I would like to take some time to apologize for my irregular update schedule. A lot has been going on in my life, which includes a stressful school situation as well as personal things that I'd rather not talk about. so, from now on, this story has no official update schedule. I will try to update once a week, but please keep in mind that when I don't upload I probably won't have had time to write or revise the next chapter because of these turbulent times. I'll work hard to get the next chapter up this week as well, but after that, I cannot promise to be on time anymore because I don't know how bad or good that week will be for me.
To the guest: I will write arrowverse stories when I have the inspiration and motivation to do so. This story has the priority over planning an arrowverse story, though I do have some ideas (but that doesn't mean I will write them). Depending on my mental health and how well I handle my schedule, I might write something this spring, but I can't promise anything.
Three days after the plan first had been made, Castiel was not given much time to even eat breakfast. Some guys escorted him to the garage and made him sit in the back of one of the resistance's vans, so he would not see where they were going. Dean was already in the van, waiting for him, a small briefcase in his hands. Castiel sat opposite him and they did not look at one another as the van drove off.
"We are going to a public building," Dean said. He handed Castiel the briefcase. It had a lock Castiel did not have the key for, but which he could easily snap off with his superhuman strength. "Your job is to walk into the building and hand the briefcase to the person waiting in room 717. He will give you an envelope in return. After the exchange, you return to us and hand me the envelope. Understood?"
Castiel nodded once. It was not immensely complicated – deliver the briefcase to room 717.
"Is this a test?" He asked. Dean's neutral facial expression did not give away the answer. He said nothing in response and their conversation ended then and there. It gave Castiel time to speculate over the nature of his solo mission.
After a slightly longer drive than Castiel had expected, the van stopped. Dean motioned with his head to the doors. The meaning was not lost on the angel. He took the briefcase and stepped out of the van.
The first thing he did was to note the direct environment. The van had parked next to a busy street, opposite of the city's hospital. There was constant traffic around the building and inside. Many people could keep an eye on him, but he could get lost in a crow. This place offered Castiel many opportunities to escape.
With the briefcase in hand, Castiel crossed the busy street and walked into the hospital. The lobby was bustling; people came in and left the hospital again. If someone stood still, they were in the waiting room, standing in line at the reception desk or calling someone from the lobby. Castiel decided to join the line at the reception. Maybe one of the receptionists could help him find room 717.
He glanced around. It seemed everyone was staring at him, like everyone knew and judged him. Without the trench coat, he felt naked in the public eye. It had become a shield for him and irreplacable. Every noise louder that the hospital murmurs was loud and suspicious. If there were angels, Castiel did not see them, but they must have seen him. If they knew he was here, they would try to make contact. He had no idea whether he was going to talk to them or give them the information they expected from him.
At long last, he stood at the desk and a plump, pretty brunette was ready to help him.
"Hi, I'm here to deliver a package to room 717." He briefly lifted the case so the receptionist could see it. If the resistance regularly brought packages like these to this specific room, the receptionists would probably know about it and anticipate it.
And they did. The receptionist glanced at the briefcase and nodded.
"Follow me," she said. She stepped away from the desk and before any visitors could complain, one of her colleagues took over from her. Afterwards, Castiel followed the woman through the hallway of the largest hospital of the city.
The walk brought him to the seventh floor of the building, to room seventeen. From what Castiel gathered, this was the hospital wing where people stayed when they were not in their right mind. He tried his best not to be judgmental, but he still could not help his intrusive thoughts that berated him for even walking among humans.
They stood before room 717. The receptionist didn't reach for the knob or even went for the door. It was up to Castiel to do this. Castiel glanced at her for one moment. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the crazy he might find inside, and he opened the door.
It was calm inside and nothing there suggested the person living in the room was out of his mind. That, or the person was having a good day. The room only held a bed, a small desk, two chairs, an older TV attached to the wall and some sort of cassette player on the desk. This belonged to a young man wearing a hospital gown. He looked exhausted, but he hadn't given up yet. It did not look like he had to be held here against his will. He had a calm demeanor and if he was struggling with something inside, Castiel did not notice.
Just like he felt the Nephilim's presence in the fire, Castiel felt the power surging inside the young man. Unlike the purity of the Nephilim, this was volatile and dangerous and made Castiel anxious. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt. The power could lash out at any time, forcing the young man before him to do something he doesn't want to.
No wonder he stayed at the hospital.
The young man stared at Castiel, glancing at him in distrust and a half-frown on his face. Not intending to stay any longer than he needed, Castiel offered him the briefcase.
"Dean sent me," Castiel said. It did ease the young man a little. He took the briefcase and sat down on his bed. He grabbed a key from under his pillow and opened the briefcase's locks. Once it was opened, Castiel saw its content: a single cassette. The young man stood up and reached inside the dresser standing next to his bed. He took a sealed envelope and placed it inside the briefcase. He locked it again and handed the suitcase back to Castiel.
"You should give this back," the young man said. He had a pleasant voice, but Castiel could not help but notice the underlying pain. After he had handed back the briefcase, he flinched every so slightly at random. It was strange, but nothing out of the ordinary in this context. When this happened, the energy inside the young man spiked.
"Are you okay?" Castiel asked. The young man nodded.
"I'm fine, I'm used to it," was the truthful answer. Castiel did not respond, could only wonder what happened to him that made him act like this. Either way, this was unlike anything Castiel had ever seen. No angel could make a human go insane or mess with their minds too much. None of their skills could make humans crazy, unless old-fashioned torture was involved.
"You're an angel, right?" the young man blurted out. For a few moments, Castiel was silent. If he were to respond, he would have to mind his wording. The young man was sane enough to send Dean a report.
"Yes, I… I was," Castiel eventually said. The young man nodded once. If he wanted to answer, he took his time. He was also distracted by something that Cas didn't see, something inside his head. He did not flinch, but he looked away and tried to ignore whatever had caught his attention. Castiel still did not ask about it, even as that volatile angel power spiked again for a couple of moments. How did nobody sense him before?
Finally, the young man turned his attention to Castiel again. He stared at the angel, making Castiel uncomfortable.
"Does Dean trust you?"
"I don't think he would've sent me here if he didn't trust me to a certain degree," Castiel answered, well aware of the opportunities this public space provided. Still, Castiel wasn't going to walk away and if the angels wanted to contact him, they had to come to him. He still didn't have access to this angel radio and had only flown this one time, so him reaching to them was not very plausible.
"Good luck," the young man said. "They don't provide an easy life, but they do a lot of good."
Castiel nodded. "Thank you."
He walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. The receptionist – Meg, it said on her nametag – had waited in the hallways and now leaned against the wall, her arms folded. She stared curiously at Castiel.
"How did it go?" she asked him as they walked down the hallway.
"I think it went well," Castiel answered. He did not comment on any thoughts he had visiting this person, but this visit had been an unusual one and she must know that too. Who was he? What were he and Dean sharing with one another? He must be in the resistance, but why meet up in the hospital? What was he; he wasn't a Nephilim, but not a full-fledged angel either. He floated somewhere in between and Castiel did not like that uncertainty.
Meg did not escort him all the way back to the lobby. About halfway down the road, she bade him farewell and went back to the staff room; her shift had just ended. With the briefcase, now with the letter, he remembered the way back and found himself back in the lobby. It was just as busy and noisy, but they weren't the same people as before. They were other sets of people, waiting in line, drinking coffee, calling loved ones. And at the side, near the coffee booth, stood two angels that stared at him.
Castiel recognized them; he had worked alongside them a couple of times and concluded he was only disrupting their efficient teamwork. Gadreel and Uriel, no doubt sent by Zachariah. He must have seen the footage, or someone had seen him. Either way, this was the perfect opportunity to allow Castiel to give them intel, one they could not let go to waste.
Castiel ignored them and walked right to the main entrance, as to avoid having to speak to the angels. But they had their eyes on him and moved closer towards him. Castiel tightened his grip on the briefcase, expecting them to confiscate it. So long as Castiel lived, they wouldn't get it.
How was it possible that a month ago, maybe less than a month ago, he was working together with them? How that come that now, he no longer wanted to speak with them?
"I can't talk," Castiel said as soon as they were in earshot, discretely glancing around him. There probably were resistance members among the crows, keeping an eye on him. The perfect alibi.
"Don't you have some time to spare?" Gadreel asked as Castiel passed them, continuing in the same pace as before.
"They are watching me." Castiel responded without turning his head and he headed for the exit. Whether Gadreel and Uriel flew away or followed him, Castiel did not know. He did not care about them, he needed to get back to the van and hand the briefcase back to Dean.
They didn't understand it yet. If they believed him, that was great. It meant they would try to contact him again, but they still trusted him. That was good, in case that Castiel needed to call on them to set a possible trap. In case a double-agent situation occurs. So that in the end, humanity may rebuild. They would be good.
They. Because Cas no longer human and no longer considered himself an angel, which gave him every right to be discarded when this fight was done. He's not on either side, but rather his own, and he choose another one to work together with.
He entered the back of the van again. Dean was still waiting and took the briefcase from him. And on the way home, Cas told Dean about Gadreel and Uriel and how they might try to follow him back. This made their trip home five times longer than the journey to the hospital was.
So long as it kept the resistance base a secret, Cas was fine with it.