The Water

Ch 7


The plan wasn't going to work. He realized that it wasn't going to work the moment the Doctor suggested it. Frankly, the plan was rather irrational. But he knew that the Doctor wouldn't listen, that he always had to at least try and make things right by himself (he didn't know how he knew, but he had a feeling it was because he knew someone else who was very similar), so he kept his mouth shut. Pretended to agree, made token protest, and ensured that Bristoll and Alex were on the same side of the door as he was. Cas leaned over and whispered in Bristoll's ear.

"When the Leviathan comes in, grab John and Alex's arms." The Detective looked at Cas as though he was now completely sure that the angel belonged in a mental ward.

"I assure you it is completely necessary." Bristoll grumbled, but didn't protest too loudly.

The Leviathan stormed into the room, a grin spreading on its face as it looked around the room. Before it could sink its foul claws into any of their group, Cas grabbed onto Alex's arm, glancing around the boy to make sure that Bristoll had grabbed the other one, and teleported.

They were in a closet. Cas sighed, of course they were in a closet. It would be totally ludicrous for him to even consider that they would appear in someplace dignified…or at least someplace with an easy escape route. Really, he didn't know why he even expected things to be simple anymore.

"Where are we?" The Doctor asked, looking quite composed considering the situation. Cas looked around, and was thankful for his angelic eyesight. Otherwise, he would not have been able to see Bristoll's…discombobulated…expression.

"I believe we are in a supply closet."

"I think a better question is why we're in a goddamn supply closet, if you ask me." Bristoll said.

"I teleported you here. It was that or be eaten by the Leviathan." Cas said calmly. Really, was it that difficult to figure out? The Doctor frowned.

"So you didn't want to follow the plan? Why didn't you just say so?" Cas sighed.

"I did. You didn't listen. Not that I expected you to."

"So you went behind my back?"

"It is the only way to get people such as yourself to listen."

"And where did you get that impression?

Castiel released a slow, steady breath. Crowley was finally gone. The Principality had thought it was impossible to be so thoroughly disgusted with a person as he was with the British Demon (after all, he had kept calm when witnessing the atrocities committed in Hell), but he was being proven wrong every day.

He had been meeting with the "King of the Crossroads" for ten months, and he could feel the strain of his complicity with the demon building in his chest like it was something alive and malevolent. Every time he saw the Winchesters now, he had this urge to just tell them everything, to call the whole plan off and simply focus on trying to stop it.

He never did.

The reason for his silence had changed many times over the past ten months. First, it was because he thought Sam was dead and Dean had the happy life he always wanted. Then, it was simply because they were so busy trying to get Sam put back together again that there was simply no time. After a while, he had developed this desire to complete the plan on his own, to save the world independently of the brothers. To prove himself. That was before the war with Raphael had taken a turn for the worse and he had decided against dragging the brothers into a mess that wasn't theirs would be cruel.

Now, though, he honestly didn't give a fuck. He hated his plan. It was amoral (at best) from the start. The only reason he had lowered himself so far as to participate in it was because there was no other option. Besides, it wasn't like he could have stopped anyway: even if he retracted his assistance, Crowley had the supplies necessary to open Purgatory on his own, and a demon with all the souls in Purgatory in his grasp was not something Castiel could abide by.

It was then that he realized the real reason why he couldn't tell the Winchesters of his plan. They would never agree to help him, would insist on some convoluted scheme that didn't involve "getting into bed with a demon" and would inevitably fail and lead to one or both of them dying. They had a penchant for those schemes. It didn't matter how much he argued his case, or how much he pointed out that there was no other option, they wouldn't ever agree with him. So he would just have to guide Sam and Dean into following his plan without telling them. He would tell them about the plan on the eve of its fruition, when even they could not believe that there was another option.

It was really the only way to get people such as them to listen.

Cas blinked, clearing the cobwebs of memory from his eyes. Purgatory. He dimly remembered the plan to open it, and he hadn't remembered anything about Crowley aside from his voice. The only thing that he really recognized was Dean, and the other young man from the library. At least now he has a name for him. It had felt so wrong not knowing Sam's name.

The Plan, as he mentally decided to refer to it, wasn't one of his greater moments. In that instance, perhaps restraining from seeking assistance was unwise. This time was different. This time it was his companion who had come up with the ridiculous scheme, not him. Still, the parallel was unnerving.

It was then that Castiel realized the Doctor was still staring at him, waiting for an answer. He had probably been waiting for quite a while, judging by the irritated expression Bristoll was sporting.

"Some friends of mine." Cas averted his eyes from the Doctor.

"Ah." The Doctor said. There was silence in the supply closet.


A/N: Sorry that this chapter was a whole lot of filler. I was gonna have more action, but then Castiel was all "BUT I WANNA ANGST!1111!" I have the next chapter planned (and mostly written), so you won't have to wait too long for an update.