Disclaimer, timeframe, summary: see first chapter.

In the Wake of Angels: Part VI

Jeanette Murphy was used to doing things out of necessity. When her parents had died, she had wanted to do nothing more than curl up and die herself, but she pulled herself out of bed to school and work, knowing that now it was entirely up to her to create a life for herself. Now she was learning to be the vessel of an angel, because she didn't really have any other choice.

It was difficult, but not impossible; nothing was impossible, not anymore. She had slowly, with determination, taught herself to close her inner eyes, block out the images from the outside world and doze, lost in a sort of meditation. The movements of her body affected her no more than the movements of a car affected a child sleeping inside it. It was in this fashion that she passed the majority of her time, unaware, unconnected, half-alive.

Occasionally, though, the car ride would get too bumpy-- Castiel's movements of her body too violent, too terrifying-- and she couldn't sleep; the best she could do was lose herself in memories and try to ignore what was happening, although this was the closest thing to impossible that she could imagine. Castiel fought demons, she soon learned-- occupied her body like a soldier in a tank, controlling her arms to punch, legs to run, voice to spew Latin gibberish. During these battles she would crawl into the lowest, dimmest corner of her mind that she could find and pull childhood memories over her like blankets-- the sounds of the zoo, the taste of cookie dough, the feeling of wet sand. And Jeanette would wait.

It wasn't all terrible, though. Sometimes the battles would pause, the frantic rush of movement would stop, and she talked to Castiel then, in a fashion-- sharing information with it, asking it questions, making herself less alone. She opened her eyes and watch Castiel's life like a 4D movie, seeing it all in perfect image quality and actually smelling the smells and feeling the sensations, however distantly. It was… interesting. She learned the characters: there was Jimmy, a darkly handsome man who had been Castiel's vessel before her. Jeanette knew that she should be afraid of him-- of what she herself would likely become-- but she couldn't shake the utter fascination she felt with him. He'd lost his family, she knew; informing him had been one of the first actions that Castiel had taken while in her body. Since then, he'd milled around, running menial trips for supplies and learning to fight, but mostly just staring into space. Not that Jeanette could blame him. More than anything she wanted to speak to him, hear his thoughts on how to cope with being the vessel of an angel. Maybe give him hers on how to cope with being alone.

After Jimmy, there was Anna, the beautiful redhead, a fellow angel with whom Castiel would often meet. Jeanette couldn't follow the politics of the situation very well, but she did understand that both Anna and Castiel were sort of outcasts, rebels when it came to angels in general. But what intrigued her more about Anna was that she seemed to own and not rent when it came to the body department-- apparently, although who the hell knew how this worked-- she'd done a stint as a human herself. Often, though, Jeanette didn't hear much from Anna, because often a trip to see Anna meant a battle was coming soon.

And then, there were the Winchester brothers. Leaders of the human resistance, or something like that. From what she could piece together, they had been raised to fight demons-- and monsters and ghosts and the like-- and now had been recruited by the angels to help with what seemed to be some sort of final battle. Sam, the younger brother, stood more than a foot above Jeanette. He was quiet and moody, recently having detoxed from an addiction to, of all things, demon blood. Jeanette had the impression that he'd badly, badly screwed up a while back and was still trying to patch up his relationships with Castiel and especially his brother, Dean. Slowly, though, it seemed to be working. Dean just seemed happy to have his brother beside him, no matter how temperamental Sam could be.

Dean. Now, Dean Winchester was her favorite in the character line-up, and the one with whom Castiel interacted most frequently. Solid and gruff but unexpectedly sweet, he'd died, been sent to Hell, and then pulled out to assist in the angels' master plan. But his strange backstory wasn't what made him interesting to Jeanette; it was the strange things that seemed to happen inside of her when he was around.

From a conversation between Castiel and Anna, Jeanette had been able to glean this much about angels: strictly speaking, they weren't supposed to feel anything. It was looked down on as a human weakness, and of all the angels she'd seen-- there had been at least a dozen so far-- Anna seemed to be the only one comfortable experiencing emotion.

But Castiel did too-- it might not have been comfortable with it, but there was no denying it. The first time it had happened, it had surprised Jeanette, because in a sort of dreamlike way she had felt Castiel's emotions in her own heart as well. They were childlike, vague but strong. Castiel was scared, confused, angry. It had been abandoned, betrayed and hurt. But every once in a while, a surge of serenity and warmth would run through Jeanette from Castiel, and eventually she learned that Dean was invariably the source of it. She wasn't sure how these things worked with angels-- were they friends? Were they in love? Or was it something else, something more profound that she couldn't understand? Whatever it was, she knew that it was strong. Dean Winchester was the only being alive who gave Castiel any measure of comfort or hope.

***

Dean ducked to avoid the smoke that erupted from the demon's mouth as Castiel finished the exorcism. Unsupported, the formerly possessed body fell to the floor. He leaned over to check for a pulse-- found none, as he'd been fearing-- and then righted himself again. He threw a glance at Castiel, who in turn was looking down at the corpse. More and more often now, humans possessed by demons were either dying during exorcism, or from wounds sustained long ago that had been patched temporarily by the demon. Dean wondered if they still felt the pain of the wound; wondered if they could feel anything beyond the pain of a demonic possession.

"Hey, Cas," he said as they traipsed across the field and back to the car. It was, naturally, the middle of the night. Two demons had set up camp in a cabin at the foot of a mountain, at which Dean and Castiel had set up an ambush as they waiting frickin' forever for the demons to return. They were about an hour north of the motel that Dean had begun to think of as 'base', following a Lucifer lead from Bobby that had turned out to be useless. As usual, the demons thought nothing of dying in order to keep their master's secret.

"Dean?"

"Why didn't Jimmy die when you left him? I mean, last time he was just himself, he was shot. Doesn't work the same with angels?"

"It does." They reached the Impala and climbed in; Cas, Dean noticed, was getting more used to being in it, sitting back in the seat rather than bolt upright. "I had a moment outside Jimmy's body before I was thrown completely back to Heaven. I spent the last of my energy to heal him completely."

"Why?" Dean turned the key and the engine roared to life; a brief wave of comfort washed over Dean at the familiar sound. He stepped on the gas.

Cas was gazing out the window at the now-moving scenery, her hands on her knees. "He was a good vessel. A very faithful man."

"Does that make it easier to be inside someone?"

"It does. Especially after he sacrificed himself for his daughter… love and devotion like that make it easier to take on a physical form. It's one of the reasons only certain individuals can act as vessels."

"Does Jeanette have it?"

Cas turned away from the window. "She does, but not nearly as much."

"Do you think you could go back in Jimmy?"

At this, Cas sighed. "Demon blood not only taints the body, Dean, it taints the soul. Jimmy is still a good man and he still has Heaven's gratitude. But now that he's been marked like that… I don't think I could be inside with him. Even if his body itself were clean."

"No such thing as absolute forgiveness, then?" Dean mused, slightly surprised at how aggravating he found that. Castiel said nothing. "I need gas," Dean announced, and unceremoniously pulled into the exit lane and guided the Impala to the first station he saw.

Cas, still not speaking, habitually climbed out of the car behind him and stood guard while he placed the nozzle. Dean looked over at her, her borrowed skin sallow in the artificial gas station lights, and leaned back against the Impala's side with a sudden tiredness. He couldn't get over how small she was, how young she looked; couldn't help but think with sadness of both the twenty-something girl who owned the body and the timeless angel who inhabited it now. He wanted, illogicially and suddenly, to see Castiel-- see Castiel for who she, or he, or it really was. Even if his eyes burned out. Even if it killed him. He just wanted to make contact with the angel with nothing in between them, no hellfire or eyelids or borrowed meatsuits. There was a loneliness about Cas that Dean wanted, unexplainably, to fix. Why was that? He'd paid his debt to the angel and then some. What was this loyalty, then?

"You okay, Cas?" Dean called, his soft voice perfectly clear in the empty lot. Castiel turned to him and looked him straight in the eye; she said nothing, and yet Dean felt like hellhooks were grabbing at his soul again. Or maybe angel hands. He went around to the passenger side and stood beside her, wondering what to do now.

For a moment, neither spoke. Then: "I'm experiencing almost every emotion I can think of now," she said quietly, and for a minute Dean's heart raced, thinking she meant at this very moment, which would have been funny because all of a sudden he himself was sad and excited and desperate and dizzy….

"I feel like I fall a little more each day," she continued, and Dean got it then. His heart began to slow once more. Castiel leaned back against the car. "I'm not thinking straight and it's affecting the hunt for Lucifer. Dean, it's costing lives."

"Cas," Dean murmured, stalling, because no helpful words came to mind. "You can't blame yourself for how the hunt's going, because it's got nothing to do with that. And you can't blame yourself for feeling more than you used to. Hell, these're emotional times. You think I always used to be such a crybaby?"

"But it's not just… sadness. Or fear. I'm feeling good things too. Excitement. Exhilaration." Was it Dean's imagination, or did her eyes flicker far away for just a moment before she finished, softly: "camaraderie."

Dean heard a quiet click; the pump had stopped. Neither of them moved. "Jeanette's encouraging it, too. She's much more aware than Jimmy ever was. We… communicate. Somewhat. She helps me put names to what I'm experiencing."

"The ABC's of feelings," Dean remarked dryly, trying to remember when he learned about sad and happy and all of that. He couldn't imagine what it was like to have that happen inorganically. "You know, Cas, I could always help you too. If you wanted. I mean… we have enough time for talking now." He put a hand on her shoulder and had the sudden, irrational urge to work his fingers up under the hem of the short sleeve-- to touch her skin, to get closer to her. He didn't. But when she sighed, so slowly and lightly that he was barely sure he heard it, he put his other hand up too, touching her bicep exactly where, so long ago, she'd burned her mark in his. He wondered randomly how Jeanette's small, thin-fingered hand would compare to the still-livid handprint raised there.

"I'm confused," Castiel said softly. And Dean nodded.

"Same here."

And then, he kissed her.

Castiel didn't react for a moment until, unbeknownst to Dean, Jeanette whispered in the angel's proverbial ear: kiss him back. Then, still fumbling, she put her hands up to Dean's arms, touching lightly, doing nothing with her mouth but not protesting the movements of his.

Dean was the one to pull away, breathing shallow, heart pounding. Inches from his face, Castiel's blue-green eyes were wide and glassy but the tiniest hint of a bewildered smile was beginning on her lips.

"Hey!" A voice shouted suddenly. A portly, balding blonde man had come storming out of the quick-mart and onto the lot, one hand on a hip, the other waving. "You two gonna pay or stand there and make out all night?" He sounded angry, but Dean had to laugh, because to an outside observer he and Cas looked just like a boy and a girl, kissing in a gas station in the middle of the night. If only it were that simple.