Arms Wide Open. Part Four.
Part 4/13
Of Angels And Exploding Trees. [October 21st, 1998]
Dean.
Dean is still having trouble wrapping his mind around everything, and from the way Bobby’s face is set in a permanent scowl he guesses the older hunter doesn’t feel much different. They've spent the past few days trying to figure out what the hell John is looking for and are still none the wiser. And then there’s the whole angel thing, because apparently John Winchester knows things that are either important enough or dangerous enough or both for God to try and find him. Who knows? Certainly not Dean, because talking to that angel gives him headaches and if he gets any answers at all, they only lead to more questions.
Dean snaps shut the book that’s been sitting neglected in his lap and leans forward until his head rests in his hands. Of course it’s not bad enough that Dad probably meddled with things better left alone, but he also managed to vanish from the infallible angel radar of heaven and all its heavenly fucking hosts.
Castiel has visited the salvage yard about once a day since they made it back, but Bobby and Dean are still not used to him appearing out of thin air. Angels seem to have difficulties grasping the concept of personal space, too, so Castiel is the only one unperturbed when he pops in nearly on top of them. Fun times.
One of the few things they were able to get out of the holy trenchcoat was that apparently Dad isn’t dead. He may have been able to turn off his own soul's GPS, but heaven has looked in, well, heaven. And in hell. Dean’s mind is still reeling with all the shit that information implies. Like, what god looks for John Winchester and chats with the devil about whether he got lost in the Pit, come on. And while he's glad Dad is still alive and kicking somewhere not on this plane of existence according to Castiel - and what the fuck is it with the way that angel talks? - they still have no idea where to look for him. Dean stares at the book in his lap and lets out a frustrated grunt. Trust John Winchester to get both heaven and hell involved in a missing persons case.
The next day brings nothing new, Castiel won’t say what Dad might know and Dean and Bobby scour through books and the Internet for who-knows-what. Frankly, the situation sucks. So when Dean’s cell rings in the early afternoon and the caller ID reads “Paul 50 $”, Dean smiles at the welcome diversion this is going to be. Paul Easton, a former carpenter-turned-hunter, had worked with him a few months ago on a case of ghost possession. Dean and Paul shared the same sense of humor and a love for classic cars, so they stayed in touch here and there.
“Hey Paul, what’s up?”
“Dean, hey. I heard you were looking for your old man. Didja hook up with him recently or are you still looking?” Well that wasn’t what Dean expected. He sits up in the old armchair that had tried to swallow him during the afternoon and clears his throat.
“Nah, I’m still looking. Did you hear something?” Bobby’s head perks up from behind a pile of books and Dean has to stifle a laugh at the way he blinks like a grumpy owl when the light of the desk lamp hits him straight in the face.
“Even better. He’s here.” The sudden rush of relief feels a little unreal and Dean doesn’t know what to think. So what, Dad’s alive and he’s somewhere Dean can get to? What about that, huh, Castiel?
“You saw him? Where’s ‘here’?”
“I’m in Burley, Idaho. And I just met him. Sort of. I ‘m here for a nasty poltergeist and went to the local contact to stock up on some herbs and stuff. Just as I walk into the shop, your dad comes out. I was kinda lost in my head so I didn’t make the connection right away, but he had this intense brooding going on and I’m thinking, like, wow, this guy is huge; definitely don’t wanna meet him in some back alley. But then I remembered what you told me, you know, how he can come off a bit antisocial sometimes. So I stepped out again, and this black truck’s just pulling away. All I managed to do was catch a glimpse of the license plate.” Dean has followed Paul’s story in silence and now he actually holds his breath.
“CSG 83R, right,” Paul continues, oblivious to the tension on the other end of the line, “that’s him. So, yeah. Sorry for not reacting quicker, but at least you know where he is now, right?” Dean has signed for Bobby to snatch him a piece of paper and has started to scribble down the essentials.
“Hey, no, that’s alright. I’m just glad that you ran into him. So you’re in Burley right now and you just saw him leave the local shop. Did the guy behind the counter know anything?” In the background Bobby motions to Dean that he’s going to start packing before he hurries away.
“No, he didn’t. Apparently he just stocked up on some ammo - silver and iron, nothing unusual.” Paul’s voice falters and sounds a lot more sheepish when he adds, “Listen, Dean, I'd love to help you with this, but I still need to get those herbs and that poltergeist is a real bitch; gunning for this whole family, single mom with kids, you know, so I really need to be on this. I just wanted to let you know about your old man.”
“Yeah, sure, be on your way. Thanks for checking in with me. And good luck ganking the sonuvabitch.”
“Thanks. Good luck with your dad.”
“Thanks, man. Take care. And don’t think I forgot about the fifty bucks you still owe me.” Dean chuckles when he hears Paul groan before the line goes dead.
Dean is following the taillights of Bobby’s truck and thinks about how best to convince the other hunter not to stop somewhere for the night. If they push it, they can get to Burley in about 15 hours, maybe less. He hears a faint rustle coming from the passenger seat, glances to the right, and nearly swerves into oncoming traffic.
“Geez! Are you crazy? You can’t just pop in on me like that!” Castiel nods curtly and eyes the interior of the Impala with the intense attention that Dean has dubbed curiosity for the lack of angel-appropriate vocabulary.
“Where are we going?” The angel asks. Dean fills him in. An awkward and mostly silent 14 hours later, Dean pulls up behind Bobby in the parking lot of the first motel in Burley. Castiel flickers out of the Impala only to return a few seconds later with the news that - while he still has no location on John Winchester - there are apparently a lot of black trucks in Burley.
Dean gets out of the car and stretches his cramped muscles. Bobby is getting their keys and when he comes back, one look at Dean's eager face has him grabbing Dean’s arm.
“Hell no, kid. We’re still dealing with what you dragged in the last time you got all excited.” His brief glance at Castiel only goes unnoticed by the angel and Dean chuckles. Bobby is not amused, however, and tugs at the arm he’s still holding. “Come on, Dean. Let’s be smart about this. We can grab a few hours of sleep and we’ll start checking the trucks right after.”
Castiel nods at that and turns to Dean. “I agree. You have to take your body’s demands into consideration. Humans need to sleep.”
Dean stares indignantly at Castiel, then adds a little anger to the mix and fixes his eyes on Bobby. “You can’t be serious! I don’t mind missing a little sleep if that means we finally catch up with Dad!” Castiel raises two fingers of his left hand and looks at Dean thoughtfully for a second, before continuing his movement and touching the younger hunter’s forehead.
Bobby’s gun is out and aimed at the angel before Dean fully crumples into his trenchcoat clad arms. “What the hell did you do to him? Get away from him!”
Castiel looks a little bewilderedly at Bobby and hauls Dean to their motel room door. “He would not have listened to you. I agree that he needs to rest; he is rarely, if ever, inclined to take good care of himself. So I helped.” At the angry noises that Bobby makes, Castiel’s voice deepens and his next words keep echoing in Bobby’s head even after the angel had disappeared to the sound of ruffling wings. “I did not harm him, Robert Steven Singer. He is merely asleep.”
On the following evening, the three of them are exhausted but hopeful. They missed John again, but this time he is less than a day ahead and they know where he's headed. Getting that information involved a lot of faith on Dean’s and Bobby’s part since neither of them speak Northern Shoshoni. So while their socially challenged pet angel talked to the nice old lady with no teeth, Bobby and Dean tried to look as human as possible. Still she grew disturbed by his manner of not blinking and birdlike head tilting and in the end the angel only narrowly avoided being cursed, Dean is sure. He does feel a little bad about that, but it’s kind of liberating to see that others are as bothered by Castiel as they are. At least they know now that the older Winchester is looking into Indian legends of demons, and that John had been told to head to Windigo Lake. They have to make a hasty retreat before grandma Yellowhair could throw her teapot at Castiel, but a quick search on the Internet tells them that they are headed east.
This time when Castiel twitches his fingers, he is rewarded with the Dean Winchester death glare so they make it to Wisconsin in just under 21 hours. They are running on one part stubborn determination and two parts caffeine by the time they reach Spooner, a sleepy little town about 30 miles west of the lake. Dean is out as soon as his head hits the pillow and it doesn’t take Bobby long to follow him. The only movement in the motel room is the shift of his head when Castiel lets his gaze wander from Dean to Bobby.
They arrived in Spooner on October 25th and by November 3rd had spoken to every Indian descendant in the area, no matter how diluted the bloodline. They walked around the lake four fucking times, hiked through the surrounding forests, and checked the local lore, finding no sign of John Winchester ever having been anywhere near Windigo Lake. The search party of three is baffled and Dean is slowly turning from twitchy to homicidal so by sunset Bobby shoves Dean’s duffel bag into his chest.
“Pack up boy, there is a hunt nearby. We’re leaving after breakfast tomorrow.” Dean could kiss the man.
Nearby turns out to be four hours away, but who cares. They arrive in Florence, Wisconsin just in time for the lunch crowd to leave so they are free to discuss the case over burgers. Over Dean’s and Bobby’s burgers, anyway, because evidently angels don’t eat. It takes them six days to piece together that one Thomas Brath - victim of passive smoking, passionate amateur botanist, and former choleric - has latched on to two oak trees that he donated to Florence County Fair Park. Which means that anyone who is lighting a cigarette in the shade of the trees is snatched off of their feet and crushed to death by branches thicker than Dean’s thigh.
They salt and burn the body first and take on the trees second. When Dean sets eyes on them again, he feels disheartened. These suckers are huge. It’s a good thing they have their personal angel to do the heavy lifting, Dean and Bobby would have had no chance of getting this job done on their own. Neither of them knew, for example, that oak trees have a fuckload of roots extending into every direction as well as a tap root that grows down. Castiel offers that piece of information when Bobby and Dean agree that they’ll have to get rid of the whole tree to make sure that Brath’s spirit stays gone .
“Root systems can extend as far as seven times the surface area occupied by the tree crown. These are very old, marvelously healthy specimen. I would not be surprised to find that they have both developed an additional tap root.” When Dean stares at him, Castiel shrugs and the gesture comes across as bizarrely human.
“This might take longer than you anticipated,” Castiel says, and leans against the first oak tree. The tree sways and crashes to the ground, crown and trunk and roots and all. Dean jumps back and next to him Bobby curses.
It takes them most of the night to turn the smooth grassy plains of the park into a maze of furrows, dug-out roots, and heaps of earth. Dean and Bobby are drenched in sweat and soil and sawdust but they've made good progress so they couldn’t care less. Castiel looks like a mad human-mole hybrid with the way he delves into the ground and pops up again, gathering the finer roots onto another pile to be burned.
Dean and Bobby are busy collecting the rest of the roots and Dean is cautiously hopeful that they’ll be able to light them up without the spook making an appearance. Another hour later they're good to go, and Bobby is piling up branches as Dean makes his way to their duffels where they left the gas cans earlier. His good mood is still up despite the fact that his back is aching and that he’ll probably smell like oak for the rest of his life. He's just started dowsing the first pile of roots with gasoline when Bobby starts shouting.
“Castiel! Goddamnit!” Dean turns around to see Bobby running towards the angel who is being pulled by something towards one of the fallen trees. Bobby bends down to grab a discarded axe and Dean starts running, too.
“Dean! Start burning the fucking trees!” Right, that makes sense. Dean skids to a stop and sprints back to the gas cans, lighter already in hand. Behind him the angry whacking of axe on wood starts up.
“What the fu- Dean, hurry up!” The anxiousness in Bobby’s voice is just as disconcerting as the lack of sound coming from the angel and the axe picks up pace. Dean dumps the gasoline and lights up before sprinting to the next pile, and soon they're surrounded by a dozen roaring bonfires. He can’t hear Bobby anymore and he hopes they didn’t lose Castiel to a pair of homicidal trees. How would they explain that? Worse, who would they explain it to? Now there’s a worry Dean could have gone living without.
With all the piles are on fire, that leaves the trees. Dean uses a long branch to set fire to the first one and empties the last of the gas onto the second when a high whining noise fills the air. Uh oh, he thinks and then the world lurches and he is looking at the park from across the street and trying to regain a balance he didn’t know he could lose. Bobby stands next to him and looks dumbstruck, with his arms stretched to the sides as if he were imitating an airplane flying a 180° loop. Castiel zaps into existence in front of them, lets their tools fall to the ground and is gone again. Bobby stares at the axe, saw, and shovels as if he expects them to invite him for a cup of tea.
“Wha-“ Dean starts but then Castiel is back and drops their duffels next to the tools just as the whining noise crackles and stops. Dean rises a questioning eyebrow and turns back to the park in time to see the first tree explode. The second one seems to come to life, branches rearing up and roots clawing the earth, before sparks of the explosion reach it and the tree literally freezes. For a split second Dean fears the fire won’t take, but then smoke starts to rise and another high-pitched whine sets in. Then the second tree explodes into a cloud of burning timber.
Castiel.
Humans are wondrous creatures. Castiel could not claim to understand them. Bobby, as the older hunter insists he wants to be called, constantly tries to hide the depth of emotions behind his actions and Dean is usually angry, but sometimes guilty and scared for no obvious reason. Castiel sees that as clear as the night sky. But humans - and not just the ones that he is here to keep an eye on - are simultaneously masters at concealing themselves and entirely unaware of their surroundings. Castiel honestly wonders how they have managed not to go extinct yet.
Those common human flaws aside, Dean and Bobby are refreshingly straightforward. Which is a contradiction in itself, but being contradictory is only human, after all, so Castiel does not worry about that. In the short time since he has revealed himself to them, they have shown him hospitality and curiosity, both valuable character traits. Of course the humans do not know that he is not actually gone when their senses do not perceive his presence anymore, but he has not disclosed that fact yet. Castiel can tell when his company makes them uncomfortable - more than usual, that is - so he prefers to keep watching them unseen most of the time. It is easier for everyone that way, Bobby and Dean are clearly qualmish about celestial powers.
Their trip to Wisconsin has not been successful in regards to his primary goal of locating John Winchester, but he has found Dean’s and Bobby’s company to be most enjoyable and he has learned a lot about interhuman communication. Also, he has witnessed effectiveness and courage accompanying their actions despite their human limitations. Not five minutes ago, for example, one of the trees they were here to burn - no, to salt and burn, as Dean has taught him - lifted him up into the air and started to shake him. He was just about to adjust part of his wavelength to stop that silliness, when Bobby started to hack off the branch that held him while trying to ward off the others that began to attack the hunter himself. Castiel watched him struggle for a short while and would have been fine with waiting until Bobby had taken care of the situation, but in the meantime Dean had been busy starting fires and Castiel could tell that the trees would not be vanquished without a last burst of defiance. That meant that he had to act quickly, because apart from finding John Winchester, Castiel has also been instructed to keep Dean safe - as an understandable measure of precaution. So when he felt the rallying of energy become critical, he first teleported Bobby, then Dean and lastly their supplies to the safety of their vehicles across the street. This is where they stand now to watch the second tree follow the first one into the grip of fire.
Castiel is surprised to discover that he wishes not to tell the humans that their plan had failed. They did try their best to protect others from death and sorrow and Castiel thinks that they deserve to be successful. But even with the trees ablaze now, he makes out microscopic remains of sawdust all over the ground that stay unscathed and Bobby clearly has stated that the trees as a whole would have to be destroyed. So Castiel splits a small piece of his grace into as many parts as there are leftover tree-particles and has a grain of salt stick to every single one of them, administering the exact amount of pressure to light them on fire, too. While he is at it, he concentrates on the already burning trees and root piles and grinds them into smaller and smaller shards, the wood all but vaporizing underneath the flames. The next gust of wind carries away billions of sparks into the night sky and the park is plunged into darkness again.
“We should leave,” Castiel says, “others might have noticed that.” He turns around to Bobby and Dean who are staring at the patterns of light created by wind and burning dust. Castiel’s heart soars at the open wonder in their faces.
Sara of the Kitsune Hengeyokai. [The Lost Years]
Sara.
“It is a little strange that you like me now,” he says one day, the question hidden behind the statement. He's gotten rather skilled at that, mastered the art of asking things without using question marks with the same alacrity he took to everything else he needed to make sure he stayed alive and healthy. Of course it helped that they were each other’s most frequent contact. They were as attuned to each other's vocal and facial expressions as only close family members could ever be.
“Of course I like you. What kind of a silly question is that?” Sara is honestly put off by his inquiry and stares at the boy in front of her. He sits on the cot with his back to the wall and his feet up, although, thankfully, today he does so to be comfortable and not for medical reasons. He lets go of his current book and follows the movement of her hands.
“You didn’t like me at first.”
She inhales sharply at that and falters in taking stock of their medical supplies. Cocking her head to the side, she meets his gaze. There is no accusation in his eyes, only honest curiosity. She hadn’t underestimated him often once they started with the books - his intelligence was too obvious to be ignored - but in the beginning she hadn’t thought much of him; didn’t think he could comprehend what was happening around him. She really shouldn’t be surprised that he brought it up, but he was so small back then. She didn’t think he’d still remember.
When she first laid eyes on him he was barely seven, young even to human perception. To Sara he was nothing more than a critter, completely dependent on others to be fed, coddled, and cared for. He was still a little pudgy then; had not yet spent enough time with Zachariah’s bloodhounds to lose the soft edges of his face, his voice or his essence. But he had been there long enough to already hold fear in his eyes. There was curiosity too, she remembers with a slight grin, so many questions bubbling out of him that sometimes it seemed that if he were to ask them all, he'd float away, free of their weight. Now, almost two years later, he knows better than to ask aloud whatever runs through his mind. But back then, the very first thing he had done was to ask her a question.
“Are you a doctor?” Wide gold-flecked eyes looked up at her. She shook her head and leaned against the cabinets next to the door, still facing the cot he sat upon.
“No, I am no doctor. I am just Sara. There is nothing you have to be afraid of.” The way she pronounced her name had apparently piqued his interest and he wrinkled his nose. She knew it must sound unfamiliar to him, the 'r' sound not so much an r as it was a combination of an r, an l, and a d. Nevertheless he looked relieved to hear her reassurance. She tried her best not to look intimidating and smiled at him as she twirled a strand of silver-white hair around her finger. This would be much easier if she could convince him not to be afraid of her.
“What kind of name is that? Your ‘r’ sounds funny.” She looked at him with a frown then, the little smile all but gone from her face. These humans, ever so impolite. A little respect would do the child good.
“Well, if you would prefer, we can do this the formal way. You can call me Marise Mizuki-Sarana Hoshi Mareo-Moriko Tsuyu-Mai-Makani Asuka Manami Hikari-Kaede Hiko Sorano Akiko-Amaya Haruka Chiyo-Chikako of the Kitsune Hengeyokai for that is what my parents named me. But since nowadays hardly anyone takes the time for proper conversation anymore we can stick with the short version. Which one would you favor?” There was silence for a couple of heartbeats. He blinked.
“Nah, the short version is really nice, uhm… catchy, too.” He gave her a tentative smile. “I didn’t know there were names that long. Don’t you get confused?”
She tried her best not to roll her eyes at him and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “It is not one long name. They are many names, some of them are meant to describe my character and some of them utter the wishes my parents had for me.”
He looked even more curious than before, which she wouldn’t have believed possible. “But didn’t they name you when you were still a baby?”
Sara huffed. “Of course they did.”
“But then how did they know what to call you? When your name is supposed to show your character, how could your parents know?”
She felt irritation rise in her bones. “They knew because my mother has the gift of sight. My father is acquainted with the truth behind names. They knew which names to pick long before I was born.” She was convinced that this should satisfy the small boy; now they surely could go on to more important things. She took a step in his direction, planning to get started with his first check up.
“But why did they-“ He was stopped short by the low growl emanating from her throat. Sara wanted to be anywhere but there. She wished for the boy to stay quiet and for the comforting smell of fields and forests to guide her home. She ached for the starry sky above her head and longed to hear the wind rustling through leaves and hollows, the familiar music of the wild. Instead she was confronted with a human child with an insatiable thirst for knowledge.
She looked down at him and wanted to tell him off for all the questioning, but froze when she met his gaze again. He looked up at her, big puppy eyes and pale features, lower lip quivering and eyes brimming with tears. Sara sighed. She couldn’t help herself - all she wanted to do was change and sink her teeth into that soft white flesh, to bite through sinew, muscle and bone until the blood painted the floor in bright red spurts of life. Ah, to dine on a still-beating heart and see the spark abandon his eyes forever…
But her family had long turned civilized and abandoned the habit of dining on humans, so she knew that her urges stemmed from her growing frustration and not from hunger. Also, the bastard angel’s words still echoed in Sara’s head. She knew she had to control her displeasure at this whole wretched situation - it wasn’t even the boy’s fault that she was so agitated. If she could have, she would have killed that pompous imbecile of black winged conceitedness and feasted on his celestial essence through all 29 dimensions. But she couldn’t and she didn’t. Instead, she was to nanny the child. The boy in front of her and the room around her faded away when Sara lost herself to the memory of how she found herself in this predicament.
“So we agree.” Zachariah had said.
“I do not agree to anything. You stole from me. Give it back!” Sara had barely refrained from changing into her true form, distracted by the anger and fear rushing through her veins. “You have no right to keep it from me. Do you perceive this to be your Christian god’s will? Are you not bound to act on his demand? I seriously doubt that he wants you to play with things that are not yours. Give. It. Back!”
Zachariah had shaken his head at that, not even considering giving in. She had tried for a different route then and put all the authority she could muster into her voice.
“I am of the old fae, a true servant of Inari. You dare not tempt your fortune by wronging one of us. Kitsune ni yotte batsu o ukezu ni, dare mo nusumu. You should know better than to meddle with the Hengeyokai!” But her words hadn't had the desired effect, and the angel only got angrier, raising his own voice in return and drawing on the true power behind it.
“You might be old, but you still have a long way to go. Do not take us for fools, little vixen. You would do well to show us the respect we deserve.” Gradually Zachariah’s voice had lowered again as he started to mock her. “You are, what now, just into your sixth tail? That leaves another three thousand years before you achieve the true power of your people. There is nothing here to be afraid of. Besides me, that is.”
Sara had flinched when she noticed his patronizing little smile as he started to turn away. “Wait! What… bakayaro! Are you just going to leave me here? You know that I cannot survive without my ball.” Sara hated the way her voice was revealing her desperation. But it was true. Being without the glowing sphere ached in her very core, the separation trying to pull her apart inside and out. “Please. I need it back. Please… just give it to me.”
The angel had raised his eyebrow at the curse, but then simply shaken his head. “You better watch your tone there, spirit beast. You might not feel comfortable being separated from it, but it won't kill you. And I know that you understand this begging and bargaining is a futile effort. Your little star-ball is safe with us. There is no way for you to retrieve it but to abide by our orders. We know everything about you and your kind, I might add. We are aware that possession over the ball gives us control over you as well, so you might as well drop this little charade. You are bound to us now and will do as you are told.”
His eyes were of a callousness that had her backing away a few steps. She stopped when she became aware of what she was doing and cursed at herself and the whole precarious situation she had gotten herself into. She might have been victorious if she had attacked him right then and there, but the angel had been right. She was bound to whoever claimed ownership of her star ball. She had no choice but to obey.
She sighed in defeat. “What do you want me to do?”
Zachariah had smirked at that, evil little bastard that he was. “We need you to look after a boy. Now listen carefully because I don’t want to repeat myself; you have wasted enough of my precious time already and there is a completely new timeline to set.” She raised her eyebrows at that. He seemed to consider elaborating but continued with a shrug while straightening the front of his suit jacket.
“Our motivation for this will be none of your concern. The only thing that you have to know is that you will look after this child, protect it with your life if need be, for as long as we tell you to. If you fulfill your duty to our satisfaction you will get your ball back and everyone can go their separate ways. Understood?”
Sara had trouble believing what she had heard. “You expect me to look after a human child for you? Why can’t you take care of him yourself? And what is he to you in the first place?”
The angel had rubbed his forehead as if to shoo away an uncomfortable thought. She noticed that he tried to avoid her eyes. “We cannot look after the boy ourselves for many reasons. Most of them are not of importance to you. This is a long-term assignment, however, and for that reason alone it is impractical for him to accompany one of us. You will be provided with housing wherever you stay and the boy will not bother you. He has his own quarters. All you need to do is make sure he stays safe and attend to his medical needs. We will work out a schedule you will follow, but there may be spontaneous demand for your services, too.”
He had hesitated then, and for a few moments a heavy silence settled, no wing nor tail nor breath disturbing the tense atmosphere. “As for what he is to us," he continued, "I will not induct you to the fine art of heavenly proceedings. He is special. We need him alive. That is all you have to know.”
Sara wondered about his evasiveness on the matter, but there had been more important things to clarify. “What do you mean when you say ‘long term assignment’? And these medical appointments, what are they for? Is the child sick?” The angel had shrugged her concerns away.
“It will take as long as it needs. Most likely the boy will be grown before our collaboration ends. There is no chronic disease at play, but the spirit of the child has turned out to be rather unyielding, so there may be physical consequences to lessons he needs to learn.” Zachariah took a step towards her and his voice had gotten menacing.
“But I will only say this once: we forbid you to intervene. Do not try to fight us on this. We will not hesitate to destroy your ball should the need arise. We have means to do so in an irreversible manner.” Sara had felt her throat tighten at that terrible possibility. The angels had managed to catch her off guard; stupid cub that she still was. She would do anything to ensure the safekeeping of her hoshi no tama, and they knew it.
“Sara,” she hears and snaps back to the present. In his voice she detects the unspoken, “Are you ok? Did I upset you? Where did you go?” She smiles at that, smiles at the boy, because it is so true to his nature and a thing of beauty to see. Zachariah hasn’t broken him completely, not yet. Her young charge still displays innocence, concern, and kindness; unspoiled by this parody of a life. She wonders if he will ever know how extraordinary he is.
“Do not worry, little cub. There is nothing wrong. I merely thought of the time we first met. Do you remember that?” He shakes his head sheepishly, but even if Sara is sad to see that, it doesn’t surprise her.
The “education”, as the demon guards and Zachariah refer to his treatment here, has put a huge strain on both his body and mind. She has long suspected that he represses a lot of what he endures in an attempt at self-preservation, and probably lost a lot of childhood memories in the process. She feels sorry for his loss. But even so, sometimes his eyes look so haunted that she would give one of her tails for the ability to wipe all of his memories clean, no matter happy or sad.
“You were very little then and still you wondered about so many things. I told you my name then, because you were trying my patience.” She winks at him and he grins at her in return.
“But I would never have disclosed it to anyone I couldn’t trust,” he tells her, although none would have survived her wrath had he betrayed that trust. But he hadn’t known that and, she muses, today she would give her life to protect him even if Zachariah hadn’t ordered her to do so.
“Do you remember that?” She expects him not to, and is willing to reveal her names to him once more, but he nods and that surprises her.
“All of them?”
“Yes,” he nods again. She examines him pensively but she doesn’t question his statement. There is no place for anything but truth between them. He looks back at her with the same level of thoughtfulness.
“I might not remember the details, but I know that you told me about the truth behind names once. I liked the sound of yours so I memorized them.” He hesitates and looks down at his knees.
“I often wondered about why you picked Sara. There were so many others you could have chosen.” He pauses again before he continues, “I guess you did it because of what it truly means.” Another hidden question, and one she will answer only too pleased now that he asked.
“You are my clever little cub, indeed.” The pride in her voice has him looking up again, and a small blush colors his cheeks. “I did not pick my name lightly for it reflects on the hardship I - and you, for that matter - were about to undergo. Do you wish to know the meaning behind it?” He nods again, so clearly excited by the prospect of learning about it that she has to suppress a silver giggle.
“Sara originates from Sarana. It means ‘tear of suffering’.” She is curious as to what he will make of that but his face doesn’t betray his emotions, he just continues to look at her until she raises her eyebrows. Then he lowers his gaze.
“It’s a beautiful name," he tells her. "You chose well.” Sara’s heart breaks a little at that and she sits down next to him. She carefully rests her hand on his knee, making sure he sees so she doesn't scare him away. Most of the physical interaction he gets nowadays consists of the guards having their way with him, and he started to shy away from touch not long after his “lessons” started. Sara doesn’t like to think about it more than necessary because the anger and helplessness she experiences at the cruelties done to her precious charge are maddening. She is glad to offer him a different kind of contact, a gentle touch here or a calming hug there, and she wonders every time whether his family will come for him anytime soon; whether his mother even knows that her son is still alive. She promised herself a long time ago that she would find a way out of this - for both of them - but she still doesn’t know how. Sara looks down at the boy who won’t meet her eyes and sighs. She tries to avoid ending their meetings on a sad note because she knows that he will ponder about the things he learned when he is back in the dark, alone with himself. She pats his knee to get his attention.
“Would you like to know some other name truths as well?”
His head perks up and she sees the sparkle in his eyes that she has grown to love over the past couple of years. He looks like a happy, normal child with it, a little thin, but happy nonetheless. She can’t help but smile down at him.
“Marise means infinite and never-ending. Hoshi means star and Tsuyu-Mai-Makani is 'dew-dancing-in-wind'.” She frowns and listens to the echo of her words, “It sounds strange in your language, but there is no better translation. I fear most of their magic is lost like this.”
He shakes his head. “No no, it sounds fine. I mean, I’m sure it’s not like real magic, but it still feels like you’re whispering a secret to me. Or something.” He wrinkles his brow as he searches for words, “It’s hard to explain. It- it makes me… I don’t know, kind of tingly. And I have goose bumps, see.” He raises his arm so she can look at the small hairs standing up.
Sara lifts her own hand from his knee to grab his wrist in a gentle but firm grip, turning his arm this way and that. Sure enough, there are goose bumps all over. She lets go of his limb to carefully slide her hand across his back to his other shoulder and she draws him close. She presses a kiss on top of his head before resting her chin against his hair.
“That is good, little cub, really good.” She doesn’t let on how surprised she is at his ability to detect the power in her words. She knows not many humans who can. But then, maybe it’s not so strange for him. For years his only interaction has been with that bastard angel Zachariah and the two sadistic demon guards and herself, an enslaved kitsune with magic in her blood so ancient that it’s as natural as warm summer rain. So of course his senses are attuned to the powers of heaven and hell and earth itself.
“Do you wish me to continue?” He doesn’t answer aloud, just burrows a little closer into her side and nods again.
“Asuka means 'scent-of-tomorrow' and Hikari-Kaede 'light-through-leaves-of-maple-tree'.” She all but whispers into his hair now, it has been a long time since she last exposed herself like this to anyone. “Chiyo-Chikako means 'eternal-child-of-wisdom' and Akiko-Amaya-Haruka means faraway-iris-in-night-of-rain'. All the others carry very positive truths as well.” He raises his head a little but makes no effort to struggle from her side.
“So Sarana is the only one that has a sad meaning,” he says and she pulls him into a light hug. She doesn’t react to his last statement; doesn’t think he expects her to. Instead she answers his first question, the one that still hangs heavy in the air and that triggered her trip down memory lane.
“I do like you. You have been very dear to me for a long time already. I thought you knew.”
He rests his head on her shoulder and sighs when she in return ghosts another kiss on his forehead. They stay like this, books all but forgotten, drawing comfort from each other’s company until the guard comes and leads him away.
go back (part three) || Masterpost || continue (part five)
Of Angels And Exploding Trees. [October 21st, 1998]
Dean.
Dean is still having trouble wrapping his mind around everything, and from the way Bobby’s face is set in a permanent scowl he guesses the older hunter doesn’t feel much different. They've spent the past few days trying to figure out what the hell John is looking for and are still none the wiser. And then there’s the whole angel thing, because apparently John Winchester knows things that are either important enough or dangerous enough or both for God to try and find him. Who knows? Certainly not Dean, because talking to that angel gives him headaches and if he gets any answers at all, they only lead to more questions.
Dean snaps shut the book that’s been sitting neglected in his lap and leans forward until his head rests in his hands. Of course it’s not bad enough that Dad probably meddled with things better left alone, but he also managed to vanish from the infallible angel radar of heaven and all its heavenly fucking hosts.
Castiel has visited the salvage yard about once a day since they made it back, but Bobby and Dean are still not used to him appearing out of thin air. Angels seem to have difficulties grasping the concept of personal space, too, so Castiel is the only one unperturbed when he pops in nearly on top of them. Fun times.
One of the few things they were able to get out of the holy trenchcoat was that apparently Dad isn’t dead. He may have been able to turn off his own soul's GPS, but heaven has looked in, well, heaven. And in hell. Dean’s mind is still reeling with all the shit that information implies. Like, what god looks for John Winchester and chats with the devil about whether he got lost in the Pit, come on. And while he's glad Dad is still alive and kicking somewhere not on this plane of existence according to Castiel - and what the fuck is it with the way that angel talks? - they still have no idea where to look for him. Dean stares at the book in his lap and lets out a frustrated grunt. Trust John Winchester to get both heaven and hell involved in a missing persons case.
The next day brings nothing new, Castiel won’t say what Dad might know and Dean and Bobby scour through books and the Internet for who-knows-what. Frankly, the situation sucks. So when Dean’s cell rings in the early afternoon and the caller ID reads “Paul 50 $”, Dean smiles at the welcome diversion this is going to be. Paul Easton, a former carpenter-turned-hunter, had worked with him a few months ago on a case of ghost possession. Dean and Paul shared the same sense of humor and a love for classic cars, so they stayed in touch here and there.
“Hey Paul, what’s up?”
“Dean, hey. I heard you were looking for your old man. Didja hook up with him recently or are you still looking?” Well that wasn’t what Dean expected. He sits up in the old armchair that had tried to swallow him during the afternoon and clears his throat.
“Nah, I’m still looking. Did you hear something?” Bobby’s head perks up from behind a pile of books and Dean has to stifle a laugh at the way he blinks like a grumpy owl when the light of the desk lamp hits him straight in the face.
“Even better. He’s here.” The sudden rush of relief feels a little unreal and Dean doesn’t know what to think. So what, Dad’s alive and he’s somewhere Dean can get to? What about that, huh, Castiel?
“You saw him? Where’s ‘here’?”
“I’m in Burley, Idaho. And I just met him. Sort of. I ‘m here for a nasty poltergeist and went to the local contact to stock up on some herbs and stuff. Just as I walk into the shop, your dad comes out. I was kinda lost in my head so I didn’t make the connection right away, but he had this intense brooding going on and I’m thinking, like, wow, this guy is huge; definitely don’t wanna meet him in some back alley. But then I remembered what you told me, you know, how he can come off a bit antisocial sometimes. So I stepped out again, and this black truck’s just pulling away. All I managed to do was catch a glimpse of the license plate.” Dean has followed Paul’s story in silence and now he actually holds his breath.
“CSG 83R, right,” Paul continues, oblivious to the tension on the other end of the line, “that’s him. So, yeah. Sorry for not reacting quicker, but at least you know where he is now, right?” Dean has signed for Bobby to snatch him a piece of paper and has started to scribble down the essentials.
“Hey, no, that’s alright. I’m just glad that you ran into him. So you’re in Burley right now and you just saw him leave the local shop. Did the guy behind the counter know anything?” In the background Bobby motions to Dean that he’s going to start packing before he hurries away.
“No, he didn’t. Apparently he just stocked up on some ammo - silver and iron, nothing unusual.” Paul’s voice falters and sounds a lot more sheepish when he adds, “Listen, Dean, I'd love to help you with this, but I still need to get those herbs and that poltergeist is a real bitch; gunning for this whole family, single mom with kids, you know, so I really need to be on this. I just wanted to let you know about your old man.”
“Yeah, sure, be on your way. Thanks for checking in with me. And good luck ganking the sonuvabitch.”
“Thanks. Good luck with your dad.”
“Thanks, man. Take care. And don’t think I forgot about the fifty bucks you still owe me.” Dean chuckles when he hears Paul groan before the line goes dead.
Dean is following the taillights of Bobby’s truck and thinks about how best to convince the other hunter not to stop somewhere for the night. If they push it, they can get to Burley in about 15 hours, maybe less. He hears a faint rustle coming from the passenger seat, glances to the right, and nearly swerves into oncoming traffic.
“Geez! Are you crazy? You can’t just pop in on me like that!” Castiel nods curtly and eyes the interior of the Impala with the intense attention that Dean has dubbed curiosity for the lack of angel-appropriate vocabulary.
“Where are we going?” The angel asks. Dean fills him in. An awkward and mostly silent 14 hours later, Dean pulls up behind Bobby in the parking lot of the first motel in Burley. Castiel flickers out of the Impala only to return a few seconds later with the news that - while he still has no location on John Winchester - there are apparently a lot of black trucks in Burley.
Dean gets out of the car and stretches his cramped muscles. Bobby is getting their keys and when he comes back, one look at Dean's eager face has him grabbing Dean’s arm.
“Hell no, kid. We’re still dealing with what you dragged in the last time you got all excited.” His brief glance at Castiel only goes unnoticed by the angel and Dean chuckles. Bobby is not amused, however, and tugs at the arm he’s still holding. “Come on, Dean. Let’s be smart about this. We can grab a few hours of sleep and we’ll start checking the trucks right after.”
Castiel nods at that and turns to Dean. “I agree. You have to take your body’s demands into consideration. Humans need to sleep.”
Dean stares indignantly at Castiel, then adds a little anger to the mix and fixes his eyes on Bobby. “You can’t be serious! I don’t mind missing a little sleep if that means we finally catch up with Dad!” Castiel raises two fingers of his left hand and looks at Dean thoughtfully for a second, before continuing his movement and touching the younger hunter’s forehead.
Bobby’s gun is out and aimed at the angel before Dean fully crumples into his trenchcoat clad arms. “What the hell did you do to him? Get away from him!”
Castiel looks a little bewilderedly at Bobby and hauls Dean to their motel room door. “He would not have listened to you. I agree that he needs to rest; he is rarely, if ever, inclined to take good care of himself. So I helped.” At the angry noises that Bobby makes, Castiel’s voice deepens and his next words keep echoing in Bobby’s head even after the angel had disappeared to the sound of ruffling wings. “I did not harm him, Robert Steven Singer. He is merely asleep.”
On the following evening, the three of them are exhausted but hopeful. They missed John again, but this time he is less than a day ahead and they know where he's headed. Getting that information involved a lot of faith on Dean’s and Bobby’s part since neither of them speak Northern Shoshoni. So while their socially challenged pet angel talked to the nice old lady with no teeth, Bobby and Dean tried to look as human as possible. Still she grew disturbed by his manner of not blinking and birdlike head tilting and in the end the angel only narrowly avoided being cursed, Dean is sure. He does feel a little bad about that, but it’s kind of liberating to see that others are as bothered by Castiel as they are. At least they know now that the older Winchester is looking into Indian legends of demons, and that John had been told to head to Windigo Lake. They have to make a hasty retreat before grandma Yellowhair could throw her teapot at Castiel, but a quick search on the Internet tells them that they are headed east.
This time when Castiel twitches his fingers, he is rewarded with the Dean Winchester death glare so they make it to Wisconsin in just under 21 hours. They are running on one part stubborn determination and two parts caffeine by the time they reach Spooner, a sleepy little town about 30 miles west of the lake. Dean is out as soon as his head hits the pillow and it doesn’t take Bobby long to follow him. The only movement in the motel room is the shift of his head when Castiel lets his gaze wander from Dean to Bobby.
They arrived in Spooner on October 25th and by November 3rd had spoken to every Indian descendant in the area, no matter how diluted the bloodline. They walked around the lake four fucking times, hiked through the surrounding forests, and checked the local lore, finding no sign of John Winchester ever having been anywhere near Windigo Lake. The search party of three is baffled and Dean is slowly turning from twitchy to homicidal so by sunset Bobby shoves Dean’s duffel bag into his chest.
“Pack up boy, there is a hunt nearby. We’re leaving after breakfast tomorrow.” Dean could kiss the man.
Nearby turns out to be four hours away, but who cares. They arrive in Florence, Wisconsin just in time for the lunch crowd to leave so they are free to discuss the case over burgers. Over Dean’s and Bobby’s burgers, anyway, because evidently angels don’t eat. It takes them six days to piece together that one Thomas Brath - victim of passive smoking, passionate amateur botanist, and former choleric - has latched on to two oak trees that he donated to Florence County Fair Park. Which means that anyone who is lighting a cigarette in the shade of the trees is snatched off of their feet and crushed to death by branches thicker than Dean’s thigh.
They salt and burn the body first and take on the trees second. When Dean sets eyes on them again, he feels disheartened. These suckers are huge. It’s a good thing they have their personal angel to do the heavy lifting, Dean and Bobby would have had no chance of getting this job done on their own. Neither of them knew, for example, that oak trees have a fuckload of roots extending into every direction as well as a tap root that grows down. Castiel offers that piece of information when Bobby and Dean agree that they’ll have to get rid of the whole tree to make sure that Brath’s spirit stays gone .
“Root systems can extend as far as seven times the surface area occupied by the tree crown. These are very old, marvelously healthy specimen. I would not be surprised to find that they have both developed an additional tap root.” When Dean stares at him, Castiel shrugs and the gesture comes across as bizarrely human.
“This might take longer than you anticipated,” Castiel says, and leans against the first oak tree. The tree sways and crashes to the ground, crown and trunk and roots and all. Dean jumps back and next to him Bobby curses.
It takes them most of the night to turn the smooth grassy plains of the park into a maze of furrows, dug-out roots, and heaps of earth. Dean and Bobby are drenched in sweat and soil and sawdust but they've made good progress so they couldn’t care less. Castiel looks like a mad human-mole hybrid with the way he delves into the ground and pops up again, gathering the finer roots onto another pile to be burned.
Dean and Bobby are busy collecting the rest of the roots and Dean is cautiously hopeful that they’ll be able to light them up without the spook making an appearance. Another hour later they're good to go, and Bobby is piling up branches as Dean makes his way to their duffels where they left the gas cans earlier. His good mood is still up despite the fact that his back is aching and that he’ll probably smell like oak for the rest of his life. He's just started dowsing the first pile of roots with gasoline when Bobby starts shouting.
“Castiel! Goddamnit!” Dean turns around to see Bobby running towards the angel who is being pulled by something towards one of the fallen trees. Bobby bends down to grab a discarded axe and Dean starts running, too.
“Dean! Start burning the fucking trees!” Right, that makes sense. Dean skids to a stop and sprints back to the gas cans, lighter already in hand. Behind him the angry whacking of axe on wood starts up.
“What the fu- Dean, hurry up!” The anxiousness in Bobby’s voice is just as disconcerting as the lack of sound coming from the angel and the axe picks up pace. Dean dumps the gasoline and lights up before sprinting to the next pile, and soon they're surrounded by a dozen roaring bonfires. He can’t hear Bobby anymore and he hopes they didn’t lose Castiel to a pair of homicidal trees. How would they explain that? Worse, who would they explain it to? Now there’s a worry Dean could have gone living without.
With all the piles are on fire, that leaves the trees. Dean uses a long branch to set fire to the first one and empties the last of the gas onto the second when a high whining noise fills the air. Uh oh, he thinks and then the world lurches and he is looking at the park from across the street and trying to regain a balance he didn’t know he could lose. Bobby stands next to him and looks dumbstruck, with his arms stretched to the sides as if he were imitating an airplane flying a 180° loop. Castiel zaps into existence in front of them, lets their tools fall to the ground and is gone again. Bobby stares at the axe, saw, and shovels as if he expects them to invite him for a cup of tea.
“Wha-“ Dean starts but then Castiel is back and drops their duffels next to the tools just as the whining noise crackles and stops. Dean rises a questioning eyebrow and turns back to the park in time to see the first tree explode. The second one seems to come to life, branches rearing up and roots clawing the earth, before sparks of the explosion reach it and the tree literally freezes. For a split second Dean fears the fire won’t take, but then smoke starts to rise and another high-pitched whine sets in. Then the second tree explodes into a cloud of burning timber.
Castiel.
Humans are wondrous creatures. Castiel could not claim to understand them. Bobby, as the older hunter insists he wants to be called, constantly tries to hide the depth of emotions behind his actions and Dean is usually angry, but sometimes guilty and scared for no obvious reason. Castiel sees that as clear as the night sky. But humans - and not just the ones that he is here to keep an eye on - are simultaneously masters at concealing themselves and entirely unaware of their surroundings. Castiel honestly wonders how they have managed not to go extinct yet.
Those common human flaws aside, Dean and Bobby are refreshingly straightforward. Which is a contradiction in itself, but being contradictory is only human, after all, so Castiel does not worry about that. In the short time since he has revealed himself to them, they have shown him hospitality and curiosity, both valuable character traits. Of course the humans do not know that he is not actually gone when their senses do not perceive his presence anymore, but he has not disclosed that fact yet. Castiel can tell when his company makes them uncomfortable - more than usual, that is - so he prefers to keep watching them unseen most of the time. It is easier for everyone that way, Bobby and Dean are clearly qualmish about celestial powers.
Their trip to Wisconsin has not been successful in regards to his primary goal of locating John Winchester, but he has found Dean’s and Bobby’s company to be most enjoyable and he has learned a lot about interhuman communication. Also, he has witnessed effectiveness and courage accompanying their actions despite their human limitations. Not five minutes ago, for example, one of the trees they were here to burn - no, to salt and burn, as Dean has taught him - lifted him up into the air and started to shake him. He was just about to adjust part of his wavelength to stop that silliness, when Bobby started to hack off the branch that held him while trying to ward off the others that began to attack the hunter himself. Castiel watched him struggle for a short while and would have been fine with waiting until Bobby had taken care of the situation, but in the meantime Dean had been busy starting fires and Castiel could tell that the trees would not be vanquished without a last burst of defiance. That meant that he had to act quickly, because apart from finding John Winchester, Castiel has also been instructed to keep Dean safe - as an understandable measure of precaution. So when he felt the rallying of energy become critical, he first teleported Bobby, then Dean and lastly their supplies to the safety of their vehicles across the street. This is where they stand now to watch the second tree follow the first one into the grip of fire.
Castiel is surprised to discover that he wishes not to tell the humans that their plan had failed. They did try their best to protect others from death and sorrow and Castiel thinks that they deserve to be successful. But even with the trees ablaze now, he makes out microscopic remains of sawdust all over the ground that stay unscathed and Bobby clearly has stated that the trees as a whole would have to be destroyed. So Castiel splits a small piece of his grace into as many parts as there are leftover tree-particles and has a grain of salt stick to every single one of them, administering the exact amount of pressure to light them on fire, too. While he is at it, he concentrates on the already burning trees and root piles and grinds them into smaller and smaller shards, the wood all but vaporizing underneath the flames. The next gust of wind carries away billions of sparks into the night sky and the park is plunged into darkness again.
“We should leave,” Castiel says, “others might have noticed that.” He turns around to Bobby and Dean who are staring at the patterns of light created by wind and burning dust. Castiel’s heart soars at the open wonder in their faces.
Sara of the Kitsune Hengeyokai. [The Lost Years]
Sara.
“It is a little strange that you like me now,” he says one day, the question hidden behind the statement. He's gotten rather skilled at that, mastered the art of asking things without using question marks with the same alacrity he took to everything else he needed to make sure he stayed alive and healthy. Of course it helped that they were each other’s most frequent contact. They were as attuned to each other's vocal and facial expressions as only close family members could ever be.
“Of course I like you. What kind of a silly question is that?” Sara is honestly put off by his inquiry and stares at the boy in front of her. He sits on the cot with his back to the wall and his feet up, although, thankfully, today he does so to be comfortable and not for medical reasons. He lets go of his current book and follows the movement of her hands.
“You didn’t like me at first.”
She inhales sharply at that and falters in taking stock of their medical supplies. Cocking her head to the side, she meets his gaze. There is no accusation in his eyes, only honest curiosity. She hadn’t underestimated him often once they started with the books - his intelligence was too obvious to be ignored - but in the beginning she hadn’t thought much of him; didn’t think he could comprehend what was happening around him. She really shouldn’t be surprised that he brought it up, but he was so small back then. She didn’t think he’d still remember.
When she first laid eyes on him he was barely seven, young even to human perception. To Sara he was nothing more than a critter, completely dependent on others to be fed, coddled, and cared for. He was still a little pudgy then; had not yet spent enough time with Zachariah’s bloodhounds to lose the soft edges of his face, his voice or his essence. But he had been there long enough to already hold fear in his eyes. There was curiosity too, she remembers with a slight grin, so many questions bubbling out of him that sometimes it seemed that if he were to ask them all, he'd float away, free of their weight. Now, almost two years later, he knows better than to ask aloud whatever runs through his mind. But back then, the very first thing he had done was to ask her a question.
“Are you a doctor?” Wide gold-flecked eyes looked up at her. She shook her head and leaned against the cabinets next to the door, still facing the cot he sat upon.
“No, I am no doctor. I am just Sara. There is nothing you have to be afraid of.” The way she pronounced her name had apparently piqued his interest and he wrinkled his nose. She knew it must sound unfamiliar to him, the 'r' sound not so much an r as it was a combination of an r, an l, and a d. Nevertheless he looked relieved to hear her reassurance. She tried her best not to look intimidating and smiled at him as she twirled a strand of silver-white hair around her finger. This would be much easier if she could convince him not to be afraid of her.
“What kind of name is that? Your ‘r’ sounds funny.” She looked at him with a frown then, the little smile all but gone from her face. These humans, ever so impolite. A little respect would do the child good.
“Well, if you would prefer, we can do this the formal way. You can call me Marise Mizuki-Sarana Hoshi Mareo-Moriko Tsuyu-Mai-Makani Asuka Manami Hikari-Kaede Hiko Sorano Akiko-Amaya Haruka Chiyo-Chikako of the Kitsune Hengeyokai for that is what my parents named me. But since nowadays hardly anyone takes the time for proper conversation anymore we can stick with the short version. Which one would you favor?” There was silence for a couple of heartbeats. He blinked.
“Nah, the short version is really nice, uhm… catchy, too.” He gave her a tentative smile. “I didn’t know there were names that long. Don’t you get confused?”
She tried her best not to roll her eyes at him and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “It is not one long name. They are many names, some of them are meant to describe my character and some of them utter the wishes my parents had for me.”
He looked even more curious than before, which she wouldn’t have believed possible. “But didn’t they name you when you were still a baby?”
Sara huffed. “Of course they did.”
“But then how did they know what to call you? When your name is supposed to show your character, how could your parents know?”
She felt irritation rise in her bones. “They knew because my mother has the gift of sight. My father is acquainted with the truth behind names. They knew which names to pick long before I was born.” She was convinced that this should satisfy the small boy; now they surely could go on to more important things. She took a step in his direction, planning to get started with his first check up.
“But why did they-“ He was stopped short by the low growl emanating from her throat. Sara wanted to be anywhere but there. She wished for the boy to stay quiet and for the comforting smell of fields and forests to guide her home. She ached for the starry sky above her head and longed to hear the wind rustling through leaves and hollows, the familiar music of the wild. Instead she was confronted with a human child with an insatiable thirst for knowledge.
She looked down at him and wanted to tell him off for all the questioning, but froze when she met his gaze again. He looked up at her, big puppy eyes and pale features, lower lip quivering and eyes brimming with tears. Sara sighed. She couldn’t help herself - all she wanted to do was change and sink her teeth into that soft white flesh, to bite through sinew, muscle and bone until the blood painted the floor in bright red spurts of life. Ah, to dine on a still-beating heart and see the spark abandon his eyes forever…
But her family had long turned civilized and abandoned the habit of dining on humans, so she knew that her urges stemmed from her growing frustration and not from hunger. Also, the bastard angel’s words still echoed in Sara’s head. She knew she had to control her displeasure at this whole wretched situation - it wasn’t even the boy’s fault that she was so agitated. If she could have, she would have killed that pompous imbecile of black winged conceitedness and feasted on his celestial essence through all 29 dimensions. But she couldn’t and she didn’t. Instead, she was to nanny the child. The boy in front of her and the room around her faded away when Sara lost herself to the memory of how she found herself in this predicament.
“So we agree.” Zachariah had said.
“I do not agree to anything. You stole from me. Give it back!” Sara had barely refrained from changing into her true form, distracted by the anger and fear rushing through her veins. “You have no right to keep it from me. Do you perceive this to be your Christian god’s will? Are you not bound to act on his demand? I seriously doubt that he wants you to play with things that are not yours. Give. It. Back!”
Zachariah had shaken his head at that, not even considering giving in. She had tried for a different route then and put all the authority she could muster into her voice.
“I am of the old fae, a true servant of Inari. You dare not tempt your fortune by wronging one of us. Kitsune ni yotte batsu o ukezu ni, dare mo nusumu. You should know better than to meddle with the Hengeyokai!” But her words hadn't had the desired effect, and the angel only got angrier, raising his own voice in return and drawing on the true power behind it.
“You might be old, but you still have a long way to go. Do not take us for fools, little vixen. You would do well to show us the respect we deserve.” Gradually Zachariah’s voice had lowered again as he started to mock her. “You are, what now, just into your sixth tail? That leaves another three thousand years before you achieve the true power of your people. There is nothing here to be afraid of. Besides me, that is.”
Sara had flinched when she noticed his patronizing little smile as he started to turn away. “Wait! What… bakayaro! Are you just going to leave me here? You know that I cannot survive without my ball.” Sara hated the way her voice was revealing her desperation. But it was true. Being without the glowing sphere ached in her very core, the separation trying to pull her apart inside and out. “Please. I need it back. Please… just give it to me.”
The angel had raised his eyebrow at the curse, but then simply shaken his head. “You better watch your tone there, spirit beast. You might not feel comfortable being separated from it, but it won't kill you. And I know that you understand this begging and bargaining is a futile effort. Your little star-ball is safe with us. There is no way for you to retrieve it but to abide by our orders. We know everything about you and your kind, I might add. We are aware that possession over the ball gives us control over you as well, so you might as well drop this little charade. You are bound to us now and will do as you are told.”
His eyes were of a callousness that had her backing away a few steps. She stopped when she became aware of what she was doing and cursed at herself and the whole precarious situation she had gotten herself into. She might have been victorious if she had attacked him right then and there, but the angel had been right. She was bound to whoever claimed ownership of her star ball. She had no choice but to obey.
She sighed in defeat. “What do you want me to do?”
Zachariah had smirked at that, evil little bastard that he was. “We need you to look after a boy. Now listen carefully because I don’t want to repeat myself; you have wasted enough of my precious time already and there is a completely new timeline to set.” She raised her eyebrows at that. He seemed to consider elaborating but continued with a shrug while straightening the front of his suit jacket.
“Our motivation for this will be none of your concern. The only thing that you have to know is that you will look after this child, protect it with your life if need be, for as long as we tell you to. If you fulfill your duty to our satisfaction you will get your ball back and everyone can go their separate ways. Understood?”
Sara had trouble believing what she had heard. “You expect me to look after a human child for you? Why can’t you take care of him yourself? And what is he to you in the first place?”
The angel had rubbed his forehead as if to shoo away an uncomfortable thought. She noticed that he tried to avoid her eyes. “We cannot look after the boy ourselves for many reasons. Most of them are not of importance to you. This is a long-term assignment, however, and for that reason alone it is impractical for him to accompany one of us. You will be provided with housing wherever you stay and the boy will not bother you. He has his own quarters. All you need to do is make sure he stays safe and attend to his medical needs. We will work out a schedule you will follow, but there may be spontaneous demand for your services, too.”
He had hesitated then, and for a few moments a heavy silence settled, no wing nor tail nor breath disturbing the tense atmosphere. “As for what he is to us," he continued, "I will not induct you to the fine art of heavenly proceedings. He is special. We need him alive. That is all you have to know.”
Sara wondered about his evasiveness on the matter, but there had been more important things to clarify. “What do you mean when you say ‘long term assignment’? And these medical appointments, what are they for? Is the child sick?” The angel had shrugged her concerns away.
“It will take as long as it needs. Most likely the boy will be grown before our collaboration ends. There is no chronic disease at play, but the spirit of the child has turned out to be rather unyielding, so there may be physical consequences to lessons he needs to learn.” Zachariah took a step towards her and his voice had gotten menacing.
“But I will only say this once: we forbid you to intervene. Do not try to fight us on this. We will not hesitate to destroy your ball should the need arise. We have means to do so in an irreversible manner.” Sara had felt her throat tighten at that terrible possibility. The angels had managed to catch her off guard; stupid cub that she still was. She would do anything to ensure the safekeeping of her hoshi no tama, and they knew it.
“Sara,” she hears and snaps back to the present. In his voice she detects the unspoken, “Are you ok? Did I upset you? Where did you go?” She smiles at that, smiles at the boy, because it is so true to his nature and a thing of beauty to see. Zachariah hasn’t broken him completely, not yet. Her young charge still displays innocence, concern, and kindness; unspoiled by this parody of a life. She wonders if he will ever know how extraordinary he is.
“Do not worry, little cub. There is nothing wrong. I merely thought of the time we first met. Do you remember that?” He shakes his head sheepishly, but even if Sara is sad to see that, it doesn’t surprise her.
The “education”, as the demon guards and Zachariah refer to his treatment here, has put a huge strain on both his body and mind. She has long suspected that he represses a lot of what he endures in an attempt at self-preservation, and probably lost a lot of childhood memories in the process. She feels sorry for his loss. But even so, sometimes his eyes look so haunted that she would give one of her tails for the ability to wipe all of his memories clean, no matter happy or sad.
“You were very little then and still you wondered about so many things. I told you my name then, because you were trying my patience.” She winks at him and he grins at her in return.
“But I would never have disclosed it to anyone I couldn’t trust,” he tells her, although none would have survived her wrath had he betrayed that trust. But he hadn’t known that and, she muses, today she would give her life to protect him even if Zachariah hadn’t ordered her to do so.
“Do you remember that?” She expects him not to, and is willing to reveal her names to him once more, but he nods and that surprises her.
“All of them?”
“Yes,” he nods again. She examines him pensively but she doesn’t question his statement. There is no place for anything but truth between them. He looks back at her with the same level of thoughtfulness.
“I might not remember the details, but I know that you told me about the truth behind names once. I liked the sound of yours so I memorized them.” He hesitates and looks down at his knees.
“I often wondered about why you picked Sara. There were so many others you could have chosen.” He pauses again before he continues, “I guess you did it because of what it truly means.” Another hidden question, and one she will answer only too pleased now that he asked.
“You are my clever little cub, indeed.” The pride in her voice has him looking up again, and a small blush colors his cheeks. “I did not pick my name lightly for it reflects on the hardship I - and you, for that matter - were about to undergo. Do you wish to know the meaning behind it?” He nods again, so clearly excited by the prospect of learning about it that she has to suppress a silver giggle.
“Sara originates from Sarana. It means ‘tear of suffering’.” She is curious as to what he will make of that but his face doesn’t betray his emotions, he just continues to look at her until she raises her eyebrows. Then he lowers his gaze.
“It’s a beautiful name," he tells her. "You chose well.” Sara’s heart breaks a little at that and she sits down next to him. She carefully rests her hand on his knee, making sure he sees so she doesn't scare him away. Most of the physical interaction he gets nowadays consists of the guards having their way with him, and he started to shy away from touch not long after his “lessons” started. Sara doesn’t like to think about it more than necessary because the anger and helplessness she experiences at the cruelties done to her precious charge are maddening. She is glad to offer him a different kind of contact, a gentle touch here or a calming hug there, and she wonders every time whether his family will come for him anytime soon; whether his mother even knows that her son is still alive. She promised herself a long time ago that she would find a way out of this - for both of them - but she still doesn’t know how. Sara looks down at the boy who won’t meet her eyes and sighs. She tries to avoid ending their meetings on a sad note because she knows that he will ponder about the things he learned when he is back in the dark, alone with himself. She pats his knee to get his attention.
“Would you like to know some other name truths as well?”
His head perks up and she sees the sparkle in his eyes that she has grown to love over the past couple of years. He looks like a happy, normal child with it, a little thin, but happy nonetheless. She can’t help but smile down at him.
“Marise means infinite and never-ending. Hoshi means star and Tsuyu-Mai-Makani is 'dew-dancing-in-wind'.” She frowns and listens to the echo of her words, “It sounds strange in your language, but there is no better translation. I fear most of their magic is lost like this.”
He shakes his head. “No no, it sounds fine. I mean, I’m sure it’s not like real magic, but it still feels like you’re whispering a secret to me. Or something.” He wrinkles his brow as he searches for words, “It’s hard to explain. It- it makes me… I don’t know, kind of tingly. And I have goose bumps, see.” He raises his arm so she can look at the small hairs standing up.
Sara lifts her own hand from his knee to grab his wrist in a gentle but firm grip, turning his arm this way and that. Sure enough, there are goose bumps all over. She lets go of his limb to carefully slide her hand across his back to his other shoulder and she draws him close. She presses a kiss on top of his head before resting her chin against his hair.
“That is good, little cub, really good.” She doesn’t let on how surprised she is at his ability to detect the power in her words. She knows not many humans who can. But then, maybe it’s not so strange for him. For years his only interaction has been with that bastard angel Zachariah and the two sadistic demon guards and herself, an enslaved kitsune with magic in her blood so ancient that it’s as natural as warm summer rain. So of course his senses are attuned to the powers of heaven and hell and earth itself.
“Do you wish me to continue?” He doesn’t answer aloud, just burrows a little closer into her side and nods again.
“Asuka means 'scent-of-tomorrow' and Hikari-Kaede 'light-through-leaves-of-maple-tree'.” She all but whispers into his hair now, it has been a long time since she last exposed herself like this to anyone. “Chiyo-Chikako means 'eternal-child-of-wisdom' and Akiko-Amaya-Haruka means faraway-iris-in-night-of-rain'. All the others carry very positive truths as well.” He raises his head a little but makes no effort to struggle from her side.
“So Sarana is the only one that has a sad meaning,” he says and she pulls him into a light hug. She doesn’t react to his last statement; doesn’t think he expects her to. Instead she answers his first question, the one that still hangs heavy in the air and that triggered her trip down memory lane.
“I do like you. You have been very dear to me for a long time already. I thought you knew.”
He rests his head on her shoulder and sighs when she in return ghosts another kiss on his forehead. They stay like this, books all but forgotten, drawing comfort from each other’s company until the guard comes and leads him away.
go back (part three) || Masterpost || continue (part five)