CHAPTER 2 - Baggage for Exile
By Darklady
Who reaffirms all previous declarations of faith (in Kripke).
"I am here to see Dean." Castiel approached a young woman in pink scrubs who stood in the hospital hallway, efficiently directing several other healers.
She glanced down at her clipboard. "Dean?"
"He was at the church."
"Oh, the gas explosion." Her smile was half concern, and half relief at being in control. "Do you know which ambulance he came in on? How badly he was hurt?"
"He drove in with Bobby Singer." There had not been enough of the emergency personnel to treat all the injured, so those walking had been advised to make their own way to the hospital. Fortunately the cars had been parked on the farther side of the church, meaning most were only lightly undamaged. Dean had loaded Singer and four other injured hunters into the Impala, although not until after Samuel Winchester had been loaded into the first ambulance.
"Probably not too bad then." She smiled, putting an effort into broadcasting reassurance. "Chances are he went to triage in section three." Looking around, she pointed to a rare empty seat over past the phone banks. "If you sit there I'll put a page in for him."
"Thank you, but I will go to this section three."
Raising two fingers, he removed the conversation from her mind. The signs posted on the walls would be sufficient direction for now.
He walked quickly down the hallway, spotting more battle survivors as he passed. Many more were coming in as the ambulances returned with their second and third loads of the evening, and it was easy to follow the familiar faces to section three.
The feel of Dean Winchester was strong there, even about the buzz of pain and mortal grief.
Castiel found Dean sitting on one of the narrow treatment tables. His face was clean - as were the front of his shirt and jeans. Everything that had been in range of the bubble of healing Zachariah had cast was as crisp and perfect as it could be made. His back, by contrast, was a mess. The tail of his shirt was torn so badly that Dean had just flipped the two sides over his shoulders away from where the medic was working.
A young woman in light blue scrubs - for some reason decorated with ice cream cones and balloons - was picking gravel shards out of Dean's back.
"Cas!" Dean's smile lit the room. "How are you?"
"I am healed. As you know."
"Right. Saw that."
Castile turned to the doctor. "How severely is he injured?" He knew better than to ask Dean such a question. Or rather, knew that asking would bring nothing more than…
"I'm fine." Dean cut in. To the doctor he said, "Tell him."
"I'm not supposed to…"
"He won't go away until you do."
"But only family…"
"Think of him as my… in-law. What heaven has joined together. " Dean tried to smile back over his shoulder. It would have worked, except that the pain of moving turned the smile into a wince.
Actually, even with the wincing the Winchester charm still worked, because the doctor just signed and surrendered. "Mr. Winchester will *be* fine, provided he allows me to debride these numerous but fortunately very shallow abrasions, *and* provided he remembers to rest and take the antibiotics I am about to prescribe."
"Anything you say. Cross my heart." Dean made the traditional gesture. "Just get me fixed up so I can get to Sammy."
The doctor smiled at that, indicating that both men should stay put while she stepped out to get Dean's medicines.
"How is Samuel?" Castiel came closer, taking Dean's hand. "I did not see much before they took him away."
"In surgery." Dean's free hand pointed generally upstairs. "They say he'll make it. No organ damage, thank god. Or, you know, whoever."
Castiel understood. Lucifer had wished to punish Sam, to force him to surrender his body, but he would not have wished to destroy the vessel itself.
"He's got broken bones. Ribs, shoulder - the usual." Dean gave a little shrug, as if to dismiss the common hazards of a hunting life. "The real worry is the branch that went though his thigh. X-rays don't show wood well, and if they don't get it all out?" Dean slumped forward suddenly. "Oh Cas, he could lose the leg."
An event tragic for any man, and likely a death sentence for a hunter. Even with the Apocalypse forestalled and the Gates of Hell sealed, there were still many evils on earth - the majority of which would crawl over burning nails for a chance to harm a Winchester. A flare of regret burned though Castiel as he remembered his nearly moral state. Before he might have prayed to heal Dean's younger brother, but now cut off from the Power of Heaven, and with his own gifts bound or changed, healing was a gift denied.
Wrapping his arms around Dean's neck, Castile pulled the man close.
"Well well well." A mocking applause sounded from the back of the treatment room. "If it isn't the King of the Rebel Angels."
"You make it sound like a rock band." Castiel turned slowly, his eyes locking with Gabriel's even as his hands slid off Dean's shoulders.
"Oh brother." The trickster archangel paced slowly forward. "You do rock."
"Castiel. Gabriel." Dean looked at one angel, then the other. "What is going on here."?
"Choir-boy didn't tell you?" Gabriel forced his eyes unnaturally wide, a mocking anime of innocence.
"There hasn't been a lot of time for conversation," Dean snapped. "As you should know. Would, if you'd been fighting with us the way you were supposed to be."
"Dean. Dean." Gabriel snapped his fingers. An overstuffed chair popped into existence on Gabriel's end of the room. "How many times did I tell you I was staying neutral? You. Sam. Michael. Lucifer… Opps." He bowed lightly towards Castiel. "But it isn't Lucy anymore, is it?"
"Gabe." Dean snarled. "I bet I could find a wooden stake here. At least a tongue depressor. So stop with the trickster babble and…"
"Chill, Bro." Gabriel settled easily into his chair. "You don't mind if I call you that - seeing as how we're apparently family. And I didn't even get invited to the wedding."
"Gabriel." Castiel advanced, his expression dark. "You mock the sacred…"
"Yep." The second angel agreed cheerily. "Pretty much every chance I get."
Dean made a grabbing motion towards the supply stand. "Death by tongue depressor is what you're going to get if…"
"Well, I just heard from Anna, who heard from… ummm… pretty much everyone. And may I say I am awed?" Gabriel snapped his fingers again, and bright confetti fluttered down out of nowhere. Red balloons marked with black pitchforks and crowned skulls bounced down the walls. "I thought I had a gift for chaos, but I never made the feathers fly like…"
"Off topic again." Dean cut in "I'm reaching for my lighter."
Gabriel waved the décor back to oblivion. "Well, when angel-face here took the sword, instead of ripping Lucifer's grace out…"
Castiel bowed his head. "I gave him mine."
"Right. Just pumped Brother Luc full of that heavenly virtue filling, and since more than nature abhors a vacuum?"
"His grace - his fallen grace - flowed back into me."
"Meaning the Morning Star is now a petty spark up in heaven." Gabriel flicked his finger, and a single bit of light arched upward across the room. It was pink, and no larger than the pop of the sparklers Dean remembered from long past Fourth of July picnics. "No offense bro. I love you, but first choir you never were."
Castiel said nothing.
Gabriel looked at Dean and shrugged. "With what came back, Cas here got his ass promoted to Archangel. Plus, as a special bonus, Thursday boy is now the official Prince of Hell."
Dean looks to Castiel, looks to him for denial or for explanation for … hell… for direction on where do they go from here and how do they make it all work out - because Dean has always comforted himself that he could work with the weird, but maybe not this weird, and the thought of an evil Castiel? No. Just no. But Castiel wasn't arguing, wasn't denying, and wasn't fighting Gabriel. Worse, wasn't *looking* at Dean.
"The hell you say." Because Dean will still and always take Castiel's silence over a Trickster's words.
"Exactly." Gabriel snapped, and a cheesy pair of red plastic horns materialized in the air over Castiel's head. "But hey. At least you're keeping it in the family."
"You're not…" Dean turned to Castiel, stricken. "You don't want Sam…"
"Of course not!" Castiel snapped upright. "I would never!"
"That's right." Gabriel's laugh scraped like sandpaper. "Even I know there is no way our fine feathered friend there wants to be in your kid brother."
"So good." And that was the biggest weight off of Dean's chest. Not that he will acknowledge ever worrying, even to himself, because he knows Castiel is *just* *not* *Evil* *that* *way* No Castiel. Not ever. Not if God himself told Dean differently. "But…" He keeps his eyes on the trickster, even as he leans into Castiel "If you're the devil now…"
Castiel shivers. "I am not - the devil - as you phrase it."
"Learning to lie now too?" At Gabriel's' gesture an invisible pair of Hollywood searchlight sweep across the room, highlighting Castiel like some stage celebrity. "Good show."
"That is not a lie, it is merely.." Castiel waves, and the annoying show vanishes. "Matter's are uncertain."
Gabriel snorts. "That's like saying the FBI is gonna ask 'a couple of minor questions."
"I am no Lucifer. My command over the Legions of Hell is nominal at most. Certainly Belial does not see me as his master. None of the infernal Dominions are here doing reverence. Also…" Castiel paused, breathing in deeply. "I am hoping to be saved."
"Saved?" Dean sounds confused. "By?" Because they were running out of angels equipped to drag unworthy hunters out of hell, the only one of those they had being Castiel himself and…
"Brother Castiel *was* destined for the fiery throne, but your padre friend intervened, and now?" Gabriel stood. The chair behind him vanished. "Now it's more like a 'what now'. Or in the Host's case, a 'what do we do now'. No one's ever baptized an angel before, or has a clue if that even works, so until the folks upstairs can decide between smiting him down or pulling him up?"
Castiel stepped towards Gabriel, their eyes meeting in perfect agreement. "They will leave me on earth."
"And since the Host has never been famous for independent thought or quick decisions?" Gabriel added, including Dean in the conversation. "Let's just say I'd love to be his life insurance salesman."
"Gabriel!"
The trickster angel froze, two fingers already crossed and ready to vanish. "What now?" he asked.
"One favor."
"For you?" Gabriel shook his head. "No way - in hell. And by Hell I mean that specifically."
"Not for me." Castiel stepped back, hands raised in a gesture of peace. "For Samuel, for Dean's brother. Heal him as I can not."
"And end up with two thirds of the Host out to toast my ass? Just why would I want to do that?"
"Because I asked you to." Castiel answered in a whisper, "Because you are my brother."
Gabriel took another step away, then slumped. "I always did have a soft spot for the Winchester boys." Gabriel raised his hands, wide starched in angelic benediction. "OK. I'll do something. And it's for them - not for you. But just the leg. And just a little. I'm not granting any miracles. I don't need the Vatican on my ass, or worse yet the Ghostgrabbers."