FILENAME: CLOUDBREAK20131216
"Woah. There's a lot going on here, Ash." The visual wobbles; the thin glowing lines of the heads-up display in the lenses of the glasses take a split second to catch up. Lines, numbers, text, all constantly shifting depending on the focus in the center of the lenses.
"You'll get used to it. And I can always take readings out that you don't use." A hand appears, gesturing in the vicinity of several components of the HUD. "Altitude. Power reserves. Facial recognition. Summary of everything happening on the police waves, sorted by either proximity or severity, whichever you're feeling."
The visual shifts again. "And what if I break the glasses?"
"Don't. They're not your run-of-the-mill Oakleys." A finger taps the lens; the HUD immediately identifies the fingerprint as Ash's. "Higher resolution screen than most smartphones. They'll record video and sound and bounce it to the cloud. They'll polarize in sunlight, just mirror at night. And correct your astigmatism."
"I don't have –"
"Yes, you do." The visual shifts to the fitted gauntlet at the wearer's wrist. In addition to the stabilization thruster, it has an additional screen with input settings. "No voice-activation yet, because I don't have the data to isolate your voice from wind noise. You want to change anything or look something up, that's your machine."
"What's Cloudbreak?" A finger taps the word on the corner of the screen.
"That's what I named the software. The brains of the thing, if you will."
"That's the whole computer?"
"Hell no. You wouldn't be able to get off the ground with the computer it takes to get you there. Some of it's here –" the visual shakes, as though the wearer has been whacked on the back – "just the bare necessities. Processors for the split-second flight decisions. Failsafe for the fuel cells. Everything else – GPS, altitude data, that syncs from the cloud. Thus the name Cloudbreak."
"Excuse me. Fuel cells? Ash, is this rig powered by radioactive waste?"
"Can't fly on Duracells, man. And it's not technically waste until you're done with it."
"No. Absolutely not." The wearer begins to undo one of the gauntlets.
"Relax, Dean. It's shielded. Exhaust is neutralized. An entire week of nonstop use will net you about as much radiation as a visit to the dentist – and your Quick Healing will take care of that, easy."
"And what if something explodes around civilians? You think of that?"
"Yes, actually." The visual suddenly shifts to a fume hood containing a fuel cell. The HUD analyzes: 0.247g 238Pu. There is a sharp crack and a brilliant flash of light; a hand flies up to shield the wearer's face. "Any leak, any at all, four failsafes kick in with the neutralizer. It'll make a hell of a firework, but no fallout."
A long pause. "And you say I can fly with this thing?"
"Dean. You can fly with this thing."
"Awesome."
"You wanna give it a test drive?"
Seattle looked very different from above.
Dean was used to the birds-eye view, of course – it was something of an occupational hazard – but he'd never had to try navigating from that vantage point before. Streets were not exactly labeled for top-down viewing, and landmark buildings rarely had distinguishable roofs.
He cut his thrusters to land lightly on the roof of an apartment building. The hum as they powered down for the night made Dean think of a luxurious stretch after a long workout. He laughed softly to himself as he fished for the key to the roof's door. Not even a week with it, and he was already personifying his gear. He'd be naming it next.
The studio loft's overhead lights were out, but the large room glowed blue and white with the dozen computer screens that were now playing videos of the test flight he'd just taken, overlaid with streams of numbers that Dean could vaguely understand.
"That was tight," Dean heard Ash say, and he spun, unable to control the grin that spread across his face.
"Yeah it was. What was I clocking?"
"Top speed? Somewhere around sixty. You could do eighty, easy, if you had to." Ash took a long swig from the can of energy drink he was holding. "You see him?"
Dean blinked. "See who?" he asked innocently.
Ash tossed the empty can to the side and shot Dean a look. "Don't play dumb. He's the entire reason you wanted to fly."
"That's not true." It was what had given him the idea and the drive, certainly, but it wasn't the entire reason.
"What are you actually going to do when you meet him?" Ash pressed as he threw himself into one of the desk chairs.
Dean shrugged. "I just wanna talk to him. He can fly and he shrugs off bullets like they're nothing. You know how rare Twinners are? I've met exactly one. You just don't get two powers unless you've augmented." He gestured to his thrusters. "And aside from Sam and Dad, I've never met another Quick Healer, if that's what he is."
"Your face is red," Ash pointed out. "You're either lying or cold."
"Cold," Dean replied, too quickly, but now that he was paying attention to it again, he realized how true it was. "I'm gonna need to get some motorcycle leathers or something."
Ash coughed. "I know you're going for the whole sexy rebel aesthetic," he pointed out, "but it rains three nights out of five."
"Point," Dean conceded grudgingly. "Gore-Tex it is."
Smirking, Ash leaned back in his chair. "You're gonna need a moniker, too."
Dean blinked. "What?"
"A name. You know, 'Window Washer by day, Vigilante Justice by night: Dean Winchester is...'" Ash gestured at Dean to fill in the blank.
Dean shook his head. "How about we skip the theatrics and stick with 'Dean.' It's how all the cops already know me anyway."
Ash scoffed. "It's a bird, it's a plane...oh, no, wait, it's just Dean."
"I am 'just Dean.'" Dean started to unfasten the thrusters from his wrists. "I've been 'just Dean' for years now. Because of 'just Dean,' there hasn't been a single rape in Capitol Hill in months." Dean held up the thrusters. "And 'just Dean' just got some upgrades."
Dean had first seen him three months ago.
The sun had set over the gray-green waters of Elliott Bay as it widened and became Puget Sound. Evening rapidly darkened the sky as his crew gathered on the rooftop of the Washington Mutual building. The WaMu building, with its fifty-five stories, usually took a full crew of four two days to clean the windows, rappelling down the sides in stages or in the slower but marginally safer hanging scaffolding. They'd made good time. Dean had been on the verge of giving them a few hours off the next morning to finish the job after lunch when movement had caught at the upper corner of his eye.
Eagle, his mind had helpfully supplied, and he turned to look – bald eagles were not particularly rare but they were still a minor thrill to see, and he was surprised one was flying so near the city. But as he focused, the dark silhouette had been far too large to be an eagle, and entirely the wrong shape. His jaw dropped at the same time that Kevin had pointed and asked "What is that?"
It was not long until, listening to the police bands as he slowly drove what he considered to be his beat in his car, the police had given the winged shape a name. "Guardian Angel left us a package in Pioneer Square," they would say. Or, "Guardian Angel says he's holding a rapist in custody." And though Dean kept a close watch on the alleyways and streets he had determined to be his responsibility, he kept one eye to the sky, without exactly knowing why.
He was rewarded with the occasional glance, hardly more than a blur as The Guardian Angel flew by, doubtless on his way to some disturbance that he would be able to quell before police could navigate their way there. Glimpses while he was hanging from the belay lines on the side of a building were rarer, but once the Angel had flown close enough for the wind of his passing to cause Dean to swing slightly from his ropes, though he was gone before Dean had the opportunity to register anything more than the tan of his overcoat and the black of his...wings, for lack of a better word.
Ash hadn't been able to pull up any information on the Angel, aside from brief mentions in police reports; his brother Sam had been able to provide even less information, since the Angel usually left any crime scenes before Sam or any of the other officers arrived. No one had ever spoken at length to him. The elusiveness of it all played in the back of Dean's mind like the chords of a half-remembered song, for no reason Dean was able to determine.
After Dean had lost a mugger in a foot chase through Capitol Hill, leaning against the corner of a building to catch his breath, he looked up on a whim to catch only the flare of that tan overcoat at the corner of a building. If I could fly, he remembered thinking, I could catch every son of a bitch that tries to run and get up there to see who The Guardian Angel really is.
He'd mentioned it to his roommate a few days later, to which Ash had replied with a lazy "give me blank check and a week."
His thigh holster was too tight. Dean briefly considered landing to adjust it, because Ash was still working on perfecting the hovering algorithm, and then decided against it. He could deal with the ragged changes in altitude for the thirty seconds it would take.
He did not expect the action of leaning forward while in his precarious hover to cause him to somersault forward in the air, though he probably should have. Limbs akimbo in an attempt to halt his roll, Dean took a deep breath and looked around, hoping no one had seen that.
People on the ground rarely looked up, especially when it was drizzling like this, and so he didn't expect anyone to have noticed his gaffe, but when he raised his eyes his breath caught at the silhouette against the dark gray sky on the roof of a nearby building. The tan overcoat and the wings, half-folded, were unmistakable. And the man was facing Dean, head cocked slightly to the side.
Completely unintentionally, Dean had found The Guardian Angel.
Before he could talk himself out of it, Dean leaned forward, this time engaging his thrusters so he would travel instead of simply spin about an erratic axis. The Guardian Angel stepped back slightly to give him room to land but otherwise didn't move, blinking against the wind Dean's thrusters kicked up.
Dean took a cautious step forward, removing the frames of his heads-up display so he could see without water droplets interfering. His thrusters, detecting he was grounded, powered down into standby, leaving them surrounded only by the soft patter of raindrops and the susurrus of the city around them.
The Guardian Angel licked his lips and rolled his shoulders back as he took a breath. "Hello, Dean," he said, his voice like old leather. "It figures you'd find a way to join me."
Dean furrowed his brow. "How do you mean?" he asked.
The Angel waved a dismissive hand. "Nothing. Forget I mentioned it." He stepped closer, peering at Dean's gauntlets. "Interesting. How do you control the ionization?"
Dean shrugged, resisting the urge to take a step back. "No idea. I just fly the thing. Ask my engineer." His eyes were pulled from the ill-fitting suit and crooked blue tie to the black curves extending over The Angel's shoulders, and he drew in a surprised breath. "They're wings. Actual, honest-to-God wings."
"What?" The Angel looked startled, the feathers of the wings ruffling, then he relaxed and the feathers laid smooth again. "Oh. Yes." The wings extended very slightly, as though being shown to a greater advantage, raindrops running off them in tiny molten beads of silver.
"So...Chimera?" Dean had heard of Chimeras, humans who expressed physical attributes of other species; they were even rarer than Twinners, and the statistical improbability of what was standing before him made his mind boggle.
"Chimera? No." The Angel shook his head, eyes falling to the ground as though hesitating to continue before looking up again and meeting Dean's gaze. "I'm an Angel of The Lord." Dean could hear the capital letters of the title.
The eye contact felt too intense to maintain, but Dean couldn't look away, his mind groping for a response. "There's no such thing," he finally managed, and wanted to wince.
Surprisingly, The Angel smiled at that, a soft exhalation through his nose that could have been laughter supplementing it. "Always so quick with that conclusion," he said, almost to himself. As though realizing what he'd just said, he cleared his throat and looked away. "But true, here – or as nearly as I can tell. There are no other angels here. Just me. Strange. One would think..." He shook his head and returned his gaze to Dean. "My name is Castiel."
"Castiel," Dean said slowly, trying to ignore how aware of his heartbeat he was with those impossibly blue eyes seemingly staring right to the center of him.
Castiel smiled again, though it was mostly in the wrinkles around his eyes than with his mouth. "But you can call me Cas. If you want."
"You already know my name." Dean deliberately didn't make it a question, not sure it would get an answer no matter how he phrased it.
Castiel nodded. "I do. Your name isn't a secret in the streets, and this isn't the first time we've –" His eyes suddenly snapped into a distant focus. "Altercation on Second and Bell. At least one of them has a firearm." He brought his gaze back to the present with a glance at Dean, expression almost unreadable except for one eyebrow raised an infinitesimal amount. "Race you."
Dean shook the frames of his HUD to flip the temple pieces back out and slid them onto his face. The world snapped back into sharpness – Ash had been right about the astigmatism – and thin glowing lines resumed their constant flow of information.
"You're on," he replied, twisting to run two steps before leaping from the side of the building.
Had it been more than four blocks, Dean was certain he'd have built up the speed to leave Castiel reeling in his wake. He would have to talk to Ash about the acceleration on this thing.
As it was, his timing was near-perfect; Castiel had landed in front of the two young men, one of whom had just brandished his weapon in the way of those who simply carry a gun to intimidate, and they had both immediately tried to bolt the opposite direction, only to find their way blocked by Dean as he cut his thrusters and dropped the last two feet to the street in front of them.
The empty-handed one began shouting incoherently, pointing wildly at the one with the gun...who, eyes wide, brought his gun up, aimed at Dean's chest.
"No!" Castiel bellowed, reaching out.
In the strangely stretched mosaic of instants that followed, several things happened before Dean could blink twice:
The man, panicked, squeezed the trigger.
The muzzle of the gun flashed.
The gun flew sideways out of his hand, as though slapped by some unseen force.
Dean closed his eyes, knowing what was coming and not wanting to witness it.
A hot twist of pain blossomed out from the impact in Dean's left shoulder.
Dean staggered back, instinctively clutching his shoulder as he opened his eyes again to glare at the assailant.
"You son of a bitch," he growled through clenched teeth, right hand coming away from his bloodied shoulder and falling to his holster. It was still too tight, his mind incongruously reminded him, but before he could draw, Castiel had seized the man's head in both hands.
"I could break your neck," he said in a low, dangerous tone, "or you could keep struggling and break it for me."
"Here." Dean reached into the pants pocket in which he kept his zip ties, wincing as he pulled at the tattered muscles of his shoulder. "Turn him around."
With a deft movement Castiel managed to do just that, and though the blood on his fingers made the zip ties slippery, Dean fixed the man's hands together before kneeling to do the same to his ankles, for good measure.
"Sirens," he grunted as he rocked back on his heels, not particularly wanting to stand back up at the moment.
Castiel nodded in agreement as he thrust the shooter down to land hard on his backside on the street. "Dean. You're hurt."
Dean waved his hand dismissively, clenching and unclenching his left hand. The shock had begun to force the pain to retreat, just a dull onslaught that spiked as he tried to roll his shoulder. "Gimme a minute."
"Dean –"
"I said, gimme a minute." Dean fished around in his jacket pockets before coming up with a gum wrapper. Not perfect, but it'd do. "Make sure no one touches his gun."
Red and blue flashing lights spearheaded a throbbing headache as Dean gingerly unzipped his jacket, swearing at the bullet hole. He'd just bought the thing, and now it needed a patch. The hooded sweatshirt and tee shirt beneath were stuck to his skin with blood, already clotting and thick, and Dean peeled them away just as a police officer strode up to him.
"Evening, Officer," Dean managed as he looked up.
"Winchester." The officer visibly relaxed, then gestured at Dean. "Didn't recognize you with the new getup. You going pro?"
"Something like that." Dean grunted and he slapped his hand over his wound again. The officer didn't seem particularly worried. Dean raised his head to survey the scene, but even with the aid of his HUD to translate the chaos around him, he couldn't see Castiel.
"Guardian Angel bolt?" he asked, probing the edge of the wound with his fingers.
The officer's eyes narrowed. "You working with him?"
"No. Just...showed up at the same time." Almost there; he could feel the edges of the bullet as his body worked to expel it from his tissues.
"He usually doesn't stick around. Wouldn't be surprised if he's watching somewhere, though." The officer craned his neck as though to scan the rooftops. "You have a bullet for us?"
"Yeah. Sorry. Ran out of specimen bags."
"I've got one right here." The officer held open a baggie; Dean deftly deposited the bloody bullet and gum wrapper into it, careful to not let his fingers touch the bullet. He was always so surprised at how small bullets were in relation to how much pain they could cause.
"Thanks, man. Appreciate it." The officer sealed the baggie and thrust out a hand to help Dean up. Dean took it, levering himself to his feet as he pressed at the skin where his wound had been. Knitting flesh always itched horribly for a second or two, but scratching it never made any difference.
"You get his gun?" Dean asked, rolling his shoulder back experimentally. He'd be sore for a while, but it'd do.
"Yup. The usual?"
Dean nodded. "The usual. I was never officially here."
He swiped a thumb over the panel of his gauntlet in the pattern that would activate his thrusters. It was immensely gratifying to see the expression of astonishment on the officer's face as Dean lifted effortlessly away, and Dean didn't bother to hide his grin as he rose above the lower buildings and sped off.
Castiel caught up to him as Dean cut his thrusters on the roof of a drugstore in Capitol Hill, landing in a crouch, his wingbeats kicking up enough wind to scatter the debris around him. Dean's breath caught at the sight, and as the wings snapped shut behind Castiel's back, a not completely unrelated tremor in Dean's knees forced Dean to sink down to settle on his heels on the roof before he fell.
"Are you all right?" Castiel demanded, crossing the distance between them in a few strides and kneeling down.
"Yeah. I'm fine." Dean reached for his hip pocket as he rolled back to sit, not sure he could maintain his balance much longer. "Here." He shoved a few bills into Castiel's hand.
"What is this for?" Castiel asked, staring at them.
Dean gestured down the street. "Dick's. Two Deluxes, chocolate shake, fries. Get yourself something." His hand trembled and he clenched his fist as he shook his head. "Sooner is better than later."
"Dick's?" Castiel looked up, utterly perplexed.
"The burger joint. Thataway." Dean pointed again. "I'm fine, but I need food." Which was an understatement; he felt as though he hadn't eaten in days, and he highly doubted his ability to stand up again to take off if Castiel refused.
But Castiel stood, a trifle doubtfully, and rather than take flight he swung himself over the edge of the roof. Dean blinked as he heard the other man's impact on the sidewalk below. It was only two stories to the ground here, but that was still more than enough to rupture tendons on landing, and even a Quick Healer would have trouble walking for a few seconds. With flight so readily available, why hadn't the Angel just flown?
The rain had paused by the time Castiel returned with the white paper bag that Dean snatched without considering whether it was polite. He made short work of the first burger, not really bothering to chew, and halfway through the fries could already feel his frantic metabolism beginning to calm. Taking time to enjoy the second burger, he looked to the side to see Castiel sitting next to him. Watching him.
Dean swallowed. "I told you to get yourself something too," he said.
Castiel nodded. "I already ate it."
"Oh." Dean had been rather focused on his own food. He took a long drink from the chocolate shake and rolled his shoulder back again.
"Dean," Castiel said seriously. "You...were shot."
"I was shot," Dean agreed. He brought the last of his burger up to his mouth. "And then I got better."
"How?"
Dean took his time chewing, pushing his HUD frames to the top of his head to better ignore the biometric warnings flashing across them. "Cas," he said, the nickname tasting strange on his tongue, "I...you know my name. I figured you'd heard about me. Maybe watched me do my thing. But if either of those things were true, you'd know that taking bullets is kind of my schtick."
"You need a new schtick," Castiel said bluntly.
"I'm working on it," Dean replied drily. "But aside from that...everything I've heard about you said you shrug off bullets. And knife stabs. And gut punches. And everything in between. But you don't know what Quick Healing is, even when I'm doing it right in front of you." Dean pivoted to face the other man. "You've got wings, but you say you're not a Chimera. You can hear the police bands. I'm pretty sure you've got some sort of telekinesis." He swallowed. "I haven't said two words to you before tonight, but you talk to me like you know me, so...level with me. What are you, really?"
"I already told you." Castiel shifted, his wings unfolding slightly to avoid dragging the tips on the rooftop. "I'm an Angel."
"Okay, that really raises more questions than it answers," Dean protested.
Castiel heaved a sigh. "How good are you at quantum physics?" he asked.
"Little rusty," Dean replied flatly.
"If I told you I was a multidimensional waveform, would that mean anything to you?"
Dean considered that. "Not really."
Castiel looked out at the lights of the city, eyes focused on nothing in particular. "I...exist in several dimensions simultaneously. Possibly infinite. I populate whichever dimension happens to be receiving my attention."
"Okay." Dean nodded.
"You don't believe me at all."
"Nope."
"Then why ask?" Castiel tore his gaze from his contemplation of the lights to focus on Dean. "If I have no reason to lie to you, you have no reason to doubt me."
"I met you for the first time an hour ago," Dean pointed out.
"And I've known you in every possible way for more years than you can count," Castiel countered, an edge of emotion coloring his flat, gravelly tone. "We've..." He looked away again. "I'm sorry. It's...always difficult to encounter you for the first time, no matter how many times I do it." Swallowing, he added, as though to himself, "I never know which Dean I'm going to find this time."
Comprehension wriggled its way to the front of Dean's thoughts, and he nearly choked on a fry. "Multidimensional," he managed after swallowing. "You're saying there's more than one of me?"
The Angel nodded gravely.
"How many?" Dean demanded.
"Possibly infinite," was the emotionless response.
The fries were growing cold and limp in their paper packet, but despite the uneasy shakiness of his low blood sugar, Dean wasn't hungry anymore. He toyed with a chunk of potato skin too small to be called a fry. "Why tell me this?" he asked finally, looking up to see that Castiel was intently studying his own hands.
"Because I've learned from experience that keeping secrets from you is unpleasant," Castiel replied. "And you deserve the truth, not half-lies and fabrications intended to protect you." He glanced to the side. "You know everything now. Do with it what you will."
"Everything?" Dean replied incredulously, and Castiel paused in his act of standing. "You haven't told me a damn thing." He tossed the packet of fries to the side. "Who are you? You give me a name and an unlikely story and tell me — what, exactly? And then you say you know me? What do I do for a living? Where do I live? What's my favorite book?"
Castiel set his jaw. "Inconsequential. You're you, whether you're a – a superhero or a demon hunter or a soldier or a stockbroker or a kindergarten teacher. And no matter where I go, you're there. Every time. You seek me out, and..." He shook his head and stood, wings spreading for balance as he unfolded himself. "There are some things I need to consider," he said gruffly as he shook his wings the rest of the way open. "I don't think I was ready for this to happen."
"We're not done here," Dean protested, pushing himself to his feet.
"No," Castiel agreed. "But I imagine you'll find me, or the other way around, when it's time to continue."
And with a flurry of wings and wind, Castiel launched himself from the roof and was gone.
Dean almost couldn't fit the key into the slot of the lock; he jogged down the stairwell with an unsteady urgency, one hand sliding across the railing in the not-so-unlikely event of him needing to stabilize himself.
Ash was waiting for him as he threw open the door to their floor, shoving a protein shake into Dean's hand before Dean could even take a breath. "Dude," Ash said as Dean upended it. "I think you need to start wearing Kevlar if you're gonna skip dinner before going out to get shot."
"Not a terrible idea," Dean admitted as he paused for breath. He shook his head. "I think that one clipped something important. I don't usually bleed that much, or use up that much energy."
Ash rubbed his eyes with one hand. "Only if you consider your subclavian artery important."
"I'm attached to it, I'll admit," Dean said before tossing back the rest of the protein shake. "Might need a few days to get over this one. We have any more of these?" He chucked the empty carton into the garbage can as he stepped through the door of their loft.
"Enough to feed a small army," Ash replied, waving his hand in the direction of the corner that acted as their kitchen. "But not if you're gonna go get shot every night."
Immediate needs satisfied, Dean finally picked up on the tremulous quality of Ash's voice, and he turned, brow furrowed. "Ash? You good?"
Ash heaved a sigh, flopping into one of the computer chairs. "I knew this was your thing," he said as he pressed a few buttons and video playback began. "First time I've seen it." The screen immediately turned red, vital sign warnings flashing across the picture, and Dean felt his eyebrows fly up as he watched, for the second time that night, the blood soaking through his shirt as he unzipped his jacket, the numbers in the corner of the screen he'd ignored earlier pulsing alarmingly as his blood pressure plummeted and heart raced.
"Wow. You must have thought I was dying."
"Dude. You were." Ash stabbed a finger at the screen. "You stopped, but you were."
"I didn't. It'll take more than a bullet to the chest to take me out." Dean clapped an uneasy hand on Ash's shoulder. "Sorry I shook you up."
Ash shrugged. "Gotta get used to it if I'm gonna be your tech support." He jabbed a few keys and the macabre picture minimized, uncovering a still shot of Castiel. "Now spill. You owe me that much."
Dean scoffed. "Like you weren't watching."
"No, I wasn't," Ash said, this time sounding slightly offended, "because you took your damn HUD off. Both times. I don't even have audio."
"I..." Dean reached up to run a hand through his hair before he saw blood crusted in his cuticles. His blood. His tee shirt was stiff against his chest with it. "I need a shower," he said. "And I gotta think about how to put it all in order because it's..." He let out a single quiet laugh. "It's complicated."