A/N: Here I am, starting yet another story... I owe chapters, I know, I know... -cough- To those who read Puppy Love, I'll explain that whole shebang when I have the next chapter to present, promise!
Any who! New story!
I'm in love with this story! I honestly am, ha ha. Wings, bb!Cas.. Oh, this'll be so much fun. :3
This was a request by ravenanalia, and I really hope I live up to your expectations!
Chapters will be longer than what I'm usually used to posting, mainly because I'm trying to flex my muscles more. And I have too much fun being descriptive, as you'll notice. I played quite a bit with imagery, eh-heh...
And, before anyone freaks out, Cas did not fall.
I'll explain that in a chapter or two, promise, but please keep that in mind while reading.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, blah blah blah, titles to Kripke, blah blah, just enjoying the sandbox, blah, all nerdy references made intentionally or otherwise aren't mine either, blah blah blah blah... We should know this by now...
Name: Shooting Stars
Author: SeaWolf7
Genre(s): Romance, Family
Pairing(s): Dean/Castiel, Sam/Gabriel, Bobby/Crowley
Summary: After a strange mishap of an unknown force, Cas is found in an old church unconscious, amnesiac, and... six? AU Post-S5 Destiel Sabriel Crobby
Song Rec
'Paradise' - Coldplay
'Sweeter' - Gavin Degraw
'Hold Up A Light' - Take That
'Safe and Sound' - Taylor Swift ft. The Civil Wars
'Kids' - MGMT
"I hate to say it, Sammy, but I could get used to this." Dean murmured around the lip of his bottle, relaxing back against the windshield of the Impala. Since he'd gotten his ass beat by the devil, watch Sam throw himself (and Lucifer, and Michael, and Adam) into the pit, watched as Cas healed his broken, dying body and resurrected Bobby, Dean couldn't dig himself out of the mental pit he'd dug into. Watching Sammy—his baby brother—sacrifice himself for the sake of everything left Dean numb and listless. Sam had wanted him to go live the Apple Pie Life with Lisa and Ben, the life he apparently had deserved. But he couldn't, wouldn't subject Lisa to his life. There were still monsters to hunt, demons to gank. The name Dean Winchester and the term normal life were not, nor would ever become synonymous.
So he had stayed with Bobby for a while, nursing mental and psychological wounds that couldn't be healed by the touch of an angel. An angel he still had yet to see since he'd flown off from the passenger seat of the Impala. Dean spent a good deal of time kicking himself over that one, not asking Cas to stay. Or at least, tell him he was welcomed to come around if for no other reason than to hang out, check in. Anything. A part of him hated him—or, rather, what Castiel was then the angel himself. Angels had gotten them in this predicament in the first place. And all he had gotten in the end? His brother in a hole. But even that didn't last too long. The elder Winchester let his eyes roam to the taller man lying next to him on the roof of his beloved car.
Sam lay next to him, completely intact and sipping his own beer.
It had been a complete mystery how his baby brother had been popped from the box. He'd been talking with Bobby about his deal with Crowley when a knock at the door had turned out to be the younger Winchester in the flesh (even if he had to stop Bobby from stabbing Sam with a silver knife. He was all too eager to subject Sam to the customary hello—slice with silver, salt, holy water. The regular Winchester greeting.) But after proving that he was himself; that he was his actual brother he'd thought was dead, gone... He'd hugged Sam tight, and hadn't let go for several minutes.
To the sake of his man-pride, neither had Sam so it was a two-way street.
However, that still posed the question: who raised Sam from the pit? As far as anyone (Read: himself, Sam, Bobby) knew, only an angel had the sort of mojo to pull off a stunt of that caliber. But they were fresh out of ideas on who would do it. There was Cas, but he wasn't answering to prayers or calls. No other angel liked them enough to put themselves through that sort of ordeal for the boys who stopped the Apocalypse. Eventually, they put the matter into the backs of their minds, willing it away for the moment.
Sam hadn't been happy to find out Dean hadn't gone to Lisa, hadn't gotten his chance at the Apple Pie Life he 'so deserved'. But the arguments never lasted long. Just a few heated words between them before it would drop. They wouldn't talk for several hours after that, but at least they weren't talking about them. Dean didn't want to think about Lisa, about Ben and at every opportunity he took made sure he didn't.
A few weeks after Sam had shown up on Bobby's door step with not a clue on the how or why, they finally had their first hunt together as a dynamic duo. It was a small thing, a vampire being a nuisance in Idaho, but it helped the brothers gain a sense of their lives once again; a bittersweet reminder of what they were glad and regretful of having back in their lives. It brought a sense of normalcy and condemnation—a lifestyle they would surely never escape.
But helping people, saving lives was the family business, and was what they knew best.
This latest hunt left them on the cusp of Missouri, near Arkansas. A long hunt on the tail of a wendigo finally paid off with little happenstances; and while they were eager to get back to Bobby's, back home, there was a rumor floating around town that there would be a meteor shower that night.
With a bit of an argument between them ('Seriously? Camping out to watch a meteor shower?' 'When are we going to have this chance again, Sam?') they found an empty stretch of road away from any light poisoning, stretched out on the hood of the vintage car with a few bottles and watched the light show. But it didn't exactly help that the streaks of light only served as a painful reminder of the angels, of Castiel. What had happened to his angel? Why wasn't he answering? Was he okay?
A foot kicked his ankle lightly, gaining his attention. "You're thinking of Cas." It wasn't a question, a gentle statement as if those few words would shatter Dean, or set off the time bomb that his brother had become. Castiel was always a tricky subject with Dean; he had no way to gauge his reaction when bringing up the angel.
"Am not." Dean groused to himself. "The dick spread his wings and flew away once the freaking apocalypse was stopped—just like he said he would. Why would I care if he didn't want to come back?" His tone sounded bitter, even to his own ears.
Sam held up a hand in surrender. "He's your best friend, Dean. You're allowed to be worried."
"Oh, shut up and drink."
"Jerk."
"Bitch."
They lapsed into a semi-comfortable silence once more, watching the flares of light streak across a wide expanse of starry sky. They left small trails before fading out just as quickly like fireflies flickering in the dark of humid summer nights, silently reminding the boys of happier, more innocent times. Of two smaller boys chasing the glowing bugs with mason jars and punctured lids in a salvage yard with a weathered old man keeping watch from the porch. Dean always caught more than Sam, but in the end they usually combined both jars to keep as a night light of sorts by their beds for the night, both children straining themselves to stay awake to watch the bugs flicker and light. By morning, they were always gone.
One meteor caught Dean's attention, green eyes glued to it as it streaked but never faded. His shoulder prickled numbly, not quite garnering his attention like the ever approaching ball of light. It hurdled down closer to earth, gaining increasing momentum and brightness. Dean sat up, as did Sam, and the scar started to burn as the meteor tumbled closer, and closer...
"Shit, Sam, close your eyes!"
They'd barely had time to shield themselves as the inferno raced overhead, roaring loudly in an unnatural screech that had them both crying out and covering their ears at the sound as it careened by. At the apex of its track, directly overhead of the Winchesters, Dean's scar burned at such intensity that he had to clamp his hands tighter to keep from grasping at his shoulder. It stole his breath for a moment, shakily drawing it back in as the meteor passed overhead. Slowly they opened their eyes, hesitantly uncovered their ears as the ball of light smashed into the front glass of a dark building they passed a mile back.
Sharing a look, they stood a moment before scrambling to get in the car and drive after it.
.:|:..:|:..:|:..:|:..:|:.
Pulling the Impala into the gravel parking lot of the building not even a mile down the road, Dean and Sam slid out of the vintage car to inspect the building with careful scrutiny while sliding around to the trunk to stock up on weapons.
The building, turns out, to be an old church. A decently-sized gravel driveway out front framed by ancient dogwood trees and smaller shrubbery. The stained glass mosaic over the main doors is smashed in, leaving jagged shrapnel of varying colors clinging to the edges of what the image used to be. The impact seemed to have blown out the mosaic windows on the lower floor closer to the ground, littering the grass in colored shards. The pair cautiously step up to the doors, nudging them open with the barrel of a shotgun. Shards of varying shades of glass scattered all around the flat red velvet carpeting inside the white stone building, crunching beneath bootfalls despite their best attempts to keep from stepping on the glass. The meteor shower continued on while they investigated, the streaking lights caught the gleaming jagged edges of broken stained glass. The lights danced all around them in flashes of color now, streaks of rainbows lighting up the church in a way that illuminated the otherwise dark room brilliantly.
Weapons raised and ready, they silently crept into the old church for whatever made such a mess. The pews were scattered and pushed around, the damage they took was ranged from some nicked corners to split and splintered mess. The shape they were moved was strange, however. The ones closest to the door were shifted the most, funneling in the closer they got to the pulpit. The thin red carpet was ripped at the sight of impact, torn and burned in a trail to the base of the pulpit.
The closer they crept to the polished wood, the more Dean's handprint scar burned and seared, as if pulling him closer and trying to warn him away. It filled him with an immediate sense of dread, especially once the streaks of light caught the crumpled heap of fabric at the base of the center podium. He didn't need the scar leading him, or even the streaks of color tainting the color of the material to recognize that tan trench coat.
"Cas," The word was said on a breath, a prayer of his name as the muzzle of the shotgun lowered and he was running to his side, dropping to his knees as the gun slipped from his fingers. But dread continued climbing up his spine. There wasn't enough mass to account for the entirety of Jimmy Novak's body, he could see that much.
A vague memory flashes by, of arriving at Chuck's after Lucifer had risen to find Cas... everywhere.
He couldn't smell blood (in fact, all he could smell was ozone before a lightning strike and the scent of a natural spring in deep woods, Cas' natural scent mixed with what might have been potpourri), but he still dreaded what he might find. Maybe this had been why Cas wouldn't answer him, couldn't –
The trench coat moved, if but a fraction.
"Dean—" Sam was suddenly at his side, a hand on his shoulder.
It shifted again just as Dean shrugged his hand off, leaning over the dirty tan coat mound. He had to know, had to know what—
He sucked in a breath, fingers digging into the shoulders of the coat until he found a—if smaller?—body mass.
—the Hell—
With a silent count, Dean deftly turned the bundle over. A mop of dark hair, pale skin bundled up in an adult-sized get up of a holy tax accountant. But it was wrong, wrong, wrong. The body was so small, so... young. He couldn't have been more than six, maybe seven. Light streaked over his pale features, colors gliding over his small, sleeping face.
—was going on?
Suddenly dark eyelashes fluttered against pale cheeks, whisper soft as the small child started to wake. Dean retracted his hands just as those too-intense blue eyes locked onto him, studying over the hunter with an unidentifiable emotion, eyebrows drawing together slightly. Passing light was caught and illuminated in his eyes, adding an ethereal depth to them.
Sam gave a relieved smile, as Dean remained stoic. "Cas, it's good to see you're alright." Castiel's eyes shot straight up at the taller hunter, flashing slightly.
Without warning, both Winchesters were flung backwards into the aisle, sliding on the short carpet with a muffled grunt at the impact and heat of carpet burn though clothing. Dean took a moment, scar burning hot before he scrambled to his feet, anger rising as Sam leapt up not far behind.
"Cas, what the Hell!"
The pint-sized angel glared at them, slowly standing up on unsteady feet. The collared shirt, tie and jacket hung down to mid-shin. The tan trench coat hung obscenely over his tiny form, running off his shoulders and well over the length of his arms, the coat pooling around his ankles a few times over.
"You.. know me? How?" The voice that came from the child was definitely youthful, but held that rocky, gravelly edge that could only ever be Castiel. It held too much power for a child, and left little doubt.
Sam shot a warning look at Dean that he either missed, or ignored.
"Of course we do, feathers. You hit your head on the way down?" Dean thumbed back at the broken glass window behind him. Cas's eyes followed the directional, then glanced around as if just noticing where he was, the damage that had been done.
"What happened, Cas?" Sam's voice once again brought Castiel from his train of thought, gentle and wary of being flung. Again. "We couldn't reach you for weeks, and now your vessel is so young."
Blue eyes narrowed at Sam as if preparing to send him sprawling back once more, had Dean not taken a step towards him and distracted him if briefly. "Why do you keep calling me Cas?"
Dean's eyebrows furrowed incredulously. "Dude, what..."
"Castiel," Sam tried, garnering his attention once more. "Do you know who we are?"
Dean whirled back on his younger brother faster than he thought he could. "What kind of question is-"
"No."
The soft response jolted the brothers, who both turned to stare at the tiny angel.
"What...?" Dean's brain seemed to temporarily disconnect, blinking rapidly. "How the Hell can you not remember us?"
A pang in his heart thudded as Castiel visibly winced.
"I do not know." Castiel murmured wistfully. He observed his smaller stature, how the clothes hung off him awkwardly. "I know who I am, what I am. I do not know who you both are." His gaze flickered up, studying both men before him. "I feel as though I know you, however. Or, I used to." The angel's face scrunched in concentration, as if trying to recall something he'd forgotten. Like the last two years.
"Dean," Sam called his attention softly. "What if.. whatever did this to Cas, messed with his memory, too?"
Glancing back at his brother, Dean shrugged a shoulder. "It's possible. But what's strong enough to go messing with an angel's grapefruit?"
Sam shrugged, "No idea. But it had to be something big to get the jump on Cas."
Dean grit his teeth before shaking his head. "We should get back to Bobby's. He might be able to help us figure out what pulled one over on The Littlest Angel over there—"
"I can hear you." Cas interjected suddenly, making both men look at him. He stared intently at the pew closest to his left, small face screwed in either concentration or constipation. Confusion and irritation flashed in his eyes, a small frown crossing his face as he seemed unimpressed with the broken pew in front of him ('Strange...') as he glanced back at the brothers, and Dean was reminded instantly of first meeting the angel in a barn full of painted symbols and blown lights.
"Our best bet is taking you with us to Bobby's." Dean supplied, taking on a tone Sam hadn't heard before from his brother. It was a calmer, soothing tone not usually heard from him. "We can figure out what did this to you, why, and how to fix it with us all together."
"Who is 'us'?"
"Team Free Will," The barest of pride in that grin adorned the hunter's face at the name of the band of misfits who stopped the Apocalypse. "You, me, Sam and Bobby. We'll help you."
He took a step towards the angelic child, watching him almost suspiciously. "You won't send me across the room again, will you?" Cas shook his head, a very human gesture but they decided to let it drop for now. Something like a stricken grimace flashed across his face before disappearing.
Dean smiled, patient like he's never shown before. "C'mon then, let's get on the road."
Cas nodded, pointedly ignoring the looks Sam was sending him and Dean and went to join the hunter. But his foot tangled up between the pool of his pants and the side of the coat. His arms shifted, spilling in a malfunctioning pinwheel form to try and catch himself before he fell flat on his face but seemed rather uncoordinated to brace his front. As the ground loomed closer he squeezed his eyes shut in prepare for a hard landing, when two hands suddenly swooped beneath his pin wheeling arms and scooped him up into the air.
Castiel didn't open his eyes even as he felt a warmth against his side, his head inadvertently tucked into the nook of the hunter's neck, nose pressed into hard muscle. He smelled of the earth and metal; sky and sun. The fresh churn of dirt, the newly born breezes over a thick forest. He smelled of oil and warmed metal, of sunlight and heat. It was strong, but not overpowering or unpleasant. If anything, Castiel buried himself into the scent. His addled mind and grace leapt at the foreign sense of familiarity he gained from a scent he was sure he'd never smelled before.
Dean chuckled, shifting his hold on the pint-sized angel on his hip, grinning. "Not the best coordination, eh, Cas?" The angel pulled back and frowned, squirming in his arms as if to be put down. "Oh, relax.. We got the long drive to South Dakota for you to pout." Glancing over at Sam, Dean cracked a grin at his brother's bitchface. "C'mon Sam! Get everything together and let's get on the road!"
Sam frowned, watching Dean carry Castiel over the sea of glass, out of the wrecked church and down to the parked Impala. He bent to gather up the dropped weapons and the rest of the discarded clothes. Something wasn't right, present problem excluded. Shaking his head, he glanced around the room once more. His eyes lingered on the pulpit for a brief moment before he carried the items out to the parking lot to stow into the trunk.
Dean was setting Cas in the back of the Impala, who watched him in return with a familiar intense stare. "We'll get you back to normal, Cas." He promised the angel under his breath, so only he would hear. Castiel made no returning remark, only nodding once more. The very human gesture unsettled Dean once more. Once Castiel was seated comfortably on the driver's side of the back bench seat, Dean pulled away to stand. But a tiny hand shot out, small fingers curling around Dean's larger ones.
"Thank you, Dean." His gravelly voice was soft and testing the roll of the hunter's name off his tongue and green met blue for a clashing, lengthy stare. Dean wouldn't admit, but hearing that voice, if a bit lighter in pre-pubescent lilt, say his name was something he'd missed more then he wanted to think about.
Dean made no move to respond, just giving a more-grimace-then-smirk before he hopped into the driver's seat while Sam slid into the passenger's side.
.:|:..:|:..:|:..:|:..:|:.
As the impala purred and pulled out of the spacious gravel driveway before heading down the road South Dakota-bound, a figure behind the pulpit of the broken church suddenly materialized into view. With no one around, he finally allowed his vessel to materialize back into sight. His gaze swept over the ruins of the church—shattered windows, chipped and shattered pews. Castiel certainly did a number on this little place.
He'd admit, for a few brief moments, that he was excited and scared for the younger Winchester to figure out his hiding place. To be found out. Sam had looked right at him, after all. He nearly felt as if the cloaking had failed. But the hunter had kept on his way, preoccupied with the problem at hand.
It was best.
For now, at least.
With a simple slight flick of his wrist, the place was suddenly brand new once more. The dirty stained glass windows gleamed like freshly placed glass. The pews were repaired, freshly shined and rearranged. The smattering of broken glass was gone and restored in an instant. The once tread-worn carpet was fuller. The place was cleaner, brighter.
The man behind the pulpit smirked, observing his handicraft with a sense of pride. It had been a long time since he did restoration; well, without a purpose, anyway. Besides covering up the Littlest Angel's crash landing. The thought made his smirk darken into a gradual frown. He honestly had no idea who would vindictively mess with his little brother. Sure, he'd surely have made some enemies while hanging around those two trouble-magnet Winchester brothers, but this was major work. Only some major mojo could work something to this caliber.
The only question was, what could do that?
A part of him, a significantly-sized one at that, told him he shouldn't get involved. He'd done what he had to survive this far—even hiding out in his own personal virtual reality. Why throw a spanner in now?
Well, he certainly wouldn't jump into any fight. But a bit of investigating wouldn't exactly hurt the status quo, would it?
With a smirk, the figure snapped his fingers and left behind a building that was none-the-wiser of what had transpired under its tattered shingle roof.
/\\/\\/\\/\
It was some time after they continually skirted past exits for Kansas on their way up that they decided to hit the next motel for the night. Both brothers kept continually smothering down yawns, and a quick glance at the back seat took inventory of Cas at least laying down across the seat though turned in a way that it was impossible to see if he was truly awake or not.
Pulling into the motel's parking lot, he glanced at Sam.
"Your turn, man." At Sam's bitch face, Dean rolled his eyes, making a show of undoing his seat belt. "Unless you want to deal with the cranky little angel-boy in the backseat, who might blow your ass back to that church."
Dean chuckled as Sam quickly moved to go check in with the front desk.
But, speaking of the cranky little angel...
Sighing, Dean stood and made his way to the back seat, prying the door open carefully. "Cas?" The bundle of dark hair and tan coat didn't budge. It was kind of adorable, him snuggled up in the oversized clothing. But he couldn't very well leave him out in the car. Gently, he found Cas' shoulder and shook. "C'mon Cas, there'll be a bed softer then my baby's backseat."
A muffled reply as blue eyes cracked open enough to scowl at Dean.
Dean shot him a confused look, "What was that?"
"'M not a baby." The small voice grumbled lowly. But before Dean could think about it, small hands hesitantly lifted towards him in what was an unmistakably childish gesture.
"But you want to be carried?" The remark flew from his mouth before his malfunctioning, near non-existent brain-to-mouth filter could stop it, tired grin sliding on his face.
Castiel frowned, pulling his hands back to his small body quickly as if his retort physically hurt.
Damn it.
Sighing, he reached in, plucking a protesting Cas off the seat once more. "C'mon, I thought you got all the sulking out on the ride up." That didn't help the frown lighten as he tried to settle Castiel in his arms, but his wriggling was getting on his nerves. "I'm sorry, okay? This whole thing is pretty freakin' weird, you gotta admit."
The flat look, one that reminded Dean of his Cas, one that Dean was sure if Cas was gauging his intelligence level with his eye sight alone, made Dean grin. Of course Cas would know; he was the one experiencing it.
But, at least he stopped moving.
"We're in room nine," Sam dutifully reported as he approached the pair, eyeing them as he approached. Castiel was still enrobed in the massive trench coat, bundled up in Dean's arm and tucked against his chest as his tiny hands fisted the collar of his jacket for a sense of stability.
Weird was a severe understatement at this point.
They opened the trunk, taking their respective duffel bags as they headed to their designated room. It was the last one with two beds, but at least they were decently sized. Bags dumped by claimed beds, Dean set Cas down on his bed before flopping down next to him. The angel was momentarily airborne, squeaking as he bounced harmlessly on the mattress. Dean only chuckled at the indignant scowl that earned him.
Dean had no plans, other than shuck some clothing and catch a few good hours' sleep. Get some good breakfast, then hopefully get closer to South Dakota by tomorrow night. The bed next to his squeaked as Sam sat on it, pinning a stare at the older brother until Dean groaned and met his expectant stare.
"Can't exactly sleep with someone staring holes in my head, Sam."
"What are we going to do about Cas' stuff?" Castiel looked up from his investigation of the pillows at Sam.
"Hold it safe until he's back to his normal self, I guess." Dean deflected easily enough.
Sam sighed, as if he were talking to a five year old. "No, I mean, he's going to need.. stuff, Dean. Clothes, mainly." At Dean's more-or-less vacant stare, Sam quipped, "We can't exactly take a miniature angel out in public in a dress shirt the size of a dress."
Castiel made an indignant noise, but busied himself with the pillows once more.
Sam barely had time to catch the keys as Dean haphazardly lobbed them towards his head.
"We passed a Wal-Mart on the way. Have fun."
"Just get him ready for bed, jerk." Pulling one of his better bitchfaces, he made his way out of the small hotel room, closing it a little more forcefully then he ought to.
"Bitch!" Dean snapped only half-heartedly at the door. Rolling his shoulders, he glanced up at Cas, who watched him with quiet blue eyes. "It's, ah, our thing, Cas." He murmured off-handedly before rolling to sit up. "C'mon, then. We should get you cleaned up."
Castiel climbed off the bed carefully, still being followed by the lengthy trench coat as Dean led the way back to the small bathroom.
"Alright, time to get rid of the coat, Cas." Castiel pulled the coat closer to himself, frowning up at the hunter. "C'mon, you can't seriously get cleaned up still wearing it." The frown deepened, and Castiel took a step away from him. Dean blew out a frustrated breath of air, trying his best to keep calm. "How about I put it on top of my bag? That way you know exactly where it is."
Cas seemed to consider this for a moment.
"It'll be there after we're done, if you want to put it back on." Dean could have laughed at the relieved look on his face, but instead smiled back as he helped the angel out of the coat. Folding and rolling it up, he stepped out of the bathroom to place the coat next to the duffle bag as he rifled through it for a decent shirt, as dress shirts did not make good sleep wear. Dean paused, staring at the coat next to his bag before he sighed softly, placing it on top before returning to the bathroom.
Castiel was smiling the best he knew how.
.:|:..:|:..:|:..:|:..:|:.
"Alright, off with the shirt. Wipe you off, dress and bed."
Slipping the tie off Cas' head hadn't been that difficult, but it seemed like he had grown an unhealthy attachment to Jimmy Novak's shirt, as well as his strange choice in coat wear. But Castiel had curled inward as he reached for the buttons, even so much as to cross his smaller arms in front of his chest.
"What now?" He hadn't meant to snap, but this was getting a bit old, and Dean wanted to get some sleep sometime before dawn broke.
Castiel hesitated, the sharp tone catching him off-guard before he started to remove the shirt himself. The dirty dress shirt slid to the ground as Castiel turned to contemplate the warm, wet washcloth on the sink. But that wasn't what caught his eye.
Sprouting from his small shoulder blades was a pair of charcoal, downy wings.
They were small; smaller then Dean would've expected. But then again, Dean also thought that his eyes would be, sort of, melting out of his skull when he saw them.
"Jesus Christ..."
Castiel seemed to flinch, drawing his wings in snug to his back and if Dean didn't know any better, they were merging in with his back and disappearing right in front of him.
"H-Hey, no, Cas. They're fine." He tried to amend, catching his eye over his shoulder as Castiel watched him carefully. "Just, surprised me, is all. I thought my eyes would be melting by now."
Castiel made a non-committal noise, turning back to the diligent cleaning of his vessel (body?) as Dean had verbally instructed him.
"Can I see them?"
The silence echoed in the small bathroom, except for the diligent scratch of rough wash cloth against skin. He thought, for a moment, that he'd offended Cas until the wings unfurled from his back. They beat once before spreading out to their full length.
From joint to tip, they couldn't have been longer than his elbow to wrist. And upon closer inspection, they weren't even uniform gray. They varied in shade and depth, some tipped to a near inky black. As they shifted and moved naturally with his movements, Dean could see they were coated, refracting the crappy light and exploding in a myriad of colors not unlike motor oil.
They were beautiful.
He reached out curiously, wondering if they were as soft as they looked, if that shine was oil or natural feather sheen...
"Dean?"
"Mm?" Dean looked over at a now cleaner angel, though he looked decidedly tired.
"I was not entirely truthful to you and, Sam." Castiel shifted slightly, looking almost an echo of nervousness and avoiding looking up at Dean. "I do not remember him, but I—" He paused, struggling to correctly word what was cooking in that tiny head of his. "I do remember, echoes of you." Cas finally admitted, glancing up at Dean. He looked every bit nervous and almost scared as he could, bothered by the large chunk of memory loss that he was ailed with, and the loss of the memories of someone so apparently close to him.
Dean took a deep breath, before carding his fingers through his dark hair, willing him to relax.
"We will figure out what happened to you, Cas. I promise. And get your memories back, even if I have to retell you myself." He reached over for the shirt he brought with him, taking the pocket knife he carried constantly and slit the back up in two long parallel lines.
"C'mon, dressed and bed."
He began slipping the old shirt over Castiel's head, missing the awed look that washed over his face at the simple gestures made for him. Getting the wings through the long slits was little trouble, though he had finally got some of his answers (softest damn things he'd ever felt; natural sheen) he'd wanted earlier. Said wings were drooping closer to the floor as the angel yawned, leaning slightly against the counter.
Dean smiled at the sight; even if his fatigue was worrisome.
Castiel looked up, blue meeting green for a long moment. Just as he reached up towards Dean, the older Winchester leaned down, sweeping him up into his arms. That was also worrisome; Cas being so, well, what would the word be? Codependent? Clingy?
Dean tried to put it in the back of his mind as he carried him over to the bed.
Leaving the Littlest Angel on the bed, Dean rifled through his bag for decent clothes and shuffling off to a shower.
Castiel sat on the bed where he had been left, staring at where Dean had disappeared until the sounds of the shower filled the small room. He scramble off the bed, wings fluttering with his movements as he slid off the thin blanket and padded over to where his coat lay on the floor. He turned it over once, twice, eyeing the dirty tan material for several minutes before placing it back on top of the bag just as the shower shut off.
There; he'd know exactly where it was later.
Shuffling back over to the bed, he peeled the layers back carefully before scrambling back on top of the mattress. Castiel had just snuggled up under the blanket as the bathroom door swung open and a pile of dirty clothes was haphazardly thrown towards his bag before he caught sight of Dean dressed in sleep pants and a white loose t-shirt.
"We'll worry about properly bathing you tomorrow, when you have clothes to wear." Dean peeled back the layers before flopping down on his back with a contented sigh. He looked over, meeting the blue stare and for a moment Dean could swear it was the old Cas, just miniaturized.
But no; mini and forgetful. Of him, it seemed. Or, most of him.
That hurt more then he should let it.
But it also gave him a sense of hope. There was a shred of himself still in his best friend's memory; he just had to dig it out, is all.
"You need anything else?"
"No."
"Good." Bedtime, then.
Rolling over, he snapped off the light on the stand between the two beds. The room was sunk into darkness, except for a small red incandescent light from the cheap plastic alarm clock next to the lamp. He relaxed into the grungy mattress, letting some of the worry wash away as his frame creaked, popped and finally settled. Lying on his side, facing the door as protection to Precious Moments at his side.
While he was damn sure Cas could very well protect himself, something about his state—being smaller, losing part of his memory—had the protective ember stoking brighter and burning hotter.
He'd protect the small angel; after all, how many times had Cas saved his ass for him?
Dean relaxed as he listened to the breathing of the other body, relaxing as the pattern became slower, more even just as—
"Good night, Dean."
This was the very least he could do.
"G'night, Cas."
He stayed awake long after Cas had finally fallen asleep, merely listening to his breathing and the sounds of nature outside until his eyes began to grow heavy.
He'd have to call Bobby soon, first thing tomorrow. Showing up on his doorstep with a kid angel wouldn't go over too well with the older hunter. Even if that kid angel had saved their asses many times over.
He yawned into the darkness of the room.
Sam had been gone for quite some time. He ought to get up, call him or go look for him—
The urge to sleep grew stronger; calming and tempting. Was it just him, or was the bed feeling softer than the usual motel mattress?
Just as he was on the last edge of consciousness the mattress behind him squeaked and shifted. A soft whisper of small locks brushed against the material of his shirt, a warmth snuggling up to him as he finally fell into a quiet, dreamless sleep.
/\\/\\/\\/\
Sam hated Wal-Mart.
Like, really hated Wal-Mart.
Mainly, everything that the store encompassed. From the jarring florescent lighting, to the falsely-cheery staff greeting him at all hours of the day. Not that he frequented Wal-Mart all that often, but that girl was way too cheery for, what, three in the morning?
And the Rollback Smilie reminded him too much of The Comedian.
Plus, he always felt so out of place among the other shoppers. Give him a thrift store any day—anything but Wal-Mart.
He could also go on about how Wal-Mart was eating the hearts of Mom and Pop stores, but frankly Sam was too tired for that internal monologue and wanted to just focus on grabbing what clothes he could and go catch some sleep.
He was browsing a rack of clearance shirts, eyeing a white shirt about Castiel's size with a rather scripty glittery gold font across the front reading 'Angel' with a pair of stenciled angel wings in the same glittery gold typography on the back and wondering how pissed Dean would be if he got it. It might be evidence at just how tired he was if he was contemplating whatever punishment may come if only to see Dean's face when he saw it.
Sleep; desperately needed.
A low voice chuckled over his shoulder, and he turned to see a man peering at the shirt in his hands. He reached just below his shoulder, soft brown hair that coasted the edge of gold. A green jogging jacket thrown haphazardly over a Katy Perry shirt of all things, baggy faded jeans and gold yellow converse.
"The wonders you find at Wal-Mart, huh?" The man turned to look up at Sam, and he couldn't help it; his breath caught in his throat. Those eyes were a dazzling shade of golden hazel with just the barest hint of green, like pure sunlight streaming through the leaves of a tree. They held a light of playfulness, smiling brighter than the small smirk on his face. They reminded him so much of—
He slammed that mental train down immediately.
No. No.
Don't do that to yourself, Sam.
The man's smirk twitched and fell slightly, the happiness in his eyes falling into a confused worry. Oh, right. He should respond, shouldn't he?
"Heh, yeah." Sam wanted to turn contemplative eyes back to the shirt in question, but the man's eyes reminded him of past times, of what he had lost that he didn't want to look away just yet, didn't want to blink in case he was gone in another second. But staring was rude and the man had said something else and he'd missed it –
"What?"
The man chuckled, shaking his head. "Maybe you should go to bed, kid. I asked why're you out shopping this late, for kids clothing none-the-less?" He eyed Sam with half-faked concern.
Years of lying saved his ass almost immediately. "My brother's kid. We're on a trip back home, and we lost his clothes. And, well, can't expect a six year old to run around in the same clothes for a few days."
The stranger hummed in the back of his throat, turning to flicker through the shirts. "Hmm, I think you should get it." Sam blinked slightly. "The shirt, I mean. Why not piss dad off by buying his son a girly shirt?"
The younger Winchester was laughing quietly to himself (more at the idea of Castiel being his nephew; it was so strange it was laughable), but the shirt stayed on the rack. "Nah, he has enough issues to worry about right now."
"Spoilsport." The stranger teased in a manner that left Sam swimming in nostalgia and grief.
"You never told me why you were shopping." Sam offered, not quite willing to leave the presence of the man even of his arms were full of quite a bit of children's wear.
"Eh, early in the morning; no other customers. Easier to get in and out."
"But the kids' section?"
"What, I needed an excuse to talk to the cute, tired giant pouring over every piece of kids' clothes?" Sam's gaze snapped up, but the stranger shrugged, flipping out a dark blue pair of pants with a rather interesting display of stars across the front and down the side before he tossed it with a flourish to land on Sam's head. Sam pulled the trousers off his head to scowl at the stranger, only to find a teasing grin aimed at him.
"Don't you have better things to do then annoy me?" He shot back, starting to get annoyed with this random stranger's penchant for jogging his memory.
But he barely ruffled his feathers ('Damn it! Stop the trip down memory lane!'), if at all.
"Aw, Sammy, do I annoy you?"
Sam merely scoffed, turning away from the stranger to look at another rack. Just as he lingered over the material his brain managed to catch up to him, eyes widening. Slowly, he turned back around to meet the expectant gaze. His free hand discreetly sliding back to the hem of his jeans, to the few precautionary measures he kept on him at all times.
"Who are you." He demanded, eyes narrowed at the shorter man.
"What's with the hostility?" Came the jovial response, eyes flitting momentarily to the rack beside him before back at the angered moose in front of him. "I'm just a shopper—"
"Cut the act. I never told you my name."
Those bright mottled eyes suddenly narrowed in thought before he swore under his breath, and he actually laughed. "Slipped up. I tend to do that around you, don't I, Sam?"
"The Hell are you talking—"
The sound of wind through tattered paper rustled behind him, just before the man standing in front of him grinned sheepishly before disappearing in a wave of coiling blue smoke. He watched the wisps curl before fading out of existence, swallowing as he turned around to face an arch angel he'd assumed was dead.
That same golden brown hair, bright gold eyes dappled just with the hint of green. A casual smirk across his face, though as always his emotions showed best in his eyes. They were cautious, though happy. A small vein of fatigue and discomfort he didn't understand.
But overall, it was him.
In a quick movement, he pulled a flask of salted holy water from his back pocket, flicking the contents onto the archangel by reflex alone. He just let himself be tested, lips thinning in mild annoyance but in a simple flick the water was gone. A small smirk twitching back into place.
"Hey, Sammy."
Sam let out a breath he'd been holding for quite some time now.
".. Gabriel..."
A/N: How many nerdy references did you spot?
Please, feel free to review. Let me know what you thought?
... They do make me work faster.
/panhandles for attention
... Y'all know I love you, random strangers I've never met.
~SW7