Previously: Castiel finds out that Anpiel has been sent to rehabilitation, and Balthazar reveals that not only did he not try to convert Angels to the cause as he promised, but that he also lied about Dean's amulet having the power to detect God's presence. Castiel wasted all this time looking for God with the necklace and he has no more allies among the Angels. Also, Bobby gives him information indicating that the Archangel Raphael is in Maine. Castiel wants to capture and interrogate him.
This chapter takes place in season 5 episode 3.
oOo
On the road
"God! Don't do that!"
The blasphemy bursts out of Dean's mouth, along with a dark glare through the reflection in the mirror. It's been a few days since our last face to face conversation, but I was not expecting such a harsh greeting - I made sure he was fully clothed before appearing to him this time though.
"Hello, Dean."
My salutation does not seem to make him any happier to see me. With an aggressive sigh he eases his grip on the wet cloth he drops to the sink, and turns to face me.
His temper instantly becomes more evident to me through his eyes. His soul shimmers in his clear green eyes, revealing to me its most pure and true essence, beyond social constructs in which Humans tend to lock themselves in. And what I read there mirrors the loneliness that has been growing in me every day since the day I was executed, exiled and betrayed by my own Family, doomed to seek the attention of a Father who has never answered my prayers and never will.
"Cas…"
Dean's warm, organic breath grazes my face. His eyes lower, lashes shading his soul from view, which tears me away from my contemplation.
"We've talked about this. Personal space?"
It takes me one more second to realize what he is referring to. That social convention stating that there must be at least three feet of distance between two individuals when talking, otherwise the interaction could be perceived as an aggression. I remember that. I mostly remember how absurd this rule struck me, but I would hate to look threatening to Dean.
"My apologies," I say, stepping back to restore the proper social distance.
Grabbing the jacket he was trying to clean when I came in, Dean takes a few steps away, leaving me standing alone in front of the mirror, which reflects back to me the image of my human shell with its stern eyes - the false appearance he perceives me with.
"How'd you find me?" he says gruffly. "I thought I was flying below the angel radar?"
"You are. Bobby told me where you were."
I take my eyes off my reflection to observe the place. It's different from the hotel rooms Dean usually stays in. The walls are damp and there is a sickly smell of decaying flowers and dust in the air. An open window allows the forest's humus and dew scent to drift in.
And to my disappointment, I feel no other presence around.
"Where is Sam?"
Even standing several feet away and having only a partial view of his face, I can tell that my question is annoying him. His jaw tightens and his eyes display a mosaic of negativity where anger and sadness blend together before everything is once again sealed behind a distant mask.
"Me and Sam are taking separate vacations for a while."
Clearly, it was overly optimistic of me to hope that the situation would sort itself out or that Bobby would somehow convince them that being apart only makes them more vulnerable.
I'd rather have both brothers help me with my strategy, but so be it. I'll have to rely on Dean alone. I have no alternative, it would be impossible for me to trap Raphael without help.
Dean moodily pulls a shirt over his t-shirt, turning to face me.
"So, you find God yet? More importantly, can I have my damn necklace back, please?"
I know the righteous man enough by now to be confident that he's only trying to deflect the issue, but being reminded of my mission's glaring failure sends a twinge through my wings. I've never felt so humiliated and betrayed, and Bobby's whiskey bottles have done nothing to change that. Balthazar has been deceiving me from the start, wasting my precious time by knowingly sending me on a pointless quest with a useless artifact. I trusted him, I followed his advice, discarding the idea of a direct rebellion within the celestial ranks, and now I've lost everything because of him.
"No, I haven't found him," I deflect and hold back my anger. "That's why I'm here. I need your help."
Dean rolls up his sleeves, raising his eyebrows with that touch of insolence that seems to be part of his personality.
"With what? God hunt? Not interested."
"It's not God. It's someone else."
Something shifts in his eyes. He stares at me unblinkingly, with a raw intensity that reminds me of Anael in critical situations.
"Who?"
Never taking my eyes off him, I walk closer until I come to a halt three feet in front of him. I have no choice but to involve Dean in my strategy, but he needs to be fully aware of the danger before he gives his consent.
Dean has been tracking, hunting and killing the Mother of All's creatures for his entire life. He is well trained, clever, reactive. He mastered his fears and weaknesses, ignored his doubts, and devoted himself to his mission almost like an Angel of the Lord would. But nothing in this world could have prepared him to face one of the most powerful beings in Creation.
"Archangel. The one who killed me."
Dean blinks, arching his eyebrows.
"Excuse me?"
"His name is Raphael."
This name alone would instill fear and awe in any Angel, and sheer terror in demons. Just saying it makes my Grace shudder, reviving the memory of his icy stare and the overpowering blast that atomized me with a snap of his fingers.
But once again, Dean doesn't react as he should, and I think I catch a hint of mocking glee in his eyes.
"You were wasted by a teenage mutant ninja angel?"
His question makes no sense, but I won't waste my time and energy trying to figure it out. The situation is far too critical.
"I've heard whispers that he's walking the Earth. This is a rare opportunity."
His lips twitch with a smirk. He still doesn't seem to take me seriously.
"For what? Revenge?"
"Information."
A familiar tinge of frustration builds in me as Dean breaks eye contact and steps forward, unaware that he is walking through my left wing, which I instinctively pull back.
"So, what, you think you can find this dude and he's just gonna spill God's address?"
Why does he avoid my eyes and keep moving around each and every time I try to have a conversation with him?
"Yes," I say, staring at the irritating void Dean has left in front of me. "Because we are gonna trap him and interrogate him."
A silence lingers, the curtains on the window swing in the breeze. Finally, his voice rises behind my back, sounding somewhat skeptical.
"You're serious about this?"
Since it seems unlikely that Dean will come back to face me properly, and since talking to my back doesn't seem to bother him that much, I finally decide to turn around. Standing by the sink, Dean wipes his dagger blade, staring hard at me. I wonder what he draws from his observation, since there is a smile on his lips as he walks up to me.
"So, what, I'm Thelma and you're Louise and we're just going to hold hands and sail off this cliff together?"
I have no idea who Thelma and Louise are or what those names mean to Dean. They were never mentioned in the Winchester Gospel. I understand even less which cliff he is referring to, nor why he would want us to hold hands.
This is far, far from the first time that Dean uses references that are obscure to me, but until now I've ignored them and never really cared, and this is probably the first time that not understanding them makes me feel so confused. This sentence makes no sense at all, and I need to understand what it means. Did he just refuse or accept to help me?
His smile fades, and once again he walks around me.
"Give me one good reason why I should do this."
"Because you're Michael's vessel," I say as I turn once again to face him, "and no Angel will dare harm you."
Rather than reassuring him, the guarantee to be safe seems to offend him, judging by his raising eyebrows that crease his forehead.
"Oh, so I'm your bullet shield?"
Had the situation not been so dramatic, I would have been offended as a warrior Angel of the Lord that such a tiny and weak being could assume that I need his protection. Raphael may be terrifying, but I am not a coward. I've faced him once on my own to save the Winchesters, even though I knew I'd die, and I'm ready to do it again.
It's not as an Archangel vessel that I need Dean. My entire family betrayed and cast me away, I fought so hard, sacrificed so much, that I've come to doubt that the choices I made were the right ones. I assumed that my resurrection was the ultimate proof that I was doing the right thing, but perhaps the Lord's silence to my prayers and my failed attempt at celestial rebellion were a sign of His disapproval? Did He have expectations for me that I failed to meet?
Either way, whether or not I'm heading in the right direction, I can't go back. Not after I fell and killed Anna. Interrogating Raphael is my only chance to find God, my last hope to stop the Apocalypse and save Humanity.
"I need your help because you are the only one who'll help me."
The words are like ashes in my mouth. My brothers in arms turned their backs on me despite millions of years fighting side by side, leaving me no choice but to beg for help from the mortal I lost everything for, absolutely everything in a single year.
Something shifts in Dean's eyes, a combination of resignation and reluctant sympathy.
"Please," I add in desperation.
Does Dean even realize that never in the history of mankind has a celestial being directed this word to a mortal? The tip of his tongue peeks out to moisten his lips while his lashes shade the green of his eyes until he meets my gaze again.
"Alright, fine."
An immense relief washes over me, drawing a sigh from me and fluidifying my Grace in my veins. I don't know what I would have done had he refused. All would have been lost.
"Where is he?"
Finally we can take action. I only hope that Raphael will stay where he is long enough for us to trap him.
"Maine," I say, spreading my wings wide. "Let's go."
But as I reach out to touch his forehead and carry him away with me, Dean jerks his head back, holding up one hand defensively.
"Whoa whoa!"
I lower my hand, confused by his overreaction and fierce glare.
"What?"
"Last time you zapped me someplace I didn't poop for a week!"
His words are filled with anger and terror alike. I take a look at his abdomen where his entrails are contained and intestinal transit occurs, one of the most essential vital functions for his survival. Could such a short flight in the sky be harmful to Dean's health? If it's true that another flight would cause higher level of damage, I would be unable to heal him.
"We're driving!" he states in a tone that leaves no room for discussion.
oOo
The trunk slams shut, jolting the car through.
"We're on our way to Waterville now. In my car, yeah."
The crunching sound of gravel under shoes draws near, and the door creaks open.
"What d'you mean 'why'? Clearly you've never had to fly via Angel Airlines!"
With my back straight and my jaw clenched, I look at Dean out of the corner of my eye as he slides onto the seat beside me, causing the car to sag under his weight. Holding his phone to his ear, he frowns and gives me a sidelong glance.
"You're serious? He did that?" He closes the door, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Thanks but no thanks. I don't give a damn how long it takes, I'm staying on the ground. Yeah, I know."
His key holder jingles as he leans over to start the car.
"I'll keep you in touch. Yeah, I'll be careful. Bye, Bobby."
Dean hangs up and tucks his phone in his inside jacket pocket while he turns the key. The engine starts rumbling, making the car vibrate.
I have been patient. More than I should be. As he instructed, I sat in the car waiting for him while he paid for his accommodation and gathered his belongings, counting each passing second, each of which made it more likely that Raphael would go back to Heaven.
"So I heard you broke Bobby out of the hospital?"
I quietly nod as the vehicle finally starts to move, leaving the driveway and onto the concrete road so slowly it's infuriating.
"Since when are you two buddies?"
There's a mix of amusement and disbelief in Dean's voice. I keep my eyes fixed on the road as the fragmented shadows of the trees let the daylight shine through in flashes as the sun begins to decline.
"We have common interests. We both want you and your brother to be safe, we both want the Apocalypse to be averted, and we both want me to regain my full powers."
The raindrops glistening on the windshield start quivering, then drawing trails as we gain speed and Greeley's few city blocks fade behind us. I don't know how long a car ride is supposed to last. The Winchester Gospel holy writings never mentioned this. One thing is certain, though, is that we are moving far, far too slowly.
"Are we arriving soon?"
Even to my ears, the impatience in my voice is obvious.
"We barely left and you're already whining. You're just like a kid, you know that?"
Dean turns the wheel and the car goes to the left, entering a larger road.
"You don't seem to realize, Dean, how rare it is for an Archangel to come down from Heaven and invest a vessel to operate here on Earth instead of just sending troops. This is probably our one and only chance to get information about God. We need to go faster."
I had also considered roughing up Prophet Chuck just enough to bring down an Archangel, but there is a high probability that Garrison soldiers are now guarding his house in case I try to make contact with him again. I can't take that chance.
Dean merely shrugs, his eyes fixed on the road. The light shifts to shine on his profile, outlining it with gold.
"I can't go faster, Cas. There is a speed limit and a thing called traffic rules."
A couple of cars come across us, racing in the opposite direction with a sound like waves crashing on the sand.
For a moment, I consider flying away and leaving him alone on his tedious car ride. I could fly to Waterville in the blink of an eye to assess the situation. But I won't do it - to go alone after Raphael's tracks would be pointless. Also, Bobby said he would let me know if he finds any new information of interest, and it's preferable that I stay by Dean's side rather than call him every hour and waste my precious minutes to keep track of his progression.
"Well then," I say, clenching my fists on my thighs. "How long before we get to Waterville?"
"We should get there tomorrow afternoon."
I swiftly turn my head to stare at him in disbelief, but he doesn't seem to be joking.
"What?"
"It's a ten-hour drive from here to Maine and there's no way in hell I'm going to drive ten hours straight. I haven't slept in two days to take down a very aggressive vamp nest, so we'll have to stop at some point so I can sleep."
So we won't reach our destination until tomorrow? Whatever brings Raphael down here, chances are slim he will still be in Waterville when we arrive.
"It's way too long, Dean! It would only take me a split second to take us both to Waterville and..."
Dean pushes a button and my voice is instantly drowned out by loud music blasting in the car, so loud the low notes make the seat shake under my thighs. I try to raise my voice but Dean just smirks and turns up the volume even more to silence me, to the point that my eardrums start buzzing.
When I give in and snap my mouth shut while shooting him an annoyed look, Dean finally turns the volume down and lets out a low chuckle.
"Foo Fighter, The Pretender, Cas. A real road trip means listening to good music." Looking quite smug, he places his hands back on the steering wheel, patting it with two fingers to the rhythm of the music. "We're gonna spend a long time just you and me, so sit back and enjoy your first time on the road. With all this apocalypse crap out there, you could use a break, believe me. When was the last time you took some time to rest?"
I can't just take Dean with me without his consent. Seems like I have no choice but to sit there and wait until we reach Waterville. I resignedly lean my back against the seat, and set my chin up like the soldier I have been my whole life.
"I've never rested."
"Never? Don't you guys get vacations up there? Or at least coffee breaks sometimes?"
I sigh and let my gaze wander over the trees through the car door window.
"Angels were created to serve the Lord. We are agents of Fate, warriors and strategists. Our mission is our only reason to exist. We don't need vacations or... coffee breaks."
I feel his eyes on the back of my neck.
"You really believe that?"
"Yes."
Dean clears his throat and pushes the pedal under his foot, which increases the car's speed - which remains frustratingly slow.
"But now that you've been kicked out of Bible camp, it's not true anymore, right? You can live for something more than just some stupid mission. Enjoy your freedom."
My reflection in the window, barely there, stares back at me with a stark look - Jimmy Novak's face floats in the procession of trees merging into a green blur. A face that isn't mine.
"Fallen or not, I still am an Angel with a mission. My purpose is to stop the Apocalypse to protect you and your species. I have no other reason to live."
The wires hanging from electric poles are waving. We drive past a sign showing numbers and symbols I don't understand.
"That's a load of bullshit and you know it, Cas. Goddam it, you're... you're so much more than that."
I keep my head resolutely turned away and wall myself in silence.
I don't regret having rebelled, because I did the right thing and I would do it again in a heartbeat. But a part of me will always yearn to rejoin the ranks of my brothers and sisters, to obey orders in blissful ignorance, to rely on a higher power, free from the agony of accountability and doubt.
The road ahead draws out far away, still wet from the last rain, surrounded by thick-leaved trees. Minutes tick by and songs play out as Dean taps out the beat with his fingertips and silently moves his lips to match the lyrics.
We've been driving for almost ten minutes, and we've moved so slowly that we might as well be treading water.
This isn't the first time I sit in a car's confined space. I had experienced this in the past with Levanael by my side. I can feel the faint sensation of my wings through the metal frame, although they exist on a different plane. A sensation Levanael was extremely uncomfortable with.
Had Levanael been alive today, had I figured out Uriel's intentions earlier and rescued her, would she have followed me on my insane quest to stop the Apocalypse by fighting the entire celestial army and the Archangels? Would she have helped me when Balthazar refused to? Could we have led a revolution against the Council and the Archangels together?
"What will you do if Raphael is gone by the time we get to Waterville?"
Dean's rough voice draws me out of my thoughts. Eyes on the road, he slightly lowered the music volume, and he's squinting at the sunset light.
"It's a possibility I've considered. If he already vacated his vessel... I'll provoke Raphael by threatening to destroy it, which will force him to come and face me."
The thousands of years I spent with Balthazar taught me a lot about how vessels function and their specificities. Just like it happened with Sam and Dean, the potential Archangel vessels' names are kept secret and are usually only known at the highest levels of command.
I saw what Raphael's vessel looks like when he came down to kill me himself. I could identify him if I were to see him in Waterville. And Dean's skills for investigation and tracking down other Humans will be very useful to me in this quest.
Dean shoots me a sideways glance, frowning.
"So you're going to waste some innocent guy?"
"No, I don't intend to. But Raphael will take my threat very seriously. He knows I have nothing left to lose. So he'll come, to protect his vessel and to get rid of the hindrance I am to Heaven's plans."
Dean seems to ponder over my answer for a while. The trees have become sparse, and we are now driving through a green valley with a few houses.
"What makes you think Raphael knows where God is?"
"Archangels are God's first sons and messengers, assigned to carry out His Divine Will on Earth as in Heaven. Only they have the privilege of interacting directly with the Lord."
"What if he doesn't know, or refuses to answer?"
"He knows. And he will answer. I won't give him any choice."
The truth is, I can't even consider failing. Finding God and seeking His help is the only viable strategy I have left. Without Balthazar and Anpiel to help me, I can't even plan a rebellion in Heaven.
A failure would lead to the extinction of Humanity and my own ultimate demise.
"Okay, let's say everything happens the way you want it to…" His voice grows hoarse and he clears his throat. "… we get God's address, we find him... what are you gonna say to your old man once you're facing him?"
I open my mouth to answer. And then close it again in uncertainty. I was so focused on my mission to find Him, that I never really thought that through. I am no more able to picture what my Father looks like today than I was thousands of years ago when I was watching over Adam and Eve.
"I… don't know."
I would have so many questions to ask Him. So many questions I've kept sealed inside me for thousands, millions of years.
Just the thought of getting to meet my Creator at last makes my head spin.
"Oh, I would have a couple of things to tell him. He better have a real good excuse why he let the Apocalypse happen and why he's been playing hide and seek with you for weeks. He's worse than my dad at being absent and unreliable, and I don't say that lightly."
Until recently, I would have been furious at this blasphemy and would have ardently defended the Lord. But with all the built-up frustration and unsuccessful research since I came back to life, deep down I can't help but share Dean's opinion, even though I would never allow myself to say it out loud.
I don't understand why my Father brought me back to life only to ignore my calls for help. It makes no sense.
"What would you say to your father, Dean, if you were in my situation?"
Dean lets out a wry chuckle, one hand on the steering wheel while his other forearm now rests on the car door's ledge.
"You mean, if he disappeared without explanation and I was looking for him for months, wondering if he's avoiding me?"
Oh. Indeed, that's how Winchester's Gospel begins.
Still focused on the road, Dean's eyes soften and a hint of a smile forms on his lips.
"I'd tell him I love him. And that he did the best he could. It's only after he died that I grew to understand and forgive my dad. He had his faults, he had his secrets, and he definitely was bad at showing it, but he loved us, Sam and me. And in the end, that's all that matters. In fact, it's the only thing that matters in this goddamned world."
I don't know what to make of this answer. And I don't even want to wonder if God loves His celestial creations even a little bit, or if Angels are just weapons in His eyes. I'd rather not know.
I turn my attention back to the road, to the car's humming that the music barely covers, and the annoying rattle of something stuck in the air vent. The view has not really changed since we left. Trees lining the road, a few clearings sprinkled with houses, then trees again. I can feel our position on Earth and we've barely made any progress. We are still in Pennsylvania, just a few miles from Greeley.
"How can you stand wasting so much time every time you need to go somewhere?" I ask in aggravation. "Hours sitting idle, just waiting to reach your destination?"
With a casual shrug, Dean slides his hand over the wheel just enough to make the car turn.
"That's not wasted time for me. Quite the opposite, actually. I'd spend my entire life driving and never get anywhere if I could."
I can feel my eyes squint and my eyebrows furrow in confusion.
"Why?"
He keeps his eyes on the road as we enter the forest, and there is a soft, longing expression on his face - he looks relaxed and open in a way I've never seen him.
"It's the only way I ever feel at home. On the road. In the Impala with music and nothing but the skyline ahead. I spent most of my childhood in the back seat watching through the window and playing with Sammy while our dad was driving. There I feel free. Safe. Like nothing bad can happen to me."
I have a hard time grasping his logic. What is it about being confined inside a moving car for a time period that warrants freedom and safety? Car accidents are one of the main causes of death at that time and in that part of the world, along with cardiovascular issues.
I remain silent and Dean reaches out, turning up the volume as a new song begins. The energetic rhythm of drums and electric guitar grows louder in the car - a man's voice starts singing.
"Just relax and enjoy the ride, Cas! Here, listen to this, When you were young, The Killers. What do you think?"
"Not much. I don't usually listen to this kind of music."
That sparks interest in his eyes.
"What kind do you listen to then? You guys have music in heaven?"
The question is trickier than he probably thinks, so it takes me a few seconds before I answer, struggling to articulate the words in a way he can understand.
"Until very recently, human vessels were not commonly worn among celestial beings. In their true form, Angels are made of pure creative energy in the form of light and sound waves. We don't experience the world as you mortals do - for us, everything appears as sound waves and energy. Music is merely a series of sound waves like any other." I look away to stare at the trees through the car door window. "But since I live in this body, my perception changed and I feel everything more intensely. And there are indeed sounds I find more pleasant than others."
It wasn't until I invested Jimmy Novak's body that I realized how bland and dull I perceived everything through my original form. Organic offers a whole range of sensations allowing to grasp how magnificent the Creation is.
"You told me the other day that you're around a thousand feet tall."
I tear myself from my reflection and look back at Dean's profile. The tip of his tongue peeks out to wet his lips, leaving them slick with saliva.
"So in your real form…" His voice drops to a lower tone. "… you're what, some kind of... thousand feet tall light mass? With wings?"
I can't help but smile while my feathers puff up.
"More or less so. My Grace contains itself in a solid and translucent shell. I also have four arms and three eyes."
The car's humming motor and the music fill the brief silence between us and Dean frowns like he's trying to mentally recreate my true appearance.
"Okay that's creepy, now l'm gonna be imagining you as some giant glowing Alien with rows of razor-sharp teeth."
"I have no teeth. I actually don't even have a mouth, a nose or ears."
Dean's eyes leave the road to stare at me in disbelief.
"You're kidding me."
"I'm not kidding you, as you say. Angels have no use for these orifices, unlike organic life forms that need to breathe and ingest food to ensure their survival."
"Oh, I could think of some uses for them..."
"What?"
Dean lets out a hoarse chuckle, thumbing the steering wheel's black leather.
"Nothing, don't mind me. At least tell me you've tried to eat or drink something since you've been in this body?"
I look down at my lap, suddenly embarrassed - ingesting food was not my own initiative, it was imposed on me by my peers and I never really quite understood the appeal.
"I had the opportunity to drink champagne, whiskey and coke. And to eat a burger and some cakes."
"And? Did you enjoy it?"
"Not really. For me, they're nothing more than molecules that uselessly trigger the digestion process of my vessel."
"Wait till you taste a real homemade pecan pie, you'll change your mind. I'll make you one one of these days."
There is a warmer tone in his voice. Only then do I realize that in over a year since I extracted him from Hell, cleansed his soul and restored his body, I've never had a chance to spend much time with Dean. Not like this. I've always only met him in a hurry, never for more than a few minutes each time, and always in urgent and life-threatening situations.
As uncomfortable and slow this car is, this road trip with him might not be so bad after all.
oOo
"Why are we stopping? We're still a long way from Waterville."
Turning the wheel, Dean just drove us off the main road, pulling the car into a driveway with what appears to be a gas station somewhat similar to the one Raphael blew up in Maine.
"We're almost out of gas and I'm starving."
Once the car is parked, he turns the key and the music stops along with the engine's rumbling.
With a door squeak, Dean slides out of the car - and after a moment's hesitation, I follow suit. A powerful smell of chemicals and fossil fuels instantly invades my nostrils. The landscape gradually changed since we left Pennsylvania for New York State. The highways are wider, the trees more sparse and the vegetation not nearly as lush.
At least, even though we were moving incredibly slowly, no Angel of the Garrison seems to have tracked us or followed us. And none would be looking for us on these roads.
A warm airstream rushes through my trench coat, deploying it as I look down to watch Dean insert a hose into a hole in the car's shell. The setting sun casts our shadows on the ground and bathes us in ochre and rosy colors. The summer heat makes the air ripple over the highway in the distance, in the constant roar of cars and trucks racing by like flying arrows.
This scenery might be industrial and polluted by man, but it radiates a strong sense of serenity that reminds me of my first million years of existence. I wouldn't know how to express it, but it feels like the flow of time itself is sinking into the twilight's torpor, and that tomorrow will never come. Suddenly, as the red sun warps and melts into the skyline, the raw, almost painful awareness that I am alive engulfs me whole like a tidal wave.
"Hey, Earth to Cas, do you copy?"
A snap of fingers right before my nose shatters this dazzling instant. Dean's green eyes are staring at me, with his eyebrows up.
"I'm gonna grab a sandwich from the convenience store. You coming or staying here?"
"I'm coming with you."
Together, we walk to the building near the gas pumps. Unlike Walmart, the doors here are not automatic, and inside, the space is small and cluttered with shelves. When we enter, a ginger-bearded man behind the counter glances blankly at us before turning his attention back to the screen of a tiny television.
I follow Dean like his own shadow while he picks up things from the shelves - our two figures are reflected in a distorted way in a circular mirror placed high up, most likely to ensure that the bearded Human can survey the entire place from his position.
He barely looks at us as he registers Dean's purchases and includes the gasoline price, as he seems engrossed in the television.
"Just awful, that hailstorm and fire in Hawley... There's been hundreds of dead and missing people already. And with these tornadoes in Nebraska and Wyoming, the daily mass killings, and now the cholera pandemic in Florida... Sometimes I feel like there's someone up there with a personal grudge against us."
I share a look with Dean as the man stuffs the food into a plastic bag.
"Yeah," Dean says hoarsely as he slaps a bill on the counter. "That's not just a feeling, dude."
Dean collects his change while I take the bag, and we've barely exited the store when he leans over to me, speaking in a low voice even though no one can hear us.
"I guess all that shit is because of the Apocalypse?"
I gravely nod.
"Indeed. The Apocalypse Riders are roaming the world, spreading famine, pestilence, war and death. Demons too are no longer fearful of Heaven's punishment and thousands, perhaps even millions of them are coming to Earth."
We reached the car, but instead of opening the door, Dean propped a butt cheek on the hood and listens to me intently, his eyes darkening. Unsure of what I should do, I just stand there in front of him, still holding the bag.
"This is all just a taste of what's to come," I say, clenching my wings, "this is nothing compared to what will happen when Lucifer invests his vessel and gains full power to lead his troops into war. He will rain fire and death on Earth, he will fight Michael to death, and he won't rest until Humanity is obliterated to the last soul."
Dean presses his lips together, which digs the dimples in his cheeks, and reaches over to take the bag out of my hands.
"And you know that how?" he says gruffly as he rummages into the bag. "'Cause it's written in the bible?"
"Not only that. I was there during the last Apocalypse, I saw Earth burned to the ground, and I heard Lucifer swear that the next time he will not stop."
As he was taking a bite out of his sandwich, Dean blinks and stares at me quizzically.
"You mean…" He swallows his mouthful and squints. "… that this isn't the first Apocalypse? It happened before?"
I nod.
"That was more than three thousand years ago. Humanity came very close to extinction. We lost a lot of soldiers in the celestial armies, and... On that day, three of my Garrison brothers died in battle."
I lower my eyes as I think of Hcoma, Yasen and Ecaop. My brothers who died as honor-bound soldiers, obeying orders. It wasn't that long ago but it feels like it was, and the memory of my brothers who died in flames and screams now rarely even crosses my mind.
"We wiped out all evidence of that failed Apocalypse, we resurrected the souls, and it never figured in the sacred texts. It was not necessary for Humans to know that Lucifer had slipped from our control, nor that we were almost defeated by Hell's armies."
For a moment, Dean thoughtfully chews his sandwich, a fold creasing between his eyebrows.
"Holy shit, that's fucking insane. But then, what is true or not in the bible?"
I suppose I should welcome Dean's newfound interest in the holy texts, and not that long ago I probably would have viewed it as a victory, a proof that I was able to spark Faith in him. But now it doesn't really matter.
"You're going to have to be more specific, Dean. There are a lot of things written in the Bible."
There's a bit of creamy mayonnaise smeared at the corner of his lips. With the fat of his thumb, he wipes it off and props himself up on the hood to sit on it, his feet dangling above the ground.
"Okay, so tell me…"
He seems to be musing as he bites into his half-eaten sandwich. A piece of tomato slips out of the mayonnaise-soaked bread slices and he catches it just in time, popping it into his mouth.
"Did Adam and Eve really exist? The apple, the snake, the original sin, all of that?"
"They did exist, yes. As for the snake and the apple, it is more like a... metaphor the Prophets thought worth writing. The reality is that things were more complex than that."
In retrospect, I find it hard to understand why Adam and Eve's questions about their origins and the world outside the Eden Garden were a sin. Unlike Angels, Humans have free will and doubts, it was foolish to expect them to blindly obey and have unwavering Faith. Taking them away at birth and keeping them away from the rest of their species could not change that.
"What about Sodom and Gomorrah? You guys really wiped out two cities just 'cause the locals weren't the devout and chaste kind?"
"No. That's not at all what happened, that was..." I can't help but sigh in frustration. "A threatening creature was lurking in this area, and we had to destroy it to protect Humanity. Sodom and Gomorrah were only collateral damage. The Prophets and Jesus Christ's followers distorted what happened to fit their own personal beliefs and opinions. It was a different age, different ways, and the hierarchy deemed that in order to respect their free will, we were not allowed to fix the flaws in the writings."
Dean just finished his sandwich and wipes his hands on his jeans while swallowing his mouthful. The plastic bag rustles as he pulls out two bottles of beer.
"So Jesus was real too?"
I open my mouth, and promptly close it again, my Grace freezing in my veins. Dean opens the bottles expertly, raising an eyebrow as he waits for me to reply.
"Yes, he was real."
"And? He really was God's son, like the Bible says?"
I can't meet his eyes, staring into the distance as I clench my fists. Maybe it's not such a good idea to let Dean dig up the past after all. Some things should be left unsaid.
"… Yes."
"And you let the poor guy get nailed to a cross to... what, cleanse Humanity of its sins?"
I really don't want to be reminded of my fallen brother who died in agony, punished for helping Cain escape Heaven's plans. I can only imagine what my punishment would be, considering that I have done things far worse than Camael.
"I don't want to talk about it."
I guess my tone was a bit harsh, since Dean seems thrown off for a moment.
"Touchy subject, I see..." he mutters to himself.
At least he stops asking questions, handing me a beer and patting the hood next to him.
"Here, have a fresh one and don't just stand there. Come sit with me, Cas."
The bottle gets pushed into my hand, and my fingers clasp around it automatically. The glass is cold and dripping with condensation.
"I don't drink. I don't need to."
"It's not about needing. See, Cas, one of the greatest pleasures on a road trip is to sit on the Impala's hood and watch the sunset with a cold beer in hand. I want to share that with you. You're not going to let me drink alone, right?"
Seems like I have no choice but to surrender. After all, I did share quite a few whiskey shots with Bobby, even if that did nothing to alter the sour taste of Balthazar's betrayal.
I prop myself up onto the hood, the car sagging a bit further under our combined weight. And, under Dean's supportive smile, I bring the bottle to my lips and tilt my head back, letting the liquid flow down my throat and into my stomach, infusing a soft warmth.
My shoulder and thigh press against his. Far on the road leading to the skyline, the sun has nearly completely disappeared. The world is wrapping itself in shadows splattered by the car headlights. And above us, the endless sky unfolds its darkest blue shades, a few stars valiantly gleaming, drowned in the civilization's lights.
oOo
Two red spots are glowing about three hundred feet ahead. We've been following that same black pickup for almost an hour without ever catching up with it. Sometimes, as we turn a curve, it disappears just to reappear a few seconds later. Lit up by our headlights, the white lines on the road fly by, so quickly that they appear to be flickering. There is something unreal, almost lyrical, in these lights that arise at nightfall to inhabit the darkness.
A song's tune melts into the steady engine's hum. After he tried to start a few conversations - first about Bobby's disability, then about some of the "cult" movies and TV shows he insisted I should watch - Dean's chatter finally dried up.
After staring at the road for almost six hours on the slowest travel in my life, I got to know the songs Dean likes. Some of them were mentioned in the Prophet Chuck's holy writings.
The lyrics are usually unclear or even devoid of any meaning, but I'm starting to realize that it's more about conveying an emotion or a story than information, unlike how Angels use celestial channels. As Humans demonstrated throughout their evolution, they are primarily creatures of transmission and storytelling, and they do so in any possible way.
There is something comfortingly familiar about the background music and the car's continuous humming. I don't think I would've been able to endure hours of forced immobility in complete silence. Not after millions of years of constant celestial whispering in my head.
Only when the white lines on the road starts drifting, showing that the Impala is progressively straying from its course, do I realize that Dean fell asleep. His hands are still on the steering wheel, but his eyes are closed and his head tilted down.
"Dean! Watch out!"
My voice and my hand on his shoulder shake him out of his slumber. Snapping his head up with his eyes wide open, he takes a deep breath through his nose and abruptly turns the wheel just as we were about to leave the road.
"Damn," he mutters, rubbing his eyes. "Okay, we gotta stop now 'fore I send us crashing. I really need to sleep."
The vital necessity for mortals to sleep, eat and breathe to sustain life is so inconvenient. As Anpiel stated once, having to sleep is a serious limitation that evolution should have eradicated.
"How long?"
Dean stifles a yawn and turns the wheel - the car leaves the multi-lane road to engage in a narrower one that curves off to the right.
"Five hours should be enough."
I never really cared about exactly how long Humans spend sleeping every night, but it certainly didn't look like it was that long.
"Five hours? Why so long?"
"Hey, I'll have you know that for a human being, five hours sleep is way below average!"
I can't help but sigh in irritation, staring back at the practically deserted road.
"Your life is so short, and you waste most of it just lying around unconscious. And then the rest of the time, you need to obtain and absorb nutrients to keep your body from wearing out too quickly, and then discharge feces. I don't understand why God created you with so many physical restrictions."
"Yeah, well. That's a question you can ask your dad once we find his hideout."
The car slows down significantly until it comes to a stop in front of a building, where two other cars and a truck are already parked. There is a faint smile on Dean's lips as he turns off the ignition. The background music fades away along with the engine's rumble, leaving us in complete silence.
"But you're forgetting one important thing, Cas." Raising his eyebrows, he turns his head to me. "It's awesome to eat, sleep and poop."
And with these words, he opens the door and gets out, leaving me speechless. How could strictly organic restrictions be "awesome"?
Like many things about Dean or about Humanity in general, which I have been observing since the beginning, I won't try to understand. Saving mankind by stopping the Apocalypse is my prime objective, and if this requires dealing with the righteous man's body limitations, so be it.
There is a neon sign haloing us in red and blue, signaling that the motel has available rooms, and the glass door tinkles as we step inside. A balding old man looks up at us from behind his counter, watching impassively as we walk up to him.
"Evening," Dean says in greeting, straightening his bag's strap on his shoulder. "We need a room, two queen beds."
Did he just say two beds?
"I don't need a bed," I correct, throwing him a sidelong look.
The man pauses just before picking up a key behind him, and stares at us with a raised eyebrow. Dean clears his throat, scowling at me, and draws his wallet from his pocket with a strained smile.
"We're gonna take two queens," he insists hoarsely.
"Dean, don't be ridiculous. We don't need a second bed. You know I'm not going to sleep at all."
Dean lets out a nervous laugh, dismissing me to keep talking to the man.
"I know how it sounds, but me and him aren't like... uh..."
"Son, I've been here for forty years, and believe me, I've seen it all, heard it all, and I don't give a damn what happens in the rooms if you pay and don't break anything. Now, make up your mind, I have work to do."
"… A room with two beds," Dean mutters as he slaps a plastic card on the counter.
Once the fee has been paid, we receive a key and a room number upstairs. The room itself is typical of the rooms Dean always stays in. There's a smell of detergent that hardly covers the organic stench and the humidity gnawing at the wall corners. Just to be safe, I scan the entire building for demonic or celestial auras, but I can't sense anything other than the receptionist's soul, a few rats nesting in the roof overhead, and three other clients in the rooms. One of them snores so loudly that I don't even need to enhance my senses to hear him through the wall.
Dean drops his bag on one of the two beds that are positioned side by side six feet apart. Then he sits down, bending over to undo his shoelaces.
"You're unbelievable, Cas. We really gotta work on your social skills."
Standing in the middle of the room, arms limp along my body, I frown.
"Have I done something wrong?"
Rolling his eyes, he kicks off his shoes and takes off his jacket that he tosses on a chair.
"You could say that, yeah. Two men asking for a hotel room with only one bed is kinda weird."
I suppose it's pointless to tell Dean that I'm an Angel, not a man. No matter what my vessel looks like, I have no gender.
"Why?"
Dean removes his shirt and stifles a yawn before he lies down on the bed.
"Forget it. I'm way too tired to explain to you how to shake the sheets."
"The sheets?"
Instead of replying, Dean extends his hand to hit a switch, turning off the light. The neon lights filter through the curtains into the room, painting the two beds and Dean's shape in pink shadows.
"Why would I be shaking the sheets? And what does it have to do with a hotel with one room?"
A loud groan.
"Cas, damn it, I'm trying to sleep!"
Dean is still awake, I can see his eyes open, I can feel his heartbeat and the tension in his muscles. A whole minute passes during which I watch him not fall asleep. Then another minute. He's still not sleeping.
"Hey, Cas…" Dean's hoarse voice rises. "Tell me you're not going to stare at me like that all night?"
"Why not?"
Dean props himself up on his elbows, glaring at me.
"I can't sleep if I feel you watching me the way you do. It's creepy."
"I can look at the wall instead, if that's better for you."
"That's worse, dude. At least sit down, you're stressing me out standing like a freaking Terminator."
I refrain from asking what is a Terminator, and obey by sitting down on the edge of the other bed.
"Okay, that's better."
Dean moistens his lips - in the semi-darkness, his pupils dilated to capture the light more efficiently, concealing the green color of his eyes.
"Make yourself at ease. Take off your trench coat."
His eyes track my movements as I remove Jimmy Novak's coat. I fail to grasp how stripping off a piece of clothing is supposed to make me feel at ease, but whatever.
Dean cracks a faint smile and seems hesitant like he wants to say something, before he finally rolls to the side to turn his back on me.
"Good night, Cas."
"Good night, Dean."
It takes a few more minutes for Dean's breathing to grow deeper, and the tension in his neck and shoulders eases noticeably. After an hour and a half, he stirs in his sleep and rolls onto his back, his mouth partly open and his expression slack. His eyelashes twitch on the pale freckled skin, and his eyeballs shift behind his eyelids, suggesting that he is dreaming.
It's very tempting to touch him so I can watch his dream. I know the way his unique mind builds incredibly realistic visuals. I'm curious why his fingers are curling and why he's sighing in his sleep. What is he dreaming about?
But I won't do it, I know Dean well enough now to be sure that he wouldn't like me invading what he would probably consider his personal space.
Hours tick by slowly, Dean shuffling in his sleep with every new dream phase. The sun is already rising in the sky and brightening the room when he finally wakes up around six o'clock in the morning, lying on his stomach, his head turned to me and his arm hanging limply out of the bed.
His eyes flutter open, a thin ray of sunlight shining on the clear green color. His gaze instantly shifts to me. He blinks once, twice, and then frowns.
"No way. You really stayed like that all night."
It wasn't a question, so there's no need to reply.
"Hello, Dean."
Dean grunts when he rises to his feet, grabs his bag and rubs his eyes as he heads to the bathroom.
"I'm gonna take a shower. Try not to peek on me this time."
Two minutes later, the sound of water starts running behind the locked door. As I wait for him to be done, I get up, leaving my trench coat on the bed before I open the curtains to take a look outside. The Impala's black shell is gleaming in the rising sun, and a large man is climbing into his truck. He left for some time when Dean finally comes out of the bathroom.
"Okay, Cas, we got a couple things to fix before we hit the road again."
I turn to face him. He changed his clothes, now he's wearing a black suit quite similar to mine, with a dark tie striped with white. He's holding a device that I think appeared quite recently in the history of Humanity, but I can't say what purpose it serves.
"Stand against the wall here."
"Why?"
"You'll understand later. Come on, do it."
I obey stiffly, placing my back to the white wall and staring at him unblinkingly.
"Alright, good. You look great. Don't move."
A flash of light surprises me, burning into my vision. Dean lowers the device and walks back to the bed to fumble with something over his bag.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing, it's just in case. Could be useful in Waterville, or for other occasions. We got lucky the old man downstairs didn't ask for our IDs. Okay, now give me your phone."
"Why?"
"You gonna ask that every time I need you to do something?"
"If you don't explain the reason why, yes. I've been obeying orders I didn't understand and asked no questions for my entire life. I don't like to obey unless I understand why."
"I get that. Your voicemail is set up by default with a robot voice that just says your number. I'll help you make the message more personal, okay?"
That sounds reasonable enough, even if I fail to see the point. I grab my trench coat from the bed and put it back on, before I reach into my pocket and pull out the phone.
Dean flips it open and starts tapping the keys, bringing it to his ear for a few seconds.
"Okay, that's the moment. Say your name now."
And he holds the phone up to my mouth.
"I don't understand. Why... why do you want me to say my name?"
Dean withdraws the phone, taps the keys against it, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
"It's perfect!" He laughs as he gives it back to me. "Now you've got a voicemail that really sounds like you. Come on, time to hit the road again!"
oOo
"Hey, Cas… What are you gonna do if we fail to stop the apocalypse?"
Trees flash by on either side of the road. A car emerges in the distance, driving in the other direction. Two yellow lines run in the middle of the road.
"I don't know," I say sincerely. "I'm already banned and cut off from Heaven for rebelling. I assume the celestial troops will keep hunting me down to kill me. And even if I manage to hide from them, there's a high probability that my Grace will end up drained or corrupted."
"How so?"
I don't know how to explain this using words from human language, so constrained in their meaning. So I struggle to give an answer, while Dean stares at me quizzically.
"Angels operate and have a hive mind like... bees, so to speak. We all are connected by Grace and Faith, and the worst thing that can possibly happen to us is to be outcast or pushed aside from the group. A long time ago, a few Angels rebelled and joined Hell. They became abominations, spiraling into madness once they were cut off from their kin. But you already know that."
I turn a grave look to Dean.
"You've met Azazel and Alastair, after all."
His eyes widen when he realizes what I mean.
"They were…" He gulps, looking back at the road as he clenches his fingers on the wheel. "… they were angels?"
"They used to be, a long time ago. A fallen Angel is similar to a severed limb that ends up rotting because it is no longer supplied with blood. I don't know what I would become if I remained exiled on Earth and cut off from Heaven long enough for my Grace to decline, but I don't want to find out."
Dean remains silent for a few minutes, until he drives the car onto a road to the right.
"We'll be reaching Waterville in a few miles. You ready to capture that Raphael guy and make him spill God's address?"
I clench my fists on my knees, and my wings behind my back.
"I'm ready."
oOo
In the next chapter
"Why you never told me you can do this kind of stuff?"
"Because you never asked. [...]"
"I'm asking now. What else can you do?"