[Fic] - Thursday's Child (10/12)
[Fic] Thursday's Child (10/12)
Author: WynterEyez
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Jody Mills, Hester, Inias, Dean/Castiel
Beta: None, though that would've been a damn good idea, don't you think?
Spoilers: AU after 'The Man Who Would Be King,' contains spoilers for 'Let It Bleed.'
Disclaimer: I don't own them, obviously.
Warnings: References to past mpreg (I can't believe I'm doing this…), discussion of the smiting of a Nephil baby
Summary: Castiel brings a surprise home to Dean. It's gooey. And has tentacles.
Chapter Summary: In which everyone settles into an uncomfortable holding pattern, which, in typical Winchester fashion, ends with a bang.
A/N: Sorry for the wait! Real Life had been rather unbearable, and I've been too miserable to write. Details at my LiveJournal, if anyone is interested. Also, because I apparently needed more challenges in my life, part of this refused to be written, so I spent time working on the final chapters instead. I'm still not satisfied with it, but if I keep tweaking it, it would be years before I completed it.
Ten - Holding Pattern
As Sam lays sprawled on the floor, part of a triangle arranged around Danielle's play area atop a green blanket, he reflects upon how different everything has become in the short time he's been gone.
It's not just the freakishly clean house (which isn't spotless, but it probably hasn't been this clean since Bobby's wife was alive and he cared about home maintenance) that has changed, or Danielle, who has become much more vigorous and talkative since he'd seen her last. No, the real difference is in the relationship between Dean and Castiel.
Dean is sitting, cross-legged, watching his daughter's antics. Castiel is laying on his side, head pillowed on his arms, entirely focused on Danielle. One forearm is pressed against Dean's thigh, and Dean hasn't done anything to discourage the touch. Quite the opposite; he'd shifted into the touch without any prompting from Cas.
Sam surreptitiously studies Castiel, noting how his stubble and the perpetual bags under his eyes seem darker than normal against too-pale skin. The gray AC/DC shirt that he'd obviously gotten from Dean doesn't hide the bony arms, or the concave stomach. The sweatpants look like they're barely clinging to his waist and are ready to shimmy down his thighs at the first opportunity.
Despite the massive quantities of food that Balthazar has provided, Castiel obviously isn't recovering like he should.
But there are some positive changes, such as Castiel's handling of Danielle. He's more confident now, and seems fond of his daughter. He'd even smiled when Sam had remarked on how smart she was. Even now, he's watching her with interest and curiosity, and is even assisting her play.
Danielle has a new game: she clambers awkwardly onto Sam's back, then rolls off into the pile of stuffed toys. From the sounds she makes, this is the greatest thing ever. Sam had initially worried, but then he'd noticed that when Danielle misses the toys, she lands on what looks like a cushion of air a couple of inches above the blanket. Cas is catching her, somehow, probably with a wing or some equally invisible body part. Sam's tempted to reach out and feel whatever it is, but then decides that groping invisible limbs might prove awkward - God only knows just what he'd be putting his hands on.
So instead he focuses on Danielle, who has just decided to take a break from her play to yank a strand of Sam's hair into her beaky mouth. Dean guffaws, and even Castiel seems to find this amusing. Or perhaps he's just relieved to have Dani chew on something besides his feathers.
"Um… little help, here?" Sam pleads, when he's unable to reach around and pull his hair from the Nephil's grabby tentacles. When Dean just smirks, and Castiel yawns, Sam takes matters into his own hands by tempting her with the teething ring. She immediately abandons his hair in favor of sucking on the squishy ring, mumbling contentedly. Her tentacles drape down over Sam's ribcage and he strokes one, marveling at the velvety smoothness of the mottled red and black flesh, and the stretchiness of the tissue (she's going to have a long reach; keeping things out of range is going to be a challenge.) In response, she curls the tip around his fingers.
She's incredible. Having someone greet him so joyously, with such unconditional love, feels fantastic. Yes, he has Dean, but their ways of showing affection for each other had matured. Mostly.
He wonders if this is how Dean felt when they were little and Sam hadn't even started school yet, when Sam had squealed and thrown himself into Dean's arms every time Dean came home. No wonder Dean had tolerated his baby brother's clinging hugs and sloppy kisses; it feels good to come home to someone who loves you.
From the way Dean beams at them, he knows his brother is pleased by their connection. Cas just watches, but he no longer looks wary of others handling his child. Mostly, he just looks tired.
Bobby is puttering away in the kitchen; from the sound of his grumbling and the occasional rattle and bang, he's trying to set it back to the way it was before Dean had become possessed by Martha Stewart. Probably trying to take his mind off the fact that Dr. Visyak was a Purgatory denizen - and that she'd refused his help in hiding from Crowley. He'd sat with them for awhile, sharing his findings with Dean and, (somewhat reluctantly,) Cas. Danielle had sat in his lap and burbled happily, and Bobby had shaken her stuffed octopus around to make its eyes wiggle, much to her obvious delight.
He'd seemed very reluctant to set her on the blanket and head off to fix something to eat.
With their last lead to open Purgatory vanished, they're left with nothing to do but wait until Dr. Visyak changes her mind or worse, Crowley makes his move. Sam's feeling a little adrift without having something to research or hunt. Odd; he'd always thought Dean would be the one who couldn't live without hunting, yet here he'd spent a week taking care of his newborn and cleaning house, and he seemed happier than Sam had ever seen him.
Sam had always known his brother has a well-hidden desire for normalcy, but he hadn't realized that Dean thrives on it.
And then Castiel does something that makes the scene even more shockingly domestic. The angel pushes himself up on his hands, drags himself forward, and flops onto Dean's lap with a huff of breath. And Dean automatically responds by rubbing the spot between Castiel's shoulders, eliciting a contented sigh from the angel.
Despite the desire to gape as his brother, Sam averts his gaze. Some new rapport had developed between the two while he was away, and if Sam makes a big deal of it, Dean might become self-conscious and 'man up', withdrawing his attention from Castiel. Cas really doesn't need that right now, not when he obviously craves the touch.
Danielle slithers down Sam's shoulders and across the blanket, into Castiel's waiting arms. Her eyes all blink slowly, disconcertingly out of sync, then all close at once.
This seems to be a signal that Castiel no longer needs to fight his own weariness, because once Danielle's breaths even out, Castiel's own drooping eyelids close, and it's not long before he's a relaxed, boneless heap in Dean's lap. Dean rolls his eyes, but makes no attempt to push Castiel off.
"He's still sleeping with you, huh?"
Dean eyes Sam for a moment, obviously trying to figure out if Sam's teasing him. He's not; under other circumstances, it would be hilarious that Dean's an angel's security blanket. But there's nothing humorous about Castiel's sheer - and justified - terror of being alone when he's in such a vulnerable state. "Yeah," Dean says, gaze dropping to Castiel's slack face. "He's okay when he naps, so long as I don't leave the house, but at night he's always right there, clinging to me with way more limbs than he should have."
Sam fights back the urge to make a snarky comment about real life not living up to the Japanese tentacle porn he knows Dean watches.
"How is he?" Sam studies Castiel's wan, thin face, still showing strain even in sleep.
Dean's lips tighten. "Not as well as he pretends to be. The wound on his belly still hasn't healed, and he looks like he's losing weight again. He seemed to be doing okay once Balthazar started bringing food, but the more active Danielle gets, the more she feeds from his Grace, and I don't think he can keep up with her needs. He needs… he needs a full recharge, and he can only get that in Heaven," Dean concludes dully.
And the moment he sets foot in Heaven, he'll be killed, Dean doesn't need to add.
It's a real dick move, Sam thinks, to design a reproductive cycle that painfully incapacitates the nurturing parent and makes them utterly dependent upon their family. It could be meant as a way to discourage unplanned pregnancy, but still, Sam can't see any advantage to this. If something were to fight through the guardians to the nursery or nesting grounds or whatever angels use, the angels and infants would be completely helpless.
And then, beneath Dean's hands, Castiel shudders. It begins as a series of spinal twitches that become more frequent and spread throughout his body. Dean pulls back, then grips Castiel's shoulders and tries to hold him steady.
A particularly violent, full-body jerk nearly dislodges Castiel from Dean's lap. Danielle doesn't wake, but she does snuggle closer and tighten her grip around Cas's arms. And then he abruptly sags, limbs loose and sprawling, features smoothing out. Only a slight furrow to his brow shows he's not wholly relaxed.
Dean stares down at Castiel's still form, rubbing soothing circles into the angel's back until even the furrow is gone. "He's never done that before," he says, lips drawn into a frown when Castiel doesn't repeat the convulsions.
"Bad dream?" Sam suggests hopefully.
"He doesn't dream."
"Has he said -" Sam begins, and Dean stops him with an annoyed snarl.
"He doesn't say anything," Dean grinds out. "He's been hiding this from me. Dammit, Sam, why doesn't he understand that I want to help him?"
Sam doesn't bother to point out that the last time Castiel had come to them for help with his unexpected newborn, Dean had yelled and Cas had fled. And before that, they'd trapped him in a ring of holy fire and refused to listen to his explanations. Sam can't really blame Cas for keeping his problems to himself; they've set a rather unpleasant precedent.
"And I take it he still gets annoyed when you ask him anything?"
"Yeah." Dean smiles wanly. "Unfortunately, he seems to have gone to the Winchester School of Hiding Your Pain From Your Loved Ones. All he tells me now is that he's 'fine.'" Dean brushes away a curl of dark hair clinging to Castiel's sweaty forehead.
"You think he's dying."
"I think… if he doesn't recover soon, he will die, yeah. And if he dies… so does Dani."
No. They can't lose any more family - especially not this fragile new life who makes Dean so happy.
And makes Sam happy, as well. It's been awhile since their family has felt anywhere near whole.
Dean suddenly frowns, and Sam drops his gaze to Castiel's face. The furrow in Castiel's brow is back, along with a pained grimace. Though there isn't a repeat of the seizure, at least.
Still, Sam can't shake the feeling there'll be worse to come…
~oOo~
Castiel's hands are trembling. He doesn't think Dean notices, but it's obvious to Castiel. Fortunately, burgers don't require steady hands, and he's able to finish his final portion of food without causing a scene.
Finished, he sits back in the couch, Danielle wrapped tightly in his arms, and fights to stay awake. He's been sleeping far too much lately, and he's waking up tired. If this keeps up, Dean will catch on that something is seriously wrong, and Cas doesn't want to worry him. He's already caught Dean giving him odd, searching looks, and knows from his expression that Dean doesn't like what he sees.
They're watching a cartoon Castiel had found about a little girl and a blue alien, and Castiel finds it rather charming. There's something about the little misunderstood made creature, a dangerous being that discovers it is capable of feeling love and compassion, that Castiel can relate to.
It also makes him ask Dean if they should get a dog for Danielle.
"A dog?" Dean sputters. "Why would we want a dog?"
"Pets teach responsibility," Castiel says reasonably. "They protect their families, and can sense the presence of many supernatural creatures. A dog would be a good playmate for Danielle. Plus, stroking a pet can lower blood pressure - something you could use, Dean. You are no longer young, and you should take better care of yourself."
Sam stifles a laugh. Dean just looks indignant.
"Yeah, but… Dogs shed. And scratch. And poop."
"So do you," Castiel counters.
Sam's less successful this time around hiding his amusement. Dean glowers.
"I don't understand your unwillingness to have a pet," Castiel says. "It would be simpler to care for than Danielle. Perhaps you would prefer we get a cat, instead? I like cats."
"Can we wait until she's older to have this discussion?" Dean sounds a little desperate. "She's too young to do anything with a pet anyway, except maybe suck on its tail. And I don't want some mangy mutt attacking Dani for treating it like one of her stuffed toys."
Castiel sighs in exasperation. "I would ask it not to, Dean. Animals respect angels, unlike some humans I know. Still, we will postpone this discussion until Danielle is old enough to appreciate a pet."
He's not sure why Dean looks as if he won a great victory. Castiel is not going to forget this. Besides, if Castiel doesn't improve, then this is all a moot point, anyway.
Castiel leans forward to unearth the television remote from the clutter of food wrappers on the coffee table (Dean had warned Castiel not to accidentally eat it during his bingeing; he thinks Dean meant it as a joke, but Castiel had taken the warning to heart since it was a real possibility, given his voracious hunger), and suddenly the world seems to be yanked out from under him. He's distantly aware of the sensation of falling, and thinks this should alarm him more than it actually does. But before he can muster an appropriate emotional response, his vision goes black, and he's not feeling anything at all.
"Cas? What the Hell? Cas? CAS!"
Castiel jerks back into consciousness with a keen that shatters the glasses on the table and cracks a window. He pushes to his hands and knees, knocking his head on the underside of the coffee table (what is he doing on the floor?) and staggers to his feet, blade out and eyes wild as he searches for the foe who'd felled him. A hoarse voice is repeating, not again, NOT AGAIN… and he's shocked to realize the irrational, babbling voice is his.
"Cas, hey, whoa, it's just us!" Dean's voice cuts through blinding panic, and finally he turns to the other man. Dean is clutching Danielle, who's screeching and fighting his grip, her tentacles reaching desperately towards Castiel. "You're in Bobby's living room; Raphael didn't touch you. It's just us here. You're safe."
Sanity returns, and Castiel lowers his blade. "I'm sorry. I don't know what happened," he says slowly. It had been like being rendered unconscious, but he'd taken no injury.
"Cas, you passed out." At Castiel's blank look, Dean clarifies, "You fainted."
Fainted? That was an alarming turn of events.
Danielle's wails reach a pitch that borders on an angel's true voice, and Castiel holds out his arms for her. Dean hands her over and she subsides to whimpers as she anxiously probes Castiel's face. He cradles her close, feeling her solid, comforting weight against him. "Has she been harmed?" Castiel asks as he strokes her soft back. He'd obviously fallen, and had mostly likely dropped her in the process.
"She's more scared than anything else, I think." Dean tenderly strokes one floppy wing, which is quaking beneath his touch. "You dropped her, but she wasn't hurt." Despite Dean's assurance, Castiel still checks her over, and sags with relief when he doesn't find any injuries.
"Cas! Talk to me. What's wrong with you?"
"I'm fi-"
"Don't give me that 'fine' crap. I invented that." Before Castiel can divert Dean by pointing out the inaccuracy of this statement and explaining the real origin of the word fine, Dean says, "Talk to me, Cas. I want to help you."
"You can't, Dean. This isn't something you can do anything about. No one can help me with this." Castiel's gaze drops to the Nephil trembling in his arms. "I can't keep up with Danielle's needs. She feeds on Grace faster than I can replenish it. A baby angel must absorb enough Grace to grow to adult size, and acquires much of that Grace through not only its parents, but from Heaven itself. It is doubtful Danielle will grow to my size, but she can still take enough to… to kill me," he sighs. He's prepared to make that sacrifice, for her sake. He thinks he can hang on long enough to get her past her critical growing period.
Maybe.
"But… she's tiny! And you're the size of a building, right? How can she be taking that much from you?" Dean's eyes are wild, and Castiel realizes Dean's afraid for him. If circumstances weren't so dire, it would have been gratifying to see their relationship is recovering.
"Remember, her birth took a large chunk of my Grace that I have yet to recover. And there is more to her than what you see. Like me, she is multi-dimensional." He decides not to tell Dean she has more wings, eyes, and tentacles that he can't see. Dean's negative comments about her appearance - and Castiel's by proxy - still sting.
"Can we… wean her off?" Sam asks. "You've been eating to replenish your Grace; would that work with her? Could we just give her more formula?"
"She's too young to be weaned; she still needs nourishment only my Grace can give her. And she has a human's stomach capacity. She consumes as much solid food as she is able. To force more on her would make her ill. No; she needs Grace."
"She should be feeding off both parents, right? Can she do what you did with Bobby and feed on my soul?" He looks as though the idea makes him ill - humans are protective of their souls, after all - but obviously, he'll do whatever it takes to save Danielle.
Castiel shakes his head. "She's shown no interest in your soul. Which is fortunate; she would lack the fine control needed to touch a soul without harming it. She would kill you." He suspects that wouldn't deter Dean, if it saved Danielle's life, so it's fortunate that she doesn't feed off human souls.
Castiel flops back onto the couch with far less grace than he usually commands and cuddles Danielle to his chest. She's calmer now, and humming tunelessly as she absorbs his Grace, utterly oblivious to the fact that she's draining the life from him. Castiel grabs the remote and flips the channel to the first thing he finds that isn't daytime television.
"Cas," Dean begins, after several moments of being pointedly ignored.
"This discussion is over," Castiel snaps, and turns his head to the television to watch a documentary about cute baby animals that will likely die horribly before reaching adulthood. It's far less depressing than the reality he's facing.
~oOo~
As soon as Castiel settles down for a nap (and now that Dean's aware of how serious things are, he realizes Cas has been sleeping more frequently lately) he heads out to the salvage yard, to pick up Balthazar's next food delivery - and to swallow his pride and beg for divine intervention.
"Balthazar? Inias?" Dean hesitates, but he's desperate. "Hester? Please… I need to speak to you."
There's the beat of immense wings, and suddenly Hester is there, watching him with wary contempt. "What is it?" she demands.
"It's Cas… he's fading, fast. He needs more than just this." He gestures at the trio of hampers.
Hester may be contemptuous of Dean, but she's a loyal soldier, and Castiel is her brother as well as her former commanding officer. "What would you have us do?" she asks, tilting her head, Cas-like. "We can't just sneak him into Heaven."
"Couldn't you just… sneak a bit of Heaven to him? Souls recharge him too, right? Why not bring a couple to him, just enough to get him back on his feet again?" Dean asks desperately. The thought of so many people snatched out of their comfy little Heavens to power up Castiel makes him nauseous, but he's desperate. The lives of his best friend and his daughter are at stake.
"Castiel is missing almost a third of his Grace. It would require thousands of souls to replace all that; such a large number of souls could not be taken from Heaven without notice - or consequence."
A third? When Castiel had originally spoken of part of his Grace going to Danielle, he'd said he'd lost a quarter of it. Was Danielle really consuming that much? What was the maximum amount of Grace an angel could lose before succumbing?
"I'll talk to Balthazar. I don't know what he can do, but he will at least increase Castiel's food supply." She stares off into the distance, lips pursed thoughtfully. "The Heavenly weapons," she muses slowly. "They have been soaking up Grace for millennia. Perhaps Castiel may be able to siphon energy from one of them. I will discuss this with Balthazar."
Dean realizes he likes Hester, after all. She may be brusque, but she obviously cares deeply for her brother, exiled though he may be. "Thank you," Dean says, heartfelt.
She waves her hand dismissively. "I'm doing this for Castiel. And it's likely nothing will come of this." And with that, she's gone. Now, all he can do is wait, and hope the angels come up with some sort of solution.
The answer comes sooner than they expected. Some forty-five minutes after Castiel had dug into the first hamper, he receives a call from Balthazar.
"Dean," Castiel says, as he places the phone carefully back into his pocket, "why does Balthazar feel that I need help?"
"I asked," Dean says, chin lifted stubbornly. "You're not getting better on your own."
"You told them I am weak." Castiel's voice is carefully empty of emotion, and Dean realizes he's angry. That cold, smiting rage that forced Dean to remember that he's dealing with something ancient and alien that could smite Dean's puny human ass as easily as Dean would swat a fly. "They may be my allies, but I am still under a death sentence, and now they know I am vulnerable."
"I'm not going to just sit back and watch you die," Dean snarls. "I'm not losing any more family on my watch. If they've thought of a way to help you, then you're going to take it. Besides, they already know you're in trouble - Hester said a third of your Grace is gone. A third. If you were human you'd be dead!"
Castiel has that determined, stubborn set to his jaw, and for a moment Dean thinks he's going to refuse. But then Danielle peeps, and his gaze drops to her multitude of guileless, adoring eyes, and he caves. "All right. I'll listen to what they have to say."
So they head out into the salvage yard, the armed Winchester brothers walking ahead of Castiel and Danielle. Because Castiel is right; allies or no, angels are conditioned to kill Nephilim and their parents. Keeping that in mind, they're heavily armed and ready for anything.
Anything, that is, except for the sight that greets him.
Dean stumbles to a halt, and Sam runs into him. It's a bit like being hit by a train, Dean thinks. But not as yielding.
"Is that the freaking Ark of the Covenant?" Dean stares, slack-jawed, at the gleaming chest slung between Inias and Hester. It's plated with pure, flawless gold, intricately carved, and topped by a curving lid decorated with two angels, wingtips touching. Unlike the movie prop, however, these angels are four-faced monstrosities, part man, part lion, part eagle and ox.
Even Sam is awed. "It's real?" he breathes, voice high with excitement.
"Of course it's real," Balthazar snaps. "And yes, it can melt the faces off Nazis and dumb asses, so unless you've always wanted an excuse for reconstructive surgery, I would recommend you stand behind one of these heaps of rusty eyesores when we open it."
"Right," Sam says weakly, backing away as though terrified the lid was going to open of its own volition.
"What's inside?" Dean asks, creeping closer to the artifact in spite of his determination not to leave the wards. He just wants to take a peek…
Cas snags his shoulder and jerks him back. "The Ark is very alluring," he warns. "And I do not wish for your face to be melted off. I like it the way it is."
Dean opens his mouth, then snaps it shut, not sure how to respond to that.
"What is inside?" Sam asks warily. "Lore says it held the stone tablets Ten Commandments, and possibly manna and a scroll written by Moses. It just sounds like some elaborate storage chest."
Balthazar snorts, and his voice drips with condescension as he explains, "Yes, it did contain the Commandments, but it had other purposes. It provided a direct line between God and Moses through the statues, and brought plagues upon unbelievers. It stopped the flow of rivers, and brought low pagan gods. All this was due to the Ark's secret, the contents it was built to contain: the combined Graces of the twin Cherubim Jael and Zurall, given freely in the service of the Lord. It is much more than a 'storage chest.' Most importantly, however, Castiel may be able to take a portion of this Grace within himself and replenish what he has lost. Emphasis on may. Castiel is a Seraph; his Grace is a different wavelength from a Cherub's. And this Grace has been altered for use by faithful humans, 'weaponized,' so to speak, so it may not take at all. Think of this as being like a skin graft. It could integrate into his own Grace, or Castiel may find it incompatible and reject it."
"And if he rejects it, no harm done, right?" Dean asks, eyes narrowing. Balthazar's attitude about this is almost too cavalier; he's hiding something.
When Balthazar doesn't immediately respond, Dean opens his mouth to demand an answer. Castiel cuts him off with a quiet, "I may explode. Again."
"No," Dean says immediately. "No way are you getting near that thing, Cas!"
"It may be the only way to hold him together long enough for his Grace to regenerate on its own," Balthazar says.
"I'm willing to try," Castiel says determinedly.
"Cas! Did you not hear the bit about exploding?" Dean snarls. "No friggin' way you're doing this!"
Castiel meets Dean's eyes with his own unflinching stare. "I was under the impression that you wanted me to go along with their plan, whatever the risk," Castiel says calmly. "I have been blown apart twice before. It is a far less painful death than this slow erosion of my Grace. If I am to die either way, let it be a death of my choosing." His expressions softens. "I would not do this if there was any other choice. It may be the only way to save myself - and Danielle."
Castiel hands off Danielle to Dean. "Go. I will be fine," he says. He doesn't sound convinced.
But there's nothing Dean can say to change his mind. And really, Dean knows deep down that this is necessary. Castiel is dying, and they're out of options.
Dean reluctantly heads off to the nearest pile of junkers and crouches behind it, Danielle cradled to his chest. Now that Castiel is out of her line of sight, she's starting to whimper. Sam takes a seat next to them and offers his hand to the Nephil, and she anxiously wraps two tentacles around his fingers.
For a few minutes, nothing happens. Dean can hear voices, too inaudible to make out words, and then there's silence. Then a wind stirs the previously dead air, bringing with it whispering, half-heard voices. It's all the warning they get before the world around them whites out. Dean squeezes his eyes shut, but he can't block it out. It's like staring at the heart of a nuclear blast - or like trying to glimpse the true form of an angel. Dean throws an arm over his face, though he knows that if he was going to be harmed by the Ark's effects, it would have happened already.
The whispering becomes shouting, in a language Dean doesn't recognize, and the unholy chorus is joined by another sound that makes Dean's blood run cold.
Screams. Whatever is happening, Castiel is in agonizing pain, and Dean wants to run out and kill Balthazar and company for talking Cas into this. Except much of the blame was his; he'd been the one to ask for help.
Danielle's whimpers become terrified shrieks, and Dean cuddles her closer and whispers soothing nonsense. It's not effective with a baby that can pick up on emotions.
And then the screaming abruptly cuts off, and the light dims. Dean uncovers his face and blinks his eyes, surprised that they don't seem to be suffering any ill effects from the glare. Dean tenses, and Danielle tightens her grip fearfully. There's a moment of silence so profound that Dean wonders for a moment if he's gone deaf, then, "Dean?" Castiel's voice is raw, barely audible. "It's safe to come out."
Dean doesn't need to be told twice. He staggers to his feet, ignoring the protest of his knees (because he's not old enough to be in this much pain, dammit) and rounds the pile of cars, Sam hot on his heels. Balthazar and the others are gone, along with the Ark. Castiel stands wearily at the edge of the wards, and he straightens as soon as he sees Dean and Dani.
Castiel's eyes are glowing, and the nebulous shadows of his wings stretch across the salvage yard. Dean takes two steps towards him, but is forced to stop. Castiel is radiating energy, and it makes Dean's skin tingle uncomfortable and raises the hair on his arms. Danielle seems immune to the effects; she's straining towards Cas with all her tentacles, warbling plaintively. Dean has the urge to bolt, but manages to hold his ground long enough for Castiel to take the Nephil.
"You okay, Cas?" He looks better, if still not one hundred percent.
"I'll live," is all Castiel says.
It's enough.
~oOo~
When a full day passes without Castiel experiencing anything worse than metaphysical indigestion, Dean finally begins to relax. Cas isn't going to explode again, and while he seems a bit moodier than usual, Dean's not going to complain. And at least standing next to him no longer feels like being too close to a downed power line. (Although the fact that Castiel's charge had had a literally hair-raising effect on Sam had made it totally worth it. Dean is going to treasure the photo always.)
Without the constant worry that Cas is going to fade away, things are as peaceful as they can be in the Singer household.
But the Winchesters aren't allowed to have a peaceful life. They've just finished breakfast (which Castiel had graciously shared from his hampers) when Bobby's personal phone rings. He takes it in the study, and when he returns to the kitchen, his face is grim.
"That was Ellie," he says. "Somethin' got to her, and it sounds like she's hurt pretty bad. I'm headin' out to pick her up."
In under half an hour, Bobby and Sam are gone, hopefully in time to save Dr. Visyak and find out what she knows.
Or, more likely, burn her body.
Castiel takes the news silently, his face revealing nothing. Only the fact that he's restless, unable to settle down for his customary post-meal nap, proves he's not unaffected by the news. He reacts by prowling around the house aimlessly, the Nephil clutched tightly to his chest. Danielle peeps tiredly in his arms, obviously confused as to why they're still awake.
Dean would snap at him, tell him to sit down before he drives Dean nuts with his pacing, but his own nerves are taut, and years of finely-honed hunter's instincts are screaming a warning.
Their little calm before the storm, their peaceful domesticity, is at an end.
Something's going down, soon, and it could get Apocalyptic.
Dean spends the day cleaning weapons and checking supplies. Castiel offers to help, and Dean makes an attempt to teach him, until an attempt by Danielle to grab a tentacleful of bullets puts an end to the lesson. Dean banishes them to the horrors of daytime television, where he at least knows his daughter won't be sucking on bullets. That's a nightmare he doesn't need.
Dean is just finishing cleaning his Colt 1911 and buffing off the last of the oil when Castiel comes back into the study, worry creasing his brow.
"Couldn't find the ponies?" Dean asks. He meets Castiel's unwavering gaze, and his amusement fades. "What happened?"
"Balthazar just called," Castiel says. "He says he has news about Raphael he thinks I should hear. He sounded… peculiar."
"Peculiar? Peculiar, how?" Dean slips the Colt down the back of his jeans and picks up an angel blade.
"More guarded with his words. As though someone were listening in."
"Maybe you'd better stay here," Dean says, though he knows it's a futile hope. And oh, how he wishes Danielle could stay behind, but with Cas's severe separation issues, leaving her would be more of a hindrance to him than a help.
"You know I can't," Castiel sighs. "This is a Heavenly matter, and I need to hear it directly from him. Do not worry, Dean… I renewed the wards this morning, and I will not be unarmed. And for the first time since Danielle's birth, I feel strong enough to protect myself."
Dean's not exactly comforted, but there's not really much else he can do.
They head out into the salvage yard, Danielle in the crook of Dean's left elbow and sword gripped in his right hand, and Castiel a stride ahead, his own angel blade held at the ready. When hey reach the heap of junkers that shielded Dean from the Ark, they pause. Dean peers through the shattered windows of the lowermost car, and when he sees nothing suspicious, he beckons Castiel forward.
Balthazar is waiting, alone.
It's not the first time they've met with Balthazar on his own, but something about the way the angel is standing feels… off, somehow. Dean can't put his finger on what, but he trusts his instincts - and they're telling him something is terribly wrong.
Castiel growls and lunges forward, blade flashing.
Balthazar flicks his hand and Castiel goes sprawling, landing on his stomach and flattening out as though pinned. The angel blade rolls away from his hand under the skeletal frame of an old Buick, out of reach.
And Dean… can't move. His muscles have locked, holding him in place.
In his arms, Danielle squalls desperately, torn between trying to see if Dean is okay and wanting to go to her fallen mother.
Balthazar steps over the ward's borderline and stops at the edge of the Devil's Trap painted just inside. He studies it a moment, smirking. And then he looks up, meeting Dean's gaze. With another languid twitch of his fingers, Dean is yanked forward, staggering in an effort to stay upright, until he's within Balthazar's reach. The angel rips Danielle from his grip and holds her at arm's length, ignoring her heartrending wails.
And his eyes change to red-on-black.
It's not Balthazar.
"Crowley," Castiel hisses savagely, lips pulled back from his teeth. Fuck, Dean thinks. It is him, isn't it?
"Cas… you've been holding out on me. You should have told me you needed maternity leave." The demon in the angel's vessel holds Danielle at eye level, examining her closely. Her cries become more shrill. "Ugly little thing, isn't it? Your true form must be quite a sight. No wonder you lot burn eyes out."
Castiel grits his teeth and scrabbles harder against the ground, straining to break free from the invisible hold. Dean sees blood on his fingertips.
"Let her go, Crowley! She's not part of this!" Dean fights the hold on his muscles, but he's hopelessly stuck fast.
Crowley ignores him. He holds out a hand, and a rusted drive shaft pulls free from a skeletal car frame, dragging a furrow in the ground as it slides toward Crowley, breaking the Devil's Trap in the process.
Crowley steps over the trap and stands over Castiel, staring down at the struggling angel with a vicious grin that looks wrong on Balthazar's face.
"Wasn't expecting you to go all Mama Bear on me," he says, amused. "Still, it makes this easier for me - after all, you're coming, too." The force holding Castiel vanishes, and the angel lunges towards the demon and his daughter. "Ah, ah, ah," Crowley tuts, his grip on Danielle tightening. She squeals. "Try anything, and… well, I won't kill her, since I promised my new business partner I'd bring her in alive, but she doesn't need quite so many eyes, does she?"
Castiel makes a strangulated wail. And all the fight just goes out of him. He slumps, gaze downcast, and whispers brokenly, "Please… don't hurt her. Let her go. Take me, instead."
"Sorry, no can do. Unlike some beings I can name," Crowley levels a scorching gaze on Castiel, "I keep my bargains. And my associate wants both of you."
"Dean?" Castiel looks to him helplessly, willing Dean to understand why he has to do this.
"Cas… go. She needs you. I'll find you. I swear it, I'll find you."
"Touching," Crowley sneers. "But ultimately, wrong. Well, come on then, 'Mommy.'" He holds out his hand. "Wouldn't want to separate the family."
Castiel gives Dean one last, anguished look as Crowley's hand grips Castiel's shoulder, and then demon, angel, and Nephil all vanish.
~tbc~
Originally, this chapter was going to have the scene where Cas finally had a breakdown over what Raphael did to him, but it just wasn't working out. So Cas is going to continue coping with his situation remarkably well until I'm in the right frame of mind to handle something emotionally charged like that.
It's now Supernatural canon: Nephilim are badasses that angels can't sense (well, Castiel didn't pick up on what the waitress was) and can beat up angels. Awesome.
I have this bit of headcanon in which Jael, one of the two Cherubim who adorn the top of the Ark, was Crowley before he Fell (and concealed his identity by making up a BS story about being a Scot who wanted a few more inches…) He and Zurall were twins, and the energy contained within the Ark was their Grace, which had been weaponized. (Once again, I owe thanks to my handy Encyclopedia of Angels, which gave me the names of the two Cherubim atop the Ark, though everything else is my own personal fancy. Perhaps I'll write that story some day…)
Author: WynterEyez
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: T
Characters/Pairings: Dean Winchester, Castiel, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, Jody Mills, Hester, Inias, Dean/Castiel
Beta: None, though that would've been a damn good idea, don't you think?
Spoilers: AU after 'The Man Who Would Be King,' contains spoilers for 'Let It Bleed.'
Disclaimer: I don't own them, obviously.
Warnings: References to past mpreg (I can't believe I'm doing this…), discussion of the smiting of a Nephil baby
Summary: Castiel brings a surprise home to Dean. It's gooey. And has tentacles.
Chapter Summary: In which everyone settles into an uncomfortable holding pattern, which, in typical Winchester fashion, ends with a bang.
A/N: Sorry for the wait! Real Life had been rather unbearable, and I've been too miserable to write. Details at my LiveJournal, if anyone is interested. Also, because I apparently needed more challenges in my life, part of this refused to be written, so I spent time working on the final chapters instead. I'm still not satisfied with it, but if I keep tweaking it, it would be years before I completed it.
Ten - Holding Pattern
As Sam lays sprawled on the floor, part of a triangle arranged around Danielle's play area atop a green blanket, he reflects upon how different everything has become in the short time he's been gone.
It's not just the freakishly clean house (which isn't spotless, but it probably hasn't been this clean since Bobby's wife was alive and he cared about home maintenance) that has changed, or Danielle, who has become much more vigorous and talkative since he'd seen her last. No, the real difference is in the relationship between Dean and Castiel.
Dean is sitting, cross-legged, watching his daughter's antics. Castiel is laying on his side, head pillowed on his arms, entirely focused on Danielle. One forearm is pressed against Dean's thigh, and Dean hasn't done anything to discourage the touch. Quite the opposite; he'd shifted into the touch without any prompting from Cas.
Sam surreptitiously studies Castiel, noting how his stubble and the perpetual bags under his eyes seem darker than normal against too-pale skin. The gray AC/DC shirt that he'd obviously gotten from Dean doesn't hide the bony arms, or the concave stomach. The sweatpants look like they're barely clinging to his waist and are ready to shimmy down his thighs at the first opportunity.
Despite the massive quantities of food that Balthazar has provided, Castiel obviously isn't recovering like he should.
But there are some positive changes, such as Castiel's handling of Danielle. He's more confident now, and seems fond of his daughter. He'd even smiled when Sam had remarked on how smart she was. Even now, he's watching her with interest and curiosity, and is even assisting her play.
Danielle has a new game: she clambers awkwardly onto Sam's back, then rolls off into the pile of stuffed toys. From the sounds she makes, this is the greatest thing ever. Sam had initially worried, but then he'd noticed that when Danielle misses the toys, she lands on what looks like a cushion of air a couple of inches above the blanket. Cas is catching her, somehow, probably with a wing or some equally invisible body part. Sam's tempted to reach out and feel whatever it is, but then decides that groping invisible limbs might prove awkward - God only knows just what he'd be putting his hands on.
So instead he focuses on Danielle, who has just decided to take a break from her play to yank a strand of Sam's hair into her beaky mouth. Dean guffaws, and even Castiel seems to find this amusing. Or perhaps he's just relieved to have Dani chew on something besides his feathers.
"Um… little help, here?" Sam pleads, when he's unable to reach around and pull his hair from the Nephil's grabby tentacles. When Dean just smirks, and Castiel yawns, Sam takes matters into his own hands by tempting her with the teething ring. She immediately abandons his hair in favor of sucking on the squishy ring, mumbling contentedly. Her tentacles drape down over Sam's ribcage and he strokes one, marveling at the velvety smoothness of the mottled red and black flesh, and the stretchiness of the tissue (she's going to have a long reach; keeping things out of range is going to be a challenge.) In response, she curls the tip around his fingers.
She's incredible. Having someone greet him so joyously, with such unconditional love, feels fantastic. Yes, he has Dean, but their ways of showing affection for each other had matured. Mostly.
He wonders if this is how Dean felt when they were little and Sam hadn't even started school yet, when Sam had squealed and thrown himself into Dean's arms every time Dean came home. No wonder Dean had tolerated his baby brother's clinging hugs and sloppy kisses; it feels good to come home to someone who loves you.
From the way Dean beams at them, he knows his brother is pleased by their connection. Cas just watches, but he no longer looks wary of others handling his child. Mostly, he just looks tired.
Bobby is puttering away in the kitchen; from the sound of his grumbling and the occasional rattle and bang, he's trying to set it back to the way it was before Dean had become possessed by Martha Stewart. Probably trying to take his mind off the fact that Dr. Visyak was a Purgatory denizen - and that she'd refused his help in hiding from Crowley. He'd sat with them for awhile, sharing his findings with Dean and, (somewhat reluctantly,) Cas. Danielle had sat in his lap and burbled happily, and Bobby had shaken her stuffed octopus around to make its eyes wiggle, much to her obvious delight.
He'd seemed very reluctant to set her on the blanket and head off to fix something to eat.
With their last lead to open Purgatory vanished, they're left with nothing to do but wait until Dr. Visyak changes her mind or worse, Crowley makes his move. Sam's feeling a little adrift without having something to research or hunt. Odd; he'd always thought Dean would be the one who couldn't live without hunting, yet here he'd spent a week taking care of his newborn and cleaning house, and he seemed happier than Sam had ever seen him.
Sam had always known his brother has a well-hidden desire for normalcy, but he hadn't realized that Dean thrives on it.
And then Castiel does something that makes the scene even more shockingly domestic. The angel pushes himself up on his hands, drags himself forward, and flops onto Dean's lap with a huff of breath. And Dean automatically responds by rubbing the spot between Castiel's shoulders, eliciting a contented sigh from the angel.
Despite the desire to gape as his brother, Sam averts his gaze. Some new rapport had developed between the two while he was away, and if Sam makes a big deal of it, Dean might become self-conscious and 'man up', withdrawing his attention from Castiel. Cas really doesn't need that right now, not when he obviously craves the touch.
Danielle slithers down Sam's shoulders and across the blanket, into Castiel's waiting arms. Her eyes all blink slowly, disconcertingly out of sync, then all close at once.
This seems to be a signal that Castiel no longer needs to fight his own weariness, because once Danielle's breaths even out, Castiel's own drooping eyelids close, and it's not long before he's a relaxed, boneless heap in Dean's lap. Dean rolls his eyes, but makes no attempt to push Castiel off.
"He's still sleeping with you, huh?"
Dean eyes Sam for a moment, obviously trying to figure out if Sam's teasing him. He's not; under other circumstances, it would be hilarious that Dean's an angel's security blanket. But there's nothing humorous about Castiel's sheer - and justified - terror of being alone when he's in such a vulnerable state. "Yeah," Dean says, gaze dropping to Castiel's slack face. "He's okay when he naps, so long as I don't leave the house, but at night he's always right there, clinging to me with way more limbs than he should have."
Sam fights back the urge to make a snarky comment about real life not living up to the Japanese tentacle porn he knows Dean watches.
"How is he?" Sam studies Castiel's wan, thin face, still showing strain even in sleep.
Dean's lips tighten. "Not as well as he pretends to be. The wound on his belly still hasn't healed, and he looks like he's losing weight again. He seemed to be doing okay once Balthazar started bringing food, but the more active Danielle gets, the more she feeds from his Grace, and I don't think he can keep up with her needs. He needs… he needs a full recharge, and he can only get that in Heaven," Dean concludes dully.
And the moment he sets foot in Heaven, he'll be killed, Dean doesn't need to add.
It's a real dick move, Sam thinks, to design a reproductive cycle that painfully incapacitates the nurturing parent and makes them utterly dependent upon their family. It could be meant as a way to discourage unplanned pregnancy, but still, Sam can't see any advantage to this. If something were to fight through the guardians to the nursery or nesting grounds or whatever angels use, the angels and infants would be completely helpless.
And then, beneath Dean's hands, Castiel shudders. It begins as a series of spinal twitches that become more frequent and spread throughout his body. Dean pulls back, then grips Castiel's shoulders and tries to hold him steady.
A particularly violent, full-body jerk nearly dislodges Castiel from Dean's lap. Danielle doesn't wake, but she does snuggle closer and tighten her grip around Cas's arms. And then he abruptly sags, limbs loose and sprawling, features smoothing out. Only a slight furrow to his brow shows he's not wholly relaxed.
Dean stares down at Castiel's still form, rubbing soothing circles into the angel's back until even the furrow is gone. "He's never done that before," he says, lips drawn into a frown when Castiel doesn't repeat the convulsions.
"Bad dream?" Sam suggests hopefully.
"He doesn't dream."
"Has he said -" Sam begins, and Dean stops him with an annoyed snarl.
"He doesn't say anything," Dean grinds out. "He's been hiding this from me. Dammit, Sam, why doesn't he understand that I want to help him?"
Sam doesn't bother to point out that the last time Castiel had come to them for help with his unexpected newborn, Dean had yelled and Cas had fled. And before that, they'd trapped him in a ring of holy fire and refused to listen to his explanations. Sam can't really blame Cas for keeping his problems to himself; they've set a rather unpleasant precedent.
"And I take it he still gets annoyed when you ask him anything?"
"Yeah." Dean smiles wanly. "Unfortunately, he seems to have gone to the Winchester School of Hiding Your Pain From Your Loved Ones. All he tells me now is that he's 'fine.'" Dean brushes away a curl of dark hair clinging to Castiel's sweaty forehead.
"You think he's dying."
"I think… if he doesn't recover soon, he will die, yeah. And if he dies… so does Dani."
No. They can't lose any more family - especially not this fragile new life who makes Dean so happy.
And makes Sam happy, as well. It's been awhile since their family has felt anywhere near whole.
Dean suddenly frowns, and Sam drops his gaze to Castiel's face. The furrow in Castiel's brow is back, along with a pained grimace. Though there isn't a repeat of the seizure, at least.
Still, Sam can't shake the feeling there'll be worse to come…
~oOo~
Castiel's hands are trembling. He doesn't think Dean notices, but it's obvious to Castiel. Fortunately, burgers don't require steady hands, and he's able to finish his final portion of food without causing a scene.
Finished, he sits back in the couch, Danielle wrapped tightly in his arms, and fights to stay awake. He's been sleeping far too much lately, and he's waking up tired. If this keeps up, Dean will catch on that something is seriously wrong, and Cas doesn't want to worry him. He's already caught Dean giving him odd, searching looks, and knows from his expression that Dean doesn't like what he sees.
They're watching a cartoon Castiel had found about a little girl and a blue alien, and Castiel finds it rather charming. There's something about the little misunderstood made creature, a dangerous being that discovers it is capable of feeling love and compassion, that Castiel can relate to.
It also makes him ask Dean if they should get a dog for Danielle.
"A dog?" Dean sputters. "Why would we want a dog?"
"Pets teach responsibility," Castiel says reasonably. "They protect their families, and can sense the presence of many supernatural creatures. A dog would be a good playmate for Danielle. Plus, stroking a pet can lower blood pressure - something you could use, Dean. You are no longer young, and you should take better care of yourself."
Sam stifles a laugh. Dean just looks indignant.
"Yeah, but… Dogs shed. And scratch. And poop."
"So do you," Castiel counters.
Sam's less successful this time around hiding his amusement. Dean glowers.
"I don't understand your unwillingness to have a pet," Castiel says. "It would be simpler to care for than Danielle. Perhaps you would prefer we get a cat, instead? I like cats."
"Can we wait until she's older to have this discussion?" Dean sounds a little desperate. "She's too young to do anything with a pet anyway, except maybe suck on its tail. And I don't want some mangy mutt attacking Dani for treating it like one of her stuffed toys."
Castiel sighs in exasperation. "I would ask it not to, Dean. Animals respect angels, unlike some humans I know. Still, we will postpone this discussion until Danielle is old enough to appreciate a pet."
He's not sure why Dean looks as if he won a great victory. Castiel is not going to forget this. Besides, if Castiel doesn't improve, then this is all a moot point, anyway.
Castiel leans forward to unearth the television remote from the clutter of food wrappers on the coffee table (Dean had warned Castiel not to accidentally eat it during his bingeing; he thinks Dean meant it as a joke, but Castiel had taken the warning to heart since it was a real possibility, given his voracious hunger), and suddenly the world seems to be yanked out from under him. He's distantly aware of the sensation of falling, and thinks this should alarm him more than it actually does. But before he can muster an appropriate emotional response, his vision goes black, and he's not feeling anything at all.
"Cas? What the Hell? Cas? CAS!"
Castiel jerks back into consciousness with a keen that shatters the glasses on the table and cracks a window. He pushes to his hands and knees, knocking his head on the underside of the coffee table (what is he doing on the floor?) and staggers to his feet, blade out and eyes wild as he searches for the foe who'd felled him. A hoarse voice is repeating, not again, NOT AGAIN… and he's shocked to realize the irrational, babbling voice is his.
"Cas, hey, whoa, it's just us!" Dean's voice cuts through blinding panic, and finally he turns to the other man. Dean is clutching Danielle, who's screeching and fighting his grip, her tentacles reaching desperately towards Castiel. "You're in Bobby's living room; Raphael didn't touch you. It's just us here. You're safe."
Sanity returns, and Castiel lowers his blade. "I'm sorry. I don't know what happened," he says slowly. It had been like being rendered unconscious, but he'd taken no injury.
"Cas, you passed out." At Castiel's blank look, Dean clarifies, "You fainted."
Fainted? That was an alarming turn of events.
Danielle's wails reach a pitch that borders on an angel's true voice, and Castiel holds out his arms for her. Dean hands her over and she subsides to whimpers as she anxiously probes Castiel's face. He cradles her close, feeling her solid, comforting weight against him. "Has she been harmed?" Castiel asks as he strokes her soft back. He'd obviously fallen, and had mostly likely dropped her in the process.
"She's more scared than anything else, I think." Dean tenderly strokes one floppy wing, which is quaking beneath his touch. "You dropped her, but she wasn't hurt." Despite Dean's assurance, Castiel still checks her over, and sags with relief when he doesn't find any injuries.
"Cas! Talk to me. What's wrong with you?"
"I'm fi-"
"Don't give me that 'fine' crap. I invented that." Before Castiel can divert Dean by pointing out the inaccuracy of this statement and explaining the real origin of the word fine, Dean says, "Talk to me, Cas. I want to help you."
"You can't, Dean. This isn't something you can do anything about. No one can help me with this." Castiel's gaze drops to the Nephil trembling in his arms. "I can't keep up with Danielle's needs. She feeds on Grace faster than I can replenish it. A baby angel must absorb enough Grace to grow to adult size, and acquires much of that Grace through not only its parents, but from Heaven itself. It is doubtful Danielle will grow to my size, but she can still take enough to… to kill me," he sighs. He's prepared to make that sacrifice, for her sake. He thinks he can hang on long enough to get her past her critical growing period.
Maybe.
"But… she's tiny! And you're the size of a building, right? How can she be taking that much from you?" Dean's eyes are wild, and Castiel realizes Dean's afraid for him. If circumstances weren't so dire, it would have been gratifying to see their relationship is recovering.
"Remember, her birth took a large chunk of my Grace that I have yet to recover. And there is more to her than what you see. Like me, she is multi-dimensional." He decides not to tell Dean she has more wings, eyes, and tentacles that he can't see. Dean's negative comments about her appearance - and Castiel's by proxy - still sting.
"Can we… wean her off?" Sam asks. "You've been eating to replenish your Grace; would that work with her? Could we just give her more formula?"
"She's too young to be weaned; she still needs nourishment only my Grace can give her. And she has a human's stomach capacity. She consumes as much solid food as she is able. To force more on her would make her ill. No; she needs Grace."
"She should be feeding off both parents, right? Can she do what you did with Bobby and feed on my soul?" He looks as though the idea makes him ill - humans are protective of their souls, after all - but obviously, he'll do whatever it takes to save Danielle.
Castiel shakes his head. "She's shown no interest in your soul. Which is fortunate; she would lack the fine control needed to touch a soul without harming it. She would kill you." He suspects that wouldn't deter Dean, if it saved Danielle's life, so it's fortunate that she doesn't feed off human souls.
Castiel flops back onto the couch with far less grace than he usually commands and cuddles Danielle to his chest. She's calmer now, and humming tunelessly as she absorbs his Grace, utterly oblivious to the fact that she's draining the life from him. Castiel grabs the remote and flips the channel to the first thing he finds that isn't daytime television.
"Cas," Dean begins, after several moments of being pointedly ignored.
"This discussion is over," Castiel snaps, and turns his head to the television to watch a documentary about cute baby animals that will likely die horribly before reaching adulthood. It's far less depressing than the reality he's facing.
~oOo~
As soon as Castiel settles down for a nap (and now that Dean's aware of how serious things are, he realizes Cas has been sleeping more frequently lately) he heads out to the salvage yard, to pick up Balthazar's next food delivery - and to swallow his pride and beg for divine intervention.
"Balthazar? Inias?" Dean hesitates, but he's desperate. "Hester? Please… I need to speak to you."
There's the beat of immense wings, and suddenly Hester is there, watching him with wary contempt. "What is it?" she demands.
"It's Cas… he's fading, fast. He needs more than just this." He gestures at the trio of hampers.
Hester may be contemptuous of Dean, but she's a loyal soldier, and Castiel is her brother as well as her former commanding officer. "What would you have us do?" she asks, tilting her head, Cas-like. "We can't just sneak him into Heaven."
"Couldn't you just… sneak a bit of Heaven to him? Souls recharge him too, right? Why not bring a couple to him, just enough to get him back on his feet again?" Dean asks desperately. The thought of so many people snatched out of their comfy little Heavens to power up Castiel makes him nauseous, but he's desperate. The lives of his best friend and his daughter are at stake.
"Castiel is missing almost a third of his Grace. It would require thousands of souls to replace all that; such a large number of souls could not be taken from Heaven without notice - or consequence."
A third? When Castiel had originally spoken of part of his Grace going to Danielle, he'd said he'd lost a quarter of it. Was Danielle really consuming that much? What was the maximum amount of Grace an angel could lose before succumbing?
"I'll talk to Balthazar. I don't know what he can do, but he will at least increase Castiel's food supply." She stares off into the distance, lips pursed thoughtfully. "The Heavenly weapons," she muses slowly. "They have been soaking up Grace for millennia. Perhaps Castiel may be able to siphon energy from one of them. I will discuss this with Balthazar."
Dean realizes he likes Hester, after all. She may be brusque, but she obviously cares deeply for her brother, exiled though he may be. "Thank you," Dean says, heartfelt.
She waves her hand dismissively. "I'm doing this for Castiel. And it's likely nothing will come of this." And with that, she's gone. Now, all he can do is wait, and hope the angels come up with some sort of solution.
The answer comes sooner than they expected. Some forty-five minutes after Castiel had dug into the first hamper, he receives a call from Balthazar.
"Dean," Castiel says, as he places the phone carefully back into his pocket, "why does Balthazar feel that I need help?"
"I asked," Dean says, chin lifted stubbornly. "You're not getting better on your own."
"You told them I am weak." Castiel's voice is carefully empty of emotion, and Dean realizes he's angry. That cold, smiting rage that forced Dean to remember that he's dealing with something ancient and alien that could smite Dean's puny human ass as easily as Dean would swat a fly. "They may be my allies, but I am still under a death sentence, and now they know I am vulnerable."
"I'm not going to just sit back and watch you die," Dean snarls. "I'm not losing any more family on my watch. If they've thought of a way to help you, then you're going to take it. Besides, they already know you're in trouble - Hester said a third of your Grace is gone. A third. If you were human you'd be dead!"
Castiel has that determined, stubborn set to his jaw, and for a moment Dean thinks he's going to refuse. But then Danielle peeps, and his gaze drops to her multitude of guileless, adoring eyes, and he caves. "All right. I'll listen to what they have to say."
So they head out into the salvage yard, the armed Winchester brothers walking ahead of Castiel and Danielle. Because Castiel is right; allies or no, angels are conditioned to kill Nephilim and their parents. Keeping that in mind, they're heavily armed and ready for anything.
Anything, that is, except for the sight that greets him.
Dean stumbles to a halt, and Sam runs into him. It's a bit like being hit by a train, Dean thinks. But not as yielding.
"Is that the freaking Ark of the Covenant?" Dean stares, slack-jawed, at the gleaming chest slung between Inias and Hester. It's plated with pure, flawless gold, intricately carved, and topped by a curving lid decorated with two angels, wingtips touching. Unlike the movie prop, however, these angels are four-faced monstrosities, part man, part lion, part eagle and ox.
Even Sam is awed. "It's real?" he breathes, voice high with excitement.
"Of course it's real," Balthazar snaps. "And yes, it can melt the faces off Nazis and dumb asses, so unless you've always wanted an excuse for reconstructive surgery, I would recommend you stand behind one of these heaps of rusty eyesores when we open it."
"Right," Sam says weakly, backing away as though terrified the lid was going to open of its own volition.
"What's inside?" Dean asks, creeping closer to the artifact in spite of his determination not to leave the wards. He just wants to take a peek…
Cas snags his shoulder and jerks him back. "The Ark is very alluring," he warns. "And I do not wish for your face to be melted off. I like it the way it is."
Dean opens his mouth, then snaps it shut, not sure how to respond to that.
"What is inside?" Sam asks warily. "Lore says it held the stone tablets Ten Commandments, and possibly manna and a scroll written by Moses. It just sounds like some elaborate storage chest."
Balthazar snorts, and his voice drips with condescension as he explains, "Yes, it did contain the Commandments, but it had other purposes. It provided a direct line between God and Moses through the statues, and brought plagues upon unbelievers. It stopped the flow of rivers, and brought low pagan gods. All this was due to the Ark's secret, the contents it was built to contain: the combined Graces of the twin Cherubim Jael and Zurall, given freely in the service of the Lord. It is much more than a 'storage chest.' Most importantly, however, Castiel may be able to take a portion of this Grace within himself and replenish what he has lost. Emphasis on may. Castiel is a Seraph; his Grace is a different wavelength from a Cherub's. And this Grace has been altered for use by faithful humans, 'weaponized,' so to speak, so it may not take at all. Think of this as being like a skin graft. It could integrate into his own Grace, or Castiel may find it incompatible and reject it."
"And if he rejects it, no harm done, right?" Dean asks, eyes narrowing. Balthazar's attitude about this is almost too cavalier; he's hiding something.
When Balthazar doesn't immediately respond, Dean opens his mouth to demand an answer. Castiel cuts him off with a quiet, "I may explode. Again."
"No," Dean says immediately. "No way are you getting near that thing, Cas!"
"It may be the only way to hold him together long enough for his Grace to regenerate on its own," Balthazar says.
"I'm willing to try," Castiel says determinedly.
"Cas! Did you not hear the bit about exploding?" Dean snarls. "No friggin' way you're doing this!"
Castiel meets Dean's eyes with his own unflinching stare. "I was under the impression that you wanted me to go along with their plan, whatever the risk," Castiel says calmly. "I have been blown apart twice before. It is a far less painful death than this slow erosion of my Grace. If I am to die either way, let it be a death of my choosing." His expressions softens. "I would not do this if there was any other choice. It may be the only way to save myself - and Danielle."
Castiel hands off Danielle to Dean. "Go. I will be fine," he says. He doesn't sound convinced.
But there's nothing Dean can say to change his mind. And really, Dean knows deep down that this is necessary. Castiel is dying, and they're out of options.
Dean reluctantly heads off to the nearest pile of junkers and crouches behind it, Danielle cradled to his chest. Now that Castiel is out of her line of sight, she's starting to whimper. Sam takes a seat next to them and offers his hand to the Nephil, and she anxiously wraps two tentacles around his fingers.
For a few minutes, nothing happens. Dean can hear voices, too inaudible to make out words, and then there's silence. Then a wind stirs the previously dead air, bringing with it whispering, half-heard voices. It's all the warning they get before the world around them whites out. Dean squeezes his eyes shut, but he can't block it out. It's like staring at the heart of a nuclear blast - or like trying to glimpse the true form of an angel. Dean throws an arm over his face, though he knows that if he was going to be harmed by the Ark's effects, it would have happened already.
The whispering becomes shouting, in a language Dean doesn't recognize, and the unholy chorus is joined by another sound that makes Dean's blood run cold.
Screams. Whatever is happening, Castiel is in agonizing pain, and Dean wants to run out and kill Balthazar and company for talking Cas into this. Except much of the blame was his; he'd been the one to ask for help.
Danielle's whimpers become terrified shrieks, and Dean cuddles her closer and whispers soothing nonsense. It's not effective with a baby that can pick up on emotions.
And then the screaming abruptly cuts off, and the light dims. Dean uncovers his face and blinks his eyes, surprised that they don't seem to be suffering any ill effects from the glare. Dean tenses, and Danielle tightens her grip fearfully. There's a moment of silence so profound that Dean wonders for a moment if he's gone deaf, then, "Dean?" Castiel's voice is raw, barely audible. "It's safe to come out."
Dean doesn't need to be told twice. He staggers to his feet, ignoring the protest of his knees (because he's not old enough to be in this much pain, dammit) and rounds the pile of cars, Sam hot on his heels. Balthazar and the others are gone, along with the Ark. Castiel stands wearily at the edge of the wards, and he straightens as soon as he sees Dean and Dani.
Castiel's eyes are glowing, and the nebulous shadows of his wings stretch across the salvage yard. Dean takes two steps towards him, but is forced to stop. Castiel is radiating energy, and it makes Dean's skin tingle uncomfortable and raises the hair on his arms. Danielle seems immune to the effects; she's straining towards Cas with all her tentacles, warbling plaintively. Dean has the urge to bolt, but manages to hold his ground long enough for Castiel to take the Nephil.
"You okay, Cas?" He looks better, if still not one hundred percent.
"I'll live," is all Castiel says.
It's enough.
~oOo~
When a full day passes without Castiel experiencing anything worse than metaphysical indigestion, Dean finally begins to relax. Cas isn't going to explode again, and while he seems a bit moodier than usual, Dean's not going to complain. And at least standing next to him no longer feels like being too close to a downed power line. (Although the fact that Castiel's charge had had a literally hair-raising effect on Sam had made it totally worth it. Dean is going to treasure the photo always.)
Without the constant worry that Cas is going to fade away, things are as peaceful as they can be in the Singer household.
But the Winchesters aren't allowed to have a peaceful life. They've just finished breakfast (which Castiel had graciously shared from his hampers) when Bobby's personal phone rings. He takes it in the study, and when he returns to the kitchen, his face is grim.
"That was Ellie," he says. "Somethin' got to her, and it sounds like she's hurt pretty bad. I'm headin' out to pick her up."
In under half an hour, Bobby and Sam are gone, hopefully in time to save Dr. Visyak and find out what she knows.
Or, more likely, burn her body.
Castiel takes the news silently, his face revealing nothing. Only the fact that he's restless, unable to settle down for his customary post-meal nap, proves he's not unaffected by the news. He reacts by prowling around the house aimlessly, the Nephil clutched tightly to his chest. Danielle peeps tiredly in his arms, obviously confused as to why they're still awake.
Dean would snap at him, tell him to sit down before he drives Dean nuts with his pacing, but his own nerves are taut, and years of finely-honed hunter's instincts are screaming a warning.
Their little calm before the storm, their peaceful domesticity, is at an end.
Something's going down, soon, and it could get Apocalyptic.
Dean spends the day cleaning weapons and checking supplies. Castiel offers to help, and Dean makes an attempt to teach him, until an attempt by Danielle to grab a tentacleful of bullets puts an end to the lesson. Dean banishes them to the horrors of daytime television, where he at least knows his daughter won't be sucking on bullets. That's a nightmare he doesn't need.
Dean is just finishing cleaning his Colt 1911 and buffing off the last of the oil when Castiel comes back into the study, worry creasing his brow.
"Couldn't find the ponies?" Dean asks. He meets Castiel's unwavering gaze, and his amusement fades. "What happened?"
"Balthazar just called," Castiel says. "He says he has news about Raphael he thinks I should hear. He sounded… peculiar."
"Peculiar? Peculiar, how?" Dean slips the Colt down the back of his jeans and picks up an angel blade.
"More guarded with his words. As though someone were listening in."
"Maybe you'd better stay here," Dean says, though he knows it's a futile hope. And oh, how he wishes Danielle could stay behind, but with Cas's severe separation issues, leaving her would be more of a hindrance to him than a help.
"You know I can't," Castiel sighs. "This is a Heavenly matter, and I need to hear it directly from him. Do not worry, Dean… I renewed the wards this morning, and I will not be unarmed. And for the first time since Danielle's birth, I feel strong enough to protect myself."
Dean's not exactly comforted, but there's not really much else he can do.
They head out into the salvage yard, Danielle in the crook of Dean's left elbow and sword gripped in his right hand, and Castiel a stride ahead, his own angel blade held at the ready. When hey reach the heap of junkers that shielded Dean from the Ark, they pause. Dean peers through the shattered windows of the lowermost car, and when he sees nothing suspicious, he beckons Castiel forward.
Balthazar is waiting, alone.
It's not the first time they've met with Balthazar on his own, but something about the way the angel is standing feels… off, somehow. Dean can't put his finger on what, but he trusts his instincts - and they're telling him something is terribly wrong.
Castiel growls and lunges forward, blade flashing.
Balthazar flicks his hand and Castiel goes sprawling, landing on his stomach and flattening out as though pinned. The angel blade rolls away from his hand under the skeletal frame of an old Buick, out of reach.
And Dean… can't move. His muscles have locked, holding him in place.
In his arms, Danielle squalls desperately, torn between trying to see if Dean is okay and wanting to go to her fallen mother.
Balthazar steps over the ward's borderline and stops at the edge of the Devil's Trap painted just inside. He studies it a moment, smirking. And then he looks up, meeting Dean's gaze. With another languid twitch of his fingers, Dean is yanked forward, staggering in an effort to stay upright, until he's within Balthazar's reach. The angel rips Danielle from his grip and holds her at arm's length, ignoring her heartrending wails.
And his eyes change to red-on-black.
It's not Balthazar.
"Crowley," Castiel hisses savagely, lips pulled back from his teeth. Fuck, Dean thinks. It is him, isn't it?
"Cas… you've been holding out on me. You should have told me you needed maternity leave." The demon in the angel's vessel holds Danielle at eye level, examining her closely. Her cries become more shrill. "Ugly little thing, isn't it? Your true form must be quite a sight. No wonder you lot burn eyes out."
Castiel grits his teeth and scrabbles harder against the ground, straining to break free from the invisible hold. Dean sees blood on his fingertips.
"Let her go, Crowley! She's not part of this!" Dean fights the hold on his muscles, but he's hopelessly stuck fast.
Crowley ignores him. He holds out a hand, and a rusted drive shaft pulls free from a skeletal car frame, dragging a furrow in the ground as it slides toward Crowley, breaking the Devil's Trap in the process.
Crowley steps over the trap and stands over Castiel, staring down at the struggling angel with a vicious grin that looks wrong on Balthazar's face.
"Wasn't expecting you to go all Mama Bear on me," he says, amused. "Still, it makes this easier for me - after all, you're coming, too." The force holding Castiel vanishes, and the angel lunges towards the demon and his daughter. "Ah, ah, ah," Crowley tuts, his grip on Danielle tightening. She squeals. "Try anything, and… well, I won't kill her, since I promised my new business partner I'd bring her in alive, but she doesn't need quite so many eyes, does she?"
Castiel makes a strangulated wail. And all the fight just goes out of him. He slumps, gaze downcast, and whispers brokenly, "Please… don't hurt her. Let her go. Take me, instead."
"Sorry, no can do. Unlike some beings I can name," Crowley levels a scorching gaze on Castiel, "I keep my bargains. And my associate wants both of you."
"Dean?" Castiel looks to him helplessly, willing Dean to understand why he has to do this.
"Cas… go. She needs you. I'll find you. I swear it, I'll find you."
"Touching," Crowley sneers. "But ultimately, wrong. Well, come on then, 'Mommy.'" He holds out his hand. "Wouldn't want to separate the family."
Castiel gives Dean one last, anguished look as Crowley's hand grips Castiel's shoulder, and then demon, angel, and Nephil all vanish.
~tbc~
Originally, this chapter was going to have the scene where Cas finally had a breakdown over what Raphael did to him, but it just wasn't working out. So Cas is going to continue coping with his situation remarkably well until I'm in the right frame of mind to handle something emotionally charged like that.
It's now Supernatural canon: Nephilim are badasses that angels can't sense (well, Castiel didn't pick up on what the waitress was) and can beat up angels. Awesome.
I have this bit of headcanon in which Jael, one of the two Cherubim who adorn the top of the Ark, was Crowley before he Fell (and concealed his identity by making up a BS story about being a Scot who wanted a few more inches…) He and Zurall were twins, and the energy contained within the Ark was their Grace, which had been weaponized. (Once again, I owe thanks to my handy Encyclopedia of Angels, which gave me the names of the two Cherubim atop the Ark, though everything else is my own personal fancy. Perhaps I'll write that story some day…)