Once again, I begin by thanking people that took time out to write a review. It makes my muse a happy creature.
Also, holy crap! Where is Kripke hiding Cas? The suspense is killing me. After 5x18...We want some answers eh? (Oh dear, can you tell I write these intros late at night?)
Anyway, this chapter has some confusing fever-induced flashbacks so Italics should indicate something going on in Castiel's head. I really can't tell how clear this is so, um I apologize if this chapter is a little all over the place, but I figure it represents Cas' mindstate.
Ok enough chit-chat, onto the disclaimer:
Celtic Amazon (KEL-tik - AM-uh-zon) noun, fem: an author who is not making any money from writing these fics.
RETROGRADE BURN
Everything is agonizing heat and turmoil. Fire guts his vessel, and he is trapped in it like a burning house with no windows and no doors. In the core of his being, there is utter chaos...and Castiel burns and burns...He wants to flee this place...break these bonds and flee but...but he has been charged with a task...
"Dean..."
It's a blasphemous prayer, but he calls up the only name that promises some form of relief since his brothers decided he was fit for nothing but extermination...since his Father turned his back on him...He does not know what he has done to deserve this punishment...The last time he felt such agony rip through him was under Zachariah's persuasion, under punishment for doubt and disobedience...But he fights, with all of his failing strength he fights...He has to get back...He has to come back down...Back to his charge...To this battle...
Until...Lucifer appears to him...stares through his soul with eyes...so familiar...He is seared by the unholy brilliance of The Morning Star...Even when Lucifer fades from view, fire and agony claim him again and again...His very being twists, writhes, tries to flee the flames...
Then suddenly, for the briefest moment, there is stillness.
The screaming, howling, burning void, pauses breathlessly, and a tiny candle flame of something else lights against his breast, and the stillness is filled with the cool soothing balm of peace.
Father?
Gradually, the suggestion of gentle rest and healing hums through him and exhausted, he submits...drifting awhile in blissful nothingness...
It does not last.
The claws of agony tear into him again mercilessly, wrenching him from the soft cocoon of dreamless sleep. Castiel tries to make himself as small as possible, folds in on himself inside his vessel until he becomes too small to be noticed, such an insignificant thing that these torments will ignore him...
But the pain drags him from the deep hole where he tries to hide, drags him back into the light and he struggles weakly, grasping for purchase, until he finds it. He finds a handhold in the unintelligible chaos of his own mind and this body, a familiar presence...
"Michael..."
He reaches out for something anything, and he finds his older brother. He thinks the archangel is just as likely to destroy him as help him, but he is so weak, so afraid, Michael is a guardian, a protector. It is a fact engrained upon his soul...
"Michael...brother..."
He barely manages the words, but maybe the archangel will be merciful, maybe he will look down on his little brother with compassion...But then the world slides dangerously, and suddenly he is losing his hold on his elder brother...his grasp slips...
He burns. He does not know comfort. He does not know hope. The constant of the river of fire that he floats on becomes unbearable and his last will to remain bound to this vessel is overcome by unholy pain. He blazes inside the fragile human container, reaches for freedom, for relief...And is shoved ruthlessly back down. He feels every inch of skin burning, every aching joint. He is consumed by this body and its pain. There is no Castiel, there are no angels, no heaven, no Winchesters, no existence beyond this pain. His body screams for air, for relief. He feels a touch of corruption that makes his soul roil in protest and the fires consuming him burn hotter.
"Father..." he begs. Father please.
And suddenly he ignites. His grace flares and spreads through his body like a brushfire, scouring him. It moves like a thing beyond his control, wild and aflame, purging, immolating. It is beyond anything he has ever felt, and he screams in sounds, colours, hues, he has never known, before plunging headlong into oblivion...
A light blur...A somewhat lighter blur...and a repetitive beeping noise. Confusing, irritating stimuli vie for his attention, and he wishes only to ignore them, to sink back inside himself. There is a low threatening burn and a deep weary ache.
Maybe it will go away...
But the light becomes sharper, and the room clearer. Room? Castiel is lying propped up on a bed, surrounded by pale curtains and machines. He does not recognize this place. Does not really understand why he is lying down in a bed in the first place, until he tries to sit up and his entire vessel protests loudly at his stupidity. A hiss of pain escapes his clenched teeth as he sinks back into the pillows behind him, and that monotonous beeping picks up in tempo for a few seconds.
After a couple of dizzying moments, the soreness dissipates and he lets his eyes flicker over his surroundings. He is alone in this room. He looks down at his left arm where a needle is protruding out, taped down to his skin. He is wearing some strange kind of...gown...and there seem to be wires coming out of the front of it, stuck underneath...
He lifts his left hand, squinting at the attached tape and gauze, curiosity for the moment, outweighing the stiff pull in his shoulder and neck that results. His eyes follow the clear line of tubing up to a machine, which he can only blink at hazily. With his fingers, he follows the wires to his chest, stopping at smooth adhesive pieces that seem to hold these wires in place. Interesting...He feels...indistinct. He is aware of the pain and heat still trying to consume his vessel, but it seems of lesser import for some reason...It isn't really unpleasant just....disorienting...
The adhesive on his chest is itchy, and he plucks absently at it. There is a slight pull but he removes it. The perpetual beeping suddenly stops and is replaced by a flat tone. Startled, Castiel turns to the offending machine and without thinking, raises one hand, to silence it with a tiny pulse of his grace. The noise stops, but an immediate white hot pain shoots through his temples, as if using his power has created some kind of a backlash. He feels his grace flare hot. It scalds him, tries to explode out of his grasp, and the effort it takes to suppress it has him seeing stars.
"Cas?!"
There is suddenly a low voice, close to his ear, and he feels hands close over his, gently pulling them away from where he realizes he's dug his fingers into his scalp.
"Cas, hey! Look at me," someone hisses.
He blinks rapidly, eyes watering, still more than slightly disoriented.
"Dean?"
The hunter is perched on the side of the bed, one hand braced against Castiel's back, the other still gripping one of his wrists. He shakes his head, "Man, it figures," he mutters, keeping his voice low, "I leave you alone for a grand-total of thirty seconds..." He releases Castiel's wrist, but keeps holding him steady, "You OK?" he asks.
"Yes."
It's possible that it's a lie, but the human accepts it for the time being.
"Where am I?"
He winces at the sound of his own rasping voice.
"Hospital," Dean supplies, then a little more hesitantly, "'You remember?"
Castiel swallows, "No."
Dean studies him frowning for a few seconds, then nods, "You've been here for about four days," he informs him, smiling wryly at the disconcerted expression he gets in return, "Yeah. But at least you weren't spending them drinking the worst coffee known to man." The hunter glances back over his shoulder at a noise from out in the hallway, and turns back to Castiel, expression serious again, "We had a visit from that disease-infested bitch Pestilence," he ventures watching Castiel's expression carefully.
Unholy pain. A touch of corruption.
He shivers slightly.
"She came after you, lookin' to get hopped up on angel steroids or something, but she went up like a Fourth of July bonfire all of a sudden and took off before I could get the ring. Did you..." Dean hesitates, "It was you that turned on the pyrotechnics right, Cas?"
Castiel feels his grace coiled low and restless, smouldering threateningly in a way he is not accustomed to. He remembers crying out to God, drowning in what must have been the horseman's unholy aura...he remembers suddenly being overwhelmed...
"I mean is your mojo coming back?"
His grace flares and spreads through his body like a brushfire, scouring him. It moves like a thing beyond his control, wild and aflame, purging, immolating.
Where once his grace felt spread too thin, it now feels like any second it will burst forth and consume him, consume Dean...this room...the whole hospital...
"Cas?"
He grimaces, "I'm not sure."
Dean gives him a questioning look, but the hunter's phone chooses that moment to vibrate. He flips it open.
"Sam," Dean says looking at the screen. He sends a quick response, stows the device in his jacket, and turns to him, "Listen Cas, we're getting you out of here. The last thing we need is another round of demonic Mommie Dearest."
The reference (He's fairly certain whatever Dean's talking about has to be some sort of pop culture reference) is somewhat lost on him, but he understands the first part about leaving here, and feels a certain amount of relief.
"We've just gotta avoid nurses, and doctors and the like," the hunter explains, picking up a duffle bag from the floor beside him, "Especially your night nurse Sherry. She's a babe, but do not piss that woman off." Dean opens the bag and produces a pair of cotton pyjama pants, and sets them down on the bed, "Give me your hand," he instructs.
Castiel blinks and Dean sighs, and takes hold of his wrist. The hunter carefully extracts the needle from his skin, letting the IV line drop, "Here." He places Cas' right hand over the small hole on the back of his left.
By the time Sam joins them, Castiel is free of wires and tubes, and is wearing the pyjama pants, which he is in fact thankful for, having discovered that the strange gown he was dressed in, had no back whatsoever.
"Hey Cas," Sam gives him a hesitant smile.
"Hello, Sam."
The younger Winchester approaches him warily.
"Ready?" Dean takes one of his arms and Sam goes to this other side.
Leaning on the brothers, he manages to find his feet. They make their way cautiously; every step is laborious, and Castiel realizes just how exhausted his body really is. By the time they make it into the hall, and to the elevator, he is breathing heavily. The numb feeling of what he realizes must have been painkillers, is fading rapidly. At the sudden sound of voices from down the hall, Dean swears.
"Here," he whispers to Sam, transferring all of Castiel's weight to his brother, "hold this."
Dean disappears down the hall. They can hear Dean's voice, low and conversational and an answering female voice.
After a few seconds, Sam turns to him, "How you holding up Cas?"
"I'm...holding up."
Sam is still looking at him with a fair amount of wary concern, as if he's expecting to be smote or something. In this state, thinks Castiel, as Sam adjusts his position to better take the angel's sagging weight, that fear is nearly laughable.
He's about to question the hunter about his strange reluctance to so much as look him in the eye, when they hear the sound of a yelp, and they see Dean skid around the corner across the tiled floor. Two nurses, round the corner, eyes flicking to black.
"Sam! Knife!"
Sam tosses Ruby's blade to Dean, but one of the possessed women dives at Dean, knocking him prone. The second nurse looks straight at him, and Castiel hears the creature inside the woman hiss. Sam releases him, and Castiel has to stumble back and brace himself on the wall, as Sam whips out a flask of holy water and flings the contents in the demon's face. She screams and charges at the younger Winchester blindly. Castiel watches frustratingly helpless, as the brothers grapple with the demons. When suddenly, there is a small, efficient ding beside him, and the elevator opens. A middle aged doctor, with wire framed glasses steps out, and Castiel can see the hideous face of the demon lurking under the benign facade.
"And where do you think you're going?" the demon asks.
"Cas!"
He hears Sam call out the warning, but there isn't anything either of the Winchesters can do. The demon approaches him, and Castiel scrabbles against the wall for purchase. At the very least, he is going to stand up straight and look this abomination in the eye.
"Castiel right?" the demon says casually, "I'm afraid my master the horseman isn't quite done with you. She's feeling a little ironically under the weather right now, but we're under strict orders not to let a delicious little morsel like yourself out of our sight."
It's a lower class of demon, not even one of the most powerful, just a minion. There was a time, when this creature would not have dared to come this close, let alone press his luck speaking that way to him. But now, the demon reaches out and grabs him by the throat, and Castiel can do little but claw feebly at the iron grip crushing his windpipe. The demon smirks. Darkness threatens the edges of his vision.
Then he feels it. Castiel feels his grace, unfurl and flare, and the demon's laughter turns to a cry of anguish. The creature attempts to let go, but Castiel grips its arms and he feels power he hasn't felt in so long, stream out of him and blinding light fills the hallway, as he exorcises all three demons at once. The light keeps building.
"Cas!"
Dimly, he hears Dean's voice full of fear, as he revels in the feeling of his former power surrounding him again.
"Cas!!"
But the light is beginning to grow out of control. He did not intend for it to emanate so strongly or so widely and it is still trying to grow. It is becoming a destructive force trying to escape his control. He has to get it back in check. With immense willpower, he focuses on pulling the swelling, rollicking power back into himself. It scalds him, tries to rip him apart, but he forces it all back into the confines of Jimmy Novak somehow. He is somewhat aware of his body hitting the tiled floor...
When he returns to himself, Sam and Dean are half carrying, half dragging him down a poorly lit hallway. He groans at their jostling, and loses consciousness again.
When he next gains awareness, Dean is lowering him to the ground, and Sam is disappearing into an underground parking lot.
"Dean..." he rasps.
"Hey man," the hunter gives him a slight smile of relief, "Don't worry, Sam's just gonna grab the car. We're almost home free."
"...cold."
Dean frowns and shakes his head, "You're burning up Cas..."
The hunter makes to release his hold on him, but Castiel fists his hands tighter into the fabric of Dean's jacket. He feels chilled to the bone, and wearing nothing but thin pyjamas, he'd like more than anything to keep his dignity intact, but he's just so cold, and his head is still ringing from using his grace... Dean pries his hands loose.
"Dean..."
Is that really his voice?
"OK, OK, I heard you, hang on," the hunter mutters.
And then Dean's jacket is being wrapped around him. The hunter pulls it around his shoulders, "Better?"
Castiel manages a shaky nod.
"What the hell happened back there?" Dean asks quietly, "I thought for a second you were going to nuke us all."
He licks his dry lips, "Something appears to be... wrong with my grace."
"Something the horseman's doing?"
"No...I don't think so," Castiel shivers, "I don't know."
He can't remember (a frightening thought in itself) whether his grace was this strong before he rebelled...but it definitely wasn't this out of control. He's not certain that boosting an angel's grace lies within the power of the horseman nor what Pestilence would gain by it.
An emergency exit a few dozen feet away clangs open and two large men dressed in army fatigues burst out.
"Crap," Dean unsheathes Ruby's knife, and scrambles to his feet, placing himself between Castiel and the attacking demons.
The first possessed man dodges the blade with the reflexes of a navy seal and swings at Dean. The hunter ducks the blow, and has to slash wildly at the other demon to keep it at bay. The first demon moves to disarm him, and Dean manages to twist aside, only to be caught in a chokehold by the second demon. Castiel hears the squeal of tires, and what he dearly hopes is Sam approaching in the Impala, but the first demon lunges around Dean struggling with its partner, and grabs Castiel ruthlessly by the hair, yanking him to his knees, before cracking a fist into his jaw. He feels his grace rear up furiously, feels it crackle over his vessel's skin, and then the demon picks him up and he is airborne. A grey SUV stops his flight, as he slams into its windshield, glass shattering under him, pain flaring across his senses. The next thing he is aware of is the demon towering over him, reaching for him. He narrowly avoids the fist that crashes through the remains of the windshield where his head was seconds ago. He swings, and the demon grabs both of his wrists, pinning him ruthlessly, the thing's face close enough that he can feel its hot breath on his face. He hears the sound of a demonic screech and over the shoulder of the creature pinning him sees black smoke shoot upwards as its partner is exorcised. The momentary distraction is just enough, and he head butts his assailant hard enough to break the demon's nose and send his own vision exploding with stars. The demon reels backwards and it's almost enough time to escape, but it recovers and tosses him to the ground among the pieces of broken glass from the windshield. Castiel wraps his fingers around one of the larger pieces, and stabs it through the top of the combat boot about to strike him in the face. There's a cry of pain, and then a second more otherworldly scream as the demon is exorcised by Dean ramming the knife into its back. The body crumples next to him on the pavement, and Dean quickly reaches down and hauls him upright. He can't keep from crying out as the movement aggravates his new injuries. Dean drags him the last couple of feet to the Impala muttering a string of curses and apologies, before depositing him as carefully as he can in the back seat. Castiel's head spins as Sam hits the gas. He can feel a trickle of blood sliding sluggishly down his forehead and the shivering which he can no longer suppress is a torment to his aching body.
He drifts in and out of consciousness as Sam breaks several traffic laws, and Dean alternates between growling at him to take it easy, on the car and the angel curled up in the backseat. Eventually, they skid to a stop and the brothers jump out and haul him out as well. As they drag him up a debris-littered driveway, his head lolls limply, and for a moment, he thinks he sees a little girl perched on a broken picnic table on the front lawn, but then he is being dragged inside.
"Bathroom," Dean barks and Sam kicks aside a pile of cardboard boxes in their path.
He is set down on the floor for a moment, before both Winchesters hoist him up again, this time using a makeshift stretcher. The journey up to the second floor is a dizzying and painful ordeal, but they don't drop him. Light slices mercilessly through his pounding head, as Sam flicks a switch and he is deposited into a bathtub.
"Wha'...?" He can't figure out why he is being tossed in here.
Then a cold spray of water hits him, and he gasps and sputters, limbs too weak and uncoordinated to escape.
"Dean..." he moans the hunter's name, blinded by the water running down his face, mixing with the trickle of blood from his forehead.
"Easy, Cas."
A calloused hand pushes back his dripping hair, as another set settles on his shoulders, holding him steady.
The two shapes hovering over him are blurred and indistinct and he can't be sure whether it's the water anymore, or his own vision.
"...Cold," he manages to gasp.
"I know man," comes a voice, strained under its soothing tone, "but we gotta get the fever down."
He's so cold, and these hands won't let him go, won't let him escape this torture...Torture...Is he being tortured? ...Punished maybe?...But the demons...they're dead aren't they?...Didn't Sam and Dean get him to safety?...
A shape on the edge of his consciousness drifts into clarity, and he sees the demon Meg leaning casually against the bathroom door, arms folded, smirking at his distress.
"What's the matter, Clarence?" she purrs.
"No..." he groans. No she can't be here. It can't be real.
Two dour looking men in suits appear next to the demon, and stand beside her, arms folded. He recognizes them. They are two of his brothers. He killed them... He can feel his heart hammering, hear his own shuddering gasps for breath, as the three approach him slowly, deliberately, and these hands continue to hold him helpless against the cold and the approach of these terrifying spectres. Meg reaches out a hand, and his vision greys...fuzzes out...
The previous cold, is nothing compared to the heat that follows. When next he returns to awareness, he can feel a dry burn consuming his body. The external fever of his vessel seems to be mirrored in the ominous blazing of his grace within his exhausted body, worsening his suffering, rather than alleviating it. Every time he reaches for his healing power, it flares rebelliously, too large and out of control to be made to do as he wishes. His eyes are heavy, his lashes stuck together, and it's a struggle to open them. Once they are, he instantly regrets it. Allastair sits in a beat-up looking rattan chair, sharpening a long curved knife. Beside him, Dean stands at attention, eyes fixated on the blade, awaiting orders.
"Dean..." he rasps, but a firm, cool hand holds him down, prevents him from interfering.
Allastair winks at him, and begins humming cheerfully.
"Dean..." Castiel struggles uselessly.
All of a sudden, Joshua is standing at the foot of his bed, arms folded. He looks at Castiel pointedly.
You must save the righteous man. It is God's command. Save Dean Winchester. He hears the command echo in his head.
He groans weakly. He is trying. He is trying with every ounce of his failing strength to stop the scene before him. He tries to tell Joshua as much, but all that comes out, is a low, desperate moan.
Then Dean and Allastair begin to fade out of sight, and Joshua disappears as well. Now it is Zachariah standing there glaring at him.
Disobedience. You know the penalty, Castiel.
He gasps as the raging heat around him intensifies. He is being punished for his doubt, for his impudence, his rebellion. And suddenly, the horrors of his re-education in heaven's prisons are pouring back into his body, into his psyche, and he can do little but lie there shaking as the pain engulfs him.
Sturdy hands take hold of him and Zachariah steps back, taking up Allastair's old seat in the rattan chair. Castiel struggles weakly, but he is positioned carefully against a solid form, and he feels the low rumble of the voice in the chest he is propped against, as the first soothing sensation in so long...but then he is seeing Allastair again, and Joshua. The angel and the demon lean against the wall, side-by-side watching him.
"No..." he whispers, trying to dispel them.
A cold, wet cloth presses against his burning cheek and he moans in protest not sure anymore whether he is leaning into the touch or trying to escape it. Then a gentle hand cups his jaw, coaxing it open. A small smooth tablet is placed on his tongue and he feels the cold rim of a glass pressed to his lips. The glass tips and the liquid pours down his throat, causing him to choke and sputter. He spits out the tablet, groaning. He does not want this... Just wants to curl up and sleep...
"Come on, Cas."
The ritual is repeated a few more times, but he struggles, resists, doesn't know who is trying to force things down his throat.
Finally he is released. Allastair chuckles, and the room crowds with demons. They crawl in through the windows, up through the floorboards, slither under the door...Castiel drifts, burning...
Gentle hands continue to bathe his brow, cleaning out the stinging cut there, but time seems to slow, and he has no idea how long he has been lying in this torment...Gradually, something else though, seeps into his consciousness. A fresh wholesome aroma begins to permeate the room. It seems to clear his head a little, and the various hissing, muttering, and chattering of the demons around him recedes a little into the background. He closes his eyes, just tries to breathe. He feels himself being propped up again, and this time, a warm mug is pressed to his lips, the scent of the tea in it giving off the soothing smell.
Castiel's eyes flutter open. The demons glare at him, but have become silent. Someone is coaxing him to drink, but he turns his head away fitfully.
Then he sees her. The little girl who was sitting outside the house when Sam and Dean brought him here... Wait...his fevered brain slowly rouses. Sam and Dean...
"Cas, please, come on."
The voice next to his ear is Dean...the hunter is holding him steady, pressing the warm mug to his lips.
Across the room, standing by the rattan chair, beside Allastair, Sam is frowning at his laptop. He says something to Dean, who sighs tiredly. But the little girl...she's still here...
Drink Castiel.
Her voice is full, brimming with light and the sounds of birds in flight and silvery moonlight on water, and powerful winds echoing over snowy mountains, and rich sunlight.
He knows her...he thinks...
"Cas," Dean pleads, "Trust me. Drink it."
The little girl smiles gently at him.
He knows her...he does...
He parts his dry lips. Her name...it's on the tip of his tongue...
Shhh...The girl chides Drink your tea.
"Come on, Cas, drink up," Dean mutters.
Castiel swallows dutifully, and the girl remains watching him, smiling encouragingly, until he finishes the contents of the mug, and drifts off to sleep.
You read it! Thank you so much! Feel free to review. Also, raise your hand if you want to know where Kripke is hiding Castiel!
~Amazon
