A/N: I'VE DONE A SHITTON OF WRITING YAY ME
but school just started up again so don't get used to it
also i'm trying to work more on Sherlock Who as well as this one so again don't get used to it
tHANk you for putting up with my shitty update schedule though
CASTIEL
Castiel wasn't entirely looking forward to chasing after this 'Anna' person. He didn't trust Ruby at all, and he didn't want to be following after her instructions. Sam, however, had insisted, and since they had nothing else to do, they decided to give it a shot.
Unfortunately, Castiel had no choice in the matter now: he had to drive the Impala. According to Sam, the place they were heading was a two-day drive from where they were, which meant Castiel would have to drive for an entire day at least.
Carefully, as though afraid he might break something, Castiel climbed into the driver's seat as Sam slid in beside him. Put the keys in the ignition and turn them. The engine came alive with a snarl. Buckle your seatbelt. The strap felt pleasantly secure across his shoulder. Adjust the tunes. He thought he recognized the song—its repeated words "Hey, Jude" seemed to ring familiarly in his ears. Change gears. The clutch required some force to move, but Dean's knowledge told him this was normal. Ease your foot off the brake pedal and onto the gas pedal. Turn the steering wheel in the direction you want the back of the car to go. Change gears again. Press down harder on the gas pedal.
It wasn't so bad once they got going, Castiel supposed. The signs and symbols were surprisingly easy to understand—red light means stop, yellow means wait, green means go, etc. There were simple commands he had to remember, of course: use your turn signal, check for other cars whenever you make a turn, don't go too far over the speed limit. According to Dean's information, it was okay to go at least ten over, but Castiel had to wonder if this was in fact the case.
It was when they hit the highway that he started to grip the steering wheel with white knuckles. Going forty-five down a road was one thing, but this—he didn't even know what to compare it to. Change gears, said Dean's voice in his head, and he adjusted the clutch again, which caused the rumble of the engine to suddenly drop in pitch. As he sped up, it slowly rose back to its usual purring thrum.
There weren't many cars, thankfully, since it was in the afternoon, but the speed still felt outrageously terrifying. Dean's knowledge told him he could go at least eighty, but he stopped accelerating at seventy-five, his jaw clenched and his eyes wide, braking at the slightest provocation. Travelling faster than the speed of light was one thing—that was essentially just jumping from one place to the next. This was completely different. This was annoyingly slow and dangerously fast at the same time. He felt like he was trying to ride a horse that might buck him off at any instant.
Sam, who had looked up the phone number for the hospital, had called them and was asking after Anna Milton. Castiel, who had little else to think about than What am I doing dear Father help me please I don't think cars are supposed to be in such close proximity at this speed, was immensely grateful for the distraction. He listened intently to Sam's side of the conversation, though he didn't glean much from it.
"Well, Anna Milton's definitely real," announced Sam after he'd hung up.
Castiel shifted slightly in his seat. He didn't think this was a good idea, but he didn't say as much.
Something of his thoughts must've shown on his face, because Sam said, a little testily, "You got something to say, say it."
"I don't trust her, Sam," said Castiel. He wanted to see Sam's expression, but was too afraid to look away from the road. "She's a demon. I don't know how you struck up this… 'friendship' with her, but I don't like it."
"I told you, she helped me go after Lilith," replied Sam in a low voice.
"Some more detail might be helpful," said Castiel, a bit colder than he'd intended.
"Sure, Cas, let's swap stories. You first, how was Hell? Don't spare the details," snapped Sam in a nasty tone.
Castiel did not know what to say. What he remembered of Hell and what Dean remembered of Hell were two very different things, he had a feeling.
Silence fell between the two of them and remained uncomfortably wedged there for the rest of the day. They stopped to get dinner (Castiel couldn't resist another hamburger) before moving on. Sam, who'd gotten some sleep during the drive, took Castiel's place when they left and drove through the night and half of the next day, during which time Castiel managed to get a few hours' rest. Honestly, he didn't appreciate Sam's music much, but he didn't say so. He took over in the afternoon, bringing them through the home stretch (and making sure to change the radio station). By what they could tell from the distance they still had to go, they'd arrive at their destination around midnight.
Driving at night, Castiel found, was a frightening experience. Dean said he'd smite me if I crashed the car, he remembered, round eyes focused, unblinking, on the road. He wasn't being serious, was he?
The task became all the more difficult as it became harder and harder for him to keep his eyes open. Despite his nerves, the warmth of the car and the monotony of the scenery were getting to him. He hadn't gotten much sleep during Sam's driving time, and it was starting to show as his eyelids began to droop. Sam, who was asleep in the passenger's seat, didn't notice as Castiel began to drift out of his lane.
He would've hit the guardrail and probably driven the car down a ravine if a strong, rough arm hadn't appeared out of nowhere and jerked the steering wheel to the side. Both Castiel and Sam were flung to the side with the force of the sharp turn and woke with a start, looking around wildly.
It took Castiel a moment to realize that he recognized that arm—everything from the broad splay of the palm to the old black leather coat.
"Dean?" said Sam in surprise before rubbing his eyes. Unwilling to turn around, Castiel glanced in the rear-view mirror to confirm his suspicions. Sure enough, there was Dean, sitting in the back seat with a disgruntled expression. "What the hell are you doing here?"
"You're welcome for saving your ass," snapped Dean, crossing his arms.
-x-
SAM
"Thank you, Dean," said Castiel quietly.
"Yeah, thanks," assented Sam grudgingly. He still wasn't sure how he felt about Dean following them around. It wasn't that Sam didn't like Dean (though his less-than-appealing attitude didn't help with matters much); it was more just the fact that he seemed to constantly want to be around them all of a sudden instead of in Heaven or wherever angels go when they're not pulling strings down below. In the two months since Dean first revealed himself to Cas, he'd never shown any interest in their lives outside of stopping Lilith. Now it was like he wanted to be a part of their lives. Cas didn't seem to mind—but then, they'd always had a closer connection. "Seriously, though, why are you here?"
"Just… keeping an eye on things, I guess," Dean admitted uncomfortably.
"What, so you're our 'guardian angel,' now?" asked Sam in a half-heartedly joking voice.
"Yeah, I am, okay? Cause I care about you. Both of you," said Dean fiercely. Sam wasn't expecting that answer; it sounded like something Cas would say—well, a gruffer, less pleasant version of Cas, anyway. He shifted guiltily in his seat. He supposed he shouldn't be pissed if an angel was watching over them. "Okay, chick-flick moment over," Dean growled. "So you guys are really chasing after this 'Anna Milton'?"
Sam heard Cas sigh from the driver's seat. "Yes," he replied.
As grateful as Sam was to Cas for sticking with their decision instead of betraying his initial doubts to Dean, he still felt a surge of protectiveness for Ruby. Neither Cas nor Dean understood the bond he and the demon shared; in fact, sometimes even he didn't understand it. From the moment his lips had met hers that night, he couldn't help but think this is wrong. Maybe it was. But she was all he had, and he owed her more than he could tell.
"Are you stupid?" Dean barked, so bluntly that Sam almost flinched. "Some hell-bitch throws you a bone and you go running after it like the idiot puppies you are?"
Sam was forcefully reminded of Bobby. "Yes," he snapped harshly. "I know she's a demon, alright? But we've got nothing else going on, and this might be a good lead."
"Yeah, or a trap," retorted Dean.
"Look, I trust Ruby, okay?" said Sam defensively. He couldn't help remembering his fumbling hands brushing dirt over the hole in the dirt of the crossroads, swaying drunkenly as he stood up and yelled a challenge to whoever was going to show up. He would've done whatever it took to get Cas back, but there was nothing to be done. The deal didn't happen. And then there was Ruby, out of nowhere, full of blatant truths and promises for revenge. She'd saved his skin more ways than one.
"Yeah, whatever," grumbled Dean. "Your exit's coming up. There's cheap digs down the road from the Biggerson's. I'll meet you there."
-x-
DEAN
Dean was waiting for them at the motel, standing under a street lamp. The healthy purr of the Impala's engine was music to his ears as his precious car pulled into the parking lot. His heart had probably been pumping faster than Cas's when they nearly crashed.
Dean wasn't entirely sure if he was allowed to be here. In fact, he was surprised he hadn't been called back already, but Uriel seemed to be leaving him alone for the time being. He'd snuck away earlier—much to Andy's disapproval—to visit Cas and show him how to drive his baby (he still didn't know how Cas managed to convince him to do that). Of course, his short drop-by had been cut even shorter by the return of Uriel, who'd yanked him back so fast he felt like he'd been hooked around the neck with a cane. The dickbag had taken another opportunity to growl threats at Dean, who heard the phrase "nail your wings up" for the second time in a matter of hours. He knew, the way it was said, that he should be freaked about the prospect, but he still had no idea what it meant. And it wasn't like he could just ask Cas in the car, even after he'd revealed his presence. Sam might get suspicious if he found out Cas knew more about angels than the angel did.
Sam dumped his stuff on the other bed and told Cas he was heading for the nearest bar—probably to con some poor schmuck out of a few Benjamins. He all but ignored Dean, only nodding tersely at the angel in acknowledgement. Cas, on the other hand, sat down opposite Dean as soon as Sam left, elbows on his knees and fingers interlaced.
There was a long stretch of silence. "Hello, Dean," said Cas, breaking it.
Dean had to suppress a smile. "Hey, Cas."
He looked like he had something to say, but he wasn't sure how to go about it. Dean kind of liked it when he had that expression—thoughtful but awkward at the same time. "I'd like to learn how to use a gun," he said finally, his blue eyes flicking back up to Dean's.
Dean couldn't imagine Cas with a gun in his hand. As dangerous as he was, he seemed too… clean to wield something so messy and aggressive. "You sure?" asked Dean. "I mean, isn't all that driving stuff still… digesting?"
Down went his gaze again. "I can handle it."
Dean shrugged before reaching up his finger, concentrating on everything he knew about guns: how to load them, how to clean them, how to hold them, how to brace for knockback… He let it flow down his arm, into his hand and through his index finger as he touched Cas on the forehead.
A half an hour later found them in the woods off the edge of town, Dean setting up some empty beer cans in a line on a log about three feet apart just like his dad had done years and years ago. They'd driven there—well, Dean had driven them there; as dangerous as it was with the possibility that he could get called back upstairs any second, he wanted Cas behind the wheel as little as possible. Since it was so dark out, he had to inch the car up as close as possible without being in firing range and leave the headlights on, illuminating both log and cans. He moved to stand back behind Cas, who was gripping a loaded hunting rifle loosely in his hands, like he wasn't quite sure he wanted to be holding it.
"Okay," said Dean, moving in close to guide Cas's hands, lifting the gun up to his shoulder and showing him how he should handle it. Cas probably already knew based on what Dean had given him, but if he did, he didn't seem to mind being told again. "One at a time, nice and slow. Try to shoot those cans."
Cas lowered his head, pressing his cheek against the butt of the gun and squinting carefully down the shaft. He took it slowly, cocking the gun with his thumb and taking careful aim before squeezing the trigger. He yelped in surprise as the kickback from the discharge jerked back his shoulder and the echoing crack of gunfire exploded like a thunderbolt, the flash of light leaving a star-shaped imprint on his line of vision.
They both focused their attention on the line of beer cans. Where there were six, there were now five. But—
"You were aiming for the one on the end, right?" asked Dean.
Castiel nodded, frowning. Instead he'd managed to hit the one directly to the right of it—still not a bad shot from their distance, but Dean got the feeling he was disappointed.
"Alright," he said nonchalantly. "Try again."
He felt a swell of pride as, on his second try, Cas blew the first can off the log. His other shots weren't so lucky—most of them missed the cans completely, but it was still a good run for his first try. Dean could practically feel his mental image of Cas warping every time he fired the gun. His handling of it was awkward at first, going only on what he knew, but as he practiced, he got better, his motions becoming more fluid and relaxed. He did eventually manage to shoot all the cans off the log, though there was a certain dejected slump to his shoulders as they made their way back to the car.
"Hey," said Dean, chucking him on the shoulder as Foreigner's "Feels Like the First Time" played quietly through the speakers. "Knowing how to shoot a gun and actually shooting a gun are two really different things. You'll get there, trust me."
Cas glanced over and his expression softened just slightly, but he didn't say anything.
Sam was still out by the time they got back. Dean sat down at the table while Cas got ready for bed. It wasn't until he was in the middle of brushing his teeth that Dean remembered what he'd been meaning to ask the guy.
"Hey, Cas," he said, moving to stand in the doorway of the bathroom. "Uriel said something to me and I… didn't really understand it." Cas, whose mouth was full of toothpaste, could only look at Dean through the reflection of the mirror to indicate he was listening. "He said he wanted to 'nail my wings up.'"
Before Dean could say anything else, Cas sprayed half of his toothpaste across the mirror and nearly choked on what was still left in his mouth. He had to wait a moment while Cas spit the rest of it into the sink, coughing. "He said what?" said Cas weakly, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he turned to face Dean.
Dean repeated it, feeling uneasy.
"That's bad, Dean, that's very bad," said Cas in a hushed voice, wide-eyed.
"Yeah, I gathered that," growled Dean, starting to get impatient.
"It's a form of torture," explained Cas. "One of the worst kinds—for angels, at least. They spread your wings out as far as they can go and use two angel blades—one for each wing—and nail them to the wall, like… like an insect. If Uriel wants to do that to you, Dean, he must think you're close to rebellion."
Dean stared, dumbfounded. "Angels have forms of torture?" he inferred in a feeble voice. That was no soft-core punishment, either—that was fucking vicious. That was nasty enough to be on the same level as Hell. These guys are no better than demons. He had to wonder—who was their torturer? Did they have to hire a demon to come up with this kind of shit, or were they just naturally this creative when it came to inflicting pain? He almost cringed at the thought of an angelic equivalent to Alistair. Nailed to the wall like an insect… He suppressed a shudder. He'd experienced worse in Hell, but the idea of something like that, of having blades forced through the tough ridges of his wings, didn't sit easy with him. He swallowed, self-consciously pulling his wings tighter against his back. "That's sick…"
"Dean, listen to me." Cas's voice sounded urgent. "If Uriel is this angry with you—"
"I don't care about Uriel!" yelled Dean. Didn't Cas get it? Didn't he understand? "This is messed up, Cas! Really messed up! What are you guys doing torturing each other?! I thought you were supposed to be holy!"
Cas moved over to the bed and sat down with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. It was the first time Dean had ever seen him do something like that to show his frustration or exhaustion or whatever the hell it was, and it made him look more human than ever. Once again, Dean was given an impression of just how serious this whole deal was. "It's a way to keep the other angels in line," he said wearily. "Such… methods aren't used often, mostly just as threats. But as punishment for those who have disobeyed or… reminders to those who are considering it, yes, we torture." He looked up at Dean, his eyes earnest and pleading. "Whatever you've done to anger Uriel, please make it right, Dean. This is serious. The things they will do to you, I…" He trailed off, still gazing up at Dean with that imploring sincerity.
Can't be worse than Hell, thought Dean, but he nodded once, stiffly. He didn't like the idea of apologizing to Uriel, but if Cas was this freaked about it…
There was something about the slight slump of Cas's shoulders that spoke of relief as he dropped his gaze to the floor. "Thank you," he said softly. Then, looking back up at Dean, he asked cautiously, "What's been happening in Heaven?"
Dean didn't really want to talk about it; Heaven hadn't exactly been a good experience for him. But he knew why Cas was asking: he missed it up there. It was his home, his family. So, Dean sat down on the other bed with a sigh and relayed everything that'd happened to him upstairs. Cas sat quietly through it all, giving a small smile at the mention of Andy and saying that no, Eremiel had never been a very pleasant angel.
When Dean got to the part about how Uriel had amped up his angel mojo to get him to wipe the town, Cas frowned, his gaze drifting away from Dean. He looked troubled. "Uriel has always taken… drastic measures to 'clean up' a situation," he said, "but that sounds extreme, even for him…"
"You're tellin' me," replied Dean.
"So, then, it wasn't your fault that your grace was out of control?"
Dean nodded. When Cas didn't say anything else, he continued, detailing the rest of his encounter with Eremiel. Cas's expression softened when he told him about how Andy saved his vessel's life. In their alternate-universe-memories or whatever, he and Cas seemed to have been good friends. The mention of Ruth also elicited a positive reaction from Cas. When he talked about his third meeting with Uriel, however, the frown returned.
"Whatever he next asks of you," said Cas in a low voice once he'd finished, "please do it. Without question."
Dean, after a moment's hesitation, nodded.
"You do realize the effect your actions have had on the heavenly host, don't you?" asked Castiel.
"What do you mean?"
"You, staying your hand over the town when any other angel would've given in and struck regardless of any affection for the human race. You've split the angels into two—those who support your decision and those who don't. Eremiel and Uriel are against you. Samandriel and Ruth are behind you. But you've done so in a way that you can't be punished for, only threatened." He paused for a moment, letting that sink in. "You're changing the way they think, Dean. Whether that's good or bad, I don't know, but…"
He trailed off. Dean nodded. He understood. Uriel didn't like him because he had the power to start a rebellion—to wage war amongst the angels. Part of him thought it was a good thing, but at the same time, he realized that the last thing they needed right now was for Heaven to be fighting itself.
He stood from the bed and sat down at the table, still lost in dark thoughts as Cas climbed under the covers and switched out the light. The things they will do to you… Cas's words rang in his head. Dean had never seen him like that before. He'd been practically begging.
Restless, he stood from the table and crossed to the window. There was just enough light slanting in from the streetlamps to make his way around the room. Maybe I should go back, he reasoned, turning around from the window. Assuming Uriel was still there, it'd be better to clean up this mess as soon as possible.
His wings opened, but something made him stop. A beam of light from the window had fallen in and illuminated what was possibly one of the most peaceful scenes Dean had ever laid eyes on. Cas was curled up on his side fast asleep, the thick comforter pulled up over his shoulder and his head tucked down slightly. Dean unconsciously stepped closer and watched for a moment the slow rise and fall that marked each breath. There was something about Cas nestled into the warmth of the blankets that struck a sweeping sense of protectiveness and purpose in Dean.
Angels are watching over you.
He folded his wings and, quietly as he could, took a seat at the table again. He wasn't going to leave Cas tonight, not unless he had to. He wanted to see this through.
"Aw, he looks so serene, doesn't he?"
Dean jerked in his seat and looked up in surprise at the sound of the quiet, teasing voice. It was the Trickster, of all people, standing there at the foot of the bed as if he paid rent. He was looking down on Castiel with an amused expression, but his eyes flicked up to Dean as the angel stood so quickly that the chair almost fell over.
"Hush now, Saint Dean. You wouldn't want to wake poor little Castiel, would you?" taunted the Trickster, sauntering closer.
"I'm gonna fuckin' kill you, you son of a bitch," snarled Dean in a low voice. He could feel the feathers on his wings fluffing up and allowed them to become visible, hoping to intimidate the Trickster. "But first, I'm gonna make you change us back."
The Trickster was clearly not impressed. "Those're the best you got, kiddo?" he said skeptically, eyeing Dean's unfurling wings. He made a tsk noise. "I've seen bigger." He winked. "Now, about that switcheroo you asked about… Ain't gonna happen. Not yet, anyway."
Dean bristled at the remark. "Oh, it's gonna happen tonight, I swear to God," he said forcefully.
"Language, Dean. Swearing on your heavenly Father is no small gesture," goaded the Trickster. His grin lessened slightly and he sighed. "I'm not changing you back, and even jacked up on angel grace, there's no way you can make me. I just dropped by to give you some advice, Dean-o. You can take it or leave it."
Dean clenched his jaw. "I'm listening," he grunted. God help him.
"You're making the same mistake with Castiel as you did with Sam," said the Trickster in an irritated tone. "Stop doing everything for him and start making him learn stuff on his own." Dean started to protest angrily, but the Trickster held a finger to his lips, motioning with a jerk of his head to Cas, who shifted in his sleep. "You can't always be there for him. You're an angel now, Dean."
"Yeah, guess whose fault that is," muttered Dean.
The Trickster ignored him. "Whether you want to or not, those guys upstairs are gonna jerk your leash tight at the moment you least expect it. And when they do, you gotta make sure he's prepared, unless you want to come back in time to watch your brother bury him."
Dean tensed, ready to right-hook the guy, but the Trickster just snapped his fingers and was gone.
-x-
SAM
"Dean?"
Sam slowly came around to the sound of Cas's voice, soft and hesitant in the silence of the morning. He remained still under the covers as his awareness gradually returned to him. He had returned somewhere around two in the morning after managing to con about five hundred off a pool-player. It was generally easier when he had Cas to help out, but his brother had looked exhausted when they pulled into the parking lot, so he'd let him stay behind.
"Are you still here, Dean?"
Sam was awake now, but he didn't move. From the sounds of things, Dean was gone—whether invisible or in Heaven, he didn't know. He'd still been there when Sam got back the night before, sitting at the table with a faraway look in his eyes. The first few minutes after Sam had returned, they'd said nothing, but his behavior towards the angel had been niggling at his conscience for some time. He'd sat down on the edge of the bed with a sigh. "Listen, Dean, I'm sorry about earlier. I know I shouldn't have… chased you off like that, I guess."
"Don't worry about it," he'd said, but his small smile had looked forced. "I was acting like a nagging older brother, anyway." Sam sensed some sort of hidden irony in his tone, but he hadn't understood it.
He heard Cas make his way into the bathroom and took that moment to yawn and stretch and sit up. Dean was nowhere to be seen. He didn't really mind—whatever business the angel was up to now, it had nothing to do with him. He had to wonder about Cas, though. They seemed weirdly close and Sam wasn't sure what to make of it. He couldn't shake the feeling like they were whispering behind his back, discussing secrets or trading gossip: an observation that had contributed to his frustration with Dean in the first place.
Once they were both ready, they changed into suits and stopped first at a breakfast diner before moving on to the hospital from which Anna Milton had disappeared. Cas had seemed to really enjoy his pancakes—he kept looking down at his plate in surprised delight, like he couldn't believe something so delicious could exist.
At the hospital, they interviewed Anna Milton's psychologist, a middle-aged woman with curly blonde hair, who was able to give them an abundance of information on the girl. Going by what she told them, the orderly who witnessed Anna's escape had been possessed by a demon. Anna herself had been in the hospital for two months due to what they diagnosed as schizophrenia—about the same length of time Cas had been topside. She was suffering from "delusions" that demons were everywhere. The psychologist also let them keep Anna's sketchbook, which, to their surprise, showed images and words related to the breaking of the sixty-six seals. Samhain was mentioned, as was the Raising of the Witnesses.
"Anna's father was a church deacon," said the psychologist, wrapping up. "When she became ill, her paranoia took on religious overtones. She was convinced the Devil was about to rise up and end the world." Sam saw Cas glance at him out of the corner of his eye. His brother had developed a recent habit of hinting at their daily lives around authorities. She sighed. "I hope you find her. It's dangerous for her to be out there alone right now."
Sam thanked her for her help, requested they keep the sketchbook "for evidence," and got the address of Anna's parents' house from the medical records. Both cars were parked in the driveway of the house, but no one answered when they knocked—that was the first thing that tipped off Sam's caution. The second was that the door was unlocked. They both pulled out their guns and crept farther inside, only to find both parents' bodies on the floor with their throats slit, the ground littered with sulfur. Whatever this girl Anna had gotten into, it was big.
Cas brought up the obvious question: where was Anna, if not here or at the hospital? Sam was able to answer that question when he caught a glimpse of a family photo. In the background, he recognized the stained glass window—it had been a repeated motif in Anna's sketchbook. "It was the window of her church," he inferred, comparing the picture to the various sketches. "She was drawing the window of her church, over and over." He turned to Cas. "If you were religious, scared, and had demons on your ass, where would you go to feel safe?"
A little while later, they were back in their hunter's clothes and climbing the stairs to the attic of the so-far-empty church, guns drawn. The entire place was huge and kind of magnificent—not archaic, but definitely old, with wooden arches, marble statues, and more stained glass panels, behind one of which Sam saw a shadow shift.
"Cas," he muttered, nodding his head in the direction of the movement as they approached. A timid figure seemed to be hunched at the back of the attic, watching them. "Anna?" Sam called. He put away his gun, and Cas followed suit. "We're not gonna hurt you. We're here to help. My name is Sam. This is my brother, Cas."
"Sam?" called a tentative, disbelieving voice from behind the panel. "Not… Sam Winchester?"
Sam and Cas exchanged surprised glances. "Uh, yeah," replied Sam, puzzled. How did she know his name?
Apparently deciding she trusted them, the girl to whom the voice belonged stepped out from where she was hiding. She looked young and thin, with long, dark red hair and wide, anxious eyes. "And you're Castiel," she said incredulously, her eyes landing on Sam's brother. "The Castiel?"
"Well… yes," said Cas, looking a little uncomfortable at being addressed in such a way. "'The Castiel,' I suppose."
"It's really you," said Anna quietly. She sounded relieved as much as shocked, taking deep breaths as she stepped closer to them. "Oh, my God," she said, still in that small voice. "The angels talk about you." Sam saw Cas shift out of the corner of his eye. "You were in Hell, but Dean pulled you out, and some of them think you can save us." She looked to Sam. "And some of them don't like you at all." Sam couldn't hide an annoyed expression at this, but he said nothing; she wasn't to blame for what the angels were saying. "They talk about you all the time lately. I feel like I know you."
"So you… you talk to the angels?" asked Cas in an odd voice. Sam looked over to see a most peculiar expression on his brother's face—something that was a mix of yearning, relief, and concern.
She shook her head quickly. "Oh, no. No, no way," she said, her gaze dropping for a moment. "Um, they probably don't even know I exist. I just kind of… overhear them."
"You overhear them?" repeated Sam, eyebrows rising even further.
"Yeah, they talk, and sometimes I just…" Her gaze had been focused evenly on Sam as she spoke, but dropped before she finished, "…hear them in my head."
"Are they speaking to you now?" asked Cas, again with that strange tone of voice. He sounded like he was straining himself to sound casually uninterested, but the intense look in his eyes gave him away.
"Not right this second. But a lot," said Anna hastily. "And I can't shut them out, there are so many of them."
"So… they locked you up in an asylum when really you were just…" Sam struggled for a moment to come up with a good metaphor, "tuning in to angel radio?"
"Yes," she said after a second's hesitation, a relieved smile starting to form on her face. "Thank you."
She told them that the voices started on September 18th, the day Cas got out of Hell. According to Anna, the first words she heard were, "Castiel Winchester is saved." The reason the demons wanted her so badly, of course, was because, with her, they could hear everything the other side was planning.
After a pause, Anna asked if they knew how her parents were doing. Sam felt a cold weight settle in his stomach. Before he could face the prospect of answering, though, there was a clatter from behind them. Both he and Cas turned to see Ruby run into sight, obviously in a hurry. "You got the girl," she said, noticing Anna. "Good, let's go."
"Her face!" shrieked Anna when she saw Ruby, her eyes wide and panicked as she scrambled backwards.
"No, it's okay, she's here to help," said Sam quickly. He'd never say so in front of Cas, but the truth was, he'd missed Ruby and was glad to have her back, even if it meant trouble. He wouldn't say he loved her—not like that—but there was something about her that was reassuring to him. She didn't make him feel safe, not in the slightest; she just made him feel… not alone.
"I wouldn't be so sure," said Cas suspiciously, his eyes narrowed at Ruby. Sam felt a stab of annoyance. Right from the get-go, Cas had been set against Ruby just because she was a demon.
"We have to hurry," said Ruby, ignoring him.
"Why?" asked Cas, not moving.
"Because a demon's coming—big-timer. We can fight later, Cas."
Cas scoffed. Sam had rarely seen him so skeptical. "That seems convenient," he remarked. "I suppose you brought him with you to kill us?"
"I didn't bring him here," retorted Ruby. "You did."
"What?"
"He followed you from the girl's house," she said, raising her voice in frustration. "We got to go now!"
Sam, who had looked away, intervened before Cas could answer: "Cas." He pointed near the window, where a statue of Mother Mary was bleeding from its blank marble eyes.
"It's too late," said Ruby after a moment. "He's here."
-x-
CASTIEL
Sam took Anna by the arm and led her to a closet, closing her inside and instructing her not to move. Castiel, meanwhile, was taking a closer look at the statue Sam had pointed out. The blood appeared to be real and was now dripping off the statue's chin. It was killing him that he didn't know who was coming, but he knew whoever it was, it was one powerful demon. To cause something like this, just by its mere presence…
Sam, returning to Cas's side, reached under his jacket and pulled out a flask of holy water.
"No, Sam, you gotta pull him right away," said Ruby urgently.
Castiel wasn't entirely certain on the meaning of "pull him," but he had a pretty good guess. He shook his head, remembering the discussion the angels had had of Sam. They had not been happy with his… side-hobby, and Castiel couldn't say he fully appreciated it, either. "That is not a good idea," he said warningly.
"Now's not the time to bellyache about Sam going darkside," snapped Ruby. "He does his thing, he exorcises that demon, or we die."
Castiel relented, subsiding into silence as Sam returned the holy water to its initial place and the three of them turned to face the door. Castiel could see in the stiffness of Sam's shoulders and the deliberation in his steps just how much he was bracing himself for this. They heard footsteps, slow and thudding—the measured pace of someone (or something) with immense confidence and power. The door burst open, and a middle-aged, balding man with a malicious expression strode inside.
They all waited, tense, as Sam lifted his hand to eye-level and held it out before him in the customary pose he used to exorcise demons. The eyes of the man before them flashed opaque white. It coughed.
"That tickles," it said with a leering chuckle.
Sam's hand dropped to his side. Why isn't it working? thought Castiel, a little panicked now. Again, he felt that longing ache for his missing grace. Is Sam not strong enough? Did his abilities wane in the absence of Ruby?
"You don't have the juice to take me on, Sam," sneered the demon. Castiel could not see Sam's expression, but the man had shrunk back slightly in what he guessed was fear. Ruby was right; this was definitely a "big-timer." The demon flicked its hand and Sam was thrown down the stairway. Castiel heard him tumble loudly, head-over-heels, down the steps. He didn't waste any time. He pulled Ruby's knife out of his coat and lunged at the demon.
It caught his hand by the wrist and forced it back against his own chest, grabbing him by his coat collar with its other hand. Castiel struggled in its grip.
"Hello again, Castiel," the demon said in a soft, nasty tone. It swung him around and slammed him against a support beam, knocking the breath out of his lungs. Castiel fought back, but the demon was strong. He was hit several times in the face, so hard that stars sparked across his vision. The taste of blood was on his tongue as Ruby's knife was knocked from his grasp. From across the room, he heard Anna scream and saw Ruby at the closet door, yanking her out.
"Come on, Castiel. Don't you recognize me?" taunted the demon, holding him against the beam by the front of his coat. "Oh, I forgot, I'm wearing a pediatrician." Castiel grunted as he was hit in the jaw again. "But we were so close… in Hell." Another punch.
Castiel became aware of a terrible suspicion. "Alistair?" he guessed. Hell's torturer. It made sense that he would be "close" to Dean. They would've wanted to break his soul quickly—and to do that, Alistair was their best option.
The demon laughed and hit him again. Castiel took that as a yes.
Sam appeared out of nowhere, Ruby's knife glinting in his hand before he buried it hilt-deep in Alistair's chest. The orange light flickered under the demon's skin, but no black smoke poured from his mouth. "You're gonna have to try a lot harder than that, son," growled Alistair to Sam, but he seemed to be straining against the effect of the knife. He hunched over, trying to remove the knife, while Sam pulled Castiel to his feet.
They glanced over each other, making sure they were both in one piece. Then Sam looked towards the stained-glass window, and Castiel followed his gaze, catching on to his train of thought. It was a bad idea, but they had no choice. They ran past Alistair, who was still struggling with the knife, and leapt through the window, which shattered in a shower of jagged multicolored shards.
Dean won't be happy, thought Castiel as they were speeding back to the motel room. Sam's bleeding all over the upholstery.
Castiel had landed hard on his shoulder and had heard a crack and was now grinding his teeth to nubs to keep from hissing every time the car went over a bump. Sam, meanwhile, had been cut on his upper arm by a shard of glass and was now dripping blood on the seat.
As soon as they got back, Sam got to work, crudely but effectively sewing up his arm. Castiel, meanwhile, washed the taste of salt and copper out of his mouth with several glasses of water and a swallow of whiskey after that. He didn't know why he even drank the alcohol, especially since it tasted so bitter—just that he'd watched Dean drink casually before, and he always seemed to gain some level of confidence or comfort from it.
"Sam, I think my shoulder is dislocated," he said in a strained voice as he stepped gingerly into Sam's line of vision, still holding the bottle of whiskey. He'd come to the conclusion after a short (and painful) examination.
"Yeah, I'll pop it back when I'm finished," replied Sam before tying off the thread stitched into his skin and cutting it short. Panting, he caught sight of the bottle in Castiel's hand and motioned for it. "Gimme that," he said.
Castiel handed it over and watched as Sam tipped some of the liquid out over the wound. To sterilize it, he realized as Sam moaned at the renewed sting. "So you lost the knife?" guessed Castiel. He hadn't meant to sound so accusing.
"Yeah, saving your ass," retorted Sam. "Who the hell was that demon?"
Castiel hesitated. "No one good." He was worried. Alistair was out of Hell and roaming the earth. No, not roaming the earth—he was on a mission. If Anna was his target, then she was in great danger. "We need to find Anna."
"Ruby's got her. I'm sure she's okay," said Sam. He stood and straightened with a groan. "Alright. Come on," he said, positioning his hands over Castiel's shoulder in preparation to set it. "On three. One…"
With a sharp pop, Sam snapped his shoulder back into place. Castiel cried out in agonized shock at the feeling; he had honestly been expecting Sam to wait until the third count. He clenched both fists, the hand of his uninjured arm jumping to his freshly-functional shoulder and pressing down on it. "Son of a bitch," he snarled under his breath. Having heard Dean utter it so many times, it was the only thing he could think to say and, oddly enough, seemed to relieve some of the pain. He straightened, the lingering memory of the sensation making his breathing ragged. "Are you sure about Ruby?" he asked, hoping that conversation might distract from his now-throbbing shoulder. "It is more than likely that she introduced us to this case just to find Anna and then brought that demon to kill us."
"No, she took Anna to keep her safe," said Sam with a longsuffering expression.
Castiel was impressed that he could put so much faith in the demon—a pity it was so misguided. "Why hasn't she attempted to contact us yet?" he challenged. He didn't know why he was being so hostile; perhaps it was just that he was tired, hungry, and in pain. …Or perhaps it was the entire, several-thousand-year-long existence he'd spent instinctively hating demons.
"Because that demon is probably watching us right now, waiting to follow us right back to Anna again," retorted Sam impatiently. "That's why he let us go. Killing us would've been no problem to that thing. Are you gonna put some ice on that shoulder, or what?"
Castiel had to admit Sam was right—for now, he couldn't prove Ruby was on Hell's side. But he couldn't prove she was on their side, either. He glanced down at the icepack Sam had motioned to and picked it up, regarding it for a moment before placing it experimentally against his shoulder. The cool, soothing pressure made him tip his head back in relief.
"We just gotta lay low and wait for Ruby to contact us," Sam added.
"Why do you trust her so much?" Castiel asked, turning to look at Sam. He was genuinely curious as to how Sam Winchester, a born-and-raised hunter, could have developed such a strong attachment to one of the very things he was sworn to kill.
Sam lifted his eyes to the heavens. "I told you," he said, exasperated.
"Not completely," replied Castiel. "I would like to hear the details. I am not trying to challenge you, Sam." He spread his hands in a gesture of peace. "I just want to understand."
Sam waited a long moment, a guarded look in his eyes. "Because… she saved my life," he said eventually, and Castiel could practically see him lowering his emotional shields. Sam proceeded to explain what Ruby had helped him through while Castiel—Dean, he corrected himself—was gone.
The revelation began with Ruby, possessing a different human at the time, and a second demon tracking Sam to the motel room where he was staying. He wouldn't have cared if she'd killed him then, but she didn't; instead, she betrayed her comrade, stabbing him with her knife. The car ride away from the motel consisted of Sam verbally trying to push Ruby away and Ruby pushing stubbornly back. At that moment, Sam wanted no part of Ruby's companionship unless she could help him save Castiel. When she began to challenge this, Sam changed the subject, asking her whose body she was "riding."
For Sam's sake—or perhaps just to shut him up, he admitted—she switched bodies, possessing a brain-dead woman in a hospital. She said she "made sure the spirit was gone" before taking it. It gave the doctors quite a shock, as Castiel understood it.
Once they'd cleared that up, she got straight down to business. She confessed she couldn't bring Castiel back, but she could bring Sam the next best thing: Lilith. Sam agreed almost instantly that he would do whatever it took to kill the demon responsible for his brother's death. Ruby convinced him to take it slowly, to take the time to improve his abilities before jumping in. That's where his psychic abilities came in, Castiel realized, understanding blossoming as he listened. That's what persuaded him to defile himself—the promise of revenge. A common goal.
Sam proceeded to describe an encounter in which he attempted to exorcise a minor demon, but failed due to his underdeveloped powers. Ruby tried to reassure him that it would get better with time, but again he pushed her away, and they bickered for a little while. Then, unexpectedly, things got intimate. Very intimate.
"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with this," interrupted Castiel nervously as Sam began to explain exactly how she kissed him. "It's making me feel very impure."
"Hey, I told you I was coming clean," said Sam defensively.
Castiel rubbed his forehead. "The details aren't necessary," he said awkwardly.
"Right. Well, pretty soon after… that, um… I put together some signs. Omens."
"Saying what?" questioned Castiel, but he had a pretty good guess as to the answer.
"Lilith was in town. And I wanted to strike her first."
He continued on, telling how he had been ready to face her then and there, but Ruby had tried to hold him back. She'd warned him that he wasn't ready, that his powers weren't developed enough. Sam revealed that he didn't want to survive the attack—he wanted to die fighting Lilith, because if he didn't, it meant he'd have to face life without Castiel. Ruby tried desperately to convince Sam he couldn't fight this fight and even tried standing in his way, but he ignored her and left anyway.
When Sam reached the place he thought Lilith was staying—a house with a little girl sitting at a table—he found out too late that it was a trap and that she wasn't there. Two demons attacked him from behind and wrested the knife from him before he could do anything. Ruby, who had followed Sam, appeared and picked the knife up from the ground, using it to kill one of the demons. She yelled at Sam to take the girl and run. He did so, but returned in time to save Ruby, who'd been pinned against the wall by the other demon. He exorcised it with his powers, his very first successful attempt.
"Ruby came back for me," finished Sam, his tone soft and echoing with the gratefulness he still felt for her. "Whatever you have to say, she saved me. More than that, she got through to me. What she said to me… It's what you would've said. If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't be here."
Castiel didn't think that was what he would've said—outside of Sam's memories, at least. It might've been what Dean would've said, but not him. Still, he didn't doubt the role Ruby played in that point of Sam's life. He found it hard to believe that a demon was intentionally responsible for saving a human's life, but the facts were there, plain and simple. Ruby was just different, he supposed, and he'd have to accept that. Sam had said it himself—he owed Ruby his life.
There was a knock at the door. "Housekeeping," called a voice.
"Not now," said Sam loudly.
"Sir, I've got clean towels," insisted the voice.
Sam looked annoyed, but he went to the door and opened it. "Could you just leave them at the door?" he grumbled to a stout black woman who was apparently their maid. She pushed past him, closing the door behind her and ignoring his stony expression. She then proceeded to close the curtains of all the windows.
Once the room was secured, she walked straight to Sam and handed him a slip of paper. "I'm at this address," she said sharply.
Sam raised his eyebrows, the corners of his lips turning upward in a disbelieving smile. "I'm sorry, what?"
"Go now," said the maid sternly, pointing towards the bathroom. "Go through the bathroom window, don't stop, don't take your car, don't pass go. There are demons in the parking lot and in the hallway."
Castiel's brow furrowed. He must be hallucinating.
"Ruby?" said Sam, his expression abruptly changing to one of incredulous recognition.
"Okay, yes, I'm possessing this maid for a hot minute," said the maid who was, apparently, Ruby. "Sue me."
Sam looked a little disturbed. "What about—"
"—Coma girl?" finished Ruby. "Slowly rotting on the floor back at the cabin with Anna, so I've got to hurry back. See you when you get there. Go!" she added, motioning harshly towards the bathroom again.
-x-
They found the address without a problem. It was a secluded cabin deep in the woods, a little old and rickety but still a generally stable shelter. "Glad you could make it," said Ruby, back in her usual body, when they walked in.
"Yeah, thanks," said Sam, closing the door behind them.
The place was low-lit, but homely and warm. Anna was sitting neatly on the sofa and was watching them as they entered. For a moment, Castiel couldn't take his eyes off of her. It struck him just then that he was standing in a room with a human who could hear his brethren. He was almost tempted to ask her how they were doing, but for now, he could simply stare and hope that his family was alright.
Sam asked her if she was okay, and she replied quietly, "Yeah, I think so. Ruby's not like other demons. She saved my life."
Castiel cleared his throat. "Yes, about that… It seems I, uh, owe you an apology." He'd never apologized to a demon before. It was a very humbling experience.
"What for?" prompted Ruby, crossing her arms.
"I'm sorry," he said, in more of a forced tone than he'd intended, "for not trusting you. You saved Sam, and I… owe you for that." He supposed he could stand it now, but he hoped he would never in his life have to say that to another demon.
A flurry of emotions—irritation, exasperation, and skepticism chief among them—flitted over her face before she settled on a coolly composed expression. She nodded stiffly.
After a short pause, Anna asked, "Hey, Sam, you think it'd be safe to make a quick call, just to tell my parents I'm okay? They must be completely freaked."
Sam had been grinning at Castiel's obvious discomfort, but the smile quickly faded as he turned back to Anna. As she learned what became of her parents, she broke down into sobs, rocking back and forth on the sofa, her hands pressed against her face. "Why is this happening to me?!" she'd shrieked at no one in particular. None of them had an answer for her. Then she sat up suddenly, gasping, her eyes wide. "They're coming," she said in a frantic whisper.
They all looked up as the lights began to flicker ominously. Demons, thought Castiel, again cursing his newfound humanity.
"Back room," said Ruby sharply, gesturing towards it. Sam guided Anna to it and closed her inside.
"Well, get the guns," he said sharply to Castiel, who remembered the dufflebag full of weaponry which was sitting on a table behind him. He rifled through it and pulled out two sawed-offs, handing one to Sam and trying to recall how to wield his own.
Ruby, after looking through the dufflebag herself, barked, "Where's the knife?"
"Um…" said Castiel, shifting awkwardly.
"You're kidding."
Castiel shrugged and gestured to Sam, who said sarcastically, "Thanks a lot."
"Great. Just peachy. Impeccable timing, guys, really," snapped Ruby.
They all turned anxiously to face the door as it began to rattle. Castiel's heart was racing and there was a lump in his throat that he couldn't seem to swallow back. Finally, the noise of the wind howling and the door shaking reached a peak, and the door burst open with such force that it banged against the wall and bounced back. A swirl of wind buffeted the inside of the room, sending papers flying in circles around it and making their coats flap. Then the wind faded, and they heard creaking floorboards, and inside stepped none other than Dean, followed shortly by Uriel.
Castiel was both relieved and frightened to see them. If Heaven was getting involved, it might mean they were finally out of harm's way, but he couldn't imagine what it might cost Anna.