Part of him was furious. He had told his sister in no uncertain terms that she was not, under any circumstances, to follow him in his rebellion. She hadn't listened. His anger was justified. And on the other hand, it wasn't. Amitiel wasn't under his authority. She never had been. But he had been trying to protect her.
Part of him was saddened. The horrible emptiness in his chest was hard enough for him to bear. The absence of his siblings' voices in his head was cruel. But now he knew Amitiel was going through the same thing. Loneliness was a terrible thing for a creature created to be part of a multitude. A solitary angel was an aberration of nature.
Part of him, the deep, secret part that had fomented his rebellion, was grateful. Because he was no longer alone. Even if it was one instead of a million, he had a family again. Castiel tightened his grip on his sword. And his family had been threatened, pursued, harmed.
Castiel was new to the experience of deep emotions, but he understood familial loyalty.
It took him mere moments to identify the presence of the demons, and a few more to track them down. Eschewing stealth, he transported himself directly into the alley they were currently occupying. There were three of them, all in male hosts, all of them turning to stare at him, their eyes shuttering solid black out of instinct.
The first demon attacked within seconds, something glinting in his hands Castiel couldn't quite get a good look at. He dodged the demon's hands, slashing out with his sword. The blade connected with something in mid air with a metallic ringing and the demon's weapon flashed into view.
It was a chain, soot-black and etched with glowing red runes. It wrapped around his sword and yanked it from his grasp, flinging the blade to the ground. Castiel ducked as the chain next spun towards his head.
The other two demons converged on him, swinging chains of their own. Castiel located his sword with a flick of thought and tried to summon it to his hand. Unfortunately, that was one of the powers severely weakened since his fall from heaven.
The tallest of the demons sent his chain whirring at Castiel, not at his head, but over his shoulder at his left wing. Castiel reached up to catch the chain, hoping to disarm the demon. The instant his hand closed around the metal, he regretted it.
It burned like hellfire and damnation, eating into his skin as smoke rose from the contact. He dropped it with a startled hiss, much to the demons' amusement. They advanced on him with wolfish grins, one of them kicking away the angel's sword as he stepped over it. Castiel's eyes followed the weapon as it spun across the asphalt.
"We came after the little bitch," the middle demon sneered. "And look what we've got here. Must be our lucky day."
Castiel flared his wings and, before the demons could react, shifted behind them, scooped up his sword, and lunged forward. The middle demon whirled around in time to catch Castiel's down stroke just above the collar bone.
The demon glowed red-purple from the inside, the shadow of his bones showing through his skin. Then he slid off the blade to crumple to the ground. Castiel moved into a defensive pose, staring down the remaining two.
The demon on the right snarled and lashed out towards Castiel's legs. He darted left, bringing him within range of the other. He felt rather than saw the chain whip around his right wing, snapping feathers and burning flesh. He stumbled and fell hard on his knees, his left hand keeping him from collapsing fully.
The chain was yanked hard and pain seared down the abused limb, forcing a low cry from Castiel's clenched teeth. He saw legs and feet approach from the corner of his eye.
"Bind him," he heard one order the other. He heard the clinks of another chain. The legs got closer. Castiel pushed himself upright and swung his sword, slicing across the demon's thighs. The demon stumbled backwards with a scream, dropping the chain binding Castiel's wing. Ignoring the pain, he shook the chain away and lunged to his feet.
The injured demon had fallen to the ground, legs slashed to the bone. Castiel whirled away from the demon still standing and went down on one knee to plunge his sword through the injured demon's chest. He yanked it free and stood, looking for the last demon.
The demon had vanished, leaving Castiel alone with the corpses of the other two. The angel exhaled heavily. No doubt it would return with reinforcements. However, his first objective was accomplished; no one was pursuing Amitiel anymore.
He slid his sword into the sleeve of his coat where it vanished instantly. Next he turned his attention to his wing. With a frown, he tried stretching it to its full extent and was frustrated when it unfurled halfway and halted, twitching spasmodically. With one hand, he smoothed the frayed and broken feathers, feeling the heat of swollen muscles underneath. The chain had left bloody welts, red ichor staining the silver-white pinions. It would take him a couple of hours to heal enough to follow Dean, Sam, and Amitiel.
Folding his wings tightly across his back, he left the alley in search of somewhere quiet he could wait while he healed. He walked nearly four blocks before he came across a small church, its front doors unlocked. Castiel slipped inside the sanctuary and folded himself into the nearest pew, shuffling his wings into the most comfortable position.
Above the altar at the front of the chamber was a stained glass window depicting an angel wearing armor and wielding a flaming sword. Judging from the colors and symbols, Castiel identified the image as his older brother Michael. The glass image showed a gentle expression on the archangel's face, his free hand extended in benediction.
Castiel tilted his head as he studied the artwork. It was nothing like the terrible, merciless warrior Castiel knew his brother to be. It puzzled him sometimes, the human idea of angels. They expected them to be kind, gentle...compassionate. Angels were warriors of their Father. Compassion very rarely factored into that.
After some time, the door to the sanctuary opened noiselessly and a woman slipped in. Castiel didn't have to look around to see identify her. She didn't seem to notice him as she slowly walked up the center aisle, dragging her feet. She had short black hair that stuck in all directions, and her clothing was old, worn, but clean. Castiel remained perfectly still.
She looked up, perhaps by chance or perhaps sensing someone's gaze on her, and gasped when she finally saw Castiel. "Oh!" she said, backing away. "I-I didn't know there was anyone in here."
"My apologies," Castiel replied politely. "It was not my intention to startle you."
She lowered her hands from where they had been clenched over her chest. "It's not that," she stammered. "There just isn't ever anyone here when I come in."
"You normally come here at this hour?" Castiel asked. "It is several hours before dawn."
"I know," the woman admitted. "But it's just...I mean, I..." she trailed off again, wringing her hands. Finally she hung her head. "I'm not exactly the Sunday morning kind of person," she said sadly. She sank into the pew across from Castiel with a sigh. "I feel like people...they look at me, and judge me."
"Only God can judge the soul," Castiel replied automatically. He may be able to see the soul, and evaluate it, but only his Father could decide upon its eternal fate.
The woman offered him a hesitant smile. "That's what the Bible says," she agreed. "I like coming here alone, anyway," she hurried on. "I like the quiet when I pray."
Castiel lowered his head, his brow furrowing. He prayed almost constantly, petitioning his Father for guidance, but now answer ever came. He was forced to rely on his own knowledge of his Father's will and what he believed in his heart was right.
"If you don't mind," the woman's timid voice interrupted his thoughts. "What are you doing here?"
"I am waiting to heal," the angel replied honestly.
"Oh," the woman said, blinking. "I guess we're all a little broken, huh?"
That was more true than she realized, Castiel mused. He thought of Dean, defiant, angry, and irreverent, still refusing to believe he was worth saving. Of Sam, who so desperately wanted salvation but whose own blood betrayed those desires. Of himself, fallen from heaven, his grace severely diminished. He exhaled deeply.
"Yes," he agreed solemnly. And then, because the weight on her soul was troubling him, he added, "You should forgive yourself for her death."
The woman stiffened, staring at him with wide eyes and open mouth. "W-what?" she stuttered.
"You never forgave yourself for the death of your baby," Castiel said. "It is time you let it go. God has already forgiven you, Tabitha."
She pressed her hand over her mouth. "How do you know that?" she murmured, half in horror and half in shock. "How did you know my name?"
"The same way I know you have not used drugs since your daughter's death. That you pray for her soul every day, that she won't be punished for your sins." Castiel paused. "She wasn't. Your baby's soul is in heaven now."
Tears were running down Tabitha's cheeks, and Castiel knew she was torn, her instinct telling her he was insane and her heart wanting to believe him. "Who are you?" she whispered.
"I am Castiel, an angel of the Lord," he replied gravely. Tabitha's eyes widened even further.
"You—" she could seem to get any more words past her lips.
Castiel stretched his injured wing, satisfied that it was now sufficiently healed, and rose to his feet to cross over to Tabitha. Compassion was rarely part of his duties, but it did occur. Kneeling in front of the distraught woman, he took her hands in his.
"My Father loves all his children." Castiel knew this to be true. He needed it to be true. "Even you, Tabitha. Trust in Him." He touched her forehead in a brief blessing and stood. Then he unfurled his wings and departed.
XxxXxxX
In the sunlight shining through the diner window, Mallory looked a good deal better. She was still worryingly pale, but a real meal was doing wonders for her. She had been very insistent on getting her french toast without syrup, with applesauce on the side, and lots of cinnamon, thank you. The waitress must have felt sorry for the bruised girl (they'd told her Mal had fallen down a flight of stairs) and had quite happily catered to her every whim.
Sam watched the girl closely as she dumped the applesauce over her toast and began eating. She'd made the effort to make herself look passable, finger-combing her white blonde hair into something resembling orderly. She'd struggled back into her shirt when it finally dried. Her denim jacket hid most of the dirt and wrinkles. Sam made a mental note to convince Dean to stop at a second-hand store before they left the tiny, Maryland town.
Sam had carried her into the diner when she'd failed another attempt at walking. She'd barely managed to squeeze her bandaged feet into her filthy sneakers without crying in pain. That was going to be a problem if they weren't able to get somewhere safe fast. Sam still wanted to go to Bobby's, but Dean was of the opinion it was too far. Unfortunately, they didn't really have anywhere else to go.
At his elbow, Dean was wolfing down his steak and eggs as if he had just survived a famine. While Mallory had an excuse for her enthusiasm, Dean didn't, and his manners were starting to annoy the younger Winchester brother. He jostled Dean's arm just enough to send the next bite toppling off the fork. Dean glared. Sam looked innocent.
Mallory's fork suddenly clattered onto her plate. Both brothers looked up. She was staring out the window, her eyes dark and fathomless.
"What's wrong?" Sam and Dean demanded at the same time. Mallory tilted her head slightly to the right.
"Castiel should have returned by now," the girl said without looking at either of them. Sam recognized the tone. Mallory was no longer in control.
"I'm sure Cas is fine, Amitiel," he assured her. "He would have let us know if he got into any trouble."
"If he could get to his cell phone," Dean muttered. "Ow!" he hissed when Sam's size thirteen sneaker came in contact with his shin.
"He's fine," Sam insisted. Amitiel's fingers began worrying the napkin beside Mallory's plate. She continued to stare out the window. "You should finish eating," Sam went on. "You're gonna need the strength."
Amitiel tore her gaze from the window and looked down at the half-eaten french toast. Picking up the fork, she poked a bite-sized piece cautiously, a tiny furrow between her brows. Skewering the fried bread, she lifted to her mouth and bit down. The furrow deepened as she chewed. Sam realized that both he and Dean were watching her expectantly. Something resembling approval sparkled in her eyes and she resumed eating, a bit more methodically this time.
"Um...Amitiel?" She looked up when Sam called her name. "What's Mal doing?"
The angel tilted her head. "She is currently exploring my memory of the attack of Jerusalem by the Romans."
Sam sputtered for a moment. "You were there?" he demanded, slightly shrilly.
Amitiel nodded, her expression unchanging. "Yes." She went back to eating.
Somehow Sam never really thought about the fact that the angels were, in all probability, older than the human race and witness to its entire history. The idea was...exciting, to say the least. He opened his mouth to babble a stream of questions when Dean elbowed him in the ribs, hard.
"What the hell?" he demanded, rubbing the sore spot.
"I'm not sitting through one of your geekgasms, all right? Let's just eat and get back on the road."
Sam huffed and resisted the urge to pout, turning his attention back to his blueberry waffles. For a second time, he looked up when a fork clattered against a plate. Amitiel was struggling to her feet, steadying herself against the table before taking a wobbly step. Sam lunged forward just in time to keep her from falling.
"Whoa! What are you doing?" Sam demanded. Amitiel shook him off and started tottering towards the door. Dean glanced out the window where the angel had been staring.
"Dude, Cas is back," he said, catching sight of a familiar tan trench coat on the street outside. Sam glanced from his brother to Amitiel and back. Dean waved him on. "Stay with her. I'll pay." Sam nodded and hurried after the girl. The bell above the door rang cheerfully as Sam stepped out of the diner. Amitiel had come to a stop a few paces away, perhaps acknowledging her vessel's injuries.
Sam came to a halt behind the female angel and the watched Castiel approach. Then everything went sideways.
Two men lunged out of nowhere, grabbing hold of Castiel. Three more appeared, one jumping onto at Castiel's back to drive him to his knees. Chains draped from their hands; they snarled as they struggled to bind the angel.
"Castiel!" Amitiel screamed, starting to run towards her brother, injured feet forgotten. Sam ran after her, mind racing. All he had on him was his .45, and the demons wouldn't even flinch that. Yet he knew he had to do something.
"No!" Castiel bellowed, fighting madly against the demons. His sword appeared in his hand and he thrust it into one's stomach. "Stay back! Amitiel, stay back!" She ignored him and kept running toward him. Sam caught up with her and grabbed her around her waist, dragging her backwards.
"Let me go!" She struck at him with her fists, but he held on resolutely.
"There's nothing we can do," Sam told her grimly. She wasn't listening, twisting madly in his grasp in her desperation to reach her sibling. Castiel met Sam's gaze and nodded slightly in approval. Then one of the demons struck him across the back of his head, knocking him unconscious. It grabbed hold of him and vanished. The remaining three charged toward Sam and Amitiel.
Sam released Amitiel only to grab her arm and drag her, still resisting, toward the Impala. Dean burst out of the diner doors and ran to meet them. He wrenched the trunk open and flung a bottle of holy water at Sam, who snatched it in mid air. Ruby's knife followed; Dean armed himself with a shotgun. They whirled around to face the demons.
Amitiel bounded the few yards separating them, a silver blade in her hand. Her face was twisted in rage, her lips drawn back in a silent snarl. A demon swung his chain at her, the links whirring through the air. She ducked smoothly under his arm and pirouetted around behind him. She plunged her sword into his back, the point emerging from his chest. Before she could yank her sword free, another chain lashed around her arm, jerking her sideways.
Sam and Dean reached the struggle by this point. Sam dashed holy water into the face of the demon holding Amitiel, sending him recoiling backwards with a shriek. Dean blasted the remaining demon with two shells of rock salt, giving Sam the opportunity to drag Amitiel to her feet.
She was keening in pain, clawing at the chain wrapped around her arm, but every time her fingers touched it, smoke rose from the contact. There wasn't time to pull it free, so Sam just pushed her behind him. His opponent recovered and lunged at the hulking Winchester, hands clawed as if to rip his eyes out. Sam threw the last of the holy water at him, then swung the knife in an arc, neatly slitting the demon's throat.
When he looked around for Dean, he found his brother flat on his back, the last demon on top of him, using the shotgun to choke the older Winchester. Sam lunged, knife raised. The demon looked up sharply and Sam was flung off his feet, landing on the pavement several yards away. He lifted his head in time to see Amitiel fling herself bodily at the demon.
Despite her tiny size, she sent them both tumbling away from Dean. She managed to land on top and looped the demon's chain around his throat, pulling it tight despite the smell of scorched flesh. Dean rolled over, coughing, as he crawled over to where Amitiel's sword had fallen. Stumbling to his feet, he staggered over to the angel and demon and leaned over to plunge the sword through the demon's chest.
Amitiel instantly dropped the chain, pushing herself away from the demon and nursing her hands against her ribs. Dean looked from her to his brother and back.
"We gotta get out of here."
"I'm going to find my brother," Amitiel replied stubbornly. Dean glared at her. She looked like a stiff breeze could knock her over.
"We'll find Cas," he told her. "But we can't do that from inside a jail cell. Which is where we'll end up if we stick around. Come on."
Amitiel hesitated, and then pointed to the abandoned chain weapons. "Bring those with us. They must be destroyed." She accepted her sword back from Dean and crawled into the back seat of the Impala. Dean snatched the chains from the ground and threw them into the trunk. When he got into the driver's seat, Sam was waiting for them. Amitiel was hunched over, her hands still tucked against her sides.
"Let me see your hands," Sam ordered, twisting sideways and reaching back for her. She extended them without word, displaying red and blistered palms.
"The chains," she explained. "Weapons designed to harm angels."
"Could one kill you?" Dean demanded.
She hesitated. "I do not know," she said at length. She looked down at where her hands were dwarfed by Sam's gigantic palms. "They have Castiel. They will come for me, next."
"They won't get you," Dean said firmly. "Not gonna let that happen."
The angel shuddered and pulled her hands away from Sam's grasp. "We have to find him soon. They'll keep him alive for now, but we don't have much time. Demons are not known for their patience."
"Right. We need to find somewhere safe to lay low while we figure out where they took him," Dean said, nodding his head. He kept an eye on the rear view mirror, watching for sirens.
"They took him to Detroit," Amitiel said softly, rubbing her thumbs across her fingertips. Dean and Sam both stared at her.
"What?" Sam demanded.
"The door to Belial's prison is in Detroit. That is where they'll take him," Amitiel said again.
An uncomfortable silence fell within the Impala. "You know it's probably a trap," Sam pointed out.
"Undoubtedly," Amitiel replied flatly.
Dean pressed his lips together. "It's Cas," he said simply.
And that was all that needed to be said.