A/N: Okay, its 1 o clock in the morning and I'm posting chapter 5...can you say addicted? O.O
I guess I just LOVE writing this story 'cause of all you amazing reviewers – so glad you guys are enjoying this, I never thought I'd get one review let alone 23! :')
So, this here is chapter 5. There's a reference to Doris Day in here that I couldn't not put in 'cause I could so imagine Dean saying it, lolz – but if ya don't understand it, basically Doris Day is now a recluse and once starred in an [awesome] musical called Calamity Jane...and that's all you really need to know.. ;P
Enjoy!
Chapter Five
Doris Day
Dean is on the phone to Bobby as soon as the motel room door shuts.
He orders Sammy to do his thing with the laptop and flips open his cell, dialling the older hunter's number – they've only ever dealt with low-level angels before and somehow Dean doesn't think the same rules apply to Big Bird and others of his kind. If anyone will know of a way to temporarily toast an archangel though, its Bobby. If not, Dean's sure he has the resources to find out; the man's got books practically spilling outta his windows.
Logically, Dean knows the only way to free Castiel is to make Raphael go poof. It would be pointless to waste time trying to break those creepy sigils because then they're still faced with the problem of the damn pendant with Cas's grace in it. Dean also knows that if he were to try to snatch the pendant while Raphael's sleeping – or some other Cartoon Network shit - he might as well blow all his spare cash on his own funeral expenses beforehand. So yeah, the only possible solution is to deep fry the bastard and hope the pendant with Cas's Grace in it gets left behind when Raphael takes a trip into nothingness.
Bobby picks up on the second ring and Dean explains the situation to him as Sam turns on his laptop and gets to Googling.
When Bobby asks about the archangel, Sam sees his brother's jaw twitch as he relays the information he knows. "Some feather brain called Raphael. Apparently he's close to the big guy with a beard in the ranking system."
Bobby whistles down the phone, "No kiddin'. He's practically sat on Daddy's knee, s'one powerful son of a bitch. You got your work cut out for you here boys - gonna take more'n the usual deep fried angel routine."
Just as expected, Dean thinks bitterly.
"How much more we talkin' here Bobby?"
"Don't know for sure just yet. Good news is: angel lore says you can trap an archangel using the standard holy ring of fire."
Dean's perks up a little at this, at least they have something to go on until Bobby gets back to them with a solid method of disappearing the feathered bastard. He thanks him and clicks the phone shut.
When Castiel wakes up the next morning and goes to clean the bells he's pleasantly surprised to see that his reflection is as sharp as Raphael's angel sword. Smiling for the first time in a very, very long time, the angel goes over to the sink as sees two rags underneath that have been rinsed, rung out and placed neatly in the bucket along with the other cleaning supplies. There's also a note been left and Castiel reaches down and plucks it from the side of the bucket where it had been stuck and read the scrappy scrawl.
Hey Feathers,
Figured you could use a hand (or 4) with making that monster of a bell shine.
Dont mention it,
Dean.
p.s. Sam has OCD – he just had to tidy up your cleaning supplies. Damn neat freak.
An alien sound escapes Castiel lips as he reads the note, one that makes his heart feel a little lighter but also one that he's never heard himself make before and so he does not know that he is laughing when he lifts the loose floorboard and places the note carefully in the side pocket of the black bag.
Its only early and Castiel has no work; he thinks he has about 3 hours before Raphael arrives to give him his next assignment and so he tries to think of things to do. He could get some more sleep, Father knows he needs as much as he can get, but his brain isn't complying and he feels too vivacious for sleep. He supposes he could go over the other bells but that would almost certainly be pointless, he's spent almost the entire day on them yesterday making sure they were to Raphael's standards.
For a moment he is stuck, stood in the middle of the room, teeth worrying his bottom lip and then his feet are carrying him to his desk before he can realise what he is about to do. He sits, pulls off the sheet and looks at his miniature city, thinking of how empty it seems without its two very real new additions.
It is a further hour and a half when he is finished with his miniature Sam and Dean and is now faced with the dilemma of where to place them; he does not know where they live, or if indeed they live in the city at all. They had said they were hunters; it is not implausible to think that they hop from town to town, residing in each on a temporary basis. Castiel's thumb is at his lips – his thinking pose – as he debates whether or not to situate them in the bell tower with himself. He has known them less than 24 hours and it seems strange to consider them friends just yet, Castiel has never had a friend and so of course he is wary of these two brothers that seem too kind to be true. But they had cleaned Emmanuel, assisted him with his assignment without him even knowing and Dean had cleaned his wound and handled him with such care, such tenderness that Castiel had never known and so to deny them the distinction of being considered his friend seems extremely rude to Castiel. He picks miniature Sam up first and places him next to his favourite bell in the tower, just to the left of miniature Castiel who is stood, wings unfurled, in front of Emmanuel. When he picks up miniature Dean he hold onto him for a while, slender fingers roaming the contours of his face, tracing the lines of the arrogant expression that the angel had carved and painted into his face – it seemed fitting that Dean would have that expression, throughout their encounter yesterday Castiel had observed the older brother and come to the conclusion that Dean Winchester was what a human would call a "smart-ass". He smiles fondly as he places the figure next to the figure of himself, a mere millimetre away from miniature Castiel's right wing.
It's dark out when Dean parks the Impala underneath a large elm tree just short of the cathedral. He kills the engine and just sits there for a minute gathering his thoughts. He had told Sammy he was gonna wait til tomorrow to do this and that he was gonna take his lanky brother with him but Dean just couldn't wait. So he's made up some lame excuse about needing some air and going to get beers for his Dr Sexy marathon. Of course he knew Sam didn't buy it but he didn't much care, in fact, it meant he wouldn't have to explain the disappearance of the lime green plastic bag that was currently sat on the passenger seat staring Dean down. He sighs, snatches the bag up and gets out of the car.
Having every intention of going in the same way that he did the previous day, through the mighty oak door, up the dust infected steps, Dean doesn't consider the possibility that it may be locked and so feels like shooting himself when he realises he didn't bring his lock picking kit. He doesn't give up though, tries his best with an old hair pin he keeps on him for situations like this but the attempt is futile, there's just no damn way he's opening that lock without specialist equipment. He curses – loudly – then decides that he's come all this way and tried so hard with that damn useless hairpin which is now misshapen on the ground from Dean's immature action of stamping on it, so nothing is stopping him from getting in that bell tower, nothing.
Keeping to the shadows he begins to make his way over to the other side of the tower with the very frail hope that whoever built this place had a thing for symmetry and there's a matching door on the other side. No dice though, alls that's on the other side is a rope dangling from the balcony and Dean almost gives up until something occurs to him.
Wait! Dean's mind screams at him, Come on Dean-o we can use this, just scale the building using the rope and voila, were at the top and Cas's is window is officially our own personal cat flap.
Dean doesn't know when his mind had started talking to him like it was a separate entity from him but, okay, he'll take it, 'cause him mind is genius. With that thought, and another that tells him that this is a freaking ridiculous idea 'cause the last time he abseiled was at summer camp and that was not a good experience, he grips the rope and begins the climb to Cas's window.
God, could this be any gayer? It's like a freakin' warped version of Rapunzel.
Paris is particularly noisy tonight.
Through the slightly open window Castiel can hear the happy cheers of the townspeople, merry from the red wines and champagnes they consumed over their evening meals eaten in fancy restaurants, with warm lighting and romantic candles and soft music buzzing in the background, the likes of which the angel has never experienced.
He pulls the thin blanket up to his chin and turns on his side, back pressed to the wall, pillow placed firmly over his ears. He can still hear but somehow just the notion that he is making an effort to ignore the soundtrack of Paris's nightlife makes him feel a little better and after a short while the noises fade into a distant hum and unconsciousness creeps up on him, sympathetic, like death to the suffering.
It is not long before he is woken. Though it is not due to his impeccably accurate internal body clock (it is still dark) but rather a soft scraping sound of glass on stone. Bolting upright Castiel allows his wings to spread, stiffen, feathers bristled and he listens.
Someone is trying to get in.
Cautiously and quietly he rises from his bed, leaves the flimsy sheet to fall to the floor and tip toes across the space between his bed and Emmanuel, hides in the shadow of his favourite bell, waits. He focuses his ears on that particular spot in the tower, the place he knows the intruder to be. More scraping can be heard, followed by a wet slashing sound, silence, and then nothing more happens. Castiel dares to go further, breath held firmly in place at the back of his throat as his feet pass over the floorboards, smoothing over the creaks.
He slithers his way round the huge obstructing pillar and takes to the shadowed side of the corridor, moving slow but swift towards nearing corner which will lead him to his window.
He hears whispers. Castiel stops, listens with Grace enhanced hearing, heart thumping thick in his breast.
"Mother...fuck-shit-sonofabitch!"
The curses are hushed but by no means any less passionate and Castiel feels relief flood through him and another emotion that is all too overwhelming pool in his stomach.
Dean.
"What are you doing here?"
Dean freezes in his action of wiping at his jeans and lifts his head, widened green eyes shining with the light of the moon gazing at Castiel.
"Uh, hi Cas..."
The angel blinks.
"Hello Dean." Silence.
"What are you doing here?" Castiel repeats, his eyebrows overly crumpled, for that truly is the question. Castiel cannot help but be utterly baffled at this late night visit, has a hard enough time comprehending the daytime visit Dean and Sam made yesterday when they talked and helped and cleaned.
But this. Castiel's socially virginal brain truly does not understand.
"Figured you could do with a few hours the out-of-this-world Dean Winchester experience. What with you being all Doris Day an all..."
Dean words trail off and he looks at Castiel's unchanged expression, his words immediately picking up a completely different trail, "...but I guess I figured wrong. I, yeah, I think I'll just take my leave right about now and go shimmy down this here rope..."
Dean is babbling as he turns to remove the window pane that has only just been replaced.
Castiel steps forward and lays a hand on his shoulder, he stills.
"No, please, stay. I merely did not understand your reference. Dean, what is a Dorisday?" He pronounces it like you would Sunday or Monday, his expression telling Dean that the angel is contemplating the possibility of their being an eighth day of the week and the hunter laughs affectionately and squashes down the urge to ruffle Cas's hair at the expression on his face as he explains that Doris Day is not a 'what?' but a 'who?'.
"I think I would very much like to watch Calamity Jane," the angel concludes after further explanation on Dean's part and widening of curious blue orbs on Castiel's. It figures that the reclusive (not by choice but, still) angel would be into musicals.
Dean chuckles, "Maybe one day Sammy will borrow you his DVD - Special 50th Anniversary Edition, 2 Disc."
Castiel is back to looking confused again but it doesn't last very long because he catches sight of the dark liquid stain on Dean's hand and remembers that he had been pressing said hand firmly against the place above the knee of his right leg when Castiel found him and hasn't moved it since.
"You're hurt!" He is fussing over Dean in a heartbeat, eyes wide, hands batting Deans own out of the way as he examines his leg. The angel doesn't hear his manly protests of indifference and being "just peachy" that are said through pain induced gritted teeth because he is talking over him and asking him if he can walk on it and Dean's protests die down as he replies defeatedly that no, he doesn't think he can.
Cas floats off with a promised BRB and goes all Dr. Angel on him, telling Dean to keep his hand pressed firmly against his wound and not to move it. Dean doesn't tell the angel that, yeah, he knows what to do 'cause he's been a freaking hunter since the womb and is used to injuries such as these - though usually ones inflicted by bad-ass demons and bitch witches with attitudes.
Naw, he doesn't say it 'cause, secretly? Dean likes the fussing.
Not that he would ever admit that, he'd key the side of his baby before ever admitting that. At least he thinks that's how it would go down.
Cas is back within seconds, a flurry of black wings which seem to be even more ruffled now that he is worried and he drapes Dean's arm round his shoulders and helps Dean hobble down the corridor and over to the bed.
"How did it happen?" he asks as he presses a cloth to Dean's leg to stem the bleeding and said hunter tries his best to stifle to gasp of pain that shoots up his throat.
"Caught it on a rusty nail on the way up..."
Castiel sighs, all heavenly breath blowing in Dean's face and says that "he needs to be more careful" and "why on earth is he here anyway?"
Dean shakes the green bag in front of the angel's face. "Brought you some supplies."
Castiel does his wide-eyed gazing thing for a while then, just stares into Dean's eyes for forever before it gets uncomfortable and Dean clears his throat and gestures to his leg to draw the angel's attention from his reddening face. It is hurting like a bitch, to be fair.
"Oh," Castiel looks down, "I apologize."
He sets his hands on Dean's leg and closes his eyes and Dean's face morphs into a wft? expression as Cas just sits there, eyes shut, breathing all deep like he's doing a weird sort of meditation, which maybe he is but Dean doesn't see how that's gonna help the situation.
"Uh Cas..." Castiel shushes him with a raised finger and Dean waits.
It a few seconds later that Dean's supposedly genius brain catches on. Cas is lighting up like a Christmas tree, freakin' glowing, looking all heaven-sent and holy and glorious and Dean realises that his feathered friend is healing him with his Grace and a wave of pure gratitude washes through him.
Then Cas lets go of his leg and Dean is amazed to find that, though there is a tear in his jeans and a great big blood stain there isn't a scratch on him. He's turns, grin in place, to thank the angel but stops short when he sees the poor guy practically passed out, head leaning against the frame of the bed. Dean figures that must have taken a lot out of him which makes him feel a helluva lot guilty but still a helluva lot grateful.
He slides his arms around Cas's waist and hauls the feather light – no pun intended – angel onto his bed and for the second time in two days he tucks the blanket under his chin and sweeps his hands through Cas's surreally soft hair.
Dean leaves the green bag on Cas's desk on his way out figuring the angel can thank him for it tomorrow, 'cause, yeah, Dean will be back.
