Chapter Two
No one had died.
Not that week, not that day, not at all. It was a relief, Castiel realized, knowing that all his comrades were still alive. Injured, certainly. There was no doubt that the hunters were in pain, but then, they'd been in pain their whole lives. Cas knew the feeling. Millennia of fighting had hardened him considerably, made him strong. But even he knew the sorrow that came with the loss of a loved one, a companion.
That was the worst kind of suffering, to him. As he sat inside the small cabin, listening to the rain pound against the roof, he could imagine the rains that had once brought a great flood. So many people had died that day, years and years ago. There were stories about it. Stories of the man, Noah, and his undying faith in God. A man who'd escaped from the floods that killed the people around him. People who'd made mistakes, but had also done wonderful things. People who didn't get the chance to turn things around.
Did Noah ever feel guilty? The angel wondered, furrowing his brow at the thought. Leaving all those people to die. Abandoning them. Surely he missed them, mourned them. Afterwards, he probably questioned why he hadn't tried to save them.
Cas didn't know for sure what had really happened, of course. He and many of the other angels had witnessed the flood, but they hadn't been allowed to interfere. No one questioned their orders.
Just like Noah, just because of God's word. Cas clenched his fist, suddenly envious. Noah had seen his Father, hadn't he? Noah knew. Noah could have no doubts.
Yet here was an angel of the lord, covered with third degree burns and miserably hiding inside an unstable cabin. He wasn't sure how it happened. He didn't know how he'd grown from a fully obedient soldier to a loving, yet wary man.
Man.
What an interesting concept.
Man.
He felt as if he were a man. He had Jimmy's body, of course. It was far different from his true form. But there was also a sense of emotion that he'd never experienced before. A desire to stand up and make a difference. A desire to care for others, and to be cared for in return.
That was what God wanted, wasn't it? But no, not for angels. For the humans. Angels were meant to tolerate, defend, and guide the humans. They were not meant to love the humans. Sacrifice for them. And above all, the humans were not supposed to guide the angels.
"Cas?"
It was too late for that.
"Hello, Dean."
The hunter had just stepped inside the cabin, water soaking through his clothes and dripping onto the wooden floor. His hair was pressed flat to his forehead. Cas watched as he swiftly crossed the room, kneeling down in front of the chair where the angel sat. "How are you, man? Jody told me that you were barely conscious when you got back here last night. Said you still had to recover from your . . . from your -"
"Wounds, Dean. Yes. I've been harmed. I'll recover."
Dean frowned, looking over his friend's body. "You sure? When? How?"
Cas shrugged. "I don't know. Jody treated my injuries before bringing me back. She said they weren't serious. That I'd heal soon."
"Cause you're an angel, you idiot. You're supposed to. That doesn't mean that you will."
"I don't understand."
"Look," Dean said, sighing. He ran his hands through his hair and rose to his feet. "I don't want you to think I find you useless, because I don't. But something's not right about this, Cas. Something's up. You crashed my car."
Flinching, Cas turned away. "I'm sorry. That was not my intention."
"No, I know, man. I know you didn't want to crash it. My problem is that you actually drove when you could've zapped there with your angel mojo."
Mojo.
Why hadn't he used his mojo?
He could've flown to the clinic. He could've been there sooner and without trouble. And yet he chose to drive the Impala, despite his previous driving failures. And now it was gone. "I should've done that," he breathed. "I don't know why I didn't. I wasn't thinking. I -"
Dean reached out his hand, placing it on his friend's shoulder. "It's okay. I'm upset. Hell, I cried for hours as soon as I heard. But I'm not blaming you. I just want to know why your injuries aren't healing up. Why you're driving when you suck at it. What the hell is going on with you?"
Cas stared up at the hunter, shaking under his touch. His gaze. His eyes were flickering all over the place, never once leaving the angel. A mess. He was a mess. "I'm falling, Dean."
"You . . . what?"
"I've spent too much time here. Years now. I haven't spoken to my fellow angels in months. I've had no need to use my powers. I just . . . I've been with you and the others. And I'm not the same. I'm not."
Dean leaned against the wall and stared up at the ceiling. "Damnit. You haven't fallen completely yet, have you? I mean, you can still smite shit. And you can zap, you just forgot. Right?"
Cas did not respond.
"Answer me, Cas."
"I . . . Angels are not supposed to forget anything, Dean. Ever."
The two of them looked away from each other, then. They remained silent, listening to the rain pound against the roof. Outside, other hunters prepared for their next kills. Gunshots pierced the air. There was cheering. Laughter. There were car engines rattling, tires spinning up mud.
There was a hunter and his angel friend, sitting inside an old cabin and wondering where it all went wrong. Cas figured it began with the car. It began with his first time riding shotgun, seeing the world flow by, living within his own small world inside the vehicle.
It ran on love, that car. That once unbreakable, powerful car. And love had been its downfall. Cas wouldn't be surprised if it was his, too.