Thirty

Later could not come soon enough. A mixture of need born from abstinence, as well as needing to reestablish what was real drove them toward one another much later that night, after they'd saved the ghost child, and put his abuser behind bars.

Part of them wished to take their time, to undress slowly, to feel the fabric of their clothes between their fingers, but there was a much stronger desire to feel skin, and so they rushed through the undressing process, scattering clothes about the room as they made their way to the bed, as if they were in the eye of a storm. Or, rather, as if they were the storm.

They fell upon the bed, and Castiel crawled between his wife's legs, staring down at her with a mixture of adoration and hunger. But before he could settle himself, she locked her legs around his waist, tightened her abdominal muscles, and flipped him, so that she straddled him. Now he stared up at her with amusement and deference and longing, his mouth open slightly, and curved upwards at the corners.

She leaned over, opening the nightstand and withdrawing a condom, and as she did so, he reached up and drew a nipple into his mouth. She cried out softly, smiling, but gasped a second later as he mercilessly flicked his tongue across her nipple, over and over, until it was overly-sensitive. She stayed where she was, shaking slightly, stretched out over the top of him, with a condom between two of her fingers. He sucked on her nipple as he released it, so that it left his mouth with a small pop, and she cried out at the sensation.

Now with a definite ache between her legs she repositioned to open the condom package, but he took it from her fingers and placed it on the bed, out of reach.

"What…" she began, and then he rolled her onto her back and slithered down her body so that his face was between her legs.

She groaned impatiently. "No—

"No?" he repeated, looking at her over the top of her stomach, one eyebrow raised.

She squirmed. "I want…"

He kept his gaze pinned on her. His eyes were intense and very blue. "You want…?"

And for all of her ability to talk and to make her desires known, she found herself tongue-tied as he looked at her like that. All she could do was stare at him, slightly open-mouthed, her breath coming quickly, raggedly.

But he knew what she wanted. She wanted to be filled. He leaned on one elbow and slowly pushed two fingers of his right hand inside her, taking his time. Her head fell back against the pillow and she squirmed even more, trying to push herself down farther onto his fingers. He added a third finger, slowly, and she moaned loudly and threw one hand down onto the bed, grasping at the sheets.

He pleasured her this way for a time, giving her just enough for her to enjoy the sensations, but never moving fast enough for her liking. When she was sufficiently worked up, and silently begging him for more, he slowly removed his fingers, which caused in her a full-body shiver, and sucked them clean. She stared at him as he did, and he kept his eyes on her as he pulled his fingers from his mouth.

He took his time rolling the condom down onto himself, one corner of his mouth lifting in amusement as she narrowed her eyes at him.

Hurry up, asshole, she thought.

It was only then that he moved with speed, lifting her up by the waist and yanking her toward him so that she gasped in surprise. He settled himself between her legs and stared down at her and said, "You have a filthy mouth, Angel Whore." And he thrust into her in one movement.

She arched her back and screamed.

###

Afterwards, they lay in a warm embrace, the blankets pulled up only to their waists. Brooke's head lay on Castiel's shoulder, and she was drawing lazy patterns on his chest with her finger.

"That won't work without blood, you know," Castiel mumbled, and she could feel the rumble of his voice underneath her, vibrating his chest.

"What?" she said.

"You're drawing the anti-angel sigil."

"Oh my God." She placed her full hand down on his chest and wiped at it, as if she were wiping the sigil off of his skin. "Sorry, I… wasn't paying attention to what I was drawing."

He chuckled. "It's all right. As I said, it doesn't work without blood."

Brooke couldn't help but remember a time many years ago when Castiel had carved that sigil into his own chest and nearly killed himself using it against their enemies. She felt him in her mind, recalling the memory with her.

What… What did it feel like? she asked, half-afraid to know the answer.

At the time that I cast it, it didn't feel like much. Searing pain for a few seconds, and then nothing. When I woke up, though… My entire body was sore and my skin felt… raw.

She scrunched up her face sympathetically and lifted her head to kiss him.

He returned her kiss, and then smiled gently at her. "It happened years ago, Brooke. I'm all right."

"I know that," she said. "I just hate to think of you in so much pain." She lowered her head back down to his shoulder and murmured, "You know, everyone thought you died after that. But not me. Somehow I knew you were still alive. Just like I knew you were still alive after the Leviathans left your body in the reservoir. When you didn't come back up right away, they all thought you'd died. But I…"

"You knew," he said. "You knew because of my Grace."

"Yeah. But neither of us knew that that was… how I knew."

They fell silent for a moment, and Brooke could not help but recall, with painful clarity, the memory of Castiel's death by Lucifer only months before.

"Brooke, I never apologized to you for jumping out of the window after Scooby and Shaggy."

Brooke blinked; she was still having a hard time wrapping her mind around the fact that they'd been in a Scooby Doo cartoon. "It's fine, Cass. You were fine."

"No, I…" The arm that was around her waist tightened. "I jumped without thinking, and that was… irresponsible, and it was wrong of me to do that to you."

"You saved their lives, Cass," Brooke whispered.

"Yes, by endangering my own."

She lifted her head, looking at him. "Isn't that what we do? We do that every time we go on a Hunt. Honestly, we do that every time we even leave the bunker."

"Even so, I'm sorry."

"Well," she said, with a smile, "you're forgiven. I'd make a joke about how you could make it up to me somehow, but you've already done that."

He smiled, his eyes lighting up. "How did I do, by the way?"

"Oh, you did great," she said, settling down again onto his shoulder. "I think I'll be walkin' funny for days."

"Excellent," he said.

She laughed.

###

The next day, because now was not the time to be taking days off, Castiel and Brooke left the bunker, going after a lead on the Seal of Solomon. It was several states away, so they were gone for days, and when they came back from their trip, they were both grumpy and disappointed. It had been a dead end. The sex from a few nights before had helped them both to stay calmer than they might have otherwise been, but they were both feeling the strain of missing and worrying about Jack, and Mary Winchester. They could be dead, or they could be strung up for torture, or in hiding from angels or who knew what. There was also the fear of the Archangel Michael—Apocalypse World version—finding his way to this world.

In short, the two of them returned to the bunker feeling like shit. Which made the news about Dean having gone to Apocalypse World with Ketch while they were gone all the worse. Brooke, however, was interested in helping Gabriel, who apparently hadn't been dead this whole time—though he had been stuck in Hell for years, tortured by Asmodeus.

"Cass, he wanted to go solo," Sam said, still arguing about Dean and Ketch in Apocalypse World.

"And you let him?" Castiel demanded.

Sam sighed. "He didn't give me much of a choice. Anyways, Dean's right. As long as he's over there, and we're here, we need to be taking care of Gabriel, getting him right again."

"Agreed," Brooke said, immediately. She hadn't even seen the angel yet, but she felt some kind of strange affinity for him, although she had never technically met him. The Gabriel that she and Castiel had talked to back when Metatron was still in power had been… some kind of illusion.

Castiel's anger about Dean's situation fizzled out a little and he conceded that Sam was right.

Sam opened the door to the room that they'd given the Archangel, and they went in, slowly. It was completely dark inside, and Brooke found Gabriel sitting on the floor in the corner, with his knees drawn up to his chest. He looked awful—dirty clothes and skin; gross hair; and, from what little Brooke could see of his mouth, the wounds from having his mouth sewn shut still hadn't healed. Even through the protection of Castiel's Grace, Brooke could feel waves of emotion coming off of Gabriel, a strange numbness, but with random spikes of high anxiety.

Brooke felt Castiel's own sense of horror rising. "You didn't tell us it was this bad," he murmured, staring in shock at his brother.

Sam sighed. "Yeah, well, years of isolation and torture, and Asmodeus draining his Grace… Come here. Help me out."

Brooke approached the Archangel on shaky legs, unable to completely snuff out the waves of PTSD coming off of him.

You don't need to be here, Castiel told her, sensing her discomfort. If it's too much…

Brooke shook her head. I'm staying. She wasn't sure what was compelling her to stay in this room with this angel who was causing her psychic pain, but she found it difficult to deny the call. Angels did not have souls, but it felt as if some equivalent of Gabriel's was ringing in her ears, a high, keening sound that drew her forward like a moth to a flame. His mind and thoughts were mostly shielded from her, but his emotions were raw and strong, and if she was not careful, she might very well sink down into that same black depression in which he was now sunk.

It must be whatever small amount of his Grace that was still inside his body to which she was reacting. There was Castiel's Grace, both beside her, in him, as well as inside her body; it hummed in her veins like a violin. But there, outside of herself, separate from the vibrations of her husband's Grace, was that keening sound, higher in vibration, like a violin playing only the highest notes, or perhaps a separate instrument altogether. A wind instrument, maybe? A flute? Whatever instrument, that did not matter so much as the fact that the music it played was discordant and ugly-sounding, pulsing outward at awkward times, stumbling over itself.

Sam set down the tray upon which he had placed a vial of Gabriel's Grace, and got down on the Archangel's level. "Hey, pal," he said, and touched his shoulder.

A screech, short but powerful, pulsed outward from Gabriel's body, and Brooke flinched. "Don't!" she cried.

Sam and Castiel stared at her.

"He doesn't… He doesn't want to be touched," she whispered, staring down at him.

"We… we need to get him to the bed," Sam said.

Brooke sighed and looked away, cringing as he and Castiel carefully, gently, lifted the Archangel up and eased him back down onto the bed. Immediately, Gabriel pulled himself into a ball again, his knees up to his chest, his arms curled around himself.

"Gabriel, it's Sam Winchester," Sam murmured, lowering himself to stare up into the angel's face. "Do you remember me?"

"I don't think he does," Castiel said, also having bent down to look into his brother's face.

Sam tried again, keeping his voice quiet. "Remember the video you sent to my brother Dean Winchester and me after you… supposedly died? You told us how to stuff Lucifer back into the Cage."

Castiel was feeling strangely impatient. "Sam, he doesn't—

"I know he doesn't," Sam whispered, standing up again. "I'm just… trying to see if anything's going on in his head." He sighed. "All right, well… maybe if he's juiced up it'll help." He took the lid off of the container of Grace and slowly offered it to Gabriel.

Gabriel moaned in fear or discomfort and turned his face away. Brooke felt multiple small spikes of anxiety pulse out from his body.

"Sam," Castiel said, "I don't think he's gonna open up and let the choo-choo in."

Brooke, who had been hyper-focused on Gabriel until now, turned her head and stared at her husband, scoffing in amusement. "Where'd you learn that? One of the parenting books you read before Jack was born?"

'Yes, actually," he replied. He took the vial of Grace from Sam's hand. "I think a little coercion may be necessary." He began to lean down toward Gabriel.

Brooke's arm shot out to stop him before she was even aware of doing it. "No," she said, firmly.

Castiel pulled back, surprised.

"He doesn't want his Grace," she explained.

"Brooke, we need him," Castiel began—

"I don't give a fuck," she snapped, and cringed when Gabriel made a noise of distress at the sudden volume in her voice. "He's clearly PTSD, and shoving his Grace down his throat is not going to help him. If Asmodeus was really… f-feeding off of him, he must associate his Grace with… with torture. By forcing him to consume it, you would be subjecting him to more torture… I won't let you do that."

Castiel slowly screwed the cap back on the vial of Grace and set it down, and then he reached out and cupped her face in his hands. "All right," he murmured. "All right."

###

"So, you… you really can't feel his distress?" Brooke asked her husband, some time later. They'd left Gabriel alone after the failed attempt at getting him to take his Grace, but Brooke had not been able to stop thinking about it.

"Not in the same way that you can," Castiel replied, his voice quiet. "You should understand by now that you're… well, special."

Brooke made a face at his word choice.

"It's true," he said.

"I know that," she replied. "I just don't understand how I can sense an angel's emotions more than another angel can."

Castiel went silent for a moment, thinking on it. "I've always assumed that that's because you're human," he said. "Angels were taught from the very beginning that we don't have emotions the same way humans do. Of course, this is a lie, as you and I have come to understand over the years, but…" He sighed. "We have an… innate ability to shield ourselves from our brothers and sisters. It's how we stay sane around each other, I suppose. It gives us the privacy of our own thoughts. You, however… I've always wondered about your abilities."

Brooke looked at him, curious to know what he was thinking about her.

"It's never been as simple as you being able to see angels," he mused, studying her. "You… you know us. You feel us. You sense our emotions—the stronger the better. Anger, hatred… Righteous indignation—although I've come to understand that no angelic indignation is righteous." He touched her face. "You feel our pain, our joy."

Brooke stared up into Castiel's face, recalling some of their earliest interactions, before he'd given her part of his Grace. She remembered how strongly she had felt him, then, before his Grace had been given and had acted as a kind of inoculation. And the question that she'd always wondered came to her lips: "Why?" Why could she see and feel angels as she could?

He smiled ruefully and murmured, "I don't know. There are other humans who can see angels, but, as you know, you are the first and only human I've met with this ability. Perhaps this is how it manifests for all humans who can see us, but… I don't know."

Brooke sighed, but she was smiling now, too. "Damn. Shoulda bothered Chuck way more when he was here. I coulda asked him so many questions…"

###

They gave Gabriel a few hours to himself before returning to his room, and this time it was only Castiel and Brooke. They figured the less people he had hovering over him, the more comfortable he'd be. Brooke planned on simply standing silently by the door, since if Gabriel happened to recognize either of them, he was more likely to recognize his brother than her.

Castiel opened the door slowly and switched on the light…

They both stood and stared around the room. The walls were covered in Enochian writing. Brooke's eyes darted around as she spun slowly. She read snatches here and there, but was trying to figure out where it started.

"Sam!" Castiel called out.

Sam came running, and was in the room in seconds. He stopped in the doorway, just as taken aback as the other two. "What is this? Did he do this? Enochian?"

"It's his story," Castiel murmured, having found the beginning. He alerted Brooke to it, mentally, keeping his eyes on the beginning of the tale until she found where he was looking. "It starts with his death. Or… what appeared to be his death." Castiel walked farther into the room, approaching the wall that contained the beginning of the story. He began to read it, for Sam's benefit.

"'Per usual, my brother had double my brawn and half my brains. He assumed the counterfeit me was what vanished that night, and he thought that he'd stabbed the real thing. The truth is, the thing Luci skewered was a fake. There are plenty of fakes to go around. Everyone believed Gabriel was gone.'"

Castiel continued to read as he moved to another part of the wall. "'And suddenly, I was free. No obligation to God or Heaven, or mankind. And so I did what anyone would do—I moved to Monte Carlo and shacked up with porn stars…'"

Brooke made a sound in her throat, a small, cut off laugh, and glanced at Gabriel, who was sitting on the floor in the corner, next to the nightstand.

Castiel was still reading. "Well, y—…" He sighed. "He goes on and on for quite a while about porn stars, and, uh…"

Brooke raised her eyebrows and quickly found the place her husband was reading. She ran her eyes over the words, a slow smile spreading across her face as she discovered some of Gabriel's antics with these porn stars.

Castiel glanced at her, somewhat reproachful.

Hey, Gabriel put it out here for us to read, didn't he? Brooke thought, still smiling.

He rolled his eyes.

"Guys, please," Sam said.

Castiel quickly read ahead, much faster than any human could possibly have even scanned their eyes across the walls. "Okay, so Gabriel was captured, delivered to Asmodeus. 'For years I knew nothing but endless torture. Asmodeus, once the weakest of Hell's Princes, grew strong by feeding on my Grace.'" Castiel shuddered, and turned to study Gabriel. "Well, obviously his intellect is intact."

"Yeah," Sam agreed. "So why isn't he talking to us?"

"I don't know," Castiel murmured. "Maybe he can't."

"Or maybe he's choosing not to," Sam mused. "Maybe he thinks it's safer that way."

Brooke's brows drew together as she studied the Archangel, whose eyes would not meet any of theirs. "I… I can't feel his emotions as much, now," she said. "He seems… calmer, at least. Maybe telling his story helped to… I dunno, pull him back to himself?" Hesitantly, she stepped toward him, and crouched down in front of him. He did not look at her; in fact, he didn't react at all, which was better than the last time anyone had tried to approach him.

"Brooke, I don't think this is a good idea," Castiel warned, knowing what she intended to do.

"We need to talk to him, don't we?" she asked. Slowly, slowly, she reached out a hand and brushed her fingers against his arm. He twitched a little, like a horse's tail switching at flies, but Brooke reeled backwards, landing heavily on her ass. It was like a flash grenade had gone off in her head. Her vision went white, her ears rang loudly, and she had no idea what was happening for a time, until she realized, several seconds later, that Castiel had lifted her to her feet and was holding her against his chest. Slowly, she regained the ability to think properly, and her head lolled as she stared up at her husband.

He was looking down at her with such loving concern.

… Brooke… Brooke! BROOKE!

She squeezed her eyes shut massaging her forehead with the heels of her hands. "Okay, fair warning: touching him might cause brain damage… or something. I think I'm… fine now, but… that was not fun."

Castiel continued to stare down at her, now holding her by the shoulders, his eyes searching her face. She felt him probing her mind as well, making sure that her thoughts and memories were all in the right places, and that her brain function had not been affected. He took a deep breath after a few seconds and pulled her to his chest again, this time in relief.

I don't think he did it on purpose, Brooke said, letting him hold her.

No, Castiel agreed. I'm sure it happened without him realizing he did it. I hate to think what might have happened to you if you'd touched him without my Grace shielding you.

Without your Grace, I couldn't even be in the same room as an Archangel, let alone an Archangel and a Seraph.

Right, he said, kissing the top of her head. Okay. So, don't touch him.

"Brooke, y-you okay?" Sam asked, and they both suddenly remembered that he was even there.

She stood up without Castiel's support, swaying a little, and smiled at Sam. "I'm good," she assured him. "But… What are we supposed to do now?"

…

"I must reiterate, it's not possible for an angel to heal an Archangel," Castiel murmured in a low voice. His eyes were closed, his head bent, one hand pressed to Gabriel's forehead. "I'm just trying to jolt his mind into thinking straight."

"Well, good to know one of us can touch him without having a stroke," Brooke said, sarcastically.

Castiel sighed, removing his hand from Gabriel's forehead. "Even then, it's possible that Gabriel is lost."

Brooke went to her husband, drawing his forehead down to hers. Sifting through Gabriel's mind, while possible for him, had been exhausting. He took several slow, deep breaths with her, something they'd done in moments of distress almost from the moment they had met each other.

"I don't think he's lost," Brooke murmured. "If he was, I don't think he'd be able to write everything he did."

Castiel smiled down at her, though there was no joy in his face. "It's possible that this… autobiography was the last bit of consciousness he had within himself, but, for all our sakes, I hope you're right."

Brooke studied her husband worriedly. Have a little faith, Cass, she said.

In what? Chuck?

No, you idiot. In me. In you. In Sam and Dean and the mission. In Gabriel. Ever since you saw Gabriel for the first time, all your confidence has dried up. She held his face in her hands. Where'd you go?

He took another deep breath. I'm sorry, I'm just… tired.

Me too. But we gotta hold each other up. For Jack.

For Jack, he repeated.

###

An hour later, as Brooke sat down in the main room, eating a sandwich, she was halfway to bringing said sandwich up for another bite when her arm stopped and hung there, her mouth half-open.

Castiel, who had been quietly reading one of the many lore books he'd brought over from the bunker library, looked up, curiosity and worry written on his face.

"Gabriel," Brooke said, and set down her sandwich. The two of them got up and went to the bedroom where they'd left Sam with the Archangel. Stepping slowly into the room, Brooke stared at Gabriel, who still looked a mess, but his eyes were clear and focused, and they glanced up at her and Castiel with something of a twinkle in them. "Gabriel?" Brooke repeated his name, this time questioningly.

"Don't worry about me, babe," he said. "Just uh, hand me my Grace, would ya?"

Brooke blinked. He seemed so normal that it was almost disconcerting, considering how messed up he'd been only an hour ago. Dazed, she said, "Babe?"

"Would you prefer Whore, like everyone else calls you?" He said it without malice, and there was a smile hidden somewhere behind the blood and dirt on his face, though it was only a small one, and his voice was weak and tired.

Castiel came into the room, moving around Brooke, and picked up the vial of Grace off the dresser. He came around and handed it to his brother.

Gabriel took the vial and slowly inhaled the the bright wisps of Grace that lifted out of the vial at his command. It disappeared into his mouth, and he inhaled again, sharply, a small noise escaping his throat, like pain. Slowly, he handed the empty vial back to Castiel.

"Is it helping?" Cass asked.

"I… I don't know," Gabriel replied, shrugging.

Just then, Sam's phone buzzed. Everyone looked up, wondering who it was, but Sam looked at the number and shrugged. Not knowing who it was, he answered it and put it on speakerphone. "Hello?"

"Samuel," said a man's voice, with a Southern accent. "I hope you're having a pleasant day."

Gabriel sat up straighter on the bed, his hands down on the mattress, gripping the sheets. Brooke felt a stab of terror from him. The man on the phone was Asmodeus.

"It's come to my attention you boys have something that belongs to me, and I'd like it back."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sam tried.

"Oh, I believe you do. And I'ma give you one chance to return him to me. No harm, no foul."

There was another spike of fear from Gabriel, who was sitting ramrod straight on the bed, his knuckles white from clutching the sheets so tightly.

Brooke felt an overwhelming desire to reach out and cradle him, as she had done to her husband in his darkest moments, but she refrained.

From Castiel came a sense of curiosity about this. You've never wanted to cradle any other angels, he said.

Most other angels are usually trying to murder me, Brooke replied. Doesn't leave much time for comforting hugs.

"I'm hanging up," Sam was saying.

"Do not hang up on me," Asmodeus demanded, his voice low and threatening. "Gabriel is of no use to you in his current condition. Should you choose to resist me, I will have no choice but to take him by force! I will reduce you and that sad little bunker of yours to ashes!"

Gabriel was breathing heavily now, in response to Asmodeus' angry, raised voice. Brooke's heart broke for him.

"You got ten minutes to decide. Now you can hang up." The call disconnected.

Castiel, driven by Brooke's emotions as well as his own, reached out and rested a hand on his brother's shoulder.