Six
After watching over Mr. Jones, the psychic man in the old folks' home, for a few days, just as Castiel had said he would, he and Brooke had to decide what they wanted to do next. Now that the angel no longer wanted to return to Heaven—yet—he was left with a bout of indecision.
Castiel sat on the edge of the bed in their motel room, his face a model of serious thinking. Brooke sat beside him, amused by his expression. Actually, the more Brooke studied him, the more she smiled.
"What?" he asked, keeping his eyes on the wall in front of him, one hand under his chin.
"You look like that statue. The Thinker."
Castiel glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "The man in that statue is naked. I am not."
She laughed and kissed him on the cheek, then threw herself back onto the bed. "Don't take it so seriously, Cass," she said. "What do you want to do?"
"I want to help people," he murmured, "but that could mean… anything."
Brooke stared at the ceiling. "You could become Emmanuel again," she suggested. "Set up shop somewhere, get the word out about a genuine healer."
"Last time I did that, it ended badly for the woman who spent six months letting us live in her house."
"No, it ended badly for us. Daphne is fine, I'm sure. Now that you're gone, there would be no reason for demons to come snooping around her house."
Castiel sighed and fell back onto the bed, laying beside her. "What do you want to do?"
"Me?" Brooke looked at him. "I have no idea. If you weren't here, I'd probably go off Hunting… and then, you know, have a complete mental breakdown when the PTSD set in. I'm about as stuck as you are."
He did not look at her, but reached for her hand between their bodies and rubbed his thumb along the back of it, commiserating with her about the affects that Purgatory had left on her mind.
Silence reigned for a while.
"Hey, can't you heal me?" she asked, all of sudden. "Of the PTSD? Why didn't I think of this sooner?"
Castiel sighed, a long, defeated sound.
She stared at him. "Why does that sound like a no?"
He turned on his side to better face her as he explained. "I could try, certainly. But… you already had PTSD long before I knew you, from years of Hunting. Your mother was a Hunter, and she brought you into that life from the moment you were old enough to hold a gun without letting your hand wobble." He paused, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, affectionately. "There are so many… memories, events, people… that are tied to your trauma… It would be tricky, and if I messed up even a little bit of it, you could lose… years' worth of memories."
"You cured people of PTSD as Emmanuel," she murmured. "Why not me?"
He smiled, but there was no joy in it. "The truth? I didn't know those people—any of them. I cared about them, insofar as I could heal them, but I had no history with them. If I start trying to heal you of your trauma, and go too far… Well, there are a lot of traumatic things that happened directly because of me, or because you know me…"
Brooke curled closer to Castiel, pressing her forehead to his. "You could erase my memories of you, is what you're trying to tell me."
"Yes." He took a deep breath. "Now, I will still try, if you want me to. I won't keep you from a healthy mind for selfish reasons, and there's no guarantee that I would erase your memories of me—
Brooke shook her head. "If there's even a small chance I could end up forgetting you…" The thought was almost too horrible to even talk about.
"I could… numb you, like I've done in the past," Castiel suggested, quietly. "It might help with the PTSD."
"What, make me all icy and unemotional?" She laughed. "No, thanks. Did that twice, and the second time, when it wore off, all I wanted to do was tear all your clothes off." She paused, laughing again. "Of course, I already have that problem."
Castiel rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.
###
Brooke stood beside Castiel as he stared down at a baby in a mother's arms. They were at a kid's playground. Castiel had been watching over the baby for two days, waiting for the doctor's to find what was wrong with it and heal it. But they had missed it, and the angel had decided that he'd waited long enough.
This child was simply one of a number of humans that he had been helping over the past few weeks, wandering the halls of hospitals and psychiatric facilities. He never healed too many in one place, for fear of attracting unnecessary attention, so Brooke forewent the motel rooms. Whenever she grew tired, Castiel would simply find them somewhere quiet and out of the way for her to sleep, somewhere outside, and he would hold her and keep her warm until she awoke. The time spent with him, recently, had felt something like a cross between their lives with Daphne, and their strange "honeymoon" after Castiel had awoken from his coma and wandered all over the Earth, staring at bees.
"He's been crying for two days," Castiel said, breaking Brooke out of her memories.
She glanced at him, then looked down at the baby. The mother stared up at them both, but didn't seem surprised by their presence. She merely nodded at Castiel. Brooke wondered if, perhaps, the mother could sense something different in Castiel, which had calmed her. Something angelic, maybe? She smiled at the thought of her husband bringing others such peace.
"The doctors missed something," Castiel explained. "It's called an inguinal hernia—very hard to detect." He reached down and touched the baby on his forehead with two fingers.
Brooke felt a small flare-up of his Grace, and then it settled again, and the baby stopped crying.
The mother smiled in joy and wonder, and then looked up at Castiel—
…
Brooke blinked a few times, suddenly feeling a little disoriented. They were way on the edge of the park, now, but Castiel had not given her any warning that he was about to teleport them. She looked up at him, quizzically, grabbing his arm as she tried to reassert her balance. Even after six years, teleportation could be a little dizzying.
"We have to go," Castiel said, his voice grave. "One of my brothers is in trouble."
"Do I know him?"
"No. His name is Samandriel. He's being held by Crowley, but I don't know exactly where…"
Brooke thought. "Sam and Dean?"
"Yes." He gripped her shoulder, looking her in the eye to make sure she was all right to teleport again, so soon. She nodded, and they were off.
###
Are you gonna wake him up? Brooke asked, silently.
They were standing there, watching Dean sleep on the couch, a half-drunk beer in his hand. He was snoring.
Castiel glanced at her, awkwardly. He's sleeping.
Yes, and you know that he hates it when you stand over him, watching him sleep. You should wake him up.
Castiel began to reach down to touch Dean on the shoulder, but the Winchester suddenly came awake on his own. He looked around, still mostly asleep, then gasped and half-lunged off of the couch, spilling beer all over himself. "Damn it, Cass," he said, putting the beer bottle down on the table harder than was necessary. "How many times I gotta tell you… it's just creepy!" He glanced at Brooke. "Why didn't you—
"I tired to get him to wake you up," she interrupted, "but he was too slow!"
Dean looked down at the beer stain on his shirt.
"Dean, I need your help," Castiel said, and explained the situation with Samandriel and Crowley. "I heard his distress call this morning," he said.
"On angel radio?" Dean asked. "I thought you shut that down."
Brooke turned to look at Castiel, the same question in her own mind. Somehow, she hadn't thought of that, before. And Castiel had made no indication before now of how he had discovered anything about Samandriel.
"My penance, it's going well," Castiel said. "So, I thought it was time to turn it back on."
Brooke raised her eyebrows. Castiel had made a semi-important decision, like turning angel radio back on, and she hadn't even noticed it? She didn't mind what he did, but it was odd to her that she had not felt his decision, considering they were mentally linked.
"I've, uh… been helping people, Dean," Castiel said, smiling like he was proud of himself—or hopeful that Dean would be proud of him. That happy puppy look.
Brooke smirked.
"Well, good for you," Dean said, standing up. "So where did Crowley take Samandriel?"
"He's in the general vicinity of Hastings, Nebraska."
"The general vicinity? That's all you got?"
"Yes," said Castiel. "Which is why I need your help. It seems this is gonna involve… talking to people." He sighed, as if the thought of speaking to a human being was aggravating.
Brooke stared at him. "What am I, chopped liver?" she demanded, though she was smiling. "I thought you needed Dean's help for something big. I can talk to people."
"Of course you can," Castiel replied, turning to her and placing a hand on her cheek. "And you're very good at it. But once we find Samandriel, we'll probably need extra back-up." And then, reacting to that tiny, tiny spark of jealousy, he kissed her, hard enough to make her feel a little floaty for a while. He pulled away and she smiled dreamily at him.
"Guys, cut the PDA," Dean complained. "I just woke up. Anyway, Cass, I thought you were a Hunter now. Brooke's right—why do you need my help, for anything?"
"Well, I thought I was, too," Castiel said. "But it seems I—I lack a certain…"
"Skill?" Dean finished, as he went over and opened his laptop. A strange sound emanated from it for just a second before he slammed the lid closed again. "You saw nothing," he said, over his shoulder.
Castiel opened his mouth, glancing over Dean's shoulder at the closed laptop confusedly, then looked away, unsure of how to respond to the command: You saw nothing. He hadn't, in fact, seen anything, so he was doubly confused.
Porn, I'm guessing, Brooke told him. Probably only reacting like that cos I'm here, and I'm a girl, and girls don't watch porn, or some bullshit like that.
Castiel looked at her. But you do watch porn.
She nodded. Exactly. It's bullshit.
Dean opened his laptop again, covering most of the screen with one hand while he shut down the obvious porn he'd been watching before he fell asleep.
Brooke rolled her eyes.
I don't understand the strange taboo nature your culture has around sex, Castiel said. Sex is a completely natural act. Every animal on Earth performs it.
Brooke shrugged. You're preaching to the choir, Cass. I don't get it, either.
"All right," Dean said, over his shoulder, apparently done fiddling around on his laptop. "What am I looking for?"
"Well," said Castiel, stepping closer to him. "When you torture an angel, it screams, and that kind of pain, it creates a ripple effect of strange incidents."
"Jesus," Brooke muttered, closing her eyes against the sudden image of Castiel being horrendously tortured.
He reached out and touched her shoulder, automatically, soothing her.
Dean began his research, and Castiel took the moments of silence to glance around. "Where's Sam?" he asked.
"Sam's gone," Dean said, in a tone of voice that suggested, strongly, he did not want to talk about it. "It's all right, we'll, uh… find Alfie ourselves." Alfie, the name of the boy that Samandriel had possessed.
The name of the human boy that was currently also being tortured by Crowley.
Brooke sighed, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. Goddamn it. Cass, we gotta find Samandriel before Crowley kills him and the kid he's possessing. I don't need another Jimmy Novak situation, here.
A twinge of guilt flooded Castiel's mind, and he quietly, solemnly, agreed with her. They had not spoken about Jimmy Novak in years, but he would never be forgotten. How could he be, when Castiel had gotten him killed, and then come back in his body, without him?
Not for the first time, Brooke glanced at Castiel and felt an uncomfortable pit in her stomach at the thought that she was sexually attracted to a man who was dead—a man who had had a wife and a daughter. Yes, she could see Castiel's true form through the vessel, but most often, now, she merely focused on the vessel, itself. Castiel's real body (if one could even call it that) was so vast that it was hard to look at for very long.
Brooke and Castiel stared sadly at one another, forgetting, momentarily, that Dean was even in the room.
###
On the drive to Nebraska, Castiel spoke, silently, to Brooke about what they might be getting themselves into, going off to rescue Samandriel.
You've been all right, recently. Still having nightmares, but you're not as… volatile.
Brooke stared at the back of his headrest as he sat in the passenger seat. You think I'm volatile? she demanded, though she was teasing.
You know what I mean, he said. My point is: we'll probably need to fight before the end of this. We may go up against Crowley, or any number of other demons. Do you think you'll be able to handle it?
Brooke sighed, folding her arms across her chest. Truthfully, she had no idea if she'd have the mental fortitude to fight anything, if it came to it.
If you can't do it, I won't think less of you, Castiel told her, gently.
I know you won't. I could kill a puppy and you'd still love me. But I may think less of myself.
Purgatory was hard for all of us, Castiel said. But… you and Dean, especially. Perhaps because you're human—I'm not sure. Look, even angels can be mentally scarred by trauma, as you well know. If you don't think you're up for this… I'd rather you didn't push yourself too far, too fast. It may cause a relapse.
Brooke sighed again. If I think I'm going too far, I'll let you know, she said. Hopefully when there's still enough time for me to back out.
And on they went, to go speak to a man about a burning bush.
###
"Mr. Hinckley?" Dean asked, knocking on the doorframe of the poor man's hospital room.
He was covered head to toe in bandages, and the parts of his face and hands exposed to the air were red and blistered. They took his statement—he seemed surprised that they wanted the exact phrasing of the words coming from the burning bush, but he gave it to them anyway:
Sol voch tay.
Brooke glanced at Castiel when she heard the words, and they simultaneously thought the same thing: Obey.
Sol voch tay was the Enochian command for Obey.
Later, Castiel explained to Dean: "The amount of pain an angel must be in not just to manifest through the shrubbery, but to burn…" He shook his head. "Dean, we have to find him before it's too late."
Dean looked at the angel, saw the absolutely serious look on his face, and then glanced down at Brooke and saw what she imagined was probably a mirror image of whatever emotion was all over Castiel's face on her own. "Okay," he said, glancing once more between the two of them. "Okay, well, look. A sign like that—Alfie can't be too far, right? So, we'll just start at the bush and work our way out."
"And look for what, exactly?" Castiel asked. "Crowley could have him anywhere."
"Well, if I know Crowley, the place will be swarming with demons. So, we'll just drive 'til we see ugly."
###
They found the factory where Samandriel was being kept, but it was protected by a hoard of demons, as well as angel warding. Without Sam—whom Dean really did not want to get involved in this—they wouldn't be much of a match if they went into to try to rescue the angel as they were.
So, Dean got the idea to go see Kevin.
When Castiel teleported them inside Garth's safe-houseboat, Brooke stared around at the walls, the floor… The place looked trashed.
And so did Kevin. He was hunched over a Word of God, staring at it as if he couldn't really read it. Brooke thought he looked a little high on something, but she figured the something was just… the effort it took to translate the tablet.
"Slow read?" Dean asked him.
Kevin, who hadn't seemed to notice when they'd whooshed inside, finally sat up and turned in his chair. "Slowest," he said.
"Where's Garth?" Dean looked around, as if expecting the man to pop out from behind a corner.
"Supply run?" Kevin said, turning back to the table and putting his arms up on it like he could barely hold his head up. "I don't know. Sort of lost track of when he comes and goes." He turned and looked over the chair again. "You guys need help with something? I'm working, here."
"You look horrible," said Castiel.
Brooke closed her eyes, trying not to laugh. "Cass…" she muttered. "Could ya have some tact?"
"Yeah," said Kevin, to Castiel. "Thanks."
Cass glanced at Brooke, who was giving him a Can you not? look. He cleared his throat. "S-Sorry," he said.
"He's right," Dean piped up. "Are you okay, Kevin?"
Kevin nodded, leaning over the tablet, staring down at it. "Fine. I'm just… in the middle of this."
"And? Any luck?"
"Interpreting half a demon tablet? No. I got nothing."
Brooke stared sadly at Kevin's back. He sounded so… defeated. She couldn't imagine being stuck in this gross houseboat day after day… staring at a tablet, and trying to read the words while they continuously moved around and around on the stone.
Dean turned and glanced back at Castiel and Brooke, sharing a look of concern. "All right, well," he said, facing Kevin again and clapping his hands together. "Buck up, 'cos, uh, we need some more of the at demon TNT, ASAP."
Kevin turned in his char and stared up at Dean like he was lecturing a petulant child. "You used it all?"
"Yeah, so let's whip up another batch."
"Sure," said Kevin, voice dripping sarcasm. "West Bank witch hazel, skull of Egyptian calf, the tail of some random-ass newt that may or may not be extinct—
"All right, all right, I get it," Dean cut in, as Kevin's voice began to rise in anger. "Ingredients are hard to come by, huh?"
"That's just the first three ingredients," Kevin spat.
Castiel glanced at Brooke out of the corner of his eye, suddenly overcome with a feeling of relief. He seemed to… step into himself a little more. He approached Dean and Kevin, with one of those smiles he did where he was really only smiling with his eyes, his lips hardly lifting at all. A smug smile—that's what it was. Because he knew he could be useful. "Give me the list; I'll get what we need."
Brooke stared at Castiel like she wanted to fuck him right there, just for that smug smile, the way he stood taller, the way his wings—invisible to all but her—shuffled slightly on his shoulders in anticipation of unfurling, to teleport. He was the only one among them with wings, and she could sense his eagerness to use them.
Kevin, on the other hand, stared at the angel like he wished they had never met. Then he sighed, heavily, threw his body across the table, and began to write down the list of ingredients they would need.
Brooke began to feel sorry for him again, but then she felt Castiel's eyes on her. She looked up at him. He was smiling at her with that smug look, his eyes twinkling.
She raised her eyebrows at him in a silent question, but all he would say was, Not yet.
Kevin finished writing the list of ingredients and ripped the page out of his notebook, hand it to Castiel with a sulk. The angel took it, glanced at it, and then turned to Brooke, offering her his hand.
"You want me to go?" she asked, surprised. She figured this sort of thing would be better handled on his own, since he'd be teleporting all over the place, looking for things.
"Yes," he said, simply, and his face was strangely passive.
Squinting at him, she hesitated, and then took his hand. She did not even have a chance to look around at where they were, after he had teleported them away, because he was suddenly kissing her. She inhaled, sharply, in surprise, but did not pull away. She wrapped her arms around his neck.
When he finally pulled back from her, she said, "What was that for?"
He pressed his forehead against hers, and chuckled—a rare sound, and one she relished. "You know, Crowley once told me I had sex appeal."
She stared at him. "He did?"
"Yes, back when I was… working with him."
Brooke laughed. "Well, if he ever tries to hit on you, I'm gonna kick him in the nuts."
Castiel's eyes were twinkling again. "I'd like to see that," he murmured. "My point was: I kissed you for constantly reminding me that he wasn't lying to me."
She laughed again. "Listen, with me, you know you're hot. But with everyone else, you are… the really socially awkward hot guy at the party, who doesn't know that he's hot. And all the girls are flocking to you, but you sort of just stand there in the corner, smiling shyly at all of them, and don't realize that they all wanna bang you."
Castiel raised his eyebrows. "All of them?"
"Oh, yeah. All of them. Most people might not know you're an angel, but they know something's up. You radiate… confidence? Badassery? But you do it… quietly."
The angel looked at nothing in particular, over Brooke's left shoulder, and he smiled a little. Then he said, "I need to get the ingredients."
"Right," she agreed.
And off they went.
The grossest ingredient, by far, was the skull of the Egyptian calf. Brooke did not watch when Castiel went to procure that one, and she didn't look in the sack he was carrying afterwards, either. It took about forty-five minutes to teleport around, looking for all the ingredients, and Brooke was thoroughly nauseous by the time they were done. The smell coming from that sack…
Castiel placed a hand on her shoulder, looking at her with pitying eyes. He activated the Grace inside him as he held onto her, and she felt her nausea pass.
"Thanks," she said, keeping her eyes, firmly, anywhere besides the sack he was holding.
"We have one more stop," he said.
She blinked, and they were sitting on a bench in a park somewhere. Someone beside Castiel, on the bench, made a shocked, gasping noise. Brooke bent forward to see who it was, and immediately nodded. It was Sam. Castiel had come to get Sam. Dean won't be happy about this, she warned him.
He'll get over it, Castiel growled. He leaned forward, resting his arms on knees, and stared around at all the people in the park, saying to Sam, "Watching humanity… It never gets old, does it?"
"What are you two doing here?" Sam asked, not sounding particularly happy to see them. He glanced down at the sack in Castiel's hand, looking queasy.
Castiel quietly explained the situation with Samandriel. "We need your help, Sam," he ended. "We need all the help we can get."
Sam sighed, heavily, rubbed his face with his hands, and said, "Fine."
With only one free hand, Castiel silently told Brooke to take hold of him. She did so. He grabbed Sam's arm, and teleported them back to Dean and Kevin, in the houseboat.
"I got what we need," Castiel said, and began to rustle his hand around in the sack.
Brooke stepped away from him, covering her nose.
Dean looked up, and stared at Sam. "What's he doin' here?" he demanded.
"Don't worry, Dean," Sam piped up. "Once we save Alfie, I'm out."
"Oh, once we save Alfie," Dean snapped. "Don't hurt yourself, Sam. Cass and Brooke and I can handle it."
"Not according to Cass."
Dean looked at the angel. "I told you we didn't need him."
Castiel paused in his rustling, and stared up at Dean in irritation. "We need everything, Dean," he said, and his stare lingered on the Winchester for a moment. Then he turned and looked between the two brothers, and said, like a tired father, "And I need both of you, as you say, to stow your crap. Can you do that?"
Brooke turned away, smiling. Castiel was exceptionally attractive when he was angry.
But now that they all the ingredients for the demon bombs, and Sam was back in the picture, Brooke—also—had to stow her crap. Though, in her case, it was burying the feelings of desire she had for her husband.
For now.