Chapter 3:
"Bloody hell!" Crowley shouted, almost splashing the bourbon to the desk when the angel appeared in a flurry of smoke and fire in the solarium.
Then all it was quiet.
Castiel slowly stood up, his trench coat curling with wisp of smoke, the edges burnt beyond recognition to a shade of grayish beige. At the angel's feet Crowley saw an unconscious girl.
Crowley raised his eyebrows, "What the hell happened to you?"
"Fire." It was all he said.
"I can see that," He began sarcastically, sipping down the whiskey, "but could you clarify for me?"
The angel half-patted and half-wiped his dirty hands on his trench coat, trying to clean away from the soot in sort distracted way, "I went to the warehouse and I found a lot demons but . . ." He frowned, tilting his head, "They were dead."
Crowley looked taken aback, "Say again?"
"Dead." He repeated flatly and hoped that it conveyed the point through because Castiel didn't think could explain it, not when he was trying to determine what happened to the warehouse.
"Huh," Crowley said, standing up from his chair and taking the glass with him, "Who went Buffy on them, assuming there just one or two who killed them?"
Castiel looked perplexed at Crowley's words but he took a tentative guess, "A hunter, I suspect."
"The same hunter you came to interrogate me?" The former king of demon stepped forward, peering down curiously at the woman.
"Perhaps."
His eyes flicked up, "Do you know or you don't? Either way you're not the sharpest guy on the block."
Castiel bristled, "Forgive me." He said sarcastically, "Next time I'll check around while the warehouse explodes. Will that suffice?"
Crowley took another sip, "I like you better now that you're pissed off," He pointed down, "And who's the sleeping beauty?"
The angel moved around to look down at her, "I found her in the warehouse."
"She's hardly demon." He sniffed the air, "Tsk, more like baby demon."
Castiel found the girl very young, barely grasping to adulthood, "Can she be saved?"
"Sorry, once you're pegged, there's no turning back."
"You turned back."
"Different set of circumstance and I didn't have much choice in the matter," His voice was flat, "But if you want cure her, be my guest. I got Father Landay on speed dial."
Castiel nodded.
Crowley regarded the angel slowly. "She won't go back the way she was. You and I both know that kind of guilt won't go away."
There was silence from Castiel as he considered this but then he shook his head, "It's not for us to decide her fate. Nor free her burdens from the acts she committed as demon. It rest on her whether she can live with it or not."
"What if she doesn't want to choose humanity?"
Castiel's blue eyes darkened, "Then we will make this clear to her: to live as human or die as demon."
Crowley hummed, raising his bourbon glass in salute, "Bravo."
His thumb pressed against the point of the knife, testing the sharpness while looking between the blade and Castiel.
"So, loverboy, care to tell me what you been up in those seven years?"
Castiel flipped the book titled: Laienspegiel, glancing at the gruesome images depicting torture, "Nothing."
Crowley was surprised, "At all?"
"I watched Sam." He intoned calmly, reading the caption beneath the image with detached curiosity, "Killed the monsters locally."
"So the giraffe wouldn't go hunting?"
He flipped to the other page, "Yes."
Crowley put the knife down to look curiously at Castiel, "You haven't gone all out? Experiencing the decadence and the sin of the flesh to the fullest? Doing the dirty deeds with women—or men if you swing that way—in ways even the most nuns would weep, angels cry and make Casanova proud?"
Another page was turned, "No."
"That's sound . . ." He trailed off for anticipation effect, ". . . dull."
"If you say so."
Crowley stared at him closely, watching the curved bent of the angel's shoulder, the hard mask on his face and the harsh light of the room wasn't doing Castiel's complexion any favor. For an angel who wasn't supposedly to age, he suddenly looked older— or weary would be more accurate.
"What happened to you?" Crowley asked, "I haven't forgotten when you'd fallen from the lofty height, literally and figuratively speaking. You were all Edward Scissorhand and you didn't fall to despair. From what I heard from Winchesters, you tried everything: working, dating, hunting, surviving—the usual human stuff but now you're not even doing that."
The sound of page flipping stopped.
"I'm not human anymore."
"You're missing the point, Mr. Roboto."
"Then get to it."
Crowley almost hesitated but he wasn't about to drop the conversation without hammering his point to the oblivious angel's head, "Let me dumb down in five-year old boy language in a way you can understand: you're here . . . but not there."
Something stony and cold filled in the angel's eyes when he lifted his head to stare at Crowley and if Crowley were a lesser man, he would've shaken to his Louis Vutton's leather shoes from that look.
A moan stopped the conversation in a screeching halt, both turning to stare at the girl tied to the chair as she blinked her eyes open.
"The sleeping beauty awakens. Too bad, I was hoping for a true love's kiss."
Castiel gave him a cold stare while the girl looked confused with her brows knitted together.
"Harsh audience." Crowley muttered under his breath before grabbing the knife and approached to the woman, "Down to the business, then."
The girl's eyes flicked back and forth to Crowley and the knife nervously as she squirmed in the chair.
"I had long, long week with a nary rest and my patience is nonexistent than it needed by the other guy whom you might know him. Fat mailman who go by Joe—does it ring bells?" The woman snapped her eyes to Crowley from the knife. "Ah, it does. But I digress, you don't want test my patience so I won't go gently into that goodnight as I did with the rest of them."
The woman started to breathe heavily, tugging the ropes that wrapped around her wrists desperately.
"Now, for your sake, you better tell me what I need to hear."
There was a long pause as she looked frantically at her surroundings, her eyes zooming on the different set of deadly instruments lying on the tray, all sharp and gleaming dangerously. Her face fell as she realized her situation.
"Ask your questions because I don't know where to start." She said weakly.
Crowley smiled, "You, dearie, I like you."
She smiled tremulous, her eyes flicking nervously at the instruments.
"Do you know what is happening to you?" Castiel asked behind Crowley.
"You mean this?" She asked, lifting her chin as her eyes turned jet black, "If that what you meant, then yes, I knew." One blink, the demonic blackness in her eyes was gone, returning to the normal silver irises, "But at first I didn't understand what was happening to me."
A storm cloud settled on her features and she looked down to her bound hands, half curled on the armrest. "I was normal college girl, studying Torts and worrying about midterms. Then the nightmares started—horrible, confusing dreams where we killed people. I think some of them were featuring hell but I don't know for sure."
"How Hell did look?"
"Hard to explain . . ." She trailed off, her eyes going distant, "It was more sensations than sight. There were blood, chains and people on racks—flayed people, torn apart but not in usual way. They would get so broken down to molecules but they didn't die. Nobody died and they would always come back, intact only to repeat the process."
Crowley and Castiel exchanged looks.
"And then what?" Crowley returned his gaze to the girl.
"Feelings." Her voice dropped low, "A whole heaps of bad feelings. I wanted hurt people, manipulate them, and destroy what they had in their pathetic lives."
"And did you?" Castiel demanded.
The girl grinned, curling her head to her shoulder, like a cat stretching. "Just teeny bit."
Castiel slid a gleaming silver sword from his shelves and to his hand with a hard expression etched on his face. The girl blanched and didn't look nearly sure of herself.
"Easy there, tiger." Crowley murmured, "Let the girl speak before you slice her to pieces."
"I'm not speaking if you're going to let your friend hurt me afterward." The girl protested loudly, glancing nervously at the angel.
"Oh, he won't." The former demon assured with easy confidence, "You see, the angel here believes in giving choices to people—that includes you—and none of them involve pain. So pay no attention to him, he's just being bitch."
She looked at Crowley skeptically.
"Now, go on. Regale your story down to the rabbit hole. I'm riveted." He empathized the 'r' easily and grinned broadly.
The girl hesitated for a few seconds, "After the violence tendencies, there were urges but it was . . . strange." She frowned, "There were thing I just knew, like painting weird symbols on the walls. I was sort driven to draw them, I had to or I'll have a bad case of migraines for hours." The lines of her brow deepened, perplexed, "Then using of blood as mean of communication. . ."
Castiel tensed.
". . . I never had done that before but I knew, like sort of deep-seated instinct buried deep within. Cutting someone's throat and speak a spell to the bowl of blood but nobody spoke, not for a while. It was months later I finally heard someone speak from the other side."
"Other demons?" Crowley guessed.
She smiled again, "Yes, they were looking for others too. We began to meet and when our numbers grew, from there we decided to spread around to gather the rest of us."
The girl fell silent.
"Well?" Crowley prodded, waiting.
The girl blinked, realizing, "Oh." She said, "That's it."
"That's it?" Crowley asked, disappointed, "You don't have any reason or any theory why you became this? Witchery? Demi-gods? Torture?"
The girl's shoulder shrugged, "It's as I told you, I was normal. I was busy trying to survive for another quarter and I didn't have time for boyfriend or any kind of stuff you mentioned."
Crowley studied at the girl for a long moment, like she might be lying but decided that she wasn't. He turned to Castiel.
"Well? What do you think?"
Castiel's eyes narrowed. "I don't like it."
Crowley rolled his eyes, "New flash: nobody here does, except for her." He thumbed the girl, "Do you need to question her before the cleansing begins?"
"Cleansing?" The girl asked with start, "What cleansing?"
"Shhh, mom and dad are speaking."
"As matter of fact, I do have few questions." Castiel shifted his eyes to her.
Crowley stepped aside, "Well, have at it."
The girl squirmed uncomfortably at the angel's strange intense focus, as if he was looking beyond flesh and saw her demonic soul.
"What happened in the warehouse?"
Her eyes widened open in bewilderment, "Wait a minute, I didn't you come with the guy?"
Between his eyebrows creased into frown, "I didn't come with anyone." Castiel spared a glance over Crowley who looked mildly interested at the conversation. "I arrived precisely at the moment when the warehouse was burning."
She looked confused, "Um . . . okay." The girl said hesitantly, "A hot guy came out from nowhere, hotter than I ever seen in my entire life and he just started shooting his shotgun at us." She looked down at the few holes in her sooty shirt around the chest. "Salt, I reckon because it did hurt like hell. Ian and Bubba went to lunge at him but the guy was faster, he threw something that looked like a bottle at them and they both exploded but . . . " The girl trailed off, unsure, "It wasn't a normal explosion."
Castiel's frown deepened, "What do you mean?"
"I mean there was no blood, no gut and gore like you see one of those movie. It was . . ." She frowned as she searched a way to describe, "Ash. Lot of crackling ashes then burst of fire."
The angel's eyes widened in slow astonishment and he didn't have to look at Crowley to know he felt the same.
"Next thing I know, everything caught fire and I was running for my life."
"Did you see what happened to the guy or at least saw where he did go?" Crowley asked.
The girl shook her head, "Not really. I was trying not to die."
"Well, you succeeded admirably." Crowley complimented with hint of derision.
"The man, what he did look like?"
"Hot." She said again, without hesitation.
Crowley chuckled, "Yes, darling, but he meant is he black? White? Green? Tall? Short? Sparkling?"
She let out a very small, faint, "Oh."
If demons blushed, her face would be tomato by now due embarrassment.
"Er, he was white, brown hair, about bit taller like your angel friend over there." She jerked her head at Castiel's direction, "I think his eyes were pale color, blue or hazel but I might be mistaken. It was dark when I saw him." She brightened, as if she remembered something, "Oh yeah, his lip—plushest lips I ever seen—for a guy. Built for kissing and wow . . . what a smile."
For a girl who watched her friends die at the hands of the hunter, she had no qualm raving his appearance and Castiel found this little disturbing.
After moment of silence, Crowley spoke to Castiel, "You done?"
Though Castiel looked troubled, he nodded.
Crowley clapped his hands together at once. "Goodie." The former demon stepped behind her, "You and I—we're going for a ride."
Startled, she craned her head to look up at him, "What? Where?"
"To the last place you'll expect." He said, "Best to hold on, darling, it's going be a bumpy."
Castiel was scribbling something on paper with his perpetual frown on his face when Crowley entered his private office, looking bit worse for wear.
"How is she?" He said for the sake to fill the silence.
The former demon went for the bar cabinet as he grabbed the bottle scotch and shot of glass. "Spike's halfway there to become a real girl."
"I see." Castiel stated as kept scrawling on the pages with a hurried movement.
Crowley glanced at the angel at the desk curiously, busying himself taking the glass stopper off, "What you're up to?"
"I'm drawing the symbols from the wall from Tanner's house and the apartment."
"From memory?"
"Yes."
Crowley would never admit to the angel, but he was impressed, "Interesting." He commented, pouring until the amber liquid was half full and took a sip, "Why?"
"I think I recognize the symbols from somewhere and I need help deciphering them."
"And who's the unlucky Samaritan?"
"Kevin."
Crowley almost choked on the whiskey, "The little banana prophet? The one who went Guantanamo Bay and then proceeded to laugh after setting my ass on fire with holy oil, literally?"
"You deserved it." Castiel told him tonelessly, "You let him believe you killed or tortured his mother."
The demon conceded with a shrug, "Details." Taking one large gulp, he exhaled before saying, "I thought he only translated the Word of God."
"Then what this does look like?" Castiel pushed dozen papers to the edge of the desk.
Crowley moved closer to scan the familiar symbols, his eyes widening slightly, "Is that what I think it is?"
"It might. I can't be certain until I'll show to Kevin."
He spread the pages on the desk to study them closely, "Correct me if I'm wrong but I thought the Word of God came as tablets?"
"Correct."
"And now this chicken crawl is appearing on someone's wall, made by a demon? One—I might add—who isn't even a real demon?"
"Correct."
"I'm not sure what to take on this but this is . . ." He trailed off, failing to search a word.
"Worrying." Castiel added for him.
Crowley's lips curled upward, "Not the word I'll use but let go for it." He sat down on the chair of the opposite side of the desk. "So," He said slowly, "About the hunter."
"You mean the demon's bomb." Castiel went straightforward to the point.
That stopped Crowley for a moment then he glowered at the angel. Sometimes he wished Castiel had the decency to pussyfoot rather using his usual bluntness. It took the fun out the conversation.
"Yes, the demon bomb." He muttered, "Apart from us, I know there are only three people alive who know how to work a demon bomb." He smirked, "Sure, Kevin is pretty but I'm having the difficulty to refer him as 'hot guy' and from what I last looked, Linda doesn't have manly equipment to her delightful female parts."
Castiel quickly realized where the conversation is heading. Irritated, He narrowed his eyes, "Sam isn't hunting."
He raised a single eyebrow, "He might have slipped under your nose."
"He hasn't."
"He's bloody Winchester." Crowley said impatiently, "He came back from dead that even Death himself lost count. He went to places that nobody came back alive: hell, purgatory and heaven. Lest we forget, he stopped the goddamned apocalypse and compared to that, sneaking around you would be a piece of cake."
Castiel still remained unflappable as ever, his face blank, "That may be but your theory does not stand."
"How so?"
"Sam doesn't have plump lips."
Crowley stared at the angel for a beat before grinning, shaking his head at the lost cause.
It was early evening by the time Castiel flew to Chicago, appearing in one of the Emergency Room of the Northwestern Memorial Hospital.
It was almost chaotic, disorienting and startling when stretchers wheeled inside, paramedic and nurses ambling in hurried pace and doctors yelling with authoritarian voices before the medical crowd swept inside OR.
"Can I help you?"
He jerked his head to discover a female nurse standing next to him with wary expression.
"Yes. I'm looking for Kevin Tran."
"Tran?" She parroted blankly, spoken so loud that it garnered attention from the nearby passerby in the Emergency Room.
"Cas?" There was incredulity when someone spoke his nickname behind him.
Castiel turned to look at very familiar face but he was taken aback because while Kevin may have looked the same, he was also different. His face was sharper, molded into adulthood with a five o'clock shadow on his jaw and his hair combed to his side neatly. His dark eyes were open and alert, almost like a warrior gaze. There was no wrathful rage in them or the hidden sadness.
Despite his appearance, it was Kevin's soul that caught Castiel off guard. It had grown in0to something stronger with layers that he didn't even know Kevin had and it shone brightly, even brighter when he was just an adolescent kid, when he found him sitting on the backseat of Impala, clutching the tablet.
"Kevin."
"Castiel." His voice was breathy and he laughed, stepping closer to the angel, "It's really you!"
The angel was startled when Kevin's arms shot forward to wrap around Castiel's shoulder and grunted at the rough strength of the man's sudden embrace. Castiel's arms hung limply at his sides and then he reached up with one hesitant hand to pat at Kevin's back awkwardly.
Kevin quickly drew back to look at him, his hands on Castiel's shoulder, "God, I haven't seen you for years! How you doing? Where did you go? I can't believe—" He cut himself abruptly, his eyes growing wide in panic, his shoulder tensing, "Wait a minute, did something happen? You're not in trouble, are you?" Then horrified, he asked, "Is Sam alright?"
"Everything is alright." He hastened to assure him, "Sam is well, as I am."
Kevin breathed a sigh, relaxing, letting his hands fall from Castiel's shoulder. "Oh, thank god. For a moment there I thought. . ." He trailed off weakly.
Castiel's face softened, "There is no need to explain. I understand."
The prophet slowly smiled at him, "I can't believe you're here." A breathy laugher, "Nice surprise."
Castiel looked around, "Yes. I can hardly believe myself." He moved aside to let the woman in wheelchair pass and returned his gaze back at Kevin, this time noting his clothes, "You're doctor."
Kevin looked down at his pale blue scrub and the white tennis shoes. "Not yet. I'm in residency." He explained, "My training is almost done for next year, then it'll be official." He grinned, moving his hand to the imaginary words in the air, "Dr. Tran."
Castiel gave him a smile that wasn't exactly a smile but close to one.
Kevin lowered his hand to his side, his face growing serious, "Not that I'm complaining, Cas, but you're not the visiting kind."
Castiel looked at Kevin searchingly and then frowned, "You're right. There are thing I need to show you."
The prophet glanced down at his wristwatch, "Okay. I got twenty minutes for break. Go up the park to the right side of the E.R. I'll meet you there—" He abruptly cut himself, realizing quickly what Castiel was about to do, "Wait! No disappearing act!"
Castiel stopped himself just in time, confused. "Why not?"
Kevin couldn't help to exclaim, "Dude, you'll scare people! You just can't fly away just because you want to." He pointed at the sliding doors, "Walk over there like a normal person."
The angel looked at him, irritated, before he walked outside.
"You know, Sam's worried about you." Kevin said as he took a huge bite of his sandwich while he sneaked glance at Castiel next to him. He still could hardly believe that the angel was still here.
"You're keeping in touch with Sam." He realized slowly.
"Yeah," He mumbled around the sandwich, "He calls me every Fridays to ask me how I'm doing. He comes to visit me when he takes off work."
"I know."
Kevin blinked at this, "Whoa. I'm not going even ask how because thinking about it is weird enough. Anyway, if you're keeping tabs on Sam then why you haven't popped in just to say hello?"
Castiel shifted uncomfortably on the bench, "I didn't think he wanted a reminder."
The prophet's open mouth froze just near the sandwich, lifting his gaze slowly, watching more closely now and then he said something Castiel never wanted to hear. "But Cas, you're family."
"Cas, it's me. We're family. We need you." Dean broken and bloody, his eyes—one bruised and purplish—looking up, pleading, "I need you."
Castiel shuddered at the memory, digging his fingers on his knees for something to hold on, guilt and something heavier and immense clawing his throat.
"Please, don't." He took a shaky breath, "Just don't."
Kevin's face didn't give anything away and Castiel was almost glad. "Okay." He said quietly, putting his sandwich on his lap. "It just . . . we're worried. We haven't seen you for seven years. You just disappeared and . . . I thought you went upstairs."
Castiel jolted, "No." He gritted out firmly. "Never, I'll never go back. Not there."
Kevin's eyes widened in realization, "Oh, I forgot." He winced at his words, "Sorry." Then winced again, this time for the lame apology.
The prophet swallowed and noticed Castiel's shoulder was rigid, almost defensive, his posture strung tight, like a wire ready to snap. The angel wasn't looking at him, his gaze turned to the left, staring at nothing. With that tension, Kevin didn't think Castiel was in talkative mood but the angel surprised him. "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable or worry about me." The angel began awkwardly. "I only wanted . . ." He abruptly cut himself off.
"Wanted what?"
There was a moment when Kevin thought Castiel wasn't going to answer but he surprised him again.
"I wanted to forget."
Kevin was looking at him, pain and something that's far too close to pity. Castiel had to look away, wanting nothing more to drop this conversation, move on to another subject because he found the weight in his chest pressing in painfully until he couldn't breathe.
"How is your mother?"
Kevin gave him a look, one that told him I know what you're trying to do and small talk is not your thing, "Mom's fine. She called me the other day to tell me she'd finished taking classes of sharpshooting training program. I'm little perturbed how good she is with it."
There was a flicker of smile, "And her leg?"
"You fixed it pretty great." He paused, "Maybe too great because sometimes I wish she had a limp so she would stop taking classes of rock climbing or horse-riding. It's just not natural to worry about my mom when it's supposed go to the other way."
Castiel found himself amused at the woes of Kevin, the simply normalcy of it.
"Cas?"
From that word alone, Castiel was almost dreading what Kevin has to say, "Yes?"
"I never said thank you for helping me." He took a deep breath, "So, thank you."
The angel's took an intake of surprised breath. If he expected anything, it wasn't this. He opened his mouth to say something but something beeped.
"Oh, it's my watch." Kevin said, clasping on the edges of the watch with his fingers, "Damn, I got ten minutes left before my shift."
The angel looked at the sandwich on the prophet's lap, "Then you should eat before you go inside."
"Nah, I'm not hungry anymore," Kevin picked the sandwich and wrapped the aluminum paper around the food and threw to the trash. "Three point!" He cried loudly, imitating a cheering crowd.
"Three point?"
"Basketball reference." He explained but Castiel still didn't understand, "So, you said you were going to show me something."
Kevin didn't like the way angel's face took turn something stony, his mouth thinning fractionally as he frowned. Castiel opened the lapel of his trench coat to pick the folded papers from the pocket and handed to the prophet. Kevin frowned, bit puzzled until he unfolded the pages.
His face went white.
"Cas . . . this is—where did you get this?" He jerked his head, his voice accusing, "You told me nothing happened."
His reaction wasn't surprising or favorable. "I spoke the truth. Nothing happened, at least not in the magnitude you're thinking of."
"Then what is this?" He shook the pages furiously on the air.
"I was hoping you would tell me."
"It's the Word of God, Cas!" Snapping his eyes back to Castiel, little frightened, "Wait? You came here because you want me to translate it?"
"If you can." He said quietly, "I know it's the last thing you want to do but I'm hoping you can."
Kevin pinched the bridge his nose, "I don't know . . . god, this—this suck. I thought that part of my life was over."
"I'm sorry. I wish I didn't have to come here."
"But you came here anyway!" He snapped, "Why you guys won't stay away!"
Castiel flinched, not expecting his anger to hurt him.
Kevin stopped, gaping. "Cas, I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
"Stop." He said, "You don't need to apologize."
"But you don't understand, I—"
His hand rested on Kevin's shoulder, effectively silencing him, "Your anger is understandable and you have every right to be mad at the circumstances, even at me." He told him gently.
The frail adolescent boy, frightened by his sudden destiny as prophet had returned to Kevin's gaze. "But I'm not angry at you."
Castiel had the sudden strange desire to comfort him just the way Kevin had comforted him once and then he remembered something.
"Kevin, may I tell you story?"
Kevin caught off guard, he ventured doubtfully, "Um . . . okay?"
"Once upon a time, there was a man who endured a lot disappointment and pain in his life but he put the bad behind him and made peace with it. He also he took the best with him because he's kind and good."
Kevin's frown cleared away, replaced with realization. "Wait a minute . . . I told you that!"
"That applies to you too." His voice was affectionate, "Don't forget, this same man told me that it was okay to scream at the world because it was part being human."
He let out a wet, surprised laugh. "God, did I say that?"
"Yes, you did." Castiel's lip twitched.
He let out a noise that sounded between snort and groan, "That was terrible advice."
"I don't know if it's terrible," He said slowly, "but it helped me."
"Especially the part screaming and hollering outside the bunker until Sam demanded us to stop?" Kevin asked with a wide open grin.
"Especially that one." He told him fondly.
Kevin chuckled, "Yeah. . . " He trailed off, his face slowly becoming somber as he stared down at the papers.
As if sensing the fear slowly building inside the man, the angel said, "Kevin, you don't have to if you don't want to."
Kevin mulled over that quietly and Castiel almost wanted him to say yes—almost, but the angel knew all too well the want and need never went together seamlessly.
"Can I think about it?"
The angel's expression was sort of grateful, "Of course."
Kevin's watch beeped again, and they both blinked.
"Time's up." Kevin said, sounding a little regretful, handing the pages back to him, "I gotta go."
Castiel acknowledged with a nod, grabbing the papers, "You know how to reach me."
Kevin stood for a couple of beat and then surprised the angel again with another hug. "It was good to see you, Cas. Don't be a stranger, okay?" He said to his shoulder, "I missed you."
Suddenly, Castiel felt his throat tight. He had forgotten this, the sense of friendship, the sensation of having someone to worry for his well-being and finding himself caring the others. The angel wanted to say, I missed you, too, but he found he couldn't.
Then Kevin stepped away and Castiel watched him wave his hand as he disappeared around the corner.
"Look, mommy!" A childish voice cried, "A comet!"
Castiel turned to look at the little girl tugging her mother's skirt, pointing her tiny finger up the night sky. He followed the direction of her finger and saw it. A flash trail of light, bright against the atmosphere.
"Sweetie, that's not a comet." He heard the mother say, "Its meteor."
It was neither. It was an angel falling, its grace rent away for rebirth, for a human life.
It was almost reminiscent of the time when he looked through canopy of the trees, in Colorado, watching thousands of them; streaks of light, angels enveloped by burning grace, its wings tearing away, and Castiel feeling the first crippling human emotions, dread, horror and fear as he witnessed Metatron's spell.
But this it was different. This time the angel was falling to their own free will.
"It's beautiful, mommy."
