A/N: I received a few great suggestions for Sam's one-chapter love interest, and also a popular second choice! Thank you to mscottsayshi, DaniBD, and NarutoRox, for voting, and also ChickieG and niccc for reviewing! : )
To make up for this chapter being very late, it is also VERY long. I felt it would be unfair to cut it down (although I did, in fact, end up cutting it down), so. Dr. Lee is from 2.09, Croatoan. I like seeing old friends show up again. : )
The blade drives downward, Dean screams.
"I won't hurt Dean."
"Yes. You will. You are."
Blood from the last Dean stains his fingertips. He wills it away.
"I need you to stand by me on this. You're the only one I can ask."
A crack, a whimper, a thump.
"Come on, you coward. Do it. Do it!"
Piles of him, all dead. He half expects to see the outlines of wings, the scene is so similar to...
"This is different."
"How different is it?"
"Cas! Wake up!"
Castiel opened his eyes, felt Dean's fingers rubbing circles into his skin. No, please don't touch me, nonono. He shivered a little, and Dean stopped.
"Was it bad?" That's the extent of their dialogue on dreams now, if they were bad or not. They were always bad. For both of them.
"I don't think I enjoy sleeping," he admitted.
"Okay. Okay. Let's not sleep then."
Dean pressed closer, but Castiel swung out of the bed, felt the cool shock of wood beneath his feet. Everything is feeling now. He curled his toes, into the grainy texture of it.
"I'm going to make some coffee."
"...Okay."
Castiel nodded to himself, and stumbled out of the room. Away from Dean. He needed to be far, far away.
Why can't I leave?
oOo
Dean didn't find him again until much later. It had rained earlier in the day, and he found Castiel outside, barefoot in the wet grass. They'd found a rose bush growing by the side of the bunker about a week ago, and Castiel was crouched by it, running his fingers over the velvety petals. He loved the thing, was all appreciative of the beauty of the flora and fauna or whatever. He'll be asking for a flower garden next, Dean thought. And they'd end up with one, too. They'd grow herbs for spells, so they'd be fresh when they needed them for use, and—
It's really good to have a home.
"So Sam found us a case," he said, stopping when he was standing beside Castiel. "Up in Nowheresville, Ohio. A classic sleepy town that's recently seen a slew of violent murders. Sam thinks it might be worth checking out."
"Yes, that's probably true." Castiel stood up, brushed off his jeans and made to walk inside.
"Cas, wait." He watched Castiel halt, mid-step, back still turned. "Is… is everything alright?" With us. Dean didn't know what was going on, couldn't figure it out. A few nights ago he and Castiel had done some research on walking on water—Peter, Sariputta, et cetera, et cetera—and ever since, it felt like Castiel was pulling away. He'd hardly look Dean in the eyes for more than half a second before they'd skitter away, to his hands or the floor or whatever interesting object was located just over Dean's ear. And that was when he wasn't actively avoiding him, making hasty excuses and leaving rooms quickly whenever Dean would enter.
Sure enough, Castiel's eyes did the same stop-drop-and-roll now, and frankly, Dean found it creepier than the stare. It was suspicious behavior, to say the least—almost like he was hiding something. "No," Castiel said, and Dean's breath caught. "I lost my phone. I suppose I'll have to ask Sam for the spare." The former angel was fishing around in his pockets, now.
"You're godawful at deflecting, Cas. That wasn't convincing at all."
Castiel jerked one of his pockets out with force, apparently to demonstrate that there really was no phone inside. "I believe that deflecting is a football term. I have never played football before." He glared, again at the spot over Dean's ear. "I will be inside."
He turned away again, started walking, but it was easy, too easy for Dean to catch up. He grabbed his arm, making him perform a sort of pirouette to face him.
"You little shit. What's the problem? Because if you're going to be keeping up with this passive-aggressive shit, I think it's best you sit out on this case. You can't just flutter off this time, either, so how about telling me, what's your issue?"
"Don't touch me." Castiel peeled Dean's hand off his arm, flung it away. Dean's nostrils flared.
"Is that the problem? Fine. I won't touch you." He took a step back. "I won't get in your goddamn personal space. You good now? You happy?"
Castiel's fists clenched. "Stop trying to provoke me."
"Or you'll what? Smite me where I stand? Throw me back into Hell?" He was out of line. He was so out of line, but he was angry, and confused, and it hurt like hell that Castiel was acting like this now when they'd only just started… whatever it was they were doing. Didn't he trust him? Couldn't he tell him, if something was wrong or if the nightmares were getting too bad or if he could use any help? Hadn't Dean earned that, at least?
I won't murder you, Dean. I can't. Castiel's features smoothed over in an instant. "Do not mock me, Dean," he said quietly. Dangerously. Alarm bells started going off in Dean's head, but he was unable, unwilling to move. "I am not incapable of becoming a threat. I understand you are upset, and will discontinue my… 'passive-aggressive' behavior immediately. Please excuse me to collect my things."
And there wasn't really anything Dean could do, so he let him. As the man rounded the corner though, he couldn't resist; he aimed a violent kick at the rosebush.
"Asshole," he sputtered.
He had to spend the next several minutes untangling his leg from the thorns.
oOo
"There are cupids in Ohio," Marut announced. Harut groaned.
"Cupids? Cupids are, they're useless!"
"We need everyone, you said so yourself many times.We hear they've been on an uncontrolled matchmaking spree since the Fall—the lack of orders did nothing to curb their… enthusiasm."
Because she obviously hadn't groaned enough, Harut groaned some more. "I bet the orders were the only things curbing their enthusiasm. Father, I've avoided cupids for centuries. Not to say we don't need devoted soldiers, but that devoted—"
"There was a time when the Cherubim were the second highest order of angel," Marut rebuked. "I do not believe their power has waned with their standing."
"They're emotionally fragile!" Harut insisted. "They can't take criticism without breaking down crying…"
"They are both reliable and hardworking," Marut said. "And also, at this moment, too visible. If we do not intervene," he smiled. "Take them under our wing, they'll attract attention from less well-intentioned forces."
"We'll send a platoon," Harut said, defeated. Her sheikh, she could never afford to ignore his advice for long.
oOo
"So you're mad about something," Sam said offhandedly, when they'd run their third consecutive red light, almost killed their fifth pedestrian, and honked enough times to set a world record. "And it isn't me."
It wasn't that Sam was worried about their safety; Dean was too competent of a driver for that, road rage or no. He was more worried about the person Dean was angry with, which, statistically, would have to be Castiel.
"Don't push your luck," Dean said, swerving around a corner.
"Well, we're making good time, at least," Sam noted, seeing that the speedometer was a good fifteen miles above the speed limit, rapidly escalating into twenty. "We'll arrive a good five hours earlier than anticipated."
"Awesome."
Sam was getting progressively more irked. He really shouldn't have to walk on eggshells like this. I get that you guys have issues, okay, but can you just make up a little faster so I don't have to deal with this all the time? I have to live with you two. "Um, so what is it this time? I have problems keeping up with…" Dean was ignoring him, so he shut up.
He did manage a lot of pointed glares though, before they pulled up at Sleazy Motel No. one billion and two. Miraculously, Castiel's bike was already there, which meant that either a) He'd learned to teleport again, or b) He was even more pissed and road rage-y than Dean. Sam did the math, and the results weren't pretty.
He turned his eyes to the heavens. "Can you give me a break? For, maybe, once?"
oOo
Crowley really wouldn't have minded taking the car Kevin gave to him, if Kevin himself wasn't included in the package.
"So, you want to throw in your lot with me now? What happened to being an objective third party?"
Kevin looped his arm through the other strap of his backpack. "I don't have anywhere else to go."
"Try daycare. Or, I'm sure Ren and Stimpy would welcome you back with open arms."
"I'm not going to college," Kevin said evenly. "This isn't going to stop—my life's set, I'm a Prophet, no point in fighting it, and I guess it beats being President, in a couple of ways. I just thought if I made it to college, I could get away from the pressure, you know? There's—so much pressure. World ending and it all depends on you, you know."
Crowley's raised eyebrows indicated supreme disinterest, but Kevin was okay with that. It was nice to talk to someone who didn't give a shit, who had no real expectations for him. Even if that someone also murdered his girlfriend in front of him—no. "As for Sam and Dean—" He shook his head. "They care more about each other than anything else. I really think they'd let the world burn before giving up on each other. I'm not even sure I trust them to complete these Trials…they didn't manage it before."
"What, and you trust me?"
"Not really," Kevin said, unlocking the unassuming 1990 Toyota Camry he'd stolen. "But I don't have anything to lose, and neither do you." He tossed his bag in the backseat and settled behind the wheel.
Crowley shrugged. "Fair enough."
"Besides, I want to be here to shoot you when you back out."
oOo
Dean could feel it, once they started the case. Distance. Castiel went from inexplicably seething to cold and professional in two seconds flat, and while Dean supposed that was a good thing if they were going to be working together, it still left an achy feeling in his core.
The coroner was willing enough to let agents "Jonathan Smith" and "Mark Gordon" look at the bodies. Dean was slightly disappointed he was the only one who found the aliases funny— Castiel didn't understand the joke, and Sam had just given him a dirty look before going off to question to vics' families. Whatever. It wasn't Dean's fault he was the only one with a sense of humor.
"Wait… Dean?"
The coroner was still standing in the doorway; Dean did a double take. Thin blond hair, freckles. There was recognition there, but it took him a long moment to place her.
Holy shit.
"Dr. Lee!" he said, surprised. He could feel Castiel's confusion radiating towards him. He waved him off, towards the bodies. "It's been, what? Seven years? Last time I saw you… you've had a career change."
"And you were a US Marshal last time I saw you," she replied. "Small world. Wish I could say I'm glad to see you, but I'm really… not. These bodies— I was thinking serial killer, but with you here… I already checked the blood work, but the signs disappear after only a few hours… and shit, the phone lines have been down…"
Dean opened his mouth, to say something about not knowing whether it was Croatoan, not yet, but Castiel was trying to catch his attention.
"Dean. Look."
Ignoring the borderline-hyperventilating coroner for the moment, Dean walked over. "What is it?"
"This body here… This is an angel." He held up the wrist of the dead woman, and pointed to the tattoo on it.
"Cupid."
"Correct." His face was inscrutable; Dean couldn't tell what was causing his lips to thin, a hard line of—what? Concentration? Anger?
"Okay, so what killed it?"
"Other angels." Castiel indicated the stab wound in the woman's chest. "This is a situation."
"Ah… that's a weird one, but not what I want you to look at," Lee said, not even bothering trying to follow the conversation. She was probably best off not knowing. She pulled out four other bodies. "I've got more, older ones. All recent couples, and… I can't say there's any system to it, but they all died violently…"
Dean whistled. "Violently. Understatement of the year."
One of the corpses had its intestines drawn out, with the ends of them shoved in the victim's mouth. They had been manually forced to chew on it. Castiel began to circle another body, one where the limbs were all pointing in the wrong directions. A blow to the head was the apparent cause of death—part of the skull was smashed in.
"The angels we've met haven't been killing their own," Dean said, trying to pull Castiel out of whatever funk he was in now. "Do you think they're behind these as well?"
"No, angels were not responsible for these deaths," Castiel murmured.
"I don't have the equipment to run DNA samples here," the coroner admitted. "I was going to send these to the city, but since the thunderstorm last night it's been impossible to contact anyone. To be honest, I've just been holed up here for the past couple of days, for the generator."
They heard a rattling at the door, and Dr. Lee jumped a few inches before moving to let Sam inside.
"You better be damn grateful it was me that went out there," Sam said. "We're dealing with Croatoan."
Dr. Lee gasped and sent some samples clattering to the floor. "Is it—the virus? From before?" she whispered, but she was ignored.
"How do you know?"
"First clue was when a vic's family pinned me down and tried to bleed on me," Sam snapped. "Not that it would have mattered, but my wound closed up before they could do anything, and I managed to get away. The police department's overrun, too. I'm thinking we should bolt. There's no telling how far the virus has spread already."
"We can't do that. It'll spread beyond here. It'll get bigger."
"We have reason to believe there are angels in the area," Castiel said. "Perhaps we can enlist their help; contain the threat."
"Okay, but how?"
oOo
Pado was firing arrows faster than he ever had in his existence, backed up against a wall, his fingers flying every time he so much as caught a glimpse of a human. It wasn't exactly how he'd been trained to go about things—in fact, it was explicitly forbidden.
"I can't help but feel this is unethical!" he called out, as said human ran, arms extended, to the nearest tree. He'd just created a case of dendrophilia, evidently. It sickened him—this was not something he was meant to do, not something he would have ever considered doing. "There are limits to how we should mess with a human's emotions!"
"Would you rather they became part of the Infected? I'd sooner not have to smite the entire town!" Diari shouted back. Her own bow was stowed; she held an angel's blade loosely at her side as she scanned the area for Infected. Pado wondered if it was all bluster, her talk of smiting. It wasn't like either of them had the power sufficient to do it—they were too low-ranked. Without their wings, they had to make do with trying to keep the humans from tearing each other and them to pieces. "Every one of their lives has value; we must ensure the survival of as many as possible! We have been taught that, Opna died believing that!"
"Opna died trying to kill you!" Pado pointed out, but he knew it would do no good. Diari spoke in terms of heroics and legendary battles—beyond the glory, there was no room in her head for grief. In her mind, Opna had already become a Fallen Hero, never mind the circumstances of her death, the raw horror behind it, the distinctly unheroic way in which she'd turned, blood-crazed and mad, and gone after them.
Pado mused on how just a few years ago, he wouldn't have been able to put a name to grief—not because he was unacquainted with it—none of the Host were so lucky—but simply because the concept had no name, no recognition among them. The Cherubim weren't like most angels, they weren't battle trained, or restricted from emotion. They were encouraged to feel, but only specific emotions; to wear love and kindness like a gauntlet, to embody goodness in a way that left a bitter feeling in the depths of Pado's Grace. It wasn't real. But that all changed a while ago, and Pado couldn't say whether he was better or worse for it.
Diari was frowning. "You're sure the exits are blocked?"
"Saw it myself—all demons!" Human—fire, human—fire. The demons looked to be quarantining the area, and the only reason Pado could see for it happening was to target them, specifically. Turn the whole town into angel-killing zone. It was confusing, the Cherubim had never been targeted throughout almost all of Heaven's battles, because of the limitations of their occupation, and that this was happening now was just—
A slow smile was building on Diari's face, and it made Pado cringe. "I haven't been to battle, before!"
Pado wondered sometimes just how it was that Diari became a Cupid. She was downright bloodthirsty.
He notched another arrow, but he was growing tired. The ranks of the Infected were growing in spite of them, he was sure of it—and it wouldn't take much for a group to take him down, Diari or no. Diari was crazy, they were doomed— two wingless Cherubim verses an army of Infected within, and an army of demons without, even if they weren't attacking right then. Waiting for them to become fatigued, most likely. Like they were right now.
"Wait, Pado—I'm getting something!" Diari bellowed. Human—fire. "Someone here is praying loudly—it's Castiel! Castiel is praying Pado, I can hear it!"
Hope surged within him. Castiel, the most feared angel in all of Heaven—whether he was loved or hated, he was the Powerful One, the one who helped stop the Apocalypse and Raphael, whose Grace managed to tear the angels out of Heaven. Who had died and come back so many times, the Host had lost count. If Castiel was around, he could be their salvation.
Or their death, but pessimism wasn't encouraged among the Cherubim, before.
oOo
Dr. Lee revised her earlier opinion of ignorance being bliss when the newest addition to the brotherly duo—the one she didn't recognize—began praying aloud, to angels from the sound of things, for assistance in stopping the viral outbreak.
She thought she'd left this strangeness behind her seven years ago, when her town disappeared from off the face of the Earth and she narrowly avoided being sent in for psychiatric help after reporting it to the police. She'd changed jobs, finding herself more comfortable with patients that wouldn't potentially turn murderous in the middle of an examination, inserted herself as an outsider in another small town, where she could draw some measure of peace from the fact that there had been no murders in at least two decades.
That is, until everything turned on its head. Until everyone went crazy and started falling in love, and bodies turned up at her door. Coward she was, when the lines went down and the power out she'd locked herself in her office, because, turned out she wasn't paranoid, the virus followed her around wherever she went. Then Sam and Dean, the not-US Marshals arrived with their friend, and it was like no time had passed at all, she was in the exact same nightmare situation she was in all those years ago.
Except, there were angels this time. Surely that merited an explanation.
"What's going on?" she asked, and almost thinking she'd be ignored again, but the man who had prayed—his name was Cas, apparently—said something about needing to wait, and wandered off into another room. The taller brother, Sam, turned to her.
"It's sort of a long story. You see, there's this virus—"
"Oh, I know all about that," she said, and Dean nodded at his brother, confirming it. "What I don't know is, what's this about angels? And cupids? What exactly are you people?"
"Well, we aren't FBI, if that's what you're asking," Sam said. "We, uh—we handle strange things, you know, we're the sort of people you call when things have gone wrong."
"What Cobra Bubbles is trying to say here, is that we handle supernatural events, like this virus here—it's called Croatoan, demonic origin, no known cure. Anyway, what we're doing right now is calling for some angelic reinforcements—that's Castiel over there, he used to be an angel, too. We're thinking, maybe we can fight our way to someplace where we can make explosives, you know the gig. Question is, are you going to help us with that, or not?"
"Dean!" His brother was looking at him like he was crazy. "What are you doing?"
"Can't afford to be vague, Sam, we'll need all the help we can get, if we don't want this going like it did last time."
"You're crazy," she said. "You're all crazy." She didn't mean it. She'd gone through this once before, had the same accusations made of her. And considering her previous suspicions of them, it wasn't altogether unexpected. But it was a lot to take in.
"Not my problem, then," Dean said, turning around with an air of dismissal. "Make sure you don't leave this building until everything is over. In fact, find a basement. Spend the night. We'll leave a car for you by the exit, if everything turns out. If not, you're on your own."
"Wait." This was unfair, being made to feel like she'd failed some kind of test. "I'll help. What do I need to do?" She couldn't be powerless this time.
"Can you shoot?"
"Yes." She wasn't incredibly good at it, but she had gone out hunting with her cousins a few times, in the past. More often, after the Incident.
"Good. Head shots are effective. If you've ever seen Walking Dead, you'll know what to do."
She nodded, slowly. Castiel poked his head inside the door.
"They've arrived. And I believe they have something to tell us."
oOo
"Oh, no. You've got to be kidding. So, what, the power of love can save the day? You expect me to believe this 'Friendship is Magic' line you're feeding?" Dean glowered at the cupids standing before him, but only one of them had the decency to look sheepish about it.
"Well, it makes sense," Sam said, studiously ignoring Dean's betrayed squawk. "A demonic virus that can be counteracted by what is essentially an angelic one… I can see that. The desire to love nullifies the desire to kill."
"It doesn't work on us, though," one of the cupids sighed. Pado, Dean believed. "We learned that from Opna, as well. We're immune to our own arrows. We had to—she attacked us."
"But that doesn't solve the problem of the people who have already turned," Sam said, frowning.
"Is your poison effective after someone becomes infected with Croatoan?" Castiel queried.
"No. It's only preventative… we've tried. If anything, it makes them more violent."
Castiel nodded solemnly, and the other cupid—Diari? picked up where Pado left off. "We've been trapped. There are demons guarding the periphery. When we heard your prayer—" she turned a sunny smile to Castiel. "We hope you'll help us. I've always wanted to fight with a—" She cut herself off, suddenly shy.
"I'm not sure if we can—"
"We will do all we can," Castiel interrupted. He tilted his head to indicate Sam, Dean, and Dr. Lee. "They will need to be shot before they leave."
Dean was going to say, what about you, but Castiel got up too quickly, said something about finding a gun suitable for Dr. Lee, he was going to the car, only a moment.
And when he pulled his worried eyes from the glass door, Pado was in his face.
"Whoa there, Twilight Sparkle," Dean said. "Back off."
"I don't understand. You aren't feeling anything?" Pado said, looking concerned.
"What? No, why?"
He looked down, to see what was definitely an arrow protruding out of his stomach. He couldn't feel it, even as he pulled it out. And he couldn't feel anything else either, no strange urges, or whatever someone was supposed to feel after being hit with a cupid's arrow. Come to think of it, he didn't actually know what that was supposed to be.
"Uh. Is this normal?"
"No, no, it isn't," Pado assured him. "It's just—" He walked around Dean, bit his bottom lip. "—not working. That only happens when—this is a very powerful poison, understand. Someone has to already be in love, really in love, to fight it off." Suddenly his eyes lit up. "Are you…?"
"None of your damn business." Dean took a step back, turned to see how Sam and Dr. Lee were doing. Diari was struggling to peel the coroner off of Sam, while Sam stared unaffected out the door, making sure Castiel wasn't jumped by Croats while he retrieved weapons from the trunk of the Impala.
"Nope. I can see it now." Pado's eyes were closed, making room for a searingly bright grin. Dean turned back, surprised. "It's beautiful."
He opened his eyes again, and Dean tried not to gape.
"Wait. Can all angels see…?"
"No, not all angels. But—" Pado tapped his chest. "We specialize. I am very happy for you, Dean Winchester. Love is a saving grace. Yours perhaps more than most."
"Um," Dean cleared his throat awkwardly. "Right. Uh." He looked back through the door at Castiel for a moment. "What do you see when you look at him?"
"That's not how it works," Pado said gently. "Love is an act of faith."
Dean swallowed. "Okay."
Diari, giving up on getting Dr. Lee off of Sam, palmed her arrow, lunged forward in a single, frustrated motion. Dean didn't react fast enough.
"Wait, no, he's immune—"
It was too late. The arrow was embedded in Sam's arm, and Dean saw the moment his expression softened, into the most dopey, goofball grin Dean had ever seen. Castiel was walking back, arms laden with weapons.
No.
"Oh, Baby," Sam said. He shook Dr. Lee off easily, and went to walk outside…
Hell no.
…and instead of intercepting Cas, moved past him to run his hands over the car, crooning. Dean's car.
"FUCK no!"
Somehow Castiel caught him before he could beat the snot out of Sam. How he manages\d to do that without poking Dean in the eye with the bayonet was a complete mystery. Why he brought out the bayonet at all was another one.
"Dean, calm down. The Croatoans appear to be in hiding, Sam is safe where he is right now."
"That's not the point. The point is his hands are all over my car—"
Castiel's look was scathing; he brushed past Dean to deposit a plethora of weaponry at Dr. Lee's feet. "I would like you to pick out the gun you are most comfortable using," he said. For himself, he picked up a sawed-off, the ghost of a smile passing over his face as he felt the familiarity of it.
"Gun?" Dr. Lee said vaguely. "For what?" She peered over Castiel's shoulder to get a clear line of Sam, who was draping himself over the Impala in the most sickeningly affectionate manner Dean could conceive of.
Castiel paused. Looked at her. "Possibly this wasn't the best idea," he said quietly.
"Oh, you've got that right," Dean said and Castiel's attention turned back to him, as if to ask why he wasn't acting strangely, too.
"You kidding?" Dean said. "Those two are freaking useless now. I'm not going to get shot after seeing that, thank you." He jerked his thumb at Sam. "And a little warning next time, yeah?"
Castiel didn't look like he was buying it, but he turned away again. "You are going to have to defend Sam Winchester's life," he told Dr. Lee gravely. "He is in great danger. There are people who want to kill him. We are here to make sure that doesn't happen."
"Oh," Dr. Lee said. The confusion cleared. "I can shoot, I can definitely defend him, yes! Those bastards are going down!"
Dean quirked an eyebrow at her enthusiasm. Castiel shrugged. "I understand love is a great motivator," he apologized.
"Sure, but that ain't love. That's freaky mojo messin' with their heads." He twiddled his fingers, to emphasize his point.
"I don't like it either, but with time the effects will wear off," Pado said, picking up an extra angel's blade from the pile, thankfully without asking about its origin. "It's a sad thing, really," he said faintly. "So many just can't love without the poison, their unions dissolve almost as soon as it fades from their system." Mom, Dad, Dean thinks, and remembers why he's always hated the cupids. "There are so few instances of real love anymore, true love, big love." The smile he turns on Dean is practically blinding, the bastard, and he wheels Castiel away from it instinctively.
"We need to get moving."
oOo
"I need faith to do this?" Crowley roared, and felt completely justified in doing so.
"By all indications, yes," Kevin snapped. "The lore is there, check it yourself if you want to, it's straightforward enough. It's a test of spiritual purity, and you need to prove that you have faith sufficient to move mountains or walk on water. God has a thing for that, apparently."
Crowley was hoping they'd be able to work around to the bleeding-heart spirituality stuff later. As it was, he just didn't have the constitution for it.
"Well, God's chicken scratch doesn't say we had to do the Trials in order, did they?" Frankly, it would be ridiculous, having to do them in order. What did He care when things were done, so long as they were done, anyway?
"Uh, yeah. Right here. 'Thou shalt do this before thou doest this'." Kevin shoved the Tablet over to him, pointing at a passage.
"You know I can't read that."
"Guess you'll have to take my word for it, then. I hear there's a swimming pool a few blocks from here, we should try there. Unless you're having second thoughts?"
Crowley grit his teeth. "Only about letting you keep all your limbs."
oOo
Things were complicated enough already, and the cupid-engineered cure only made matters worse. Differentiating between Croats and demons was one thing, adding civvies into the mix was quite another. Diari and Pado were looking at Castiel like they expected a plan, and Castiel was looking at him, Dean, like he wasn't Lead Strategist, Chess Master of Heaven. He shifted uncomfortably.
"So. If it runs up at you, or attacks someone else, it needs killing. Bullets don't work, it's a demon, use the angel blade." That was step one. He was thinking aloud, organizing things in his head.
"Normally I'd say to leave the demons for last; if they're trapping you guys in, they're probably trapping the Croats, too. But they're the ones who brought in the virus to begin with, they could move out with it, spread some more and guard a bigger area—the county, maybe. They're the bigger fish in this situation."
Castiel nodded. "I agree. Dr. Lee and Diari should guard the flanks, aim ranged attacks at the infected should they approach. The rest of us will go hand-to-hand against the demons. Perhaps Sam could speak an exorcism."
"So it's to the town limits, then," Dean said. "It's going to be a bitch getting Sam away from my car."
Diari's face crumpled once the hunters made it a reasonable distance away. "Can't see why I'm on ranged instead of close combat. I've been stabbing the infected all day. And I use arrows, not guns."
"You're too eager for battle and bloodshed, sister. Perhaps Castiel could see that."
oOo
The demons weren't happy about being attacked, naturally, but their conduct confirmed something of Dean's suspicions from earlier—they weren't bent on massacre so much as containment. They went after him, Cas, and Sam easily enough, but around Pado they kept a wide berth. It was strange.
Croats were coming too, as expected, but Dr. Lee proved surprisingly adept at gunning them down, and Diari seemed to have a huge learning curve when it came to human weaponry. Sam had a conniption fit when a demon smashed the car window, and was now fighting with a rage that, while not totally inappropriate to the situation, was certainly worrying. All in all, it was going surprisingly well, so long as one ignored the fact that they were severely outnumbered and the growing pile of bodies didn't seem to be making a dent in the demon's ranks.
At least, it was going well until the other angels showed up.
They came in an M1161 Growler, of all things, ten or fifteen of them, piling out with a shout when they saw the fighting. Alliesenemiesalliesenemies Dean panicked, but they began going after the demons as well, angel blades out and flashing in the fading sunlight. The demon population seemed to grow exponentially after that, counterintuitively, and Dean was forced to wonder if they were in hiding the entire time.
But he couldn't afford to worry about that. Sam was pinned down under a couple of demons—and Sam could heal now, he got that, but he didn't want to test if that power extended to broken necks or stab wounds, so Dean hopped over a couple of bodies to help—
When with a flash of golden light and a sizzling sound, both demons dropped dead right on top of him. Almost like they had blinked out when Sam was chock full of demon blood.
One of the angels must have made the same connection, because they broke away from the main fighting as well, flipped the blade in their hand in preparation to throw—Dr. Lee was shooting at it, to no effect—
"NO!" And Pado was running, top speed, dove in the line of fire, to protect Sam—
The blade hit him square in the chest. Dean's demon blade wasn't going to work; so he rolled forward and yanked it out of Pado. Grace shot out in a double-explosion as he plunged it into the attacker's throat, before it could finish killing Sam.
He helped his brother up, but the confusion of battle didn't keep the other angels from noticing. Castiel was threading his way over now, having dispatched another demon, trying to stop them.
"They are still my charges and I will slay whoever lays a finger on them." There was no bluff there, and the angels only paused to look at Castiel for a moment before they returned to the fighting.
"What—" Sam said.
"Try not to repeat that," Dean said. "Let's go."
Eventually, they managed it. Every demon, dead, and the last time Dean had seen this many bodies piled in one place was Purgatory, and that wasn't something he wanted to think about. He eyed the other angels warily. They'd converged around Castiel, who looked rather like a street cat at the moment, scraped up and half-wild.
"We hail from the army," one of them said, the leader by all indications, and it was as much as Dean had feared. Demon-killing aside, they were the real enemies here, the ones who were bent on launching Apocalypse 3.0, since the first two times weren't enough. "We did not expect to find you here."
"I'm not going," Castiel said fiercely. "Your plan is foolish. It will be the end for us all."
Sam looked at him questioningly, plan? but Dean waved his hand. Not important. Maybe later.
"I would kill you," the angel continued serenely, "But honor prevents it. You have defended our own today, Castiel, and for that you shall live another day. Besides," he sneered "Your humanity makes you not worth the effort." He beckoned Diari, who was crouched over Pado's body, looking as close as an angel ever did to crying. "Come, soldier. We have work for you."
"Diari, no."
"I'm ready to fight," she said, not looking at Castiel, but at Pado. "It's not eagerness, it's duty." She joined the other angels, some of which favored them with a formal nod.
"The town's full of Croats—" Dean began.
"It will be taken care of." It was a dismissal if he'd ever heard one, so he herded everyone back into the car, only to make a quick stop at the motel before blowing town.
Dr. Lee extricated herself from Sam halfway through the trip, looking somewhat bemused. The cupid poison was wearing off faster than expected; what this meant for the "vaccinated" townies, Dean didn't want to know. Sam looked a little green when he came to himself, and stumbled out of the car to throw up almost as soon as they parked.
"I don't think I'm up to riding back with you, Dean," he said shakily. "That was the most unpleasant—"
Castiel tossed him his keys. "Take my bike, Sam. Dr. Lee, do you have a vehicle?"
Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly. "Don't worry, we'll rustle one up for you," Dean promised. "More importantly—Sam. What the hell happened back there?"
"I don't know. I can't explain it, it just… happened."
"Time is of the essence," Castiel said. "We need to leave. Dean, I will speak with you in the car."
oOo
Buer's excuses, all "unforeseen developments" and "Winchester" didn't save him from demotion, nor did it save him from the torture Abaddon had lined up for him.
She decided it was best if she listened to her own advice from then on. Her first battle had been lost, and she couldn't make any more mistakes. A good general is perfect, and makes no mistakes. Against her better judgment, she read Sun Tzu, and found his observations to be sound.
Not for the first time, she wondered if it wouldn't be best to let Crowley return scot-free, after all. His help was what she needed, not the brainless assistance of her underlings.
oOo
"So, I'm assuming you have a theory?" Despite needing to speak with him, Castiel had been perfectly silent for the first ten minutes of the trip. And here he'd thought that Castiel was voluntarily occupying the same space as him. Bitter, bitter. His thoughts were too bitter.
"Yes."
"Care to enlighten me?"
"I don't think there's any danger of the angels pursuing Sam," Castiel said. "I believe what happened in this case was a… 'knee jerk reaction,' if you will, to something unexpected occurring on the battlefield. They won't try again, although their curiosity might have been piqued. We will have to be careful."
"…Okay, but that's not what I meant. I meant, he just popped two demons with his mind, Cas. Any theories regarding that?"
"There's no need to speak of it without Sam present," Castiel said calmly. Dean nearly banged his head into the steering wheel, for frustration. "Well, he would be, if being in the car didn't make him feel sick to his stomach. I'm worried, Cas, okay? It'll be hours before we get home."
Castiel frowned, thinking it over. "I understand Sam believed the Trials were purifying him," he said.
"Yeah, and?"
"And they might very well have been doing just that. His change could be enabling him to burn off that last bit of demon blood in his system, what Azazel infected him with as an infant."
"So, what, he has a more efficient carburetor now? Is that what you're saying?"
"I'm not entirely sure what you mean by that."
"But even if it's just demon blood effects—that doesn't explain the healing, Cas. Sam could never heal himself on demon blood. He was strong, sure, and fast, and he could gank demons with his mind and do some psychic stuff, but he could never do that."
Castiel sighed. "That is true."
They drove for a while in silence after that, the radio playing muted rhythms Dean knew by heart. There was a lot he wanted to say, a heavy weight on his chest, but the coolness of the atmosphere, the detached air of professionalism made it difficult. He tried anyway, coughing awkwardly, but voice steady.
"I want to do the first Trial tonight," he said. Castiel's head whipped around. "Pado said something before he died, poor bastard. I think— I know what I need to do."
"And you're not going to tell—" Sam.
"Not yet. Please, just… trust me. We're gonna be okay. All of us."
Castiel didn't believe him, but he didn't argue either, and that was a step.
oOo
"Wow. I didn't expect you to be able to do it," Kevin marveled, when they'd made it a safe distance from the commotion. Turned out, using a public swimming pool for the Trial wasn't the safest course of action. People were crying out that Crowley was the Messiah now, or a demon in swim trunks. Not quite, not quite, Crowley kept thinking. They'd hightailed it away from the mob, Crowley more terrified than he had been of anything, even Lucifer, with Kevin laughing like the situation was five flavors of hilarious.
Crowley smirked at Kevin, all smugness, but inwardly he was every bit as confused. He, Crowley, had mustered enough faith to walk over water. That he had faith at all was news to him; he'd been cynical and pragmatic his entire existence. He pulled himself up the ranks by his bootstraps, he'd never believed in anything or anyone other than himself. But when he stood by the edge of the water he tried—to conjure up an image of what he was trying to do, stepped onto it thinking, a little, of redemption—
And that was the scary thing. Crowley believed in redemption. He had faith it could be achieved, granted to him. The demon.
Was there ever anything so pathetic?
oOo
"Well, here we are. The big moment." The canoe revolved around itself in the center of the small lake, pinwheeled in a lazy, circular motion over moon-encrusted water. Dean kicked off his shoes, looked at Castiel speculatively.
"So, I need faith to get across," he said.
"Yes."
Dean scooted closer, letting the boat rock as he edged towards Castiel. "God and I aren't exactly on speaking terms."
"No, I wouldn't imagine you were."
They both sighed, and listened to the soft slapping of the water against the sides of the canoe.
"There's something that Pado said to me, 'bout faith," Dean said. "I guess I—I think it'll work."
Castiel's smile was rueful. "You think."
"Yeah." He reached out, captured Castiel's hand with his own, happy when he didn't jerk away. When held up to the moon, it looked like it was glowing. Amazing. "I do."
Love is an act of faith.
So he leaned down, and kissed him. It wasn't like the last time, when Sam was in the hospital. There was no urgency, no sense of falling into it, of not being in control. This was deliberate. And this time he was afraid—that Castiel would pull away, that he'd disappear, don't touch me. He'd stiffened whenever Dean touched him lately, it seemed, and maybe this was a bad idea—
But he didn't. He stayed, warm and reassuring, and he kissed back.
It felt good.
"Dean, I don't want you to do this." Their foreheads were touching, breath mingling between them. "Huh?" Dean said.
"You'll die."
"I know." Hadn't they had this conversation already? They hadn't, Dean realized. He'd just assumed it was a tacit understanding they had between them—I have to save Sam, I have to save you. Not to mention everyone else. Castiel knew that, what would happen if he didn't. Azathoth would break open the dimensions, bring about the end of times. The future. "It's only temporary. Someday you'll come an' join me, an—"
"You don't understand, Dean." The former angel pulled away then, and the air grew cold on Dean's arms. "The angels will be no more pleased to be locked in then they are to be locked out."
"I know. It doesn't matter," Dean said firmly.
"How could you possibly—" Castiel shook his head. "In the Cage, Sam was locked up with two angry archangels. You'll be with, with thousands—"
"It doesn't matter," Dean repeated. Castiel could have sworn he saw starlight shining in his friend's eyes. "Because, because Purgatory, Cas. Because I found you, and you'll find me, when you're done livin' down here an', an' takin' care of Sam—"
"Dean."
"And then it won't matter if everyone and their dog is after us, because… that's what I believe in. I have faith in you, Castiel. I always have. Even when I didn't in anything else. I'll be fine. I know that."
Then you're a fool.
But Dean had stepped off the boat, and Castiel heard his boyish laugh of wonderment, as his feet rested against the water without sinking into it. He looked back at Castiel with an earsplitting grin.
"Cas. Cas, look, check this out—"
He ran like a madman across the lake, still laughing, jumped and turned like a spirit called up from the depths. Castiel just watched, and when Dean came back to the canoe to speak the words to the spell, arms glowing and breath gasping, he bit the inside of his cheek. He was really doing it. He was murdering his friend.
It would be a betrayal to cry.
A/N: Sorry about the lack of Bobby in this chapter—he's going to feature more prominently in the next one, but this has gotten really long already, and I'm going to be leaving for a week or so, and wanted to send this off.