Title: Under the Influence of Djinn
Chapter: Eight
Summary: AU: The Djinn siblings created a terrible detailed nightmare for Dean out of revenge, nearly killing him, Lisa, and Ben. With Sam alive, Castiel missing, and Campbell cousins in tow, he tries to pull himself back together.
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Supernatural was created by Eric Kripke. No disrespect in intended with this work of fan fiction.
His back must not have been as bad as they'd both thought, for Jo barely spent any time cleaning it. Castiel waited for her to tell him he had an infection or needed stitches, but that diagnosis didn't come, merely a generic 'you're patched' before she took the container to be emptied.
"How do you propose we find Dean," he asked, putting his shirt back on and buttoning it up. He was genuinely curious as to the sort of plan she'd come up with. Dean and Sam, Dean mostly, had praised her and Ellen for being very resourceful.
Sometimes Castiel wondered just how many definitions Dean had for the word, since he'd also described some of his dates over the years as having been resourceful.
"That's a good question. I don't know. We can hardly wander across the country hoping to stumble on him."
"We could investigate cases."
She reappeared from the bathroom and set the container on the dresser. Was it his imagination or was she a little paler than she'd been? "Hundreds of jobs out there and no guarantee we'd hit the right one at the right time."
"We could narrow it down to the types they…he…favored." It was hard to remember that Sam was gone. Was Dean still grieving as hard as he'd been when Raphael had captured Castiel? His stomach hurt, but he wasn't sure if it was hunger or a different sort of ache, so he rubbed a hand across it and tried to will the pain away.
"Is there a type he favored?"
Actually, no. He was just trying to make himself feel like they had a direction. "Not particularly, no. Dean is an equal opportunity hunter when deciding on cases. If it's vaguely something that might pan out, he checks it out."
"Then that isn't even a valid way to search, is it?"
"I suppose not. I have no other ideas, Jo. He may not even be hunting. He didn't seem to be inclined to do so without Sam."
"Well, I don't have any ideas either." She moved a few things around on the dresser. "Finding him isn't going to be easy or fast. We might not find him at all."
"Are you being deliberately discouraging?"
It seemed to him that she paused a second before shaking her head. "No, just realistic. My mom was always better at tracking people down than me. I used to think she had some sort of supernatural power, but then I realized she just knew enough people that she could call in favors all the time. Without the information in our phones and in our heads, assuming it's all still there and hasn't been erased, it's an uphill battle. Are you sure you can't think of a single hunter who might have some information on him? Someone Raphael may have missed when rooting around your mind?"
"Sadly, no. Our best bet may be to work the cases."
"Mmm." She picked up his ruined cell phone and slipped it into the pocket of her jacket.
If he was reading that noise correctly, she wasn't thrilled about that idea. Knowing the things he knew about her, he wondered why. Hadn't she wanted to be a hunter a good chunk of her life? She was getting another chance to get back into it. Of course, he'd be completely useless to help her if they did that. He wasn't good with guns or knives and while he could punch, it hurt. Castiel didn't like pain. He'd happily do without it. Hadn't he had enough physical pain during the past weeks of torture?
She reached for a pen and paper. "You can't go around in bloodstained clothes."
He looked down at his shirt. It did still have the bloodstains all over it. They were dried and crusty, the shirt stiff in places.
"Go in the bathroom and get me your clothing sizes. We need to get you a few things."
Castiel took the pen and small pad of paper Jo held out, hesitant to admit he hadn't listened to Dean's lecture on clothing and clothing care. At the time, he'd not seen a use for it since he'd been there with Dean and Sam and they'd taken care of everything for him. Besides, he'd assumed he'd get the same lecture again a dozen more times at least, like the one on personal space. That one had been Dean's favorite. However, time had run out. There'd been no more lectures after Sam fell.
A sliver of sadness pierced him. He hoped Michael was protecting Sam in the cage. After all, Sam had done what they'd wanted. He'd been obedient in taking Lucifer into his body even if he'd had different intentions than they'd planned for him.
"What?" Her tone was cautious.
He pulled himself free of the sadness and looked up at her. "You mean the numbers on the cloth pieces inside the clothes?"
"Uh-huh."
In less than ten minutes, they were out the door and walking down the street, Jo giving him directions all the while. Castiel relaxed. It was sort of like being around Dean and he found some comfort in that.
"Keep your coat closed until we get you a t-shirt or something. I should have picked one up the other day. Sorry. We've got a lot of ground to cover."
Their first stop was the AT&T store nearby. She spoke to the clerk, browsed the phones available, then chose two that apparently cost only a dollar. Having the clerk do a data transfer for both his mangled phone and hers cost more than the new phones by far. He hadn't realized they could transfer information like that, though he thought he should have with the number of times Dean and Sam switched phones.
When it was completed, she didn't check either, handing him one and slipping the other back into her jacket. "We'll take a look back in the room."
He resisted the temptation to check his phone, wondering why she wanted them to wait. As they walked towards another strip mall, he ventured to ask her that question. "Why are we waiting?"
"So we don't make some big scene in case we still can't access anything. I don't know about you, but I might just cry a little. Let's save it for the room."
"But…." A stern look from her stopped him from continuing. He supposed she had a point and if she did cry, he wasn't sure he'd know how to handle it in public or private.
Their next stop puzzled him, as she didn't need pans, sheets, or towels. Jo led him around the store, finally stopping at a wall near the registers. He stared at the various strips of fabric on the wall. They were different shapes, sizes, and fabrics, yet all served one purpose: to block out light while one slept. Without tuning his head, he slid his attention to Jo.
She was scrutinizing the wall with an intense stare and annoyed frown. "Surely they didn't stop making them while I was dead? I was only gone a little over a year or so."
A woman passing by gave her a startled stare and continued on to the register.
"It's possible," he suggested.
With a non-committal grunt that was actually quite expressive of her thoughts on that, she stepped back and crouched down to see the bottom row better.
"Why do we need these again?" His stomach growled loudly as he eyed one that read 'the bitch is sleeping' and he wondered if perhaps that one might be the most appropriate for her. A few seconds later, he was embarrassed by that extremely unkind thought that had come out of nowhere and, in penance, crouched down to help her look. Not that he had any idea what he was looking for.
I'm hungry, he thought. That's what this sensation is.
He'd forgotten how unpleasant it was. He hated being hungry.
"Trust me. It's best to have one when you're consistently sharing a room with someone. We'll get earplugs, too."
"But why?" Dean and Sam hadn't had them.
"Because when I want to watch tv until three in the morning you'll be able to sleep."
"Oh."
They finally found the ones she wanted, at the very bottom behind cutesy eye masks that had feathers and glitter as decorations.
"Those there aren't real masks," Jo told him as she stood in triumph with two plastic cases in her hands. "Try sleeping with those and you'll get glitter and feathers in your eyes. These right here," she waved the cases around, "are the good ones. They have these shaped padded wells for your eyes and are totally adjustable."
"Which one is mine?" His stomach gave an insistent growl and a slight ache began to form in his temples.
"The brown one."
They were the same print, only one background was blue, the other brown. "I like the blue one."
"It's a girly blue. Brown is a more manly color. I'll use the blue one because -"
"Colors have no gender. I want the blue one. I like blue better." The argumentative words had slipped out before he could stop them.
"Castiel?"
"I prefer the blue one."
She frowned, studying him a long moment. "It's a sleep mask. No one but me is going to see it."
"I prefer blue as a color."
She raised her brows. "I like blue too. I picked different colors so we don't get them confused."
"Then you use the brown one. I want the blue one." It felt strangely gratifying to throw a tantrum over something stupid like this. He knew he shouldn't be, that Jo didn't have to buy him anything, yet he couldn't stop himself. It felt good to be childish in an attempt to get his way. Michael and Lucifer had thrown tantrums. Raphael had as well. In fact -
The realization that he was behaving rather like the archangels alarmed him, but it was far too late to back down.
She shook her head. "Castiel."
"Blue."
"You're acing like a child, like a little," she waved one hand at hip height, "toddler."
"Blue." Dean had compared him to a child a few times when lecturing on human behavior.
With a long sigh, Jo knelt, dug on the hook and came back with a second brown one. "There. Act like a child, I treat you like one. Neither one of us gets the blue. I'll write your name on yours with marker. Care to tell me why you're acting like this? You're a grown man…angel…man. What's with the temper tantrum?"
If he knew the reason behind what she called a temper tantrum, he'd tell her. Unfortunately, he had no idea why he'd had that outburst. "I have low blood sugar," he explained, using Dean's catchall excuse for grouchiness.
Jo sighed. "Why didn't you say so sooner? We would have stopped to eat first. Never mind. We'll get these, and if you don't mind keeping your coat closed, we can eat. If you do, we'll make one more stop."
"I don't mind."
With the tantrum over, he felt drained and very tired, following Jo to the register and then out of the store. His own behavior puzzled him. Calm one minute, raging the next. What was happening to him and how could he stop it?
Gwen had an ulterior motive in getting Bobby Singer alone. She wanted to pick his brain. "Dean and Sam say you're a pretty smart guy."
"I do okay."
His voice was gruff, reminding her that he had yet to warm up to her. He kept regarding her, Mark, and Christian with suspicion. Rightly so, she decided. He was like a father to Dean and Sam and had every right to wonder if they were being snowed. "They say you're good at finding information."
"If they say so."
She half turned in the seat. "They do and -"
"Better make sure you're buckled up. Sheriff likes to sit up ahead by the bridge."
A glance down at her lap confirmed she was, indeed, still buckled in. "I always wear my seatbelt." With Mark's driving, it was a necessity.
They passed a Sheriff's car, Bobby directing a wave towards it. Gwen didn't see if the driver waved back.
He sighed. "Well? Ask what you're wanting to."
"How do you find a demon? I mean a specific one. Finding any old demon is easy, but one in particular?"
He mulled over the question. "Depends. If you know it's name, you can call it, ask it to stop by for a chat. There are a couple rituals you could use for that. You know it's name?"
"Not it's demon name. I know it's called itself Harold and Chad."
"You ask Sam and Dean about this? They know everything I know about demons, from killing them to contacting them. They're a pretty good resource for you."
She shifted in the seat. "I talked to Sam. Our conversation was interrupted." Not before he'd told her to let it go however. She wanted a second opinion. Honestly, she wanted someone to tell her she had a chance at finding the demon who'd taken her friends and family away. Sam had refused to do that and she suspected Dean would tell her the same thing if she approached him about this.
"Okay. How about it's eye color? That'll tell you something about it immediately."
"It's eyes were black."
"Then it's a lower level, on the bottom tier, and one of the most common types. That doesn't narrow it down any."
"I know that."
"Do you?" He stopped at a stoplight and turned his head to look at her. "Don't be fooled into thinking the black eyes are all run of the mill. Their power levels vary. Some of them have some juice, like Meg I mentioned earlier. The only way she can challenge Crowley is because she's got some power. They have different powers or levels of those powers. Some black eyes can't cross consecrated ground, others can. Did yours give anything to identify itself at all? Name any names?"
"No, aside from the two male names it had used. He did his damage and disappeared. Haven't had a problem since."
"What abilities did it have?"
"Um…telekinesis."
"Anything else?"
"Not that I saw."
"Then frankly, Gwen, you're SOL unless he's dicking around with your life for a reason. I can guess that's not what you want to hear, but it's true. If that's the case, he'll pop up again some day and cause some more mayhem. If he'd had another color eyes, there might be a chance of narrowing it down, but there are too many black eyes out there both on earth and in hell."
"There's got to be some way to find the bastard, summon him -"
"You have nothing that identifies it. That means you have nothing period."
She felt a sinking sensation in her stomach as what he was saying registered. It was the same thing Sam had told her. She'd hoped he'd have something different to tell her, know something Sam didn't. "But I can't give up looking. He killed everyone." Her voice sounded small to her own ears.
"You might get lucky and run across it, but from what you just told me, luck is what it'll have to be because you've got squat."
"Or I might not run across it."
He nodded. "There's that. Keep in mind the sort of quest you're on can take everything from you. If you don't believe me, talk to Dean and Sam about it. They can tell you better than anyone what this kind of quest leads to."
The rest of the drive back she tried to hide her tears and when they returned, she went out for a walk alone to think over what he'd said.