This was written before 12.18 aired, so somethings may deviate just slightly from the canon we were given there. (If you've seen the episode, you'll notice the discrepancy when you see it) Beta-ed by the lovely xxinfinitywriterxx
CH 6
Sometimes Dean was amazed that he could call an actual angel his best friend. This thing was that was ethereal and gigantic and nearly immortal and ancient was his best friend, had forfeited Heaven and the company of other angels, to sit down in the muck of humanity and hang out and drink cheap, gas-station beer. Dean didn't think about it too much. He couldn't ever comprehend all that Castiel was, would never be able see Cas's true form or hear his true voice, so it really wasn't worth his time trying to assimilate all of him.
Sometimes, though, Dean thought that having a rabid, incontinent beaver as his best friend would be easier than Castiel.
"I don't need to be babysat," Cas said.
Dean rolled his eyes and resisted every urge to scream 'yes you do! "It's not 'babysitting'," Dean said as calm as he could. "It's keeping you safe. We'll find Ketch, find a cure, and then everything will go back to normal." No response from Cas. Dean tried for humor. "Take a break, have some quality time with Sam. Don't let him re-decorate the bunker."
Cas scowled towards the floor. Dean shot a pleading look at Sam.
"We'll be fine," Sam said. "You guys better get going if you want to catch up with them, make sure they haven't got too much a head start."
Dean hated to leave when Cas was in such a pissy mood still. But, it didn't appear he had much of a choice. Dean knew Cas pretty well; Cas wasn't going to just give in and get over it.
It would be okay, Dean rationalized. Cas was in the safest place in North America. He had Sam to guard him and keep him company. Dean would rather stay with Cas himself, but he also wanted the chance punch Ketch in the face and make him twice as beat up and bruised as Cas was—and he wouldn't leave Cas with Mary, not alone. Not when Mary was acting cagey. Dean needed to keep her in sight.
Dean and Mary were ready to go in just under fifteen minutes.
"We'll be right back, Cas," Dean said. "Won't even notice we're gone." He patted Cas's shoulder affectionately, and nearly jumped out of his skin when Cas tugged on his jacket sleeve.
"Dean," he said seriously. "Be careful."
"When am I not?" Dean said.
Cas's scowled as best he could with how much his face had to be hurting. His gaze was still unfocused, eyes directed to the floor. "Almost always," he said.
Dean rolled his eyes. "No keggers while I'm out, got it? And make sure Sam feeds you some real food, none of that rabbit crap, okay?"
"At least Cas and I aren't going to have bad cholesterol," Sam said.
"I run," Dean insisted.
"From monsters," Sam said.
"It all evens out."
"Dean," Mary said, exasperated. Her duffel was slung over her shoulder. She tapped her wrist.
"Hang tight," Dean said, his version of goodbye.
He followed Mary down the hallway into the garage. They threw their bags into the backseat, and then climbed into the car. Dean had to adjust the mirrors and seat from Sam jacking with them, having driven last, and soon he was out driving out the garage door, Mary beside him.
Driving with his Mom was worse than he had originally anticipated. She was deathly silent, stiff and appeared generally uncomfortable. After about ten minutes of the silence, Dean popped a cassette in, and he didn't miss Mary's disgust when the music started to reverberate through the car.
"What?" Dean said.
"Nothing."
"It's not nothing," Dean said. He dialed back the volume. "What's wrong? You don't like the music?"
"Has music not changed during any of the time I've been gone? Do people really still listen to AB/CD?"
"AC/DC," Dean corrected, swallowing. It was the most Mom thing his Mom had ever said so far.
"And, yes." The need to protect his music tastes was instinctual. He got it bad enough from Sam. At least Cas never complained about Dean's taste—Cas was a weird, dorky little guy, but at least he had a great taste in music.
Mary shook her head and looked out the window. "Your father took me to a concert of theirs once."
"Really?"
"One of the worst experiences of my life. And you know the sort of experiences hunters go through. The music was so loud my teeth ached, and there were just drunk people everywhere, screaming and pushing and puking. The only silver lining of it all was the pot someone gave me."
Another shocking image Dean would have never associated his ideal Mary with. "You smoked pot?"
Mary looked at Dean with a chiding, incredulous glance. "It was the seventies, Dean. Everyone smoked pot." Then Mary's smile turned playful and she nudged him with her elbow. "What, you've never?"
Dean stammered for a bit. "Uh. Once," he admitted. "I puked." Booze was his go-to indulgence anyway. All the fun without the terrible smell.
Still, it was nice to have some sort of normal conversation with his Mom. Something that didn't involve hunting, or fighting, or the Brits. Was this what it was like for normal people?
"So you really don't like Dad's music do you?" he said.
"God," Mary said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Probably the only thing about him I couldn't stand. But, love makes you overlook people's flaws. What he lacked in good music, he made up for in—"
Mary stopped, and it took Dean a moment to process what she had been going to say.
He gagged a little, stomach acid churning, and touching the bottom of his esophagus. "I think I'm gonna be sick," he said.
Mary chortled next to him.
"Glad you're enjoying this," Dean said. He was going to need brain bleach to scour that image out of his mind. Maybe Cas could do it once he was recovered and Dean had beat Arthur Ketch an inch within his life.
"What kind of mom would I be if I didn't mentally scar my children?"
Dean swallowed, fingers tightening around the steering wheel. He had enough mental scars from a parent, but he didn't know how to vocalize that to Mary. If it was even worth telling her. She'd been back from the dead for almost a year now, and they hadn't once talked about John. Whatever mental construct Mary still had of John, Dean didn't want to ruin it.
So he kept silent. The awkwardness returned.
"Dean," Mary said, her tone back to being serious. "I swear, I didn't know about Castiel."
Good to know it was Mom that Sam got this annoying habit from; initiating uncomfortable conversations in the car, a place Dean couldn't leave.
"I-," Mary paused and swallowed. "I knew. . . they had monsters. But I didn't know they had Castiel. I didn't know they were even interested in him. You have to believe me."
Dean glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. He studied her pale face, the pleading shimmer in her eyes.
He believed her. Decades of hunting, of interviewing witnesses, trying to find a monster in a crowd, made him pretty good at detecting lies. He could practically smell them. And all of his instincts told him Mary wasn't lying.
"I believe you," he said. Mary visibly relaxed and a small smile graced her face.
He couldn't forgive her though. She may have not known about Cas, but she did know the Brits were capturing and experimenting on supernatural creatures. And she hadn't told them. If they had known, maybe they could have done something to keep Cas safe. . .
There was no use in dwelling in the past, on the could-haves, and should-have-dones. What's done was done, and there wasn't anything they could do about it. The only thing they could do was to fix it.
As the Impala's engine whirred across the black asphalt, Dean prepared himself for the long drive ahead.
-0-0-0-
Ten minutes after Dean and Mom had left, Sam sat next to Cas in the library.
"How about we go outside?" Sam suggested. Cas looked more depressed than usual, and Sam figured some sunshine and fresh air would do him some good. He knew how much Cas liked being outside.
He was rewarded with the tiniest of smiles from Cas. It wasn't much; just a small twitch at the corners of his lips, but Sam knew Cas well enough to know it was a true smile.
"Yes," he said, nodding, and Sam's heart ached just a bit at the excitement in Cas's voice—it wasn't like Sam was going out of his way, or taking him to Disney World or something. He just planned to take Cas down the walking trail a bit.
First, though. "I'll get you some more appropriate clothes."
"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
Cas was still just in Sam's long trench coat and the sweat pants from yesterday—how he managed to sleep in it, Sam didn't know.
"Trust me," Sam said. "These are not exercise clothes. Dean should have something that'll fit." Sam didn't give Cas any time to argue—he quickly went into Dean's room and pilfered his brother's dresser, which was surprisingly neat and orderly. Huh.
Sam picked a pair of jeans, boxers and an old t-shirt, and when he left Dean's room, he saw Cas slowly making his way down the hallway once more, leaning heavily against the wall.
Sam sighed. "Really, man?" but left it at that, and grabbed gently onto Cas's shoulder. He went ahead and lead Cas into Dean's room and guided him to the edge of the bed.
"Uh," Sam said awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "Do you need help?"
"I can manage," Cas said. He took the clothes from Sam and proceeded to strip his pants.
"Okay," Sam said, spinning around, and covering his eyes for good measure. "Uh, I'm right here if you need any help."
"You're embarrassed," Cas said, with his usual questioning observance.
"Just trying to give some privacy, that's all," Sam said. He could the shuffling of fabric as Cas manipulated the clothing into place.
Cas didn't say anything else, and Sam was somewhat thankful. Cas was his friend, his brother, and Sam would do anything to help him, spare him some pain; and Sam had already seen him naked, but, it still wasn't right. Regardless if Castiel understood the social structures or not, Sam wanted to be able to grant his friend some level of human decency and respect.
After about a minute, Sam found his voice again. "You got it all?"
"Yes," Cas said, with his usual level of impatience that was actually somewhat relieving to hear. Cas exasperated, pissed off, what have you, was always better than if he were depressed. Sam would be more worried about the situation in general if Cas wasn't acting like himself.
He turned to see that though Cas had managed to get the underwear and pants on no problem, the shirt was backwards. But Sam didn't have it in him to correct it. It was fine how it was.
"Good," Sam said. "Good. Now, let's just find some shoes and we can go."
Ten minutes later, Sam was helping Cas up the stairwell to the front door, slowly and carefully. Cas was in front, hand on the rail, and Sam was right behind him, hand hovering just over Cas's back. Cas walked slowly, probably unused to the feeling of sneakers compared to his usual dress shoes, but Sam was patient with the pace, not wanting to push.
"Last step," Sam said, helping Cas up, and then he was right next to Cas's side, holding his hand and going out the front door. The door was heavy and creaked loudly as Sam secured it shut. He helped Cas up the small set of stairs outside the front door, and then they began the journey to the walking trail.
It was a nice day. The sun wasn't too bright yet, and it wasn't too hot. There was a cool, gentle breeze that blew through the trees, rubbing the leaves together, mixed in with the gentle sounds of birds. The change in Cas was instantaneous. He shoulders sagged some, and his muscles didn't seem so tense.
Sam hooked his arm in Cas's elbow and walked slowly. The trail was paved, thankfully, a flat, straight path with nothing to trip over. Cas's movements were slow, but confident.
This was good for Cas. It was good for him to get out, experience nature as best he could. Better than just ditching him in a room with nothing but the television for company. Cas was already depressed at that point, and binge watching depressing, violent shows alone did not help. Sam wondered if maybe that had led to the domino effect of Cas's horrid decision to say yes to Lucifer.
But he swallowed and tried not to think about it. It was over. It was in the past; there wasn't anything they could do to change the past, but he could ensure he didn't make the same mistakes now, in the present, and in the future. Especially since Cas was running on human for the foreseeable future. Sam wasn't quite sure how strongly Cas felt emotions as an angel—if it was the same or stronger than a human, but Sam didn't want to take any chances. He would keep Cas away from overindulging in junk food, and alcohol, and medications, anything that would set off a relapse of a bad depressive episode. For as well-intentioned as Dean was, he was an idiot.
Keeping Cas happy could be as simple as this. Just walking outside. Listening to the birds, being surrounded by the smells.
"Hey," Sam said, breaking the comfortable silence. "I'll have to take you out here again when you're all fixed up." Because they would find a way. Sam believed that. They would heal Cas, fix his painful scars and get him his sight back—like Dean, Sam refused to accept any other option. "I think all the bird eggs are gonna start hatching soon. And the mammals are going to start having their babies. If you come out early enough, you can catch the racoons."
"I'd like that," Cas said.
Sam didn't get moments like this with Cas often, just the two of them, and he enjoyed it. He wished they could do this more often.
He was having a nice, peaceful time with Cas, and for a few moments, his life didn't totally suck, so of course it had to end.
It was Cas who noticed. He squeezed Sam's hand.
"Someone is following us," Cas whispered.
They stopped walking.
Sam looked behind him. He didn't see anyone. He scanned, listened closely, but couldn't pick out anything.
"I don't," he began, and then he was struck in the side by a strong, fast force. Sam was knocked to the ground, landing hard on his back.
"Cas!" Sam cried at once, searching for the enemy. He saw a woman with long blonde hair pinned in a messy bun, in a dark suit—angel. She had knocked Cas to the ground and was standing over him.
Shit, shit, shit.
Sam reached for the gun he kept strapped to his calf—it was all he had and it wouldn't kill an angel—god, he was so stupid.
"Castiel," the angel said. She stared down at Cas inquisitively. "What's happened to you?"
Sam pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the angel in her arm, tearing through her coat sleeve. She looked at the damage with a pinched brow.
"Get away from us," Sam said.
The angel scowled at Sam. She flicked her wrist and Sam was thrown backwards, skidding in the dirt until he slammed into a tree trunk at high speed. On the impact, Sam bit his tongue, and blood began to slowly pool into his mouth.
"This does not concern you, Sam Winchester," the angel said. Sam was surprised to hear she had a bit of an accent—it almost sounded British, but there was something just the tiniest bit off about it that Sam couldn't recognize.
"Isabel?" Cas said. "Isabel, is that you?"
"Silence!" the angel screamed. Cas grunted—from what Sam could see, it looked like there was a force keeping Cas's jaw locked shut.
Sam was dizzy. The world was turning sideways. He staggered to his feet, stumbling slightly, and he raised his gun again, taking off another shot.
The angel raised her hand, and the bullet stopped midair.
"Boy King," she said.
"Leave us alone," Sam said. Cas was still on the ground, and now Sam was feet away, and they had nothing to defend themselves. "We don't want any trouble."
The angel—Isabel, Cas had called her—straightened her back. "Your actions seem to prove the contrary," she said. She reached down and grabbed Cas roughly by the shoulder.
"No!" Sam said, gun shaking in his hand. He couldn't dare risk firing off another shot—not with Cas so close to her; if Cas was Angeled Up himself, maybe Sam could do it, knowing that ultimately it wouldn't do any damage. But not with Cas as injured as he was.
Cas for his part was fighting. He struggled, twisting his arm, kicking his legs, being generally uncooperative. But Isabel was still and as sturdy as stone.
"What do you want?" Sam said. He hoped against experience that she could be reasoned with.
"What I want," Isabel snapped, tightening her grip on Cas so that it was painful, "is what every angel, every true angel, in Heaven wants. Order restored. Traitors punished. Though it looks like someone already beat me to it." She snarled at Cas. Cas's struggles were useless—instead of continuing he spit in her face.
Isabel's eyes glowed that bright, iridescent blue.
"Oh, I can't wait to get my hands on you good," she said.
"No!" Sam cried—he could see what was happening, but he couldn't stop it. Isabel muttered something in Enochian, words Sam was unfamiliar with. She snapped her fingers and a puff of thick, gray smog covered the area. Sam coughed roughly. The smog burned at his lungs and made his eyes water, but he barreled forward.
"Cas!" he screamed, beating his arm against the gray cloud to get it to waft away—it all cleared away after just a few seconds.
Cas and Isabel were nowhere to be seen.