Chapter 9

Castiel sat on the edge of the windowsill, watching Ryn carefully as she tilted her head toward the sunlight. He'd opened the window and helped her to the chair next to it for some fresh air, which was the little he could do for her. Most of the iron had burned out of her system, but the mercury was still in her blood, and the entire ordeal had left her severely weakened, unable to walk or even stay awake for lengthy periods of time. Her complexion had taken on an ashen hue, which looked even more sickly with the pale yellow veins still showing faintly in some places.

A light breeze wafted through the window, and Ryn shivered.

Castiel immediately stood up. "Would you like a blanket?"

She shook her head tiredly. "No. It feels good."

He slowly sank back down, resisting the urge to reach out and check her temperature. She was also still running a little hot, like her inner fire was agitated. Castiel wished he could do something to ease her suffering. He hated feeling helpless.

"Cas," she said softly, giving him a knowing, watery look.

He shook his head. "I hate that this is happening to you."

Silence stretched between them, but not the peaceful, companionable kind Castiel was used to, and cherished. This one was taut with grief.

Ryn finally shifted. "Cas, listen. If- if I lose control, like Elijah—"

"That won't happen."

She swallowed hard, moisture glinting in her eyes. "It still burns."

Castiel scooted closer and reached out to lay his hand over hers. "If that was going to happen, it would have already. You just need time. You will get through this."

After everything they'd been through, everything they'd overcome, apart and together, they could beat this, too.

Ryn dropped her gaze. "I'm not sure time is something we have." She took a shuddering breath before looking up again. "Could Amy go to Heaven? Until we…solve this?"

Castiel gave her a rueful look. "I mentioned that to her once already. She wasn't having any of it, and I doubt she would now." He squeezed Ryn's hand. "Especially now." And then his expression fell. "But the truth is I'm not sure it's much safer there, with Gabriel gone. Joshua would protect her, and some others, but there's too many wild cards in Heaven, and if the angels found out what was happening down here with the British Men of Letters…" Castiel sighed. "I'm worried about what they'd do."

Ryn's eyes widened incredulously. "You don't think they'd deliver her to them?"

"I don't want to believe that about any of the angels," he replied. "But…I've learned better."

Ryn fell quiet at that, and lolled her gaze out the window toward the lake. The water rippled and glinted in the breeze, and Castiel could hear the waves lapping lazily against the shore.

After a few more minutes, Ryn's head started to droop forward, and Castiel picked her up and carried her back to bed where she fell asleep the instant she touched the mattress. He left the window open, and moved the chair back to the side of the bed and retook his place there.

At some point, Sam came in and handed him a cup of coffee.

"How's she doing?" he asked quietly so as not to wake Ryn.

"The pain is less," Castiel replied. "But her recovery is going…slowly."

Something a creature like Ryn wasn't used to dealing with. Castiel remembered his own vexing experiences with healing that didn't come at the normal, expected rate, and understood her frustration.

"How about you?"

"I'm fine."

Sam arched a brow, and Castiel rolled his eyes.

"My wound is healed now." It had taken some time, but he had mended. Ryn would too.

Castiel wrapped his hands around the mug, feeling the heat of the brew seeping through the ceramic. "You know Ryn used to be hunted," he mused out loud. "By other monsters. Sometimes hunters. She spent centuries being targeted as the reviled spawn of Eve."

"Yeah," was Sam's soft reply.

"After everything that happened with the angels, after God stepped in and gave us his blessing, I just assumed…I'd just gotten used to the life we had that I thought that stage was over. Even when that rogue angel attacked Amala when she was with Claire, it was just the actions of one angel. Not…not an organized hunt." Castiel shook his head in frustration. "I don't know why this feels different. We all have enemies, I know that. Why does this feel different?"

Sam's expression pinched with sympathy. "Because this isn't a bunch of fanatics thinking their cause is just. The British Men of Letters don't care about right or wrong; they only care about results. And they're not after Ryn and Amy as monsters who need to be taken out. They want them for experimentation and study. That's…" Sam cut off with an agitated sound. "That's why it's different. Because no amount of reasoning will get them to change their minds."

Castiel looked back to Ryn, his heart clenching painfully. "Then how am I supposed to protect them?" he whispered.

Sam moved closer and put a hand on his shoulder. "I don't know yet. But we will."

Castiel looked up and gave him a tired smile, and nodded. He could always count on the Winchesters to be at his side. And that was also why he couldn't send Amala away. Because they were better together. All of them.

Sam tapped his arm. "I'll sit with her for a bit."

Castiel relinquished his chair, which Sam slid into. He cast one last look at Ryn before making his way downstairs. He heard faint thuds and crunching in the kitchen, and found Dean chopping up vegetables and throwing them in a pot on the stove. But without the elder Winchester's usual 'pep,' though Dean would be furious to know that's what the rest of them thought of it.

Dean glanced over. "Hey. Coffee okay?"

Castiel glanced down at the mug in his hand. "Yes."

"It's nothin' fancy like we have at home, but coffee is coffee," he said nonchalantly, yet Castiel detected the undercurrent of tension.

He hesitated, knowing how important the bunker was to Dean. To all of them. It was home. But…

"Dean, no matter what happens…home is where we're all together. Wherever we make it."

Dean stopped his preparations, and didn't turn around. After a long beat, Castiel wondered if he shouldn't have said that. But then Dean hung his head.

"I know. You're right. I just…" He turned around. "I'm not ready to give that up. Not without a fight. And waiting around here is just…it's driving me crazy. Because we should be fighting this."

"Jody and Claire…"

"I know, I know. I just…" Dean shrugged. "You know me. Patience was never my virtue."

Castiel gave him a wan smile. "But protectiveness is. I know it seems hopeless, but we've done hopeless before."

Dean's lips twitched. "Yeah. Yeah, we have. It's practically our slogan." He sighed. "I guess I was just also kinda hoping we'd turned over a new leaf in that regard."

Castiel nodded sagely. "I know what you mean."

The vegetables on the stove were sizzling, and Dean turned back to them. "Amy's outside," he said.

Castiel automatically extended his senses toward her, sensing her grace signature. It was uncharacteristically subdued.

He took a sip of his coffee before setting it on the counter and heading for the back porch. There was a swinging bench against the far end, and that's where Amy was curled up, legs tucked up underneath her. She had Kit in her arms and was stroking the cat absentmindedly as she gazed despondently at the ground.

Castiel's heart broke for her. For his entire family. Once again, their lives had been completely upended because of ignorance, prejudice, and arrogance. And Castiel couldn't protect them from it.

From the moment his little girl had been born, he'd wanted nothing more than to keep her safe, and loved, and happy.

But he couldn't do that. No father could. Not forever.

All he could do was be there.

Castiel walked over and sat down next to Amy. He didn't say anything, for he didn't have any words of encouragement or even wisdom in this situation. He simply put his arm around her and drew her against him, tucking her head under his chin.

If there was a way to fix this, he would find it. And if there wasn't…then he would stand in the fire with them.

Charlie pushed open the door to the diner, bells jingling above her head, and looked around. The place wasn't busy at this hour, post-lunch rush and way too early for dinner. Before a waitress could come seat her, a sort-of dashing looking man stood up from a booth halfway down the restaurant floor and waved to her.

Hiking her shoulder bag higher, she let out a breath and went over.

"Miss Bradbury, thank you for meeting with me," he said in an accent that probably would have made her swoon if he'd been a woman instead. He reached out to shake her hand, which Charlie took nervously.

"Um, I'm not a 'Miss' anything," she replied.

"Then what shall I call you?" he said genially.

"Queen of Moondoor?"

He faltered, eyes crinkling with a flummoxed look.

Charlie gave him a disarming smile. "Just Charlie is fine."

"Ah. Well, pleasure to meet you, Charlie. You can call me Mick." He gestured for her to take a seat.

Charlie slid into the booth across from him, eyes sweeping over the menu behind the napkin dispenser, but she didn't plan on ordering anything. "So, uh, how exactly did you get my number?" she asked.

"From some other American hunters," Mick replied. "You see, the people I work for back in London have decided to branch out and share our resources with your country so that we can do more good. Together."

"Uh-huh… And what kind of good are we talking about exactly?"

He folded his arms across the table primly. "Let me paint you a picture. Of a world without monsters, or demons, or any of those little buggers that go bump in the night. Of a world where no one has to die because of the supernatural. Of a new world, a better world."

Charlie lifted her brows. "Well. That sounds like a pretty shiny picture."

Mick smiled. "And we can make it happen. My organization has technology and resources you American hunters couldn't even dream of. Right now you're scattered, working like lone wolves. But coordinated, we can make a substantial difference. In fact, my team is currently putting together a plan that will systematically wipe out all vampires in the United States within eight months."

Charlie couldn't help but bark out a disbelieving squeak. "Seriously?"

Mick just gazed back at her, looking completely serious. "Yes."

She blinked, taken aback. "Oh."

Her mouth turned down as she pondered it. It sounded…not necessarily too good to be true, but…she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Yes, it was a noble and lofty goal, but it didn't really have the ring of a virtuous quest she thought should befit it.

Charlie drew her shoulders back. "Well, alright then."

Mick arched a brow. "Can we count on your support?"

She shrugged. "Sure. But how does it work?"

"We call you with cases, provide the weapons to make the hunts easier to deal with," he said, then paused for a beat. "And you keep your ears to the ground concerning certain interests of ours."

Charlie nodded along. "I think I can handle that."

Mick smiled. "Excellent."

Charlie regarded him carefully, her face breaking into a mischievous grin. "Can I see some of these toys now?"

Mick chuckled. "Of course." He stood up and held his arm out for her to go first.

Charlie slid out of the booth and headed for the door. Once outside, she waited for Mick to lead her around the back to where a silver Audi was parked on the other side of a large truck, giving them privacy. Charlie wasn't sure what kinds of 'weapons' these Brits had, but they probably didn't come with licenses to carry.

Mick pulled his key fob from his pocket and popped the trunk with a beep. Charlie angled her head over his shoulder curiously. It looked like any hunter's trunk in that it was lined with weapons, though definitely not of the same variety. There were no stakes, machetes, or shotguns here.

Charlie let out a nervous laugh. "Uh, no offense, but this looks more like you're ready to cosplay for a Star Trek convention." She held her hand up in the Vulcan salute.

Once again, Mick quirked an odd look at her before shaking it off. He reached into the trunk and pulled out what looked like a miniature canon gun.

"Our engineers have spent years blending sorcery and technology. For instance, decapitating vampires is inefficient for large nests. This, however, irradiates them, reorders their DNA. Their own blood becomes lethal to them."

Charlie's brows rose sharply. "Wow. I take it that's part of your plan to wipe out all vampires."

"Of course." He set it back in the trunk and reached for another device, this one a golden egg shape with strange symbols etched into the exterior.

"Okay, now that looks like something out of Harry Potter."

"Hyperbolic Pulse Generator. Exorcisms are unreliable. This device emits a force which drives the possessing demon from the vessel." Mick handed it to her. "Impressed?"

Charlie cradled the object in her hands. Now this felt like a relic for a wizard. "Very."

"Go ahead and take it," he said. "Just be sure to tell us how many demons you exorcise with it. For our records, of course."

"Right." Charlie turned it over and scratched at a lip in the bottom. A panel came slightly loose, exposing a section of the interior. "And the GPS tracker doesn't interfere with the device's functionality?"

Mick blinked. "I'm sorry?"

She held the egg up and turned around so that the tiny chip with the blinking red light was visible, tucked inside the little compartment.

Mick's mouth moved soundlessly. "Um, I'm sure that's just part of the engineering."

Charlie gave him a simpering look. "I thought you guys liked to do thorough research, so shouldn't you have learned that I'm kind of a computer nerd?"

"Miss Bradbury—"

"Charlie," she interrupted, and plucked the chip out. Glancing down, she let the tracker drop in the dirt, and then smashed it with the heel of her shoe. "And I'm going to take this."

Mick furrowed his brow. "You are?"

She smiled fiendishly. "I am. And you."

Now Mick looked utterly flabbergasted. "Excuse me?"

"Hey, ass clown," a new voice called.

Mick turned just in time for a 5'5" blond chick to shoot him with a taser gun. The prongs struck him square in the chest, and his entire body went rigid with micro seizures as volts surged through his muscles. Even his vocal cords were paralyzed as he dropped in a series of convulsions.

Jody and Donna stepped out from behind the truck.

Donna canted her head down at him. "He's kind of a scrawny fella, isn't he?"

"He gives the sales pitch," Charlie said. "And I can see why a bunch of hunters are buying into it."

"Yeah, well, now he's gonna listen to our sales pitch," Claire said, moving to stand over him menacingly. "The one that says get the hell out or deal with the consequences."

"Easy, tiger," Donna replied, stepping over the unconscious man to put one arm around the girl's shoulder and gave her a pat. "Why don't ya just help me get him in the truck?"

With a scowl, Claire crouched down and plucked the taser prongs from Mick's chest. Then she dug out a black hood from her pocket, which she yanked over his head. Lastly, she and Donna hefted him up and stuffed him in the back of her truck.

Jody turned to Charlie. "Nice work."

She grinned. Nothing could stand in the way of her true quest, the one she'd always had—protecting her family.

They climbed into their vehicles without anyone noticing the scuffle, and pulled onto the road, leaving Mick's car behind with all its fancy gadgets. They might have been fun to investigate, but Charlie didn't have time to comb them over for more trackers.

And what came next was more important.