Fic: Entertaining Angels (Dean, Sam, Castiel)
Finally finished this. My help_haiti fic, written for tangodoodles who asked for some fluffy sort of Dean/Sam/Cas fic and then got this instead. Complete with fluff and Cas!Whump and some between the lines slash.
A little over 6000~ words and rated PG-13 ish. Beta'd by puchuupoet
An AU taking place from season two.
**
"Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it." Hebrews 13:2
---
There's...well, almost an open phone line between a vessel and his angel. One just has to know how to dial.
**
Entertaining Angels
**
Sam and Dean get the tip off from Missouri. “Something powerful bad is happening to someone powerful good. You boys need to stop it.”
“Where, in Lawrence?” is the first thing Dean asks.
“In Pontiac. Was such a strong spike of energy. Every psychic this side of the country must have felt it. Like screaming in their ears.”
Dean has no idea what Missouri is doing calling them. They're three days out from Pontiac and there are a dozen hunters more capable than them to handle something of the sort of calibre where psychics take notice.
“Something this big, Dean, think Yellow-Eyes is involved?” Sam asks and whatever else might be going through Dean's head, they have to follow up on any lead, however vague and however intimidating.
“Get going,” Missouri tells them, breaking Dean's thoughts, and hangs up. She calls back the following day and tells them that the energy - the screaming - put two psychics who'd overheard into a hospital. Something important was killed. Or maybe summoned. “You two be careful.”
They don't hear from her again and two days later, they make it into Pontiac. It's raining, starting just outside the city limits, not much more than a steady drizzle. The clouds break and form, a light breeze scatters autumn leaves across the road. When they hit the north side of the city, they hit a blackout. A local says the power cut out about three days ago, something fried most the transformers through the city. Everywhere is back up now except the north side, crews still working to restore power to a final section of city blocks.
They check into a motel and Sam hits up a library outside the blackout zone. There's not a whole lot to put together here. Psychic energy and then the power goes out in a big block on the north side of the city? Somewhere in the remaining section is going to be where it started.
Manned with flashlights, they make their way along the darkened streets in the light rain, searching out anything unusual, EMF meters running as they patrol down the sidewalks. They walk a line of newly built townhouses, every one of them empty and pristine except for one. This one is missing every single one of its windows, a fine dusting of shattered glass that blankets the ground outside. From them, sulphur and ozone are both strong on the air.
The door isn't even locked. They draw guns and split up, Dean taking the stairs that are new enough not to creak under his weight.
The first door he comes to at the top of the stairs is blown off its hinges. Inside are four people, bodies, demons. Whatever. None of them are moving. Three are on the floor, surrounded by pools of dried blood and Dean shines his flashlight on each one in turn. Their eyes have been burned out.
“Sam!”
Dean steps forward, gun trained on each unmoving person before focusing on the last. He's strung up and tied tight, arms stretched above his head, hung from a hook in the ceiling. His feet touch the floor but his whole body is slack, weight on his arms and Dean can hear him from here, rasping for breaths. His head hangs so low and hopeless that his chin touches his chest and Dean can't see if he's conscious.
Sam's footsteps pound up the stairs and then Sam is behind him, gun raised to the carnage in front of them.
“They're dead,” Dean answers the unspoken question and gestures with his gun at the man strung up. “Except that one.”
As they approach, Dean with his gun held ready and light turned on the ropes, Sam reaches out with helping hands. The man still doesn't move. Sam's fingers are immediately tugging at the thick rope that holds his wrists, tight enough to leave bruises and rope burns when he had struggled.
Help me get him down,” Sam hisses and Dean sweeps the light once more around the room before he bites it between his teeth and moves to help Sam tug the beaten man down.
He pitches forward when the ropes finally come loose but he doesn't make a noise, just a sigh of breath and the lack of response has Sam and Dean exchanging a glance. They lower him down to the ground but something catches and holds him a foot from the wall.
“The hell,” Sam mutters and glances around them, looking for a rope they missed but the man is free. They give a careful tug and this time he groans. Behind him, two spikes are imbedded to in the wall to either side. A good fifteen feet apart, there's nothing on them and Dean hadn't paid them any attention. He's staring at them now as he turns his head and the beam from the light sweeps across them. He gestures with a jerk of his head to Sam. Sam's eyes narrow. “What is that? Hold on to him.”
Sam transfers the weight of the man to Dean, who wraps his arms around the man's torso and the man's chin rests on his shoulder, weight sinking forward against Dean, pulling him against whatever is holding him. Dean clutches him tightly and watches as Sam approaches one of the spikes, his own light held steady now. There's thick silver liquid dripping from it down the wall.
“What the hell is this...” Sam's voice trails off and he raises his hand to slide along the spike.
“Sam, don't touch it!” Dean snaps, flashlight falling to the ground to shine it’s beam across the floor and into one of the eyeless victims faces.
It's too late, Sam's fingers slip without meeting resistance to the wall but the man in Dean's arms cries out, he screams so loudly that Dean drops him just to clap his hands over his ears. The man sways, stumbles a step and pitches to the floor with an agonizing crash. Silver slicks the length of the spikes and arcs through the air. He's still screaming and Sam has his hands up over his ears as well, doubled over in pain.
Dean falls to his knees next to the man and reaches out to him, gripping his shoulder, leaving his ears uncovered. “Hey! Stop!” His hand claps over the man's mouth and shockingly blue eyes snap open to stare up at him. “Stop it, we're here to help,” Dean insists and by some miracle the man listens. Or whatever the hell he is. He locks gazes with Dean for a tense moment before he's going boneless under Dean's hand and his eyes are rolling back.
“Holy shit,” Sam says and Dean agrees wholeheartedly.
**
They do the standard tests while the guy is unconscious. Holy water, silver, the whole nine yards but nothing has any effect, he just lays there unmoving. So they pack him into the backseat of the Impala and head off to the next town, not sure if the job is done or what but knowing that they don’t want to stick around. The whole three hour drive, the man sprawled over the back seat never even stirs.
“Well, we can make a good guess that he’s not human.” Dean’s ears are still ringing. “Think he’s the one that burned those other people’s eyes out?” The thought is an uncomfortable one and Dean wonders why they didn’t tie him up. He glances at the reflection in the rear-view mirror. Maybe they should just gank him, he’s not human.
“They were demons, though. Or witches.” A closer inspection of the room had found symbols, ancient texts, demonic weapons. Whatever they’d bound the man for, it hadn’t been anything fun. “You remember that vampire? Lenore?”
Dean shoots Sam a doubtful look. “Yeah?”
“Maybe it’s kinda like that. He’s...whatever he is but like, the good version. The others were pissed.”
“And the eyes?”
Sam shrugs. “Self-defence?”
Dean is silent for a moment, turning that one over in his head before raising his eyebrows. “How are you still an optimist?”
“Missouri said it was something good. She never said what it was or who.”
The rest of the drive is spent keeping a watchful eye on the backseat until they reach a seedy looking motel. Sam rents them the room and though the parking lot is empty and the road beside the motel quiet, they hesitate over dragging the unconscious man out of the car.
“What if he starts screaming again when we wake him?”
“Right. On three then,” Dean answers and together they drag the man - demon? - from the back of the Impala and hoist him between them into the room. They lay him on one of the beds and stand back looking perplexed. “Great so now what? We got this thing that’s maybe dangerous, maybe not, and we have zero clue what to do with it.”
“Call Missouri?” Sam suggests and Dean sighs but takes out his phone.
“What the hell you doing waking me at this hour, boy?” is Missouri’s immediate demand.
“How do you do that over the phone?”
Dean can hear her eye roll from here. “’S called caller I.D.”
“Right. Anyway. We got to Pontiac.” And he tells her what happened when they found the bound man.
“High pitched sorta noise, right?” she asks knowingly and Dean agrees, wishing he knew half as much as it sounds like she does. “I told you something powerfully good needed help. Why do you think I called you two boys? Any other hunters woulda killed him the moment they realized he wasn't human.” Dean feels a slight flush of shame because hadn't he wanted to kill it? Wouldn't he have, if Sam hadn't been with him? He still kind of thinks they should. “Now,” Missouri goes on, not noticing or ignoring Dean's thoughts, “Why don't you bring him along this way?”
“He's not human,” spills out of Dean's mouth before he can stop himself. It's almost like he can feel Missouri smacking him from here.
“I ask your opinion?”
“Fine. We'll be there.”
He hangs up and turns to find Sam grinning at him. “I kind of love how you cower when she's not even in the room.”
“Shut up.”
**
They get their mystery man cleaned up but there's not a mark on him. Even the bruises that Dean knows had been around his wrists have faded away to unmarked skin. There's nothing to explain away the continued unconsciousness but even while pulling off his boots and shirt and even checking for broken bones or dislocated shoulders, the man never moves. Never twitches. Dean and Sam spend half the night trying to research what he might be but come up empty handed.
“Missouri seems pretty sure he's not dangerous,” Sam says and Dean raises his hand to point at his eyes with two fingers.
“No eyes, dude.”
“Self-defence,” Sam retorts and then the man on the bed is awake.
It happens just like that. He's asleep and then he's not, between a breath and the next, he's on his feet and swaying dangerously. Dean has his gun in his hand and Sam is raising his hands to try and calm both of them.
“Take it easy,” Sam says and the man swivels his head around and that's when Dean knows it's not human. The creature stands between the two beds, looking cornered and confused.
It studies Sam for so long, Dean's a second away from shooting it when those clear blue eyes fix on him. “I should not be here.”
“No kidding. Who are you?”
It stares at him and it's all Dean can do not to drop his gaze and his gun. “I shouldn't be here,” it repeats, confusion evident in a way that makes Dean think something is getting lost in translation between them. Not that it matters because it's gone in the next second, vanished from where it had been standing and Dean shoots a raised eyebrow look to Sam.
It's only gone for a second and then it’s back in exactly the same spot, legs crumpling, strings cut and it's out again for the count.
“Oh-kay...” Dean says after a drawn out silence. “That wasn't creepy at all.”
They take it in turns to watch the creature through the night after they've hoisted it back up onto the bed, sleeping in shifts in case it stirs again and tries something worse than a little vanishing act. Dean thinks they should kill it. Sam's adamant that they listen to Missouri. That woman knows what she's talking about and she's scary so Dean stays his hand, agreeing again to wait and see what happens.
It wakes again some time in the night, while Dean is dozing on the opposite bed and Sam is sitting at the table. Dean hears Sam say “Hey, it's okay,” and since there's no sound of movement or screaming, Dean guesses that it's listening this time.
Dean opens his eyes and sits up slowly, in time to watch as Sam holds out a bottle of water to the creature, who doesn't seem to notice, sitting upright on the bed and staring down at its hand. It flexes it once, twice, and looks back to Sam, brow drawn into confusion. “I don't understand.”
“Yeah, us either,” Dean breaks in and all attention is on him. “Who are you?”
It blinks at him. “Castiel.”
“Awesome. What are you?”
It - Castiel - stares at him before looking away and rising to its feet. It happens in one smooth motion like before, Dean blinks and suddenly Castiel is standing and half-way across the room. The door is flung open but Dean doesn't see Castiel lift a hand to do it and Dean has his gun pulled again. He and Sam follow it out, they watch and it stalks across the parking lot, looking everywhere in the process - around them at the still empty lot, up towards the skies - before it turns back and fixes them with such a wide-eyed helpless look that Dean finds himself lowering his gun again.
“This is impossible.”
Dean's sure the thing is going to try and split again but while there's a sudden breeze that kicks across the ground, Castiel doesn't go anywhere and Dean and Sam are both moving forward quickly when it hits the ground. It's staring at something to the side and reaches a hand out. When it draws it back, it's fingers are coated with something dark - silver - that drips to the pavement.
Sam drops down to a crouch beside it and Castiel looks at him mournfully. Dean still hasn't taken his gun down, not while Sam is so close to the thing and touching their fingers together, swiping his index finger through the fluid. “Is this blood?”
“What are you?” Dean asks again. He finally lowers his gun at the look that's turned up to him.
Castiel doesn’t answer.
**
**
“I'm not here to cause you any harm,” Castiel is saying once he's been herded back into the motel room, Dean nearly frog-marching him over to the bed and Castiel had merely sat down as directed. He's looking up at them now, where Sam and Dean stand before him with arms crossed. Dean has a gun tucked into his belt, Sam has a knife. Just in case. “I was dragged here against my will.”
”By demons?” Dean asks.
”I don't know.”
”Do you know why?”
”I don't.”
Sam watches the back and forth silently, trying to judge what this creature is. There's no question that it's supernatural but Sam thinks, maybe foolishly, that he's telling the truth and doesn't mean them any harm. He's had the opportunity. If he can take out three demons while he's bound, what chance do him and Dean have? Missouri's words still echo around in his head.
”And you still haven't answered what you are.” Dean's full of bristling suspicion and still Castiel doesn't answer him. He meets Dean's gaze unflinching and says nothing.
“Right, that’s helpful.” Dean’s anger and impatience are rising.
“I am not going to hurt you,” Castiel says again and Dean raises his hand to rub over his face.
“Yeah, you said that. But let’s not have any misunderstandings, huh? One move wrong and I stab you in the face. Capice?”
Castiel once again says nothing, staring in a patient still silence that cements again how nonhuman he is. Sam shakes his head and moves between them to break up the staring match. “Look, this isn't getting us anywhere. We'll stay here tonight and tomorrow, we can take him to Missouri's.”
“Who's Missouri?” Castiel asks with his head tilted in innocent confusion. There is just no way this thing is evil. Or he's a really good actor.
“She's the one who told us to go get you.”
Dean sighs, unhappy but willing and the fact that he hasn't just shot Castiel yet is testament to the fact that the same thoughts running through Sam's head are running through Dean's. Dean still points an angry finger into Castiel's face, whose eyes cross a little trying to focus on it. “Fine. You stay right there. Sam? You get first watch.”
“I can't leave anyways,” Castiel says to Dean's retreating back and the bathroom door slams unnecessarily. Castiel looks down and for a second, so lost that Sam sits next to him.
“So...that stuff before, that was like blood, right? That's why you can't leave?”
Castiel looks at him for a moment before nodding slowly and again, he lifts his hand to thin air, the palm spread flat and for a second, Sam can see it press against something. It comes away, covered in dull silver which Sam stares at fascinated. It reminds him absurdly of what unicorn's blood would look like in stories. “The demons...called me down and tethered my wings.”
Sam's eyebrows shoot up and he's immediately searching over Castiel's shoulders, as if a set of giant wings would be there that he'd somehow missed. “Wings?” He has a hand stretched out before he can stop himself but there's nothing in the air, not even where Castiel had just pressed his hand.
Castiel's eyes crease and Sam pulls back, disgruntled to think he's being laughed at now. “You cannot feel them. You're only human.”
“Oh.” Then what are you? Sam wants to ask but knows already that he won't get an answer. “Are you going to be okay?”
This time the smile reaches Castiel's lips. “I need time to heal and then I can return home. Until then, I'm...here.” He glances around their motel room and again, Sam thinks that he looks lost.
The bathroom door opens and Castiel's eyes track to Dean, who raises an eyebrow at them both sitting on the foot of the bed before he crosses to the other. “I'm gonna catch some shut eye.” Sam nods. He knows the drill. They sleep in shifts in case Castiel isn't as harmless as Sam thinks or as Missouri says. Six hours each.
Dean tucks his gun under his pillow and leaves his hand there as he settles down. Sleeping in a potentially dangerous situation is almost second nature. Catching that sleep whenever they can is another and Dean is breathing deep and even within minutes. Castiel watches with a frown until Sam clears his throat and draws his attention back.
“You need to rest?”
“I don't sleep.”
“Right.” It was going to be a long six hours and they spend most of it in silence.
For six hours, Castiel doesn't move, as if he's taking Dean's words to stay there literally. Sam moves to the table and his laptop, surreptitiously searching for what Castiel might be. Invisible wings, silver blood, able to burn demon's eyes out. He doesn't come up with a thing.
Dean wakes on his own once the hours are up, stretching out kinks and yawning as he sits up and peers at Castiel through slitted eyes. “Say stay and you stay, huh?” He quirks a grin and gets to his feet, gun tucked back into his belt at the ready. He pats Castiel's head as he walks across to the bathroom again. “Good boy, Cas.”
“Dean...” Sam starts to admonish but it's clear that Castiel doesn't understand anyway.
They switch and Sam sleeps while Dean takes his turn at the computer. He falls asleep to fingers hitting keys and wakes up to the low noise of the TV. Rubbing at his eyes, Sam sits up and looks across the room. Dean is sitting at the table, slumped back with his hand resting on the table by the remote and his gun. Castiel hasn’t moved. He’s watching the TV with apparent interest. Sam looks to see what’s on and realizes that Dean is giving a running commentary.
“See, Dr. Sexy is having an affair with that chick.”
“I see.”
“She’s actually married to-“ He stops when he catches Sam watching and Sam raises his eyebrows.
“Seriously, Dean?”
“Had to turn something on to drown out your snoring.”
Sam laughs and Dean throws the remote at him which he dodges. “Get ready and lets hit the road, huh?”
The TV is turned off, their things are packed away. Castiel sits on the end of the bed and watches them both with interest, as if every move they make or every item they pack is something new and exciting to him. When they’re ready to go, they herd Castiel into the backseat of the Impala and Castiel spends the time in the car, staring out at the scenery. They stop a short ways down the road for coffee and breakfast sandwiches, Dean twisting around in his seat.
“Let me guess. You don’t eat?”
“No.”
“Course not. You wanna try?” And he pushes a hot sandwich into Castiel’s hands. “Don’t make a mess, though.”
Sam watches him in the reflection of the rear-view mirror, as Castiel studies the wrapped sandwich before carefully unwrapping it and eating. Sam can’t tell if he likes it or not but he still finds himself fascinated by the subtle reactions Castiel does give.
“You said the demons dragged you down,” Sam begins and Castiel gives a slow nod. “Does that mean you’ve never been on Earth before?”
“Once. A very long time ago. Things were...different then.”
“When?”
Castiel gives them a wane smile. “Thousands of years ago.”
Dean leaps into the conversation, voice sharp. “You saying you’re thousands of years old?”
“As creation,” Castiel answers and returns to his sandwich, leaving Sam feeling more confused than ever about what the man in the back seat is.
**
The trip to Missouri’s is peppered with odd snippets of conversation, when he or Dean become curious enough to ask a question. Which Castiel answers and doesn’t at the same time.
“So you’re ancient and have wings?” Sam queries and Castiel nods with a patient sort of amusement. Sam’s starting to feel like he’s playing a game of twenty questions in the quest to find out what exactly Castiel is. If he can just keep Castiel answering and then put those answers together, Sam’s sure he’ll be able to get it. “Is this what you really look like?”
“No, this is a vessel.”
Sam files the word away for later searching but Dean, uninterested in the conversation up until then, glares at Castiel through the mirror. “You’re possessing someone?” He has his ‘Demon, kill it’ look on.
Castiel looks down at himself, confused frown forming. “If you wish to call it that. I need permission to enter but I never asked.”
“Maybe the demons tortured him into agreeing,” Sam suggests and a troubled look falls over Castiel’s face. He raises his hand like he had the first night to study it and circles his wrist with the other. Sam remembers the rope burns from being tied and wonders what other marks were on that body before the creature inside it healed them.
“Yes,” Castiel whispers and sounds so distraught that Sam doesn’t press the conversation and Dean turns the music up.
Dean asks, after a short stop at a diner; “How’d you burn those demon's eyes out?”
“One of many abilities,” Castiel answers and doesn’t say anything else.
Castiel doesn’t say much at any time, doesn’t ask his own questions, but Sam is certain that he’s taking in everything with quiet wisdom. As the hours in the car drag on, Sam finds himself becoming more fascinated. Dean points a few things out to Castiel.
“You’ve been off the Earth and...I dunno, up on a cloud somewhere, for thousands of years. Check out that car, it’s a...” And Sam usually tunes out about that point but Castiel pays attention to every old car that they pass when Dean points it out. Dean introduces him to old rock music blasting from the speakers as well.
All in all, for having a supernatural being in the backseat, the trip is surprisingly sedate and relaxed.
**
Dean calls Missouri when they get into the city and she’s there to greet them as Dean parks the Impala and Sam and Castiel exit the car first. Sam feels a little disregarded as she sweeps by him and up to Castiel, looking up at him in silence for a long moment. He stares down at her, head tilted and calculating. Sam and Dean exchange worried looks, until Missouri breaks into a smile.
“I thought I could feel you coming from miles away,” she says as she leans up to kiss his cheek and he leans down to let her. Dean looks as astonished as Sam feels. “We’ll help you get home, honey.”
“Thank you.”
Sam feels like he’s gaping. “You know what he is?”
“Well tell us,” Dean chimes in, half-bouncing on his heels in excitement that’s immediately cut short.
“Mind your manners,” Missouri snaps at them. “Maybe that’s for us to know and you to find out.”
Dean looks chastened and Sam is certain that Castiel is silently laughing at them this time even while his mouth barely moves towards a smile. Missouri leads him away and Castiel follows as if he’s an old friend. Dean and Sam stare after them.
“What the fuck,” Dean says and Sam can only shrug in helpless agreement with the sentiment.
**
**
Castiel finds over the remainder of the day that humanity has changed a great deal since the last time he was among them. Sam and Dean are both highly interesting and highly inexplicable. He likes Missouri, who sees what he is, if not his true form. She is worthy of the knowledge and she’ll treat that information delicately. Sam and Dean on the other hand... Castiel isn’t so sure about them.
They don’t seem so sure about him, either.
Though Dean has stopped drawing his gun every time Castiel puts a foot out of step, he’s still casting Castiel venomous looks. Missouri’s acceptance of him seems to have mollified Dean’s worries some though. Sam mostly just seems determined to figure out what he is.
Castiel can’t tell them. He shouldn’t be here and he’s surprised his brothers haven’t come for him but perhaps they can’t. Perhaps they can’t find him, tucked into this unwilling human with gaping bleeding holes in his wings. The demons somehow knew what they were doing but Castiel can’t fathom why him. Why would they track down his bloodline of vessels and call him?
“Whatever the demons called me here for,” he divulges his worries to Sam and Dean because there is no one else to help him, “They went to a great deal of trouble. I doubt they’ll risk my escape as easily as this.”
“So what you’re saying,” Dean says in his straightforward and blunt manor, “is that a pack of demons is going to hunt you down and kill us all?”
“Very probably.”
“That’s just great.”
Sam tosses his brother an irritated look and Castiel, is fascinated at the by play between them.
“I would understand,” Castiel goes on, “if you wished me to take my leave now. I didn’t intend to drag you into this in the first place.”
Sam and Dean exchange a long glance, one that Castiel can’t decipher but the brothers seem to reach some unspoken agreement from it. Dean grunts. “Nah, man. Can’t just let some poor schmuck wander into trouble. Look what happened to you last time.”
There is clearly meant to be an insult in there but Castiel ignores it. He is beginning to think that perhaps these two are worthy after all.
**
They leave Missouri because the brothers will not risk her being in danger.
She sees them off and looks for a moment in Castiel's eyes. “Promise me, will you, to keep an eye on them, just while you're around. They're helping you.”
“I will.”
Castiel sits in the back of the Impala and they travel away, the world moving slowly around him. “There are others in my family that would have been more beneficial for the demons to take. It would have taken them years, decades, to find my name, my vessel and the incantation to call me here.”
“Maybe you pissed someone off and didn't realize it.”
“Dean would know about that one,” Sam jokes and Dean hits him and Castiel watches them with this growing warmth inside his vessel that he's not sure of. He thinks he's fond. He thinks this is humanity in a way that he's never been able to see it before. He finds himself wishing that he had more time to enjoy this, his father's greatest creation, in a way he never has before.
They're hours outside of Lawrence, on an empty stretch of road and fields when a demon appears in the middle of the pavement. Castiel sees it as a swirling vortex of black and yellow. Dean barks out a vicious curse and wrenches the car's wheel. It still hits the demon, metal warping and screaming, tires spinning in the air as the car flips onto its side. Castiel feels himself being tossed, glass showers him, the noise deafens him. Until the car comes to a stop.
“Sam? Dean?” Neither of them are moving in the front of the car but Castiel can sense their hearts beating.
Where has the demon gone?
He can't use his wings and he hauls himself through the broken jagged glass of the car's back window, spilling out onto the pavement and looking up just in time to feel the demon's fingers curl around his throat and haul him the rest of the way out of the wreck and to his feet.
“Hello, angel.” The demon twists its host's face to a smile, it's yellow eyes glinting down on him.
“Azazel,” Castiel grounds out. He recognizes the demon because it was here last time, it has been here for near as long as Castiel has. But they have never crossed paths. Castiel knows Azazel the same way he knows any demon in the pit. “Why are you hunting me?”
His hands are clutching at the demon's wrist but they are matched and Azazel doesn't move. His smile goes on and on.
“Well it turns out, you're kind of a problem in the future. And the past. Just taking care of a little thorn in my side before it gets out of hand.”
Castiel twists and he's free of the grip, back stepping from Azazel and looking around them suspiciously, as though he'll find the answer in the lines of the fields or the formation of the clouds. Azazel's words make no sense to him. “You can't change what's destined to happen.”
Azazel laughs. “Sure I can! If I kill the fate's bitch that made it happen.”
“You're mistaken.”
“Oh no, I spent a lot of time thinking about this. Lots of research. A few favours, a bit of time travel. You're a catalyst so we need to take you out of the equation, makes things a lot easier for my side.” He glances over Castiel's shoulder at the ruined cars and the unmoving brothers within. “Kind of inconvenient that you hooked up with the Winchesters there but...gotta work with what we've got.”
Castiel makes the mistake of flicking his gaze back towards the car and the demon strikes. He pulls a glass flask from his jacket and tosses it to the ground. It smashes at Castiel's feet, the contents spraying across the pavement, his shoes, his pants. Holy oil. Panic finally licks up Castiel's back and he snaps his gaze to the demon's.
“How did you find this?”
“Years and years of preparation.” Azazel strikes a match and Castiel steps back, looking wildly around him for a way out. He can't fly, his wings are still dripping blood. If he runs, the Winchesters will be left defenceless and Castiel made a promise.
“Guess you just can't plan for everything, huh?” Dean's voice growls behind Castiel and Castiel turns in time to see Dean bracing himself against the side of the car. There's blood dripping down the side of his face but he's holding a gun in an unwavering hand.
The crack of the bullet makes Castiel flinch but Azazel is already screaming, pouring from his host's mouth. The bullet hits the human and he falls to the ground lifeless. Dean and Castiel watch for a moment before Dean is dropping back behind the car again and Castiel can hear the splintering glass this time. He moves to the front in time to see Dean dragging Sam through the front wind screen, glass broken away.
“Sammy?” Dean lowers his ear over Sam's mouth but Sam groans softly, as Castiel kneels as well, and Sam's eyes flutter and stare up at both of them. They settle on Castiel for a moment and then past him, where Castiel's wings span to surround the three of them.
“You're an angel.” Sam says and Dean snorts but Castiel smiles.
“Concussion,” Dean says as Sam reaches out his hand, trying to touch what Dean thinks isn't there, and shakes his head. “You should hear him when he's drunk.”
**
A truck comes to take the car. An ambulance to take Sam and Dean. Castiel goes with them, although the cuts from the glass and from being thrown have already vanished from his vessel. His wings are healing. He thinks he could get home now, but he stays. Until Sam wakes and Castiel hovers in the doorway of his sterile room while the brothers greet each other.
Sam looks over after a few minutes and Castiel steps to the foot of the bed.
“Hey. I saw your wings.”
“They're healed now,” Castiel answers. “I can go home. I owe you two a great debt. You helped me when you had no need to.”
“You can repay us by fixing my car.”
Castiel laughs. It's an odd sensation, it releases pressure he hadn't realized was in his chest. “I can't do that. But call me, when you do have need. I'll hear. I promise and we always keep our promises.”
“Was I right?” Sam asks and Castiel steps to his side. Sam's eyes are bright in wonder as Castiel leans down and kisses his forehead, then drops lower and says against his mouth; “Yes.” Dean's yelp of complaint is lost as Castiel leaves them.
**
**
Sam is cradled in Dean's arms. Lifeless. Blood pouring out of him. Dean presses his hands to Sam's back but nothing will stop it. Sam is dying in his arms. Sam is already dead.
Dean takes a chance and calls Castiel's name.
A breeze kicks across the ground.
A little over 6000~ words and rated PG-13 ish. Beta'd by puchuupoet
An AU taking place from season two.
**
"Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it." Hebrews 13:2
---
There's...well, almost an open phone line between a vessel and his angel. One just has to know how to dial.
**
Entertaining Angels
**
Sam and Dean get the tip off from Missouri. “Something powerful bad is happening to someone powerful good. You boys need to stop it.”
“Where, in Lawrence?” is the first thing Dean asks.
“In Pontiac. Was such a strong spike of energy. Every psychic this side of the country must have felt it. Like screaming in their ears.”
Dean has no idea what Missouri is doing calling them. They're three days out from Pontiac and there are a dozen hunters more capable than them to handle something of the sort of calibre where psychics take notice.
“Something this big, Dean, think Yellow-Eyes is involved?” Sam asks and whatever else might be going through Dean's head, they have to follow up on any lead, however vague and however intimidating.
“Get going,” Missouri tells them, breaking Dean's thoughts, and hangs up. She calls back the following day and tells them that the energy - the screaming - put two psychics who'd overheard into a hospital. Something important was killed. Or maybe summoned. “You two be careful.”
They don't hear from her again and two days later, they make it into Pontiac. It's raining, starting just outside the city limits, not much more than a steady drizzle. The clouds break and form, a light breeze scatters autumn leaves across the road. When they hit the north side of the city, they hit a blackout. A local says the power cut out about three days ago, something fried most the transformers through the city. Everywhere is back up now except the north side, crews still working to restore power to a final section of city blocks.
They check into a motel and Sam hits up a library outside the blackout zone. There's not a whole lot to put together here. Psychic energy and then the power goes out in a big block on the north side of the city? Somewhere in the remaining section is going to be where it started.
Manned with flashlights, they make their way along the darkened streets in the light rain, searching out anything unusual, EMF meters running as they patrol down the sidewalks. They walk a line of newly built townhouses, every one of them empty and pristine except for one. This one is missing every single one of its windows, a fine dusting of shattered glass that blankets the ground outside. From them, sulphur and ozone are both strong on the air.
The door isn't even locked. They draw guns and split up, Dean taking the stairs that are new enough not to creak under his weight.
The first door he comes to at the top of the stairs is blown off its hinges. Inside are four people, bodies, demons. Whatever. None of them are moving. Three are on the floor, surrounded by pools of dried blood and Dean shines his flashlight on each one in turn. Their eyes have been burned out.
“Sam!”
Dean steps forward, gun trained on each unmoving person before focusing on the last. He's strung up and tied tight, arms stretched above his head, hung from a hook in the ceiling. His feet touch the floor but his whole body is slack, weight on his arms and Dean can hear him from here, rasping for breaths. His head hangs so low and hopeless that his chin touches his chest and Dean can't see if he's conscious.
Sam's footsteps pound up the stairs and then Sam is behind him, gun raised to the carnage in front of them.
“They're dead,” Dean answers the unspoken question and gestures with his gun at the man strung up. “Except that one.”
As they approach, Dean with his gun held ready and light turned on the ropes, Sam reaches out with helping hands. The man still doesn't move. Sam's fingers are immediately tugging at the thick rope that holds his wrists, tight enough to leave bruises and rope burns when he had struggled.
Help me get him down,” Sam hisses and Dean sweeps the light once more around the room before he bites it between his teeth and moves to help Sam tug the beaten man down.
He pitches forward when the ropes finally come loose but he doesn't make a noise, just a sigh of breath and the lack of response has Sam and Dean exchanging a glance. They lower him down to the ground but something catches and holds him a foot from the wall.
“The hell,” Sam mutters and glances around them, looking for a rope they missed but the man is free. They give a careful tug and this time he groans. Behind him, two spikes are imbedded to in the wall to either side. A good fifteen feet apart, there's nothing on them and Dean hadn't paid them any attention. He's staring at them now as he turns his head and the beam from the light sweeps across them. He gestures with a jerk of his head to Sam. Sam's eyes narrow. “What is that? Hold on to him.”
Sam transfers the weight of the man to Dean, who wraps his arms around the man's torso and the man's chin rests on his shoulder, weight sinking forward against Dean, pulling him against whatever is holding him. Dean clutches him tightly and watches as Sam approaches one of the spikes, his own light held steady now. There's thick silver liquid dripping from it down the wall.
“What the hell is this...” Sam's voice trails off and he raises his hand to slide along the spike.
“Sam, don't touch it!” Dean snaps, flashlight falling to the ground to shine it’s beam across the floor and into one of the eyeless victims faces.
It's too late, Sam's fingers slip without meeting resistance to the wall but the man in Dean's arms cries out, he screams so loudly that Dean drops him just to clap his hands over his ears. The man sways, stumbles a step and pitches to the floor with an agonizing crash. Silver slicks the length of the spikes and arcs through the air. He's still screaming and Sam has his hands up over his ears as well, doubled over in pain.
Dean falls to his knees next to the man and reaches out to him, gripping his shoulder, leaving his ears uncovered. “Hey! Stop!” His hand claps over the man's mouth and shockingly blue eyes snap open to stare up at him. “Stop it, we're here to help,” Dean insists and by some miracle the man listens. Or whatever the hell he is. He locks gazes with Dean for a tense moment before he's going boneless under Dean's hand and his eyes are rolling back.
“Holy shit,” Sam says and Dean agrees wholeheartedly.
**
They do the standard tests while the guy is unconscious. Holy water, silver, the whole nine yards but nothing has any effect, he just lays there unmoving. So they pack him into the backseat of the Impala and head off to the next town, not sure if the job is done or what but knowing that they don’t want to stick around. The whole three hour drive, the man sprawled over the back seat never even stirs.
“Well, we can make a good guess that he’s not human.” Dean’s ears are still ringing. “Think he’s the one that burned those other people’s eyes out?” The thought is an uncomfortable one and Dean wonders why they didn’t tie him up. He glances at the reflection in the rear-view mirror. Maybe they should just gank him, he’s not human.
“They were demons, though. Or witches.” A closer inspection of the room had found symbols, ancient texts, demonic weapons. Whatever they’d bound the man for, it hadn’t been anything fun. “You remember that vampire? Lenore?”
Dean shoots Sam a doubtful look. “Yeah?”
“Maybe it’s kinda like that. He’s...whatever he is but like, the good version. The others were pissed.”
“And the eyes?”
Sam shrugs. “Self-defence?”
Dean is silent for a moment, turning that one over in his head before raising his eyebrows. “How are you still an optimist?”
“Missouri said it was something good. She never said what it was or who.”
The rest of the drive is spent keeping a watchful eye on the backseat until they reach a seedy looking motel. Sam rents them the room and though the parking lot is empty and the road beside the motel quiet, they hesitate over dragging the unconscious man out of the car.
“What if he starts screaming again when we wake him?”
“Right. On three then,” Dean answers and together they drag the man - demon? - from the back of the Impala and hoist him between them into the room. They lay him on one of the beds and stand back looking perplexed. “Great so now what? We got this thing that’s maybe dangerous, maybe not, and we have zero clue what to do with it.”
“Call Missouri?” Sam suggests and Dean sighs but takes out his phone.
“What the hell you doing waking me at this hour, boy?” is Missouri’s immediate demand.
“How do you do that over the phone?”
Dean can hear her eye roll from here. “’S called caller I.D.”
“Right. Anyway. We got to Pontiac.” And he tells her what happened when they found the bound man.
“High pitched sorta noise, right?” she asks knowingly and Dean agrees, wishing he knew half as much as it sounds like she does. “I told you something powerfully good needed help. Why do you think I called you two boys? Any other hunters woulda killed him the moment they realized he wasn't human.” Dean feels a slight flush of shame because hadn't he wanted to kill it? Wouldn't he have, if Sam hadn't been with him? He still kind of thinks they should. “Now,” Missouri goes on, not noticing or ignoring Dean's thoughts, “Why don't you bring him along this way?”
“He's not human,” spills out of Dean's mouth before he can stop himself. It's almost like he can feel Missouri smacking him from here.
“I ask your opinion?”
“Fine. We'll be there.”
He hangs up and turns to find Sam grinning at him. “I kind of love how you cower when she's not even in the room.”
“Shut up.”
**
They get their mystery man cleaned up but there's not a mark on him. Even the bruises that Dean knows had been around his wrists have faded away to unmarked skin. There's nothing to explain away the continued unconsciousness but even while pulling off his boots and shirt and even checking for broken bones or dislocated shoulders, the man never moves. Never twitches. Dean and Sam spend half the night trying to research what he might be but come up empty handed.
“Missouri seems pretty sure he's not dangerous,” Sam says and Dean raises his hand to point at his eyes with two fingers.
“No eyes, dude.”
“Self-defence,” Sam retorts and then the man on the bed is awake.
It happens just like that. He's asleep and then he's not, between a breath and the next, he's on his feet and swaying dangerously. Dean has his gun in his hand and Sam is raising his hands to try and calm both of them.
“Take it easy,” Sam says and the man swivels his head around and that's when Dean knows it's not human. The creature stands between the two beds, looking cornered and confused.
It studies Sam for so long, Dean's a second away from shooting it when those clear blue eyes fix on him. “I should not be here.”
“No kidding. Who are you?”
It stares at him and it's all Dean can do not to drop his gaze and his gun. “I shouldn't be here,” it repeats, confusion evident in a way that makes Dean think something is getting lost in translation between them. Not that it matters because it's gone in the next second, vanished from where it had been standing and Dean shoots a raised eyebrow look to Sam.
It's only gone for a second and then it’s back in exactly the same spot, legs crumpling, strings cut and it's out again for the count.
“Oh-kay...” Dean says after a drawn out silence. “That wasn't creepy at all.”
They take it in turns to watch the creature through the night after they've hoisted it back up onto the bed, sleeping in shifts in case it stirs again and tries something worse than a little vanishing act. Dean thinks they should kill it. Sam's adamant that they listen to Missouri. That woman knows what she's talking about and she's scary so Dean stays his hand, agreeing again to wait and see what happens.
It wakes again some time in the night, while Dean is dozing on the opposite bed and Sam is sitting at the table. Dean hears Sam say “Hey, it's okay,” and since there's no sound of movement or screaming, Dean guesses that it's listening this time.
Dean opens his eyes and sits up slowly, in time to watch as Sam holds out a bottle of water to the creature, who doesn't seem to notice, sitting upright on the bed and staring down at its hand. It flexes it once, twice, and looks back to Sam, brow drawn into confusion. “I don't understand.”
“Yeah, us either,” Dean breaks in and all attention is on him. “Who are you?”
It blinks at him. “Castiel.”
“Awesome. What are you?”
It - Castiel - stares at him before looking away and rising to its feet. It happens in one smooth motion like before, Dean blinks and suddenly Castiel is standing and half-way across the room. The door is flung open but Dean doesn't see Castiel lift a hand to do it and Dean has his gun pulled again. He and Sam follow it out, they watch and it stalks across the parking lot, looking everywhere in the process - around them at the still empty lot, up towards the skies - before it turns back and fixes them with such a wide-eyed helpless look that Dean finds himself lowering his gun again.
“This is impossible.”
Dean's sure the thing is going to try and split again but while there's a sudden breeze that kicks across the ground, Castiel doesn't go anywhere and Dean and Sam are both moving forward quickly when it hits the ground. It's staring at something to the side and reaches a hand out. When it draws it back, it's fingers are coated with something dark - silver - that drips to the pavement.
Sam drops down to a crouch beside it and Castiel looks at him mournfully. Dean still hasn't taken his gun down, not while Sam is so close to the thing and touching their fingers together, swiping his index finger through the fluid. “Is this blood?”
“What are you?” Dean asks again. He finally lowers his gun at the look that's turned up to him.
Castiel doesn’t answer.
**
**
“I'm not here to cause you any harm,” Castiel is saying once he's been herded back into the motel room, Dean nearly frog-marching him over to the bed and Castiel had merely sat down as directed. He's looking up at them now, where Sam and Dean stand before him with arms crossed. Dean has a gun tucked into his belt, Sam has a knife. Just in case. “I was dragged here against my will.”
”By demons?” Dean asks.
”I don't know.”
”Do you know why?”
”I don't.”
Sam watches the back and forth silently, trying to judge what this creature is. There's no question that it's supernatural but Sam thinks, maybe foolishly, that he's telling the truth and doesn't mean them any harm. He's had the opportunity. If he can take out three demons while he's bound, what chance do him and Dean have? Missouri's words still echo around in his head.
”And you still haven't answered what you are.” Dean's full of bristling suspicion and still Castiel doesn't answer him. He meets Dean's gaze unflinching and says nothing.
“Right, that’s helpful.” Dean’s anger and impatience are rising.
“I am not going to hurt you,” Castiel says again and Dean raises his hand to rub over his face.
“Yeah, you said that. But let’s not have any misunderstandings, huh? One move wrong and I stab you in the face. Capice?”
Castiel once again says nothing, staring in a patient still silence that cements again how nonhuman he is. Sam shakes his head and moves between them to break up the staring match. “Look, this isn't getting us anywhere. We'll stay here tonight and tomorrow, we can take him to Missouri's.”
“Who's Missouri?” Castiel asks with his head tilted in innocent confusion. There is just no way this thing is evil. Or he's a really good actor.
“She's the one who told us to go get you.”
Dean sighs, unhappy but willing and the fact that he hasn't just shot Castiel yet is testament to the fact that the same thoughts running through Sam's head are running through Dean's. Dean still points an angry finger into Castiel's face, whose eyes cross a little trying to focus on it. “Fine. You stay right there. Sam? You get first watch.”
“I can't leave anyways,” Castiel says to Dean's retreating back and the bathroom door slams unnecessarily. Castiel looks down and for a second, so lost that Sam sits next to him.
“So...that stuff before, that was like blood, right? That's why you can't leave?”
Castiel looks at him for a moment before nodding slowly and again, he lifts his hand to thin air, the palm spread flat and for a second, Sam can see it press against something. It comes away, covered in dull silver which Sam stares at fascinated. It reminds him absurdly of what unicorn's blood would look like in stories. “The demons...called me down and tethered my wings.”
Sam's eyebrows shoot up and he's immediately searching over Castiel's shoulders, as if a set of giant wings would be there that he'd somehow missed. “Wings?” He has a hand stretched out before he can stop himself but there's nothing in the air, not even where Castiel had just pressed his hand.
Castiel's eyes crease and Sam pulls back, disgruntled to think he's being laughed at now. “You cannot feel them. You're only human.”
“Oh.” Then what are you? Sam wants to ask but knows already that he won't get an answer. “Are you going to be okay?”
This time the smile reaches Castiel's lips. “I need time to heal and then I can return home. Until then, I'm...here.” He glances around their motel room and again, Sam thinks that he looks lost.
The bathroom door opens and Castiel's eyes track to Dean, who raises an eyebrow at them both sitting on the foot of the bed before he crosses to the other. “I'm gonna catch some shut eye.” Sam nods. He knows the drill. They sleep in shifts in case Castiel isn't as harmless as Sam thinks or as Missouri says. Six hours each.
Dean tucks his gun under his pillow and leaves his hand there as he settles down. Sleeping in a potentially dangerous situation is almost second nature. Catching that sleep whenever they can is another and Dean is breathing deep and even within minutes. Castiel watches with a frown until Sam clears his throat and draws his attention back.
“You need to rest?”
“I don't sleep.”
“Right.” It was going to be a long six hours and they spend most of it in silence.
For six hours, Castiel doesn't move, as if he's taking Dean's words to stay there literally. Sam moves to the table and his laptop, surreptitiously searching for what Castiel might be. Invisible wings, silver blood, able to burn demon's eyes out. He doesn't come up with a thing.
Dean wakes on his own once the hours are up, stretching out kinks and yawning as he sits up and peers at Castiel through slitted eyes. “Say stay and you stay, huh?” He quirks a grin and gets to his feet, gun tucked back into his belt at the ready. He pats Castiel's head as he walks across to the bathroom again. “Good boy, Cas.”
“Dean...” Sam starts to admonish but it's clear that Castiel doesn't understand anyway.
They switch and Sam sleeps while Dean takes his turn at the computer. He falls asleep to fingers hitting keys and wakes up to the low noise of the TV. Rubbing at his eyes, Sam sits up and looks across the room. Dean is sitting at the table, slumped back with his hand resting on the table by the remote and his gun. Castiel hasn’t moved. He’s watching the TV with apparent interest. Sam looks to see what’s on and realizes that Dean is giving a running commentary.
“See, Dr. Sexy is having an affair with that chick.”
“I see.”
“She’s actually married to-“ He stops when he catches Sam watching and Sam raises his eyebrows.
“Seriously, Dean?”
“Had to turn something on to drown out your snoring.”
Sam laughs and Dean throws the remote at him which he dodges. “Get ready and lets hit the road, huh?”
The TV is turned off, their things are packed away. Castiel sits on the end of the bed and watches them both with interest, as if every move they make or every item they pack is something new and exciting to him. When they’re ready to go, they herd Castiel into the backseat of the Impala and Castiel spends the time in the car, staring out at the scenery. They stop a short ways down the road for coffee and breakfast sandwiches, Dean twisting around in his seat.
“Let me guess. You don’t eat?”
“No.”
“Course not. You wanna try?” And he pushes a hot sandwich into Castiel’s hands. “Don’t make a mess, though.”
Sam watches him in the reflection of the rear-view mirror, as Castiel studies the wrapped sandwich before carefully unwrapping it and eating. Sam can’t tell if he likes it or not but he still finds himself fascinated by the subtle reactions Castiel does give.
“You said the demons dragged you down,” Sam begins and Castiel gives a slow nod. “Does that mean you’ve never been on Earth before?”
“Once. A very long time ago. Things were...different then.”
“When?”
Castiel gives them a wane smile. “Thousands of years ago.”
Dean leaps into the conversation, voice sharp. “You saying you’re thousands of years old?”
“As creation,” Castiel answers and returns to his sandwich, leaving Sam feeling more confused than ever about what the man in the back seat is.
**
The trip to Missouri’s is peppered with odd snippets of conversation, when he or Dean become curious enough to ask a question. Which Castiel answers and doesn’t at the same time.
“So you’re ancient and have wings?” Sam queries and Castiel nods with a patient sort of amusement. Sam’s starting to feel like he’s playing a game of twenty questions in the quest to find out what exactly Castiel is. If he can just keep Castiel answering and then put those answers together, Sam’s sure he’ll be able to get it. “Is this what you really look like?”
“No, this is a vessel.”
Sam files the word away for later searching but Dean, uninterested in the conversation up until then, glares at Castiel through the mirror. “You’re possessing someone?” He has his ‘Demon, kill it’ look on.
Castiel looks down at himself, confused frown forming. “If you wish to call it that. I need permission to enter but I never asked.”
“Maybe the demons tortured him into agreeing,” Sam suggests and a troubled look falls over Castiel’s face. He raises his hand like he had the first night to study it and circles his wrist with the other. Sam remembers the rope burns from being tied and wonders what other marks were on that body before the creature inside it healed them.
“Yes,” Castiel whispers and sounds so distraught that Sam doesn’t press the conversation and Dean turns the music up.
Dean asks, after a short stop at a diner; “How’d you burn those demon's eyes out?”
“One of many abilities,” Castiel answers and doesn’t say anything else.
Castiel doesn’t say much at any time, doesn’t ask his own questions, but Sam is certain that he’s taking in everything with quiet wisdom. As the hours in the car drag on, Sam finds himself becoming more fascinated. Dean points a few things out to Castiel.
“You’ve been off the Earth and...I dunno, up on a cloud somewhere, for thousands of years. Check out that car, it’s a...” And Sam usually tunes out about that point but Castiel pays attention to every old car that they pass when Dean points it out. Dean introduces him to old rock music blasting from the speakers as well.
All in all, for having a supernatural being in the backseat, the trip is surprisingly sedate and relaxed.
**
Dean calls Missouri when they get into the city and she’s there to greet them as Dean parks the Impala and Sam and Castiel exit the car first. Sam feels a little disregarded as she sweeps by him and up to Castiel, looking up at him in silence for a long moment. He stares down at her, head tilted and calculating. Sam and Dean exchange worried looks, until Missouri breaks into a smile.
“I thought I could feel you coming from miles away,” she says as she leans up to kiss his cheek and he leans down to let her. Dean looks as astonished as Sam feels. “We’ll help you get home, honey.”
“Thank you.”
Sam feels like he’s gaping. “You know what he is?”
“Well tell us,” Dean chimes in, half-bouncing on his heels in excitement that’s immediately cut short.
“Mind your manners,” Missouri snaps at them. “Maybe that’s for us to know and you to find out.”
Dean looks chastened and Sam is certain that Castiel is silently laughing at them this time even while his mouth barely moves towards a smile. Missouri leads him away and Castiel follows as if he’s an old friend. Dean and Sam stare after them.
“What the fuck,” Dean says and Sam can only shrug in helpless agreement with the sentiment.
**
**
Castiel finds over the remainder of the day that humanity has changed a great deal since the last time he was among them. Sam and Dean are both highly interesting and highly inexplicable. He likes Missouri, who sees what he is, if not his true form. She is worthy of the knowledge and she’ll treat that information delicately. Sam and Dean on the other hand... Castiel isn’t so sure about them.
They don’t seem so sure about him, either.
Though Dean has stopped drawing his gun every time Castiel puts a foot out of step, he’s still casting Castiel venomous looks. Missouri’s acceptance of him seems to have mollified Dean’s worries some though. Sam mostly just seems determined to figure out what he is.
Castiel can’t tell them. He shouldn’t be here and he’s surprised his brothers haven’t come for him but perhaps they can’t. Perhaps they can’t find him, tucked into this unwilling human with gaping bleeding holes in his wings. The demons somehow knew what they were doing but Castiel can’t fathom why him. Why would they track down his bloodline of vessels and call him?
“Whatever the demons called me here for,” he divulges his worries to Sam and Dean because there is no one else to help him, “They went to a great deal of trouble. I doubt they’ll risk my escape as easily as this.”
“So what you’re saying,” Dean says in his straightforward and blunt manor, “is that a pack of demons is going to hunt you down and kill us all?”
“Very probably.”
“That’s just great.”
Sam tosses his brother an irritated look and Castiel, is fascinated at the by play between them.
“I would understand,” Castiel goes on, “if you wished me to take my leave now. I didn’t intend to drag you into this in the first place.”
Sam and Dean exchange a long glance, one that Castiel can’t decipher but the brothers seem to reach some unspoken agreement from it. Dean grunts. “Nah, man. Can’t just let some poor schmuck wander into trouble. Look what happened to you last time.”
There is clearly meant to be an insult in there but Castiel ignores it. He is beginning to think that perhaps these two are worthy after all.
**
They leave Missouri because the brothers will not risk her being in danger.
She sees them off and looks for a moment in Castiel's eyes. “Promise me, will you, to keep an eye on them, just while you're around. They're helping you.”
“I will.”
Castiel sits in the back of the Impala and they travel away, the world moving slowly around him. “There are others in my family that would have been more beneficial for the demons to take. It would have taken them years, decades, to find my name, my vessel and the incantation to call me here.”
“Maybe you pissed someone off and didn't realize it.”
“Dean would know about that one,” Sam jokes and Dean hits him and Castiel watches them with this growing warmth inside his vessel that he's not sure of. He thinks he's fond. He thinks this is humanity in a way that he's never been able to see it before. He finds himself wishing that he had more time to enjoy this, his father's greatest creation, in a way he never has before.
They're hours outside of Lawrence, on an empty stretch of road and fields when a demon appears in the middle of the pavement. Castiel sees it as a swirling vortex of black and yellow. Dean barks out a vicious curse and wrenches the car's wheel. It still hits the demon, metal warping and screaming, tires spinning in the air as the car flips onto its side. Castiel feels himself being tossed, glass showers him, the noise deafens him. Until the car comes to a stop.
“Sam? Dean?” Neither of them are moving in the front of the car but Castiel can sense their hearts beating.
Where has the demon gone?
He can't use his wings and he hauls himself through the broken jagged glass of the car's back window, spilling out onto the pavement and looking up just in time to feel the demon's fingers curl around his throat and haul him the rest of the way out of the wreck and to his feet.
“Hello, angel.” The demon twists its host's face to a smile, it's yellow eyes glinting down on him.
“Azazel,” Castiel grounds out. He recognizes the demon because it was here last time, it has been here for near as long as Castiel has. But they have never crossed paths. Castiel knows Azazel the same way he knows any demon in the pit. “Why are you hunting me?”
His hands are clutching at the demon's wrist but they are matched and Azazel doesn't move. His smile goes on and on.
“Well it turns out, you're kind of a problem in the future. And the past. Just taking care of a little thorn in my side before it gets out of hand.”
Castiel twists and he's free of the grip, back stepping from Azazel and looking around them suspiciously, as though he'll find the answer in the lines of the fields or the formation of the clouds. Azazel's words make no sense to him. “You can't change what's destined to happen.”
Azazel laughs. “Sure I can! If I kill the fate's bitch that made it happen.”
“You're mistaken.”
“Oh no, I spent a lot of time thinking about this. Lots of research. A few favours, a bit of time travel. You're a catalyst so we need to take you out of the equation, makes things a lot easier for my side.” He glances over Castiel's shoulder at the ruined cars and the unmoving brothers within. “Kind of inconvenient that you hooked up with the Winchesters there but...gotta work with what we've got.”
Castiel makes the mistake of flicking his gaze back towards the car and the demon strikes. He pulls a glass flask from his jacket and tosses it to the ground. It smashes at Castiel's feet, the contents spraying across the pavement, his shoes, his pants. Holy oil. Panic finally licks up Castiel's back and he snaps his gaze to the demon's.
“How did you find this?”
“Years and years of preparation.” Azazel strikes a match and Castiel steps back, looking wildly around him for a way out. He can't fly, his wings are still dripping blood. If he runs, the Winchesters will be left defenceless and Castiel made a promise.
“Guess you just can't plan for everything, huh?” Dean's voice growls behind Castiel and Castiel turns in time to see Dean bracing himself against the side of the car. There's blood dripping down the side of his face but he's holding a gun in an unwavering hand.
The crack of the bullet makes Castiel flinch but Azazel is already screaming, pouring from his host's mouth. The bullet hits the human and he falls to the ground lifeless. Dean and Castiel watch for a moment before Dean is dropping back behind the car again and Castiel can hear the splintering glass this time. He moves to the front in time to see Dean dragging Sam through the front wind screen, glass broken away.
“Sammy?” Dean lowers his ear over Sam's mouth but Sam groans softly, as Castiel kneels as well, and Sam's eyes flutter and stare up at both of them. They settle on Castiel for a moment and then past him, where Castiel's wings span to surround the three of them.
“You're an angel.” Sam says and Dean snorts but Castiel smiles.
“Concussion,” Dean says as Sam reaches out his hand, trying to touch what Dean thinks isn't there, and shakes his head. “You should hear him when he's drunk.”
**
A truck comes to take the car. An ambulance to take Sam and Dean. Castiel goes with them, although the cuts from the glass and from being thrown have already vanished from his vessel. His wings are healing. He thinks he could get home now, but he stays. Until Sam wakes and Castiel hovers in the doorway of his sterile room while the brothers greet each other.
Sam looks over after a few minutes and Castiel steps to the foot of the bed.
“Hey. I saw your wings.”
“They're healed now,” Castiel answers. “I can go home. I owe you two a great debt. You helped me when you had no need to.”
“You can repay us by fixing my car.”
Castiel laughs. It's an odd sensation, it releases pressure he hadn't realized was in his chest. “I can't do that. But call me, when you do have need. I'll hear. I promise and we always keep our promises.”
“Was I right?” Sam asks and Castiel steps to his side. Sam's eyes are bright in wonder as Castiel leans down and kisses his forehead, then drops lower and says against his mouth; “Yes.” Dean's yelp of complaint is lost as Castiel leaves them.
**
**
Sam is cradled in Dean's arms. Lifeless. Blood pouring out of him. Dean presses his hands to Sam's back but nothing will stop it. Sam is dying in his arms. Sam is already dead.
Dean takes a chance and calls Castiel's name.
A breeze kicks across the ground.