Cas stayed up on the bow for hours. Dean took a driving shift and Sam took a nap; then Sam took a driving shift and Dean took a nap; but Cas just stayed there on the bow the whole time, with his wings spread. Pointing now and then, to show the way.
At lunchtime Dean took him a sandwich. Dean ate his own sandwich up there too, standing just behind Cas and peeking over his wings at the view ahead, holding on to the rail with one hand. He finished his sandwich but found he wanted to stay there a little longer.
Standing just behind Cas, Dean thought, Now I'm Leo DiCaprio, and Cas is Kate Winslet. He was chuckling over that weird idea when Cas called back over his shoulder, "Dolphins, Dean! Get in front. Take a look."
Cas folded his wings in and scooted back rapidly, inching back off the bowsprit, and guided Dean in front. As soon as Dean took hold of the handrail and stepped carefully forward, onto the skinny little bowsprit, he knew why Cas had been spending the whole day here.
It really felt like flying.
Dean felt suspended in midair. He couldn't actually see any of the boat at all, and instead all he saw was sun and sea, and all he felt was the wind. There was nothing on either side but the wind; nothing above him but the wind; and nothing below him but the surface of the sea, several yards below, rocketing past with amazing speed in a blur of wave and water. Bursts of spray hit Dean's legs now and then as the boat zoomed through the waves.
Wings began to spread in Dean's peripheral vision. Cas had inched onto the bowsprit just behind him, and was standing just a foot behind Dean's back, spreading his wings again.
Dean thought, Okay, now I'm Kate Winslet and Cas is Leo, and nearly laughed.
It felt fantastic, though, soaring through the air like that and seeing Cas's massive wings on either side.
Cas tapped him on the shoulder and pointed. There were dolphins! A whole horde of them. Some of them even came up right under Dean's feet, riding the bow-wave of the boat with what seemed like obvious joy, racing through the water right with them. Dean was overcome with an almost giddy joy himself, at the sight, and he shouted back to Sam, "SAM! DOLPHINS!"
Sam nodded, with a great big smile; he'd seen them too. There were dolphins all around the boat suddenly, leaping on all sides.
Once the dolphins left, Cas started tapping Dean's shoulder now and then to point out other things. More dolphins, in the distance; dozens and dozens of flying fish (they burst out of the water and glided for an astonishing long distance before falling back down); huge, stiff-winged birds with big dark eyes that circled the boat for a while; once a distant whale-tail on the horizon. Cas was even pointing out the different textures of the waves, and the patterns of the clouds in the sky.
It's the furry cows all over again, Dean thought. He loves the world.
He loves it all. He thought he'd lost all of it. And even though he can't fly— not really, anyway— he's still so glad just to be here at all.
The wind was getting chilly, though. Dean had left his jacket back on the console and was wearing only a t-shirt, and even though they were almost in the tropics here, a fast boat in open ocean always got pretty cold. Yet the wind was exhilarating, and it was so fun to be up here with Cas pointing out all the things to see, that Dean found he didn't want to leave. Not even to go grab his jacket. So he stayed, even though he was shivering a little.
A minute later, Dean almost jumped when he felt Cas's right arm wrap around him. Cas had moved closer, just inches behind Dean, and he'd put his arm under Dean's right arm, wrapping it so tightly across Dean's chest that Cas's hand reached all the way over to Dean's left arm.
Cas leaned against him slightly, his chest against Dean's back, his head just over Dean's right shoulder. He seemed completely at ease, as if there were nothing unusual about this at all.
"You were shivering," said Castiel, his mouth very close to Dean's right ear. "Is this better?"
Dean had gone very still, momentarily paralyzed in an uncertain confusion. But then he thought: This IS better.
It was better... in all sorts of ways.
"Yes," said Dean.
Cas tightened his grip and shifted slightly closer. A moment later Cas's left arm was wrapping around Dean's waist, and Dean felt Cas's chin resting on his right shoulder.
And he stayed there.
Dean found himself waiting to start feeling weirded out. Waiting to see when "the rules" were going to raise their prickly thorns in his mind; waiting to see when he would start worrying about how much Sam could see, around the wings; and when he was going to tell Cas to step back.
Dean waited...
... and none of those things happened. Instead, a hundred vivid details of sensation began to pile up in Dean's awareness, pushing every other thought away. Dean just couldn't help noticing how surprisingly sturdy Castiel felt, just behind him like that. And... how safe it felt to have Cas bracing him from behind, holding on to him so securely. And... how tall he was; that was interesting; it was very unlike having a girl hug you, to have someone so close to one's own height holding on like this. And... how easily Cas's arm reached clear across Dean's chest, clear to the left arm; how warm Cas's arm was, how lean with muscle; how firm his hand, his fingers gripping tight onto Dean's bicep. There was a soft prickle on the edge of Dean's collarbone— that must be the stubble on Cas's chin— and a flickering, downy-soft touch on Dean's ear— that must be Cas's hair. Cas's profile was just visible in Dean's vision and Dean could just see, if he glanced slightly to the side, Cas's straight nose, the shine of his blue eyes, the dark eyebrows, the smooth brow, while Cas just rested his head on Dean's shoulder, close and comfortable, holding Dean close and gazing off at the sea.
The wide wings stretched out on either side. White and black and gray. Dean could almost even feel the wind tugging at Cas's wings; Cas's balance was shifting when he banked his wings slightly this way or that. Castiel wasn't actually holding on to the boat at all, just holding on to Dean; so Dean tightened his grip on the handrail, to help keep them both anchored.
The sun glittered on the water ahead of them, the salt spray flew, and Dean stood there holding onto the handrail, soaking up every nuance, every bright and vivid detail, of how it felt to have Castiel holding on to him.
Then Cas spoke. Turning his head to speak directly into Dean's ear, his mouth very close to make himself heard against the wind, he said, "You know... This is exactly how I held you, when we flew out of Hell."
Cas put his chin back down against Dean's shoulder, and Dean stood there flabbergasted, suddenly realizing that Cas's right hand was on Dean's left shoulder, just where that handprint had been. I'm the one who gripped you tight, Cas had said, all those years ago; and indeed, he was gripping Dean pretty tight, now, wasn't he? Dean had always imagined Cas standing beside him, in Hell, tugging Dean along somehow with just one hand on his arm. It had never occurred to him that Cas might have been pressed up behind him so closely, or might have had both arms wrapped so securely around him.
Cas spoke again, lifting his chin off Dean's shoulder once more to say into Dean's ear, "You fought me."
He did not put his chin back down this time, but stayed there with his mouth at Dean's ear, as if about to say something more, but he paused.
Dean could feel his warm breath.
"You fought me all the way," said Castiel. "You fought me the entire way. I had to turn you so you were facing away from me, like this, because you were fighting so hard. But I didn't let go."
The sun gleamed on the whitecaps ahead of them; the glittering sea rolled past.
Castiel said, "Balthazar asked me later why, when my wings caught fire, why I hadn't batted out the flame with my hands."
A flying-fish broke the surface and skittered away. Dean couldn't help tracking it with his eyes till it fell from the air, to sink once more beneath the waves.
Castiel lifted his right hand briefly off Dean's arm, looking over at it for a moment. He said, "I actually did try to bat out the first feather that caught fire. But then I nearly dropped you. So I put my hand back on your arm, here," — he settled the hand back on Dean's arm— "but my hand still had some hellfire on it, and you were burned. I'm sorry about the burn, Dean."
He paused a moment and added, "I never let go after that."
Cas set his chin back on Dean's shoulder, leaning his head slightly against Dean's. He was quiet after that, and they just watched the sea roll past.
The wind and the salt spray seemed to have gotten fiercer, for Dean's eyes were stinging.
"Cas," Dean said, and he felt Cas turn his head slightly, waiting to hear what Dean was going to say, but Dean stalled completely. He didn't know what he wanted to say; and he couldn't even take his hands off the rail, because the boat was bouncing too much, and Dean knew it was up to him to keep them both anchored. So he held on tight, and swallowed, and said nothing.
"Dean, may I do one thing?" asked Castiel, after a little pause. "Just once? Just once, I promise."
Dean didn't have the slightest idea what Cas was asking, but he nodded. It occurred to him Whatever it is, Sam will see. But they were mostly shielded by the wings, and anyway it didn't seem to matter.
Cas shifted position slightly, his head disappeared from Dean's shoulder, and a moment later Dean felt a very soft touch on the back of his neck. A very soft delicate touch, warm and slightly wet, almost a tiny little pinch.
Then Cas released him and took a step back, and they were no longer in contact at all.
Cas had nibbled Dean right on the back of the neck! Sort of a kiss, but really more like a nibble. Of all the strange things to do!
Some weird angel thing, maybe? Dean wondered. Maybe something to do with carrying people in flight? Like a momma cat carrying a kitten?
What an odd thing. What a very odd thing to do; and Dean had no idea what it meant.
But then, Cas was not like anybody else, was he? Not like anybody else at all.
They stood there a moment longer, Cas standing a foot behind Dean now with his hands on the guardrail, and Dean just looked out at the sea and tried to get his breath back.
It seemed very cold now without Cas's embrace, and Dean thought, Damn, I kinda want his arms back on me.
Then Dean thought, Kinda want to grip HIM tight.
Kinda want to take this angel in MY arms.
Another thought floated through his mind: I wanted to kiss him, up on the hill...
Kinda want to kiss him now too.
The thoughts were chasing one after another. Like dominoes falling one by one.
A hundred circling thoughts swept together and Dean thought, I am... kind of... into... this angel...
In... THAT... way.
The knowledge had been flickering around in his head for weeks now, longer really, darting past now and then at the edge of his mind. But till this moment Dean hadn't allowed himself any time, hadn't had any time, to grab it and look it in the face.
It was astonishing. It was wonderful. It was terrifying. And it was completely bewildering. There was no known next step. There was no path, no road map for this; there was no script.
Dean still had no idea what to say, but he turned toward Cas nonetheless, helplessly drawn to turn around and look at him, wanting to say something. Cas's face in the sun looked so very beautiful, his blue eyes so lovely, as he looked quietly back at Dean, that all Dean could do was gaze at him. Castiel met his eyes steadily, calm and direct. Dean saw no pressure there; no expectation. Just acceptance.
And then Dean saw Cas's eyes shift and focus on something beyond him. His chin tucked down, his face stiffened, and the wings abruptly pulled in a foot or two, tilting slightly against the wind as if to try to brake (to maneuver, Dean suddenly realized; of course, that's why the wings pulled in when Cas was tense; it was an instinct that got him ready to maneuver.) Cas tapped Dean's shoulder sharply and he pointed, over Dean's shoulder, at something far ahead and slightly off to the right.
Dean turned and looked, swallowing, trying to pull his wildly scattered thoughts together.
There was a strange dark blob wavering on the horizon. Miles away. Dean squinted at the shape, shielding his eyes with one hand. Slowly the blob resolved into a thin, wavering vertical line. A shipmast? A weirdly shaped cloud? Cas was folding both wings in all the way now as they both stared at it, trying to figure out what it was. It darkened suddenly, and got bigger, writhing around in the sky as if it had suddenly become disturbed; and it was getting closer.
"Dean, this is something strange," said Cas into his ear, and they retreated rapidly off the bowsprit to go consult with Sam.
Dean had to struggle mentally to switch gears, trying to bat down the astonishing "I am kinda into this angel" discovery and stuff it back into its box. The battlefield was no place for distractions. Focus, Dean! he chastised himself. Get your mind back in the game!
It helped that the thing was starting to look alarmingly menacing. The magical moment of sun and sea and light seemed to disappear as Cas and Dean clambered their way back to the stern, the sky growing dark and overcast in moments, and by the time they reached the pilot's console, the wavering vertical line was much larger. Sam was already slowing the boat; he'd already spotted it. (He didn't make any comment at all about whatever he had, or hadn't, just seen up front.) Sam said, "What the hell is that, Cas?"
"I'm afraid it's a water-tornado," said Cas. "A water-spout, I think you call them? Sam, you may want to slow down further."
"Is that some sort of elemental thing?" asked Dean, and Cas nodded.
"Think we can outrun it?" said Sam, glancing at the speedometer.
"I doubt it," said Cas, shaking his head. "This is an air elemental, and they're fast. It's an air-elemental that's trying to borrow energy from the sea. And it looks like it's succeeding."
Sam tried anyway, reversing course and trying to run, but the water-spout caught up to them with almost lazy ease. Sam throttled down, and they watched tensely as it approached.
"Maybe if we give it a beer?" suggested Sam, but Cas shook his head. "That likely won't work," he explained. "Food worked for Mr. Magma, because his element is solid matter; alcoholic drinks worked with the river elemental, because those drinks were all water-based. But this is an air elemental. I suspect it won't be amenable to food or drink. We could try, of course."
Dean opened a beer and shook some into the air, on the off chance it might help, but the beer droplets just fell into the sea. And the water-spout didn't slow. It rushed right at them, tall and menacing, a slender column of whirling air and water. Soon it was looming over them, terrifyingly large, hundreds of feet tall and at least thirty feet wide. It came up off their right side just a hundred feet or so away, filling half the sky, still approaching, and Cas said sharply, "Get behind me," maneuvering past Sam and spreading his wings as a shield.
The moment Cas spread his wings, the water-spout stopped.
There was a weird howling noise in the air, a sound of sighing wind mixed with thunder.
Dean glanced at Cas and saw his eyes widen.
Cas called out something. Something in that strange elemental-language that he'd used before.
More howling from the air, the water-spout hanging right in front of the boat; again, Cas shouted something back.
"Is it talking to you?" Sam whispered. Cas gave him a sharp not now gesture with one hand, and Sam fell silent. The sequence repeated several times, the wind-howling noise alternating with Cas's strange words, but something clearly wasn't working, for Cas was looking increasingly frustrated. The water-spout was getting agitated too, and it started bouncing and swaying in front of them, kicking up some big waves that rocked the boat alarmingly.
At that point Cas reached over to the right wing, grabbed his own alula and yanked hard, grimacing.
"Cas!" said Dean, reaching out to stop him. "No! Don't hurt your wing!" But Cas just yanked harder, with a hiss of pain, and a moment later he'd pulled out the longest alula-feather. A slender black feather, four inches long. The alula started bleeding, a trickle of blood working its way slowly down the wing, but Cas ignored that and tossed the feather into the air. It whirled upwards, straight toward the water-spout.
There was a little spark of light as it vanished into the water-spout, and the whole water-spout seemed to twitch. Then it straightened, and steadied, and got a little more slender, a little less dark. A little less menacing.
It started to move away from the boat.
"Follow that tornado!" Cas ordered. Sam and Dean stared at him. Cas looked at Sam expectantly, gesturing at the throttle, and said, "FOLLOW IT! It's trying to help us."
Sam and Dean blinked at each other, and Sam hurriedly put the boat in gear and started (rather hesitantly) following the skinny water-spout.
"Cas, what the hell is going on?" demanded Dean.
"It's the strangest thing, Dean," Cas said, still not taking his eyes off the water-spout. "Apparently the word has gotten out, from Mr. Magma and the sturgeon, and I think also the Zion elemental, that enslaved elementals are being freed by two humans and an angel." He frowned, adding, "This is extremely unusual. The different types of elementals normally do not talk to each other."
Sam said, "I'm getting the impression, though, that it's also pretty unusual for elementals to be enslaved in the first place."
Cas considered that and nodded. "Indeed it is. It involves an ancient form of magic that hasn't been used for a very long time. Apparently it's driven them to consult with each other."
Dean asked, "Cas... Wait. Are you saying this elemental came over here... to... " Dean glanced up at the huge water-spout ahead of them. "To ask us for help?"
Cas nodded. "It's been looking for us for weeks, hoping that we would come. It spotted my wings from a long way off— when I first went up to the bow, Dean, when I first had my wings spread. It saw my wings from the upper troposphere several hundred miles to the south, it realized we are two humans and an angel, and it got excited and apparently it came running all the way over here, from hundreds of miles away, to ask for help and to try to lead us to the cowboy. It's not supposed to be here— the cowboy's forbidden it from getting this close to Great Abaco— but it's snuck past the cowboy's defenses by borrowing a very small bit of energy from the Gulf Stream elemental." Cas paused and added, "The air elemental got uncertain when I folded my wings in; that's why it was looking so agitated as it came closer, and that's why it calmed down when I spread my wings out again."
"Wait, wait," said Sam. "Cas, an air elemental is talking to you?"
Cas shook his head and said, frustrated, "It's trying to, but the problem is, it can't seem to hear any of my replies. I could hear everything it said, but it couldn't seem to hear me. Maybe the snow-nado had the same problem, actually. I'm starting to think that it's not that they don't want to talk; perhaps the problem is that they simply can't hear angels who are earth-bound. It was about to conclude I wasn't an angel at all, so I gave it the feather. It seems reassured now, wouldn't you say?"
Dean and Sam both glanced over at the thousand-foot high water-spout, which was now purring neatly along ahead of them, trailing a train of peaceful, small puffy clouds out of its top end. It was heading right across the ocean on such a dead straight course it might have been an old-time locomotive following a train track.
"You know," said Sam, "I never would have said before that a tornado could look reassured, but that does actually look like a reassured tornado."
Cas confirmed that the water-spout was leading them unerringly to Great Abaco Island. And a few hours later, once they finally got close to the island, the water-spout steered them carefully around to the long southern shore of the island.
"This is tremendously useful," said Castiel. "We had no idea where on the island we should be focusing our efforts. This could have taken days otherwise."
"Is it getting smaller?" said Sam. He pointed at the elemental, and Dean took a critical look. It was, in fact, noticeably thinner. And shorter. Cas nodded, saying, "I believe you're right, Sam. It did say, earlier, that it would probably get progressively weaker as it approaches the cowboy. So it won't be able to lead us the whole way there. But it'll lead us as far as it can."
By late afternoon the water-spout had guided them to a particular large bay of turquoise water, and it seemed to be trying to point them toward a certain area of the shoreline, where there was a string of ritzy vacation houses up on a small sandy bluff. After some discussion they decided to back off a bit and go ashore a mile away, to sneak up a little less conspicuously (though, granted, "sneaking up" on anybody when you had a small tornado on your team was a dubious concept at best).
They picked a spot to unload, where Sam got the boat close enough in that Cas could hop out into pretty shallow water and wade to shore, carrying their necessary equipment (and some dry clothes) over his head, holding his wings as high out of the water as he could. (The left one dragged a bit, of course, but Cas did pretty well.) Then Sam and Dean took the boat a little further out to where they could anchor it safely, and both brothers swam back to shore to join Cas. While they were drying off, helping Cas dry his left wing, and changing their clothes, the water-spout drifted onto shore nearby and immediately grew smaller still, becoming just a little dust-devil that began wobbling around on the shoreline, kicking up bits of dried seaweed and loose leaves.
"I think it's waiting for us," said Sam. Once Cas had his backpack on and they all had their weapons, Dean said, "All right, you puff of wind." He took a few steps toward the dust-devil and gestured up and down the beach. "Where do we go now?"
Cas had warned them that this elemental didn't seem to know English. (Cas's theory was that it had probably spent most of its life in the upper troposphere, where there was not much English to be heard.) Yet it seemed to get Dean's meaning, for the dust-devil began to move slowly in a certain direction, though wobbling a little drunkenly. It was barely the size of the little stunted beach pines around them now, and it was only whirling around a little mess of leaves and dust. But it managed to start making its way forward, and Sam, Dean, and Cas followed along behind.
It led them about a mile through scattered beach pines and scrubby ground, roughly parallel to the shore, getting smaller and weaker the whole time. The sun began to set and the light grew dim, but they could still see enough, in the fading twilight, to follow the little dust-devil. Eventually they realized it was taking them directly toward a particular building: a big, fancy-looking house up on the little sandy bluff, with huge plate glass windows that looked out over the sea. This house was all alone; there were no other houses nearby.
Cas pulled the crucifix out of his pocket and checked it. Sure enough, it had started to spin.
"That's it," whispered Dean. "That house. That's got to be it." They decided to creep a little closer to try to check the layout before developing a firm plan. The dust-devil, now shrunken to barely person-height, tried to accompany them, but there came a point where it paused and seemed unable to go any closer to the house. Dean took several steps past it before he realized it wasn't coming with them anymore.
"Dean, it can't go any further," said Sam. They all stopped and looked at it. The little dust-devil was incredibly weak and skinny now, maybe six feet tall. It seemed barely able to keep together at all, just a tiny whirling bit of breeze barely a half-foot across, only able to bat a couple of leaves around. And a little black thing.
A little black thing. Dean squinted at it, trying to get a closer look.
"It's still got your feather, Cas," said Dean.
Sam said, "Wow, it can barely keep the feather up. Cas, this thing's really the elemental that's been doing all the hurricanes? Those gigantic ferocious Category 5 hurricanes?"
"Yes, it is," said Castiel. "It's extremely weak here because the enchantment enslaving these things is that powerful. Though the enchantment's easy for us to break, for the elemental it represents a powerful binding. Being this close to the cowboy, against direct orders, must be tremendously difficult for it." He studied it for a moment, and added, "I'm amazed it's holding together at all, actually. This must be causing it tremendous discomfort."
"Well, little tornado, you better turn back here," said Dean. "We'll do our best to help you. And, I know you probably can't understand me, but, if we do manage to set you free, please don't kill us accidentally, okay?"
He started walking away from it, and suddenly the dust-devil made one last desperate surge toward Dean and fell right on him. Dean flinched, but the dust-devil was so weak now that all it seemed able to do was puff lightly against his skin, and throw one of its two leaves into Dean's hair. Then it threw the other leaf at Sam, and last of all it tried to return the feather to Cas. But by now it was almost too weak to carry the feather— it only managed to loft the feather a foot or so toward Cas, and Cas had to reach out and snatch his alula-feather out of the air himself.
Cas held the feather thoughtfully, and Sam and Dean held their leaves, watching the rapidly weakening dust-devil. It went limping away back in the direction they had come, barely visible now, just a little moving twist of air that was only visible as a stirring of loose dirt on the ground.
"I never thought I could feel so sorry for a puff of wind," said Sam, tucking his leaf in the front pocket of his shirt and buttoning the pocket closed. Dean stuck his leaf in a pocket too, and Cas zipped his feather carefully away.
They got all their usual gear ready, Sam and Dean armed with pistols and Cas with an angel-blade, with various other weapons stashed at the ready in their pockets. All three of them felt uneasy. They had no idea whether they'd be facing just another helpless human like Burt, or a full-powered angel like Ziphius, or maybe even something worse, so they stopped behind a few trees near the house to have a whispered strategy discussion.
"I was thinking about sigils," whispered Dean, turning to them both, "I know that didn't work so well against Calcariel, but maybe we ought to—"
"—Just give up?" said a cheerful voice.
A finger snapped, and flood lights sprang to life all around the house.
There was a short, round, dark-haired man smiling at them from the veranda of the house about fifty feet away. He was wearing a little pendant of blue glass around his neck. He didn't seem to have any kind of weapon— and didn't need to, for a moment later he snapped his fingers again and Dean and Sam both lost hold of their pistols and Cas lost his blade, the three weapons flying out of their hands and through the air to land neatly at the man's feet. A third finger-snap and Dean suddenly found that he couldn't move his feet. Or his hands; his arms seemed bound to his side by invisible cords. He was still standing very close to Cas and Sam, since they'd just had their heads together whispering to each other, and he looked over at them desperately. But they both just gave him unhappy looks back. Neither Cas nor Sam seemed able to move either.
"Boys!" said the dark-haired man, clapping his hands twice in summons, and two burly Bahamians with demon-black eyes stepped out of the shadows at the corner of the house, one on the left and one on the right, and they each were holding assault rifles. M-16's. The good ol' US Army classic, the kind with the big curved 30-round magazines sticking out the bottom.
"Oh man, you dudes don't mess around," said Dean, his heart sinking.
"Three against three!" said the dark-haired man cheerfully. "Perfectly even fight! Can't say it's not fair."
"Right," said Sam, "An angel, or whatever you are, and two demons with M-16s, against three unarmed humans. Whose hands you've frozen. Totally fair."
The man gave him a wide, toothy grin. "Three humans? Let's see, who's your third companion there?" He began to walk a little closer, peering at Cas, and he said, "It truly is Castiel, isn't it? Castiel! I heard you might have gotten mixed up in all this but I admit I didn't truly believe it till today. I wanted to see it for myself. You know, I could have just stopped your hearts, all three of you, the second you stepped on shore from that boat— by the way, did you really think we wouldn't notice a thousand foot high water tornado? That elemental is going to be very sorry for doing that, I can promise you that!"
Cas said, "Beloniel. What are you doing here? Why are you involved in all this?"
"Beloniel" grinned, and said, "It's nice to see you again too, Cassie. It's been quite a long time since the South Pole garrison days, hasn't it?"
An angel, thought Dean, trading a grim look with Sam. Dammit.
Cas said, his voice low, "What do you want from us?"
"Well... my boss wanted to stop you fellows at the Gulf Stream, actually," said Beloniel. "With that little plan of disabling your boat. But, as I said, I wanted to see you. And, Cassie, I noticed you were able to navigate anyway, and that you were communicating with the elemental. Listen, Castiel. You've got some decent skills. I've decided to offer you a chance to join us."
Cas blinked. "Join you?"
"I thought you might be interested. Because it was you, after all, who cast us all out of Heaven."
Cas said, in a very aggrieved tone, "I've told everyone who will listen, I didn't know what Metatron was planning—"
"I believe you," interrupted Beloniel, "But you played a role, and you can't say you didn't. But, Castiel, you can redeem yourself. By helping the angels find a new home! Cassie..." (Dean rolled his eyes; the "Cassie" was getting seriously annoying.) Beloniel continued, "We can build a new Heaven right here. On Earth! All we have to do is sweep the planet clean first; just wipe everything out and sterilize the earth, do a bit of cleaning, maybe some bleach; a few centuries ought to do it; and then just plant some flowers, put a few benches around and it'll be perfect! And a couple of us have come up with a pretty feasible plan to wipe the planet clean. We're starting with North America."
"Oh, you are kidding me," said Dean. "Calcariel's plan again?" Calcariel, in Wyoming, had been trying much the same thing. (Minus the flowers and benches.) "Didn't you guys learn your lesson with Mr. Magma?"
Beloniel conceded, glaring at him, "The magma elemental didn't work out, agreed. Ziffy told me what happened. But I wasn't part of the team then, and there's lots of other elementals to try. Don't you humans have a saying... if at first you don't succeed, try, try again?"
Sam put in, "And killing millions of people is okay with you?"
Beloniel just shrugged. "Yes, to put it bluntly. Millions of people, and millions of ants, and millions of chickens, and so on. To be honest, you all look to me like slightly advanced bacteria. I don't really see that there'll be that much of a loss. Our boss has a good plan and I think it'll work."
Sam said, "Your boss? The Queen?"
Beloniel gave a chuckle. "Not a bad term for her now. Yes, I suppose so - the Queen."
"So what's the plan?" said Dean. "Rile up all six elementals at once?"
"Oh, no, most of them are just decoys," said Beloniel.
Cas, Sam and Dean exchanged bleak looks, and Beloniel smiled at their expressions, saying, "We originally tested six to see which had the most continent-cleaning potential. But we were planning all along to pick just the best one and then keep the other five as decoys. The freshwater ones were near useless— they can only flood a very limited area. The marine one showed a lot of potential and we were planning to base our whole approach around it— did you know that thing can produce a ten-thousand-foot tsunami, if it really sets its mind to it? But, unfortunately, some other irritating hunters seem to have freed that one. Though at least the elemental took them down to the bottom of the sea for their troubles."
This was just awful to hear; Dean had to struggle to keep his expression neutral.
Beloniel went on, "This air one, now, the one that led you here, is actually pretty strong, but it turns out it always weakens when it goes over land; it can only really affect the East Coast. We're keeping it as a backup, though. Anyway, as I said, we held on to all the rejects as decoys. Basically to keep you fellows running all over the place for as long as possible. Worked like a charm, didn't it? Because here you are on the complete wrong side of the continent!" He smiled, and said, "My idea, actually, if I can take a bit of credit. Ziffy didn't really appreciate how persistent you Winchesters can be, but I'd heard some tales."
Dean couldn't even look at Cas and Sam.
They'd come the wrong direction.
They should have gone west, all along.
Cas said, "But what would you have done if we'd gotten west in time?"
"Oh, we had a little insurance plan," said Beloniel. "Which we don't need anymore. So, old friend, what do you say? Join us, and help us build a new Heaven here on Earth! We really could use another angel. It's been rather difficult coming up with reliable personnel, and we really need someone who can speak with air elementals. If we could get one more angel—"
"Oh, Beloniel, no, no, no," said Cas, shaking his head. "That's no redemption at all, and that is no Heaven at all that you would be building. Annihilating life on Earth is the worst evil there is, can't you see that? Worse even than what Lucifer did! Beloniel, listen to me, human life is valuable. Every human is unique, Beloniel, and their souls can be so beautiful, and— "
"Yes, yes, I'd heard about how you'd gone native," interrupted Beloniel. "But I wanted to extend the offer nonetheless." He started to walk over to Cas, saying, "This is your last chance—"
And then Beloniel froze in mid-sentence, staring at the bottom of Cas's backpack. He said, "Wait. What... what is sticking out of your rucksack, Cassie, are those..." He walked around behind them and peered more closely, saying, "Are those... feathers?"
He waved a hand, and the whole pack flew backwards off of Cas's back, jerking his arms and wings roughly as it wrenched off. Cas winced, folding his wings back up.
Beloniel's eyes widened. He walked further around Castiel, looking at the wings from behind. "Mortal wings? What in Heaven's name... oh...oh, dear Lord, Castiel—" Beloniel actually grabbed hold of Cas's left wing (Cas flinched at his touch, leaning forward against Dean, gritting his teeth, his hands helplessly bound to his side). He pulled it out to take a close look at it from behind. "Castiel, you've been tertialed?"
Beloniel sounded truly appalled. He poked the wing gingerly with one finger (Cas flinched again) and said, "Tertialed, and mortal wings! Dear lord above, I was not really expecting this." He let go of the wing and shook his hand, wiping it on his pants as if fearing some sort of contamination from Castiel's mortal wings. "Oh my goodness. Ziffy broke you. Didn't she. She said she was going to try, but we never knew what had happened. Ziffy actually broke you. Yet somehow you survived? Astonishing. Simply astonishing."
Dean snapped, "Would you just get on with it?"
"But this is so fascinating!" said Beloniel, walking slowly around Cas's back now, staring at his wings. "I've never seen mortal wings! I've heard of the possibility of course, but never seen a case myself. And I've never even heard of a broken wing healing. Many angels injured their wings in the fall, of course, but everyone who broke a wing ended up dying. Cassie, what was it like? How much did it hurt? Can you move it at all? What's it like to know you'll never fly again? How did it feel to know you'd always be stuck with completely useless wings?"
"He's just fine," growled Dean. "His wings are great. Thanks so much for asking. And they're not useless."
"Oh really?" said Beloniel, stepping back around to their front and looking at Dean with his eyebrows raised. "Wings are for flying, you know. Without flying, well, what else are they good for?"
"They can hand us things," said Sam.
"They can punch people," said Dean.
Beloniel rolled his eyes, but Castiel said earnestly, "Beloniel, my friends have been taking care of me. We share jokes and cookies and movies. We go out, and we see cows and dolphins and the sky and the sun. Mortal life is good, Beloniel. Even without flying. And even with the planet exactly the way it is. Whether you can see it or not."
"Aw, that's so cute," said Beloniel, glancing at Sam and Dean, and then back at Cas. "You're happy with your little human friends." He shook his head, chuckling, saying again, "That's cute."
He didn't even sound sarcastic. He sounded like he meant it.
Beloniel turned away from the three of them and strolled back toward his two demons, who had been waiting (somewhat impatiently) with their M-16's. Turning to face Sam, Dean and Cas again, who were still frozen in a little clump together, Beloniel said, "Castiel, I'm sorry. I'm going to have to retract my offer. You're not an angel anymore, and we need someone who can talk with air elementals."
"I'd already rejected your offer anyway," said Cas, exasperated, with very much a you-can't-fire-me-I-quit scowl on his face. "Beloniel, listen to me—"
"Hey boys!" interrupted Beloniel, turning away from Cas. The demons perked up and Beloniel told them, "I know you want to try out your toys, so— go to it. Rip 'em apart!" Beloniel turned away to face the house, his hands laced behind his back, as if he wasn't really all that interested in what happened next. The two thugs flipped their safeties off and raised their weapons.
Dean saw the guns come up, and saw the men take aim, and he thought, It couldn't last.
It could never have lasted. The interlude of peace, of togetherness, all the happy moments they'd had recently. The furry cows, the knock-knock jokes, Cas in the car wash; their mixed-up Christmas dinner; Sam and Sarah and their sweet, unlikely, fragile new relationship; and oh, that astonishing moment with Cas's arms around him on the boat... All of it, all those moments, seemed to soar past him now in a flash, and Dean thought, The good things don't last.
The good things never lasted.
Time slowed down. Dean turned toward Cas and Sam, in a hopeless attempt to try to shield them both from at least some of the gunfire. But he couldn't even raise his arms; all he could do was crouch down with them. He saw Cas ducking his head down, saw Sam crouching too, saw Cas's wings start to instinctively flare out around them— the left wing around Dean, the right around Sam. Cas's hands were still magically bound together, but apparently he could still move his wings. Not that it was going to help, of course. Dean even had a split second to notice, with a detached clinical interest, Oh, look, the left wing's doing great, he's actually got it all the way around me. That must be half-extended at least, right?
They crouched together in a hopeless little huddle. The gunfire began, a tremendous roar of noise. It was over.
Dean could feel the bullets hitting him, punching his side brutally hard. Dozens of bullets, pounding his side and back ferociously, like being hit with dozens of blows from a hot iron hammer.
Strangely, it didn't actually hurt all that bad. Dean even had time to think, as he hunkered down under the tent of Cas's wings, leaning onto Sam and Cas, So this is what it's like to get shot to death. It's not so bad.
And dying wrapped in Cas's wings is not such a bad way to go.
The deafening roar of gunfire stopped. There was a clicking sound; both M-16s had run out of ammo. The air seemed to echo in the sudden silence. Dean heard the clatter of the empty magazines being removed, heard Beloniel say "That ought to do it," heard a finger-snap, and in the next moment Dean realized his hands and feet were free.
Dean was still waiting to collapse from the bleeding, waiting to choke up blood, waiting for the pain to hit. They were all still bunched together, crouched down, Cas's wings still wrapped around them, their three heads close together. Dean glanced up at Sam and saw Sam looking back at him, from just inches away. For a moment they just stared at each other.
Close beside them, Cas whispered, "Now."
Dean hadn't even fully registered that they weren't dead when Cas whipped open his wings.
The two demons paused in the middle of reloading their weapons and stared at them in confusion. Beloniel had been walking toward them, clearly expecting to see bodies, and he faltered in mid-stride just ten feet away, gaping at them with a comically baffled look at his face.
Sam was the first to snap into action, charging right at Beloniel without any weapon at all. It was a desperation move, and of course Beloniel simply waved one hand and poor Sam went flying, slamming into the ground nearly twenty feet away.
But Sam had successfully distracted Beloniel. And while Sam was flying through the air, while Beloniel was watching him in disdain, there was a flash of silver. It was Cas's second angel-blade, whipping through the air right at Beloniel's chest. (Dean happened to know that Cas had actually had not one but three angel-blades. The original one he'd had in his hand and two more also, one up each sleeve. It wasn't traditional for angels to carry more than one, but Cas was not really a traditional angel, was he?)
Beloniel glimpsed the blade at the last moment and managed to flick one finger up to try to divert it. The blade veered, and didn't hit him in the heart where Cas had aimed, but Beloniel had been a hair too late and the blade did sink deep into one shoulder. Beloniel cried out and staggered back, white light shining from the wound. Cas was already throwing his third blade; again Beloniel tried to deflect it, again he was a hair too late, and this one sank deep into a thigh. Both wounds blazed with light, and Beloniel screamed again and fell to his knees.
A moment later there was a huge burst of white light, and they all had to shield their eyes.
When the light faded, Beloniel's vessel was face-down on the ground and both demons were staggering, half-blinded from the blast of Heavenly light, fumbling with the reloading of the M-16s. Cas and Dean made short work of them after that; a half-blinded demon was no match for an angel blade.
Dean glanced over at Sam and was relieved to see him getting slowly to his feet, giving Dean a somewhat shaky thumbs-up. Dean spun back to Cas, then, dreading what he would find when he got a close look. Cas was standing still, looking at one wing and then the other, and Dean dashed over to him, saying, "Let me see, Cas, let me see," trying to brace himself for the inevitable sight of the blood and bone and the mangled feathers. For though Cas, Dean and Sam were somehow uninjured, the wings had definitely taken all the brunt of that brutal gunfire and surely they must be destroyed.
But all Dean found was smooth sleek intact feathers. He checked the left wing, and then the right: No blood. (Well, except for the tiny wound from the torn-out alula feather.) No bone. No mangled feathers. The wings were intact. Though they were glittering brightly in several places, almost steaming. Even as he was looking, some of the bright areas peeled off the outer surface of the feathers and fell off, clinking against the pebbles on the ground.
The bright areas were flattened discs of metal. Apparently that was all that was left of the bullets.
"Cas?" said Dean, staring down at the flattened bullets.
"Yes, Dean?" said Cas, bending down to pick up one of the smoking disks of metal. He hissed in surprise, dropped it and stuck his finger in his mouth.
"Cas, you never mentioned your feathers are bulletproof."
"I'm as surprised as you are," said Cas, looking at both wings curiously. "I didn't know."
Dean almost laughed. "You didn't KNOW?"
"Well, they were always impervious to everything when I was an angel, of course," explained Cas, fingering one of his feathers. "But I always assumed it was due to Heavenly power. In fact everybody's always assumed that. It never occurred to me it might be an intrinsic property of the feathers. I don't think even Schmidt-Nielsen knew that... and obviously Beloniel didn't know either. We might have made an interesting discovery." He looked up at Dean, and said brightly, "Perhaps we should write it up."
"Perhaps we should take you along on every hunt for the rest of our lives," said Dean.
Sam was tottering slowly up to them, looking a little worse for wear but at least on his feet, just as they heard a low moan and realized that Beloniel was moving.
Dean grabbed one of Cas's blades off the ground and was just about to stab Beloniel again when Cas yelled, "NO, Dean! Wait! That's not Beloniel!"
Dean paused, confused, as Cas knelt down by Beloniel's vessel, gripped it by one shoulder and one hip, and gently rolled it over. A dark-haired man lay there, looking up at them, gasping. He said, in a completely different tone of voice than Beloniel's, with a strong Bahamian accent, "You gotta... hurry..."
Cas looked up at Dean and said, "It's not Beloniel. It's his vessel."
"What? I thought Beloniel was dead?" said Dean.
"I thought so too at first," said Cas, glancing around at the ground. "But, look, no wing scorch-marks." Dean looked, and realized Cas was right: the ground was unblemished. Cas went on, "He was only wounded. They were bad wounds, though, and he must have been too weak to heal the vessel, and he must have also realized he was too weak to fly it anywhere. He decided to abandon the vessel and flee. The blaze of light was because he was so badly wounded— he was really leaking a lot of power."
Cas was trying to put pressure on the man's shoulder-wound as he spoke, but a lot of blood was flowing out around Cas's hands. Dean crouched down next to the man and said, "Hang in there. We'll get you help."
But the poor fellow was bleeding pretty badly, from both the shoulder wound and the thigh one. Sam was trying to staunch the thigh-wound now, but it wasn't looking too good. The man was groping clumsily at the blue pendant around his neck, muttering, "Break it... break it..."
Cas nodded at Dean, and Dean cut the pendant loose with one of the angel-blades, stood, and ground it to dust under his heel.
There was a huge roaring of wind all around them for a moment, the trees lashing from side to side, pine needles flying everywhere.
The wind noise receded away to the south, and everything went calm.
"What's your name?" said Dean, crouching back down by the man.
"Billy," gasped the man. "You've... got to hurry. Got to go... west."
"We know, Billy," said Dean, nodding. "We'll get there by the full moon. Don't worry."
"No," Billy whispered. "BEFORE... full moon. New plan... Friday. You have... to get there... by Friday. They're doing it... Friday."
"This Friday?" Dean said, startled. Tonight was Sunday. Friday was only five days away! He glanced up at Cas, saying, "What's he mean? Don't we have till the full moon?"
Cas looked up at him with a very worried expression. He said, "Dean... moon phase only matters for water elementals! They must have been planning to take action on the full moon so that they could use the Pacific elemental at its full strength. But they've lost the Pacific elemental! So phase of the moon doesn't matter anymore." He shook his head with a hiss. "Drat. They must have changed their plans."
Billy nodded weakly, and whispered, "California... redwoods. Friday. Air and... fire."
"The air and fire elemental together?" said Castiel. "Oh— oh, I see. Use the air one to fan the fire?"
Another nod, and Billy gasped out, "New plan is... huge... firestorm. Huge, huge!... Wall of fire... moving over... whole continent. You've got to stop them."
"We'll get there. We'll do it. I promise," said Dean.
"And... they've got... your friend..." Billy added. Dean frowned at him, puzzled, and Billy added, "The... girl. They grabbed her... last night. That was... the... insurance."
There was a long deadly pause.
Sam whispered, "Sarah."
Just at the sound of Sam's voice, Dean felt sick. And then heartbroken.
And then white-hot with fury.
Not again. Not again. Not again, was all he could think.
The good things never last.
Billy added, gasping heavily now. "They're going to... feed her... to the... fire. Friday. You've got to hurry." He took one more long sighing breath, and he didn't breathe again.
A/N -
I am sorry... I didn't realize Beloniel was going to go after Sarah till just 2 chapters ago. I tried to keep her safe but could not. :(
And now Dean finally realizes what he's feeling - just in time for everything to go to hell. So to speak.
My schedule's about to get very chaotic btw. (Big family reunion starts tomorrow, and then later this week fieldwork starts and I will be working 7 days a week for approx the next six weeks, depending on weather. On small boats! With bowsprits!) In my dreams I plan to have 1 new chapter ready Sun or Mon, the next one Friday, but please forgive me if I can't post them exactly as scheduled. (They're fully drafted but I want to get them exactly right so I'm putting both through multiple extra drafts to polish them further.)
If you liked this please let me know! If you had a particular scene that you liked, let me know that too! :)