Fic: Guard Duty (Supernatural)
My newest entry for hc_bingo. I'm not really sure whether this can actually count, to be honest. It's got hurt Sam and Dean both. And Dean kinda gets some comfort. But that really was only half the point in the story. I started with the begging section and this is what happened.
Anyway, like always, please be aware that I suck at editing, but will gladly take feedback if something looks wonky or I got happy with the commas again.
Title: Guard Duty
Fandom: Supernatural
Character(s): Castiel, Dean
Pairing(s): Gen
Prompt: Begging
Word Count: 2,272
Rating: PG-13 for minor cussing
Disclaimer: Not mine. If you recognize it, I had no hand in making it. I do not own any piece of the Supernatural awesomeness. It all belongs to Kripke et. al. I’m just borrowing for a minute.
Warnings: None
Summary: Castiel has been assigned to watch the Winchester boys. Set during AHBL, but with references to future events.
Castiel watched.
He had been watching for a very long time.
He was there when Samuel Winchester was fed demon blood in his cradle.
A thing leaned over the cradle. A thing wearing the face of a man. But babies are new souls and they know when a thing is good or bad and tiny Samuel Winchester knew the monster peering down at him was evil. He began first to snuffle, then to cry. The man reached out a finger to stroke the baby’s cheek. At the brush of his fingertip, the cries turned to wails.
The man drew back with a smile and rolled up his sleeve. With a knife, he sliced a quick, clean cut that began to well blood. He let several fat drops roll off his arm to drip into Samuel’s open mouth. The baby caught the acrid taste and howled all the louder.
Before the man could leave, Mary Winchester came into the room in a panic. She stopped, eyes wide.
“You.”
He was there when Dean Winchester lost his mother and his home.
“Take Sammy and run!” John Winchester barked as shoved the infant at Dean. “Now, Dean!”
Dean Winchester held his brother in his small arms. He ran as fast as he could, ever aware of the small life he held, not looking back until he was well out of the burning building.
Castiel had seen the exact moment Dean understood that his mother was gone. It was the moment he saw John Winchester stumble out of the house without his wife. Dean knew and he took it with all the dignity and equanimity of a man perhaps even older than John Winchester. And through all the commotion, he never once let his brother out of his arms. Dean and Samuel Winchester fell asleep together in the backseat of the Impala for the first of many times.
He watched as two boys grew up in the backseat of a long, black car, depending only on each other.
John Winchester was on a case. Dean and Samuel Winchester had been ordered to stay within the safety of the car. As he was leaving, John stooped to make eye contact with Dean, and said, “Whatever happens, watch out for you brother.”
Dean, barely tall enough to see over the dash of the Impala, nodded. “Yes, sir.”
John nodded and slammed the car door.
Both boys watched their father walk away into the woods.
“Where does Daddy go when he does that?”
“To work.”
“But what does he do, Dean?”
Dean heaved a sigh and started to root through the glove compartment. “I’ve told you, Sammy. Dad’s a traveling salesman. He’s going to go sell stuff.”
“What’s a twaveling salesman?”
“Traveling,” Dean corrected. He smiled as he pulled out a ratty old book that was missing its cover. “They move around and try to get other people to buy things.”
“What does he sell?”
Dean shrugged. “Just stuff.” Before Sam could ask another question, Dean had clambered into the backseat. He settled himself next to Sam and held out the book.
“C’mon. I think you’re old enough to start reading books to me for a change.”
Sam Winchester stared at his brother with wide eyes. “Really, Dean? You’ll teach me?”
“Course. Can’t have an illiterate brother.”
Samuel flung himself at Dean. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”
When he pulled back, he made a face. “What’s ill-it-are-at mean?”
Castiel watched as they lost their father.
“I just don’t want to fight anymore.”
Dean had regained his body and was lying in a hospital bed, looking like he had been punched in the gut, even though his most grievous wounds should have been healed. Castiel knew that John Winchester had made that part of the bargain and was about to fulfill the last piece of his deal.
“Hey Sam, would you mind getting me a cup of caffeine?”
This seemingly inconsequential request following John’s uncharacteristic speech had worried Samuel. Castiel could see it in his body language. Both Winchester boys were uneasy with the events of the past few hours and with good reason. But Samuel Winchester agreed to get coffee, despite his misgivings.
As the youngest Winchester left, John grew even more serious. He turned to Dean. Castiel felt distinctly uncomfortable as the two talked. He knew this was a private moment, but his orders, and his curiosity kept him in the room, listening long after he knew he should have gone.
John Winchester glanced out the door, then at the clock. He leaned in close to Dean to whisper in his ear. Castiel moved in to hear what was said.
“That demon. The thing that killed your mother, he’s got plans for Sam. There’s a reason all these things keep happening around that boy. Something big is about to go down, and Sammy is caught up in the middle of it. Save him, Dean. Do whatever you have to because if you can’t save him, you’re going to have to kill him.”
With that parting message, John left the room. Dean sat in silence, processing what his father had just told him. He did not move from the position John had left him in until he heard Samuel screaming in the hallway.
By the time Samuel got to the room, Dean had stumbled his way to the door. Together they maneuvered to the room where doctors were trying to revive John Winchester. In all his time observing the Winchesters, nothing he had seen compared to the devastation in the boys’ eyes at the doctor’s announcement.
“Time of death, 10:41 A.M.”
Castiel leaned back against the corner of the room where he was hiding himself and settled back into his vigil. He wasn’t sure who the vigil was for, the dead man or the one who knelt over him.
Both had important roles to play in the coming war. His mission was to watch Michael’s vessel - watch, but not interfere - until the time was right for him to step into his destiny.
True, the death of Samuel Winchester was regrettable and would be rectified eventually by one of Lucifer’s minions, Michael would see to that. Samuel was to be Lucifer’s vessel and was a necessary pawn in the end of days.
Perhaps things were better this way. Sam Winchester was a tainted creature. He was corrupted from inside by the demon blood that still beat in his veins. Such a creature should not be left free to walk the earth.
Castiel had watched as Sam Winchester died. He had seen how the soul had risen from the prison of that body and was reminded that sometimes allowing a creature to die was kinder than allowing it to live.
Castiel had reached out and touched it. He wondered at the beauty that had survived in such conditions. He’d held Sam’s soul in his hand. It was not the blazing beacon that defined the elder Winchester. Dean’s soul pulsed in time with his heart and was almost blindingly bright, brimming with love and dedication and righteousness.
Sam’s soul was softer. Its glow was subtler, but more splendid for it. It pulsed in his palm like a lit ember, warm and full of spirit. With a gentle push, it ascended to Heaven and the creature that had been Samuel Winchester was dead.
He hoped that soul found solace during it’s time in Heaven. It would have a long, difficult destiny to fulfill and this reprieve would be the last kindness it was afforded.
In the dim room, Castiel doubted whether Dean cared about such details. The last surviving Winchester sat motionless beside the corpse of his brother. He had remained that way for hours and Castiel was beginning to feel restless. His wings felt tight and strained from being locked away for so long and he longed for the freedom of flight, the physical joy of moving. He longed to leave behind the grief of these men in the rush of air across his feathers.
Dean’s hand came up to stroke through his brother’s hair in a gentle motion. Castiel had seen that before, too.
There was a thunderstorm. Two small boys huddled together on the floor of a motel bathroom. The smaller one curled against the elder, who cradled his head. With each wracking boom of thunder, Samuel Winchester shuddered and curled in closer. Playing cards littered the space of the floor not occupied by the brothers, scattered in Samuel’s need to be closer to Dean.
A resounding crash drove the tiny child to huddle tightly against his brother’s side. Dean shushed him and ran gentle fingers through his hair, humming under his breath. The younger boy calmed and soon was asleep against Dean’s side.
As Dean’s fingers worked their way through dark hair, he stared absently at his brother’s face. His breathing hitched and Castiel feared he might be close to tears. Dean Winchester’s tears were the greatest test of Castiel’s resolve. He wanted to reach out to the man, soothe him as he had done for his brother those many years before.
Instead of tears, Dean began to speak. It was low and rough after the days of grief, but Castiel could just hear him.
His words nearly drove Castiel to weep.
“God,” Dean said in a tired, hoarse voice. “I don’t know if you can hear me. Hell, I don’t even know if you exist, but Sam believed in you and he’s the one who needs your help.
“He always believed, you know. Through all the crap and all the crazy stuff we’ve seen. He never lost that. He used to pray every single day. He thought I didn’t know, but I did. The kid is as transparent as air. Maybe he thought I’d give him crap over it. I don’t know. But here’s the thing. Sam believed.
“If you’re out there. If there’s even the tiniest chance you’re listening, then do this one thing for me. For Sam. Give me my brother back. He’s all I have. You’re God. You can do that. Bring him back. I know I was supposed to protect him and I failed, but please, punish me for it. Not him.
“Or take me instead. Anything. Just bring Sammy back.
“Please-” Dean’s voice cracked and he fell silent, his hand never faltering in its carding motion. Castiel reached out. He had moved closer during Dean’s speech, drawn by the raw emotion. He hesitated for a second, knowing that he should not interfere but feeling the need to alleviate some of Dean’s suffering.
But that second was too long and Dean shoved himself to his feet.
“Right,” he said. He stood taller with resolution, shoulders set and a glint to his eye. Castiel drew back at his expression. Dean strode to the door, pausing at the entryway. Without turning around, he said, “Sammy, you hang on for me. I’m going to fix this.” Dean left.
Castiel clung to the seat as Dean careened along the dark road. Even now, Castiel relegated himself to the backseat, regardless of the fact that his physical presence was unnoticeable. It felt sacrilegious to occupy a space that was reserved for one person alone. Even if that person was dead. Castiel doubted if anyone would be allowed to sit in that seat again.
Dean’s wild route ended at crossroad. Castiel stood at a corner and watched as Dean gathered the items he needed to summon a demon. The demon that came circled Dean like a dog eyeing fresh meat.
Castiel stood back, sure that Dean was safe. No demon would dare to touch Michael’s chosen. She moved around and around him, closing in only to back away again. She was playing with him. She knew no deal would bind Dean. He would be plucked from the depths of Hell with little effort. She would not risk provoking Heaven’s wrath to meet a quota that she could easily fill elsewhere.
When Dean yanked the demon into a kiss, locking lips with that twisting face, Castiel knew he had severely underestimated the situation. He lurched forward to yank Dean away, but the deal was already sealed. He felt the world shift with the wrongness of the deal. Castiel did not have to be present to know that the warm ember of that soul had been drug back to its cage. He could feel it in his skin. It was wrong and it itched at him.
Castiel barely noticed the harrowing drive back to the salvage yard. He was consumed by the dread welling up in him. He would have to report this event to his superiors and he knew the punishment would be severe. In all his time on this assignment, he had never allowed anything so horrendous to happen. He was going to guard Dean until he fell asleep, and the he would submit himself for judgement.
As Dean pulled up to the house, he did not even pause to take his keys from the car. He bounded up the stairs and through the front door before Castiel could blink.
Dean hesitated at the corner into the room where Samuel Winchester’s body had lain. The pause was brief and as he moved into the room, he caught site of his brother again. Dean gathered Samuel in his arms, despite his protests. When he pulled away, his eyes were bright and damp.
Dean’s tears of joy were almost more heartbreaking than his grief, if only because Castiel understood the price.
With all the restraint he possessed, Castiel watched.