The farther in they trekked, however, Castiel knew something was wrong. There was a dreadful feeling pressing down on his skull, and birds had stopped singing around them, casting the place into an eerie silence broken only by the clopping of hooves on the perfectly-maintained roads, and the creak of leather harnesses. The dog padded by Castiel's side, ears up and alert, and Castiel had time to think that if the animal was on guard then he should be too.
He cast his senses outward, hoping for some kind of clue as to what the Hell was happening in here, when suddenly the dog took off, running and barking up a storm. The gelding gave a startled whinny, head flying up and almost knocking Sarah off balance – only her quick reflexes saved her from being tossed by the horse.
"What the Hell?" Daniel demanded, and Castiel could already see him digging his heels into the mare's flanks, ready to chase the animal and Castiel threw a hand out, halting the animal with his Grace so that she could not run. "Cas, come on!"
"You'd just go charging off after a dog?" the Angel demanded, slowly releasing his hold on the horse when he was sure she would not run; she fixed one large, baleful eye on him, snorting loudly, fidgeting with her front legs. "We approach slowly. The animal will alert us if it has found something."
Daniel's mouth thinned out in a line, his fingers curling around the reins, but he nodded, once, and Castiel led the way once more down the road. There were no people, no animals around that Castiel could see or sense, and no wind – a chime hung in one of the front doors, still and silent. There was no wind and almost oppressive sun, making sweat gather in the back of his neck, and made his wings rustle in distress.
A loud barking startled Castiel and he turned his head, found the dog standing in front of one of the yards, tail wagging violently, barking loud and repeatedly even after Castiel looked towards it, wings flared in recognition. "Come on," he said, changing course to the animal and casting his Grace out to make sure they were well and truly alone.
The dog led him around to the backyard, and what he saw stopped him in his tracks.
"Father in Heaven."
Mockers. There were at least half a dozen of them, and in this backyard the green grass was smeared with red blood and what looked like black pus or ectoplasm, oozing from their open mouths and staring eyes. Deep lashes covered what skin he could see and had ripped apart their clothes, and their wings had been slashed open and large pools of blood surrounded them, soaking into the Earth, blackening the grass.
That was why Castiel's Grace had not sensed them; the blood. Now, looking at them, he could smell it – sick, coating the air and the back of his throat like sour honey, he gazed upon them, pressing a hand to his mouth to stop another curse escaping.
These Mockers, his children. Something had done this to them. The same thing that had killed Matthew, and Castiel suspected, his owner. Something very dark and very evil had managed to slay these creatures and Castiel's stomach was rolling with nausea.
He gave no indication of having heard Daniel and Sarah's approach, until suddenly the Hunters were eclipsing his peripheral vision, and he flinched from them, expecting it to be the thing that had slain these creatures. He took a deep breath, rubbing his hand over his mouth, over his eyes, trying to wipe away the sight of it – unbidden, visions of when he was a God flashed in his mind, of slaying Angels and searing their blackened wings against what had been the most perfect Heaven, his favorite Heaven. This scene was rank with familiarity, as though someone had tried to copy him, had seen what he had done and tried to recreate it. It was sickening, stank of death and blood and it made him want to turn and fly far, far away.
"Cas." The voice brought him back to the present, and he dared to open his eyes, to where Sarah was kneeling over the body of a young male Mocker, his wings golden-brown to match the honey-blonde of his hair, flecks of blood and dirt in both. He was lying on his stomach, what appeared to be a kitchen knife clenched tight in one hand in defense, and his back had been laid open by something – something vicious with claws and teeth marks were etched into the back of his neck. The dog was nosing at the body, whining softly, and Sarah gently took the young Mocker's shoulder and rolled him over onto his front.
Lashes coated his face, red lines of old, dry blood and scars, and his eyes were wide open and staring, a very light green – almost grey. Castiel took a step forward, amazed when, against all odds, it looked like the young Mocker was still breathing – shallowly, shakily, but there. His chest was rising and falling sporadically, his lips were chapped and his eyelids weren't moving.
He was likely starving – would die without food, but he could be saved. Maybe.
The Angel knelt down, brushing back the young male's short hair, and closed his eyes. His blood was still too potent and Castiel knew he would not be able to heal the thing by Grace alone; his power pressed against his skin and stopped there as though it had hit a barrier it could not cross.
The dog whined softly by his side, nosing at Castiel's hand and licking at the Mocker's face. Castiel set another hand on the back of the dog's neck, hand tightening in its fur.
"May I?" he asked of the animal, not expecting an answer, but all he got was a small wagging of the dog's tail. Sam had always liked dogs. Said they were born with the kindness humans already had, so they were just better. Better than humans, lacking in Original Sin. "Thank you, my friend."
He leaned down, stroking the dog's head with both hands as he placed a kiss to the top of its head, before closing its eyes, and he snapped its neck with one short, sharp twist of his hands. The animal went limp in his arms and he swallowed, taking the knife from the Mocker's hands and running it across the animal's throat.
"It was taken with permission," he whispered into the young Mocker's ear, hoping the male could hear him. "Drink, my son."
And he pushed the youth's mouth open, cupping the growing pool of blood in his hands and letting it drip into the male's open mouth, his other hand rubbing his throat to help him swallow, until it seemed like he was, somehow, doing it on his own. Fingers twitched weakly by Castiel's thigh, rising up slowly to take hold of the animal and Castiel pushed the dog against the Mocker's mouth, bracing him upright with Sarah's help so that he could drink, until those eyelids fluttered over pale eyes and closed tight, and a broken, sated moan left the creature. Castiel could have cried when he felt the young Mocker clutch more tightly at the dog's body, life leaving the animal but soaking into the Mocker's skin, and Castiel watched as the cuts started to seal closed, leaving only old dry blood smears behind and scars, and his wings were knitting themselves back together tightly, whole and unbroken with only bent and missing feathers to mark anything that had happened.
Castiel soothed the trembling young Mocker, petting his dirty, sweaty hair back from his face and resting his jaw against the top of the youth's head, his wings wrapping tight around him to keep him warm. "Good, young one, that's good," he whispered, encouraging as he watched color return to the Mocker's skin and could hear the rapid, recovering beating of his heart and how his breaths were getting stronger. "You're doing so well."
The Mocker gave a soft, broken sound in response, pressing his mouth against the dog's slit throat more tightly, gripping in its fur until his fingers were white and there was no more blood left to take. Castiel caught the animal when it fell from between his limp fingers, eyes wide and staring at the animal he had just drank from.
"I…"
"Hush, child," Castiel soothed, still holding the Mocker close to him, wing flattening over his body to shield him from sight and from the oppressive sun. "You are safe here."
"Who…who are you?" The words came out raspy and weak, the Mocker pressing his hands to his face to try and wipe the blood away, but he merely ended up smearing it all over his mouth, and Castiel shushed him again, kneeling back so that they could see each other and so that he would feel less threatened. The Mocker's eyes widened upon seeing his face. "…Castiel?"
The Angel's brows furrowed. "You know me?" he asked, tilting his head to one side. He didn't expect that, at all. It just added another layer to the wrongness coating this place. The Mocker nodded, and there was this huge smile on his face, baring his blood-lined teeth, joy and fear shining equally in his eyes. "How do you know me, young one?"
"You're…Castiel," the Mocker whispered, clutching at the Angel's arm as though afraid he might fly away or disappear. There were tears forming in the corners of the Mocker's eyes. "I knew it. I knew you were real, that you would come."
"Knew…young one, what are you talking about? What is your name?" Castiel asked, deciding to start small – perhaps being so close to death had confused the young creature. It could have happened, and Castiel spared a moment to wonder where he had come from, where his owner was, what gross violation of nature had caused his attempted murder and the slaughter of his brethren. "Tell me," he coaxed, brushing his hand down the side of the creature's face.
"My…my name is Eric," the Mocker replied, finally looking away from Castiel's eyes, raking down the Angel and then back up, still smiling so wide like Castiel was a lost friend that he had recently met again. "And I knew you would come back for us. That you hadn't abandoned us."
Abandoned them? Why on Earth would… Castiel frowned again, not knowing what to say to that, and looked to Daniel and Sarah for answers, but they seemed just as confused, and nervous, standing around the bodies of the slain Mockers. Castiel's mouth twisted in remembered anger, his wings flexing, and he turned back to the Mocker – Eric.
"Eric," he whispered, taking hold of the young one's shoulder, drawing his attention. "What happened here? Did you know these Mockers?" The young Mocker's grey-green eyes flickered around them, darkening when he saw the bodies of those slain around him. He pressed a hand to his throat, swallowing loudly enough that Castiel could hear a click.
He held up the dirty kitchen blade that Eric had been holding. "What were you fighting?"
"We…we were running," Eric replied, his voice sounding so small and sad and he was so young – Castiel's Grace ached to wrap around the young creature and soothe him as he would have soothed a frightened fledgling in Heaven, but they were not in Heaven and Castiel had no power here. "We were trying to get away. Something wasn't right with him. Something was…something was happening."
"What, Eric, what did you sense?" Castiel urged, a prickling feeling growing in the base of his spine, rising up enough that his wings were twitching with impatience and anxiety. Somehow, in some way, he could not shake the growing feeling that something knew they were here, and was coming for them. The more time they wasted in this place, the more vulnerable they were. "Have people been coming here? These people with me –" He gestured to Sarah and Daniel and Eric's eyes followed the motion. "are Hunters, and they are here because people were dying. Have people been dying?"
"They…it was without permission. You always told us to ask for permission first."
The young Mocker was obviously still stuck in whatever thoughts were running through his mind at that moment – something dark that was frightening him, making his wings shake and his voice tremble. Castiel, feeling helpless, looked towards Daniel and Sarah again, hoping that they might be able to lend some insight or know of some way to handle the situation better than Castiel – it had been a long time since he'd been around people. His skills were a little rusty.
"We still have some of the blood," Daniel murmured after a moment, nudging his toe against Sarah's thigh. "When we thought Cas was a Mocker. Maybe he's still hungry."
The Angel nodded eagerly – yes, yes that sounded logical. "I shall go retrieve it," he said, standing. "Please, watch him."
"You shouldn't go alone, Cas," Daniel said, shoulders tense and he wasn't looking away from the lax, blinking Mocker. Almost as though he didn't trust him or something, and the idea was absurd to Castiel – that a Mocker would strike out…no. Whatever had happened to these creatures, it couldn't be one of their own. Castiel refused to believe it.
But dread stirred in his gut again, and he tightened his fingers into fists, the familiar itch of desire to summon his blade making his arm tingle and his wings rise up.
He stood. "Come, then," he murmured, looking down to Sarah. "Please, make sure he doesn't try and strain himself."
Sarah nodded, pressing her lips together, her hand resting on the Mocker's blood-caked forehead, combing some of the drying flakes away from his skin. He still looked kind of out of it, pupils wide and eyes unfocused, mouth open, breathing hard. His lips were moving but Castiel could not read what he was trying to say.
Daniel followed Castiel out to the road where they had left the horses, and the mare snorted loudly in greeting, lowering her head to the press of Castiel's hand. "Where have you kept it?" he asked, casting out a wary eye to make sure they were not being watched. The feeling refused to leave him, though, and he felt too exposed and too open out in the middle of the street. His fingers curled around the leather of the mare's reins on reflex, forcing himself to stay grounded.
"With the gelding," the Hunter replied, stepping around Castiel to dig through the saddlebags on the other horse. The gelding's ears were twitching, head raised high and looking somewhere that was not towards the green grass or the people surrounding him.
The ball of dread curled a little tighter, and Castiel turned around to follow the horse's gaze.
There was a Mocker crouched low on the roof of one of the houses, its large golden wings flared out but pressed low to avoid casting a shadow from the oppressive sun. It was a female, with long red hair that matched the crimson accents in her wings, and her eyes glowed a feral green. As Castiel watched, when Daniel pulled out the IV bags of blood, her upper lip curled back and her shoulders went tense.
"Daniel," Castiel murmured, wings already flaring out in aggression, Grace pulsing and he moved, stepping between the supposedly hungry Mocker and his Hunter. "Go back to the garden. Now." He could feel Daniel's gaze on the side of his face, and knew the instant that the Hunter had turned to see the Mocker, because she hissed, wings shifting closer to her body, knees bending under her, preparing to pounce. "Daniel, go!"
She shrieked when the Hunter made a run for it, and Castiel leapt forward to meet her. She was also a young one, not much older than Eric and perhaps twenty by human appearances, and far too slender to be healthy – Castiel could feel her fine bones under his hands when he caught her, twisted her arm behind her back and caught her legs between his own, so that they could both go rolling and he managed to pin her down with a hand to the back of her neck, his other wrapped around both her wrists as he straddled her thighs, pressing her down on her front against the pristine concrete road.
She hissed, shrieking again, and Castiel's mouth twisted when she tried to buffet him with her wings – they were still small, much smaller than his, and lighter as suited her breed; more for quick flights than fighting.
His heavier, soldier's wings easily covered hers, forcing them back down, but still she did not stop struggling. His hand tightened on the back of her neck, fingers digging into the pulse point that had always been so effective on humans but she still fought back, her nails and fingers twisting and digging sharply into Castiel's own wrists.
"Stop," he grit out, Grace burning with the desire to smite something that had threatened his Hunter, had threatened Dean, but he forced himself to rein his Grace in because she was young and probably mad from hunger and that didn't mean she deserved to die. She merely shrieked at him – louder, piercing, sure to call attention to the both of them and they couldn't afford that.
He pressed his lips together, swallowing, as he knew what he must do. Mockers were baser, less evolved than Angels or humans. They still submitted and reacted to primal, instinctual things like dominance displays and threats.
Castiel cast his eyes to Heaven, briefly, glaring at the too-bright sun, before he took a deep breath and moved his hand from the back of her neck, only for long enough that he could lean down and sink his teeth into the soft, vulnerable skin.
It gave way easily under his bite, flooding his mouth with her blood, which stung and felt like he had tried to swallow Listerine (which Dean had made him try after sampling garlic bread. Delightfully awful invention, in his opinion). He knew Mocker blood would have had to react negatively with him, and his mouth felt like it was burning, his Grace reacting violently with her blood and he felt the urge to gag, sick with her blood and sick at himself for having to resort to something so base and violent and uncivilized as this.
Stop, he thought at her, though he knew she could not hear, his fingers tightening more on her wrists when she finally went still, lax, her wings pressing tight to the ground underneath his. Finally. He could have sobbed in relief, for he hadn't wanted to hurt her, disgusted that he had had to resort to this and, slowly, he released her wrists and raised his wings from hers, allowing her to scurry out from underneath him so that they were both crouching on the road.
Her eyes were wide, skin pale and wings pressed tight to her back in defense, kept low but tilted upwards at the back in a gesture of submission, and if Castiel didn't know better, an invitation to mate. But no, he must have been reading it wrong, because no Mocker or Angel with such fear in their eyes would allow themselves to be mounted.
Of course not.
He waited, until she had relaxed slightly, trying to keep his posture as open and relaxed as possible when all he could think about was the fact that, now, after their scuffle, blood lined his mouth that was still burning him and she was now between him and where his Hunters were. "Are you hungry?" he asked her after a moment and, with large, wary eyes, she nodded, licking her dry and chapped lips.
He nodded, and stood, and she followed suit. She was actually taller than Castiel, he noted now that he could see her better, but she walked with her head lowered so that she did not appear to be taller. Her wings were tucked in tight – unthreatening and unassuming, even though they were pretty and she should be proud of them. She was very thin, and Castiel feared that, perhaps if she had stepped outside this town into the storm that lay around it, she might simply blow away.
She refused to move until he did, and kept her eyes down. "Come," he said, holding out his hand to her, but she flinched away from the touch with a soft, scared sound. Another wave of disgust washed over Castiel – he had done that. He had hurt her, and now she was afraid of him. Father, he never wanted any of his children to fear him. He wanted to be feared by no one.
He made a low sound to her, enough to catch her attention – though she didn't raise her eyes, her wings shifted in attention and readiness – and he walked back towards the gelding, digging through the saddlebag that still lay open and disturbed, and managed to find another bag of blood that Daniel had not collected. He held it out to her, and her fingers curled into fists tightly by her side – he could see every line of her burn with want, but she would not take it.
He frowned, stepping closer and holding the bag out to her. "Young one, drink," he insisted, worried for her – she was so pale and even their brief spat seemed to have weakened her. Her hands were shaking and when she dared to glance at him under her fringe of unruly hair; her eyes were wide and hopeful. "Please. I give this to you as it was given to me. Drink."
When she took the bag, her fingers curled in tight enough to break right through the plastic, and she pressed the leaking bag to her lips, draining it in long, loud slurps. Castiel shivered, thinking of how long she must have been starving to be so hungry. He only wished he could give her more, but Daniel had taken the rest of them, presumably to Eric.
Daniel, Sarah and Eric. He needed to get back to them.
"What is your name?" he asked her, when she was licking the last of the blood from her fingertips. It had been smeared around her chin and jaw, down her neck to stain her thin clothes – she really was a messy eater, had probably wasted half of it on the ground or herself and Castiel wished he could give her more, but he would not allow her to feed from his Hunters and he had no idea how his Grace would affect her, if it would hurt like her blood hurt him. "Young one, what is your name?"
She paused for a moment, sucking a finger into her mouth to lick it clean, her green eyes no longer glowing as brightly as they roved up and down Castiel's body, tracing the arch of his wings, the way his dirty and well-worn clothes clung to his body. Her wings shifted again in another move that Castiel instinctively recognized as an invitation, and the Angel was so shocked he almost took a step back, before she spoke; "Don't have one."
His brow furrowed, and he pressed his lips together. "You don't have one?" he repeated, unsure if he had heard her correctly. Everyone – everything – had a name. It was one of the basic rights of existing. "Are you called nothing?"
"'Whore'," the female replied plainly, still licking at her finger and the word startled Castiel; he had not been expecting that. "'Slut', sometimes. Or 'Bitch'. But I know those aren't real names."
"Who on Earth calls you such things?" Castiel demanded, angry and ashamed that one of his children would be mocked and scorned in such a way.
She grinned wide, blood coating her teeth red, and cocked her head to one side, eyes still appraising. "Where'd the other man go?" she asked, eyelids fluttering in a way that Castiel supposed could be seductive, and he recoiled at the thought of her – of whatever had happened to make her this way. To make her react to the name of 'Whore' and bare the underside of her wings to someone that had harmed her as he had.
His wings inadvertently arched up high in defense and threat, enough that her eyes widened and she took a step back, head lowered down so that she appeared smaller than Castiel. She murmured something under her breath that sounded like a 'Sorry', but he didn't spare it a second thought; "Are you aware that behind this house, five of your brethren, almost six, have been murdered?"
Her grin grew wider, wings fluttering in what Castiel could only describe as delight. "The Cleansing is an awful time of year," she said, too lightly, too happily, and it made Castiel very Grace roll with anger and revulsion. "But it must be done. Only the loyal. Only the faithful."
"What sick abomination told you these things?" Castiel hissed, anger for a moment overtaking him in a way he had not felt for a long while. The emotion was so strong, so potent and fierce, that unbidden he found himself summoning his blade to his hand, lifting it and pointing it at her. Her eyes widened and she took a step back and she looked scared, afraid of him, but he couldn't stop, couldn't force his blade away. The anger had made his Grace overpower the dulling effect of Mocker blood on his hands and now he couldn't make it ebb like it used to so easily. He was aware that his eyes were probably glowing too, Grace forced too close to the surface with no outlet. It was dangerous, angering an Angel. "Tell me!" he demanded, voice ringing with power, and she made a frightened sound, scrambling back, her dainty wings flapping madly in an attempt to escape.
The Angel snarled, his wings arching high as he readied himself to follow her, chase her down and rip her down to all of the truths she was hiding – whatever had caused these deaths, she knew about it, she had to know about it, and with that all pity he felt for her was shredded like flesh under the claws of a monster. He would ruin her before he let her get away.
But; "Cas!" That was Daniel's voice, frantic, panicked, and he was running towards the glowing Angel, and it was enough distraction that the female Mocker managed to get enough of a head start that catching her would mean leaving Daniel and Sarah behind, and then suddenly there was a hand on his forearm, his sword-wielding arm, forcing it down.
His Grace imploded at the touch.
Castiel cried out, clenching his eyes shut and all but collapsing when he felt Daniel rest a hand on the bare skin of his forearm. His knees collided with the concrete road, pain shooting up his legs and back, and down his throat as he felt his Grace rush out of him, an outlet created in the soul who bore his mark, his brand – his Grace must have recognized it, rushed into Daniel's body because Castiel could think of no other place it could go.
He heard Daniel gasp beside him, felt the heat of the man when he fell to his knees beside Castiel, his other hand pressed tight against Castiel's wing for balance, and that just made it so much worse – desire, hot and violent shot through the Angel as though Dean had just welcomed him into his body, in the carnal way that had seemed so close to sharing Grace with his human. Tight, hot and slick around him in a way that made his skin shiver, goose bumps rising, his wings twitching and feathers puffing up in an instinctual display.
"Dean," Castiel whispered, tilting his head to one side to gaze at the Hunter – Daniel had his eyes pressed tightly shut, enough to emphasize the smile lines around his eyes, and his mouth was open, panting hard and Castiel felt dizzy. "Daniel," he said, trying again, reaching out to press a hand against the man's forehead.
When Daniel opened his eyes, they were greener, shining with Castiel's Grace. "Cas," he whispered, gasped out, his eyes flicking down to Castiel's mouth, to where his hand was resting on Castiel's arm, to the Angel's wings, then back to meet his gaze. One long circuit that left heat rising up Castiel's spine, his Grace pulsing with familiarity, and Dean's soul was luminescent inside of Daniel's body. "Cas, hey."
"You have the worst timing," Castiel replied, breathless, wide-eyed, unable to believe what he was seeing; his own Grace shining within Daniel, around Dean's soul, happy-bright-yellow and glowing.
Dean laughed. It was one of the most beautiful things Castiel had ever heard.
"Who's ass am I ridin'?" he asked, cocking his head to one side, breaking gazes with Castiel to look into his surroundings. Almost at once his eyes narrowed, and he swallowed hard enough that Castiel could hear the click in his throat. "Why are we here?"
"You're aware?" Castiel asked, eyes wide, disbelieving. Had his Grace been the jolt that Dean needed to become fully aware? What was happening? Why wasn't he fading away? "Dean, please, I don't know…" He reached out, wrapped his hand around the man's forearm, and forced Dean to look back at him.
At once the Hunter's face softened, looking on his mate and Angel. "It's gonna be okay, Cas," he whispered, quick to reassure the Angel, though it seemed to do a fat lot of good – Castiel still looked so lost and scared. "Now, I don't know what kind of shit you've gotten yourself into," Dean continued, serious, catching Castiel's chin before he could look down and away like he was always about to whenever his eyes darted away like that, "but you and me, right, we're gonna work it out."
"You're going to be so disappointed in me, Dean," Castiel replied, unable to stop himself saying it, eyes falling closed as he finally fought for free rein of his head and Dean let go. "I've…everything is…"
"There's a lot goin' on, Cas, but it can wait, can't it? I promise, I'm not goin' anywhere, but you're clearly in the middle of something…" At that, Dean was suddenly standing, pushing himself to his feet and Castiel hurried to follow. It was then that Dean's eyes landed on his mouth again, but not looking at him with lust or affection, but confusion. It took Castiel a moment to remember that there was still Mocker blood staining his mouth – the burn had numbed down to a dull throb, and he hurriedly wiped at it with his forearm, hoping to erase the stain. "Somethin' big's happening, isn't it, Cas?"
"Dean." Castiel hesitated, his wings drawing in tight to his back in reluctance – the last time he had tried to say goodbye to Dean, it hadn't been well received. By the Father, how much he had missed his mate. "Dean, I'm sorry. Whatever happens – I am so, so sorry."
Dean was quick to silence him, pressing their lips together in something that felt desperate, harsher than what Castiel was used to from his Hunter – Dean was usually such a gentle lover it had taken Castiel by surprise, at first. The tenderness in Dean's soul could not allow him to be forceful unless he put effort into it.
"Dean," he whispered, in the tiny half-second between when Dean pulled away for air and met him again, and he found his hands clutching tight to the Hunter, afraid of letting him go, afraid that he would burst into flames or crumble between his fingers if he let go for even a second, but Dean was clutching him back, arms wrapped tight around his waist, fingers teasing into the edges of his wings. It felt so warm, comforting – the scene around them almost pleasant and normal. It was everything as it should have been.
But everything was wrong.
"I'm right here, Castiel," Dean murmured, resting their foreheads together, one hand smoothing over the side of Castiel's face. Another kiss, Castiel capturing Dean's bottom lip between his teeth, licking in, thirsting for a taste of his Hunter – he wished he could drink Dean's soul in through his skin, keep him in forever, as long as he could. He never wanted to be parted from Dean again.
He would have given anything to be able to stay in that moment, wrap his wings tight around Dean, whisk them away, strip his mate, relearn and remark every facet and scar and line of muscle on this new body, kiss and taste and touch every inch of him, lie between his legs as he used to, have Dean's large hands carding through his hair and his wings and whispering soothing words when he would fight for what little control he could over his release, so that he did not blind Dean with Grace. He would have given anything for that.
But there were murders to avenge, and answers to be given. Reality was a demanding little bitch.
"Dean, I have to…" He pulled away, wishing with all of his being that he could stay, pressed as close to this man, his mate, as he could get, but he couldn't – that sense of being watched, that dreadful feeling building up in the back of his skull, it was still there, pounding away like an off-beat war drum. He couldn't shake it.
"It's okay," Dean whispered, leaning in for one more taste that Castiel was helpless but to grant him. "I'll speak to you soon, Angel."
"Don't leave," Castiel demanded, but it was too late – the glow in Daniel's eyes was already fading, Dean's soul retreating, tired and sated and faintly glowing with happiness. Daniel cleared his throat, swallowing, eyes wide when he saw how close he and the Angel were standing to each other and he took a step back.
"Um…"
Castiel flushed a little, looking down as well, embarrassed that he had put Daniel in such a situation by succumbing to his own desires – but, Father, what he wouldn't give to be with Dean again. In his own body, by his side for the rest of their lives – to travel into the afterlife together, as mates were meant to. What he wouldn't do.
But he daren't speak those thoughts out loud. The wrong people could be listening.
"Is Eric better?" he asked, for lack of anything else to say, turning and stalking back into the garden where he had left Sarah and the Mockers.
"He's fine, keeps babbling for you, but he's fine – Cas." The Angel turned around, for he had little choice, Daniel's hand had found his shoulder and forcibly halted him, turning him on the spot. From where the hand touched his body, he felt like electricity was flowing, white-hot, painful. His arm tingled and he realized that, at some point, his blade had melted back into nothingness. Dean's presence had calmed him. "What the fuck was going on? You were going to kill that Mocker – I saw the look in your eyes."
"And what look was that?" Castiel replied coolly, trying desperately to remember what a poker face was meant to look like.
Daniel's expression tore at him – so Goddamn sad, and afraid. Castiel hadn't seen that look in those eyes for so long, and he never wanted to see it again. Would tear his own wings off if it meant Dean was always smiling. "Like you were gonna run her through, Cas, I don't get it. She was…Mockers are friendly, right?"
Castiel frowned, rolling his shoulders. "Something is happening that is very, very wrong in this town, Daniel," he replied cryptically, for he could give nothing away, for he truly did not know anything. "Perhaps Eric will be able to give us the answers we need. It's the only choice we have, since she was able to flee from me."
"Can't you track her?"
"…No. No, I cannot."
Eric was upright when they retreated to the garden, and had helped Sarah pull the bodies of the fallen Mockers together. He had tucked the kitchen knife into his belt, which, now that Castiel had time to notice, held up jeans that were much too loose on the Mocker's body – in fact, all of them looked frightfully thin, almost malnourished, their skin too pale under the constant light of the sun, their feathers lacking luster as though none of them had groomed each other. It was all wrong. The Mockers in the communes and breeding facilities were all sun-kissed, well-fed, and their wings shone with health, their eyes bright and vibrant. There was deadness to this place, something too still to support life, and it waswrong. Stank of wrongness and purity like the sharp edge of shattered glass.
Eric looked up at their approach, a large smile breaking out on his face. "Father," he whispered, straightening up, wings fanning the air in joy, and Castiel paused a moment, again confused by the title – he was considered the leader and father of the Mockers by a few of the older generations, but most of them had lived their natural lives long ago. To many he was nothing more than a legend; many more knew nothing of him at all. The fact that this young one was calling him 'Father', as only the original sixty-six had, was disconcerting.
And yet, somehow, comforting.
"Why do you call me that?" he asked of the young Mocker, approaching him as he carefully stepped around the pile of bodies of the other Mockers. Father, this was his fault. Whatever was happening here, it was his fault. These Mockers were ungoverned, unguided – something had happened and he hadn't been around to stop it.
You can't save everyone, Cas.
The young Mocker's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, his wings gently fanning the air behind him in a gesture of hesitance. "Because….because that is what you are," he replied, eyes flashing away from Castiel, to the watching Hunters, but they could not stray from the Angel for long, and his fingers were twisting into each other in front of him. "He…you are our Father. Our creator. We would be nothing without you."
"And who has been telling you these things?" Castiel asked, keeping his voice soft and even, stepping forward. He wanted to make his posture as unthreatening as possible, because if that Mocker had turned on him in the road, who knew what Eric was capable of. What any of the residents here were capable of? He reached out, slowly, and the Mocker didn't flinch from his touch when his fingertips brushed the side of his face. "You are too young to know of me. How?"
Eric blinked, grey-green eyes closing as he smiled a little, leaning into the touch in a way that Castiel had only ever seen with other Mockers at the facility he had left – those that had known his touch and his kindness and knew who and what he was. "Your Prophet told us," he said, smiling wide. "He's been spreading your teaching, Father. But…" Then, those light eyes darkened, a shadow passing over Eric's face. "But…things have changed. He – he took without permission. We're always meant to have permission."
"Yes, yes, that's right," Castiel replied, his other hand instinctively reaching forward to lay a hand against Eric's chest, fingers tightening in his bloodstained shirt, as it looked like the youth was getting anxious again and he needed him to focus. "And you've always done that, right? Eric?"
This was important – it was one of the first and most important teachings that Castiel had instilled in the original sixty-six Mockers, because if they started to go around killing innocents, taking their blood until they died, the result would be…
A massacre.
As though someone had unleashed a pack of flesh-eaters, monsters, on the world.
Castiel's eyes widened. "It's you," he whispered, taking a step back from Eric, who flinched as though he had been burned when Castiel's touch slid from his skin. He opened wide, frightened eyes, swallowing loudly and taking a step back as well to put distance between them. Behind him, Castiel could feel Daniel and Sarah go tense. "Those of you that live here. You've been – you've been killing people, haven't you? Taking from them?"
"No! I…" Eric was stepping forward again, his eyes frantic, afraid that Castiel would think so low of him, cast him aside just like that. No – no, he couldn't -. "I would never, Father. Ever. That's why we were being punished. The Prophet said…said that your word had changed, but I couldn't believe that, none of us…" He gestured behind him to the other dead Mockers, emotion clogging his throat, making it difficult to speak. Fear and sorrow was coloring his soul the deepest, darkest blue Castiel had ever seen – it seeped from him like dark smoke. "I couldn't do that to people. So we were Hunted down and…"
"Someone did this to them, Cas." That was Sarah's voice, cutting through Castiel's anger and confusion – he blinked, turning to look at her, found her biting her lower lip, hands clenched tight around the gun in her hand. She was tense. They all were. "Someone is making them act the way they are."
"This Prophet," Castiel murmured, turning back to Eric, "who claims to speak in my name. Who is he? Take me to him."
Eric's eyes brightened in recognition. "He will be happy to see you, Father," the Mocker replied, smiling wide, lifting his hands to his own chest and pressing them tight. Then, he hesitated, his wings dropping down in anxiety. "But he will not be happy to see me."
"No harm will come to you," Castiel vowed, wings snapping out in threat at anything that would dare try – Eric had been sentenced to slaughter amongst these others, these innocents, and Castiel would be damned if he allowed him to come to harm before finding out why. "Take me to this Prophet of mine."
The young Mocker pressed his lips together, but nodded, ducking his head down, wings dropping in submission in an almost exact mimic of the female that had attacked Castiel on the road. It was unnerving, to see that sort of display from someone so young, Eric didn't even look to be of mating age, and yet…
He shook himself of those thoughts. "Let us burn them, first," he said, gesturing to the bodies.
Eric's eyes brightened in response. "Yes, so that their souls can rest," he said, nodding his head as though confirming something someone had taught him, wings rising back up before they began to trail along the ground. "There are supplies in the house – matches, oil, everything like that."
"I'll help you," Daniel said, holstering his gun and following Eric inside, after he squeezed a hand onto Castiel's shoulder. The Angel went tense, expecting the electric, joyful shock of Dean's soul coming back to greet him, but all he felt was the slight warmth of Daniel's hand, before the Hunter was gone from him, disappearing inside and Castiel could only watch his back disappear through the doorway.
"Cas," Sarah whispered, stepping forward and reaching out to lay a hand on Castiel, to draw his attention, but he turned before she could touch him and, after a moment, her hand fell, limp, at her side. "Now I don't know what the fuck's goin' on, but I get the feeling that ten tons of bad shit is about to fall on us."
The Angel sighed. "I know," he replied, rolling his head back to look up into the too-blue, too-clear sky. Father, did the sun ever move? "If you wished to leave this place, save and protect yourself and Daniel, I would not blame you. I can…I cannot promise what will happen. Lawrence is surely damned, just as he said."
"Like fuck are we leaving you here," Sarah snapped in reply, rolling her eyes as though that was the most absurd statement she had ever heard, and the Angel couldn't fight back his smile, thinking of, for a moment, Gabriel. He had the same no-shit attitude about him, even before he left Heaven. "Nah, you're stuck with us, whatever happens."
Castiel sighed. "That is what I am afraid of."
He had not scented burning flesh and feathers for a long, long while. It stung at him, brought back memories of faces finally at rest, leather and denim and gunmetal melting into flesh, branding it, until the skin and muscle was stripped away to leave blackened, grinning skulls and ribs still bearing the sign of his protection.
It had been a very long time, but it was funny just how clearly memory could come back at the slightest provocation.
They returned to the houses once the ashes had been gathered and Castiel was sure that they would not burn the entire neighborhood to the ground, though he was tempted – tempted to ruin this entire place, where everything had started; Dean's mother's death, Sam's poisoning, the Cupid's influence to drive John so madly in love that his wife's death was inducing madness within him. Everything about this place made Castiel want to destroy, to smite, and his fingers curled tightly into his palm as he fought back the urge, tried to appear outwardly calm.
Eric led them farther into the town, and Castiel couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. Eyes were definitely on them, and it made his Grace shiver, wings arching in readiness. The Mocker leading them was getting more and more nervous as they walked, houses giving way to larger lawns and old ornaments slowly gathering dust and dirt – here, wherever here was in reference to the rest of the town, decay had set in. The houses crumbled under the weight of rain and mildew, looking more and more like the houses that they had encountered on their journey here – one had a roof collapsed in, shards of beams sticking up out of the middle like some giant animal trying to claw its way out of Hell.
Castiel pulled up short when Eric suddenly stopped. His fingers had gone back to fidgeting with each other in front of him, brows pulled together and wings pulled in tight to his back – nervous, scared, and Castiel resisted the urge to run his fingers through the Mocker's hair or wings. He was an outsider here, and was not as familiar with Eric as he was with Olivia, or Grace, or any of the other Mockers he had left behind. Besides, the dynamic here was obviously so different and Castiel had no idea how that kind of contact would be received.
"The Prophet lives in there," the young Mocker said, gesturing with a nod of his head towards the house they had stopped in front of. Of all the houses on this street, it was in the best condition – pristine, just like the rest of the town when they had first arrived, and it seemed like the sun shone brighter on this place; almost as bright as an Angel's Grace, so much that Castiel felt the odd and unfamiliar urge to shield his eyes.
Castiel's eyes narrowed, squinting, and he wondered if anyone else could see the blinding light. It was unnerving – cold, like the call of Heaven. "Thank you, Eric," he said to the Mocker, resting a hand on his shoulder and earning a smile. "If you so desire, you can leave us now. I would not put you in harm's way."
The Mocker blinked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and bit his lower lip, looking down. From somewhere, far away that it was very faint, Castiel heard a faint screeching like a bird of prey, and tilted his head to one side, momentarily distracted by the sound. "If it's all the same to you," Eric said, slowly, like he was testing the words in his mouth, "I'll stay. I mean…it's not every day you get to meet God." He shrugged, dropping his hands to his sides. "And…I don't really have anywhere else to go."
Castiel's mouth twisted in a sad smile – that feeling, unfortunately, was all too familiar to him. "Very well," he said, dropping his hand away from the Mocker and turning his attention to Daniel and Sarah, who had been watching the house silently, eyes calculating – a Hunter's look assessing the entrances and exits and possible places for ambush. "I – I don't think we'll be attacked, but we should be wary, just in case."
Daniel nodded, turning back to the horses, and from the bags that Castiel had been carrying before their kidnap, he pulled out a sawed-off shotgun, a flask of what Castiel had to assume was Holy Water, and a round of bullets for the shotgun, which he handed to Sarah. He also produced a long, curved blade which he handed to Eric, who took it gingerly as though he had never held a weapon before in his life, looking at it as though it might turn into a snake to attack him – and then Daniel pulled out a smaller handgun – what looked like what had been standard issue for policemen back in the Before, when the world wasn't frozen – as well as his own longer rifle which he slung over his shoulder.
"Do you need a weapon?" Daniel asked, eyes dark and serious and, dare Castiel say it, grim. The Angel didn't expect or want an attack, but it was clear that the Hunter had no such reservations.
Castiel bit his lip, eyes flicking back to the house. He was tempted to say 'No', but he knew that Mocker blood could dull his Grace and that could prevent him summoning his own weapon to hand, and prevent him smiting any threat that might appear and attack them. He held his hand out in silence, and Daniel took out another handgun – shiny, silver, thrumming with power – and checked it for Castiel before handing it to him.
The Angel almost smiled. It was so like Dean to check his weapons, even after he had become self-sufficient. Without a word Castiel tucked the weapon into his waistband at the small of his back – he did not want to go into the house with weapons at the ready, looking for a fight. Whatever he would find on the inside, he did not want to be the instigator.
They entered the house slowly, Daniel and Sarah immediately flanking out to either side, weapons at the ready. Absently, Castiel knew that it was a beautiful house, but also that it had not been an empty one for long – there were still photo frames on the shelves, no fine layers of dust to speak of it being abandoned. It looked homely, and comfortable, from the thick, overly-stuffed cushions of the couch to the subtle gleam of the hardwood stairs. Castiel's feathers bristled with remembrance, though he could not think for the life of him why he was feeling that way. Then, to his left, he heard Daniel suck in a soft breath.
Castiel turned just in time to catch Daniel as he went flying back, colliding with the Angel and sending them both flying back until they were stopped by the wall. Castiel grunted when his wing was pinned between the wall and his shoulders, delicate bones crumbling under the blow and sending pain ricocheting up his shoulder and throughout his wing. Daniel was quick, to his credit, to get off of Castiel and clear the way so that they could both see the attacker, and Castiel stifled a low growl when he saw the redheaded female from before prowling into sight.
He raised his gun towards her, aiming it steadily between her eyes. Her eyes narrowed and she growled, wings flared out low in an aggressive display. For a long moment there was no movement, Castiel and the female staring each other down as Castiel desperately tried to gauge the situation – Eric was frozen to his left, still near the door, and he couldn't see Sarah from where he was standing. Daniel's harsh breathing was the only indication Castiel had that he was nearby, and his heart was beating quickly but he seemed otherwise uninjured – Castiel could not smell blood.
"Stand down," he told her, hoping that there was enough authority in his voice that she would simply obey, and her eyes narrowed further, low hiss spilling from her mouth. Castiel sucked in a breath, squaring his jaw, and cocked back the hammer. "I won't ask you twice."
"You never asked me once," she snapped back, icy eyes darting to Castiel's sides where Eric and Daniel were standing, and then to her right where Sarah must be, hidden from sight. "You shouldn't be here."
"He needs to see the Prophet," Eric said, speaking up for the first time, his wings fanning the air in an attempt to dispel the tension. "Our Father -."
The female shrieked, wings snapping out, her eyes flashing with barely-restrained fury. "This thing is not my father," she hissed, jabbing an accusing finger towards Castiel. "I want no father who would let me live like this!"
"Hannah, he -."
"No! Shut up!" the female – Hannah – yelled again. She began to advance on Castiel. "This thing needs to die. The Prophet cannot see him."
"I don't want to hurt you," Castiel whispered, backing away, gun still raised. "Young one, please don't -."
"Stop this! Right now!"
Abruptly the female came to a halt, her eyes widening in fear when she turned around to gaze back up the stairs. Castiel could not see from where he was standing who was up there, but Daniel clearly could, because he shifted his grip on his weapon and took a ready stance. Castiel lowered the gun, still cocked and ready. There was the sound of bare feet landing heavily on the wooden steps, old building creaking under the harsh grip of tight fingers around the bannister, and golden-tipped wings came into view that Castiel recognized, even before he saw the Mocker's face.
"Aiden," he whispered, unable to believe what he was seeing, before the face of the first Mocker he had ever known came into view.
Aiden, to his credit, seemed just as surprised to see him, but when those golden eyes landed on Castiel they were not as the Angel remembered – they were cold, calculating, tinted with darkness in a way that he had not left the fledgling before. Granted, it had been many years, but Castiel remembered enough about the young man to recognize this drastic change within him. Beside him, Eric went tense, wings tucked tight to his back, when Aiden's glowing eyes landed on him.
His lip curled back. "Glad to see you survived," he hissed, tone cruel and mocking, and Castiel's Grace flared at the wrongness of it; he had known Aiden, raised him from a very young boy; taught him everything he knew about Grace and God and the right way of living. Clearly, something had gone very wrong. "And you," Aiden's eyes landed on Castiel. "Long time no see, Castiel."
"Wait, you fuckin' know this guy?" Daniel demanded, gesturing with the end of his gun towards the Mocker, and Castiel could only swallow and nod mutely, fingers of his free hand twitching by his sides.
"You did this," he said, heavy with realization. "You killed them, or had them killed – you knew I would find out, one way or another, and would come here."
"I thought it slightly poetic," came Aiden's reply, accompanied by him raising one shoulder in a shrug. "It seems a place where we are destined to meet the ones we love." His eyes flicked to Daniel in a way that made Castiel's shoulders tense, feathers rustling and standing on edge. "And where we lose them."
Daniel's answer to that was to raise his gun, aiming it for Aiden's chest, but there was a soft 'click' from the gun and it began to heat up in Daniel's hands, glowing white-hot until he cursed and dropped it to the ground. At the sound of her fellow Hunter's shout, Sarah stepped out from where she was hiding, gun cocked and ready and aiming for the redheaded female, another in her hand focused on the back of Aiden's head.
"Aiden," Castiel said, trying to keep the Mocker's attention away from Sarah; "It's not too late. Whatever has been happening here… I'm sorry I left you; clearly it was the wrong thing to do. But I'm here now -."
"Bullshit," Aiden hissed, wings flaring out in an aggressive gesture that had everyone gathered shifting their weight, ready for a fight. Castiel's wing flared up in pain when he tried to flex the crumpled appendage. "You're only here because I brought you here – and when you're done, you'll leave again. You'll go where he goes." He jerked his chin in Daniel's direction, and Castiel didn't dare break gazes with his pseudo-Child to meet the surely-confused gaze that the Hunter was leveling at him, so he did not see Daniel's reaction. "You always leave. Everyone leaves." Aiden's glowing eyes abruptly went flat, the light in them blinking out, as he raised his chin and spread his wings. "Natalie is dead."
Castiel swallowed. "I'm sorry," he said, sincerely, and took a step forward despite the warning growl that spilled from behind Hannah's clenched teeth. "I know how to feels to lose a mate -."
"And a father?" Aiden snarled, slowly stalking down the stairs. His steps were heavy, weighted too much on one foot more than the other; he was injured, though Castiel could not tell how. As Aiden moved closer, Castiel could see the line of blood around his teeth. "I trusted you," he said. "And she died. Cut down by a werewolf, of all things. These humans -." His eyes left Castiel's, briefly, sliding to Daniel's, then back. Sarah stepped closer on Castiel's other side, still largely out of sight from the Mocker. "They are broken, and lost, and we are simply meant to hold their hands while they walk off the cliff edge? Who would teach us this way of life?"
"So, killing them's your way out?" Sarah finally said. Aiden blinked, surprised when he tilted his head to catch her in his sight.
The Mocker's lips thinned out, and he said nothing, but his eyes sparked again.
"You call yourself my Prophet," Castiel murmured, stepping close. He could reach out and touch Aiden now, and he did, reaching out and fisting a hand in his loose, sweat-stained shirt and pulling him in. "You have raised an entire faction to believe that I am a God; that I am their Father. Why?"
Aiden shook his head, fingers curling gently around Castiel's hand and forcing him to let go. His knuckles went white around the Angel's hand, and Castiel frowned down at the crushing grip. A human's hand would be dust under Aiden's grasp right now.
"Is that not what you are?" Aiden finally asked, after what felt like an hour of him carefully watching the Angel's face, looking for any weakness, any flinch, anything he could take and twist. "Is that not what you've always been? An absent, vengeful God who creates and loves as long as those he has created do not turn away from him. Tell me, Castiel." He shoved Castiel's hand away. His shirt tore in the process, revealing the thick, silvery scar of a sigil carved into his chest. "Have others of my kind suffered as I have? Have you abandoned them as well?"
Castiel knew that sigil – faintly, etched into the first pages of Dean's forgotten journal. He knew that sigil. "Who did that to you?" he asked, his hand shaking as he gestured to the ugly, swooping silver lines. But he knew. He knew, because as familiar as the sigil was, it had been altered – he could see the etched lines of his true name in there, as well as the name of one other. "When did Crowley appear to you?"
Aiden lifted his chin, his wings snapping out and up in a defiant gesture. "Soon after Natalie died. I knew demons weren't around anymore, but it never hurt to try."
"You tried to make a deal?" Castiel knew he sounded hopeless, completely lost; he knew far too many good people who had succumbed to the allure of Hell and all of its promises. It was so strange how humans never seemed to be able to grasp the concept of eternity, and how whatever they were asking for paled so much in comparison to that. "Oh, Aiden, no."
"My faith is keeping you alive," the Mocker hissed. "It's keeping you both alive. But that doesn't mean you can't die. I know you can die." He stepped forward again, right into Castiel's space. The floorboards creaked underneath them as Daniel shifted his weight, and Castiel knew, though he could not see, that he was ready to throw himself between the two creatures at even the first sign of a threat. "You've lived long enough,Father. It's time to rest now."
"No!"
But it was too late; the female turned around and, with her wings, knocked at Sarah's weapons until the Hunter fell to one side, and then Hannah was on her, claws ripping at whatever part of her she could reach. When Castiel looked back, a fierce pain pierced through his stomach. Aiden had gotten hold of a weapon – a long, gleaming sword – and had slid it through his stomach with one sure thrust.
"Cas!" Daniel yelled, but Castiel did not feel his hands on him. Blood welled up in his mouth and he coughed, spilling it onto the metal handle. Aiden's fingers were still wrapped tight around it, the Mocker pressing himself close and holding Castiel within his wings, a gentle hand cupping the back of Castiel's head to keep him upright.
"I'm sorry, Father," Aiden murmured, leaning down to press his mouth against Castiel's blood lips, growling at the burn of Grace, "but even Gods must die."
A gunshot rang out and Aiden fell back, clutching at his face where a bullet had grazed, and Castiel fell to his knees, and onto one hand against the bottom step. He dared not pull the blade out, but the pain was excruciating – it had cut upwards, into the base of one wing, the feathers matted and sticky against his back.
He looked up in time to see Aiden hissing at Daniel, his eyes glowing golden and bright, before Daniel picked up his red-hot gun again and fired once more, straight into his skull. Castiel let out a choked cry as Aiden's body convulsed and went limp, his golden eyes blind and staring upwards.
A shriek broke through the air, shattering the numb silence that had taken over Castiel. There were other Mockers, now, with bright golden wings and glowing golden eyes – Aiden's sons and daughters, converging on the house, crawling from the upper floor and the rafters and coming from underneath the stairs.
"Go," Castiel hissed, pushing at Daniel's shin. "Leave! Run!"
"Not without you," Daniel hissed, and then he fell to his knees by Castiel's side, and hauled the Angel upright with a hand in his hair and another around his shoulder. "Cas! Cas!"
Castiel's eyes were hazy, his gaze unfocused, but he could recognize Dean when he saw him. He tried to speak again, but all that came out was blood, glowing with the edge of Grace.
"Possess me, Cas," Dean demanded, holding him by the shoulders, shaking him until the back of his head knocked against the wall. Dean's voice was thick, his eyes bright – he looked like a dying Angel, glowing so brightly. "Possess me! Cas, I'm saying 'Yes'! Come on – you can't fucking, you can't fucking leave me right now."
I'm sorry, Dean, he wanted to say, but all that came out was a wet cough. He could hear screams around him. They needed his help. Someone needed his help. I'm sorry. I'm not strong enough.
"Damn it, Cas," Dean hissed, and then there was a mouth on his, fingers forcing his jaw apart. His Grace-blood leaked into Dean's mouth, and Castiel could feel the pull of the soul, the desperate tug to keep his mate alive. He wasn't strong enough to resist.
His wings seized and wrapped tightly around the pair of them, shutting out the stench of Mocker blood and the sounds of death. With one last weak pulse of effort, Castiel raised his blood-drenched hand to touch Dean's face.
When he opened his eyes, he was looking at his own face; his blank, icy eyes staring straight at him, unfocused and dead.
…Dean?