Sarah and Daniel watched the Mocker push off, his black wings making him almost disappear against the bleak, dark night, and Sarah shivered again, feeling the otherworldliness of the creature raising hair on her arms and the back of her neck.
"He's…definitely not like other Mockers," she noted, pulling away from Daniel and heading towards the wagon – Daniel might be content to argue with the creature until the sun rose again, but it was fucking freezing and she wasn't made of blubber. When she looked back, Daniel was still staring after Castiel, brows pulled together and worrying his lower lip like he did when he was trying to figure something out. "Danny? You coming?"
That pulled him out of his thoughts, and he smiled sheepishly, shoulders hunching down as he walked over to join her and climbed into the wagon, pulling the canvas closed behind them. "He's a lot older than they usually sell them," he said in an attempt to explain Castiel's strange behavior – more to himself than to her, though, as he spoke as though he was merely thinking aloud. "Apparently most of them are sold at birth or before. Maybe he had time to be set in certain ways before we got him."
Sarah 'hmm'ed gently in agreement, pulling one of her sweaters over her head so she was left in a tank top and a lightweight shirt over that, pulling one of the furs tightly around her body. "Or maybe he was owned before," she suggested, settling down with one arm folded under her head, "and it went badly. I hear that can happen, too."
Daniel swallowed, settling down after pulling off his jacket and boots as well, joining her under his own fur – how she could sleep in shoes, he'd never know, but she did. Weirdo. "Must've been awful," he whispered – it was quiet in the wagon, and he felt like if he spoke too loudly, then Castiel would hear him, and he felt bad, talking about the guy when he wasn't around. Always felt like they could hear anyway and why would you say something to one person when you can't say it to another? "I remember reading they can bond to their Hunters or whatever. Never read what happens when one of them dies."
"Poor soul," Sarah said, voice low with sympathy and care, and Daniel smiled – even to something that weirded her out, Sarah was always the more compassionate one. "You have to make him sleep in here tomorrow, okay? I don't care what he says. Tie him down if you have to."
Daniel laughed. "I get the feeling that's harder than it sounds," he said, pressing his lips together and quirking an eyebrow, though in the darkness she would have a hard time seeing it.
"If anyone could find a way, it'd be you," came Sarah's reply, and a creak that meant she was shifting in place. Daniel took that to mean their heart-to-heart was over, and he sighed, closing his eyes and settling down to rest. His dreams that night were filled with Hunts and blood, as they were most of the time, but there was also this feeling of being watched, chased after, guarded, and a voice calling a name he didn't recognize.
Dean.
Dawn broke bright and early, and Daniel climbed out of the wagon to find Castiel on the same stack of cars, seemingly having not moved the entire night. His bare toes were curled under the fender of an old skeleton of a car, his wings flared out behind him steadily as the light breeze was making the stack he was sitting on creak disconcertingly frequently, and Daniel suspected that it was only the Angel's balance keeping the pile from teetering over.
The creature turned his head towards Daniel when he approached, eyes bright and focused and not at all tired like Daniel would have expected after a night with no sleep. "If you were tired, you could have woken one of us up. We're used to taking shifts," he said. In truth, it had been a while since he'd slept that well, or for that long. Maybe it was the fact that he knew there was a pair of faithful eyes watching out for him, but his dreams had been untroubled and quiet, even with the subject they'd revolved around.
He'd never found dreaming of Hunting to be particularly pleasant, but last night they had felt familiar. Routine. Like home.
Castiel blinked, once, mouth quirking up at the corners. "You needed rest," he said softly, pushing himself to his feet and jumping down to land on the ground and, almost on cue, the stack of cars creaked alarmingly, leaning in Daniel and the wagon's direction, and Castiel looked up to the stack – it wasn't very high, but if it landed on them it would cause a great deal of damage. Without thinking about it, he waved his hand and sent the stack leaning in the other direction, the cars crashing against the solid ground with a creaking groan loud enough to startle the horses and probably wake up anyone within a mile radius.
"Jesus shit!" came Sarah's startled voice, as she hurried out of the wagon to see what the holy Hell that had been. "What the ever-loving crap was that?" She stopped, then, seeing the toppled pile of cars, and her eyes flashed accusingly to Daniel.
"It wasn't me!" the Hunter argued, holding his hands up in defense. "The stack was falling and Cas-tiel," the Angel winced, hearing his name so awkwardly said, like Daniel was trying hard not to shorten it to 'Cas', "made it fall the other way. I'd be mince if it weren't for him."
"I made it fall in the first place," the Angel murmured when Sarah was merely silent. "It was unstable, but as soon as I landed on it I knew I wouldn't be able to get off without it falling. So I stayed."
Another pause. "…All night?" Sarah asked disbelievingly, raising a brow, to which Castiel merely nodded, brows drawing together in confusion. Of course he had stayed all night, why would he move just so that he could be more comfortable when it meant either waking his Hunters or disturbing their sleep some other way, like letting the stack fall on them? "Jesus, Castiel, you could have said something!"
Castiel's frown deepened – her concern was unnecessary and unfounded, and he couldn't understand why she seemed so concerned that he gets a good night's sleep when she couldn't even be in the same wagon with him without being uncomfortable. It had been a long time since any human had been uncomfortable around Castiel.
"I…apologize?" he hazarded, wings fanning the air in a placating gesture that he realized too late she wouldn't understand. "If it puts you at ease I will try to inform you of my discomfort in the future. But you needn't worry, I assure you. One night won't kill me."
'One night won't kill me.' By the Father, but it would. That was the problem with humans – they had so little time, and yet carelessly threw what little they had away. That is what Dean had done; denied himself medicine and treatment because it wouldn't look good for the leader of the new world to be in hospital for his dying days. He'd stayed in the house for days on end until something would pull him out, rest where he could between meetings and migrations and anything else that demanded his attention. After Sam had gone, he just hadn't had the energy. That's what happened when human souls were so closely bonded.
That had been what happened to Castiel. Might have killed him if he had a soul.
But he didn't. His own damning existence had exiled him here.
Sarah's next words pulled him out of his dive into the past; "Regardless, tomorrow night you're sleeping in the wagon, with us. Can't have you freezing out here. It's ridiculous." And with that, she turned on her heel and marched back to the horses, unhooking them from the stake in the ground and leading them back to the wagon to be reattached and harnessed.
Castiel's mouth twisted a little, feathers bristling in discomfort. He didn't want to lay next to the man who housed Dean's soul, in such close quarters, being unable to do anything more than be next to him and look at the back of his head as he slept. Dean hadn't liked it when Castiel would do that – just watch him while he slept. It made him uncomfortable, and Castiel suspected that that kind of thing was soul-deep and not only a product of Dean's personality.
And to lay so near, being unable to touch him, to hold him, to run his fingers through Dean's hair and taste the inside of his mouth and feel his warm breath, panting, against his neck…no. No, Castiel used to be strong, and patient, and could hold himself back, but a lot of things died when Dean did and the Angel knew he would not be able to control himself to have the man he had known as his mate and his love so near and yet untouchable. Couldn't face that. Maybe before, but not now. Not after so long.
His nails dug into his forearms and he pinned his wings tightly to his back in an attempt to hide them. "Have I upset her?" he asked instead of any of the things he wanted to say, tilting his head towards Sarah when Daniel looked to him in question.
"Hmm? Oh," the man said, smiling a little sheepishly, an amused twist to his mouth as she scratched the back of his head. "Nah, Cas-tiel. She's just one of those people who tries to save everyone."
You can't save everyone.
Castiel pressed his lips together, looking down from the sincerity and affection burning bright in Daniel's eyes when he spoke of his…whatever they were to each other. Lover? Girlfriend? Companion? He didn't even know, and he didn't want to know – the longer he could fool himself into thinking that Dean was not completely lost to him, the better.
And Dean's soul shone so brightly with love when Daniel looked at her. It ached Castiel's eyes to see.
The two men stood in uncomfortable silence, until Castiel's shoulders started to ache from having his wings drawn in so tightly in such an uncomfortable position.
"How far away is the Hunt?" he asked, for lack of anything else to say. "The rugaru. How far away is it?"
Daniel shrugged one shoulder. "Another couple of days, maybe a week. And it's rugarus. We have reason to believe there's more than one of them. Maybe a whole pack."
Castiel frowned, cocking his head to one side. "Rugarus are solitary," he said firmly, because he knew it to be true – while it was a case that they mostly developed families before the need for meat consumed them and they became monsters, once that primal urge overtook them they commonly broke off and fled their families, leaving their mates and cursed offspring behind. "There have been mated pairs found, yes, but never more than two. Definitely no more – there would be too much competition for food."
"Well, be that as it may," Daniel replied with another shrug, "there have been far too many killings anyway."
"If there are that many, a week is too long to wait," Castiel urged, a tight feeling winding in his gut at the thought of the potential death toll that could be racked up with a week of enough dead to rival a pack of rugarus – those things hunted incessantly and were rarely full for long. "Perhaps it would be better for you and Sarah to unhitch the horses. You can travel faster, and I can carry anything you might need from day-to-day, if we hide the wagon and you can use shelters you find on the road."
"That…" Daniel trailed off, this look coming to his face like when he had seen Castiel for the first time; appraising, like he couldn't quite figure out what he was looking at; intrigued. "There's a lot to carry in the wagon," he hedged.
"What's going on?" Sarah asked, coming back from finishing the harnesses with a tired huff, tucking her hair back behind her ears.
"Castiel thinks we should ditch the wagon, get there faster," Daniel said, turning to her so he could see her reaction. She paused, raising an eyebrow in the Angel's direction. "It'll take us up to a week to get there and he's worried that the numbers will get too high."
"We're the closest they got," she argued, frowning a little.
"Exactly," Castiel said. "And if we are the closest then we should get there as quickly as possible. That's what Hunters do."
"Well, since you're such an expert," she retorted sarcastically, and while Castiel's mouth twisted and his feathers bristled in anger at her tone, he said nothing. Dean wouldn't have even questioned it – even back before, when Castiel's flight was fast and he could just 'zap' the Winchesters anywhere they wanted to be, Dean would have dealt with that and allowed himself to be transported if it meant getting to the Hunt and saving innocent people just in time. "Have you even Hunted before? You can't just go in guns blazin' – how can we be prepared without the wagon? It has all our gear and supplies!"
Dean wouldn't care. Dean would have gone in. Dean -. "Bring your guns, and oil and matches," Castiel bit out, digging his nails tight into the palms of his hands to keep his tired and burning Grace in check. "That's all you need. I can carry the rest."
Sarah raised an eyebrow. "You can carry it all? Christ, you'll run yourself into the ground doing that," she noted, crossing her arms over her chest and resting her weight on one leg – every inch of her shouted 'I doubt you could', and Castiel had been doubted before, but never soblatantly, especially since the leadership of the Winchesters and his subsequent efforts to rescue humanity from their frozen world.
"I would not have suggested it if I couldn't handle it," Castiel bit out, speaking slowly; "I believe you think me to be more fragile than I am. I will not break under a little heavy lifting."
"Hmm," Sarah huffed, "and what if we get caught on the road and can't find shelter?"
The Angel blew out a long breath. "I can build you one," he said. "Do you think I would leave you out here to freeze?"
She didn't say anything in reply to that, merely pressed her lips together and turned away. "Fine," she muttered, "I guess I'll start packing some shit, then." Daniel watched her go, a guilty look in his eyes when he turned back to look at Castiel.
"She's, ah…" He trailed off, unable to come up with a word to describe her outburst. "She doesn't like being out in the open, unprotected."
"You are not unprotected," Castiel countered. "You have me."
At that, Daniel smiled, one corner of his mouth quirking up as he huffed a small laugh. "Yeah, that's true," he agreed, walking towards the back of the wagon, presumably to begin packing while Sarah untacked the horses, "but you need to sleep, too. We'll have to be more careful the farther west we go, and I won't have you fadin' out on me."
Castiel couldn't help but smile, feeling warm that Dean – Daniel, he had to remind himself – would feel so concerned about his well-being. Dean had, too, right up until the day he died. "I assure you, Daniel," he murmured, "I will be fine."
"I don't need you burning out, Castiel," Daniel continued, as though he didn't hear him, pulling the two halves of the canvas apart and hooking one edge on a hook on the corner of the wagon, to keep it open as he crawled inside. "You get tired, you let me know. Our horses are good, they can keep running, but we only have one Mocker."
With that, he stepped inside, and Castiel didn't follow. Not yet. He looked down, sighing heavily, his fingers clenching and pressing against the wooden step of the wagon. A Mocker. They would think he was a Mocker, of course – yet one more thing that marked him as different, as Other, as something that separated their two worlds. Angels no more existed for Daniel than they had for Dean before he and Castiel had met.
And of course – now that he knew they thought of him as a Mocker, their concern made sense. He was the one not making sense; he didn't need to eat, didn't need to sleep, didn't need to stay warm. He walked on bare feet and sat for hours at night thinking about nothing for as long as possible and could conjure things out of thin air and suggested running themselves ragged to catch a Hunt.
Things that Dean wouldn't have blinked at, but to them were as strange and foreign as he was.
"Just like old times," he whispered to himself, standing straight as he saw Sarah approaching.
"What are you muttering about?" she asked, circling around him and pushing herself up into the wagon.
"Nothing important," Castiel replied, though he suspected she didn't really care around his answer either way.
"Well, get your ass in gear, Castiel. We're losin' daylight and the fewer nights I have to spend out in the cold, the better. We're leaving the wagon here," she continued, turning her attention to Daniel to inform him. "It's the best place I know of for miles, people probably won't spare it a second glance, so when you're ready, help me push it into the middle of all this junk."
"How much can you carry, Castiel?" Daniel asked, poking his head out of the back of the wagon and pushing out one of the furs that rolled into a sleeping pack for the Hunters, along with a heavy-looking duffle-like bag next to it, and Castiel tilted his head to one side, trying to remember the last time he had tried to lift anything heavier than an infant Mocker.
"I'll let you know when you have given me everything," he answered instead of trying to give them a false estimate. He had carried the weight of two grown men once, and that had seemed light to him, but it had been a long time, he was older, theoretically stronger, but his wings were not. They were weak with disuse and unlikely to be able to carry him far with too much weight.
Sarah huffed softly again. "You seem awfully confident," she noted, but her voice held no judgment – just a little bit of disbelief, and of course she wouldn't believe him. Mockers weren't…well, they were strong, and they were smart, but they didn't have much of a reputation with humans for being overly confident or self-assured. Dependent, that's what they were. He'd probably thrown her for one hell of a loop.
He shook his head. "Confidence gets people killed. I am merely honest," he said, smiling a little at Daniel's surprised laugh.
"An honest one. That's new," Sarah grumbled under her breath before climbing into the wagon, forcing Daniel to step outside and the man sat himself down on the wagon step, waiting for her to pack the supplies she wouldn't be able to carry on her horse, and would have to rely on Castiel to provide.
"Seriously, though, man, if you get tired and you need to rest, let me know alright? Won't do no good having your lights burned out."
The Angel's smile was tight when he nodded, pressing his lips together when Daniel merely gave a satisfied nod, and considered the matter closed. "Is this everything you need me to carry?" he asked in an attempt to change the conversation topic, gesturing to the thick roll and duffle bag pressed against Daniel's thigh.
"Yeah," the Hunter replied, smacking a hand down onto it. "If you can. The rest can go on the horses or be left behind. Shouldn't need much for a rugaru, luckily – flammable bastards."
"I hope there is not more than one," Castiel said quietly but firmly – one had been difficult enough for Sam and Dean to take out, he shuddered to think of the damage two or more could cause. "Surely so many would have drawn the attention of other Hunters? How is it that a week's journey is the closest there is?"
Daniel fixed him with an odd look, then, tilting his head to one side, eyes dark with thought. When he spoke, it was slowly, as though being very careful in the words he chose; "How long were you in that facility, Castiel?"
And God, hearing his full name come out of such a familiar face was as awful as it was odd – he'd forgotten what his full name sounded like coming out of a man who looked so much like the one sitting in front of him now. It was scary, it was cruel, just how little could have changed to a human in so long.
Castiel didn't have time to answer, though, as Sarah chose that moment to push out her own roll and back for Castiel to carry, and it clinked loudly when settled. Castiel suspected it was guns, and knives, and every other kind of weapon other than what they needed – she looked like the 'Always Prepared' kind of girl, and Castiel could appreciate that about her. It carefully took both of the duffle bags, threading one of his wings through the first and sling it over his shoulder, then the other so they settled in an 'X' across his back. They were heavy, but not unbearably so, and he tested them to see if he would be able to stretch his wings far enough to fly. It was tight, and uncomfortable, but he managed it. The rolls he would have to carry in his hands and it would mess up his balance, but as long as they weighed vaguely the same, the Angel knew he'd be alright with it.
"All good?" Daniel asked, his eyes bright and focused on Castiel, and the Angel nodded, biting his lip and dipping his head away from the scrutiny. "Alright. Sarah, help me unhook the horses. Let's set off as soon as possible."
And they did, pulling out from the top of the wagon some very old and worn-looking saddles, barely more than pieces of cloth with a strip of leather to wrap around the horses, and instead of bridles Daniel and Sarah merely shortened the lead reins and tied the excess loosely around the horses' shoulders. It was crude but it would do the job and hurt the humans more than the animals, which Castiel assumed was the point – the beast could run on until it was too tired and then the humans could rest at night.
"You good?" Daniel asked once they had pushed the wagon into the center of the junkyard and mounted the horses – Sarah on the gelding and Daniel on the mare. Sitting there on the giant black horse, Castiel felt small looking up at him, and felt a familiar ache in the center of his chest; he wondered if Daniel called her 'Baby' too.
Instead he smiled. "Yes, Daniel, I'll be okay."
"Alright, um…I guess we'll just stop at sunset for now, see how we're feeling. You'll be able to keep up okay?" Castiel nodded again. "Let us know if -."
"God's sake, Danny, he said he'll be fine. And 'The Honest One' will let us know if his wings start droopin', alright? Stop mothering him," Sarah griped, kicking her heels into her horse and sending him off at a canter. Daniel smiled apologetically and waited for Castiel to step back before following behind. Castiel watched them go for a second, measuring the strides of the horses; at their pace they'd probably make it about sixty miles before the sun set. If they kept it up.
Castiel bent down, wings flaring out to compensate for the extra weight, and hefted the pack rolls. They weren't too heavy, but they were large and cumbersome and he knew he would have to rest a while every now and again to compensate for the strain on his wings.
He pressed his lips together and pushed up from the ground. He couldn't help but smile at the way his wings caught the air and lifted him up higher and higher – the facility had been a giant dome of cage, so even if there was a good wing, a Mocker couldn't go far. It had depressed him, but the Mockers had seemed happy enough so he never complained. Of course he never complained; this is what he had signed up for.
When they stopped for the night, Castiel's entire body ached in ways he had forgotten it could. His wings could barely fold to pull off the duffle bags he'd been carrying on his back, and his back was sore from having the guns in Sarah's pack pressing against his spine. His arms were stiff and he worked his cold fingers for a moment to flex them out, loosen the joints.
Sarah and Daniel didn't look much better – he could see them both wince when they dismounted, thighs and calves sore from gripping their horses' flanks, fingers stiff and cold from clutching the reins. Steam rose gently off the horses' backs and their legs shook with exhaustion, heads hanging low and they munched eagerly on the grass growing around them, flanks still heaving as they worked to calm their bodies down. Their flanks were soaked with sweat and Castiel hoped that Daniel and Sarah had packed blankets for them, otherwise they would likely freeze in the night.
There was very little shelter in the place they had found when the sun set, the temperature of the air dropping noticeably by a couple of degrees. Castiel could see Sarah shivering, her hands digging deep into the pockets of her coat and standing close to Daniel to keep warm. His wings flexed, sweat making his fingers stick together uncomfortably, and he knew that the flight had left him far too tired to conjure an adequate shelter for them. They would have to find somewhere out of the wind, and he could use his wings and the warmth of the horses to survive the night.
He cast his eyes around. The ground was relatively flat, with small rises on either side of the road that had once been a highway, he suspected. The tarmac had long been eroded away or torn up to build new houses after the Ice Age, and there was very little to show it had even been a road at all – merely extra flatness amongst the flat ground. He was confident that he would be able to shape the earth into a small cove, and that would be enough for now.
"Follow me," he said, walking across the highway to the other side, and climbing over the small ridge. It stood at about waist height, and he carefully visualized a small cove dug into the side of the rise, dragging earth from the middle to rise up for shelter from the rain, with sides for protection from the wind. By the time Daniel and Sarah joined him with the horses and the bags, there was a smoothed out hollow in the ground large enough to comfortably sleep two people. When Daniel threw Castiel a look and cautiously stepped inside, the Angel spared some of his tired Grace to heat the inside air as well to a pleasant temperature, as though they were inside of a heated house.
He wondered, briefly, if either of them even knew what that felt like.
"How the hell did you do that?" Sarah asked, gesturing to the cove and eyeing it warily. She had a tight grip of the horses' reins and was standing far enough back from the alcove that there was no way in hell she could accidentally touch it. Her eyes were wide and scared, watching Daniel move around inside, checking the place out. "That wasn't there before, was it?"
Castiel pressed his lips together, able to feel both Daniel and Sarah's eyes on him. "No," he said, "but did I not say I would provide you shelter?"
"But that's…that fuckin' magic!" Sarah replied, her voice rising higher in her confusion. "Mockers can't do that. They can't do that."
"…Can they?" Daniel asked, stepping back out of the alcove, and Castiel moved away to make room for him, licking his lips as he tried to think of something to say. Should he lie? No – he could never lie to Dean. Ever. He would rather die first, again, as many times as necessary.
He hesitated, wings fanning the air behind him nervously, though they were sore and cold, and he swallowed. "No," he said, looking down. "No, they can't. Not so far as I am aware."
It was then that Daniel took a step back, immediately on the defensive, and Castiel's very Grace ached with the flat look that overcame his face. "Then what are you?" he asked, and if Castiel's hadn't been watching his eyes he wouldn't have seen the brief flash towards the bag of weapons. And it hurt. It hurt to be considered anything other than a friend, and brother, a…
"What. Are. You?" Sarah bit out when Castiel remained silent.
Unbidden, his feathers bristled up along the arches in his wings at her threatening tone, his fingers flexing very slightly in an effort to control his Grace. It had been a long time since someone had hated him so much, so obviously – such anger shining in human eyes.
"I'm a…" He paused, swallowed, and took a deep breath. This used to come so easily to him, but he knew how they would react, and kept his head down, unwilling to see the disbelief on their faces when they would learn the truth; learn just how far he must have fallen. "I am an Angel of the Lord."
It sounded so flat, coming out of his mouth now. Where had God gone? That was it – he was gone. All of the Angels were, long before these humans, these Hunters, these children had ever been born – before their parents and grandparents. These children probably didn't even understand what a God was anymore. All they knew was monsters.
"Angels?" Daniel asked, sounding suspicious and just a little scared. "Get outta here. There's no such thing."
There's no such thing. Why would an Angel rescue me from Hell?
Castiel swallowed, feeling a tight sensation building up in the back of his throat, like he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. When he turned his gaze deeper, Dean's soul pulsed sullenly inside of Daniel's body – the soul was tired, drained, was not singing with joy and familiarity. It looked like it was dying. God, no.
"I…" Castiel wanted to look anywhere but at the two Hunters; could not stand to see the look of fear and anger on their faces. "When the world ended, there were many of us," he said. "Trapped here, or that had gone back. With the Gates of Heaven shut, there was nowhere for me to go. So I stayed."
"An Angel." That was Sarah, her eyes wide, mouth open in shock. She was standing very close to Daniel, and had stepped in front of him, almost like a shield, and it just made Castiel's Grace ache more to think that he had allowed that, that he felt he needed that. Why, why? "My mom used to tell me about Angels. They're not real. Nothing like that is real anymore."
Instead of saying anything, Castiel merely held his arms out to his sides, wings matching in an example, like an offering to her senses to prove them wrong. Daniel bit his lip, looking at Castiel as though seeing with new eyes, like he'd changed something about him and the man couldn't quite figure out what.
"His wings aren't colored like Mockers' are," he whispered to Sarah quietly. "He doesn't sleep. Or eat."
"I am an Angel," Castiel repeated, folding his wings again and letting his arms hang loosely by his sides. "And you are now under my protection. You need not fear me. Now," he gestured to his shelter, "sleep. Rest. It'll get colder soon."
"Why?" Sarah asked, not moving, and not letting Daniel move either, her arm reaching out to stop the man from obeying Castiel and stepping back into the cove. "Why us? What are you doing here?"
The Angel tilted his head to one side, frowning a little. "You bought me," he said plainly, like the answer should have been obvious, and it should have – they're the ones who'd done it, after all. "You have a Hunt, you needed me. Here I am."
"But why?" Sarah asked again, clearly frustrated with the lack of answers.
Before Castiel could say anything in reply, Daniel sighed and, with a roll of his eyes, pushed her restricting arm away from him. "C'mon, Sarah, let's get to sleep. I don't know 'bout you but my legs are fuckin' dying here. Come on," he said, stepping down into the alcove, holding out his hand for her to follow. "It's really warm in here, too. Nice and comfy."
Her eyes were dark with distrust still, and she doesn't move. Daniel rolled his eyes again. "Cas, are you going to maim, stab, shoot, suffocate or in any other way kill us tonight?" he asked, looking back towards the Angel with barely disguised amusement on his face.
Castiel's mouth twisted as well in a smile. "No, definitely not," he replied, playing along.
"There, see?" Daniel said, grinning back at the woman. "And he's 'The Honest One', remember? Now let's get the fuck to sleep."
Castiel turned away from the humans then, leaving them to settle down for the night despite Sarah's continuing process, and instead saw to the horses, conjuring more grass and some water for them as well, and blankets since Sarah had yet to put them on the animals. The mare seemed to give a whicker of thanks when he did so, ears forward, and she pressed her muzzle against Castiel's hand once before going back to graze. The Angel's wings fluttered happily, his breath misting in the night, and he was content. There were so many stars out, but Castiel couldn't see them, because within that alcove Dean's soul was shining brightly enough to render those stars invisible.
The second day was worse in travel than the first – Castiel's back and wings, already sore from carrying such a weight after so long being mostly unused, twinged at every pull and he tried to glide for most of the way, but the air currents were random and fleeting and it was hard to maintain any altitude without effort. He was sweating by the time he landed with his Hunters, as they had stopped for food and he didn't want to fly too far ahead of them should they need his help.
"Doin' alright there, Cas?" Daniel asked with a raised eyebrow, and the Angel nodded his head once. After the slip-up of last night, Castiel hadn't had the heart to correct him again, and not with the soul inside of him shining so brightly. Castiel had to wonder if it had been his rejection before that had dulled Dean's soul so much. He couldn't bear to do that again. "You look exhausted."
"I assure you, Daniel, I am fine," he replied with a wave of his hand, forcing a tired smile to his face. "I will have time to rest tonight. The Hunt is more important."
Sarah gave an unimpressed huff at that, muttering something under her breath, but Castiel didn't hear her. No, his attention had been caught by something else – something loud, jarring, the feeling felt like it had clawed its way into his very bones. Something that felt wrong, haunting, like the scream of a dying ghost.
He shuddered with it, his wings flexing, and stood to try and find the source. But his weak, human eyes could see nothing, nothing but the bleak brown-green landscape around them, the road stretching ever-onward in front of them and behind.
"Something wrong?" Daniel's voice felt distant, discordant with the high-pitched ringing in Castiel's ears, as though something was trying to drill through his skull; the screech of an owl or a dying Angel. He flinched at the sound.
"I…" And just like that, it was gone again, as though it had never been, but it made Castiel's fingers shake as he pressed them to his temple, tried to massage away the feeling of his brain pushing itself out of his ears. "I don't know what that was."
"Are you okay?" Concerned, then, Daniel's voice getting closer, a hand on his shoulder squeezing tight and it was only then that Castiel realized he had fallen to his knees, drawn his wings in tight to his body to try and shield himself from the feeling, the wrongness. "What happened?"
What had happened? Castiel didn't know – he looked up into Daniel's eyes, those eyes that were so green and familiar and he felt just as lost as the last time he had looked into them, when they had blinked closed for the last time and Castiel had tried to follow to find the Gates of Heaven sealed shut and had tried to rip out his own Grace so that he didn't have to feel anymore. "I don't know," he replied honestly, unable to tear his gaze away, and it seemed like Daniel wasn't going to look away any time soon either. "I felt like…like something was trying to rip my Grace apart."
The Hunter's brows furrowed in confusion – Dean would have known. Would have known what he was talking about, and pressed his hand to Castiel's chest as though to feel a heartbeat, would have allowed the Angel to bury his face in the crook of the Hunter's shoulder, lined with sweat and blood and ash. But Castiel could do nothing and Daniel didn't do anything.
The stillness didn't last long – not even a moment later Castiel was doubling over, crying out in pain and pressing a hand against his chest as that sensation hit him like a bullet between the shoulders. It was pure wrongness, like seeing the full extent of Hell's hoard when he had gazed upon them surrounding the burning soul of the Righteous Man. It was the screams of dying Angels when he had plunged his blade into their hearts, felt their Graces claw at him and call him a traitor.
"Cas? Cas!" He could hear the Hunters calling his name, but could not for his very being answer them; his lips felt like they had been sewn shut, jaws clenched and locked tight and he couldn't speak, could barely twitch his tired and sore wings to even acknowledge them.
Then, balm. A warm, soothing palm smoothed out along the back of his neck, strong and callused fingers gripping gently and it felt as though someone had cut the nerves from Castiel's head to the rest of his body – his wings still twitched in pain, but his head had cleared, finally, allowed him to blink open eyes darkened with pain and gasp in a desperate breath and try and figure out what the actual Hell was happening to his body.
Was he finally dying?
"Castiel." The fingers squeezed, their grip turned harsh and demanding and, gasping, Castiel forced himself to raise his eyes, look upon the concerned and helpless gaze of his Hunter. Daniel's voice had lowered in his fear, too familiar, too achingly familiar. "Cas, are you okay?"
The soul was pulsing brightly underneath Daniel's skin, pressing right up against the barriers of his flesh. If Castiel wanted, he could reach forward and tug at it, force the soul to part from this unnecessary body, drink him into Castiel's own, keep Dean with him forever. His very Grace pulsed with selfish, frightened need – the need to survive, to fight, to carry on. He needed to get a message, needed to find help, Salvation. Needed -.
Help me.
"Help me," Castiel's mouth whispered, but it was not his voice; this voice was weak, dredging up enough strength to barely hold off Death himself, and felt cold in Castiel's throat, constricting like the grip of Lucifer's palm into a human heart. "Help me. Please."
His fingers grabbed, desperate as only the dying can, nails digging into Daniel's coat sleeves and curling around the back of his neck, their foreheads bumping together hard enough to make Daniel wince. His own eyes were bright, wide – he could sense the otherness in Castiel now, in the glow of his eyes and the echo in his voice, in the dominant and powerful arch of his wings.
"How?" he whispered, was aware of Sarah's presence nearby, her instincts demanding she close her cold fingers around the handle of a gun, in case Castiel attacked – or whatever was possessing the Angel attacked. She would likely never be relaxed around him. "I hear you," he said, "I'm here."
Relief, then, so strong that Castiel shook from it; made him cling tighter to Daniel's warmth, fighting off the clutches of the darkness pressing in on him from all sides – he felt like he was drowning. Death wasn't meant to feel like this; he knew, he'd done it before. "Help me," he whispered again, could do no more than beg pitifully – whatever was happening, whatever had wormed its way into his brain and taken over his voice, it was tired, and it was scared. So very scared like a lost child. His fingers clutched deeper, tight enough that it was making Daniel wince, the Hunter's lips pressed tight together in pain.
Stop, he urged the thing, trying so desperately to gentle his touch on him. We're here. We will find you. Stop.
Abruptly, as though someone had hauled him out of the freezing water of Death, Castiel was back, gasping heavily, and he collapsed against Daniel's body, making the Hunter lose his balance and fall back onto his heels, the Angel sprawled on top of him. Castiel was quick to push himself upright, not wanting to hurt the man, but was unable to go much further than that – sickness had dug itself deep into his belly, making him feel like he was staring at a pool of blood and intestines; he felt a foreign and very sudden urge to vomit, and barely held himself back.
"What the fuck was that?" Sarah demanded, running over to Daniel and hauling him to his feet, as they both stared at the winded and collapsed Angel. Castiel was still clutching at his chest, a glow to his skin that almost made him look sickly in the eternal grey-dawn, sweat sticking the fine wisps of hair at the back of his neck to his skin. His wings were shaking. "Castiel? Danny? Care to clue me in?"
Castiel had no voice to answer her; the sensation, the presence was gone, but with its departure something even more violent and sickening had risen up; he needed to fly, there was a tug on his Grace that pure will could not let him ignore – he had to find whatever had made that distress call, before it was too late. Before that voice was lost.
He raised his head, felt his very joints ache with fatigue, lips pressed together tightly, and when he pushed himself to his feet there was hesitance in every movement; fear, that if he moved too fast or in the wrong way, the weak human vessel he wore would crumble into dust under the force of it. "I…"
"Someone needs our help," Daniel murmured before Castiel could say anything, and the Angel fought a smile, knowing in Daniel's voice that he had already made up his mind to go search it out.
Dean's soul pulsed happily when the Angel smiled.
"Or something," Sarah hissed, tugging on Daniel's sleeve. "You're not serious, right? This thing – whatever the fuck just happened – managed to strike down a fucking Angel of the Lord. And we have almost none of our gear. We're not prepared for this."
Daniel blinked at her, brows furrowing in anger. "You're kidding, right?" he demanded, pulling his arm away from her and taking a step towards the kneeling Angel, as though shielding him from Sarah's glare with his own body, and Castiel's wings curled forward on instinct, an arch brushing against the back of Daniel's calf. "Look, I don't think this thing wants to hurt us. It asked for our help."
"We know plenty of things that lure their victims in that way, Danny – fuck! It could be anything!" Sarah bit back, fire lighting her eyes. There was so much ire and frustration in them, Castiel wondered what she must be doing with it all.
"I don't care!" Daniel replied, with a twist to his mouth that Castiel recognized, along with the determined gleam in his eye. "The thing asked for my help, Sarah – this is what we do, isn't it? So saddle up. Cas, do you think you can find it?"
A hand locked itself around Castiel's arm, pulling the unsteady Angel to his feet and instincts that were more in control that his own brain was made his wings flare out, catch the air to keep him upright even when his legs still felt like they were going to buckle. "I…think so," he hazarded, rubbing the sore spot just below his sternum where it felt like his Grace was being pulled out of his chest. "I believe I can. The pull is very strong."
Sarah rolled her eyes, and muttered something under her breath. It sounded a lot like 'You idiots are going to get me killed'. And it made Castiel smile, and think of Bobby.
They packed their bags again and Castiel made to shoulder the heavy weaponry bags, but was stopped when Daniel laid a hand on his arms, caging his hold in to stop them lifting over his head. "No way in Hell, Cas," he said with a shake of his head that felt like an order. "You're ridin' with us. We can carry the load for a little while."
Castiel frowned – they couldn't afford to be slowed down. But the tug on his Grace was insistent; go, go, come, help me, please. "I assure you, Daniel, I -."
"Fuck man, come on, your wings are shaking," the Hunter admonished, interrupting Castiel's lie, and the Angel flushed a little, biting his lower lip and looking down. It was true; his wings hadn't stopped trembling since the possession had swept through his body, and he felt as weak and limp as a newborn baby.
But he was hesitant. He had never ridden a horse, and was doubtful he would be given one to himself – that meant either sharing with Sarah, who was still muttering under her breath and casting glares over his way whenever she felt like he was looking at her, or sharing with Daniel – the man who inspired such aching desire in his Grace, his flesh caging in Castiel's most beloved soul. Either way would be uncomfortable. Torturous.
He bit his lip again, wings rustling in tense anticipation. "Just for a little while," he said, unable to look Daniel in the eye, but he could feel the soul's brilliant shine of happiness from where he stood.
Daniel and he rose the big black mare, who greeted Castiel with another bump of her muzzle against his hand. Her eyes shone with intelligence and Castiel, despite his trepidation around the animal, felt soothed by the beating of her giant, steady heart, the slow, deep in-and-out of her breath. Her flank and neck was soft to his touch, almost silken and so smooth. She reminded him of Angel feathers.
His wings allowed him to sit no other place but behind Daniel – in the back seat, as he was so used to – but the movements of the horse were nothing like the rumbling of Dean's much-beloved car, and he found himself having to cling to the Hunter for much of the journey, slow and cumbersome though it was. His wings itched to fly, to spread wide and find the source of whatever was giving his Grace such a painful tug, but he resisted, and tightened his arms around Daniel instead, breathing in the scent of sweat and leather that had nestled into his skin around the back of his neck.
Daniel would laugh at that, and call him a nervous rider.
Dean would have reached back, wrapped his hand around Castiel's thigh to keep him steady, and ground him. Because Impala or not, the wind as the horses moved was freeing, and the scent so familiar and safe. Now more than ever Castiel ached with the desire to go home.
It seemed like they had been riding forever – forward, forward, always forward – and Castiel's body ached in ways he didn't realize it could. His thighs were sore from the uncomfortable material of the light saddles against his jeans, his legs tired from wrapping tight around the horse's belly to try and keep his balance – his wings, for the same reason, were sore and drained.
Help me. The words hit him out of nowhere, and he released Daniel to clutch at his head, crying out in pain and burying his face into the back of the Hunter's coat. The light of their grey sky seemed too bright, piercing. Behind the words he heard the chatter of demons. Please. Help.
"Cas?" Pain exploded down his side, and Castiel opened his eyes to find himself staring at the sky, breathing heavily through clenched jaws and flared nostrils. He couldn't talk again; his wings felt like they were being ripped out of him, dragged along by his feathers to the source of the voice. "Castiel!"
Fly, the voice urged. Fly.
He had no choice but to obey; his wings arched up and he was in the air before he could think about it, Daniel and Sarah's frantic voices behind him quickly fading away. He could hear the horses; quick to follow, but he was an Angel. He could outfly them all. He felt like he was being torn in two – unnatural desire to fling himself into the empty air in front of him weighing on the need to stay back, to guard his Hunters, to guard Dean, but the supernatural won out. The urge was too great for him to fight back, weak and hapless as he was.
The dark silhouette against the sandy peach of the ground drew his attention. There was a bright flash of color bordering the shadow, but most of it was in darkness. Castiel soon came to realize why as he approached, landing on the hard earth far less gracefully than someone of his breed should, and ran towards the shape, a dreadful conclusion forming in his mind.
It was a Mocker.
The scene reeked of blood.
"No," he whispered, eyes wide with horror. The Mocker's wings were spread out wide, red tinging the edge of the black feathers, and someone had laid a coat over the body, hiding the face. Castiel knelt down by the Mocker's side, pulling back the coat to reveal the face of a young man, no older than thirty on the surface, but barely recognizable under the mass of beaten flesh and scar tissue, fresh and old blood drying around his mouth and his nose and the corners of his eyes. "No, Father, God, no."
The Mocker shifted at the sound of his voice, letting out no sound but a distressed whine like a dying dog, and Castiel leaned in, shushing him quietly, stroking through his hair and urging him to be silent. "Peace, my son, I'm with you now." He reached for his Grace, urging it to come forth and help this dying soul, but he could not – his Grace retreated, and Castiel hissed in frustration and anguish when he realized that the reason was because this Mocker was beyond even his help.
What good was he, as an Angel, if he could not heal?
The Mocker's fingers and wings twitched, and eyes the color of winter skies slitted open, barely visible. He tried to open his mouth, but no words could form – instead he coughed; weak, bitter, bile and blood spilling up out of his mouth.
"Hush, young one," Castiel urged again, reaching forward and helping him sit so that he didn't choke on his own blood. Even half-gone, that was a horrible way to die. The Angel clenched his eyes tightly shut, fighting back the urge to weep. His hands kept their soothing rhythm through blood-crusted hair. "What is your name?"
Weak, barely a whisper; "Matthew."
Matthew. One of the preachers to men. Castiel drew in a deep breath, pressing his face to the top of the young Mocker's head – who had done this to him? What had happened? Perhaps a Hunt gone wrong or something equally horrific.
"Where is your master?" Castiel asked, raising his eyes to look around for another telltale patch of blood, some clue as to why this young Mocker was abandoned and alone.
The word was a sob; "Gone."
"Oh, Father." The Angel was at a loss of what else to say; this poor creature, to be so far gone and surely within Death's clutches now. "Father, I wish I could help you."
The Mocker gave another weak sound, wing twitching, feathers just barely brushing against Castiel's, and without hesitation the Angel spread his wing out in return, flattening it over Matthew's blood-crusted feathers, eager to share with him the connection of the living, one more time before he passed on.
"…Will it hurt?" So small, so fucking young and scared. Father, why did it hurt so much?
At that, Castiel let a tear fall, squeezed from the traitorous space between his eyelid and his cheek. He pressed his lips together, placing a kiss against the top of Matthew's head. "I don't know," he whispered, because Matthew didn't need to know that it did; it would. It would hurt like Hell. "I don't know, but I wish – Father, how I wish I could welcome you to the Gates of Heaven, young one. I wish you could see it."
He wished for so many things.
"Father," Matthew whispered, the blasphemy rolling easily from him because Castiel was the Mockers' God, and the Angel didn't correct him; merely held him tighter and tried not to cry. "Father, you must know. There is a snake."
Castiel frowned, then, opening his eyes. A snake? What did Matthew mean? It was too cold for creatures such as that anymore – the ice age had wiped most of them out. "What?" he asked, stumped for what else to ask – Matthew was fading fast now, lids drooping back now, eyes closed, shoulders going lax. "Matthew, tell me what you mean. What do you mean?"
"Snake." The word was slurred, breathed into the cool air around Castiel's chest, and he felt Matthew finally go limp in his arms. His hands refused to stop stroking through the Mocker's hair, even when his nails turned sharp and dug in with enough harm to hurt anything that remained living.
Another few tears fell, then, the Angel mourning over a death of his son, so savagely beaten and left to die. Where had his master gone? Where were his brothers? Who had left him out here in the middle of nowhere to suffer so awfully?
Castiel had no idea. But he would find out. This treachery would not go unnoticed.
A chill fell across him, then, colder than the rest of the world at that moment, and Castiel raised his head to the sight of an old man, dressed in a black suit, with hair the color of a starless sky falling down the sides of his weathered face. He held a cane in one hand; the other was tucked into his suit jacket, hidden away from sight.
Castiel's arms tightened around the body of his creation. "Where do you take them?" he demanded, angry now, scared for what would happen to Matthew's soul when he had crossed over into the next life – where would they go? Where had Dean gone? Could he come back? Castiel needed answers; Faith was not enough anymore.
Death remained silent. "Tell me!" Castiel yelled again, upper lip curling back in a snarl, wings tight and aggressive against his back. He clung to Matthew's body as though by sheer force of will alone he could outlast the certainty waiting to welcome the Mocker into the next life.
Death tilted his head to one side, a smile on his face that was almost sad. Silver cuffs shimmered around his wrists. "I can't tell you," he murmured, earning a broken, defeated sob from Castiel. "You know that."
"Why?" Castiel whispered. He'd lost his voice now, wings sagging to the ground. "Why can't you? What is being kept from me?"
Death raised a brow. "I imagine a lot of things. You're hardly an Angel anymore."
Castiel barely suppressed a hiss, fingers tightening into the dead flesh of his heir. Then, as quick as it had come, the anger was gone, and he breathed out. "Be gentle with him," he pled, eyes down on the ground. "Please."
"I have never harmed a soul," Death replied, reached down and taking the ethereal form of Matthew's body from Castiel's hands, embracing the glowing soul tightly to his chest and tucking it away into his jacket with all the rest. "Until next time, Castiel," he said, with a courteous wave of his cane-holding hand, and disappeared with a smile.
Daniel and Sarah found the Angel, clutching a blood-stained coat and a beaten Mocker. Castiel looked up, mourning tears just barely shed when he heard the hoof beats of the two horses stutter to a stop, and could say nothing. Continued to say nothing when Daniel dismounted and knelt by his side.
"Is it…?" He didn't say the word, fingers reaching forward to lightly hover in the air above the Mocker's body.
Castiel's exhale was like a sob. "His name was Matthew," he said.
Daniel blinked. "You knew him?"
Castiel shook his head, his fingers curling in tighter to the blood-stained coat around Matthew's body, before he carefully pulled his wing away, edges of his feathers crusted with blood, and allowed the body to lie down and rest. They could do nothing for him – they had not the tools to bury his body in such a frozen ground and Castiel's Grace refused to come to his aid around the creature. "No," he whispered, closing the dead Mocker's eyelids all the way like Dean had taught him to do for the dead. "No, but he was mine." His fingers refused to release the coat, holding it tight against his belly as he pushed his fist against himself, trying to quell the rolling nausea in his gut. "Someone did this to him."
"Someone?" That was Sarah, and she had joined them now, standing guard over the two men, her eyes roving the horizon as she stood close, arms folded. "How do you know?"
"Where are the other bodies?" Daniel asked before Castiel could answer, drawing the attention of both the Angel and the female Hunter. "Mockers can take down all kinds of shit – if something did this to him, there'd be evidence somewhere. It's like…it's like he just fell out of the sky."
"Or he was killed by someone he didn't expect an attack from," Sarah said grimly, with a twist to her mouth that meant she suspected that was the better theory; finishing the thought that Castiel had dared not put a frame to in his own head. By the Father, what if he had? What if Matthew's master had attacked him, or a member of his own kind?
Unbidden, a snarl rose up in Castiel. If it was other Mockers who had done this, then they would pay. If Matthew's master had done this, Castiel would hunt the miserable wretch down until he was begging to have his pathetic life spared. Mockers were only the most trusting and loyal and unchanging of any creature that had been made since Angels and Castiel would not let such a betrayal stand.
This was an act of war.
"He said that his master was gone," Castiel finally said after a long moment; with the knowledge, the Hunt in his head, his Grace had finally stopped churning – had cooled and flattened like ice on a lake and when he looked up at his Hunters his eyes and voice were steady and sure. "We need to find this man. We must."
"We have another Hunt already, Castiel," Sarah replied, voice soft but firm – they had already exhausted themselves getting this far for the rugaru pack and she would not allow them to chase off on some fool's errand. "But after, maybe, when the Hunt is done."
"Let's burn the body. Give him a Hunter's death, at least," Daniel said with a squeeze to Castiel's shoulder and a small smile. The Angel forced himself to his feet, freezing toes curled against the barren ground, and spared one look to the Mocker's body.
"There is no need." And he could feel Daniel and Sarah's questioning glances on his back – they made his wings itch. He looked up, forcing a small, tired smile to his face, clutching the coat tight to his chest. "His soul won't trouble anyone anymore."