Chapter Twelve
a/n Castiel is finally about to make his appearance! *laugh* He's awesome.
"Please, Cas. Pick up the damn phone!" Dean groaned and dropped down onto the bumper of the Impala. "Cas, I know I've already left you a ton of messages, but I'm begging you... Hell, I'm literally praying that you'll pick up the phone and get your angelic ass over here.
"This gal, Gabs, she's... She's a good hunter, a good person. And she sure as hell doesn't deserve to go out like this. And, dammit all Cas, you could save her! So I'm begging you, pick up the goddamn phone and get here.
"Please."
He flipped the phone shut and shoved it angrily back into his jacket.
This all felt so goddamn, hopelessly familiar.
Two hellish days had gone by, since he and Sammy had gotten Gabs back to the motel. They had stripped her down to her top and panties, then tossed a blanket over her legs and secured a towel tightly over the gash in her abdomen, changing it every few hours. It had taken maybe half a day before the wound became infected and started festering, despite the antibiotics they had basically poured down her throat. At least the blood finally started clotting.
And now Gabrielle lay on one of the motel beds, on top of the damn duck-patterned comforter, delirious and in agony.
The boys had been taking turns trying to comfort her, or distract her. Anything to keep Gabs from letting the hallucinations wring out her soul. And it would work, for a while. Then the pain would get bad again, and she would cry and scream and thrash, trying to protect people who weren't there.
Dean had been with her, one hand squeezing hers, the other patting a cool, wet cloth over her fevered forehead, when she'd spoken of her sisters. Whimpered that she was sorry, called their names, begged them to forgive her for not protecting them, shrieked at whatever she saw hurting them.
Sam had looked on, scared and confused. Dean had flashbacks of the nights after his brother had died, or the terrible dreams that he'd have whenever a monster or ghost came too close to killing Sammy, and he leaned down and caught Gabrielle's wild, hopeless eyes. For what felt like days, but Sam told him later was only an hour, he had whispered, over and over, that Chrissy and Sarah were safe. That they were alive. Repeated the words until those dark eyes fixed on him with all the intensity of a bomb.
"Do you promise?" she had rasped. It was a demand and a plea and a prayer, all wrapped up together.
"I promise, Gabs. I promise."
Sam had recognized the tone, quiet, firm and serious. It was Dean's "no matter what it takes, no matter what I end up sacrificing, I will do this" voice. The same one he had used all Sam's life, whenever he promised to protect or save his baby brother.
Dean paced the parking lot for hours on end, every time he couldn't take it anymore, and Sam stepped in. He would call Cas, call Bobby, call Cas, leave a voicemail, duck a call from Lizzy or flat-out lie to her, call Bobby, call Cas and leave another voicemail.
"Dammit," he muttered, fingertips roughly and constantly circling around and over his mouth. "Dammit."
Dean wasn't even sure if he'd ever taught the angel how to check his phone messages.
And then it all struck him again. It was too damn much like before. Too damn much like when his dad first disappeared on them.
He remembered worrying about Sam, about the visions, about the old family house. The call he'd made to Dad and kept secret from Sam, where he'd begged John to come back and help.
Months where he had no clue if his dad was even still alive. Or if John had just decided to cut Dean out of his life. There were days on end were all he could think was that Dad split from him because Dean had been a liability.
And not once had Dad called back. Not once.
He knew that Sammy had called when Dean had been electrocuted while they were hunting the Rawhead. That his little brother, who he was supposed to keep safe and content, had left a message that almost broke him, asking John to come help save Dean.
And now it felt like the same thing all over again. He needed Cas, needed him to get here and heal Gabrielle, fix her and make things right. What the hell good was a goddamn guardian angel if he was never around to help?
"Son of a bitch."
Pulling out the phone again, he went to dial and the screen lit up, flashing Lizzy's number.
Dean couldn't answer that. Couldn't explain. Right now, he was too flustered and messed up to spew any kind of believable bullshit. Liz would leave a message, and he or Sam would text her, tell her to keep making sure the kids knew what to say and were getting home safe. And neither of them would breathe a word about Gabs, except to say that the hunter was fine and busy kicking their asses.
Sam had protested, over and over, that Lizzy had the right to know the truth. But Dean had given him a glare that cut Sam off mid sentence. Sam had thought about how he'd kept Dean in the dark about the demon blood. It was the wrong choice, but he still understood why he had made it. As much as it was about not wanting Dean to stop him, there'd also been a big part that was about protecting Dean. Keeping Dean safe and reassured and in the dark.
He couldn't argue with Gabrielle's choice, or that Dean was sticking with it.
Dean gripped the phone tightly, then stomped back into the room.
He stood in the door for a moment, saddened and proud at the sight of Sam, sitting there softly telling Gabs about the time he'd "singlehandedly saved Dean's ass from this pagan scarecrow god".
Snorting, Dean walked up and cuffed Sam on the back of the head. "Hey, Sasquatch. Don't go lying to the pretty lady. I had a plan."
Sam's smile was a lie that the big brother could see straight through. "Sure you did."
"Bitch."
"Jerk."
And Gabs let out something that might have been a laugh, but ended up as a cough. Her gaze was dazed and drained, but she seemed more aware of her surroundings then she had all day.
"How are the kids?" Her throat was dry and the words were ragged.
Dean plopped down on the bed, nudged her hip and grinned gently. "Fine. All though, apparently it's taken a hell of a lot of work to convince them that explaining to their parents and school that they were kidnapped by vampires wasn't a good idea."
"That makes sense."
"But they're getting them home."
"Good." Then a few tears escaped from the corners of her eyes. "What were their names?"
The brothers exchanged a bewildered look.
"The kids who... who we didn't save," she clarified, turning her head away.
Dean reached out and carefully caught her chin. "We can't save 'em all, Gabs. You know that. There was nothing we could do."
There was no response, except the repetition of the question. "What were their names, Winchester?"
Dean's face twisted, and Sam finally answered. "Melissa, Scott, Riley, Eric, James and Caitlyn."
Dark eyes were hidden behind closed lids, and if they didn't know any better, they might have assumed she was sleeping.
Sam remembered the way she had memorized each face. And now she had the names to keep, as a witness. There really had been nothing they could do. It didn't change the fact that six kids were dead.
Dean pulled out the phone again and glared down at it, willed it to ring, to light up with Cas's number.
Which was when there was a push of air, and the sound of something light and downy shifting, and when they turned around, the angel was standing in front of the tv.
Unassuming, calm and sure. His brown hair was the same, almost tidy mess. The trenchcoat, button up shirt, linen slacks, sunday shoes, and loose tie that the Winchesters couldn't picture Castiel without were exactly the same. And the blue eyes that saw everything from an outsider's point of view stared at them emotionlessly.
"You son of a bitch!" Dean burst across the space to smack a fist squarely against that cool, stubbled jaw.
Cas staggered back, then raised an eyebrow. "Dean, why are you attempting to harm me? If this is why you distracted me from my quest-"
"You can go find God after you make Gabs better!" the hunter snarled, hands clenched at his sides.
Castiel's observation slid past Dean to the flushed, dark girl on the bed. "You wish me to heal this woman?"
"Yeah, I damn well do!"
"Very well." He walked past Dean, steps slow and steady, expression unchanging.
Gabrielle stared up at him, wide-eyed. "Who are you?"
"An angel of the Lord."
"Damn," she breathed.
Then his soft hands rested on the fevered brow, and a soft glow filled the room.
When the light dissipated, Gabrielle lay, soundly asleep, face peaceful. It was always amazing to the boys when Cas fixed someone, and together they peeled aside the towel and stared in wonder at the smooth skin of the girl's stomach. There wasn't even a scar.
Dean pulled the blanket up all the way to Gabs' chin, then dropped down on the other bed. Sam stepped back and collapsed onto the couch. The stress and panic that had been riding them relentlessly was gone, and it left them feeling worn out.
As his eyelids flickered, Dean fought off sleep long enough to give Castiel a grateful nod. "Thanks, Cas. Dunno what we'd've done without you."
Castiel's answer was as collected and distant as ever. "Next time, perhaps you could allow me to heal the wounded before striking out at me in your unfounded rage."
Dean chuckled, already half asleep. "Wasn't 'nfounded. Yer an angel, an' angels're dicks."
Unconscious, none of the three humans heard the mildly exasperated sigh. "So I have been told, Dean. So I have been told."
