Summary: Castiel and the hunters have stopped the final apocalypse, and are cleaning up the rest of the evil supernatural beings. This time, a one-way ticket to Hell is permanent for exorcised demons and such. It is a time of brief respite, after everything they've been through. The angels are cleaning up the aftermath upstairs, and the hunters are cleaning up the aftermath below, but all in all, the final battle has been won. Now, Castiel has less to do in heaven and has time to pursue the ravelings of an ancient legend that dates back to the Flood. The legend of the Carrier.
The year was 2025. So much had happened to, around, and because of Castiel. Heading off the apocalypse, for the second and final time, had been quite a feat for just the angel of Thursday, even if he'd had the Winchesters' and Bobby Singer's help. At the thought of the three hunters, the ones who brought out the humanity in him, Castiel gave his trademark, archaic smile. The change in his Grace, which was entangled with the soul of the human woman who lay beside him in the bed, caused her to look to her husband's face. "Something on your mind?" she asked, propping up on one elbow and smoothing a hand over her swollen stomach reflexively.
Castiel's smile widened, and he stroked the cherry-wood curls out of her face with a tender hand. "Just thinking."
" 'Bout the boys?" Laura asked, using her pet term for the men she had come to respect. When Castiel had brought her into the open, as his true love and wife, and let her meet the three hunters, there had been some...tension. Especially when they found out she was carrying the angel's child. Looking back to that meeting, Laura could remember their fear, their concern. Fear for themselves, and concern for what power the child would have. The brothers and their surrogate father had lived for so long with the weight of the fate of the world on their shoulders: if the half-angel, half human baby steadily growing inside Laura offended their sense of preservation for mankind, then it would be dealt with. Period. But Castiel had assured them (with minimal use of his Scary Voice) that the infant was not a threat to humanity, and over time, the five of them had grown to be a mismatched, dysfunctional, crazy, insanely loyal sort of family. It was something Laura had never really experienced, having no surviving family, and found herself reveling in whenever she could.
As Laura sat up, modestly pulling the covers up under her arms, the devil's trap painted above the door to the room in bright red caught her eye. It incarnated the never-ending (and, she admitted, totally justified) paranoia that comprised the life of a hunter. "Do you think all this...protection is worth it?" She twisted the covers worriedly, Texas accent prominent. "If my being here is so likely to bring trouble, I don't want to put anyone in danger."
"Yes, the protections are necessary," Castiel replied. "And you know as well as I do that if Bobby didn't want you here, and the Winchesters didn't like you, you would be gone." The angel gave one note of laughter that changed his entire demeanor. It made it easy to forget for a moment that he was, as Dean put it, 'heaven's sheriff'. "Laura, I think they are more protective of you than they are of each other."
"That's impossible," she snorted, chuckling. If there was one thing she had figured out about the boys, it was that their sense of loyalty towards each other was unmatched. They had been to Hell and back for each other. "But the way Bobby is agonizing over demon-, wendigo-, werewolf-, shifter-, and vampire-proofing the nursery, you may be sorta right."
There was a sound of a hammer and nail from somewhere in Bobby's house.
"Our favorite early riser is probably hanging that devil's trap crib mobile," noted Castiel.
"He's such a grandpa," laughed Laura.
"I don't think he would take kindly to hearing that," replied Castiel, mouth twitching.
"He doesn't know it yet, but that's what she's going to call him. And Sam and Dean are going to be uncles."
"Again, they will not take kindly to that. It's just the sort of timestamp they detest."
"Nonsense. They'll get a hoot out of it...right after they give us twin death glares."
Suddenly, her eyes squeezed shut and her hands flew to her belly, mouth forming an O of pain. A glowing bulge moved under her skin, rotating just over her bellybutton. Castiel placed his hands over hers, mirroring, and using his Grace looked with a sense of wonder past the layers of skin, muscle, and fat to the infant that lay curled in his love's womb. Holy HD ultrasound, in complete color and surround sound. At the sight of the little life forming, Castiel's Grace melted in joy. He could watch his daughter all day without pause, if given the opportunity. But now, he sent a tendril of his essence to the baby. The tangling of their Grace (the baby had inherited that part of her father) calmed the baby, and Castiel asked her to stay still and not hurt Mommy. After all, Mommy was fragile compared to a halfling's strength, and Daddy didn't want Mommy hurt. Even though you can't get out that way, you can cause discomfort, he reminded gently, without forming words.
The baby loved Mommy-voice-and-warmth, and Daddy-voice too, and glowed happily to show it. Laura and Castiel's adoring faces were illuminated slightly as their daughter displayed a fraction of her power. The bulge, which had been a baby-sized knee, retracted. Laura sighed. "Phew, little lady," she addressed her stomach. "You're gettin' big."
"It's only been a few months," marveled Castiel. His face turned stoic as a familiar worry settled over his mind. Laura was special. Not just because she had caught the eye of an angel, but because of her bloodline. She was the only one of the current generation capable of conceiving, carrying, and birthing a half-angel baby. Many angels had tried to impregnate their human loves throughout history, outside of the guarantee of the Carrier legend. All had failed to bring forth a live baby. Any other woman could conceive, and maybe carry, but the power of the halfling in utero would kill the mother, and by extension the baby. Without fail.
If the faint writings that mentioned the legend of the Carrier were squinted at, they hinted that it was something to do with the womb. Apparently, a Carrier possessed a womb that supernaturally contained and restrained the power, both physical and magical, of the half-angel baby. Any ordinary human's womb was little more than tissue paper to the infant, and as soon as their accelerated development rate made them attain kicking size... Castiel closed his eyes against the thought. Every kick from his unborn daughter reminded him of how lucky he was that Laura was HIS Carrier, and more importantly, his soulmate. Anything less, and he would lose the love of his existence, and the little baby that already had stolen his heart.
Since one just Carrier was born every generation, it stood to reason that that Carrier was destined for only one angel. It was an angel's only chance at having a soulmate. It was rather simple, all in all: the angel felt pulled to earth by some unexplainable force, and eventually, to one person in particular. Angels were champions at following vague, driving emotions. Once they found that person, that human, destiny took over and the human would fall in love with the angel. First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes baby in the baby carriage...
Before Noah and the flood, the fulfillment of the Carrier legend had been commonplace. The results were people like Nimrod: incredible specimens of both human and angel genetics, the best of both. But the rapid, rampaging spread of sin after the tower of Babel had made the legend fall into disuse. Many angels forgot about it entirely, and 4,000 years later, when things finally calmed down enough to pursue such frivolities as love, the Carrier legend was deemed too far-fetched, borderline disobedient. Few were the seraphs who believed the legend, who studied the patchwork history.
What powerful, holy, dutiful angel would seek out a weak, faulty human? Love, the greatest emotion, was normally reserved for the Father and for brothers and sisters in the Lord's army. But then, Castiel had never been a normal angel. Castiel loved Dean, and Sam, and Bobby, too. Some said it made him weak. Castiel knew it made him stronger, better. To the angel they were meant to love, a Carrier shone like lightening over the ocean: their voice beckoned; their souls entranced. Castiel was no different.
Protective instincts were not a Winchester exclusive. When Uriel had been testing Laura's defenses to see if she was his Carrier, Castiel had nearly ripped the angel's wings off in her defense. His brow furrowed like a tiger's in mid-snarl. He would protect Laura. He would protect his daughter. At any cost.
"I know that scowl," Laura muttered, taking his face in her hands. She ran a hand through his dark hair, planting kisses on his forehead, nose, and finally his lips. Castiel's scowl was replaced with a passionate focus on his delicious, hormonal wife. She lingered there, sharing his air, his hand spanning the back of her neck. "Quit that," she ordered in a whisper, twitching eyelashes splayed over her cheekbones. "I can feel you all the way over here."
"I apologize," Castiel replied meekly. Her kisses always seemed to do that to him. His blue eyes shone into her olive ones, their bond like tangible electricity between them.
Downstairs, someone was cooking bacon and brewing coffee. Probably Sam, who endured the teasing about his domesticity for the sake of preventing starvation. Laura had cooked until her back started giving out, Dean had tried his hand (the ceiling still bore scorch marks), Castiel didn't need to actually eat, and Bobby could only make meat, potatoes, and eggs, so that left the Sasquatch to slave over a microwave. After the four of them had put a stop to the apocalypse, and Castiel had brought Laura out of the closet, Bobby had kind of taken them all in. As much as Bobby grumbled and griped, they all knew he was secretly pleased to have company after the years of missing his wife and daughters. Dean and Sam used the house as a base to perform hunts, utilizing the knowledge accumulated in Bobby's library and Castiel The Holy Dictionary's proximity to their advantage.
All three hunters were a hair bit (okay, more than a hair) stir-crazy without much in the way of hunting, so they all had a hand in the construction of the nursery. It was strangely quiet on the supernatural front, so a houseful of people, with a baby on the way, was a godsend. Between the five of them, the nursery was essentially a miniaturized version of Bobby's panic room, 100% salt-covered iron with duckies wallpaper overlay and furniture carved with warding symbols. Martha Stewart would have a coronary.
Laura stretched and flipped out of the bed, leaving her angel to watch her dress. Watching Laura (while she did anything) was a dead tie with watching their baby on Castiel's list of favorite pastimes. The dimples above her butt drew his attention as she slid on a pair of elastic-band maternity jeans. Glancing over her shoulder, she threw him a teasing look. "Like what you see?"
Castiel must have moved faster than humanly possible (oops), because he was behind her in a millisecond and mouthing her neck with sheathed teeth. "Very much," he responded over her gasp of surprise. His thumbs fit just right into the divots in the small of her back. Laura made a pleased noise in her throat and leaned back against him.
Just when things were starting to get interesting, there was a knock at the door. Castiel growled, walked over, and threw it open with more force than necessary.
"Hey, Cas..." rasped Dean, raising his coffee in salute. He smirked a little at Laura, who was quickly pulling down her shirt. "... Glowstick." The nickname referred to her thinness pre-baby, and the glowing that occasionally came from her belly. "Sam said for me to tell you there's a plate of bacon with your name on it. Or at least," he innocently smiled into his cup. "What's left of it."
"Don't get between me and my bacon, Dean," Laura replied darkly. "Hell hath no fury."
Bobby walked past them down the hall. He was going very fast, hammer in hand. His mischievous whistle made it evident he had a date with a plate of pork.
"Nuh-uh!" called Laura, waddling after him as fast as she could. "I will go broody on you so fast your head'll spin!"
Castiel grabbed a shirt, pulled it on, and made to follow the convoy downstairs. But his friend put a hand on his shoulder. "I gotta question, Cas."
The angel turned, curious. "What is it, Dean?"
The hunter fidgeted, seeming to choose his words carefully. "Does it...she...have wings?"
"Pardon?"
Dean sighed, seeming put-out by the necessity of further explanation. "Come on, Cas. Will the munchkin be born with feathers?"
Castiel frowned, remembering the image of his daughter on the supernatural ultrasound. "An angel's wings stay tucked away until they need them," he said slowly. "According to the lore, a half-angel's wings are evident even before birth, if they inherit that gene. As it is, I've seen no evidence of them on her."
If his daughter took more after Laura, she would simply be a remarkable child with both soul and Grace. If she took more after him, she would be a Nephilim. A half-angel, half-human child complete with wings, who would grow up to be an adult that...no. The prophets were wrong about that.
"But if she does get them," continued Dean. "Will she be able to fly? And more importantly, will she be able to hide them?"
Castiel was rocked by the thought of his daughter flying. His mind conjured up an image of a girl with Laura's hair and his eyes taking a sailing dolphin dive off a mountain cliff, arms outstretched, back bowed with ecstasy, wings spread white and huge, clothes billowing...
But would she be able to hide them? In order to walk among humans, she would need to. If she couldn't, she would have to stay hidden for her whole...
"You okay?" asked Dean. He stuck his mug of steaming morning mud under Castiel's nose. "Breathe." It was unnecessary, but the gesture was appreciated. The angel nodded and the mug was retracted. "Food for thought, man."
"Yes. Thought, indeed." He had not even considered the possibility of his daughter being gifted with flight. Laura would find the thought delightful, but scary.
"And for pete's sake," said Dean longsufferingly. "When are you gonna pick a name for the critter?"
Castiel's smile grew slightly feral at the mention of the old argument. They had a piece of paper with columns of names picked by each person. Some were Sharpied out, some with questions marks, some quadruple-starred, and a few scorched off the paper (courtesy of Castiel's narrowed eyes). "We haven't found one we agree on yet."
Dean groaned, ambling down the hall. "Well, hurry up. Unless you want me to call her munchkin."
"Not a chance," replied Castiel. They made their way downstairs, and the morning got good. After all, there was bacon.
Sam wearing a 'Kiss the Cook' apron was even better, though.
Author's Note: Thanks aplenty to BloodyEccentrik for her help working around the errors. While you're praying for Japan, pray for the authors of FF while you're at it. :)