Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.
Chapter 13 – someone to watch over me
"I'll be damned," Hudak whispered. She sat back in her chair, stared at the wide green eyes of the man on the computer screen. Kathleen hated surprises and this certainly qualified. The precinct and the world drew away from her. She was left in a vacuum, sitting at her desk, just her and a man she'd thought lost four years ago.
Kathleen stared into the face of Dean Winchester, and a chill inched its way up her spine. It was easy to recall the photo Matthews had shown her. At the time she remembered thinking that Dean wasn't bad looking.
Strike that. He was extremely handsome, hell, beautiful in a manly way. Smooth freckled skin, short dark blond hair, full lips set in a slightly lopsided smirk. That mischievous glint in his eyes was hard to miss. A grin like that was practically guaranteed to antagonize law enforcement officials everywhere. Dean Winchester had the look of trouble, like he was born to it.
She wouldn't kick him out of bed even if he was eating crackers, as her aunt used to say. Hudak felt a little bad about perving on the boy. He was a missing person, after all, but, well, damn….
Now she stared at the way he looked now, or at least the way he did six months ago. He was still drop dead gorgeous, but it was that look in his eyes that really bothered her. Maybe it was due to the computer monitor, but his eyes seemed a darker green. He looked confused but feral, like a cornered wild dog, ready to lash out at any and everyone, in any direction. His hair was longer and lighter, sandy blond, shoulder length. A jagged red streak of dried blood ran from his right temple to his chin.
Hudak glanced at the rest of the screen. The report hadn't said much. John Doe 317 was found stumbling down highway 57, half a mile from Kugel's Keg. He was confused and combative towards the officers who responded on the scene. He didn't know who or where he was. After paramedics were called to treat his head wound, he was taken to County General and then remanded to Sweetbriar the next day.
Kathleen remembered to breathe, deep and slow. She had to process this. She barely noticed when her finger hit the print key. The printer responded, and she walked over and picked up her copy up without much thought.
She did her job the rest of the day, quietly and efficiently. It was the usual, mundane stuff. Several abandoned cars on the highway (10-73, and she prayed to God that they'd just ran out of gas, that it wasn't anything like what happened to Riley), two assaults (code 10-84), a domestic disturbance (code 10-79), and a traffic stop with Beavis and Butthead that yielded twenty pounds of marijuana stuffed inside the shell of this old blue plastic hair dryer in the back seat. It was the mother of all drug calls (10-69), at least in these parts. That added a good three hours overtime, what with the paperwork and inventorying all the other crap they had in that beat up car of theirs.
Hours later she was at home, sitting curled up on her couch underneath that fluffy thick green afghan Aunt Helen had given her for Christmas. She had a big cup of chunky chicken noodle soup in one hand and that rolled up report in the other.
Her mind was finally able to wrap itself around what she'd found.
There wasn't a day that went by that she didn't think of Riley. She looked at Dean Winchester's mug shot and thought of him now.
Heck, even Matthews said this Dean was the black sheep of the family. The ne'er do well. It was obvious Winchester had been somewhere the past four years. He looked well-nourished. He'd grown his hair out, maybe tried to change his appearance.
He'd made a life for himself somewhere, or tried to at least. Might have found people who didn't care who he was, or where he'd come from. Everyone needs a soft place to fall. Maybe he wanted more for himself, and he'd found it, until drugs or mental illness caught up with him, and landed him in Sweetbriar.
And maybe she was reading too much into this, projecting her own feelings onto this situation. Riley had vanished into thin air. This kid hadn't, but still…his family had a right to know where he was, even if they choose not to do anything about it.
Kathleen sighed and put the report face down on the couch. She couldn't see Winchester's eyes when she did that, and that was fine by her. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, then something was definitely wrong with that picture.
She could call Matthews tomorrow.
After she went out to Sweetbriar in the morning.
I won't be gone long.
I understand. Jimmy Novak smiled slightly. He turned over on his side and closed his eyes. He didn't move, not even moments later, when the door slot banged open and then shut a minute later for the nightly bed check.
Castiel opened his eyes.
The man in cell 1A lay curled on his side on the padded floor. His sandy blonde, shoulder length hair lay loosely around his broad shoulders. Castiel was not fooled peaceful expression on his face. There were two souls inside his body: one was an abomination; the other was an innocent.
Gabriel Bender dreamed of red murder and wind chimes made of human bones. His family home was a charnel pit, and he reveled in it as he and his family silently stalked their prey in the woods, effortlessly, with great skill, and without mercy.
Dean Winchester was submerged underneath his own skin in a pit of darkness. He struggled against it, but he was too weak. Gabriel was stronger. It was incomprehensible to Castiel that the darker soul had been named Gabriel by his parents. Gabriel was a child of light; this one was anything but.
Castiel leaned down, stared intently at that face, as beautiful a creation as any angel Father created up in Heaven.
Dark green eyes blinked open in surprise.
"Gabriel Bender, I am not here for you." One touch of Castiel's hand on Dean Winchester's forehead, and Gabriel's eyes rolled up white into his head.
"Come forth, Dean Winchester," Castiel whispered softly. "We must talk."
Touching him…they were touching him…
Not again, Dean thought. Please, not again.
"…no…nuh…get off…" Dean grated out roughly. "Get your fucking hands off me…" He jerked backwards, knowing full well that would only make them angry. It was all he had left, that little act of defiance. Half the time his body and mind didn't work right, but Dean did what he could.
He backpedaled blindly, kicked out with his feet and legs, until his back thudded up against the padded wall, and his eyes blinked open. Dean's head ached, and so did his jaws. He could barely remember a time when they hadn't ached.
The man sitting on the floor in front of him didn't look like an orderly. He wore the white scrubs of a patient. He had dark curly hair and bright blue eyes. Dude tilted his head to one side as he stared at Dean, and Dean stared right back at him.
This was too damn weird. "Christo," Dean muttered out loud.
Nothing.
"Hello, Dean." Even the voice sounded strange. Not medicated, though. Too formal, as though he wasn't used to speaking out loud.
"Who…who the hell are you?"
"I am Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord."
Dean barked laughter, short and humorless, and that made his chest and throat hurt even more. Well, duh. He was in the nuthouse, right? Weird, freaky shit like this obviously came with the territory.
The floor tried to slip sideways out from underneath him. His muscles were weak, sprung. Dean pushed his back into the wall, put both palms down on the floor to steady himself. It didn't help much. "Okay. Cassie," Dean added pointedly. Weird name for a dude. "I'm Batman."
"My name is Castiel." The man frowned. "I do not understand the reference. You do not look like a flying mammal."
"Forget it, dude," Dean shook his head. The motion made his head swim. He closed his eyes against the nausea and the pain. Closing his eyes while he was in a padded room with a nutcase wasn't the smartest thing, but he didn't have very many options here.
Dean opened his eyes when he heard the metal rasp of the door slot being pulled open. He couldn't remember having a room mate before. He hadn't, had he? He glanced towards the door and the muscles in his arms and legs began to shake and wobble, all on there own.
Eyes in the walls, Dean thought, trouble always means eyes in the walls. His gut clenched up, tight and painful, and he tried pushing himself inside that damn wall. This was going to be bad. It always was...
The orderly looked in. He stared directly at Dean. The man's eyes didn't even flicker in Castiel's direction.
The slot banged shut.
"Are you convinced now?"
"No," Dean murmured wearily.
Castiel looked confused. "No? Why not?"
Dean shrugged, even though the motion made his head throb. "You're crazy. And I'm fucked up in the head. We're in the loony bin, remember?"
The so-called angel of the lord frowned slightly as he leaned forward. "You must pay attention, Dean. We do not have much time."
"None of this real. You're not real."
"You need to settle yourself, Dean."
Dean laughed. His chest and throat hitched, once, and then twice, and the laugh turned into a series of coughs, hoarse and raspy. He closed his eyes as he leaned forward.
"Here." Something pushed against his mouth. Dean's eyes fluttered open. Castiel was right there with him, nose to nose.
"D-Damn," Dean choked out as he jerked back. He didn't have a lot of room to work with. The back of his head thumped against the wall padding. "Personal space, dude."
Water bottle. Hadn't seen a water bottle before, had he? He could smell water. Could almost taste it. Dean's stomach growled in response. His throat was so dry it burned.
Well, hell, why not? Might as well play along. Dean parted his lips and Castiel carefully tilted the bottle up, just a little. "Drink slowly, Dean. Take a little at a time."
It was the sweetest water he'd ever tasted. Cool and fresh enough to temporarily wash away that metallic taste in his mouth. Dean slowly drank half, then nearly cursed a blue streak when the bottle was pulled away. "How the hell did you…"
Castiel quirked an eyebrow at him.
"Oh, right," Dean muttered hoarsely. Dude didn't look like Roma Downey, or Della Reese. Or Michael Landon. He couldn't even hallucinate up a hot angel chick, a redhead with a nice rack, wearing a black leather bikini and those large white fake wings. How pathetic was that?
"You have a spirit inside you. I've made him sleep for now."
Dean's eyes unfocused slightly.
"The Lord has forgiven me for what I did to you," the old man in the trucker's cap sat forward. He held Dean's right hand tightly, and his eyes misted up as he put his forehead against Dean's knuckles.
Dean felt his lips move. "…it's all right, Abraham…"
"I love you, Gabriel. I always have," the girl murmured. She ran her fingers over his bare shoulders and he leaned into the touch.
Missy…
The dude in the business suit screamed as he ran, and Dean grinned a little as he tracked him through the darkness of the woods. He loved this life. It was just him and his family, hunting people, taking whatever they wanted. Abraham nodded at him, and his smile was just as feral.
Something lightly touched him, and Dean came back to himself with a jerk. Castiel knelt there with his hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean wanted to shake him off, but he was too weak even for that.
"His connection to your body is too strong. He's lived inside you for the last four years. If I removed him, that would destroy you."
"Maybe you should."
"You cannot mean that."
"Yeah. I do. This…this isn't living. Drugged up, lost inside my own head…if I could, I'd kill myself."
"You would go to hell if you did."
Another hoarse bark of laughter. "And I'm not there already?"
"No. Believe me, this place is not hell. Do you remember what your mother told you when you were a child?"
Maybe it was the drugs, or the way his head suddenly felt light, like a balloon. Nothing much mattered anymore. Dean laughed. "She told me that angels were watching over me."
"Yes."
"She was wrong."
"No, she wasn't."
"Yeah, she was. She still died. You couldn't save her. Is that all you bastards do, just stand around and watch? You get your jollies watching people die?"
"No, Dean. There is a plan to all of this."
"God's got a plan, huh?" Dean shook his head. "I thought He was making this crap up as he went along."
"You are angry about your mother. I understand that," Castiel nodded. "You need to rest, Dean. You need to conserve your strength. Your father and your brother are coming for you very soon."
"Enough," Dean growled roughly. "I've had fuckin' enough of this crap. None of this is real. You aren't real."
"I told you ---"
"Get the hell away from me." Dean slapped Castiel's hand away. "Get the hell out of my head."
"You do not understand –"
"I don't?" Dean grinned wolfishly. Castiel recoiled a bit, and Dean's grin got a little wider at the look of fear that jittered across the man's features. "Oh, I get it. My Dad, and my brother? They don't know where I am. They never will." He leaned forward, until they were nose to nose, and damn, he felt better. His arms and legs were steady, despite the drugs. He wanted to reach out and strangle this bastard. "You're not an angel. You're a chemical mind fuck. And if you aren't, and you are real, then you better listen close to what I'm saying. I don't believe in you feathered sonsabitches."
"What?"
"You heard me. You're just like the bastards I've been hunting all my life. There's no damn difference, you hear me? They kill people. You let people die because you stand around and friggin' watch. That's what you do," Dean snapped viciously. "That's all you do."
"My vessel and I are here to help you." There was a stiffness to Castiel's tone, as if he was not used to being treated this way.
Dean's eyes narrowed. "So you took this dude over."
"He prayed for this."
"Uh huh. So what's the difference between you and this thing inside me?"
"I am an angel of the Lord."
"Sure you are," Dean growled. His right arm lashed out, hand curled into a fist.
Castiel's nose crunched underneath Dean's knuckles. The man made a surprised sound full of anger and confusion as he landed on his ass with a spine rattling thump.
Huh, Dean thought as they stared at each other. Made him bleed.
Dean blinked.
He was alone in the cell now. His knuckles still stung from the blow. Dean stared owlishly at the smear of blood on his skin. Gonna pay for this, he thought muzzily to himself, and a second later his body proved him right. His eyelids grew heavy, and that now familiar weakness in his body came flooding back. It filled him up, like ocean currents rushing in to fill up a tidal pool somewhere.
Curling up on that padded floor seemed like a mighty good idea right now. Dean laid down on his side with slow, awkward movements. The sluggish sound of his breathing echoed like thunder in his ears as he sank back underneath his skin.
A moment later Gabriel opened his eyes.
Next post Friday. The Winchesters and the Benders arrive at Sweetbriar, and all hell breaks loose.
