Sum:
The Road So Far: Dean's presence stayed constant as his thumb circled the back of Castiel's hand.
Maybe this isn't so bad.
Now: It was bad. It was so bad.
also: fuck literary parallelism.
A/N: Here we go folks! I got it goin again! This chapter was really friggin fun to write :D
Here is a breakdown of the Horsemens' followers:
Deava= followers of War
Leviathan= followers of Pestilence [Dick]
Hellhounds= followers of Famine [666 calling]
Reapers= followers of Death ["Big daddy Reaper"]
Let me know if ya'll want breakdowns like this - maybe the codewords that have already been explained? I wouldn't blame any of you cause I got like 2 copies of all my "code" floating in my notes for chapters. Throw out any ideas for maybe an unrelated chapter or if you just want me to put it all in my A/N [begining or end of each chapter] - or just every now and then when that stuff may get heavy. I know I'd be writing shit down if I had to read this xD
For funsies, does anyone have any guesses on what some codewords mean? Or even who might War be? Okay, I'll stop rambling... Ya'll keep up being great!
Now I present to you Gimme Three Steps by Lynyrd Skynard ;)
And I'm telling you, son
Well, it ain't no fun
Staring straight down a forty-four
Well, he turned and screamed at Linda Lou
And that's the break I was looking for
Cas could still hear the radio playing as he pulled on his jeans and dried his hair. There was still a red spot on his shoulder that pinched, but it wasn't such an angry knock in the gut as it had been. Though there were newer bruises still deciding their colors along his torso. At least the ones from last week were a weak yellow. They've had luck with finding Demons and who Dean called Knights of hell. But there were too many other "fuglies" walking around to stay out in the open for long. Dean Winchester may have had one hell of a devil may care attitude, but he apparently knew what he was doing. One of those faces that the pair had seemed to recently lose was a persistent Vamp by the name of Gordon Walker.
Castiel could still see the intent in the man's eyes in the ally behind the bar three days ago. It was a crazed look that chilled the agent to the bone.
Oh, won't you
Gimme three steps, gimme three steps, mister
Gimme three steps toward the door?
Gimme three steps, gimme three steps, mister
And you'll never see me no more
Ellen's statement about The Second Hand still rang in his head too. He knew he heard it somewhere and the longer he sat with it, the closer he felt he'd get. Somewhere at work, possibly. Now with that thought, he knew he'd need to be calling Hanna soon.
Oh, won't you
Gimme three steps, gimme three steps, mister
Gimme three steps toward the door?
There were apparently always new things to learn around a Winchester. Three nights ago a big dude and his stick of a companion were who saved Cas from whatever Walker had planned. The skinny man was Garth, the leader of the group who now offered the agent and outlaw refuge. Werewolves, a whole pack of them- or that was what their community set up was like.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
Setting the towel along his shoulders, it helped hide the worst of the colorful parts of his torso. He opened the door to find Garth's bright face rounded with a smile. "Hey, Cas!" Good Lord if this man wasn't a cartoon brought to life. "Bess'll have Sunday supper on the table in ten."
"Thank you for such great hospitality, Garth."
"Oh, this is nothin'. A friend of Dean is a friend of ours. Plus the pack has been dying to have guests." The goofy smile faltered when Garth's attention scanned what bruises were visible. "Well Cas, buddy… How you doing?"
Castiel glanced down, questioning if it really looked that bad. It did. "Oh. I'm still kicking. It'll heal in time."
"I can help-"
"No, thank you, Garth. I'm sure Dean needs that more than I do. Besides, I have a phone call I really should make." He hung up the towel and manipulated the shirt over his body as fast as the pains would allow him. It didn't stop the worrying furrow of Garth's brow deepening.
"A… work call?" Garth seemed to make himself smaller instead of what he was shooting for when he crossed his skinny arms.
"Uh…" Castiel cocked his head in confusion. "I am calling a friend from work."
Garth sighed, looking at his feet as he shifted. "Listen Cas, I like you, Bess likes you."
"Okay?"
"Biggest thing is… Dean likes you. Now, he could start a fight in an empty house, but deep down inside, he's a big ol' Teddy bear."
"Garth-"
"Just thought I'd let you know. Before… you know, you may do something you regret." Garth's smile crept back onto his face. Though, this one just wasn't the same as the first. He clapped Cas on his good shoulder. "Now you go make that call. Supper should be ready when you're done. I'll see that your seat is saved."
"Thank you again, Grath." There simply wasn't anything else Castiel knew to say as he turned.
"Just keep up being good," Garth's voice dropped.
This gave Cas pause. "I try every day." With that he found the sudden urge to get away from this man. There was a strange awkward tension that just wasn't natural for someone so… so Garth-like.
He was still trying to shake off the interaction when he found a quiet place in the back yard to make the call. Since the nights were starting to stay warm, a few fireflies flashed throughout the yard. Cas' thumb hit the dial button before raising the phone to his ear. It didn't ring long before it was picked up.
"Castiel? Is anything wrong?"
"As of right now no. I found a safe place to stay for a few days. But there is a growing threat of being bothered by a Vam-" he coughed to cover up the mistake. He tried not to cuss Dean out aloud. "Bounty hunter… Gordon Walker."
There was typing on the other end of the line. "Walker? He's not a bounty hunter anymore. Any and all licenses were revoked three years ago. Why, is he threatening you Cas?"
"Yes. You could say I understand well why he shouldn't be in the field. I just wanted to make you aware of this. Other than that I'm fine. I can most certainly take care of myself."
Hanna seemed hesitant. "Alright, Castiel… is that all?"
"Ye- no, wait. I need a favor Hanna, and I must be quick about it. In our write up for this conversation, all is well. Is anyone else in the office?"
"No. You caught me just before I was about to close up and leave. You have my full attention."
"No one, not even Zachariah can know." Cas took in a deep breath. "I need a favor, Hanna."
….~~~
The air was filled with the chirps of the awakening night. Wildlife waking from a winter's nap. Christ, was he turning into his father or something? Where the fuck was this Shakesphere crap coming from? It was probably from the relaxing lull of Dean's voi-
He was not going to finish that thought.
The only Reason Cas agreed to take a walk with Dean and Garth was because… It was because he found it awkward to be left in a house full of strangers. They were kind people, yes, but Cas didn't know them. This wasn't because he had felt a surge of fear when Dean mentioned he was leaving. Not at all. It was only a fucking walk. Castiel shook his head, allowing a swift glance to the men in front of him. Dean was there, he wasn't leaving, leaving. This wasn't the bar.
"This shit is turning out be a lot more fucked up than the… 'Garrison' has been preparing for."
Garth snorted, trying to bite back his laugh. His shoulders bounced up in down. "Ellen finally got to you?"
"Yes and no. Pam wouldn't even let me in her cabin without it."
"It ain't that bad. Hell, I think it's downright a little fitting. The ranks of angels from Garrisons. Heaven's best trying to save humanity from itself."
"We're not angels… we're Hunters."
"No, because Dean Winchester 'is no angel.'" Garth deepened his voice in a strange attempt at mockery. "Let's stow the self-depreciation for a night, huh buddy? This ain't all just about you, ya' idjit."
"No, 'cause it's just so simple that my dad organized all this crap. Dragged perfectly good people into this. I just inherited it when he stopped taking steps forward."
Castiel's ears rung at that. It was a familiar line he's read a thousand times. He really needed to stop reading his father's work. Like maybe burn the notebook. Or, rather, stuff it at the bottom of his duffle. He could only see a portion of Dean's face in the streetlight of the abandoned street, but Cas knew Winchester brooding like the back of his hand. The outlaw's shoulders were tense but drooped more than normal.
It stayed quiet for a while as the three of them continued their late-night stroll. They were getting to the end of town that Garth had explained was being worked on. Buildings and a barn were torn down long ago by a severe storm. His pack owned this land and was fixing it up so the families could grow. It was late, and everyone was home safe in bed. Here Castiel was, trailing Dean Winchester like a kicked puppy. Because he was still scared of the things he was discovering to lurk in the dark. He was a specially trained federal fucking agent. His job was to infiltrate scary mobs and businesses. His last assignment was taking down Dick Roman. A guy bad enough to earn the title of Pestilence in Dean's world. A man still powerful enough to order for both Dean's and his head from a padded room. This is where Castiel had to admit that this Hunter or Garrison whatever, it was all a whole new level of screwed up.
Finally, his tangled thoughts were interrupted. "So this official business you wanted to talk to me about? How bad is it Dean?" The angle of Garth's brow was a shadow of concern of what Cas could see of his face.
Dean's head turned away from Garth as he stopped walking. Cas heard his sigh and still saw how Dean chewed his lip. "Daeva."
Garth's frame became a stiff plank. "Daeva? Like War's Daeva?"
The outlaw turned on his heel sharply. "No other kind out there. Only saw two but enough to figure out it isn't a coincidence they were around Gordon." His sharp eyes scanned the area, motioning Cas and Garth toward the barn. "This Second Hand son of a bitch has a lot more connections than we figured. The fucker isn't playing strategy. SOB is playing dark side."
"Wait wait… Second Hand like Second Hand to Micheal? The-" Garth stopped, lowering his voice. "Bringer of the apocalypse?"
"I ain't getting into that fucker's head." Dean pulled his phone from his pocket, fiddling with the buttons while casting a dark glance around the area. "But if I had to take a blind guess I'm sure that's the angle the sicko is tryin' to play."
Cas was startled when he felt Dean's hands shove him into the shadow of the barn. The glow of the phone was hidden against his chest.
"We're not alone." Garth's voice went up a few distressed octaves.
"I had a bad feeling they wouldn't give up easily." One final push left Cas reeling before his ass hit the straw. The pile collapsed and swallowed him. "I vote we make things inter-"
The gunfire that started was deafening. So were the thuds of two bodies hitting the ground just beyond the wall next to him. It was bad. It was so bad. Castiel wanted to squirm out of his place, but somehow Dean's silent order kept him frozen.
"You, Dean Winchester, are a hard man to find. But not impossible, you cocky bastard." Cas flinched at Gordon's voice and the resounding smack of a fist against skin. "Where'd your pet go? I was looking to have a little more fun with him this go 'round."
A body was slammed into the wall at his right. "How about you go fuck yourself?"
A little bit of the weight in Castiel's chest lifted at Dean's voice.
Gordon's chuckle made his stomach churn all over again. "Then we'll have to have a little fun first. If I remember correctly there's still a booboo on your shoulder."
Cas sank further into the straw at Dean's bark of pain. His own healed wound pulsed in sympathy. He pressed the heel of his hand against it to find the top of his shoulder bleeding.
"As much as I wanna finish up here, there are a few other people who want a piece of you too. Not just The Second Hand. Who am I to tell them no?"
There was a grunt. Then there was silence. It was briefly broken by the drag of two grown men against the dry dirt. Cas shifted, trying to see out the crack of the wall. The pile shifted and the top half slid off. It made it easier to breathe if he hadn't held his breath when one of the figures paused. Motors started up and doors slammed. Cas tried to flatten himself into the pile as headlights blinded this small corner of the world. His heartbeat was the same exact pounding of his head. It was happening again and he was just fucking sitting on his ass- well, belly down in old straw. It was happening again.
He felt like he was back in one of his father's novels. It made him really want to take it out on the damned notebook.
Because fuck literary parallelism.
….~~~
Castiel opened his eyes to find there was sunlight peaking into the old dilapidated barn. Though when he glanced at the half-dead phone it wasn't sunrise. The dial tone played, whoever had been called hung up a while ago.
With his memory starting to stir he distantly remembered a deep, unfamiliar voice trying to get his attention. That was where the lapse started and helped explain the fucking headache a little better.
Oh, won't you
Gimme three steps, gimme three steps, mister
Gimme three steps toward the door?
Oh shit, Dean!
He nearly ended up face-first in the straw when he found out how bad of an idea a sudden change of position was. His mind didn't slow as he finally figured out how to sit up. The thought process was still working, it was just too fast. There was blood on his hand and arm, even down the front of his shirt. Cas blinked hard, trying to get himself together. He- he had to… do something. Dean… Dean, he had to help Dean.
A dark shadow filled out the empty doorframe of the barn. Cas swallowed hard, heart plummeting from his head into his stomach at the sight of the bear of a figure. He rubbed his eyes with the hand that wasn't stained in blood. The man took a step into the rugged building with a steel look in his eye.
Now he had to be fucking insane. No more of his Dad's work. Not ever again will he read it. Because he was either dead, or he was being stared down by a living version of Ford Harrison straight from that damn journal. Death might have been preferable. He had way too many questions about all of this.
The man's dark hair had a slight curl to it. Messy like hands have been running through them in constant worry. His tense jaw covered in stubble. Cas knew he looked familiar, and not just because of one of his father's books. He's seen him somewhere.
His voice was gruffer in person, with the addition of a hell of a lot more pissed off. The way he held himself reminded him a little of how his father did around his military friends. "Where's my son?"
At least something was being answered. They definitely weren't in fucking Kansas anymore. Apparently anything was possible.
A/N: I hate asking for this but it's the truth. Comments are my muse folks. One of my fav. Podfic readers has the line of "don't forget to water your authors" goodness I love her stuff.
Aaannnyyywayyy - Enter John Fucking Winchester…. (maniacal laughing in the distance)
I also hope you enjoy [comments are amazing], and until the next chapter! (you thought I forgot didn't you?) xD