"No." Sam's voice was a sharp warning.
It dragged Dean up from his nap, snapping his eyes open. He was sitting upright on the faded blue futon, listening to his brother's mumbled argument somewhere on the other end of the house. He dragged a hand through his hair and made a face. The last tendrils of vicodin still clung to his body, making his movements sluggish and numb. It was pleasant, other than the awful taste in his mouth.
"Aw, come on." Gabe's plaintive whine broke through the less discernible strains of the argument.
Sam's reply was all but inaudible, but Dean heard something like his name somewhere in it so he took that as his cue and got to his feet, padding as quiet as possible to the door. The damn door did creak open, but the arguing kept up its fervent whispers, so they apparently had no idea that Dean was creeping up on them. The arguing was not much clearer from the hall just beyond the kitchen where Dean took up his post, but he was catching stray words.
"-quick."
"He'll- I can't."
"- tell him."
There was a soft thud and a chuckle like whatever fight they were having was not nearly as big of a deal as it first sounded.
"Is that a threat, sasquatch?"
"It will be if you don't keep quiet."
"Oh, I'm shaking in my boots."
Dean risked a peek around the corner, and immediately wished that he had not. Gabe was perched atop the counter beside the sink, head thrown back and quiet laughter dancing over his face. Sam was pressed up against the counter, hips settled between the Angel's knees, one arm raised up, holding a head of lettuce like he planned to beat Gabe with it. Dean was used to fighting with Sam, wrestling, clubbing each other with whatever objects were within arm's reach, but the Angel was hooking his ankles together at the small of Sam's back, and that was not something that Dean did. The Angel was also catching little handfuls of Sam's shirt and trying in vain to pull him down so their heads were level, making soft biting motions- which was DEFINETLY not something that Dean did with his brother.
"Stop it, Gabe." Sam was laughing quietly, whispering and joking and letting himself be tugged downward, inch by inch.
Stomach churning, Dean slipped back into the hall. It was possible that his brother was drunk. Sam always got a bit funny when he had too much to drink. So that is where Dean decided to place the blame. He went back to his room and immediately went to his duffle, getting out his Smith & Wesson 29, a sturdy, Dirty Harry model that weighed roughly a ton- and Dean started cleaning it. It was mechanical, and he did not have to think about his swift, sure movements, dulled only slightly but the numbness in his fingertips. By the time he finished there was a light knocking on his door and his brother's shaggy head appeared.
"Hey, look who's awake." And he grinned like nothing was wrong at all, but Dean knew him, and he knew that smile. That was the look Sam gave him when he was feeling guilty.
Dean cleared his throat, not looking up from the gun he was putting back together. "How long was I out?"
"Only two hours." Sam came into the room and pulled out the rolling chair from the computer desk, sitting in it backwards and watching Dean. "Dinner's almost done."
"Great. I'm starving. Your girlfriend ate my lunch." He had not meant for it to come out quite like that. He risked a hurried glance up and saw a little frown on his brother's face.
"He does that sometimes."
"So… how long have you two been banging each other?" If Sam wasn't going to correct the 'girlfriend' title, Dean was going straight for the jugular on this one. He hated beating around the bush and if his kid brother had turned to the dark side- the fabulous dark side- Dean was not about to let it slide without comment.
The noise Sam made was one of shock and horror and it almost was enough to make Dean laugh.
"What?! We're not-"
"Come on, Sammy. How long have you been getting a little slice of heaven from your little slice of heaven?"
"Dean!" Sam was up out of his chair, looming over his brother, casting a shadow across the bed. "I told you we're just friends. Why does everything have to be sex with you?"
"Because I saw you two making out in the kitchen." He set his gun aside and just leaned back on his elbows. He wasn't up for a proper fight right now, besides, it was not really the sort of thing that you have a fight about. Sam had always had a thing for sexing up the monsters, just like Dean had a thing for long legs and tight jeans. So his kid brother had questionable taste, at least an Angel was less likely to kill them than some of the other things Sam had bedded. Gabe being a dude was really more fifty percent of the problem (and that was debatable, because Dean was not sure if Angels even had a gender) and the other half was that Sam was so hell bent on hiding it from him.
The fact that Dean had not actually seen any kissing was lost in the face of Sam not denying that there was any. His face just grew red and he stammered a lot, looking at his feet and out the window and basically anywhere other than Dean. Finally he sank back into his chair. "A few weeks." It was a quiet sort of confession, really debatable if Sam had even unclenched his teeth long enough to say it.
"A few weeks?" Dean raised an eyebrow.
"Ten months." Gabe corrected from the doorway, a thoroughly amused look on his face.
"Thanks, but I don't need your help." Sam put his face in his hands.
"Don't know about that. A school teacher who can't even count." He tisked, folding his arms over his narrow chest. "No wonder our education system is falling apart."
"Gabe." Sam warned, looking up with his best bitch face, and Dean finally started laughing.
"You two are gross." He sat up, not liking the way that leaning back made his chest burn. "What's for dinner?"
Sam let out a startled puff of air and explained that there were steaks.
Castiel joined them at the table, hair a mess, clutching a blanket around his shoulders and looking lost. He did not eat, or say anything, he simply watched the others, and looking startled from time to time at the things the hunters would call each other.
Not really ready to let it go, but also not wanting to accidently get any details on their love life, Dean let the topic drop. He figured he could corner Sam later, away from his talkative little Angel and get the non graphic telling of their torrid, gay romance.
Dean knew down inside that it was just a phase, just a thing Sam was going through as part of his drastic life style change. It was disturbing as fuck, but it was just a temporary arrangement. The Angel would eventually re-angelify and return to his war and Sam could go back to tits and ass and Dean would sleep better at night. Or at least, that was his silent plan. He dare not vocalize it as he had no proof that Angels that fell could go back up to heaven, and knew that Sam would get all butt hurt over the mere suggestion. So he smiled and teased his little brother about having a job that required a tie and the million other things that were so easy to rag on Sam about.
It was a good dinner, though something was nagging him, lingering in the back of his thoughts like a dark stranger waiting to be noticed. It was not until after two slices of store bought cherry pie (with vanilla ice-cream) that Dean could put words to the strange inkling.
"You're not talking." He pointed his sticky fork at Castiel and the Angel tilted his head curiously in reply. "And your wings are gone." He had to tilt his head slightly and squint, but even the churning shadows were gone.
"We can hide them when we are strong enough, which is why you can't see mine. And you don't want him talking." Gabe reminded, serving himself another bowl of ice-cream.
"He was talking earlier- like normal people talk." At least, Dean thought that he had. Really, it might just have been a gentle hallucination brought on by taking too many pills, but he did not think so.
"Really, Cassy? Did you find your big kid words?" The blonde Angel rocked in his seat, looking excited, worried and pleased all wrapped up in one.
Castiel licked his lips slightly, just a quick dart of pink tongue, but made no reply.
"Oh, you gunna be shy now?" Gabe leaned forward, elbows on the table, smiling.
"What did he say?" Sam's intense expression paled in comparison to the one Castiel wore, but it was a good attempt.
"I-" Dean frowned, "I don't really remember. I know he told me to change it back when I changed channels on him." And the rest was a bit of a blur, he remembered getting upset and the Angel falling asleep, but that was it. Then it was just Dean waking up in bed, cocooned in a scratchy afghan.
"Seriously, how many pills did you take?" Sam sighed, still watching Castiel, but sparing an exasperated look to his brother.
"I don't know- I was grabbing one for Cas, and I took a few while I was there… maybe I had some when I first woke up too."
"Cas?" Gabe sniggered. "So you two got to know each other quite well I take it."
Dean frowned, looking down at his dirty plate. He had no idea why the moniker had slipped out. Castiel was just too long and weird sounding, and there was no way he was going to call the thing Cassy. "Yeah, your one to talk, Gabriel."
"Eww, don't." The short Angel was up from the table, taking dirty dishes with him as he tried to vanish into the kitchen.
"Gabriel?" Sam frowned.
"Yeah, it's what his brother called him." Dean nodded in Castiel's direction.
"I said don't." Gabe reminded loudly.
Sam got real quiet, that calculating look on his face taking over. "Is that a common name for Angels?"
"How the hell should I know?" Dean leaned back in his chair, trying to balance it on just the back legs.
"Yeah, it was the most common boy's name the year I was born." Gabe came back in with a beer, some pale ale nonsense, and sat down with a frown. "Just drop it."
"There are no other Angels in all of our father's creation named Gabriel." Castiel spoke for the first time in hours and Dean's stomach dropped out. He had been willing to chalk the low, rumbling voice up to the drugs, but no. It was still there. All four feet of his chair were on the ground again with a clatter.
"Damn good time to chime in there, Cassy." Gabriel said with a deflating sigh.
"It is a sacred name." He paused to clear his throat, watching his older brother with a curious look. "You know that. All the archangels have-"
And that was when Gabe threw his freshly opened and still quite full beer at his brother.
Castiel just looked confused, wet and sad.
"You never did know when to shut up." But Gabe did not sound mad, he sounded resigned and Dean did not understand why.
He looked to Sam and was surprised to see that calculating, determined look still on his face. "Gabe, we need to talk." He was using his super serious voice, the one normally reserved for when Dean royally fucked something up. It was nice to know that it could be directed at someone else.
And the little Angel simply stood and walked to the back bedroom, head hung low, Sam close on his heels.
"Hey, what's going… on?" Dean gave up. He would get it out of Sam later. Something important had just flown way over his head, but there were other things to worry about. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up." He pushed out his chair and came over to the remaining Angel, helping him wobble to his feet and into the kitchen. The blanket had been left behind to sop up the beer pooling on the floor beneath the table and Castiel was left in a very wet shirt, eyes a little too wide and a small sad frown bowing his lips.
Dean found the paper towels and it was a flashback to the night before, with him carefully dabbing questionable moister from the silent creature. "It's going to hurt like a bitch, but put your arms up." He directed and was partially amazed at how the Angel simply followed his orders, only wincing slightly as he rolled his shoulder. Dean helped him out of the wet t-shirt and dragged him back to his room, digging out a flannel and redressing him. The whole thing was abnormal. It was just plane… weird.
Weird was the best word that Dean could find. "Dude, you're like a really obedient puppy." Weird, but nice for a man who was used to having his demands ignored unless he had a gun out.
"I like dogs." And it was strange that when the Angel was quiet, it was so easy for the hunter to view him as just some lost, broken creature- something feral, but sort of friendly in a skittish way. All that vanished when he spoke. His three simple and inane words rolling over Dean like a semi. It was impossible not to stop and take notice when someone spoke like the Angel did. The fact that he was standing far too close, eyes wide and searching, did very little to help the punch-drunk feeling. Even after so many years in the business, Dean was unaccustomed to being bludgeoned by unnaturally lovely things. Lovely was not typically part of Dean's job description.
There was a loud noise on the other side of the wall and Dean was suddenly very aware of the fact that his room and Sam's shared a wall. A stifled moan followed and either someone was injured, or the younger Winchester brother had decided to forgive Gabe from whatever infraction he had committed earlier. Probably the latter, as it was not the sort of moan that begged for help, but more the kind that begged to keep going.
Castiel's bright eyes were fixed on the wall, a look of concern taking over.
"It's alright."
"We should check on them, your brother could be injured." He said sensibly while soft gasps made their way through the dry wall.
"Nah, there's nothing in there that we can help him with. He'll be fine." Inwardly Dean was screaming 'eww'. Knowing that your brother was getting sex regularly was a high-five worthy sort of thing. Being in close proximity to said regular sex was just plain disturbing.
"Our brothers are fornicating." Castiel said simply, understanding dawning.
"Oh, god." Dean put a hand to his forehead and frowned back when the Angel suddenly scowled at him.
"God has nothing to do with their actions."
"Awesome." Dean grabbed up the gun he had left out, tucked it into the waistband of his pants and stalked out of the room. "Come on, Cas." And sure enough, the Angel followed without question, which was for the best, because otherwise Dean would have totally left him behind to listen to the string of filthy litanies being dragged out of little Sammy Winchester.
It was disgusting, but Dean was not about to interrupt a man in the middle of getting some. That was just cruel. Besides, Sam was an adult, he was free to make his own horrible mistakes and Dean was just as free to rub them in at a later date in time after everyone was showered and dressed.
A drive in the Impala seemed like the best remedy to the awful images that Dean was finding a hard time shaking. Her hood was dented to hell, roughly in the shape of an angel, the left headlight broken and the backseat smeared with ichor and feathers. His poor baby was in bad shape, but still good enough for a drive. It was early evening and the sun was still painting the sky with reds and oranges even if the sphere itself could not be seen over the tree line. Dean dug out a CCR cassette tape and popped it in, deciding against explaining the benefits of a seatbelt to an Angel, and he just drove.
Strains of classic rock ferried them through the darkening woods, the volume too loud to allow for conversation, but that was fine as Dean was not big on small talk and it seemed that neither was the Angel. But in the end it was the Angel who broke first.
"Do you have a specific destination planned for us?"
Dean flicked his fingers over the dial, turning down the volume down just a click or two. "Nope, just needed a bit of air."
"There was plenty of air back in the house."
"I mean fresh air." Apparently the Angel did not do subtle very well.
"I see." But it was evident from the questioning tone that he did not really.
Dean just sighed and cranked the volume back up, unashamedly singing along with the chorus- up until the point he realized that Castiel was just staring openly at him, then Dean sort of tapered off, clearing his throat and settling for simply drumming his hands against the wheel.
With the windows down, the smell of the sea had started to grow stronger and that was enough to take Dean's mind off his own embarrassment or the idea of his brother and whatever sweaty trouble he was getting himself into.
He took what looked like a service road, relying on his inner compass that he was headed east- because east was the direction of those waves that he could not hear over the blaring music. The little road took them winding down through more tree infested woods, all sparse and starting to fade into the evening fog, but the trees gave way to the wide open and dark rush of the sea. He pulled over into a gravel turn off and took the keys from the ignition, letting the engine purr down to silence.
"God, it's fucking beautiful out here."
"Do you always pray so… unconventionally?" Castiel had not even noticed the ocean spilling out before them, he was just watching Dean with his almost alien expression. It was as if he had no idea how to look at someone like a human should. It was all deep, unblinking stares, leaning too close and not breathing at a normal tempo. Dean had been on the receiving end of many a creepy stare in his time, but this one might take the cake.
"Come on, Cas." He got out of the car, boots scuffing in the rocks and waited while he listened to the Angel fumbling with the handle for long enough that Dean just sighed again and came round to the passenger side and opened the door for him.
They walked down to the beach, gravel giving way to coarse sand and the clean, biting smell of the Atlantic Ocean. Dean found the remains of a bonfire, nothing more than blackened logs in a semi circle, and he sat down. It had been less than twenty-four hours since getting tossed around by that bear thing and he was still very far from what he would call 'feeling good'. Castiel chose to stand, hugging himself slightly against the cool breeze, and watching the waves in the same way that he had watched Dean.
Dean in turn watched the Angel. He had seen the sea before, and yeah, it still made him feel a little small and in awe of the actual force of nature, but it sort of felt dwarfed by the fact that he was watching it with and Angel. An honest to god Angel. He could not classify them as monsters, he did not know what they were- and even if they looked human in most respects, they just really weren't.
"Cas, did you see what happened to that monster bear last night, or were you unconscious for it?"
"The denarian?" Castiel turned slightly to look over his shoulder at Dean.
"… That sounds familiar." Something was flickering, like a candle against a storm, only the vaguest of light shining on half of a memory.
"It did not seem to strike a chord when I told you this morning."
"Did we talk about it this morning?" He folded his own arms, regretting not grabbing his jacket before leaving Sam's place. Try as he might, Dean could not remember anything that they spoke of earlier in the day, only that they spoke. "Well, tell me again."
"I said nothing to you other than the name and that it I killed it. Did you want me to tell you that again?" He came through the sand and sat beside Dean, too close, but sharing a bit of radiant warmth, so it was not too bad.
"Uh, no. That's alright." He made a point to avoid eye contact and was proud at how good he was getting at it. "So… you destroyed the bear?" It was a funny mental image. "You couldn't even stay awake."
"I used what was left of my Grace."
Dean glanced over in time to see the Angel looking at his hands, slowly curling and uncurling his fingers, looking like he had lost something. It was beyond pitiful. "Will, uh, there be more of 'em coming for you?"
"Ursiel was not the only Blackened Denarius in the area, so I suppose it is possible."
Dean edged closer, just slightly, enough that their knees were touching and there was a pool of heat in that slight contact. "And what are these d-denariuses?"
"They are fallen angels bonded to human hosts." He spat it out, the first real emotion that had crept into his voice since he found it.
And it got Dean's attention. Hosts? "Wait, bonded? Are you saying that Angels are going around possessing people- and then why the fuck was it a bear?"
"They are not Angels any longer."
"So, like you and Gabe?" Something did not feel right about this. Something was definitely wrong with the idea of an Angel acting like a demon and taking a human host.
If Castiel had looked offended before, he was livid now, his face pale and alert in the wane starlight. "No, they are nothing like us." He stood, no longer wanting to sit beside Dean and when he spoke again there was a ringing echo of his true voice. "We fell because we had no strength to stay any longer. The denarians fell as Lucifer did. They are no more Angels than you or your brother, or any other hairless ape on this desolate shell of a world."
Dean had nothing to say to that. It was the most words he had heard the Angel string together and it was far from a friendly explanation. His ears were ringing slightly and he wanted a moment to get his thoughts in order before speaking again, but then Castiel was sitting beside him once more, head bowed.
"My apologies. I lost my temper. It is a beautiful world that our Father has given to your kind."
"Yeah." Dean did not move closer this time, he would rather deal with the cold. Bipolar Angels were new to the menu and it was going to take more than one day to grow accustomed to it.
"I am fallen from heaven, but I did not Fall." He put extra weight on that last word and Dean figured that he sort of understood. The Angel turned his pale face to the sky, the crooked sliver of moon catching in his eyes. "I will return one day, Father willing. The denarians never will. They forsook their Grace, willingly abandoning it to follow our brother down below."
Dean kept quiet, watching the creature and feeling something akin to pity for it. The anger had gone out of him, his thin shoulders sagging. He honestly looked sad at the prospect of what had happened to what must have been his brothers. Dean thought of Sam and the demon's blood problem that they had faced for years, and the promise he had made to their father. If Sam had gone evil Dean would have worn a similar expression to the Angel's, one of bitter sorrow and abandonment.
"There were once thirty, but nearly half have been destroyed." Again, the anger had vanished and the only emotion he wore was one of subtle sorrow.
"How many are gunning for you?" Dean almost put an arm around Castiel's shoulders, pulling him closer, but that was more Sam's job. Dean did not do the touchy-feely crap so well.
"I do not know. I have lost my ability to feel them. But I assume that Gabriel would notice if one were close enough for us to be in danger."
"That's good I guess." Dean pulled his eyes away from the stargazing Angel and forced himself to look out at the rolling waves as the tide pulled itself in.
They sat silently for a time as the night dragged on and the stars were lost in the ominous boiling clouds of another storm. It was not until the first drops of rain stated pattering quietly around them that Dean finally stood.
"Time to head back."
Castiel did not follow him, did not even look over, his gaze fixed on the tar black waves where they crashed almost invisibly in the darkness.
"Come on." Still no response and Dean reached out and grasped one of those thin shoulders. The Angel was shaking. It was such a fine tremor, Dean would have never noticed if he had not laid a hand on him.
"She is coming." His soft whisper did not betray his tension, his voice still low and strong.
"Who?" Dean was getting that uneasy feeling again. He took his hand from the Angel and settled it on the butt of his gun.
"Akariel." It was not a pleasant sounding word, all rolling and venomous.
"Another of those denarians?" It did not matter how hard he stared into the darkness, all he could see was the chilling rain. "I thought you said you couldn't feel them anymore."
"I can smell her."
"Should we run?" Dean still felt like hell and all he had were six rounds in his gun's chamber and a damaged, graceless Angel. He was heavily weighing his options and running sounded like the best one.
"I doubt we will be fast enough." A sound ripped thought the night and it had nothing to do with the storm. "But I think I would like to try."
No one needed to tell him twice. He grabbed Castiel's arm, dragging him to his feet and they ran through the sand. Dean was chanting a breathless mantra of 'fuck', practically throwing himself into the car, coaxing the engine to life before the Angel even got his door open. Before Castiel's ass even landed the denarian showed itself.
It came up through the night, through the storm and the fog, like a fire. The engine stopped… the sea stopped. The red glow of the fallen Angel shone like a nova on the glassy surface. It was unnatural as hell to see the Atlantic without a single wave, it was worse to see a distant nightmare born of flame, blurring over the dead sea and sand, dragging itself towards the stalled Impala.
Dean throttled the keys, shaking them and cursing, foot pumping the peddle. "Come on, Baby. COME ON!" The light was growing and he could see shadows again. "Fuck me." He pulled out his gun. "Can you shoot?"
Castiel looked at the offered gun and took it by the barrel, looking confused, but determined.
"How the fuck did you come from a war?" He muscled the gun away and repositioned it correctly. "Skinny end goes at the badguy. Point and pull." With those directions he resumed trying to get the engine to turn over. She finally sputtered to life just as the Angel figured out how a trigger worked. It was like thunder in the close confines of the car and apparently he was a decent shot, because the creature howled in pain.
Dean peeled out, gravel and grit flying as he tore down the narrow service road out to the highway.
"Please tell me you unrolled the window."
"Unroll?"
"I am going to hurt you with a brick." He threatened between his teeth, even as Castiel turned and fired through the back window as the denarian came tearing through the trees after them. It screamed, something feral that set Dean's skin crawling and his heart pounding against his ribs. "Did you get it?"
"Yes." And the Angel fired again.
"It's not dead? Shoot it better."
"I think I am just making it angry now."
"Fuck." Dean replied eloquently and that was about when the Impala flipped over- trunk over hood, the momentum carrying her into a bank of trees, wild sparks flaring up for a moment all red and gold as the metal gave way with a scream of protest. There was a white ringing in Dean's ears, something high and pervasive that he had a feeling might never leave him and the world was swimming before his eyes, all fog inlayed and muted colors chasing each other. Before his vision even cleared he became aware that he was upside down, seatbelt caught painfully against his shoulder and chest. He was grateful for that, though he did not even remember putting it on. Old habits he supposed.
Castiel was crumpled against the ceiling of the car, blood on his face and Dean could just make out that he was struggling to move through the waves of shock and adrenaline. Then blue eyes were looking into his, bright and wild and the Angel was saying something that Dean could not make out over the ringing. It was a short, hard word and he repeated it a few times before growing tired of this game and looking around what remained of the car's cab. Not that he had ever looked happy exactly, but the Angel's face became steely, his eyes tightening under the smears of blood on his face. He picked up a jagged piece of shattered windshield, and shoved it hard into the palm of his left hand.
Under normal circumstanced, Dean would have reacted quicker. He felt on the verge of blacking out while he watched the Angel hastily painting something on the ruined hood, reaching out into the night while rain splattered silently around them through the canopy. There was a dreaded feeling growing inside of him, and even if he could not hear a damn thing, he got the uneasy suspicion that whatever had been chasing them was very close now. He fumbled with his seatbelt, and Castiel was yelling something at him, but when he saw that Dean sill could not hear or understand him he placed a dirty hand over Dean's eyes, all warm with life and his own blood and then the world trembled. It pulled the breath right out of Dean's lungs, the feeling tearing through him like something alive, white-hot clawing its way out of his chest.
He woke up briefly when Sam hefted him into the back of the Highlander and again when a nurse was shining a light into his eyes, her cold, sterile hands touching a fresh bruise on his cheek and making him wince. It was a small pain and discomfort, easily forgotten as the darkness took him again. He woke only one more time that night, dimly aware from the over powering antiseptic smell that he must be in a hospital. The lights had been dimmed and the only real sounds were coming from the monitors hooked up to him, all soft beeps and whirrs of servos. He could just make out the hunched form of Sam, asleep in a chair beside the bed, his long legs stretched out at uncomfortable angles. Dean smiled, and he did not know why.
Movement caught in the corner of his eye and he painfully turned his head slightly to the right. Castiel stood there, quiet and still as a statue.
Dean tried to speak, to ask what the hell happened and how was it that he was incapacitated while the Angel looked fine other than a few bumps and scrapes, but he did not get the chance. Castiel saw Dean struggling and came over, covering the space between them in two short strides. He placed a hand lightly to Dean's forehead.
"The nurses say that you must sleep."
And Dean would have argued, but sleep really did sound like a lovely place to be, so he went without further argument.