The bell's ring had stopped, silence falling over the tower, yet the name of the archangel continued to linger.
"That's Selaphiel?" Dean finally asked. The woman on the floor blinked only once in response. Castiel seemed just as dumbfounded as the Winchesters.
"Yes," he acknowledged. His posture was rigid; it was clear he held respect for the celestial being before them, but something was obviously wrong. Something that Sam could see in his friend's expression immediately.
"Selaphiel?" Sam confirmed, directing his attention to the woman. Another blink filled the silence, the faintest twitch of her fingers.
"Sam …" Dean warned as he watched his brother approach the immobile figure.
"Are you hurt?" the younger Winchester asked; the only response he received was a shift in her gaze, directing toward him.
"Sam!" Dean warned again, taking a protective step forward.
But Sam was distracted as he knelt at the woman's side. His head tilted to the right curiously as his brow furrowed. Those eyes … something about them—they held a subtle glow; each optic nerve within those irises illuminated with a swirling iridescence. It was both captivating and frightening, unsettling, and he had to look away. "What's wrong with her? Him?" Sam corrected himself as he turned his head to Castiel.
"He's never had a vessel before. He's … adjusting."
"Adjusting?" Dean asked.
"He's an all-powerful, multi-dimensional wavelength of celestial intent confined to a mortal body for the first time in his existence. It takes a moment," Castiel explained bluntly.
"Well, shouldn't you go over there and help him, then?"
"I … can't." The angel's tone was laced with a hoarse apology as he kept his gaze upon his confined superior, brow creased with worry.
"What do you mean you can't?"
"His cloak is embroidered with Enochian warding sigils. This is the closest I can get."
Sam glanced between the two angels. "Well, that explains why you and the others couldn't find him. Someone was clearly trying to hide Selaphiel from you guys." His hand lifted and motioned to Castiel. "Hey, Cas, gimme your coat. I got an idea."
Castiel wasted no time with shedding his coat and tossing it to the younger hunter who made quick work of removing and discarding the embroidered cloak. "Head's up," he said as he pitched it to his brother, Dean catching the fabric easily and beginning to study it as Sam took to assisting Selaphiel into the trench coat. With the sigils out of the way, Castiel could move again and immediately went to assist. Both attempted to assist Selaphiel to his feet, but the body remained limp, as the archangel seemed unable to bear weight.
"Whoever made this thing put a lot of care into it," Dean announced as he looked over the material in his hands. "I mean, there's even tiny sigils in the lining."
"So what do we do now?" Sam asked. "Can you take him back to Heaven?"
Selaphiel's gaze shifted beneath the veil of hair, stare settling intently on Castiel … who fell deathly silent, unable to look away as his brows lifted in realization.
Watching the exchange between the two, Dean made the connection. "You know, Sel's an all-powerful archangel. If he could go back to Heaven, then it probably would have been the first thing he'd done."
"Yes," Castiel finally acknowledged, attention still transfixed on the celestial general. "And if all of this had been created as an elaborate distraction to trap him in a vessel, then perhaps Heaven may be the last place he should go."
"So she—he, sorry—needs a safe place to stay until we get this settled. Bunker then?"
"Guys," Sam interrupted. "I think he's seizing." All three turned their attention to the woman's body as it began to convulse, eyes rolling back.
"He's trying to get out," Castiel explained as he tightened his grip on the body. "He can't get out."
"He's trapped in there?" Dean asked.
"Something's keeping him locked inside. It's like he's overloading," Castiel replied.
A ragged breath escaped the woman's lips just before the body slumped, limp and unconscious.
"Whoa! WHOA!" Sam shouted as he assisted his friend in catching her. "We gotta get outta here. Remember? That witch said her sister was coming. We have to move."
…
…
…
The road was empty and dark, slick with the rain of a recent shower, illuminated briefly by the headlights of the Impala as its engine resonated throughout the foothills. Occasionally, Dean caught himself glancing to his brother beside him, then to the rearview mirror to watch Castiel in the backseat. The angel wore a perplexed expression as he held the unconscious Selaphiel's head in his lap, hand resting upon the vessel's brow.
"So help me, Cas, if he busts out of that body and tears up my car, I'm gonna be really pissed," Dean warned as they rounded a curve and fell quiet as he realized his friend didn't offer a rebuttal, no reaction at all. The fact that Castiel appeared constantly worried in turn made Dean feel uneasy. "Back there, when you said he 'overloaded' ... what did you mean?"
"He's like a caged animal," Castiel explained, not taking his eyes from the unconscious angel. "That is … a lot of power to be trapped in a body of flesh for the first time. He's fighting against the cage."
"Part of that 'adjustment period' you were talking about?"
"Yes."
Sam glanced over his shoulder to his friend. "Cas, I … I don't get it. I mean, Lucifer and Michael … if they weren't in their 'true vessels', then their power would burn away the flesh, right? How is this body able to remain stable?"
"This body was created specifically for the purpose of being inhabited by Selaphiel … and to keep him confined." His jaw clenched as his hands moved to press to the woman's temples. "I sense Enochian sigils have been engraved on her bones."
Dean winced at the thought as Castiel continued.
"Some are sigils of warding, much like yours … but others are sigils of entrapment."
"Someone carved sigils into this poor woman's bones to trap an archangel? Fantastic," Dean grumbled, clearly irritated by this information. "I thought only angels could do that."
"No … this is different," Castiel protested with a subtle shake of his head. "This body is a homunculus."
"A what?"
"A homunculus," Sam explained. "Living bodies created by ancient alchemists. Some used the homunculi as a form of immortality, to transfer their own souls into a new body."
"Downloading souls Johnny-Depp-Transcendence-style? Great."
"But Cas," Sam diverted. "I thought the homunculi were, like, tiny. This one is full-sized."
"Selaphiel's true form is twice the size of Mount McKinley. They were ... compensating," the angel explained. "And still, it is not enough."
"Sounds like someone seriously thought this out," Dean commented.
"Yeah," Sam agreed as he faced the road again. "Whoever did this has obviously been planning it for a while. And had … celestial help."
"Maybe he had it comin'," Dean interjected.
"Dean!" Sam chided.
"What?" he protested, lifting his fingers from the steering wheel in a light shrug. "I'm just pointing out the obvious here that every archangel we've met so far has been a real dick. I mean, think about it. Metatron? Raphael? Michael. Lucifer—"
"Gabriel was decent," Sam argued blandly.
"Gabriel didn't kill you a hundred times," Dean snipped.
"Selaphiel is different," Castiel assured them.
"And what makes you so sure, Cas?" the driver asked, glancing to his friend's worried expression in the mirror. "I mean, no offense, but your big bro's haven't exactly been the friendliest."
Castiel lifted his head, giving his friend a very firm look. "I just know, Dean."
The hunter surrendered with a sigh as he saw the distraught in the angel's eyes, no matter how hard Castiel was trying to remain calm. Dean knew that look; it was the same look he had when he was worried about his own brother.
"Fair enough," Dean agreed.
"We need to get these chains off him," Castiel said, changing the subject as his attention redirected to the unconscious archangel. "It won't do much, but every little bit helps."
"Keep trying to wake him, okay, Cas?" Sam suggested. "We need him to tell us who—"
"SHIT!" Dean hissed through his teeth as they rounded a curve, swerving to the side of the road to avoid a fallen tree, blocking their path on the highway.
Standing before the fallen tree was a woman in a dark velvet cloak and glowing eyes of golden fire.
Dean grumbled as he put the car in park. "I hate witches."
To be continued ...
