In These Waters, Part IX
There was a knock at the door as Samandriel resumed his seat by the window.
“You may come in,” he shouted across the room. When the door opened, he was surprised to find that Castiel entered.
“If I may, Samandriel, I wish to have a word with you.”
“Yes, my Lord. Anything you wish.”
Castiel stood in front of him, arms folded, his legs stiff and straight. He sighed, “Are you trying to deter Dean from going forth with returning his soul to his body?”
“Of course not!” Samandriel responded, wounded. “I’m not trying to deter him from doing it altogether. I only think we should find another way of doing it.”
“Why? Why would you do that?”
With a great sigh, Samandriel stated, “You should talk to Dean. If I tell you, you will not listen to me. You think I harbor ill feelings towards him, which is entirely untrue. There is no other way to convince you.”
Castiel felt a pang of shame when he heard Samandriel say that he knew Castiel doubted him. It was only recently that he thought perhaps Samandriel’s intentions were not the most pure. His sudden distaste for restoring Dean’s soul was new. It had never been mentioned before. Castiel didn’t understand where Samandriel’s uncertainty came from.
With uncertainty clouding his own heart, he left Samandriel’s room quietly.
---
When Castiel found Dean in the library, he was not pleased.
“Samandriel says you do not wish to go forth with the ritual,” he stated, catching Dean off guard. “Why would you not just tell me so?”
“I tried telling you!” Dean responded defensively. He stood and set down the book he had been flipping through. “If you’ll recall correctly, you brushed me off.”
With a defeated look in his eyes, Castiel made to exit the library.
"Cas don't go," Dean pleaded, grabbing his companion by the wrist.
Castiel stopped walking and turned around to face him. The pain Dean saw in his eyes was enough to tear him apart.
"I am unsure of how I am meant to proceed," the God confessed, his voice low. "You have never before denied me the ritual. You were always certain this was best… You are not the one that I remember. Perhaps I...I made a mistake. You are not mine."
Dean could not place the emotion those words made him feel. It felt as though the air was being squeezed from his lungs. Something - some force he could not name - propelled him forward.
He placed his hands firmly around Castiel's face and leaned into him. He could feel Castiel falter; saw the momentary hole in his armor.
"Cas, you gotta believe me. I'm beggin' you. I can feel it. I belong here, with you. I can't remember all of it yet but I can feel it. This - us - it's real. But this ritual isn't right. Something is off about it."
"What, Dean? What is 'off' about it?"
Dean shook his head. "I don't know yet. Gimme some time. I'll find out. We can find an alternative. But everything about this is shady. My soul being gone for all those years? You have to admit, it’s weird."
"Let me assist you and --"
"No!" Castiel's eyes widened with alarm. Dean sighed and collected himself. "Look what they did to me as punishment. I can't let you go poking around and wind up this way, too. We...we could end up --"
"-- Apart for the rest of eternity."
"Yeah. And something tells me I wouldn't be able to handle that. Not now."
Sighing, Castiel pushed himself harder against Dean. He ran the tip of one finger along the curves of Dean's lips.
"It has been so long since I was this close to you," he whispered. He rested his forehead against Dean's and closed his eyes. "I have longed for it. Living without you has been torture."
"Never again, Cas." Dean caught Castiel's bottom lip between his own and sucked on it gently. When Castiel kissed him back, it was almost too much. In that kiss, he could taste every ounce of power that ran through Castiel's body. It was not merely the meeting of two mouths. It was a way of sharing the symphonies in their souls, he realized. It was more than anything he had ever known before.
If this is something I knew before, how could I have forgotten what this was like? -- he thought. It was like tasting the sea; as though he were grasping the waters in his hand. As Dean ran one hand down Castiel's backside, he realized he was, in fact, holding the very power of the waters between his fingers.
Dean stopped to admire the creature he had pinned to the wall. Stopped to take in the state of his partner. Castiel's face was delightfully flushed; his lips were parted and a little swollen. When Dean rolled his hips against Castiel’s, he was rewarded with a delicious moan from the God. Castiel began to squirm.
"Dean," he begged, his voice ragged, "please. I have waited so patiently for you. Please."
For a moment, Dean was taken aback. Castiel trusted him; adored him; was begging him for mercy. He didn't know what to do. He didn't think he had done anything to deserve this. He couldn't even remember which flowers Castiel loved to watch blossom (. Certainly he didn't deserve to have a God beg him for anything.
"Cas, I - I'm sorry," he whispered.
"I know. You always are. And I will always forgive you."
When Castiel began to plant kisses along Dean's neck, the eldest Winchester son gripped his shoulder tightly. He guided them to the nearby couch, where they fell in a messy pile of limbs.
Castiel slid his hands down and unbuckled Dean’s jeans. Dean made quick work of kicking the jeans off and in turn began to strip Castiel of his own clothes. Dean took it all in - the skin bared for him, the black tattoos that swirled up his body, the thick cock that was swollen and aching to be touched.
Dean took his time licking slow strips up and down the shaft, eliciting low whimpers from Castiel. He kept Castiel’s hips steady as he continued to give teasing licks.
When Dean finally slid into Castiel’s tight, wet hole, Castiel let out a gasp of relief.
“You feel…as good as I remember,” he panted, locking his legs around Dean’s waist. As Dean slammed into him with abandon, Castiel was almost pushed to tears.
He had waited so long - so very long - to feel this close to his lover again. He had spent so many years alone, with only his own hand for comfort. Even now, this coupling was rushed - it was frantic even - but it was what Castiel hoped it would be.
Sit down, it’s just a talk
In the dead of the night, after finally reaching the peak of his research, Samandriel was pacing throughout the courtyard, his hands fidgeting, his eyes bouncing around rapidly. He did not have long. At any moment, his assailant was bound to return. He had barely survived long enough to make it back to the castle; his time was running out.
“I must warn my Lord,” he whispered to himself as he began scribing on the ground. His Lord needed only to check the ground and he would undoubtedly see his warning. He had only gotten to the first word when a hand clamped down on the back of his neck.
This was it.
“What is that you’re writing, foolish lamb?” a deep voice asked. “Did you think you would warn everyone else of his return?”
Samandriel refused to say anything. He turned to face his enemy with a dagger in his hand. His mouth opened in a scream of defiance as he threw all of his weight into his attack.
His enemy laughed and, catching him around the waist, plunged a knife into his chest. Samandriel howled with disbelief.
Not like this. This is not the end. I have to warn them.
But his resistance proved nothing. He was tossed across the yard carelessly. His blood pooled underneath him. His eyes lost any shine of life. This was not how he had ever seen things ending. He alone knew the truth. He alone knew the deviousness behind the ritual. And he would never get the chance to tell his most treasured friend.
---
From inside the castle, Castiel and Dean heard a loud WHOOSH of an explosion. The walls of the castle shook so hard that the decorations fell down.
Castiel rushed through the doors of the castle. There had never been an attack on his castle before. Thousands of years and no one had ever dared to do so.
What met Castiel’s eyes was not a sight he was prepared for. In the corner of the yard lay Samandriel, crumpled and a shell of who he once was. His eyes, open and blank, stared at nothing. Near the wall of the castle lay Somerled, bleeding and gasping for breath.
Castiel ran to Samandriel while Dean rushed to Somerled’s side.
My most faithful. Castiel gathered Samandriel up in his arms and, as he sank to his knees, he began to weep openly. My most faithful. My most trusted.
I am so sorry, my friend. I am so sorry.
---
When Castiel was a small child, his Father had created a friend for him. Specifically for him!
“I would have you call him Samandriel,” his Father commanded. Castiel had nodded, eagerly accepting any name. He was just happy to have a friend outside of his siblings.
Samandriel had never lied to him. He had never shown anything but trustworthiness. He had never been anything but loyal to his King and his Lord. He was happy to accept any teachings that Castiel had to offer. Yet Castiel had doubted him. And now, with his friend cradled in his arms, he felt guilt running through his body, hot and thick.
Samandriel had stuck by Castiel’s side as they searched endlessly for Dean. He had never complained. He had never fought against it. He had only encouraged Castiel and reminded him occasionally of the harsh truth: Dean was doomed to live this way for all of eternity.
Still, Samandriel gave his Lord hope. Hope that they might one day find a way to end this.
My most faithful.
---
Somerled looked at Dean with glassy eyes. “Someone was here,” he said hoarsely. “He was…attacking Samandriel when I happened upon them…when he tried to run, I chased after him. I’m sorry for my uselessness. I could not catch him.”
Dean shook his head and said, “Don’t apologize, Somerled. You did all that you could. Here, let me help you.” He grabbed Somerled’s upper arms and pulled him up. Gingerly, trying to avoid the bleeding gashes on Somerled’s side, Dean wrapped an arm around his waist. He guided him back to the front room of the castle and helped him to lie down on a couch.
Elsewhere, Castiel continued to cradle Samandriel in his arms. His tears fell hard and fast, landing on Samandriel’s body. With all the strength he could pull forth, he lifted his loyal friend and carried him through the court yard, beyond the castle gates.
He walked until he reached the water’s edge.
“You are going home,” he whispered into Samandriel’s hair. Pulling his friend’s body closer to his, he waded into the water. “It’s going to be alright, my dearest friend. You are safe now. You are home.”
He released Samandriel from his grip. He let the waters wash over him fully for a moment. Guided currents swept up to grab Samandriel’s limp form. They pulled him under, further and further, until Castiel could see him no more. He could only sense his friend’s presence in the large body of water.
Samandriel had gone home, to rest amongst his Lord’s vast reaches.
When Castiel returned to the castle, he found Dean bandaging Somerled’s wounds. “Tell me what happened,” he demanded. Somerled grimaced and sat up a little straighter.
“I’m not entirely certain what happened,” was his response. “I was going to look for Samandriel. I needed to go over the materials. You know him, he - he always wants to double check. And I found him bowled over, with someone attacking him. I gave chase but…I’m sorry. I failed to apprehend the assailant.”
Castiel’s eyes steeled over. Whoever it was must surely have been determined to stop the ritual. He could only imagine that it was one of the jinn. This meant his protection sigils were not enough. He needed to perform the ritual as soon as possible.