((Supernatural Wincestiel Big Bang)) Something Worth Protecting (Part V)
Previous Part
By the time he got back to the motel room and sat down on the edge of the bed to wait for Castiel to arrive, he was exhausted and in serious need of a shower. The sun had set an hour before, and the room was swathed in shadow. Sam rubbed his hands over his face, hoping that Castiel would keep his word and show up soon; he didn't want to have time to think about the fact that this felt so awfully close to what he had felt when Dean had been dragged down to the Pit before.
It was the same hopelessness, the same loneliness, the same grief, but simultaneously, he also felt the exact same determination. Even if it seemed impossible, he would get Dean back. It seemed Fate had its mind set on getting its claws into Dean no matter what it took, but Sam was just as stubborn, if not more so.
The air rippled around him, and when he looked up again, the angel was there, staring down at him with the same intense, otherworldly gaze that Sam had come to expect from him.
Castiel glanced at the items Sam had placed on the table. “You got the ingredients,” he said.
“Yeah,” Sam confirmed. “This everything we need?” Castiel was already at work, crushing dried herbs into a wooden bowl and covering them in oil.
“Nearly,” he said. Without looking at Sam, he held out a hand, picking up a silver knife with the other. “Your arm.” Sam offered held it out to the angel, and Castiel took it roughly, holding it over the bowl.
“Human blood, right?” he asked. Castiel nodded before drawing the blade over Sam's skin, and Sam clenched his jaw and winced as the knife bit into his flesh. His blood trickled into the bowl. Castiel released his wrist, his fingers passing over the cut as Sam withdrew it, and suddenly the pain was gone, a smear of blood on his skin all that was left of the wound. Sam's eyebrows arched in amazement, his breath rushing out of him as he studied his now pristine skin.
“What's that?” Sam asked, looking up as Castiel picked up a ceramic jug from the table. It was not one of the ingredients Sam had procured; the angel must have brought it himself. Instead of adding whatever was inside to the mix, Castiel poured it out on the carpet, forming a circle. It was a viscous, honey-colored liquid, soaking into the rug almost immediately and leaving the faintest of marks there.
“Holy oil,” said Castiel as he completed the circle. “Merely a precaution.”
“Against what?” Castiel turned and shot him a glance that seemed to ask for patience, and he placed the jug back on the table.
“As I said, a precaution. I pray we do not need to use it, but if we do-” From his pocket, Castiel produced a silver lighter, and he tossed it to Sam. He didn't need any further instruction to know what it was for, and he nodded, tucking the lighter away in his jeans pocket, out of sight.
Castiel rolled his shoulders, and just a second later, his wings appeared once more, large and looming. He curled them around himself, reaching for one and grasping one of the rich black feathers, and with a slight grimace, he plucked it out and dropped it in the bowl. Immediately, it burst into blue flames that illuminated the room and forced Sam to shield his eyes, turning his head away. The smell of burning herbs and blood filled the air, sharp and smoky, and the faint crackling sound of the fire was supplemented by Castiel mumbling words in a language that Sam couldn't understand.
Castiel fell silent, and the flames died down, leaving only smoking ashes behind in the bowl and a lingering, earthy scent of burnt offering. For a moment, everything was silent and still, and then the air began to ripple and crackle around them; Sam could feel it on his skin, the hairs on his arms standing straight up. It was a lot like when Castiel had appeared, but more subtle at first, slowly becoming stronger. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam could see Castiel shifting, adjusting his stance to be more solid, more authoritative, his wings puffing up like those of a bird trying to scare off a threat to its territory.
Whatever was coming, it made Castiel feel the need to appear as intimidating as possible.
Sam blinked, and everything fell still. A figure stood before them, a head or two smaller than Sam at least, and his posture was slouched, making him look even shorter in comparison. He was dressed in a dark green jacket and jeans, and he was all too infuriatingly familiar.
He smirked, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Sasquatch!” he greeted, “What a surprise seeing you here!” Sam set his jaw, clenching his hands into fists. This was the bastard who had forced him to watch Dean die over and over again, who had sent him spiraling toward the edge of sanity when he'd been pushed down a path of revenge. He should have stabbed the sonofabitch through the heart for good before, killed him off when he'd had the chance. And yet Castiel had just called him for what? Help? What could he possibly have that could help them? And even if he was able, what would possibly make him willing?
“The Trickster?” Sam growled. “You brought the Trickster here?”
“You could say hello,” the Trickster suggested with a shrug.
“Shut up!” Sam shouted.
“Sam.” Sam silenced himself at the sound of Castiel's voice.
“Castiel!” the Trickster greeted cheerily, turning toward the angel. “Is that really you? It's been a while, hasn't it?”
“You know him?” Sam asked.
“We were college buddies,” the Trickster jabbed, pointing at Sam. “And you, Moose...you need to do a better job of keeping that boneheaded brother of yours from wandering off.”
“What do you know about Dean?” Sam asked, jaw still tight with anger.
“I've got a lot of fingers in a lot of pies, Sammy,” said the Trickster, and he got a thoughtful glint in his eye. “Speaking of which.” In a blink, there was a plate in his hands, a slice of apple pie resting on it. He took a bite and hummed pleasurably. “Gave myself a craving...”
“I should just gank you right now,” Sam growled. Castiel reached out, placing a hand on Sam’s chest to steady him. The Trickster merely grinned, playing with a flaky bite of pie before popping it into his mouth.
“You have managed to learn a thing or two from old Dean-o, haven't you?” he teased before shrugging and sighing. “Still as stubborn as ever, though.”
“Enough of this,” Castiel said forcefully, and Sam was glad for it. They had no leads at the moment, nothing that would show them the way to find Dean, and Castiel must have summoned the Trickster here for a reason. And if there was something the son of a bitch could tell them that would help them get to Dean in the end...well, maybe Sam would just have to put up with his infuriating smugness.
Castiel turned to the Trickster again. “You know why I summoned you here, Trickster.” He emphasized the final word, “Trickster,” as if there was something about it that didn't sit right with him, like he knew more about the bastard than he was letting on. Suspicion lodged itself stubbornly in the back of Sam's mind, but he said nothing. The Trickster, too, looked somehow off-kilter, and it seemed to be Castiel's presence that was having that effect on him. Well, maybe it made sense; after all, Sam doubted Tricksters and angels got along all that well.
“Haven't the faintest,” the Trickster said, casually chewing a mouthful of cooked apples. “And even if I did, what makes you think I'd tell you?”
“You know precisely why,” Castiel said, and within seconds the Trickster's mood shifted drastically. His expression hardened into a harsh glare, aimed straight at Castiel. It wasn't hard for Sam to make out what that look said: it was a warning. But of what?
“Watch it, Feathers,” he hissed, and suddenly the Trickster seemed every bit as intimidating as Castiel ever had, full of unimaginable cosmic power. Even Castiel seemed to sense it, rounding his shoulders in a gesture of what looked almost like submission. Sam felt a nagging sense of fear work its way into the pit of his stomach, right next to the anger that was still simmering there, and all of it was thanks to the creature standing before him.
“Enough of this facade,” said Castiel. “There's no time. I wouldn't have called you here if it wasn't urgent-”
The air around the Trickster seemed to distort and shimmer for a moment, and a spark of real fear flashed across Castiel's eyes, only for a moment, mixed with an odd sort of...well, if Sam didn't know better, he would have had to call it respect.
“You dragged my ass here because you screwed up,” the Trickster said. “You went to Hell and back for that idiot human, and now that you've managed to let him slip through your fingers again, you're trying to get me to help you clean up your mess. Hell, you've even teamed up with Samsquatch over here! Didn't think you'd be bothering with him anymore.” At that, Sam stiffened.
“What are you talking about?” Sam asked, narrowing his eyes at the Trickster.
“I wonder how much our fine feathered friend over here has actually told you,” the Trickster mused, lazily running his finger across the plate and licking off the bit of apple syrup he'd scooped up.
“About what?”
“I guess you already know you and your brother were supposed to be part of a two-for-one sale, right? Not a whole lot of things that can break a bond like that. But a shot of demon blood, straight up...That might just do the trick.” Sam's mind's eye was suddenly flooded with memories of headaches and visions, of Yellow Eyes and the house fire he couldn't possibly remember, of the ruby red droplets of demonic lifeblood that had been so carefully dropped onto his infant lips. Even now, he felt slightly nauseous thinking about it, as if he could feel the remnants of the demon's presence squirming within him.
“How do you know about that?” Sam forced out.
“I know a lot about a lot of things,” the Trickster replied. “Been around the block a few thousand times. You tend to learn a thing or two on the job. Doesn't really surprise me, to be honest.” He sent a mockingly pitying glance in Castiel's direction. “Poor baby Castiel didn't stand a chance against a power like that.”
Sam was suddenly very painfully aware of the sheer amount of power that was confined in this room and the unbelievable strength of the two creatures standing before him: a demigod and an angel of the Lord. Though the two of them seemed to have some kind of mutual respect for each other (perhaps “respect” was a strong word; grudging tolerance might be more appropriate, Sam thought) if they wound up disagreeing violently...Sam doubted he'd live to see the resolution of the argument.
“I am no infant,” Castiel said irately, narrowing his eyes in irritation.
“Might as well be,” the Trickster replied in an annoyingly playful tone. “Compared to me, anyway.”
“Do you know where Dean is or not?” Sam interjected, and both of the ancient beings turned toward him.
“Interrupting isn't really polite, Sammy,” said the Trickster.
“Only Dean calls me that,” countered Sam, clenching his fists. He took the lighter from his pocket, producing a soft, golden flame with the flick of a thumb and throwing it down on the floor. The oil soaked into the carpet there caught fire in seconds, forming a bright circle of flames around the Trickster's feet.
The demigod looked anything but happy. The look he shot both Sam and Castiel was downright dripping with mystical fury.
“Holy oil?” he scoffed. “Really?”
“I'm willing to bet you can't step over that line,” said Sam. His outward facade of certainty was just barely holding, but he kept his stance strong, his tone assured. Fake it 'till you make it, Dean might have said.
The Trickster turned to Castiel. “So you've got yourself a little human helper. Cute.”
“I want to find my brother,” Sam barked. “And you're not going anywhere until you tell us what you know about all this.” If Sam didn't know any better, he might have said that beneath the clear and present anger written all over his face, the Trickster looked downright impressed with him.
“Careful, Castiel,” he said, still looking at Sam. “Keep watching from the sidelines this guy might just steal the show.”
“Enough,” said Castiel. “Enough of the games. There's no time for your disguises and masks now. This affects more than just myself and my charge. It affects us all. You have a duty, to both Father and your brothers, and don't think for a moment that I'll put your childish whims above that.”
The air around them erupted with static as the Trickster bristled, glaring at Castiel. “Who are you calling childish?” he demanded.
“You may be older than I am,” said Castiel, and Sam swore he could hear a note of sass in his voice, “and you may be the Messenger, but that does not mean your word is the last.”
“What what you're saying, Castiel.”
“Holy oil is useless against Tricksters,” Castiel said, and Sam knew he was speaking to him, though he stared straight at the Trickster (the Messenger?) as he did. “But if an angel is trapped in the flames, he cannot cross them without dying.”
It took a moment for the information to sink in, and Sam found himself repeating, wide-eyed, “Angel?”
The man trapped in the ring of fire looked directly at Sam then, his amber eyes blazing with a power that Sam had never seen there before. “Try archangel,” he said.
“Which one?” Sam sputtered, unable to help himself. In his mind, he ran over the list of all the archangels he could recall from ancient texts and legends: Michael, Raphael, Uriel and...
“Gabriel,” said the false Trickster. “My name is Gabriel.”
A week ago, Sam had been eating cold ravioli out of a can in the basement of Bobby's house, and now he was talking to a freaking archangel. What a life.
“The Gabriel?” Sam asked.
“The one and only.”
“Biblical Gabriel...As in, 'I bring you glad tidings of great joy' Gabriel?”
“I remember that line! I've had better. Got the point across, though.” He turned to Castiel again. “You know I'm going to kick your ass for blowing my cover, right?”
“I am the appointed guardian of Dean Winchester,” said Castiel without a hint of uncertainty. It seemed the angel was becoming more sure of himself in the face of this being who Sam figured could easily be considered his...what? Boss? “My charge is in danger. I had no choice. You should know that.”
“Right, right, I get it. You don't have to preach to me, little bro. I get enough of that at home.”
“Alright, so you're an archangel,” said Sam. “Why were you hiding out as a Trickster in the first place?”
“Call it an extended vacation,” said Gabriel. “If you spent the night over at my place sometime, maybe you'd understand. Heaven might be paradise and strawberry fields for the dead, but for us, the soldiers and messengers...Try 24/7 Sunday school with more family drama and jealous siblings. Trust me, sasquatch, you'd want a breather every now and then too.”
“We needed you,” Castiel interjected angrily, and it caught Sam - and Gabriel too, judging from the look on his face - off-guard. “Ever since I found out you were still alive, I had to keep it to myself. I covered up your cowardice while so many others thought you were dead.” The silence that came after was stifling, and Sam very much wanted it to break.
“The least you can do is help us now, Gabriel,” Castiel finally said after an agonizingly long time had ticked by in silence. Gabriel clenched his hands by his side.
“I can't,” he said.
“What do you have against helping us?” Sam shouted, anger rising again within him, glaring at the archangel. “It wouldn't even cost you any effort to tell us-”
“It's not about effort,” Gabriel spat. “You don't get it. I'm not saying I won't. I'm saying I can't.”
“But you're an archangel-”
“Yeah, I'm an archangel. I'm not Dad Almighty Himself. And this thing that you seem so determined to take on...It's more powerful than you'd ever believe.”
“So you do know,” said Castiel.
“Like I said, I know a lot about a lot of things. And I've seen it myself.” The air rippled around them, and suddenly, stretching out from Gabriel's body were not just two, but six feathery wings, at least twice as large as Castiel's and iridescent white, glimmering like mother of pearl. They filled the cramped motel room, stretching from wall to wall. But something was wrong; they looked as if they should have been so much more majestic, but they were ragged and torn, feathers missing in several places and even singed or stripped in others. Suddenly, with the newly visible appendages curling around his body, the angel looked much closer to the part of Heavenly Messenger, but also seemed so much more exhausted and battle-weary.
Sam stared, and Castiel appeared almost saddened; Sam could understand why - after all, the appendages were gorgeous, and it was a tragedy to see them so maimed, but it was deeper than that. Perhaps seeing his brother in such a state touched something deep inside Castiel that Sam really could relate to.
And on top of all that...if something could do that to an archangel...Sam was beginning to question whether they actually stood a chance against it at all.
“That thing...” Sam nodded toward Gabriel's wings. Gabriel cocked an eyebrow in confirmation.
“Still want to track it down?”
“What did this?” Castiel demanded.
“An angel,” said Gabriel matter-of-factly. “A guardian angel.”
“That's impossible,” said Castiel. “It wrenched Dean from me. I felt it. It was more powerful than anything I'd ever seen before, angel or otherwise.” Gabriel shrugged.
“You don't have to believe me if you don't want to, you know.” He folded his wings in tight against himself, and two feathers drifted from the tips, landing in the fire still crackling around his feet and bursting into flames.
“Why would another angel have taken Dean?” Sam asked once he'd pried his eyes away from the feathers burning up on the carpet.
“Let me give you a little lesson in guardian angel biology 101, Sam. Guardian angels get their power from the charges they protect. The more humans an angel has under his wings, the more powerful he is. Makes sense when you think about it. Taking care of humans takes a lot of energy. You guys are pretty damn good at getting yourself in trouble.”
He nodded toward Castiel before continuing: “Take my little brother over here, for example. Originally he was supposed to be watching over both you and your brother, but when that demon got all up in your business, he broke the bond between the two of you. So he was left with Dean-o, and when your big bro got himself dragged into the Pit, Castiel had to yank him back out before he lost two out of two.”
“Angels get their power from the humans they protect,” Sam repeated. “I follow you. But what does that have to do with the thing that took Dean.”
“It seems like someone upstairs figured out some way to work the system,” said Gabriel.
“Are you suggesting that an angel has been...stealing other guardians' charges?” Castiel hazarded, sounding as if he still didn't believe it even as he spoke. Or maybe he simply didn't want to believe it. It didn't sit well with Sam either; he hadn't exactly believed that anything was watching out for them for a good long time, only beginning to wonder at the possibility when Dean had been raised from Hell. But when he thought about the guardian angels he'd read stories about on the road, in library books that never ended up being returned, he'd never thought of them as being malicious or power-hungry. They were benevolent, charitable and loving Maybe it was just another piece of childhood that he needed to let go of, not that he'd ever had that many to begin with.
“Makes sense when you think about it,” Gabriel said. “More charges, more power. And the angels who have had their charges stolen are powerless to do anything about it. Win-win.”
“It most certainly does not make any sense,” countered Castiel. “It's not even possible. An angel can't steal charges from another angel.”
“You ever tried?” Castiel seemed offended.
“Of course not-”
“Well apparently someone did, and he found a way to make it work. And I'd imagine the more powerful he gets, the easier it is.” Sam didn't miss the change in pronoun the archangel had implemented, and he jumped on it.
“He?” he asked. “So you know who it is...” Gabriel turned toward him, working his jaw back and forth thoughtfully for a few moments before answering.
“His name is Asaph,” he said. The name wasn't familiar to Sam, and he looked over at Castiel, wondering if it meant anything to him. He felt a vague sense of curiosity about just how many guardian angels there were out there, and he wasn't sure if there being as many as he thought there were would bring him comfort or just more anxiety.
But now that he had a name, something - someone - he could pin the blame on, someone he could hunt down, his determination was renewed.
“How do we find him?” Gabriel's eyebrows arched in surprise.
“After everything I told you, you still want to go after him?”
“Of course I do,” Sam said without a second thought. “If he's got Dean, of course I'm going to hunt his ass down!” He looked over at Castiel, and a pang of worry shot through him when he saw the heavy, forlorn look in his eyes. It was just the same as the look he'd had when he'd first realized he'd been too slow to save Dean at Missouri's house. “Castiel?”
“I knew there was tension within the Host,” Castiel said, sounding as if he was talking more to himself than to anyone else. “I never could have imagined that something like this...This has been going on for so long, and I never knew. How could I not know?”
“You were kind of busy trekking through the depths of Hell to save your favorite Winchester,” Gabriel said, and there was a sincerity to his voice that Sam was not at all used to hearing. He got the feeling that somewhere beneath that snarky exterior, the archangel was honestly trying to offer his own twisted brand of comfort. It didn't seem to help much, however.
“The disappearance of our brothers and sisters...Suddenly, it makes sense. I never thought it would be one of our own...a guardian.” Suddenly, his gaze turned hard, and he stepped right up to the edge of the burning ring of holy oil, staring Gabriel down. “Why didn't you sound the alarm? Why did you let this carry on?”
“What did you expect me to do?” Gabriel challenged, his wings flaring out.
“Come home,” said Castiel. “Rally the forces, lead an attack-”
“And get everyone slaughtered? How long is it going to take you to stop underestimating what you're up against? There's nothing any of us can do to him-”
“So your reasoning is we all just hide and wait for him to surpass God Himself? Our Father would be ashamed, Gabriel-”
“Our Father skipped town ages ago,” Gabriel spat. “Doesn't seem too interested in lending a hand to humans or the angels protecting them.”
“Well I am.” Castiel turned from him, shifting his wings until the feathers smoothed out and settled.
“Why am I not surprised you'd say something like that?” Gabriel sighed. Castiel looked over at him again. “Geez, you were always so attached to them.”
“I am dedicated to my duty,” said Castiel. “I don't wish to start a war. I merely want to save Dean Winchester. To do what I must as a guardian.”
“That's what it's going to turn into, though,” said Gabriel. “A war. You know that, right?”
“If it comes to that.”
Gabriel squared his shoulders, and for a moment, the intensity of his gaze was downright frightening. But then just a moment later, he shrugged, once again adopting an expression of sheer nonchalance. “You sure have a thing for that Winchester guy. All that loyalty is impressive, I'll give you that.” He turned to Sam. “You too, Sideburns.”
“Of course I do,” said Sam with utmost conviction. “He's my brother. I mean, you should understand that, right? Wanting to protect your brothers...” Gabriel's gaze hardened, and Sam willed himself not to flinch under it.
“What do you plan on doing then?” Gabriel asked Castiel, cocking his head to one side as if he simply couldn't wait to hear what Castiel's brilliant plan was. “You can't take on the guy all on your own.”
“I'll return to Heaven,” said Castiel. “Rally all those who are willing and able.”
“You're going to send the saints marching in?” Gabriel scoffed. “The little guardian angel that could?”
“I do what I must,” Castiel repeated. “And remember, Gabriel, you were once the leader of your garrison. If you returned, took on leadership again, perhaps we could-”
“No can do, bro. I'm not going back there, not anytime soon if I can help it. I made up my mind a long time ago. I'm going to enjoy my vacation while I can.”
“You're a coward,” Castiel spat, but Gabriel merely shrugged, letting the insult roll of of him like a water on skin.
“Sticks and stones, bro,” he said lazily.
“I'm going too.” Gabriel and Castiel both turned and stared, and it was only when they did that Sam realized the words had been in his own voice. It seemed that his logical mind was not quite caught up with his own determination, but it didn't matter. He still knew that he was speaking the truth regardless.
Gabriel threw his head back and laughed, and it was a bitter, mocking, unwelcome sound. “You?” he scoffed. “You're going to march through the pearly gates with my baby brother here? I don't care how many pull-ups you can do in your morning workout, Winchester. You'll get your ass ripped to shreds before you can say Hail Mary.”
“Gabriel is right...” Sam looked over at Castiel, and the angel looked tired and worn, his words spoken in low, exhausted whispers. “Where I'm going...you can't come with me, Sam.”
“Bullshit,” Sam spat, anger flaring in his chest. “This is my brother we're talking about. I told you already, I'm not just going to sit back and let you go after him on your own. I'm coming with you.”
“It's impossible, Sam,” Castiel said, his tone leaving very little room for compromise.
Gabriel made a muted sound in the back of his throat, somewhere between a cough and a giggle, and Sam and Castiel both looked over at the archangel. He regarded them with one eyebrow cocked in amusement, his thumbs hooked into the pockets of his jacket as he rocked back and forth on his heels.
“Impossible is such an overused word,” he quipped. “I doubt most people even know the meaning of it anymore.”
Sam wasn't really sure what to feel in that moment. Gabriel looked so smug and self-assured that he had the strongest desire to punch the archangel in the face, even if it meant he'd probably get smote right then and there. But nestled behind his ribs along with all that frustration and anger, was the tiniest pinpoint of hope, because Gabriel knew something. He knew something that could potentially lead them to Dean, and if he was bringing it up now...maybe it meant they could get it out of him. Maybe, just maybe, this snarky little bastard of a heavenly messenger would be willing to help them. And Sam was not about to let that opportunity slip through his fingers.
He stepped right up the burning line of Holy Oil, feeling the disproportionate amount of heat radiating from it licking at his boots, and he looked down at Gabriel, staring him straight in the eye. “There's a way, isn't there?” he asked, his voice a determined growl.
“Oh, there's a way. A pretty obvious one...I mean, you already know what it is, but I don't think you want to give it a go. After all, not a lot you can do from a hole in the ground, is there?” He smirked, and Sam felt the desire to give him a black eye rising to dangerous levels.
A hand curled around his shoulder, and Sam let out a breath as Castiel stepped up behind him, pulling him back from the flames.. “Gabriel,” he said, his voice, though predictably gravelly and rough, softer than Sam was used to hearing from the angel. “If you're thinking of what I believe you are...” He trailed off, and Gabriel smirked.
“There is another way,” he said, staring at Sam instead of Castiel. “Although it's almost just as likely to end with you in a pine box, anyway. Well...metaphorically speaking. Don't think there would be much left to bury.” The archangel's voice suddenly sounded downright menacing, and it sent a chill shooting down Sam's spine, but he still stood straight.
“What is it?” Sam asked, leaving no room for anything other than a straight answer.
“Oh, you're brave, aren't you?” Gabriel chuckled, sounding legitimately impressed. “Or maybe just reckless...Must run the family I guess-”
Anger flashed through Sam's veins, hot and vibrant, and before he could stop himself, he was grabbing Gabriel by the lapels and pulling him forward, right up to the edge of the fire, and for half a second, the archangel visibly flinched at the heat. Castiel let out a cry of surprise behind him and tried to reach for Sam, to pull him away, but Sam wasn't about to let go until he had his answers.
“You tell me!” he commanded, almost taken aback by the sound of his own voice. “Tell me how to get to my brother, you son of a bitch, or I swear-”
Sam would look back on this moment later and realized in hindsight, that he could have died right then and there. Gabriel, though weakened, it seemed, could easily have torn him apart; he was an archangel after all, a holy warrior of God. But Gabriel didn't try and harm Sam at all. In fact, he smiled and let out a somewhat amused laugh.
“Relax there, sasquatch,” he said, patting Sam's arm. “I've got what you need, and I'll give it to you.” He looked over at Castiel, who had gone positively pale. “Don't say I didn't warn you, though, little bro. This guy's probably going to get you both killed if he doesn't cool it.”
“Sam.” Castiel's voice was ragged, but insistent, and Sam let out a breath, releasing Gabriel. The archangel straightened out his jacket and shifted his wings thoughtfully before tucking his arms behind his back and regarding the two of them with amusement.
“There's a ritual,” he said. “A pretty powerful one, too. It'll get you where you need to go, but it's a one-way trip, Tarzan. Assuming you don't get yourself killed by Asaph, which you probably will...” He looked pointedly over at Castiel, eying him a moment before turning back to Sam. “It won't be easy going for you getting back here.”
Sam broke his gaze away from Gabriel for a moment to glance at Castiel instead, but the angel's face was unreadable. He took a breath. He had to do this, for Dean. His brother needed him, and he wasn't about to back out now.
“What do we need?” Sam asked.
“A little something of mine,” said Gabriel, and Sam held out his hand, but Gabriel held up a finger.
“Ah-ah-ah!” he chastised, gesturing down at the flames around him. “Let me out of his circle first, and then you'll get your present.”
Sam considered it for a moment and squared his shoulders. “I don't trust you.”
“Good.” Gabriel grinned. “But I'll hold up my end of the deal. You'll get what you need, but I can't give it to you until you break the circle.” When Sam did nothing but stare unflinchingly at the archangel, Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Oh come on now! We can wait around here all day, but you've got better things to be doing, I'm sure. You'll rust before I do.”
Sam knew he was right.
He glanced back at Castiel again before he could stop himself, but he still got nothing from the angel at first; though Castiel was hiding it well, Sam could see that there was a myriad of powerful emotions swirling in that head of his. Years of being close to Dean had granted Sam the ability to read people who, more often than not, did not want to be read. It took a few moments, but Castiel finally seemed to settle on a decision, and he nodded at Sam.
Sam was already halfway across the room, keeping his eyes on the archangel the whole time as he took the ancient-looking fire extinguisher from its resting place by the door and pulled out the pin, spraying the ring of fire surrounding Gabriel until it had fizzled out to nothing. To his surprise, it had left not even the faintest scorch marks on the carpet; it was as if it had never burned there at all, and he had just enough time to raise his eyebrows before Gabriel chuckled to himself.
“I wonder if Dean-o will ever manage to stop finding ways to get himself into trouble,” he remarked, and Sam glared. “And I wonder if you'll ever manage to let him go.”
“Just give us what you promised,” Sam said harshly, and Gabriel just quirked an eyebrow at him, one corner of his mouth turning up in a cocksure grin. And then he was gone, leaving behind a few loose feathers that smoldered on the carpet.
Sam threw the fire extinguisher down with a furious snarl, tangling his hands in his hair. “Goddamn son of a bitch!” he cried. “Should have known he would fuck us over!” He turned to Castiel, his gaze fiery and harsh. “Why didn't you stop him?” he demanded, stalking toward the angel. “You brought him here in the first place! Why didn't you-”
“Sam.” Castiel's voice was level and calm as he stared down at the ash on the carpet where the feathers had been, and nestled amongst the remains was a tiny crystal bottle full of clear liquid. Castiel gazed at it with an odd sort of wonder, and Sam squinted. It looked like water, but he couldn't be sure. He reached for it, bringing it up to eye level and wiping off the fine ash to get a better look.
“Was this what he meant?” he asked, voice rough from his earlier yelling.
“Yes,” breathed Castiel, and the angel sounded so damn amazed by what Sam was holding, never taking his eyes off of it, that Sam had to assume it was something exceedingly precious. Castiel plucked the bottle from Sam's fingers, studying it intently. “Incredible...”
“What is it?” Sam asked, heart pattering in his chest in anticipation. If it was really that valuable - and going by Castiel's entranced gaze, Sam was inclined to believe that it was - it had to be a step in the right direction when it came to finding Dean.
Gabriel had been scared. That much wasn't hard to gather, even if the archangel had done a damn good job hiding it. If whatever they were facing - this Asaph guy, another guardian angel, assuming Gabriel had been telling the truth - was really as ludicrously powerful as he suspected, it was entirely possible that they had no chance against him. But if he had Dean, and if this gift from Gabriel would lead them to a way to find him, then Sam had to try. And he would be damned if he was going to let Castiel go after Dean without him, broken bond or not.
“Castiel?” Sam prompted when the angel didn't speak for a long few moments.
“Grace,” said Castiel, finally. He closed his fingers around the bottle, looking up to meet Sam's gaze. “It's the Grace of an archangel.”
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