blush. If they did, if they could, his face would be flaming and scarlet right now. He couldn’t deny that the sight of Sam’s body had been arousing. The sight of Sam’s bound body had been more arousing, and in ways that should send him to seek revelation and possible adjustment. Her implication, however, was another thing entirely. “Angels do not take by force,” he snarled, perhaps a bit harsher than he’d intended. “We require consent in all things.”
She frowned and looked up at him, making him feel like a recalcitrant human child. “Come on, Castiel, you don’t really think that you’re the only angel we’ve met?”
“Lucifer is hardly representative of our species. He was cast out and for cause.” He drew his eyes away from her tattooed arms, which left his eyes to fall to her tattooed legs. That didn’t help. He looked at the wall.
She stood up and walked right over to him, getting into his personal space. “I wasn’t talking about him and you know it.”
“If you’re referring to Azazel’s status as one of the Fallen, he was no longer an angel by the time you knew him.” Castiel cleared his throat.
“Not where I was going with this either, Halo Boy.” She thumped a hand onto his chest, tilting her head up to look into his eyes.
Something inside of Castiel felt dizzy. “Are you trying to convince me that real angels, people who appear to be aligned with Heaven, have come among your tribe and associated with the Morningstar?”
“Believe me or don’t.” She sniffed, a wicked grin splitting her face. “It’s no skin off my nose. Ask Samael. Not, I think, that you’re all that interested in talk when it comes to him.”
“We had an extensive conversation. I did not touch him.” Castiel glared. “I am an angel and he is -“
“Right. As if that’s stopped the thoughts in that pretty little head before. You’ve never tried a little sulfur-flavored sugar?” She gave a low, dirty laugh that didn’t repulse him in the least. “So, tell me, Castiel. How is it that you managed to screw up convincing Dean to execute our shared baby brother?”
This time Castiel’s gulp had very little to do with the proximity of the demon. “You think I was ordered to keep them apart, to encourage him to destroy the abomination?”
Meg stood on her tiptoes and whispered into his ear, breath hot on his skin. “I know it.”
Castiel stepped backward again. “Why would Heaven so manipulate our champion among the humans?” There was no possible way for Meg to know that those had been his orders. Now that he heard them from her point of view, they sounded… impure. Unrighteous.
Meg’s delighted little laugh rang out like bells. “I can’t do all your thinking for you, Clarence. You’ve got something between your ears, even if all your blood is rushing south right now. Where’s Samael? I bet you’d like for him to go help you take care of that little issue.” She smirked.
“Sam is being moved to lodgings with the city priest.” Cas glanced at her and wondered if he should have disclosed that information. It wasn’t as though she could escape the cell, after all. “He will not be left alone at any time, so don’t think that he will be available to release you.”
She waved a tiny, elegant hand. “We’ll get there, Castiel. We’ll get there.” She stepped back into his space. “Maybe you’ll be the one to do it.”
“Highly unlikely. I’m an angel of the Lord, you’re a demon.”
She pulled his face down to hers and kissed him.
Castiel had never kissed someone before. He was familiar with the theory, of course, and as a near-constant companion of Dean Winchester he was more than familiar with the mechanics but the feel of hot, wet lips or a slippery, demanding tongue was a revelation to him.
At first he flinched but once his body processed the sensations associated with the act he roughly seized Meg’s head and tangled his fingers into her hair. He could taste the sulfur ever so slightly at the back of her mouth, and blood, but he could also taste centuries of pain and rage and humor and a bizarre protectiveness for Sam that shocked even her. He found that he liked kissing, he liked it very much, and he found that it ramped up the need that had been hovering on the edge of his consciousness.
It was that need - all-consuming, terrifying, devouring - that made Castiel pull himself away. “What have you done to me?” he gasped, wiping at his mouth with his van brace. “You’ve bewitched me somehow.”
She snorted. “Hardly. I do know some seductress demons - succubae, that sort of thing - but the kind of magic Azazel’s spawn perform rarely feels good. And you feel pretty good right now, don’t you Castiel?” She smirked. “Go ahead. Talk to Samael, if you dare. Watch your finely feathered friends.” She winked. “And come back and see me any time, if you don’t think that John Winchester’s mini-me would look kindly on you fraternizing with precious little Sammy.”
Castiel fled.
He made his way over to the priest’s house, choosing to walk rather than fly so that he could calm his too-excited blood. The cool evening gave him some time to reflect on what he’d seen - and done - that evening, reflection that he knew he sorely needed.
The kissing had been exciting. It had awakened feelings inside of him that he’d never known he could experience. Some angels, he knew, partook of matters of the flesh but he had been firmly warned against them by his superiors. “Such tawdry rutting is best left to the humans, Castiel,” Zachariah had told him once, as they watched Dean from an invisible perch. “You see how they are consumed with this need, this urge. It creates occasions to sin, pathways to doubt. Do not let yourself be ensnared.”
And when he thought about it, those angels who had “become ensnared” were no longer around, were they? Gabriel, Balthazar, Anael. None of those names rang out among the Host any longer. Pathways to doubt indeed. He would do best to insulate himself from such base instincts, possibly after a good long soak in the chill of the Lawrence River.
At the same time, he had felt those instincts, and not only tonight. He’d felt them as soon as he’d laid his eyes on the demonic half-siblings. When Meg had kissed him he’d thought only of getting more - well, of getting more and of how different it would be if those lips had belonged to Sam. Meg had said that Azazel’s spawn had no magic that included seduction and he knew of no intelligence that contradicted that, so these must truly be his feelings, his own instincts, his own desires.
Would Sam also kiss him?
He frowned at the intrusive thought. He was not sent to rut his way through Azazel’s unholy spawn. His mission was to guide and defend the Righteous Man. Meg could insinuate whatever she wished about angels in league with Lucifer, but he would require more proof than the poisoned words of a demon with her own interests to serve.
He had brought himself, much calmer now, to the priest’s door. Light shone out from behind the drawn shutters and Castiel hesitated. He’d said he would keep guard over the young man, but did he dare? Knowing that he harbored lust for the creature in his heart, should he not recuse himself from such close contact with Sam?
He flew inside. His appearance never startled the priest anymore, even though there was no way that the human could possibly sense him. Jim Murphy was not alone, of course. He sat with Missouri Moseley and Sam Winchester at his simple wooden table trying to convince the youth to eat a bowl of what looked like bean stew. “Good evening, Castiel,” Jim greeted.
Missouri looked up at him and smirked but said nothing. She couldn’t possibly know what he’d just been doing with Meg, could he?
Sam looked at him, then glanced away and stirred the bowl with his spoon. “So,” he said. “You’re the one they sent to be my jailer?”
Cas didn’t like that word. “It is my responsibility to remain by your side, both for the protection of Haven and for your protection,” he affirmed, hands behind his back. He took in Sam’s form and repressed a shudder. “Have you consumed anything since your arrival? I know I ordered water sent to you.”
Sam gave a listless shrug. “You saw Meg.”
Now Castiel gave a start. “You can see that?”
Sam let his eyes flash golden, just for a second, and twisted his lips into a smirk. “She’s safe, then.”
“You’re devoted.” He swallowed as Sam looked away from him. “Sam, have you… encountered… angels other than Lucifer?”
“Of course.” He shrugged. “Why would I not have?”
“Who were they?”
Sam gave a bitter little laugh, still not meeting anyone’s eyes. “It’s not like they gave their names. Why do you want to know?”
“If there are traitors in the ranks, they must be reported.” He stepped forward. “They must be adjusted.”
Sam snorted. “I’m tired. I’d like to get some sleep.”
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