Disclaimer, timeframe, summary: see first chapter.

In the Wake of Angels: Part IV

Of course, it hadn't been Castiel that Jimmy had seen, just a hallucination, one which he screamed himself hoarse at. After that, he watched his wife die, and then his daughter once again. Sam and Dean did what they could, which wasn't much more than preventing him from physically harming himself further.

Sam's heart was breaking for Jimmy, no question about it; he could remember the havoc that a tortured and twisted subconscious could wreak when spurred on by something like substance withdrawal. And adding to Jimmy's ordeal was a physical element that Sam hadn't had to go through; it seemed that whenever his hallucinations paused long enough for them to all catch their breath, Jimmy was back in the bathroom, puking air. It didn't seem that he was going to get any sort of a break at all. And in this manner, the hours of the day crawled slowly by.

When the sun had long been set and they'd gone through all the rations of candy bars and cereal kept in their motel room, Dean left to bring back supplies from the 24-hour convenience store down the road. It wasn't that Sam was too tired to drive, even though he was going two days without sleep-- no, he just didn't feel right leaving Jimmy with Dean. No matter how much Dean could sympathize with him, he didn't have a prayer of really getting it like Sam did. That was something Sam was glad of. It wasn't a fun club to hold a membership in.

For now Jimmy was out cold; he'd fallen asleep on the floor of the bathroom and Sam had carried him out to a bed as gently as he could manage. Now, sweating and moaning, Jimmy slept, though Sam knew he probably found no rest from the horrible images there either. Sam sat on the other bed, leaning against the headboard, long legs pulled to his chest, and tried to stay awake. It was something he'd gotten used to from a very early age: forcing his eyes open for unnaturally long periods of time, staying alert when every muscle screamed for rest and his hands literally shook with tiredness. Despite that, though, when he jolted awake at a knock on the door, he knew he had drifted off. Damn. What would the consequences of his inattentiveness be? Not that he could have known of the approach of someone to the door. But if he was about to fight, any sort of residual sluggishness in his reactions, even by a split second, could spell disaster.

But, what kind of disaster knocked at the door? His list of acquaintances was short: Dean had a key, Bobby and Travis were across the county, and Castiel was… well, somewhere. Possibly across the universe. And no demon or other manner of hell creature would knock. So who? Was it possible that it was, for once, just a human-- a manager come to complain about the screaming from before, a late night pizza delivery kid with the wrong room number?

Yeah, right.

Shaking off his drowsiness, his whole body tense, Sam approached the door and pressed an eye to the peephole. Standing at his door was what appeared to be a human, but it certainly wasn't a motel manager or a pizza person. Illuminated by the light fixture by the door was a woman, young and with short dark hair, clad in jeans and an olive green shirt. She stood still and expectant, obviously not going to make the first move.

"Yes?" Sam called, hoping he could be heard through the door.

"Sam Winchester," the woman said. Something about her voice was familiar, though Sam couldn't immediately place it.

"Who are you?"

The woman looked up at the peephole, meeting his eye. "I am Castiel."

Something deep in Sam's gut consented to this immediately and unexpectedly, but his logical, operative side was not going to let a stranger in that easily. "If you're Castiel, why are you using the door?"

"I didn't want to startle you with my new vessel. May I come in now?"

So what, maybe a spirit that needed permission to enter? Or a demon that did? "Tell me the name of your last vessel's wife."

Was he being paranoid, or did 'Castiel' pause before answering? "Amelia."

Sam searched his mind for another question, surprised how few occurred to him in the spur of the moment. "What did you call me the first time I met you?"

"The boy with the demon blood."

"What… what mark did you leave on Dean when you pulled him out of Hell?"

"My handprint burned into his left upper arm. If you intend to use it for comparison, I warn you: it was more of a symbolic phenomenon."

"What did you… uh...?" Sam faltered.

"Sam," the woman cut him off. "I'm coming in whether you invite me or not."

Sam fished around for another question, but the woman was looking expectantly up at the peephole. There was something about her, Sam admitted… something in the dry cadence of her voice that made it believable. And after all, he'd seen Castiel in another body before. Sam opened the door and stepped back.

The woman stepped into the room and glanced about, taking in her surroundings. "Where's Dean?" Sam said nothing. "How's Jimmy?" At the silence, the woman turned, and was greeted by an unceremonious dousing of holy water.

It had no affect on her, nor did she react with anger, merely wiping it out of her eyes before speaking. "You still don't believe me?"

Sam's neck twitched, but he wasn't sure if he was about to nod or shake his head. He gritted his teeth instead. "If you're Cas, tell me. What happened?"

The woman sighed. "The demons attacked me with their blood. Jimmy could no longer host me with tainted blood in his system. I was… forced out. I located another vessel and returned as soon as I could. Where's Dean?"

Dean. Good. Sam hadn't thought of that: Dean would be returning any minute now. He'd be much better able than Sam to judge the accuracy of the woman's claim.

As though on cue, the doorknob rattled. The woman stepped away, giving it room, having come no more than two steps forward during her explanation. Dean entered, plastic bag handles looped around one wrist, and froze. He glanced between Sam and the newcomer, confusion in his eyes, but then the unasked question of who the hell died on his lips. Instead, he frowned slightly, as though the lighting had changed, and asked, "Cas?"

Well. Sam supposed that was enough for him. He eased his finger off the trigger of the gun hidden in his pocket and let his muscles relax, glancing over at Dean, who conversely seemed to be tensing up. He was looking at the woman-- at Castiel-- like he didn't quite know what to do with her, like maybe he wanted to touch her, make sure she was real.

"You're a chick," he said at last. "Cas… you're a girl."

"My new vessel is a woman, yes."

"Why?"

Castiel cocked her head to the side, a familiar habit that looked odd in this new body. "Hers was the most compatible."

Dean just stared again, for a long, awkward moment. "What's her name?" He said finally.

"Jeanette Murphy."

"So Jimmy's completely off the table?"

"That remains to be seen," Castiel said vaguely, glancing over at her former vessel with an unreadable look in her eyes.

"Right. Okay. Well," Dean said, shaking himself off and turning to Sam. "Freaky angel stuff aside, if Jimmy's set for now I think it's time to eat." He held up the bags, a small, expectant smile on his face.

***

In the past few months, they'd learned to have Castiel around almost constantly, in the same way they'd (re-)learned four years ago to spend almost every waking minute together. Still, Castiel's new body made things strange again, and Sam wished for a distraction from the uncomfortable silence in which they ate.

Nothing came. Instead, he used the time to compare new Castiel to the older model. He'd done the same when Ruby had switched bodies, although in that case there hadn't been many similarities to speak of. This time there were a few: Castiel's new body had the same blue eyes, the same dark hair that was too short to classify as straight or wavy. Like Jimmy, she was of average height-- maybe slightly on the short side-- and average build.

Except, you know… for a girl.

But in the details, there were no similarities to be found. Jeanette Murphy was delicate, with a small nose, small lips and large, round eyes. Her cheekbones were high and narrow and her chin ended in a smooth point. There was none of the roughness, the angles, that Sam had come to associate with Castiel but which he supposed rightfully belonged to Jimmy. Still, it didn't seem right. Jeanette was the image of an angel that Sam would have conjured a year ago, back when angels wore halos and white robes and belonged on Hallmark cards and distant realities, not in real life. Before he'd met them, and learned that in truth, they were soldiers. Castiel now was everything he'd wanted an angel to be, and it was hard to remember that inside was the same cold, stern prick that had been saving their asses and giving them grief for well over a year now.

Or was it? In the past few months, something had seemed different about Castiel-- he'd been different, softer. More… human? Now that he was a she, this new gentility seemed all the most pronounced, although maybe it was just because of her newly tender face.

"Jimmy's awake," Dean said quietly, breaking Sam out of his reverie. Sam turned. Jimmy was indeed stirring, pushing himself up slowly, drowsily. Sam was at his side in a flash.

"Jimmy? You with us?"

The question seemed to puzzle him, and for a moment Sam's heart sank to think that the man still wasn't lucid. But then Jimmy nodded, exhaling slowly, and Sam grinned with relief. "How are you feeling?"

"Hungry," Jimmy slurred, and Sam laughed giddily. "Like, still nauseous, but really hungry." He sat up fully, looking around the room, his eyes falling immediately on the new arrival. "Castiel?" He guessed.

"Hello, Jimmy."

"So I really am last year's model now, huh?"

Castiel blinked like she didn't know how to reply. Instead she turned to Dean. "I'll be back soon. I need to… regroup. Find Anna. See if I missed anything this past day."

"Okay. Well, you know where we'll be." Sam could tell that Dean was about to say something more, but Jimmy's weak voice cut him off.

"Castiel?" All eyes turned to the bed. "While you're out and about, please check on my family." Jimmy's eyes were solemn and sad, his voice meek and helpless. "I'm not gonna try what I did last time, promise… I know I can't see them. But please look in on them for me?"

Castiel nodded. "I will." And then, she was gone.

Jimmy turned back to Sam. "Any food left?" He asked hopefully.

***

It had been a day since Castiel had fled Jimmy's body, a day spent cooped up in a dank, faceless motel room waiting for Jimmy to detox from his brief foray with demon blood. Midnight had once again come and gone and it was Friday, Dean thought, not that such things mattered very much to a hunter. Jimmy and Sam had both drifted off and Dean knew that he should sleep as well, but he couldn't close his eyes. Cas was a woman now? How was that for a curveball? He-- she-- was even kind of hot… in a meek, bible-study sort of way. This was too much. Too crazy. He sighed, the cracks in the ceiling blurring before his tired eyes. He stretched his legs out as far as he could, stopping when his feet pressed against the arm of the sofa, and relaxed again, trying to think sleepy thoughts. What sort of sleepy thoughts did he know of in his life, though? Honestly.

He rolled over, back to the room now, and forcefully shut his eyes. It seemed, though, that no rest would come. So he sat back up, staring listlessly over at the far bed, where Jimmy was splayed out under the sheets. How desperately he wanted… what? For Jimmy to sit up, be Cas again? For things to go back to the way they were? Dean knew that the body didn't really matter, but still, talking to girl Castiel, looking into her blue eyes, it was wrong. Too much green and not enough grey. He just wanted the old Cas back. His Cas back.

Though Dean did not realize it, he fell asleep thinking of Castiel.

And he awoke, as well, to the angel, although this time it was version 2.0. The newly thin, newly female voice called his name quietly and he shot up, surprised to see full daylight outside. "Dean," Castiel said again. "I must speak with you."

"What's wrong?" Dean demanded, instantly awake, because it was easy to tell that something was.

"Outside. Please," Castiel requested, obviously distressed. But though they kept their voices low, Sam and Jimmy were awake now too.

"What's going on?" Sam asked, at the same time Jimmy asked, "Did you see them?"

"Please," Castiel repeated. "I must speak to Dean alone." Dean understood instinctively that Jimmy's presence was the problem, not Sam's, and was surprised when it seemed that Jimmy did too.

"Nu-uh," he growled. "I'm in on this too, Cas, you brought me in. Whatever you say to them, I can hear."

"I don't think that's wise," Castiel replied smoothly, but Dean shook his head.

"Go on, Cas. He's right."

Something passed across Castiel's face; if Dean hadn't known better, he would have called it genuine pain. "Claire and Amelia Novak," she said slowly, "are dead."

Silence fell over the room; Dean could have sworn that his heart stopped for a moment, finding its own beat offensively loud. He could feel Sam's eyes turn on him, but he couldn't look away from Castiel's face.

And then time caught up to them, and Jimmy had Castiel in a strangle hold, pinning her roughly up against the wall and howling like a man possessed.