Chapter 9
"Don't you like pie?" asked Jimi, cocking his head.
"I do not require nutrition; my Grace sustains my human vessel," answered the angel. "Do not talk with your mouth full."
"Apologies, Wingsman," Jimi looked contrite and obediently chewed and swallowed with his mouth closed.
"As per your Alpha's – your Dad's – instructions, you should address me as 'Cas'," instructed his babysitter, "A friend of your family, an accountant with Asperger's syndrome, visiting this place with you for the purpose of undertaking man-time activities. We must avoid attracting attention."
"Yes, Cas." Jimi scooped up another spoonful. "What is a wingsman doing Hunting with my Alpha?"
"That is a long story," Castiel told him, "Which you would probably not be able to understand."
Jimi accepted this without comment. "How does he know you?"
"I am the one who found him and raised him from the deepest pit of Hell," Castiel said.
Jimi regarded him seriously. "Is that where he met my sire?"
"No," Castiel replied, "Your sire – Jimi Senior – was summoned by Dean."
"Did you meet him?" Jimi wanted to know.
"Yes. He jumped on me, licked me, and behaved in a totally inappropriate fashion. He invaded my personal space. His saliva went up my vessel's nose. Your appearance and behaviour in your true form are remarkably similar to his, although I believe you may eventually grow larger than his Earthly form was."
"He died before I was whelped," Jimi noted matter-of-factly.
"He did. He died protecting his Alpha, your Alpha, on a Hunt."
"I will do that, one day, when I am an Elder," Jimi stated knowingy, as if commenting on the weather, as he shovelled another spoonful of pie into his mouth.
Castiel gave the teen a look of fondness. "Yes," he agreed, "Because you are a Hunter's dog, and it is the way of things. But not for many years yet."
Jimi gave Castiel a happy smile, and the waitress came to collect his plate. "Hello!" he chirped to her.
"Hello again, Jimi," smiled Rachel the waitress, "How's that Dad of yours?"
"He's doing stuff with Uncle Sammy, and Cas is walking me," he told her.
"Does he know how much you're eating?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.
"Dean is aware of his... son's propensity to eat desserts, and has given his permission," Castiel announced. "He may have as much hot chocolate or juice as he wishes, provided he makes an honest effort to drink it properly with tipping it into the saucer to be a last resort, but coffee is forbidden, and alcohol naturally is not permitted as that would be illegal, although considering the amount of intoxicating drink that Dean himself routinely consumed at this age I was surprised at how adamant he was on that point."
"Well, we all want our kids to be better behaved than we were," she commented.
Castiel considered this. "It would be difficult for him to behave worse," he pronounced. She laughed as she took Jimi's crockery.
"Dad mated with her, last night," Jimi told him.
"Yes, I know," Castiel answered.
"How?" asked Jimi, head cocked in curiosity.
"Your Alpha and I share a profound bond," Castiel told him, "I am able to be aware of his thoughts if I choose to do so. Usually I try very hard not to be, as he does not like it, especially during..."
"Special Time?" suggested Jimi.
"Yes. Exactly. Especially during Special Me-Time, or Special Cuddles, or even Special Dreams."
Jimi humphed resignedly. "It's hard not to notice when he's having Special Time, isn't it?"
Castiel wasn't that surprised at Jimi's perceptiveness – after all, the kid was a dog, and half-hellhound at that. "It is indeed difficult to ignore," he commiserated, "When he has such a tendency to think very hard about what he's doing during Special Times."
"There's no mistaking those noises," said Jimi gloomily, "And the scent he sheds, sometimes for hours beforehand, how Uncle Sammy can sleep through it I don't understand."
"Mentally he does the equivalent of shouting at the top of his voice," the angel confided.
"What? 'Look At Me, I'm Alpha And I'm Mating And It's Awesome!'?" queried Jimi.
Castiel considered that. "Not exactly in those words," he replied carefully, "But the sentiment is very much as you suggest."
"No wonder Uncle Sammy doesn't mate at all," stated Jimi sympathetically.
"That is not the reason your Second – Uncle Sammy – does not seek out women for casual sexual encounters," Castiel tried to explain. "Human males, human packs, work differently to packs as you understand them."
"I don't understand them at all," Jimi sighed, "Being an Upright is very complicated. Dad can mate whenever he wants, Uncle Sammy could but he doesn't want to… I wasn't allowed to go with him," Jimi added, with a touch of disappointment.
"That would not have been appropriate," frowned the angel. "It is unfortunate enough that Dean is an unrepentant fornicator; he most certainly should not be exposing a child to that sort of conduct."
"I'm not a Pup any more, I'm a Young," Jimi stated, with a trace of defiance. "I'm nearly an Elder. But I'm not allowed to mate." He practically pouted.
"It is best that you do not," Castiel told him. "You are half-Hellhound. There is no way to predict how your heritage would manifest if you sired offspring."
"There were female Young Uprights watching the pack play yesterday," Jimi said, "They were assessing the pack as we had play. They were healthy, and smelled receptive." He looked hopefully at the angel.
Castiel's usual demeanour did not betray any of the sudden spike of alarm he felt. "Mating while you are an Upright would be most unwise," he stated firmly.
"Why?" asked Jimi, coming perilously close to whining.
Castiel was quite proud of himself for the creative, tell-the-truth-and-nothing-but-the-truth-just-not-the-whole-truth explanation he gave. "Human packs, families, work differently," he said gently, "If a female Young mates before she leaves her dam's den, she may still be old enough to get in whelp - her sire and dam may become very angry, and drive her out before she is ready to fend for herself."
Jimi looked horrified. "Her pack would drive her out of the den before she is ready to leave?" he whispered, shocked.
"Yes," Castiel looked solemn. "With human packs, it is the way of things."
"But... what of her pups?" asked Jimi worriedly. "Without her dam and her litter-sisters to help raise them..." Castiel said nothing, looking at him in grim silence.
"Apologies, Win – Cas," said Jimi in a small voice, "I didn't know. I will not mate while I am Upright."
"You are a good boy," Castiel assured him, getting another smile, "Would you like to go to the park now?"
"Park! Play!" cried Jimi happily.
"I shall take that as assent," said Castiel.
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Jimi was running around at the park, scuffing through piles of leaves and discovering with delight that an Upright body could climb trees after the squirrels (although it was too heavy to follow them very far along branches) when the pack of Young Uprights he'd met the previous day turned up again. Two of the boys called to him, and ran over.
"They are offering play, Cas," relayed Jimi, wiggle-dancing a little and turning on the Sammy Eyes. "They told me I am good at football, and their packmate has not come today either. Can I play?"
"Of course," Castiel said, smiling slightly, "Outdoor exercise is beneficial for maturing humans, and team activities teach co-operation. Remember your Dad's instructions."
"Gratitude, Cas!" Jimi yelled, already running off to join the pack, some of them greeting him as he arrived. According to some intricate protocol Castiel could not understand, two teams formed, and a game began.
He sat on a bench and watched for a while, marvelling anew at the simple joy of his Father's young creations, laughing and shouting and squabbling and inexplicably jumping on each other, which they apparently enjoyed very much, even the one on the bottom of the heap. Their conduct made no sense to him: surely possession of the ball could be more efficiently shared amongst them without resort to such physical exertions, perhaps by making an alphabetical list of names and allotting an agreed time interval to each individual to hold the ball, but they were experiencing healthful aerobic exertion and would hopefully avoid any injuries of serious consequence…
He allowed his mind to wander, and did what Dean would no doubt describe as 'tune in to Angel Radio'; although perhaps 'checking his messages' might have been a closer analogy. Not satisfied with threats to rearrange Dean's private anatomy, Danael had made a formal complaint about Dean Winchester and the tone and content of his messages, and was asking for a transfer out of Reception until he was dead, or at least until such time as Castiel mastered the mobile phone. The Guardian of Companions had left him a courtesy heads-up about Jimi Senior: he'd decided to play Fetch with the Staff of Moses, however Fra Francis had persuaded him to relinquish it before any real damage was done, although the teethmarks were probably permanent. A very formal, very strongly worded and above all very legal-sounding communique had been received from The Pit, demanding custody of George Carlin immediately, to wit ipso facto ominous dominus… Castiel smiled inwardly – they'd been griping about the quality of the Damned ever since they'd gleefully anticipated a nice, juicy inrreverant comedian, and gotten Tammy Faye Bakker instead. He marked it mentally as something to ignore; threatening letters in legalistic jargon from Hell weren't really a surprise, considering how many lawyers they had Down There…
He sat otherwise just enjoying the day, taking a moment to appreciate his Father's work. The football game was still in full swing when he realised that two people, neatly dressed young men, were approaching him.
"Hello," the greeted him in a friendly fashion, "Isn't it a glorious day?"
"It is," he smiled back at them, "I am enjoying the sunshine."
"May we sit down with you?" asked one of the young men.
"Of course," he said politely, making room on the bench.
"They look like they're having fun," said the other young man, indicating the football game in progress.
"I do not understand any of it," Castiel confessed, "But I am pleased to see them taking healthy exercise in a friendly context, rather than participating in iniquitous behaviour that sadly tempts so many young people into sin." He could not help but shoot a disapproving look at the gaggle of girls of the same age, watching the game, chatting and giggling among themselves.
"Oh, that's so true," nodded one of the young men, "In fact, we're out today, meeting people, and talking to them about sin."
Castiel sat up, interested – this was definitely a subject on which he could hold an informed conversation. "I would be pleased to talk about sin with you," he said eagerly.
"That's wonderful!" smiled the other young man. "I'm Robert, and this is Cody."
"Hello, Robert and Cody," Castiel nodded to each of them. "I am Castiel."
"How do you do," said Robert politely. "Castiel, may I ask you: have you been… Saved?"
Castiel considered the question carefully. "Yes," he answered finally, with a serious mien, "I have definitely been saved."
"How wonderful!" Cody told him, "So, you know Jesus Christ as your personal Saviour?"
Castiel looked thoughtful. "No," he answered truthfully. "I suspect that I was saved by my Heavenly Father on two occasions. And once by my friend Dean, whose actions and friendship prevented me from becoming a cynical wreck abusing the temple of my vessel, well, my body it would have been, really, with pharmaceutical substances and rampant fornication. Although I was tempted into inebriation on one occasion," he added, not wanting to gloss over his own shortcomings in any way. "There wasn't much tempting required," he finished, feeling that it was important to take responsibility for his transgression.
Both Cody and Robert were looking at him with strange expressions. "Er, well," Robert began, "We're talking to people about our faith today," he proffered a book, "And sharing Holy Writ with those who would be Saved."
Castiel looked confused, but took the book carefully, opening it to the first page. "Book of Mormon," he read. Recognition dawned in his eyes. "Ah. Oh. Oh dear. This again." He turned a perplexed expression to the two young men, and sighed. "Well, I really do not have anything pressing to do," he admitted, holding his hand out in the air and calling forth a fountain pen loaded with red ink, "So, let us make a start…" he frowned at the close-printed text, then examined his pen. After a moment's thought, he waved it briefly and gave it a much finer nib. "Now, to begin with, there never was any such angel as 'Moroni'. If this man Smith was not delusional or just wildly imaginative and mischievous, I suspect that one of my older brothers might in fact have been playing a trick – making a name out of the word 'moron' is just the sort of thing that Gabriel would find funny…"
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"TWEEEEEEEEET!" yelled one of the footballers, "Time, and it's victory to the red shirts!"
"Bullshit!" called another with a disgusted expression, "We totally kicked your asses!"
"My Dad says the guys in the red shirts always end up dead," Jimi contributed.
"Dude, that's so true," said the second speaker, "See? We won."
More good-natured squabbling about final scores ensued. Jimi felt happy – it was just like the rough and tumble of play with his litter-sisters, with no real anger or malice beneath the argument. The females who had been watching the pack play wandered over – he thought it was strange that they did not play too, but kept quiet about it. Perhaps this was just one more way that human packs differed from canine ones.
"You're all idiots, you know that?" one of them smiled, putting her arm around the waist of the male who had called time, and doing that 'kissing' thing he'd seen his Alpha do. He experienced a sudden alarm as their posture and scents clearly signalled an intention to mate. What would happen if she got in whelp? They both seemed receptive to each other. Maybe they had some understanding, although for Uprights they seemed very young to make a den of their own…
"… my place, while the 'rents aren't around," the second boy was saying, "We can hang out, what do you say? How about you, Jimi?"
"Me? Come back to your… place?" Jimi thought about it. They were clearly offering further play, and Dad had told Castiel to let him run around with the pack of Young if he had the opportunity. "I might just have to ask Cas," he said cautiously.
"Aw, man, it looks like he's having his own fun," another boy observed with a grin, nodding in the direction of the bench on which Castiel sat hunched over the book on his lap, occasionally pausing to lecture the cowering would-be missionaries on a particularly grievous error.
"Is he correcting their book?" asked one of the females incredulously.
"That is so cool!" laughed another. "Your friend's awesome, Jimi."
Jimi considered the scene: Wingsman was clearly busy, talking to other Elders. His expression, posture and gestures showed that he was doing something important.
With a small sigh of relief, he realised that he knew what he was supposed to do: find a way to amuse himself without interrupting.
"He is busy," Jimi announced, "So I will come to your place, and not disturb him."
"Awesome!" said the boy who had brought the ball to play – Adam, he had said his name was – "Hey. let's go."
"Let's get pizza!" said one of the other boys.
"Pizza is awesome!" said Jimi. "I have money," he fished the cash Castiel had given to him out of his pocket. "Can we get bacon?"
"Yeah, we'll get meat-lovers," Adam decided, "Come on."
Jimi wasn't sure what that meant, but he knew he loved meat, and it sounded good. With a glance backward to check on Castiel – he was still busy – he followed Adam and the rest of the Young pack, feeling very obedient and grown-up and self-sufficient. He smiled a little to think what his Alpha would say when he found out how good he'd been.