"It looks like Lilith has been busy on the West Coast. You guys tracked some suspicious activity in and around California and Nevada, and I just got back from interrogating a demon that said she was in Oregon two weeks ago. I don't know if they can be believed, but they said she's trying to create more demons." Xal hooked his thumbs in the beltloops of his black jeans, watching Team Free Will from his side of the motel room, which was right by the door.
He always stayed right by the door these days.
"I thought only Lucifer could create demons," Dean countered, half sitting on the nightstand between the two beds with his arms crossed. "Unless they're the ones that are human souls that have been tortured too long."
Xal looked at Castiel, waiting.
Castiel blinked from his place by the window on the opposite side of the room. "What?"
"I figured you would explain." Xal kept his expression impassive—he was pretty sure he hadn't shown a single emotion around them since his beatdown two weeks earlier.
"I was under the same impression as Sam and Dean; that only Lucifer could create demons." Castiel cocked his head, and Xal knew he was silently asking why the demon thought an angel would be better equipped to answer the question.
You're not better equipped, but they trust you more. Xal lifted his right arm slightly to gesture, his new tattoo catching his eye. "Most demons are tortured human souls, but some are created, and some are both. Lilith was the first demon, and Lucifer made her from scratch. Knights of Hell. Princes of Hell. They're more powerful, they're harder to kill…" He rolled his hand, indicating the list of benefits went on. "You know the deal, and Lucifer is the only one who can manifest them into existence. Lilith can't do that, but she can take regular demons and use rituals to increase their power and durability until she gets what she's looking for." He shrugged slightly. "It isn't a normal, everyday thing, but it's not the first time she's done this, either."
Sam pursed his lips, sitting on the bed closest to Xal. "So, you think she might be gathering what she needs for those rituals up and down the coast?"
"I have no opinions. I'm just an information source."
Sam opened his mouth to respond, a frustrated yet guilty expression crossing his face. He had tried several times over the past fifteen days to talk to Xal, but none of it meant anything to the demon, and it seemed Sam was finally grasping that because his mouth drifted shut. He wet his lips. "We can do some more research. Can you tell us what Lilith would need for the rituals?"
Xal reached into his messenger bag, grabbing a leatherbound journal and holding it out. "Everything you need to know is in here. I don't need it back. I can just add any new information you need when I meet up with you for updates." Because it was his strictly Winchester journal. "You can call me if you have any questions." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm gonna try to do some more interrogating."
"Okay." Dean watched him carefully, an unreadable expression on his face, but Xal knew he wasn't happy. Why, Xal had no idea, because Dean had made it very clear what he thought of the demon, and Xal was adhering to that in every way he knew how. But, if he had to guess, he would say it had something to do with Sam being upset, or the way Sam had suggested they give Xal some space so now he was spending a lot of time out from under their watchful eye. But as long as there was no punishment in store, Xal wasn't too concerned, so he turned toward the door and started walking.
"Cas, go with him," Dean ordered.
Xal tensed but offered no argument.
"Will that bother you?" Sam tried.
"No, sir," was Xal's flat response.
Sam sighed. "Don't call me 'sir.'"
"Sorry, Sam. I forgot." Xal waited a beat, still facing the door. "Castiel, where are we going?"
"Why would I know the answer to that?" Castiel's head tilt was audible. "You are the one with targets in mind."
Xal turned slightly, looking over his shoulder at the brothers. "Do I have permission to decide?"
Dean rolled his eyes. "Are you ever gonna be done throwing this fit?"
Anger flickered in his chest, but stronger than that was the instinct of self-preservation. He was still upset about March 6th, even though he knew it was stupid, but he didn't want to incur consequences that would last longer than his temporary anger. "What would you like me to do, Dean?"
"Just act normal. Act like you did before you got your feelings hurt."
Xal wet his lips. "So…" He cast a glance around the room, finding nothing helpful on Castiel's face and frustration with Dean on Sam's. "You want me to be more casual?"
Dean extended his hands, fingers slightly curled, like he wanted to grab Xal by the face and shake him. "I want you to act like yourself. Stop being all stiff and petty because you're mad."
Lips twitched up in the corner, and Xal couldn't deny it felt good to offer a truthful response. "I've never acted like myself around you. I need to know what traits you want to see from me."
"You—"
"Dean, stop." Sam turned enough to see his brother, probably glaring, and then he looked back at Xal. "If you could just not be as formal, that would be great."
Xal nodded. "I can do that." He looked at Castiel. "I have some ideas. I'll lay them out, and you can choose which one we do." He turned away again, grabbing the motel door and walking onto the balcony, but he stopped short of closing it behind him. "I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't mean to make you angry. I'll get it right next time." He flashed a smile to be less formal and closed the door, starting toward the staircase and assuming Castiel would fly out and land beside him.
Castiel did, and the flutter of wings was followed by a low voice. "What did you have in mind?"
"It depends. Do you want to go after a monster or a demon? Demons might have more information about Lilith, but if we were to track down, say, a reaper, we might be able to get some leads on where Lilith can get the ingredients she needs." Xal lifted his right hand, blue-gray eyes traveling over his tattoo once again. He had grown abnormally fond of the upside down cross and purple flames surrounded by ornamental stained glass, and as hard as it was to think about the night he had gotten it, he still liked the addition to his body.
Xal froze, feeling a hand close around his shoulder, and he managed to suck in a breath and swallow before Castiel turned him around. "Yes?" he asked quietly.
"You're bothering them with your behavior."
"I know. I'm working on it." He just had to figure out how to navigate the waters safely, walking that fine line between making them think everything was okay and not allowing himself to believe such a lie. "I'll get better."
Blue eyes narrowed, fingers digging in a little more. "Why are you different? I don't understand." His head tilted. "We made a tactical decision, and it may have been a mistake, but Sam has tried to communicate to you that it won't happen again."
"I know, and I'm not mad." Well, that wasn't true, but he wasn't being driven by the flashes of heat that occasionally shot through his chest, and he knew they wouldn't last. "I told Sam I understand our places now. I'm playing the role they assigned me. That's all."
Castiel shook his head. "I don't understand human emotion, but I can see they don't like what you're doing. If you were playing the role they assigned, they wouldn't be unhappy."
Xal's tongue flicked over his bottom lip, trying to think of a way to explain without disrespect. "People are complex. You would agree Sam and Dean are very different, right?"
"Yes." Castiel didn't move or blink.
"So, Sam wants one thing from me, and Dean wants another thing." Xal knew Castiel wanted a thing of his own, too, but that was a dangerous thing to bring up. "I have to figure out how to check the boxes they want me to and avoid the ones they don't, and that takes time because they want and don't want different boxes." He took a half-step back, not liking his proximity to a being that could cause him excruciating pain in an instant.
"It… takes time." Castiel didn't seem like he really believed that, but he also seemed like he wasn't sure of his own doubt. "If you could hurry up the process, I think it would be good for them."
"I'm figuring it out as fast as I can." Xal lifted his hand a couple inches and pointed behind himself, wanting nothing more than to squirm out from under the steel grip on his shoulder. "You wanna get back to work now?"
Castiel stared for a moment and then nodded, dropping his hand. "We'll look for a demon first."
"Yes, sir."
Castiel squinted.
Xal did nothing.
"It'll be cheaper if we share a room."
Xal stopped halfway through pulling his card from his pocket and briefly met Dean's eyes. "Okay." He let go of the plastic and dropped his hands to his sides, gaze drifting around the lobby. He took in the burnt orange walls and retro decorations, a smile pulling on his mouth. He liked that look. The 1970s had been one of his favorite stints on the surface. He had had a lot of fun. The platform shoes… those aviator sunglasses… oh, his purple 1971 Plymouth Barracuda. And then, in 1979, he was exorcised. Twenty-eight years later—or 3,367 years, if you went by Hell time—the gate was opened, he got out, and then…
"Room 13," Sam said, holding up the tag with the key when Xal looked over at him. He seemed so awkward, like he just wanted Xal to forget all about March 6th, and until that happened, he had no idea how to interact with the demon.
Xal nodded and waited for the brothers to start walking down the hall to follow behind them. He stayed a couple paces back, keeping his senses sharp and looking for anything nefarious in the motel. He couldn't sense anything supernatural, let alone something that was both supernatural and bearing ill intent, but that didn't necessarily mean it wasn't there. He wasn't exactly at his best.
"I call the shower," Dean muttered, throwing his duffel bag at the bed closest to the door.
"I get it after you." Sam put his own bag next to Dean's but then looked at Xal. "Unless you need it next? I don't mind waiting if you do."
Xal shut the door behind him, locked it, and fastened the chain. "I don't need a shower right now." He wanted one, especially since he could feel that familiar ache setting into his bones, but he would wait. It wasn't like he slept. "Do you want me to do anything?"
Sam offered a tight smile. "No, that's okay. You should probably rest. I mean, you and Cas burned through a demon and two reapers in a week and a half."
"I can do that." Xal turned to his right and walked to the corner closest to the door, sitting down and leaning against the wall. He did need to rest, and he wanted to rest, but he wasn't entirely sure how. He was pouring so much of himself into doing everything the brothers wanted; into doing things they didn't even ask for in hopes they would notice and it would move him closer to a position of favor. I'm so tired. He watched Sam dig through Dean's duffel bag, pulling out a toothbrush, but he made sure to avert his eyes before Sam could catch him staring.
"Xal… you should lay on the bed." Sam gestured toward the empty one. "Dean and I aren't going to bed for a while, so just take one of ours, and then—"
"I don't like giving people my back." Xal shifted, his boot scraping against the carpet as he tried to curl up a little more. "And lying flat on my back to keep it covered is even worse."
Sam didn't say anything for a moment, hazel eyes cautious. "Yeah. I remember you watching your back when we first made the deal." He paused. "You weren't really assertive with… well, anyone… until Uriel and Castiel took Dean to interrogate Alistair." He smiled faintly, as if recalling a fond memory. "You got pretty mad at me."
Xal glanced at Sam but then put his gaze back on his black, tattered jeans. "I had no choice. I have to keep you both alive. It's part of our deal."
"Yeah, but… it's not like our end of the deal." If Sam was bothered by Xal brushing off the mention of their past conflicts, it didn't show. "If we exorcise you, we immediately die because of the deal. If one of us dies, it just means the other one can send you back to Hell. It won't happen automatically."
Xal snorted and uttered a, "Yes, it will," half hoping Sam would hear him and half hoping he wouldn't. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, done with the conversation and focused on making peace with the pain he was about to be in. If he had been given time to rest and recover, he probably would have regained enough power to heal up the cracks and tears in his essence at least somewhat. Unfortunately, he was not resting nor recovering.
He had already been weakened when the Winchesters found him, something he attributed to his desperate attempts to stay off the radar after the Hell Gate opened. He recovered quite a bit when he first joined them because he didn't feel comfortable enough to take initiative, so he just did things when they asked and kept his feelers out for anything dangerous. Then Dean was taken by Heaven, and Xal felt a little more confident, so he started working harder and putting himself out there, using old rituals he hadn't in a long time. Then Heaven tortured him, which Castiel gave very basic healing for, and it was time to go as hard as he could to keep the apocalypse from starting and the forces of both Heaven and Hell from finding them.
And then March 6th.
It doesn't matter. Xal focused on breathing, and as he sat there, listening to Sam move around, he was able to scrape some power together. It replenished as he sat, and he quickly channeled it into his wounds. It kept the pain from getting too bad, but it left him exhausted. He needed more rest than they would ever allow, because he not only needed to recover, but he needed to build up the kind of reserves that would be ready for the next catastrophe. But he couldn't do that. Between keeping himself alive and as pain-free as possible, keeping the Winchesters happy, keeping his strength on display in front of Castiel so the angel wouldn't think he would be insanely easy to kill…
"Your turn."
"Don't start anything while I'm in there."
"I haven't punched him yet, have I?"
Xal kept part of himself tuned into the conversation, but another part of him slipped into a state of something like catatonia. He slumped against the wall, eyes half-lidded, consciousness bobbing like a boat on the sea.
"Hey, Cas. Where are you?" Pause. "Did you find anything?"
Xal slid his hand up under his shirt, pressing against the stinging throb forming behind his sternum. His soul was rejecting his attempts to stitch it back together, and there wasn't a whole lot he could do about it.
"And you're sure you're not being followed by anything?"
Inhaling quietly, Xal shifted and let his hand slide back down his body, the pain temporarily receding. Maybe it won't be too bad tomorrow. But then he would use his power to interrogate a demon or use an old spell that could find said demon, and then the wounds he was trying to repair and protect would all be laid bare again.
It doesn't matter. It's still not Hell.
Hissing, Xal tightened the fabric he was desperately trying to support his ankle with. He swore several times in different languages, some more modern than others, but he managed to wind the strips of flannel around his ankle and tie it. He desperately wanted to drink again… and do a copious amount of drugs. Oh, it's broken. It is very, very broken. Screwing his eyes shut, he wrestled his black sock over the lumpy wrap and bit down on the inside of his cheek long enough to force his foot into his boot.
I should check my leg. He put his hands on either side of his shin, sliding them over his calf and up toward his knee before going back down. Based on the pain, I already know what it looks like. It was covered with black spiderwebs, like his skin was shattered glass, and the darkness was leaking through. Freaking daevas. That spell shouldn't have broken. They shouldn't even be able to do this to me.
But his soul had been shredded a little over a month ago.
And he had several sigils branded into his vessel to keep him weak.
And he had been drawing water from an empty well for weeks.
Xal groaned, grabbing his phone from the dusty, barn floor next to him as it started to ring. He flipped it open and pressed it to his ear, shifting on the ground and using his free hand to press against the cracking pattern on his right thigh. It's traveling up.
"Hey, Demon Boy, how far from Seneca are you?"
Xal took a careful breath, making sure to stay quiet. "Should be about an hour and a half by car." He pushed himself up despite the pain, knowing exactly what was coming next.
"Just tell us where you are, and Cas can come get you," Dean said, and even though the tension between them was perpetual, he sounded less frustrated than he had earlier that day.
Xal grit his teeth, getting shaky legs beneath him. "Uh, I'm actually not a hundred percent sure where I am," he lied, looking around for the old medallion he had been using to control the spell. "I know I'm somewhere near—" he cleared his throat to conceal his wheezing, "—uh, Voltage. But… I'm way off the beaten path, and I don't know where I am." He grit his teeth, eyes burning. "Just gimme a few minutes to—"
"We're in Oregon. Everything is off the beaten path."
"Yes, but… I need to find a landmark." He swallowed a gag, collapsing back to the ground as he abandoned the idea of standing. "Just let me find a barn or something." Even though he was already in one; it wasn't like he could afford to have Castiel find him like this.
"Sure." Dean paused. "Your voice is tight."
Xal wet his lips. "Yeah, but I'm fine. Nothing you need to worry about."
"Are you doing something you shouldn't be?" There was thick suspicion in his words.
"No, sir," was the simple response, a stabbing sensation spreading through the lower, righthand side of his abdomen and groin.
Dean didn't answer right away. "Alright. Call Cas when you know where you are."
Xal opened his mouth to answer, but the line went dead, so he let out a sigh of relief and snapped the phone shut. He started wrestling it into his pocket but quickly gave up, and after a moment spent collecting himself, he resumed his search for the medallion. He tried to find it visually at first, using the streaks of moonlight coming through the cracked roof, but it failed. He pushed the phone into his back pocket, which he didn't like to do, and started looking. He felt around, wheezing and screaming through clenched teeth, and after an agonizing 296 seconds, his shaking fingers curled around the ruby and emerald encrusted bronze.
I got it. He collapsed onto his side, broken glass reverberating up and down his spine, cutting into his skin and muscle as the bones trembled. I should've found a more recent spell to control the daevas. I should have known they've gotten stronger since the last time I tried to control them. I'm such an idiot. He took a few, deep breaths and rolled onto his stomach, pushing himself up. It's not Hell. It's still not Hell.
He tried to crawl again, but his knees were burning, and he couldn't figure out if it would hurt more to force himself to stand and walk or to continue putting pressure on all four limbs instead of just two. His bag was against the wall, so if he could just get to that, he could sit down for a few moments and catch his breath. Once he could fake it, he could call Castiel, and Castiel would find him standing just outside a barn with his bag over his shoulder. Everything would be fine.
Xal coughed, keeping his mouth closed as the spasms twisted through his chest, but they didn't subside. They forced him to open his mouth, the sounds wet and deep and rasping, and the burning in his lungs got worse with every passing second. He lifted his hand to his mouth, already knowing what he would find when he pulled it away.
That's not good.
Gray eyes widened, staring at the black spray over his palm and fingers. He coughed again, the splatters darkening as another layer of his essence spewed from his mouth. That's really not good. He had only ever started hacking up bits of himself once before, over two thousand years earlier, and at the time, he hadn't been an outcast of Hell. He was useful enough to them that they dragged him back down and charged him up, and he had no idea how they had done that.
What do I do? His arm gave out, dropping him to the ground. His chin slammed into the concrete, hand clamped over his lips, and the coughing continued. His body jolted, spasming against the hay and dust and cement. I'm going back. I'm—I'm going back. He screwed his eyes shut. This can kill me. I can die from this, and if I die, I—I can't get out again!
He tried to push against the ground, brain scrambling for something that might save him. I have the medallion, which has ruby and emerald, so—so soul healing and fortification. That could do something. He hacked up another mouthful of deranged, twisted, demonic soul. I have to figure something out. I have to—I have to—what's in my bag? I don't think I have anything. I just gathered what I needed to trap the daevas, and then they were supposed to lead me to—but then—I don't—
He felt pressure on his back.
"Xochiquetzal?"
I can't go back, I can't go back, I can't go back—
"Xochiquetzal, what happened? Why are you—" Castiel stopped suddenly, fingers wrapping around the hand Xal had clamped over his mouth. "Oh. That is not good."
Everything suddenly got cooler, air conditioning conforming around his sweat-soaked body, but the sensation of chilled skin was almost imperceptible underneath the rapidly spiking heat of his soul disintegrating.
"Cas, did you find—Xal!"
"What the hell?"
No, no, no, not Hell, please not Hell, please, please, I don't wanna go back—
"What's wrong with him?" Sam—was it Sam?—put his hand on Xal's back.
"He's dying." Castiel hovered somewhere near Xal's head. "That black substance is his soul. If it is coming out of him, things are… less than ideal."
Xal choked out a sob in between the convulsions, head throbbing as the panic went higher.
"Cas, can you do anything? I mean, angels should be able to influence souls, right?"
"I…" Castiel placed his hands on Xal's head. "I may be able to save him for now, but we need a permanent solution, and we need it very, very soon." His fingers trailed through the messy, reddish brown hair and traveled down the back of the neck to the spine.
Xal sucked in a lungful of air, and he didn't know what Castiel did, but the urge to vomit himself all over the floor lessened somewhat. He was still coughing, and he could still feel the spray on his lips, but it was lighter, and he could breathe in between.
"Xal." Sam shook his shoulders slightly, lightning on his fingertips. "Xal, can you hear me?"
Desperate, Xal tried to get his left hand underneath him, the right one still drenched in black fluid and lying uselessly near his head.
"No, no, no, don't get up. Don't get up, just—"
"Move his shirt."
"Dean, what are you—?"
Dean answered Sam's question by moving the shirt himself, rough hands pulling the fabric up to Xal's shoulder blades. "Crap. Which one of these dampens his powers? Is it—?"
"It's this one," Sam interrupted.
Xal felt a sharp pain in his back, but the second the branded sigil was broken, the agony he was in once again dimmed. He tried to push against the carpet, but he couldn't move, and the wheezing didn't stop. "I don't wanna go back," he croaked, black saliva falling from his lips and dribbling onto a sickly, green carpet blurred by the tears in his eyes.
"Dean, what do we do?"
"Cas, go to Bobby's. Tell him what's going on, and tell him to start researching."
"It'll take us at least a day to get there, Dean." Sam kept his hands on Xal's shoulders, and Xal really wished he wouldn't. "We might not have that kind of time."
Dean responded with an odd blend of exasperation and urgency. "It's not like we know what to do for him! We can't rush him to the Demon ER, and if Cas doesn't even know how to save him permanently, then our only option is Bobby, and if Bobby's gonna focus on researching, he can't also be focusing on keeping Demon Boy alive, so we gotta keep him with us. We don't have a choice, and it's not like I'm going to be doing the speed limit. It'll work, okay?"
Whimpering, Xal jerked his head, trying to shake it but unable to move more than a centimeter. "I don't—wanna go back. I don't—"
"Shh, it's okay." Sam started to roll the demon onto his side. "We're gonna figure this out." His voice took on the commanding tone Dean had been using up to that point. "Cas, put Xal in the Impala, and then fly to Bobby's. And if you know of anything you can use or investigate to help fix this, go do it."
Everything shifted, the carpet beneath him turning to faux leather as he coughed up another mouthful of black. He felt the belt buckle from the middle seat digging into his hipbone.
"Come on, now, open your mouth."
Xal screwed his eyes shut—or were they already shut?—and reminded himself he was lying facedown. That meant he wasn't on a rack. He was in the Impala, like Sam had said before the world changed.
"You know you're only making this harder on yourself."
Xal clenched his jaw, more of his soul spurting between his teeth, and he knew it made no sense, but his increasingly delirious brain was convinced if he could just keep those pieces of himself inside, he wouldn't die. If it would just all stay inside his vessel, then he'd be okay.
"You have entirely too many teeth, Xael. This is your last chance to open your mouth."
Xal sobbed, clamping one hand over his mouth while the arm of the other wrapped around his head. Like that would do anything to save him.
"You haven't been here very long, have you?"
No, no, no, no…
"Dean, pull over a sec."
Xal pushed his feet against the door, trying to curl up against the opposite one and make himself as small as possible. He wanted to curl up and hide.
You can't hide from Hellhounds.
"You're awfully young, Xael. What sort of trouble did you get yourself into?"
"Hey. C'mere."
Xal felt his upper body being lifted, and he tried to twist away from the fiery handprints on his skin, unable to tell the difference between human hands and demon claws.
"Just breathe, okay?"
He was on his left side now, and there was something—Sam, he assumed—under his torso. Pain shot into his jaw, his other hand flying up to cover the first, screams tearing up his throat.
"Hey, hey, what's wrong? Xal, what's wrong?"
"We offer reasonable trades down here, but… you're very much a coward, aren't you? Entirely…" nerves severed, lightning in his muscles, "…spineless."
"You're not going back, okay? I promise. We're gonna figure this out. We're gonna fix you up and keep you topside."
Fingers trailed against his scalp, sending a chill of relief down his spine but dousing every strand of hair in acid. He cried again, the sound dissolving into a whimper as he tried to roll away.
"Easy… easy…"
"Don't touch him, Sam."
"What? Why?"
"Because no touch in Hell is painless."
Xal struggled to breathe, forced to uncover his mouth so he could gasp.
"I think we should make you wait. Ensure you're well-trained before we let you pick up a knife of your own."
"How much farther?"
"With me driving? Maybe ten hours."
He clawed at the fabric by his head. It felt like denim, and it felt like Sam's leg. He dug his fingers in, not entirely sure what he was trying to do with the leg but knowing he wanted to do something. Move, maybe? Twist?
"Do you fancy liver? Have a taste of yours."
Xal gagged, throwing his head around, and then a hand came down on his forehead.
"Hey, I'm trying not to touch you, but you're gonna hurt yourself. Stay still and breathe."
He whined, a cross between a shriek and a moan pushing its way out of him. He started feeling down his own front, hoping he could keep his insides where they belonged, legs pulling up toward his chest like they could catch his intestines and, at the very least, keep them close to the opening.
"You're not being eviscerated, Blackeyes." Sigh. "Sam, push the sides of his stomach together like you're trying to keep his guts in."
Sam shifted under Xal's head, and then a weight came down on his waist, pushing inward. "I thought you said no touch in Hell is—"
"It's a lesser-of-two-evils game. What's worse? Burning your skin long enough to hold it together, or feeling that hollow, gouging sensation as you watch your insides spill all over the floor?"
Arching his back, Xal tried to pull away, though from what he wasn't really sure. Maybe he was just trying to escape the scenario Dean described. Maybe he thought he could physically drag himself to a place where his body wasn't making him choose between two different kinds of agony.
"Woah! You can't do that, man!"
"Apologies. Bobby and I have been unable to find any permanent solutions, but…" Clink. "Bobby described it as a tonic. I don't know what a tonic is, but he seemed to think it was strong enough to at least ease some of Xochiquetzal's pain."
Slurring, Xal reached out. He didn't know where the bottle was, and he didn't know what was in it, but he didn't really care. If he had the capability, he would have asked the angel to bring him every narcotic under the sun to add to the cocktail.
"Uh…"
Glass touched his fingertips, and he immediately drained the regrettably small bottle. He coughed in between swallows, spitting blackness and whatever he was drinking out over his lips, down his chin and throat, and into his shirt.
"Easy, easy…"
A cooling, numbing sensation spread through his body, allowing him a chance to breathe and open his eyes a bit. He couldn't make out much through the saline, but he could tell he was in the Impala with his head behind the driver's seat.
"Hey, there."
Xal didn't move, breathing hard, laying on his left side with his arms draped over the edge of the backseat. He shifted his legs, glass cutting through his skin, and he was reminded of his broken—probably shattered—ankle. Tell them about the daevas. Show them your injuries. He dismissed the thought as soon as he had it, figuring it wouldn't make them any more or less inclined to help.
"You wanna tell us what happened?" It was as if Sam could read his mind.
Xal opened his mouth, and he knew he wasn't coherent enough to lie, but in the end, it didn't matter. Chest spasming, he hacked up a fresh mouthful of soul. Words were still off the table as far as his body was concerned.
"As I said, it is not a permanent solution." Castiel paused. "I'll return to Bobby and see what we can come up with."
Flinching, Xal rolled forward, eyes closing as he fought to get onto his stomach. He had always liked lying that way; before, during, and after Hell. He clenched his jaw, heat spreading across his back. It's getting closer. It's almost here. I can feel it. I'm going back.
"You look hungry."
He reached around, clawing at his shoulder blades as if he thought he could tear off the flames and branding irons. He kicked his left leg backward, trying to get onto his front more than his side.
"How long has it been since you had something in your stomach, hmm?"
For a little while, he felt calmer, and he figured the tonic kicked in, but that wasn't necessarily good. It was reminiscent of the otherworldly trip he had taken on March 6th, completely disconnecting him from reality, but there was none of the elation that came with party drugs. Just a loss of control and comprehension. It didn't hurt as much, but the pain he could feel mixed with his lack of clarity brought back memories he hadn't thought about in millennia.
"Put your hands out, palms down."
"I'm sorry, but I need a pit stop."
"If you don't, I'll crush them one after the other."
"Be quick."
"If you obey, I'll crush them both at once."
"Okay, I'm back. Let's do this."
"One would think that might hurt less."
Xal twisted, reaching up and digging his fingers into his neck and feeling a sharp, cutting pain.
"Woah, hey, no!"
His hand was pulled away by the wrist.
"What the heck?"
Fingers flexed, warm liquid dripping from the tips.
"He turned his fingers into claws or something."
"What?"
"I don't know, they're—they're just black claws."
"You better not be trying to fight us, Demonicus."
Xal pulled against the hold, wondering if that was why the sensation on his neck had been so sharp. Had he changed his fingers? He didn't mean to, but he was in fight or flight, so maybe his hand just—
"Hey, Xal." Sam's fingers pushed between Xal's, his grip tight. "Nothing is going to hurt you, okay? You don't have to fight anybody. Just focus on breathing."
Eyes fluttered, his arm going limp and hanging from Sam's hand. Pain jolted up the limb and then ran back down into his shoulder socket, lips parting as he pushed out a guttural moan.
"I'm not gonna touch you, okay? Dean says it'll hurt, so I'm just going to hold your hand. I won't do anything else. Just hold my hand and breathe."
Xal panted softly and tried to do as he was told. He didn't move, even when he coughed up more pieces of himself, the fluid becoming thicker and stringier as the car ride went on.
There's not a lot of me left.
"Xael, my dear, you know you have to swallow."
I can't breathe.
"It's just the fluid from your eyes."
"Feathers said it was bad, but… whew."
Everything hurt, and the world was shifting again. Pressure moved from his lower back to his shoulder blades and knees. His head fell back, pins sticking him between the vertebrae. Then the world tilted, and his head went more sideways.
"Just put him on the couch."
Weight exploded across the entire backside of his body, burning his skin, and he seized. I'm on my back. I'm on my back. I'm on my back, I'm on my back, I'm on my—
"Move him. Now!"
His arms flailed out as he struggled for purchase, trying desperately to get away.
"He thinks he's on a rack."
Strong hands grabbed his upper arm and hip, rolling him onto his side. He tried to keep going, and the hands must have gotten the message because they helped him settle down on his stomach.
"You're okay. Just breathe."
Xal tried, but all he managed was a rasp when he inhaled and a whimper when he exhaled. He struggled to inhale again, but it didn't work, and with a cough and a fractured moan, he tumbled under.
"It's amazing how much the tongue bleeds, isn't it?"
Heat pulsed through his body, limbs twitching as they pulled against the slick restraints.
"Here, let's try this."
There was a sharp pinch in his arm, but it was quickly overpowered by the burn in his chest and the fluid rising in his throat.
"He's still hacking up his soul."
"Please… please, stop…"
Pressure spread over his right shoulder, and he tried to move away, but his muscles were useless. He whimpered a sound which melted into vomiting after two seconds.
"Okay, so if we use this sigil…"
"Can you feel my fingers inside you?"
"He's not looking any better."
"Oh, stop bawling like a baby. Your lungs will grow back."
"Let me try to repair his soul again."
"You're adorable when you've been lobotomized."
"Shh… you're okay. We think we figured it out. Castiel is getting some ingredients, and Dean went to get more painkillers, and Bobby and me are right here with you. You're gonna be okay."
"Was it worth it? You know, if you had just died as a human, you would have gone to Heaven, and you wouldn't be here right now. This wasn't a very wise investment, was it?"
Air rushed into his lungs, and unlike the stale, sharp, blood-tainted oxygen that had scraped down his throat before, this actually felt like breathing. He took a moment to savor it, and then he breathed again, finding it to be equally enjoyable. He flexed and curled the fingers of his left hand, scraping against the rough carpet. Pinpricks traveled over his fingers and up his arm, but the pain was so miniscule compared to the searing agony on his right side, and even more insignificant when compared to the literal Hell he had just gone through. He forced his eyes open, blurry images of a library filtering through his lashes.
I'm at Bobby's…
Blue-gray irises wandered over the brown color scheme and scattered books, papers… and the old mattress on the floor with two familiar hunters sprawled on top of it. They must have found a way to fix me. He tried to move, but pain shot up his spine, keeping him pinned. Right. Not plummeting into Hell anymore, not dead, but still…
"You finally waking up, boy?"
Xal tensed, trying to move his head so he could see Bobby, but his body didn't let him. He still knew Bobby was standing in the archway to the kitchen, though, and he mustered up enough strength to respond. "Yes." He took a shaky breath. "Thank you… for saving me."
"Assuming we actually did." Footsteps announced Bobby's approach, and then his foot appeared in Xal's peripherals, kicking the mattress. "Hey!"
Dean and Sam both jolted and gasped, Dean sitting straight up while Sam just sort of flailed and rolled off the mattress. Xal swallowed, trying to figure out what was expected of him as well as what would keep him safe. Adding Bobby into the equation had to change things, but he wasn't entirely sure how, and he knew—
"Xal." Sam rubbed his face, pushing himself up with a faint smile. "How are you feeling?"
Speaking carefully, Xal considered the fact he couldn't move. He couldn't walk it off and suffer somewhere else at another time like he had before, and he didn't want to lie. "Um… bad. Lots of pain." He glanced away, trying to move his left leg because he knew there was no way he could move his right one.
"Where at?" Dean asked, tossing his blanket aside and standing up.
Xal wet his lips. "Everywhere." He immediately realized Dean wouldn't like that answer, and he tacked on a, "I mean, the… the right side is the worst."
"Okay." Dean walked up to the couch, and even though he got too close for Xal to still see his face, the demon could still see as far up as the crossed arms. "You wanna tell us how you nearly got killed?"
"I wasn't thinking." Xal grit his teeth and took a steadying breath. "I tried to use an old spell to control some modern-day daevas. It was stupid." He shut his eyes, a little heat going into his cheeks.
Sam's voice moved a little closer, faint suspicion in his tone. "We've used daevas to defeat a demon before, but they didn't kill her. They just dragged her off."
"Was she already half-dead when that happened?" Xal asked dryly, feeling a twinge of anxiety because he had mouthed off but not apologizing because they had instructed him to not be so formal.
"You were half-dead?" Sam sounded concerned. "Why?"
Xal slowly opened his eyes, finding Sam kneeling right next to the couch, and he responded with a confused, "March 3rd?"
"That was over a month ago," was Dean's sharp response, full of disbelief.
"Yes…?" Xal blinked, watching Sam's face for another second before he tried to look up at Dean, but the older brother was too tall. Seeing his face would require craning his neck much farther than possible. "I'm confused."
"It's been more than a month," Dean repeated. "You're trying to tell me that, three days ago, you were still half-dead from a fight that happened over a month ago."
Sam smacked Dean's leg, glaring at him and mouthing something before he looked back at Xal. "It's okay. It doesn't matter how you got hurt, we just—"
But Xal felt a flare of anger. "They shredded my soul." And then, three days later, you gave me your middle finger, and I spiraled into a self-destructive meltdown. He moved his left hand, pushing it against the cushion and trying to roll onto his side so he could see Dean's face. "They destroyed as much of me as they could. They tore me to pieces. If I hadn't used a counter exorcism, I would be in Hell right now, and with the damage they did to my essence, it would take centuries to claw my way back out." He pushed himself a little higher. "Why do you think I was so—?" He choked, cut off by a spire of pain shooting through his right side, from the shattered ankle to the eye socket. He collapsed back to the couch, cursing himself for turning his body too far and pulling on the side of himself that was still in pieces.
"Hey, it's okay, it's okay. Don't move." Sam got to his feet and reached out his hands but stopped short, not knowing what to do. "Just breathe."
"You really expect me to bel—"
"Shut up, Dean." Sam carefully pulled Xal's blanket down—Xal hadn't even realized he had a blanket—and then tugged his shirt up. "When did this happen? Your side wasn't like this when Dean broke the sigil on your back at the motel."
Xal swallowed, trembling on the couch, wishing they would just leave him alone. "Traveled." He gasped. "Up."
"Up," Sam muttered, thinking for a moment before pulling the blanket all the way off. "Okay, so it started down here."
"I'm fine," Xal whimpered, pressing his face into the cushion. "Just—"
Dean sighed, grabbing Xal's left ankle. "If I had a nickel for every time I've had to strip you because you can't do it yourself…"
Xal tried to squirm away, but electricity coursed down his spine, through his hips, and into his legs. I guess he's right. I can't do it myself. He grunted when the boot was pulled off, but the pain was nothing compared to the sensations he knew he was about to have.
"Careful, Dean. He said the right side is the bad one." Sam tugged the dark shirt upward, trying to figure out how to get it up and over Xal's head. "Easy…"
Dean was careful, just like Sam asked, but it didn't really matter. As soon as Dean's fingers touched the flannel wrap sticking out of the top of the boot, Xal had to bite back a scream. Well, he tried to bite it back. He was unsuccessful, but he did try.
"Okay, okay!" Sam withdrew his hands while Dean just froze like he was holding a bomb and didn't want it to go off. "It's okay. What hurts?"
Xal bit down on the inside of his cheek. "S'my ankle."
"Dear Mr. Trench Coat, appear in this living room please," Dean sighed.
"Xochiquetzal. It's good to see you conscious."
Xal closed his eyes again. I just want everyone to go away. I can't keep all the rules straight in my head when I'm hurt like this. Just leave me alone, and I'll recover, and I'll come back ready to do whatever you want. Please, just leave me alone. I just want to rest.
"Can you make his clothes disappear?" Dean exhaled sharply when Castiel didn't respond right away. "Because he can't move, and we need to see his injuries, Cas."
"Oh. Right. Of course."
Xal felt two fingers on the side of his head, and then cool air was rushing all over him.
"You could've left his underwear on!" Dean exclaimed.
"You did not specify," was the dry response.
Sam quickly covered Xal's hips with the blanket, but he didn't comment on the nudity. He was much more interested in what that nudity showed. "Holy… uh, Cas?"
"I would assume the blackened skin is due to his soul trying to bleed out of his vessel. It's the same darkness that came out of his mouth." Castiel stepped closer, running his fingers down the back of Xal's right leg. "It seems to grow progressively darker as you move down."
"Can you not caress his thigh?" Dean sighed.
"His foot is completely black," Sam muttered.
Xal struggled to keep his eyes open. "If you just leave me alone for a little while, it'll heal."
"Well, apparently, last time you didn't heal." It was as if Dean's crossed arms were in his tone. "So why do you expect it to heal this time?"
"If I rest, I can heal." Xal wet his lips, pressing his face into the coarse fabric of the couch cushions, seeing nothing but the edge of Castiel's trench coat and Sam's legs. "Just leave me for a month or so, and I'll be fine."
"You mean like the month between the last time you got nearly killed and today?"
Xal fought the urge to start crying from the sheer frustration and desire for them to go away. "I haven't been resting for the last month. I've been working hard, every day, doing everything I can to help, and that's exhausting."
Sam sighed softly, his hand moving from his hip to his face, where Xal could no longer see it. "If you weren't getting the rest you needed, why didn't you just…" He sighed again. "Yeah, of course you can rest. Take all the time you need."
"Thank you, sir," Xal murmured, eyelids fluttering again.
"…what did you say?"
Xal tensed, immediately knowing he had made some kind of mistake. "I said, 'Thank you, sir'?"
Sam didn't respond immediately, stuttering a few times before he got coherent words out. "Xal, I understand that we let you get hurt, but—"
"You didn't let me get hurt," Xal snapped, temper flaring in his chest. "You hurt me." He grit his teeth, trying to move so he could actually look Team Free Will in the eye.
"…I'm sorry. You're right. We hurt you, and we shouldn't have done that. But we're sorry, and clearly, we're not going to do it again, so—"
"Clearly?" Xal shifted his leg and groaned, fingers curling into a fist. "Clearly, you're not—? In what universe is that a clear fact?" He flinched as soon as he said it, the pain in his side placing his vulnerability at the forefront of his mind, and he shrank into the couch. "I—I'm sorry. Never mind. I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. If you just let me rest, I'll be—"
Dean snorted. "Dude, we saved you. I know demons fake you out and stab you in the back for fun, but we don't."
"Dean." Sam lowered himself to his knees, bringing his upper body and face into Xal's line of sight. He leaned forward slightly. "Xal, we're not… Can you tell me why you don't think it's clear?"
Xal shook his head, chest tight. "Just forget it."
"Xal…" Sam wet his lips. "You said you understand our positions. I'm telling you to answer my question, so please do it, and do it honestly."
But… Xal closed his eyes, figuring it would be easier to explain if he didn't have to make eye contact. "You haven't shown me anything that makes it clear you won't repeat history."
Dean, of course, commented again, and Xal knew he would, which was why he didn't want to say anything, because he didn't want to make Dean even angrier, and Sam just wanted obedience, so why couldn't he just accept the apology and—
"Dude, we saved you."
Thanks for repeating the same sentence again. Xal kept his eyes closed, taking a breath. "Yes, you did, and I'm incredibly grateful. But you didn't sacrifice anything to do it. You saved me because it was convenient and within your capabilities. If we're ever in a situation where saving me requires fighting someone or risking something, I have no doubt you'll abandon me again. If you ever have to choose between me and Castiel—or me and literally anyone else—I know who you'll choose." Xal took a shuddering breath, trying to give them what they wanted without exposing too much of himself, tension running through his shoulders. "I don't understand why that bothers you. You don't care about me. I told you I understand our positions now. I know what I am to you, and I don't understand why my opinion on our relationship matters to you. I don't know why my opinion on anything matters to you. You're the bosses. I'm the resource. You make the rules. I follow them." He sucked in a breath, finally opening his eyes and trying to catch Dean's gaze, but finding he could only make eye contact with Sam. "You're upset with me for doing what you taught me to do, and I'd love to make you feel better, but regardless of whether I pretend our relationship is something it isn't, I'm still going to get hurt. It's my wellbeing on the line. So, of course, I'm going to choose the option that gets me hurt less, and I'm only going to play the game to a certain extent. It's nothing personal. Okay? Just let it be what it is."
Silence.
Sam stared for a long, long while. Hazel eyes searched Xal's face, confused and shocked and, honestly, hurt. His lips moved, stopped, moved, stopped, and then he spoke. "Just get some rest."
Swallowing, Xal shrank back a couple centimeters, unable to move much more than that without agony. "You told me to answer honestly."
"I know." Sam smiled, and while it wasn't a happy smile, it didn't necessarily seem fake, either. "You did good." He stood up, adjusting the blanket so it fully covered Xal's naked body. He tucked it around the demon's shoulders, careful not to make contact, especially with the right side. "Dean, get another dose of painkillers, please. Bobby, are you alright with Xal staying here while he recovers?"
Xal tensed. "I can find a pla—"
"You can stay with me, kid. Just stay on the couch like you did when we were looking for the boys at Sandover." Bobby spoke in his usual, gruff tone, but it was comforting because it was so level. "Just nod off. You look like you've been hit by an eighteen-wheeler."
Still feeling like they were—or, more specifically, Dean was—about to grab him by the hair and cut his throat, Xal closed his eyes again. He exhaled, feeling a shudder run through his body, and he tried to convince himself to sleep. He tried to tell himself it didn't matter that he had just made them mad. He tried to tell himself it wasn't the end of the world.
Why do you even care if they're mad at you?
Because they're my deal holders. I don't want them to punish me.
Says the guy who gave angels an attitude while being tortured in Heaven for a year.
That was different. I knew they were up to something, and there was a lot on the line.
So, the spineless coward can put up with Heaven's Persuasion for the greater good, but he can't take whatever torture the Winchesters cook up in exchange for standing up for himself?
Why would I fight them when it's just going to cause pain?
Not fighting them is also causing pain.
It causes less pain. It's like I told Sam, I'm picking the safest option. I'm not trusting them, but I'm not fighting them. I don't have to face the consequences of either extreme.
Xal.
Don't.
You're telling a big fib right now.
Shut up.
You want them to like you.
Please, don't. Just be quiet.
Are you really going to deny it? You've been pining after it for almost six thousand years, both as a human and a demon. You just keep trying to please people and give them whatever they want so they'll love you in return. You don't even know what love is, because if you did, you would realize how unhealthy your idea of it is.
"Xal?"
Xal sniffed, refusing to open his eyes or acknowledge the moisture gathering on his lashes. "Head hurts," he lied, his voice thick and congested.
"Okay," Sam whispered. "Dean will be back any second."
Jerking his head in a nod, Xal struggled to keep himself in the moment. I'm not stupid. I know they're never going to like me. I'm not a member of the team, and I'm not a friend. I'm a resource. And that's okay. They'll be dead in the blink of an eye, and Castiel doesn't have any part of the deal. They're just a blip on my timeline, gone in an instant.
Yup, and whoever you find next will have the exact same power over you. You'll obey orders, offer favors, consent to things you don't want, refuse the things you do, put on whatever mask you think they want you to wear on the off chance they'll—
"Here." Dean put his hand on Xal's upper arm, a sharp pinch coming a second later. "If you can get high on molly, you should be able to get something out of a triple-dose of morphine."
Xal swallowed, opening his mouth despite not knowing what he wanted to say. No words came out, though; only a sigh as the drug soaked into him, quickly pulling his mind down into a fog that kept him from perceiving both pain and thought, and honestly?
He was much more grateful for the latter effect.
Y'ALL YOU NEED TO GO TO MY TUMBLR AND SEE THE AMAZING ART MY COUSIN DREW OF OUR BOY IN PAIN. Yeah, so I am drooling all over this series, and I am loving that the Winchesters are dealing with someone who isn't going to forgive them after one magical, life-saving act. For once, playing good cop isn't enough. I got a lot of ideas from QueenoftheQuill, and they have been an amazing, amazing source of inspiration for me. (did i mention my cousin made art and it's amazing?) I really liked the 70s theme, so the title is from The Things We Do For Love because... yeah.
Thank you so much for reading this story! If you enjoyed it, I humbly ask you to check out my first book, Cataclysm. You can find on my website and socials, like tumblr, Instagram, and Facebook, along with updates on the different books and fanfics I'm working on. I always reply to comments (though I tend to do it on weekends), so if you want to ask me a question, I welcome it! Thank you again for reading, and I hope you enjoyed what I've created.
