Dean woke up to the sound of Sam's voice. It was hardly a strange occurrence, given how much time the two men spent together. In fact, Dean was so attuned to his brother's voice that he could tell even through the closed door and empty stairwell that Sam was wearing his bitchface. For a moment, Dean considered turning over, burying his head under his pillow, and going back to sleep. He cracked open one eye and checked his watch.
He'd been asleep for eighteen hours. With a grumbled curse, Dean staggered out of bed, grabbed the nearest pair of jeans, and pulled them on. Running a hand through his short hair, he shuffled down the hallway and descended into the living room.
Sam was standing in the middle of the living room, a plastic shopping bag in one hand. He was, as Dean had predicted, very much in bitchmode, his brow lowered and his lips pressed together. The object of his ire was, strangely enough, Castiel, who was seated on the couch, looking up at Sam with a quizzical expression. The girl (Dean couldn't tell if Amitiel or Mallory was in control) sat next to Castiel, swathed from chin to toes in blankets, and was fighting a smile despite looking deathly pale.
"You can't keep on wearing those," Sam said with a huff, indicating Castiel's t-shirt and scrub pants.
The angel looked down at himself. "What is wrong with my clothing?" he asked innocently.
"Well, for one, you have no shoes," Sam pointed out. "And two, you look like you escaped from a hospital."
"I did escape from a hospital," Castiel reminded him patiently. The girl giggled, high-pitched and quickly stifled. Mallory, then. Sam huffed again and held out the bag.
"Look, just put the damn clothes on, Cas. You can't go around dressed like that, okay? Trust me on this."
With a look sideways at Mallory, Castiel reluctantly got to his feet and took the bag. He stood looking inside it for a moment. "I liked Jimmy's coat," he said suddenly. Mallory giggled again, not bothering to hide it this time.
Sam rolled his eyes. "We'll get you another coat, all right? Just go change already."
Castiel shot Sam a look that was almost annoyed and headed toward the bathroom, which Dean was intensely grateful for. He wouldn't put it past Castiel to simply change in the middle of the living room. As Castiel neared Dean, the angel met his gaze. "Hello, Dean."
"Morning," Dean replied. "How you feeling?"
"I am sufficiently healed," Castiel replied.
"He's lying," Mallory said in a weak voice. "His left side, where they stabbed him. It still hurts. And he didn't take any Vicodin."
Castiel gave her a mild glare. "I prefer to be in full control of my faculties," he replied stiffly.
"Pain is not your friend, dude," Dean chided. "Take the pills, okay?"
Castiel turned his glare on Dean and disappeared into the bathroom. Dean turned to Mallory. "How about you, kiddo?"
Mallory snuggled deeper into the blankets. Her hair was teased into a frizzy nimbus around her head and there were purple shadows under her eyes. Her skin was almost translucent and seemed stretched taught over her bones. She blinked her eyes slowly. "I'm okay," she replied. "I mean, physically. My feet...don't hurt as much. But Ami...I think she's really sick. I've been poking her for over and hour now and she...won't...wake..." her speech was drowned by a cavernous yawn. She blinked a few more times as if her eyelids were too heavy to hold up. "She's making me tired. Hard to stay awake."
"Then why aren't you sleeping?" Dean demanded.
She frowned at him. "'Cuz I needed a shower. And clean clothes. And food."
The bathroom door opened and Castiel returned to the living room. He was still barefoot, but he was now clothed in a pair of jeans and a navy blue turtleneck sweater. Dean blinked at him. It was indescribably odd to see the angel in anything other than his suit and trench coat. He seemed somehow diminished.
"Dude, that is just not right," Dean muttered.
Castiel's brows lowered. "But Sam said these would be acceptable," he said, sounding a little uncertain.
Dean shook his head. "No, what I mean is...you know what? Never mind. Looks good, Cas. Who wants a sandwich?" Dean was making roast beef and bacon sandwiches for himself, Sam, and Mallory when Bobby rolled in from the yard.
"About time you showed your face," he rumbled at Dean.
"Hey, I needed my beauty sleep," Dean protested, setting the sandwiches on paper plates and rooting through the cabinets in search of potato chips. He carried the plates back into the living room and passed them out. In order to take hers, Mallory had to untangle herself from the blankets, revealing that she was dressed in a t-shirt Dean recognized as Sam's.
"Didja pick up new clothes for Mal?" Dean asked his little brother. Sam rolled his eyes at Dean in exasperation.
"Yes," he said wearily.
Dean turned his attention then to Castiel and proceeded to pester him until the angel finally accepted the bottle of prescription Vicodin and swallowed five pills dry. Mallory fell asleep again almost as soon as she finished her sandwich and ended up curled beside Castiel, her head cradled in his lap. Castiel remained perfectly still, on hand resting gently on her shoulder, watching her as she slept.
"So, what's the plan?" Dean asked Sam quietly. Sam tore his gaze away from the angels.
"I dunno, Dean. We can't just leave Marax out there, doing who knows what. She might even be looking for us right now."
"I know," Dean replied glumly. "We gotta take her out, and fast. We may not have enough time to wait for Cas and Ami to recover."
"You will not be able to defeat Marax on you own," Cas said gravely, not looking up at the brothers. They stared at him. "The two of you are not strong enough."
"We took down the yellow-eyed bastard!" Dean countered indignantly.
Castiel lifted his sapphire-blue eyes to lock with Dean's green ones. "How many years did it take you to eliminate Azazel?" he asked softly. "How many of your loved ones did you lose? Marax is just as powerful as Azazel and has more followers. If you confront her alone you will die."
Dean blinked. "Wow. Thanks for the pep talk, Cas. You sure know how to get our spirits up."
Castiel stared at him as if trying to determine whether or not to take Dean at his word. He eventually decided not to bother and sighed with a faint shrug. "If we are to kill Marax and stop her from freeing Belial, you will have to wait until Amitiel and I are again at full strength."
"And how long is that going to be?" Dean demanded impatiently. Castiel suddenly looked unspeakably weary.
"I don't know."
XxxXxxX
Mallory woke up again four hours later, devoured two bowls of soup, and slept for another ten hour straight. When she woke up the third time, and after a shower, she looked for the first time like a normal, healthy young woman. Sam apparently had good taste in women's clothes, because he had picked out a wine-colored tank top to layer underneath a cream sweater and a pair of black jeans. He'd had to guess the size of her feet and ended up with a pair of ankle boots a half size too big, but Mallory assured Sam she didn't mind.
Amitiel hadn't made an appearance in over thirty hours and the Winchesters were starting to get concerned, despite Mallory's insistence that the angel was present and recovering. After a meal including all five of them, Castiel and Mallory disappeared outside for a walk.
For a long time neither of them spoke. They hadn't consciously decided to slip outside together, it had just sort of happened. Mallory again marveled at how comfortable she felt with this man who was practically a stranger.
"What has Amitiel shown you of her memories?" Castiel suddenly asked as they left the scrapyard and began strolling over the open land bordering Bobby's property.
"A little bit," Mallory replied, shoving her hands into her pockets. "I mean, most of what I see...it's hard to comprehend. I've seen some of the First War, and parts of your battle with Belial. A lot of your work in Jerusalem during the Roman occupation. Oh, and that trip to Germany during the plague outbreak."
Castiel nodded. "Yes. That was a unique situation, as heaven was no longer sending down regular patrols to earth during that time."
"Yeah, she mentioned," Mallory agreed. They pushed through the knee-high grass for a moment, heading toward the tree line. The evening air was crisp but not cold, and Mallory was not uncomfortable. Castiel reached out and touched her arm. She looked up at him.
"May I ask you something, Mallory?" he said gravely.
"Um...yes?" she said hesitantly, her eyes growing wide.
"While we were in the police station, the man who confronted us. Amitiel told him that you would never have to fear him again. Who was he?"
Mallory looked away and swallowed hard. "He...He was my father."
The angel came to a halt and stared at her, a concerned frown etched between his dark brows. "Why would you fear your father, Mallory?" he asked gently.
She kicked at the dirt with the toe of her new shoes. The last thing she wanted to do was talk to a freaking angel about her family relationships, but she knew Castiel was also the only one she would even dream of talking to about it. "My dad..." she began. "My dad is an important man. He's a U.S. congressman for Michigan. Has been since before I was born. And...well, appearances mean a lot to him."
Mallory hunched her shoulders, refusing to look up at Castiel. "All my life, he's always expected me to be the perfect daughter, you know, for the press and his colleagues and all that. And every time I screwed up...he'd get really, really mad. And, I mean, it was my fault and everything, I guess I just wasn't good enough, you know? Good enough for him, I mean." She swallowed again and fought against the sudden tears that pricked at her eyes. "So I guess I deserved it, you know. And now, God!" She rubbed the back of her wrist across her eyes. "He's never gonna live it down. What I did. I've probably ruined his career." Mallory chewed on her lower lip in an attempt to keep from crying. "I can't believe I messed up this bad."
She felt warm fingers under her chin and her face was forced upwards until she was confronted by his ancient, blue eyes. "Mallory," he said softly. "Did your father ever tell you that you were not good enough?"
She blinked, unable to tear away from his gaze. "No," she whispered. "No, he didn't have to."
Castiel brushed his thumb along her jaw briefly, staring into her eyes as if reading her soul. "I assure you, Mallory, you are an exemplary human. You were brave enough to save my sister's life, and brave enough to help save mine. Your father has obviously failed to see your true worth, and has only succeeded in convincing you that you have none."
Mallory's breath hitched and she stepped backwards. "No. My dad loves me, he does!" she insisted. "It's me. I keep messing up. I just...I just can't do anything right. I mean, I can't even walk across the school campus without getting snatched!"
Castiel stood where she had left him, still staring at her an expression that was part confusion, part sorrow, and part pity. "How can you think that your kidnapping was your fault?" he asked. "You cannot blame yourself for the sin of a stranger, Mallory. That makes no sense. What you are saying is wrong. You have done many things right."
She snorted. "Yeah right," she muttered.
"You agreed to be Amitiel's vessel when she desperately needed your help," Castiel pointed out. "You traveled six hundred miles through unfamiliar territory and found the two people on earth who could help you. You enabled Amitiel to gather enough strength to rescue me from Marax and you protected us from the human law enforcement while we were in the hospital."
A tear managed to escape and Mallory dashed it away angrily. Castiel took a step closer and placed his hand on her shoulder. "You are a remarkable child, Mallory," he told her intensely. "If your father has convinced you to believe otherwise, then he is wrong and deserves whatever consequences our actions inflicted upon him. He failed you as a father."
She gazed up at him with tear-filled eyes. "But...He's my dad..." she whispered.
Castiel sighed. "I understand. My Father...I have not seen the face of my Father in many thousands of years. But I know He loves his children. My brothers and sisters. And you, all of you humans. I know He loves all of us because He told us this. And I choose to believe this. To trust Him. He expects His children to obey Him, yes, but He never tells us we are unworthy. Never."
"You—you're talking about God, aren't you?" Mallory asked in a tiny voice. Castiel nodded solemnly.
"I am." He squeezed her shoulder. "My Father thinks you are worthy. Don't let anyone else tell you otherwise."
Mallory blinked a few times, tears now trickling unheeded down her cheeks. She lunged forward, throwing her arms around Castiel's waist and burying her face against his chest. He hesitated for a long moment, and then allowed his arms to circle her shoulders gently.
"Thank you," Mallory whispered.
And then Amitiel woke up.