Dean didn't like this, not at all, but he had no choice. The last time the demons had seen them and just attacked, and it might very well happen again; and since they could smell an angel from miles away, he had to stay behind in the motel on the other side of town while Cas snuck in and got rid of the sigils, so that he could at least help out in case things went awry.
And they very well might. But what was he supposed to do? True, he could have asked John...
Sam's words still gnawed on him. He couldn't believe it. He wouldn't believe it. Sam, although he was a great and deserving angel, had always been prone to have strange ideas; but this – this doubt was alarming.
They had fought under and alongside John for millennia; how could he think that he – how could he think that any angel would work for the destructions of their Father's creation through their own brothers?
It didn't make sense. The Apocalypse had to be stopped; John had told him they were trying to stop it; what more was there to know?
It troubled him that Cas had listened to Sam's suspicions, and not only listened, but seemed to believe him; if the Righteous Man didn't trust them, how could they win?
He shifted uncomfortably on Cas' bed. He wasn't used to sitting around and waiting without an idea what he should do; even in Hell he had been given the task of guarding the outer ring; there had been something to do, now he was waiting, only waiting, while Cas was out there.
He would have asked himself why their Father had allowed demons to discover sigils against angels in the first place if it hadn't been close to blasphemy.
"You should calm down."
Sam, normally a welcome guest, shocked him with the understanding in his eyes. He didn't even comprehend what his brother understood.
"I am calm." He was always calm, as befit his rank. He often flew to earth to enjoy himself; he had fought countless battles; but he had never lost control of his emotions.
Sam snorted.
"Dean, I could feel your uneasiness – and I was in Belarus."
That was alarming. If he was easy to read on the angel radio –
Then what? What was his problem? He was serving Heaven as best as he could; why should he worry that he could be heard?
Because he knew that what he was doing with Cas – chasing after demons, constantly telling him what he had or hadn't found – was not exactly what he'd been told to do.
It wasn't not what he'd been told to do, either, but that was beside the point.
Cas was his charge. He was supposed to protect him, not risk his life.
But Cas was clearly wanted to help; he was the Righteous Man, he had been born to do God's work. Surely, if Dean helped him, he didn't go against their Father's will? John would understand, after all, he'd been angry that he'd not saved Cas quickly enough – and Dean was just looking out for Cas.
That was all.
"Better" Sam commented and Dean shoved him, half thankful and half annoyed.
"Cas?"
"He's there now."
"You're worried." Sam calmly stated, and as always his brother's habit to freely allude to the differences between Dean and his siblings made him nervous. Which was another thing – he wasn't supposed to be nervous.
He suddenly wondered if he'd even called it being nervous before he'd started to spend so much time with Cas. He had been aware of the many emotions humans felt, of course; had even (again different, always different) imagined what it would be like to experience them, but whether or not he ever truly had –
Now, here he was, a nervous wreck, and all because of one human –
Only Cas wa snot just one human. He was the beautiful soul Dean had cradled as they flew out of Hell, the soul he'd left his mark on, unconsciously, without meaning to; he was the Righteous Man, God's warrior in the Apocalypse, the Chosen One; really, there was no reason why Dean had him as a charge in the first place. Yes, he had rescued him out of simple luck – but what other reason was there? Cas would have been safer with someone like Sam, with a good angel.
He forced himself to calm down. Sam was right, he was working himself up again.
Wait –
Sam was right? Had he really just thought that?
It felt like disobedience. It felt like rebellion.
Father, give me guidance.
"Dean – " Sam said, reaching out for him, but this time he would have none of it.
An angel like Sam could allow himself to dwell on such things, and angel who was strong and pure, who wouldn't give in to the temptation such thoughts brought; Dean, on the other hand... there was no knowing where this path might lead – and if he fell –
He stood up.
"You should go", he said coldly.
"Dean – "
"I know very well what I can share with our siblings, Sam."
The cold dismissal and especially the use of his given name wasn't lost on his brother.
But instead of the (perhaps justified) indignation Dean had expected he saw only pity in his eyes.
"I'll come back when you call."
"I won't" he replied shortly.
Sam said nothing.
A moment later he weas gone.
Dean felt... angry. What right did he have to come here, and talk like this? That way lay madness. And he had no one he could turn to – John wouldn't like it. And he didn't want Sam punished.
He wished Cas were here.
He closed his eyes and prayed.
Cas was acutely aware of being alone for the first time in his life.
He had often been alone before; he had never felt it.
But ever since he had returned to earth, there had been an angel who looked after him, an angel who could appear any minute.
Only he couldn't, now; Castiel was utterly alone and he felt it.
He could easily hold his own against a few demons, had done so on many occasions; but he had underestimated how much he'd grown used to the constant feeling of protection his acquaintance with Dean had brought. The angel had only ever been a prayer away.
If you want him here, go and find the sigils, he admonished himself.
He heard someone move in the room he had just passed and tensed; his grip on his bottle of holy water tightened. It should keep the demon distracted long enough for him to perform an exorcism, as it had countless times before. He had heard rumours about weapons that could kill demons; but aside from harbouring doubts whether they were true, Castiel didn't feel comfortable considering the possibility. He didn't want to kill possessed humans.
He had lost enough lives in the course of his career.
Dean, naturally, could and would kill the demons as well as the possessed; he didn't, couldn't doubt it; too often had Dean confirmed that he was a soldier and that fightings against demons was his duty.
The sounds stopped, the door remained closed, and he moved on.
He had found a few sigils as soon as he had entered the building, a long, grey, abandoned warehouse full of empty corridors and big halls, but after he had scratched away a bit of the paint, just enough to break the seal but so little that it wouldn't be obvious at a casual glance and prayed, he had realized there must be more, probably around the whole complex. He'd almost cursed, but remembered where he was and gone to find more seals. Thankfully, he'd developed a good sense of orientation out of necessity; otherwise he would have got lost half an hour ago.
Voices in front and slightly to his right. He moved noiselessly, ready to strike, keeping the sigils Dean had shown him in his mind. If he had to lay a trap, they would be useful, not only keeping the demon locked in, but sending him away and making it impossible for him to return for some time.
He moved closer and was soon able to make out words.
"There are still many seals left. We have to tread carefully."
Castiel had underestimated how it would feel to hear a demon's voice once more, not screaming or yelling, just talking, as he had heard them sometimes in Hell when he desperately tried to find something else to cling to than the pain; just them talking like humans yet not like humans at all, their voices retaining certain unnatural quality. Before he'd gone to Hell, he'd thought they sounded just like other humans. He had been wrong. He remembered Alastair's voice, the whispers, the taunts.
"According to what I heard, we might not have to take such care after all."
Another demon. He sounded smug.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that some of the angels are quite as anxious as we are for the Apocalypse."
"It would be good news if that were true" the other demon replied.
Here, for the first time, was confirmation, for what Sam had told them, even if it was only through rumours heard by a demon.
"They hoped he would break – he didn't, but of course we had already found another one that time. And why do you think the angels never rescued him? Do you really believe they knew nothing about it?"
"It seems unlikely, I give you that. But why do they keep attacking us, then? If they want to help..."
"That's because the lower angels don't you. One of the big guys – he works under Alastair, mind, and we all know Alastair takes orders from no one – he told me they still believe they are protecting God's work, and the higher ups let them. And then, of course, they need you-know-who..."
"Yeah, but do you really think he will agree? Or the other one will?"
"Oh, as far as I'm concerned, the angels will take care of that."
"Humans – they are so desperate to be good... and Alastair sure did a good job on him."
"Castiel couldn't doubt that they were speaking about him. But to what should he agree to? Furthermore, how were the angels supposed to make him agree? Dean surely would have told him if there was something expected of him –
But would he? The thought made him stop in his tracks. Dean, for all his human traits and preferences, was still an angel and clearly loyal to Heaven.
As to Sam, Cas was unsure, but it was certain that Dean was a good soldier and servant. If the demons were right – if Sam's suspicions were confirmed – if the angels had as of yet undisclosed plans for him – could he trust Dean? He had, perhaps, foolishly, contrary to his better judgement even then, trusted and believed him from the first, Dean had seemed so friendly, so human, so (for lack of a better word) good – and his feelings that were more and more resembling a teenage crush, he reluctantly admitted to himself, didn't help matters.
"We have to get back to work" the first demon hissed, interrupting his train of thought, "the witnesses shall rise tonight."
The rising of the witnesses, Castiel remembered. So that was what they were trying to achieve here. He debated shortly whether he should continue looking for the seals, but he had found what he'd come for – information.
He retraced his steps and ran straight into a demon. Before he could call out, Castiel poured holy water down his throat and left him writhing on the floor, knowing from experience that it hurt them most when ingested.
He ran, evading another demon who was coming to investigate the noises the first was uttering, and soon found himself on the street, praying.
In the next moment, he was in his room.
