Chapter Three
As soon as the motel was out of Dean's sight, the skies opened up, and it started to rain-the world became awash in rivulets of water and splotchy colors through the glass. They passed bars, drugstores, restaurants, and national chains that could be found everywhere in America, though most were closed. The few people out either strolled under umbrellas or tried to outrun the rain.
Dean turned the music off and pointed angrily at his passenger. "You better start explaining what the hell is going on, Cas," he snarled.
Castiel didn't look at him as he spoke. "Staying away from Sam is the best course of action right now. You forget, Dean, that your brother has his part to play."
Dean swallowed. "What? I thought I was the one who kicked this whole thing off-that's why you pulled me early."
"Yes, but I also said you two are the beginning and end. You're supposed to open the first seal. Your brother is supposed to open the last."
"What's the last seal, then?" Dean asked desperately. "If I keep him away from whatever it is, this plan is dead in the water, right?"
Castiel hesitated. "Your brother is destined to kill Lilith and release Lucifer."
Dean hit the brake and sat in the middle of the road for several seconds. He openly gaped at Castiel. Only when a horn behind the Impala blared for several seconds did he slowly pull up the road. Truthfully, he was barely paying attention to anything that wasn't Castiel.
Castiel bowed his head, a confirmation of sorts.
"No. No! You're wrong. He's hit some bumps, but he's...Sam's a good kid," Dean said, trying to get control of his voice. "Sam isn't evil. He's not evil, Cas, he's not. He can be a dick, and he's always had a temper, but...he'd never release the fucking Devil."
Castiel regarded him as Dean swung back around to watch where he was driving. They were at another stoplight, moving slowly because of the sudden downpour.
"Neither Heaven nor Hell is expecting us to work together to stop them. We have an advantage, and we must press it at every opportunity. Do you understand?"
Dean straightened up, almost said 'Yes, Sir,' automatically, but he hesitated and asked instead, "What I want to understand right now is why Sam couldn't see you. Tell me, exactly, what you are," he pushed.
The pit in his stomach only grew bigger, burning with nausea because he knew, and he knew Castiel knew. But he needed to hear it. Out loud.
Crestfallen, Castiel fidgeted with his black tie. "This is not a vessel, but an avatar, if you will. The input from your senses is nothing but electrical signals received and interpreted by your brain. I've been altering those signals to create this visage. This was the only way I could talk with you, Dean. Attempting to speak to you directly was causing aneurysms in your brain. Luckily, I've been able to heal the damage so far."
Dean gulped. He slumped in the seat when he looked over at Castiel. "That's a hell of a fancy way to say you're just a hallucination." His fist opened and shut a few times as the traffic picked up at the edge of town.
"So, what? You're possessing me?"
"Angels don't possess," Castiel corrected. "Demons possess. Angels ask permission to use someone as a vessel."
Dean scratched his head. "But...I never-"
"You did," Castiel assured him. "In Hell. I explained the stakes, explained that I would help you escape, but I needed your vessel afterward. You agreed so that you would have a chance to save your brother."
The angel peered out of the window again. They were on the highway now, trees blocking out most of the sky. There wasn't much traffic because of the late hour and the rain, but Dean stayed in the slow lane. Didn't want to push the speed when he was only paying the bare minimum of attention. The rain stopped almost as quickly as it had started.
"But…" Dean ran a hand over his face and through his hair. "When Sam got possessed, he was basically unconscious in his own body. Why aren't I?"
Normally, the vessel's mind is submerged by that angel," Castiel admitted. "When you were dragged to Hell, I was lucky-"
"Lucky?" Dean snapped. "Only you could make getting dragged to Hell sound like I won the lottery. Thanks."
"I was lucky, Dean," Castiel said, exasperated. "You are an archangel's vessel, Michael's specifically. Angels are usually bound to the vessels of their assigned bloodline, yet you and Sam are unique. You can house any angel with no physical ramifications."
Dean's face contorted, brow furrowed, and nose wrinkled. "You're shitting me right now. Me and Sam's big cosmic destiny was to become a pair of angel condoms?"
Castiel winced. "A crude but apt analogy. My apologies, Dean."
A moment of silence filled the car as Dean rolled that thought around in his head. He didn't have time to unpack it because Castiel was talking again.
"I took the opportunity that presented itself. But, something's gone awry." He looked down at his hands as they touched his black trench coat. "Might be my lack of power."
"Power?"
"Being cut off from Heaven so long means most of my power is gone. Still, human souls are powerful, and yours even more so. I've been slowly recharging some abilities."
"That's how I was able to see that hell-bitch's face? Break out of the coffin, even?"
"And allowed me to heal some of the minor injuries you've incurred," Castiel added quietly.
A blaring horn startled Dean as an 18-wheeler came up fast on the Impala's tail and jerked into the next lane to speed past. Dean gasped and gripped the wheel tight while blaring the horn at the errant jackass, but his heart was pounding hard. Images of him, his brother, and his father in the wreck that had almost killed him flashed through his mind.
He sucked in a hard breath as he put on his turn signal and pulled over on the highway's shoulder. Dust billowed up in a white cloud around the Impala for a moment after Dean parked and turned it off. The clicking of the engine as it started to cool sounded like an ominous countdown.
Castiel's tanned right hand came up and covered his right hand, still wrapped around the steering wheel in a death grip. His skin felt warm and soft, his fingers long yet strong. Even the edge of the coat cuff was smooth and heavy. Castiel felt real enough that Dean had to lean back against the door; his heart was now pounding for a different reason as those eyes stared into his for what felt like forever.
"Breath, Dean." Castiel's tanned hand squeezed his own for a second, long enough for Dean to break his stunned silence.
"Cas, what are you doing?" He hated how breathy he sounded.
"Your heart rate is elevated, and you're experiencing an elevated stress response," Castiel explained. "I can't help from within you." The hand retreated, and Dean almost reached out to grab it. Instead, he increased the pressure on the steering wheel, tight enough to make it creak.
"I don't know why I can't at least converse with you inside your mind." He huffed in frustration. "This is strange, Dean. In every sense of the word."
"Cas, not that I'm not grateful for you getting us out," Dean said, staring at his hand. "But...I think you should find somebody else to grand theft auto; then we can tag team this thing."
Castiel's form flickered next to him, like a TV channel's reception suddenly going in a storm. The fallen angel looked down at himself, then up to Dean, blue eyes filled with pure, unadulterated panic.
"Dean, don't," Castiel implored. He swallowed, then blurted: "Each angel has a specific human bloodline from which they can choose vessels. The last of my vessel's bloodline died over 2oo years ago. I can't leave you, Dean, or I'll die, and everything will be for naught."
Dean frowned. "You might've saved my bacon, sure, but I'm still a hunter, and you're still a monster. We can't-!"
Castiel's real-feeling hand clamped itself over his mouth, hard enough to sting. His eyes were wild and bright, his voice dangerous as he spoke, just inches from Dean's wide eyes.
"You need me, Dean, because all of Heaven and Hell want you back on the Rack."
Dean gave his most potent death glare, but Castiel shook his head. "You can't fight them all-not by yourself and succeed. We need each other, Dean."
His eyes darted back and forth between Dean's eyes. "We're soldiers. We understand how to set aside personal feelings to complete the mission at hand, don't we?"
Castiel swallowed hard, jaw clenched as he considered his following words. "Once this war is over-once everything is either saved or damned, I'll leave. You have my word."
Seeing Castiel was one thing, but being able to feel a body pressed up against his own-Dean couldn't wrap his head around it. Wasn't Cas supposed to be a hallucination? Why the hell did he feel real to Dean, their chests pressed together, both panting with emotion. He had to actively think of the Antarctic, so he didn't pop a boner because of a fucking mental projection.
Castiel looked surprised for a second but he quickly leaned away from Dean and removed his hand. He stared at Dean's lips for an extra second before he glanced away. Dean ran a hand over his mouth, feeling a strange warmth as if an actual hand had been pressed over his skin.
"You're not really here; how can I feel you touching me like a regular person?" Dean hated how wrecked he sounded.
Castiel studied the horizon before them as the very edge of the eastern sky, past the swell of the highway, was starting to lighten from black to violet, the sun trudging towards dawn. "I can make you see, hear, and even get a sense of touch from me, but I can't interfere with your normal processes. Angels have telekinetic abilities; I'm just using mine to interact with the world through this form. It's more complicated than normal but these are unique circumstances."
"Glad to hear I'm making you work for it," Dean sassed, voice a little subdued. He cleared his throat. "Once this is all said and done, I guess we'll, uh…." Strangely, Dean was hesitant to think about condemning Castiel to die.
"I would like to point out that you've managed to keep your mind and your autonomy despite this arrangement. Still, I suppose we'll burn that bridge when we get to it," Castiel offered, which made Dean chuckle weakly.
"Yeah, something like that. At least you're a polite roommate. You know, when you aren't causing aneurysms. Just don't throw any keggers while I'm sleeping, okay?"
He turned from Castiel's confused face and watched the horizon. "Bobby's is about half a day's drive. He's got a demon-proof, ghost-proof panic room in the basement, which is the safest place I can think of. There any angel-proofing sigils we could add to it?"
Castiel nodded, and Dean clapped his hands. "Great, throw up some angel-proofing and some new throw pillows, and we'll nail that 'cozy torture dungeon' look that's in this year."
A tiny huff was the only indication Castiel was gone again.
Dean sat in the silence of the car; cars and trucks passing next to him once in a while made the whole Impala shake. He gingerly touched the back of his right hand, where Castiel's hand had gripped him. Dean bit his lip, feeling two minds about the entire situation.
One was the hunter part. Anything that wasn't human was supposed to die. Go not pass go, do not collect $200. Castiel was a monster, apparently a Fallen Angel, from Hell itself. He could be playing Dean like a fiddle made of gold. Probably was, in some aspect.
But...Castiel saved his life. He pulled him from Hell for no other (supposed) reason than to try and save the world. He saved Sam's life without question or provocation.
Castiel might have been a cranky bastard, but Dean couldn't help but think he wasn't so bad to keep around. Yes, it was freaky as fuck that he basically had an angel permanently perched on his shoulder. But Castiel hadn't done anything deserving of a death warrant. Yet.
The feeling of a presence wasn't scary now that Dean had a name and face. And considering how Castiel had taken out those demons, Dean found himself feeling a new sensation: a warmth, like a thick blanket, draped around him; he rubbed the back of his neck where it seemed to emanate.
Even without Sam in the passenger seat, Dean didn't feel alone and vulnerable.
Instead, he felt safe.
Dean couldn't remember the last time he'd felt that.
Maybe half an hour later, Dean pulled into a gas station and overnight truck stop. After filling up the car, Dean popped into the gas station for some proper road food. Halfway through his shopping, he found a display of ugly sunglasses-the kind with the awful neon-colored frames and goofy lenses. He couldn't help but spend a few minutes trying them on.
Dean was sporting a pair of magenta sunglasses with heart-shaped lenses and was making funny faces in the display's mirror when Castiel appeared behind him. He squinted at the sunglasses, but Dean nonchalantly shrugged and haphazardly replaced them on the display. A few aisles over, he stood and debated whether he was in the mood for Lays or Doritos. Curiously, he looked at Castiel. "Hey, do you need to eat?"
Castiel plucked the bag of chips from Dean's hand and turned it over to read it. Dean wondered if the chips looked like they were floating to an outsider. "There are too many artificial ingredients in this to call it 'food,'" he complained as he gave Dean back the bag.
"Yeah, that's why it's called 'junk food.'"
"To answer your question, no, this form doesn't eat. My energy is derived from you."
Dean chuckled. "Guess I'm eating for two from now on, huh?"
A surprised cough sounded behind him. Dean turned to see a rotund man with a scraggly beard and eyes narrowed in his direction. He had been coming out of the bathrooms when he must have overheard Dean's last statement.
Dean just shot the guy a lopsided grin. "I know; I look great for my second trimester, right?" He jutted out his stomach as much as possible and rubbed it tenderly.
Scraggly Beard shook his head and strode away from Dean, who stuck his tongue out at the man's retreating back.
"You're not how I expected the Righteous Man to be," the angel admitted.
"Oh, yeah?" Dean asked casually, glancing over the other chips on the shelf. "Well, what were you expecting?"
"...A righteous man," Castiel said dryly.
"Right, that tracks. So, what am I?" He winked. "Let me guess-tall, dark, and handsome?"
Castiel squinted at him. "Insouciant."
"Gesundheit?"
Castiel looked down and huffed a tiny laugh.
As they passed the magazine rack, one of the covers caught Dean's eye-he froze mid-step. After a second of just staring, his shaking hand reached forward, and he grabbed the T.V. Guide. He angled the cover towards Castiel. "Mind explaining why you look like the lead demon guy in 'Paranatural'?"
Castiel studied the picture, a carbon copy of his current form. Though the guy on the cover had blue eyes, they didn't have the same brilliance or inhuman depth to them. Castiel stood with his back ramrod straight, not a casual slouch, and a charming smile did not grace his face. Instead, he was stoic.
"I thought it would be easier to interact with me if I didn't look like you. He also resembled the last vessel I had on Earth, James Novak." Castiel glanced at the magazine, then at Dean, and his eyes widened just a touch in realization. "You find this form...pleasing."
Dean's cheeks flushed as red as a sunburnt lobster-he sputtered indignantly. "What? No, not me specifically; I mean everyone is hot for Dmitri Collins." Then he realized he had spoken too loud-Scraggly Beard Guy was gawking at Dean, a forgotten Penthouse magazine in his hands.
Dean tilted the cover at the guy. "He's hot, right?"
Scraggly Beard looked at the cover and pursed his lips as he nodded. "If I were about twenty years younger, I'd tap that," he agreed, his grin full of crooked, yellow teeth.
Dean turned back towards Castiel, who had an eyebrow raised in disbelief. Though the angel wasn't buying anything Dean said, he still tried to make his case. "See? That doesn't mean I'm into you. It means everyone is into you." Castiel's eyebrow inched higher for every foot Dean dug into his own grave. "I mean, uh-"
"Hey, buddy, you feelin' okay?" Scraggly Beard asked him. Dean realized he was having a very animated conversation at absolutely nothing.
"Yep, all good here." Shoving the magazine back onto the rack, he strode towards the open register to get out as fast as possible. I do not have a thing for a fucking hallucination. I don't.
The bored young woman at the register barely acknowledged his existence as she scanned the items from his basket. Next to him was a cardboard bin of electronics, and an idea manifested itself. He rummaged around in it until he found what he was looking for and added it to the pile of items she rang up.
Dean paid credit for the supplies, courtesy of a one Mr. Michael Myers, whose card Sam had left in the glove box. He drove the Impala further into the truck parking lot and parked close to an empty edge. His Baby was as far as possible from any 18-wheelers pulling in and out of the lot. From this vantage point, he could keep an eye on both the exit and the gas station while he felt safe enough to try and sleep.
"Shit," he said aloud in realization. "I haven't slept since I got out of Hell. Except for the one nap...wonder why?"
"Angels don't need sleep," Castiel said apologetically from the passenger side. "Maybe my presence is keeping you awake?"
Dean shrugged. He'd be way more upset if he didn't feel completely awake and alert. It was just bizarre-he had fought so hard for four hours a night before Hell, and now that he didn't sleep at all, he felt better for it. "I don't have to deal with nightmares for the first time in my life. Finally, a silver lining on the pile of dog crap that is normally my life."
He opened a beer and had a half-opened beef jerky stick hanging from his mouth while he tried to open the plastic packaging of his new purchase. Frustrated, he was about to rip it apart with his teeth when Castiel held out his hand. Dean handed the package over, and Castiel ripped the plastic shell apart like a banana peel. He picked up the small plastic item inside. "What's this?"
"It's a wireless Bluetooth earpiece. Normally, I wouldn't be caught dead with one. Only douchebags in Priuses would own one of these things willingly. However, circumstances being what they are…."
He held out his hand, and Castiel gave it back. Dean popped the earpiece into his left ear. It would take some getting used to, but it wasn't too distracting. He took it out and pulled out his cell phone from his pocket as he explained his idea.
He held up his phone. "This is a cell phone. It lets me talk to people who aren't in front of me. I can talk to anyone in the world as long as I have their number, and they have mine."
Castiel nodded, so Dean held up the Bluetooth. "I can connect this with my phone so noise goes into my ear without me having to touch anything. There's a small speaker built-in, which allows me to talk, and the other person can hear me."
Dean pointed at him. "So, if I try to talk to you in public but there's nothing there, people are going to think I'm nuts. Could even call the cops or something." He held up the Bluetooth and popped it back into his ear. "But, if I'm wearing this and start talking to you, people will think I'm on a regular phone call."
"We hide in plain sight." The angel gave Dean an impressed smirk. "That's very clever, Dean."
Dean ducked his head. "Yeah, well, I have a good idea once in a while." He finished off the beef jerky and washed it down with the rest of the beer. He pulled out a couple of roller grill hotdogs (the only ones that hadn't been left on the heated rollers so long they looked like mummified dicks) and scarfed them down. He spoke through full cheeks.
"So, Cash, come up wid a way to get wid of our queen demon bitch, yet?"
Castiel shook his head. "No, nothing yet. In the meantime, we'll have to keep an eye out for both angels and demons. Everyone wants us back in Hell."
"Being America's Most Wanted wasn't fun the first time. Still isn't now," Dean agreed. A memory made him laugh. "Though, Sam, that utter dipshit, was jealous that he wasn't bad enough to be on his own wanted poster years ago." He snorted and rubbed his eyes.
"Your brother was upset because he wasn't a wanted criminal?" Castiel asked.
"Hence, the 'dipshit' part," Dean clarified. He added affectionately, "He's the smartest dipshit I know, though."
He swung his body around so his back was against the door, and he curled one leg up in the seat while the other was stretched out towards the floor. He looked Castiel over, thinking. "So, I'm confused about something, Cas. If you never worked for Lucifer, why were you in Hell? What did you do?"
A myriad of emotions seemed to flicker over Castiel's face, too quickly for Dean to catch one long enough to name them. "It was after the Rebellion of Lucifer that I was branded a Fallen Angel. I helped lead the garrisons against Lucifer and those who stood under his banner."
"So, you were a big deal in Heaven, then?"
"I was a Seraph, of the Seraphim. The highest class of angels, second only to the Archangels. I was a well-respected leader with many loyal angels under my command."
"Okay," Dean said, drinking his beer. "Sounds like you were The Very Model of a Modern Major-Seraphim. Why'd you Fall?"
In the dark of the parking lot, with only a few lights overhead, Castiel's sharp jawline and stubble were severe and pronounced. His eyes focused on some unknown point in the distance-Dean recognized that thousand-yard stare because he saw it in the mirror often enough.
After several moments of silence and building tension, Castiel shook his head.
"It doesn't matter what happened. It was a long time ago," he said with finality.
Dean hated the dismissal of his question, but he didn't get the feeling Castiel was hiding something nefarious. More like not wanting to touch a raw wound. He could be a little dense sometimes, but if he genuinely had no perception, he'd be a shitty hunter. He let it go for now.
Glancing at his phone, Dean grumbled at the extremely late (or extremely early) hour. He cleaned up his trash, stuffing everything into the shopping bag from the store. When he started to maneuver to curl his legs up on the bench seat and lie down, he paused.
"Hey, uh, can you relocate to the backseat?"
Castiel cocked his head. "You do realize I'm not actually here?"
"Yeah, but it's going to be weird if my feet are sticking out of your ass." That was definitely a contender on his 'weirdest sentences I've ever uttered' list.
A second later, Castiel was sitting in the middle of the bench behind him. Dean took his flannel and curled it into a ball for a makeshift pillow and contorted his body so he could lay down. The fallen angel's messy hair was just visible from Dean's perspective.
"If I'm sleeping, will you stick around?"
"I don't know," Castiel rumbled.
"Why don't you know?"
Castiel leaned over the seat. "What part of 'I don't know' escapes your understanding?"
Dean fidgeted in the seat, trying to get comfortable, but seeing Castiel glaring at him made him scowl.
"It's creepy to watch someone sleep, dude."
Castiel huffed. "Watching over you is not creepy. It's strategic."
Dean rolled his eyes but then closed them. "Whatever. I just want to see if I can get a few hours. Then I'll be good to go." He cracked open an eye and saw Castiel was just staring, unblinking, at him. He determinedly buried his face in the leather seat so he couldn't witness Castiel being a creeper.
"It's kinda funny," Dean admitted into the leather seat. "When my mom told me angels were watching over us, I don't think this is quite what she meant."
"Rest, Dean." The words were spoken a little softer than he expected.
The hum of the running engines from multiple 18-wheelers (left running while their drivers slept) could be heard and felt clear across the parking lot. The car was eerily silent in comparison. Dean realized it was because Castiel wasn't making any sounds. He wasn't breathing, and he wasn't snoring like Sam sometimes did.
He missed Sam, and he felt his stomach curl up in knots over the idea of their meeting tomorrow.
I'm going to figure out a way to save you, Sammy. I promise.