tracy_loo_who | Fic: And I Will Walk On Water (3/18)

Title: And I Will Walk On Water (3/18)
Characters: Dean and Castiel, Sam
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~6,800
Podfic: Read by

katrinaswift/

fullondazzled, download here.
Summary: Castiel's still reeling from his time with the demons, Dean finally starts to put pieces of the puzzle together, and someone unexpected does something unexpected.

Part 1 | Part 2

Dean didn't tell Sam he'd more or less invited Castiel to hunt with them because that was one argument he preferred to put off for as long as possible. He figured he could mention it casually after Castiel showed up at some point and did something badass, while they were high on a job well done. Castiel didn't show up to do anything badass at any point during their next three hunts, though. He didn't show up at all, and now Dean had to wince in sympathy as he reset Sam's dislocated shoulder and his little brother grunted in pain through the washcloth he was biting down on.

"Sorry, Sammy," he said lightly. "It's what you get for letting a girl beat you up, though."

Sam took the washcloth out of his mouth and he was still white with pain around the red and purple cuts and bruises, but he managed a decent bitchface anyway. "That was so not a girl, Dean."

Dean smiled blandly. "Minor detail. Now you sit tight like a good invalid while I go buy you some painkillers."

"I'm not--" Sam protested, but Dean gave him a wave over his shoulder and was out the door.

"Cas," Dean called as soon as he was in the car, half irritated because Sam wouldn't be in pain right now if Castiel had shown up like he'd agreed to and half concerned because another week had passed since Dean last seen him and what if demons or angels or something else had happened to him? He'd thought that by asking Castiel to stick around, he wouldn't have to worry about the stupid angel anymore, but apparently that wasn't the case and that irritated Dean in and of itself. "What is it with you never being around?" he asked, and because that came out sounding far more fretful than he'd intended, he added a little gruffly, "You owe me some painkillers."

Castiel materialized in the passenger seat before Dean even got a chance to start the engine, and he had a bottle of painkillers in one hand. Dean looked at it in surprise and pulled the key out of the ignition, distracted from whatever relief he was feeling. "You didn't really have to bring painkillers, you know," he said. "I was gonna go buy them myself."

"You asked for them," Castiel said simply as he handed them to Dean, as if that was a good enough reason for him to do anything.

Inexplicably, it made Dean uncomfortable, but he filed it away for later. "I was kidding, Cas," he said, though he took the painkillers anyway. "But, uhm, thanks. Where have you been, anyway? I thought you were gonna help us with our demon infestation problem."

"You've been avoiding the subject with Sam," said Castiel, who was apparently quite observant. "I thought my presence might cause problems."

And Dean supposed that kind of self-pity crap was sort of sad, but mostly, it was just beginning to get on his nerves. No matter what had gone down, Castiel was a goddamned angel, not an emo high school girl, for Christ's sake, and Dean had tried to be patient and understanding about it for awhile, but now it was getting old and he was no longer in the mood to humor him. At least Castiel hadn't started crying yet, though, which was more than Dean could say for himself. If he had little patience for Castiel's woe-is-me act, then he had even less for his own, and those were memories that never failed to embarrass and annoy him. Still, if he could get over it, then so could Castiel, and now Dean said in a possibly-snide tone, "Which problem do you think Sam would have preferred, getting tossed out of a second storey window by a hell-bitch or having you around and, oh, not getting tossed out of a second storey window by a hell-bitch?"

Castiel's eyes narrowed, and Dean knew it wasn't his fault that Sam had gotten hurt, but Castiel said nothing to defend himself and Dean blew out a slow breath as he let the issue drop. "You never answered my question, what've you been up to?" he asked after awhile, voice light and trying to ease the tension.

"I've been watching you."

Dean waited a beat for him to continue, but he didn't. "Watching us?" he asked incredulously. "That's it? Lucifer's risen, the apocalypse is happening, Jo is still missing, and all you've done for an entire week is sit around on your cloud watching the Sam and Dean Show?" If Castiel had needed time off to recover from his ordeal with the demons, Dean could understand that, but he was clearly capable of fighting and seemed fine, aside from his weird angel-funk, and Dean couldn't believe he'd just sat around and twiddled his fucking thumbs while Dean and Sam had run around shedding sweat and blood doing work he could have managed effortlessly. And they weren't even his own fucking thumbs, for fuck's sake, he'd torn Jimmy away from his family and was essentially just squatting over the vessel. Maybe it was because Dean had had something of a rough day, and watching Sam get hurt always stressed him out and made him cross, but Castiel certainly wasn't helping and now Dean's temper flared all over again and made him mutter, "Some angel you are. Though I suppose as long as you're not out there helping the apocalypse along like the rest of your lot we should count ourselves lucky."

It was unfair and Dean knew it, and he immediately regretted the words when Castiel flinched in a way that he hadn't done even when Dean had punched him. "I'm sorry--" he began, but Castiel cut him off.

"Give me something to do, then!" Castiel snapped, eyes dark and furious and presence suddenly looming over Dean even though he hadn't moved an inch, and Dean could almost swear the sky outside darkened, too. He was reminded forcefully that this was an angel in the car with him -- something vastly powerful and terrifyingly wild -- when the air seemed to thicken with Castiel's anger and the low whine Dean recognized as his true voice. It saturated the space around them and buzzed dangerously, threatening to suffocate Dean or explode the windows or both.

Dean swallowed and unconsciously leaned away from him, his own eyes wide and nervous in a way that hadn't happened around Castiel since he'd threatened to throw Dean back in Hell, over a year ago. "Whoa, whoa, calm down, I'm sorry, Cas. Calm down."

And just like that, the proverbial dark cloud evaporated and Castiel was just Cas again, slouching slightly in the passenger seat like an ordinary man and looking dejectedly out the window at the summer day.

Dean relaxed more slowly, and then bit his lip and said, quite gently, "Hey. Cas. You know I didn't mean it, right?" When Castiel didn't respond at all, Dean reached out to touch his arm, but Castiel's eyes suddenly flickered toward him in alarm and he snatched his arm away. His entire body moved back to press against the car door, as far away from Dean as possible.

Dean let his hand fall in surprise, and Castiel just looked embarrassed as he slowly resumed his original position in the seat, movements jerky and stiff. "Don't touch me," he said quietly, not quite meeting Dean's eyes. So maybe he hadn't quite recovered from his ordeal with the demons as well as Dean had thought, and that gave him a pang. Angels: susceptible to mood swings and post traumatic stress disorder, check. It made Castiel seem deceptively human.

They sat for awhile, in a silence that wasn't necessarily uncomfortable but definitely wasn't relaxed, either, as Dean mulled things over and watched Castiel stare out the window, not moving a hair and thinking about God knew what. He supposed he should probably try more of the patience and understanding thing after all, since lashing out only made everything worse, but it wasn't like things had been going too swimmingly before, either. It seemed like Dean just couldn't win.

Something occurred to him, then, and he finally placed a finger on why Castiel's simple willingness to run errands for him had bothered him, earlier. He hadn't thought anything of it before, but now that he looked back on the few times he'd seen Castiel since they'd found him, it seemed painfully obvious. Everything Castiel had done, from conjuring up some dream-pie because Dean had made a joke about it to jumping on the chance to help him with Jo because he'd been worried, was, well. It was what he'd thought Dean had wanted him to do. And that was so wrong Dean couldn't even begin to articulate it because the revelation actually kind of terrified him, that he might have so much power over someone else. Someone that wasn't even human. He broke the silence to demand, "What do you mean, give you something to do? You can't seriously want me to give you orders?" He sounded as appalled as he felt. Castiel was a friggin' angel, Dean couldn't be responsible for him.

Castiel looked at him again, finally, and his gaze was an open question. "Who else will, now?" he asked.

"Cas," Dean said patiently, though he could feel a headache coming on, "you don't have to take orders from anyone anymore. You rebelled. You're free."

But that only made Castiel look more lost. His gaze dropped to somewhere in the vicinity of the Impala's steering wheel and he confessed, "But I don't know what to do, Dean." And then he looked up at Dean like he thought Dean had all the answers and would give them to him if only his blue eyes could look imploring enough.

Dean sighed and reminded himself that this was someone who'd spent his entire, unfathomably long existence in blind obedience to others. Even his grand rebellion had been Dean's idea; the poor bastard had probably never done something based on original thought in his life. "I'm not the one you should be looking to for direction, Cas, I don't even know what the hell I'm doing myself," Dean said wearily. "You're an angel, isn't this usually the point where you ask God for guidance or something?"

Castiel's lips twisted into something bitter before his eyes flickered upward and fell to the side again. He said flatly, "God is done with me. I've failed Him, too."

"You haven't failed anyone, Cas," Dean told him with a roll of his eyes. Surely the stupid angel wasn't blaming himself for Lucifer's rise? "I'm the one who was supposed to stop Sam, remember? You did everything you could."

A flicker of something that might have been guilt flashed across Castiel's expression, but Dean could only see his profile so he couldn't be sure. There were a few seconds of silence before Castiel said anything. "Then why would He let that happen to me?" he asked softly, like his voice might break if he tried to speak any louder. He wouldn't look at Dean at all.

Dean sighed. He'd wondered the same thing, when he was four. Now he was effectively seventy and he still didn't even know how to deal with issues like this when other people had them; how the hell was he supposed to deal with them when it was an angel? "I don't know," he said honestly. Why did God let any of this shit happen to any of them, really? "'Cause He's an asshole?" He said it just to get Castiel to look at him, and it worked; Castiel turned to give him the requisite look of disapproval here, and Dean gave him a wry smile in response before he continued seriously, "Look, I only know what it's not. It's not God punishing you because you deserved it or some shit like that, so don't even think it, Cas." He knew his guess had hit the bulls eye on this one when Castiel's expression changed to one of desperate hope. It was a subtle change, but Dean was starting to know what to look for, and it heartened him when he saw it even as it saddened him that Castiel could think that. "God probably just doesn't care anymore," he shrugged, "we're on our own down here. So maybe you shouldn't look to Him for direction after all, but it certainly can't be me, either. I'm not your friggin' God replacement, okay?"

Castiel just stared at him and said nothing, which had happened enough times by now that Dean knew it meant Castiel simply had nothing to say. He just hoped it was because Castiel was thinking about what he'd said rather than because things were no better now than they'd been before. Both seemed likely, so Dean sighed. "I'm sorry, Cas." He felt kind of miserable and helpless because he was the one who had gotten Castiel into this mess to begin with and now he didn't know how to get him out, but mostly because he couldn't regret doing it, not when Sammy would have been alone back at St. Mary's otherwise, at the mercy of Lucifer and Ruby. For Sam, Dean would put Castiel through everything all over again, if he had to.

"It's not your fault, Dean," Castiel told him, suddenly as calm and soothing as ever, and that didn't make Dean feel better at all. He knew it meant the conversation was over, and he was proven right when Castiel added, "You should go give your brother his painkillers, he's waiting for you."

"Right," Dean said reluctantly, because part of him wanted to stay and make sure Castiel was okay, but he figured it would be best to just do as Castiel suggested before he put his foot in his mouth again, inevitably. "I, uhm, guess I'll see you around?"

Castiel nodded once, and Dean slid out of the car and headed across the parking lot back to the motel. The part of him that hadn't wanted to stay was secretly relieved that Castiel was no longer staring at him with those big blue eyes and waiting for Dean to tell him what to do, and Dean wondered if that was selfish. As he reached the door and dug a hand into his pocket for the key, he glanced over his shoulder to see Castiel still sitting in the Impala, right where he'd left him.

***

"These are from Cas," Dean said as he tossed the bottle of painkillers to Sam. He could almost feel Castiel watching, and it made him slightly self conscious. Instead of watching for Sam's reaction, Dean went to pour him a glass of water, and when he turned back around to face him, Sam's expression was neutral.

"What is he," Sam snorted, "our personal busboy from Heaven?"

Of course, that was a little too close to the mark, and Dean grimaced faintly. "Not funny, Sam."

Sam lifted an eyebrow as he accepted the water and knocked back a couple of pills. "What's up?"

"He's been treating me like a God replacement, that's what's up," Dean said, pursing his lips as he sat down on the other bed. It felt good to be able to talk to Sam about this. It felt good that they were done keeping secrets. "Doesn't know what else to do now that he isn't getting Heavenly orders anymore."

"What has he been doing?" Sam asked curiously. "Other than following us around, that is."

Dean ignored the jibe and shrugged. "Nothing, basically. That's just it, he wants me to tell him what to do."

"You?" Sam echoed, and he frowned, but then it turned into something more contemplative.

Dean wasn't sure if he liked that look. "What?"

Sam asked slowly, "So what did you tell him?"

"Well, I said he could join us on hunts if he wanted to," Dean said pointedly, hoping Castiel was listening. Sam made no comment, surprisingly, and Dean wondered if maybe it was because he was currently suffering for not having had Castiel around earlier. Either way, he went on, "Other than that... I'm not going to order anyone around, Sam, least of all a friggin' angel." He found the idea creepy, actually, and in any case he'd be lousy at it.

"Better you than anyone else, though, right?" Sam pointed out, and Dean almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. Right about now, he was feeling much less good about this whole conversation.

He closed his eyes briefly. "Tell me you're not serious, Sam."

"Dean, I know it'd be kinda weird, but think about it," Sam implored him in his most reasonable tone, the one Dean was beginning to hate. "He already wants to be on your side, and we could use all the help we can get. It's not like we'd be asking him to do anything bad, and anyway, we'd only be asking."

Dean had a feeling that 'asking' would only be a polite way of putting it, though, considering how desperately Castiel apparently wanted to be given orders. "What happened to 'we shouldn't trust him'?" he asked, perhaps a little rougher than strictly necessary.

Sam shrugged. "We don't have to trust him, Dean, all I'm saying is he could be helpful."

"Are you even listening to yourself, Sam?" Dean was incredulous. "He's an angel, not a goddamned tool!"

"From what you've told me, there isn't much difference," Sam pointed out none too kindly. "Besides, what do you think the angels consider us? We're just tools to them."

Dean frowned. "Maybe, but not to Cas. He disobeyed, for Christ's sake, and I know you thought Ruby was different from the rest of the demons too, but Cas really is. He's different," he insisted, feeling bad enough for Castiel that he found himself needing to defend him. Dean hadn't brought him this far just to thrust him back into blind obedience again, no matter how much Castiel could do for them. Even as he thought it, Dean could feel a surge of something toward Castiel that he'd only ever felt toward Sam before, back when his little brother had still been shorter than him. "We should be encouraging him to make his own choices, not taking advantage of him," he finished firmly.

"And what if he chooses wrong?"

For a moment Dean wanted to point out that Sam had chosen wrong, too, but he bit his tongue. It wasn't like Sam didn't beat himself up over it every moment he was awake anyway, and most moments when he wasn't, too. Sam must have guessed what he was thinking, though, because suddenly his expression fell and he looked away from Dean and into the glass of water he was still holding.

Dean wanted to distract him from his guilt, but he didn't know the answer to the question, to be honest. What if Castiel did choose wrong? Dean had forgiven Sam because he'd had to. Sam was his little brother. Castiel was... Dean didn't really have a name for what Castiel was (other than perhaps 'not unwelcome angel ally/stalker'), but he decided he owed him the benefit of the doubt, after everything he'd been through. "I don't know, Sam," he replied finally, "we'll cross that bridge if and when we get to it. Maybe we won't, who knows? Either way, it's better than treating him like a fucking tool."

Sam only nodded in resignation, and Dean took the glass of water from him gently. "Get some rest, Sammy," he said, and Sam's still-downcast expression almost made Dean want to tuck him in, like he used to so many years ago, but of course he refrained.

***

Castiel had been listening after all, apparently, because he started showing up at all the right times to fling demons left and right quite impressively without so much as touching them, but then he always disappeared when he seemed satisfied that Dean and Sam were no longer threatened. Which meant he never stuck around long enough to see jobs through to their very end, so Dean never got a chance to thank him. He shrugged it off at first, reasoning that there was really no point in having an angel around while they finished and cleaned up and calmed any survivors. Sometime around the third case, though, Dean got the strangest impression that Castiel was avoiding them.

When he mentioned this to Sam, his brother merely shrugged. "I dunno, Dean, he seems kind of off in general."

And that was to be expected, Dean supposed, because after all his brother wasn't blind, but as he watched Sam wipe demon blood off of Ruby's knife (it was funny that they still called it that, considering Ruby was long dead and gone, killed by that very knife, but they'd gotten too used to it to change their ways), he couldn't help but prompt, "Off how?" He had a fairly good idea himself, of course, but he was curious to know what Sam thought.

"Well, for one," Sam replied, glancing up at Dean through the part in his hair and then shoving it out of his eyes, "he doesn't actually kill any of the demons anymore. Haven't you noticed the way he just flings them around and waits for us to get 'em while they're down? What happened to the whole hand on the head, burn 'em out thing? And secondly, he never says a word."

Now that Sam mentioned it, Dean did recall noticing Castiel's reluctance to get too close to any of the demons on a few occasions, but he'd never given it much thought since he'd always been preoccupied at the time. Now all the demons in the bar were dead, though, and he did give it some thought. "He probably just doesn't want to touch them," he said slowly, the answer to the puzzle coming to him even as he spoke. "You can't really blame him, after..." There he trailed off, because it already made him desperately uncomfortable every time he thought about what the demons had done to Castiel, and trying to talk about it would be far worse.

Sam glanced away, clearly not keen on the subject either. Dean hadn't told him about the way Castiel had flinched away from his hand, but Sam could put two and two together. Eventually he said, "He's gotta get over it at some point, though, right? I mean, I don't want him to have to any more than you do, but there's an apocalypse going on he's kind of our heavy hitter."

Dean thought of the protective rush he'd felt when he'd gathered a naked and shaking angel into his arms and doubted very much that Sam disliked the idea of Castiel having to "get over it" as much as Dean did, but he didn't say as much. What he said instead was, "It hasn't exactly become an issue, so whatever."

***

It became an issue two days later when Sam exorcised six demons in a devil-trapped room and only five of the survivors managed to climb to their feet. The last one, a girl of no more than twenty, remained crumpled against the wall Castiel had sent her crashing into earlier. She wasn't dead, but her neck had snapped, and Dean shot Sam an unhappy look before his brother knelt and reassured her, as gently as ever, that she would be okay. It was a lie, and Dean distracted himself from the scene by calling for an ambulance.

"It was not my intention to hurt her," Castiel said from behind him, and Dean started because he hadn't expected him to come back.

"Cas," he said automatically as he turned, but then he paused, unsure how to continue. He knew Castiel hadn't meant it, of course, but that didn't make it okay, not when it could have been so easily prevented.

Sam said it for him. "You can still kill demons with your hands, can't you?"

A second passed before Castiel conceded. "Yes."

"Well, that beats the hell out of this--" Sam waved briefly to indicate the girl he was still kneeling next to, "--or us stabbing them with the knife."

Castiel regarded him silently for a moment and then slid his gaze up to Dean. "Is that what you want?" he asked softly, but underneath his question there was a hint of reluctance, maybe even fear, and Dean couldn't help but feel bad for the poor son of a bitch.

"Of course it is," Sam replied, "most of the people would survive, that way. I'd do it myself if it didn't involve using demon powers." His voice got a little edgy at the end, there, and Dean was just thankful they'd already gotten all of those arguments out of the way. Sam had cut himself off from demon blood and promised he wouldn't use his powers again, and despite everything, or because of everything, Dean wanted to trust him. He had to trust his Sammy, because if he didn't, he'd have nothing.

Castiel didn't even glance at Sam. His blue eyes were trained intently on Dean, and Dean remembered that he was still waiting for an answer. "Uhm," he said intelligently.

He saw Sam look at him sharply out of the corner of his eye, but he tried his best to ignore it. It was what he wanted, obviously, because with demons as common and rampant as they were these days, well, the number of casualties made Dean wince to think about, and every survivor was a small miracle. But he was also painfully conscious of how Castiel would take his request. Dean didn't doubt for a second that Castiel would do it if Dean asked it of him regardless of his own reservations, and that made Dean more than a little uncomfortable. For some reason he couldn't quite articulate, he needed Castiel to do this, but he also needed Castiel to do it for the right reasons, and Dean practically ordering him to was not the right reason. He shifted on his feet, aware of Sam's eyes on him, aware of even the five others watching curiously, and reminded himself of his earlier resolve to encourage Castiel to make his own choices. "Look, it doesn't matter what I want. It's up to you, Cas," he said finally, and didn't miss Castiel's confused brow-furrow.

But before he could say more, the lights of an ambulance flashed outside the window and Dean glanced over to see it pulling into the driveway. When he looked back, Castiel had gone, leaving only a grim-faced Sam and five mildly anxious civilians.

***

Sam was quieter than usual on the drive back to the motel, which hadn't happened in some time now, and Dean hated it. "Can we not do this?" he asked crossly.

"Do what?" came the short reply.

Dean rolled his eyes. "This. You sitting there sulking because I was less of an asshole to Cas than you were."

"I wasn't an ass--"

"Actually," Dean cut in, "you sort of were."

There was a pause, and then Sam said, reluctantly, "Okay, well, maybe a bit."

The tension eased with the admission a little and Dean couldn't help it -- he smirked. "So who's the jerk now?"

"Does that make you the bitch or just the shorter jerk?" Sam shot back.

"Hey." Dean frowned, making a face even though he was secretly relieved Sam was bantering with him now. It was a hell of a lot better than his previous silent treatment, and it made him think, We're gonna be okay, Sammy. It was funny how he had to keep reassuring himself of it when they hadn't really fought in months, but Dean didn't like to think about why that might be.

Sam looked smug for a moment, but then his expression sobered again. "Are you sure about him, Dean?" he asked quietly, looking straight ahead out the windshield at the oncoming cars to their left. "He was going to let the apocalypse happen."

"The two of us made the apocalypse happen," Dean pointed out, and that shut Sam up even though both of them knew neither of them had meant to. Castiel had meant to.

Dean cast a brief glance over at Sam's profile, familiar and comforting in the waning daylight. Castiel was no Sammy, but he was Cas, and Dean's gut told him Cas had his heart in the right place. His mind, though -- his mind agreed with Sam and still couldn't quite let go of the fact that Castiel had come so close to knowingly letting the world burn, whether out of misguidedness or cowardice or both. Dean couldn't say the same for himself, but whatever Sam had done, his good intentions had never wavered, at least. "No," he said with a sigh, wondering why they were having this conversation again. "I don't know if I'm sure about him. I mean, I'm not sure about anyone except for you and Bobby, but I want to give him a chance, okay? I think he'll do the right thing."

Sam studied him for awhile, and Dean was conscious of the fact that he'd never given any supernatural sons of bitches any chances before for a damned good reason, one that Ruby had only enforced ten times over, but he hoped Sam would trust his judgment on this one. And Sam at least sort of did, apparently, because his gaze dropped to the dashboard and he nodded. "Yeah. Okay." It didn't sound too strained, which heartened Dean. Now he just hoped his judgment was a good one.

"I think this means you're the bitch and the jerk in this relationship," Dean observed, just as seriously as before, but he smiled when Sam let out a small laugh beside him.

***

Castiel didn't make an appearance at all during their next hunt, and Sam carefully avoided bringing the subject up, but Dean was privately disappointed. Let an angel choose between pie and cheesecake and he'd opt to starve, eh?

As it turned out, though, Castiel just needed a little time before choosing some sort of weird cheesecake flavored pie, because the next time they saw him, he didn't swoop in to carelessly hurl bodies left and right and wait for Dean and Sam to finish the job, but he never got too close, either. Instead, he held the demons in place with his mind -- several at a time, even -- and chanted under his breath, maybe in Latin, maybe in some language Dean had never known existed, but it was a hell of a lot shorter than the exorcism ritual they used and he could force demons out of their hosts and back to Hell just as quickly as Sam ever could with his powers.

Even Sam looked a bit impressed, and Dean shot him a triumphant, I-told-you-so look. Trust Castiel to find the loophole that kept everyone happy. He felt a surge of something akin to affection for the sneaky angel bastard, and he didn't even realize he was grinning until Castiel caught him off guard by looking up and smiling back. It was a tiny smile, one that Dean would have missed if he'd blinked, but the difference it made was startling. Suddenly Castiel wasn't some ancient, somber being whose purity had been so irreversibly and blasphemously tainted that he'd lost sight of who he was; he was that angel Dean had almost considered a friend, once, when he'd gone to him for help and Castiel had come through for him with a conspiratorial gleam in his eyes and an almost-smirk on his lips. Dean watched that Castiel finish exorcising the rest of the demons and decided he liked him.

Sam came over to stand by him because Castiel obviously had everything under control, and Dean commented smugly, "This is sort of like watching that chick who always did all the work but never swallowed finally finish the job properly for the first time, isn't it?"

Sam made a face and apparently thought better of standing next to Dean, because he left to go help the freed victims to their feet.

Dean opened his mouth again and was maybe about to ask Castiel if he wanted a beer or something, because this was an angel Dean could stand to buy a drink for, but as always, Castiel vanished the moment his work was done without so much as another glance at him. "...Never mind, then," Dean muttered, spirits immediately falling a couple of notches, but that was silly, right? He doubted angels drank beer anyway, and he could celebrate another mini victory just as well with Sam. If Castiel still wanted to avoid them, so be it. He could do whatever the hell he wanted to, no skin off Dean's back, right?

Still, Dean caught himself thinking, an hour and a beer later, that it might have been nice if Castiel had stuck around.

***

They finally found another lead on Jo, and it was about fucking time. Dean and Sam had both been getting progressively antsier since another couple of weeks had passed, and they'd grown reluctant to talk to even Bobby because he would always ask for news of her, so now they jumped on the case. It was a Wendigo near Aspen, Colorado, and folks said several people had gone into the woods over the course of the past few weeks and never come back out, a young blonde being the last of them.

"I'm in the mood for a good, old-fashioned monster hunt for a change anyway," Dean announced, feeling almost cheerful at the prospect of a new lead and a new case that wasn't just more of the same never-ending demon bullshit. As much as he didn't think they deserved a break from demons, he couldn't deny that he was relieved they were getting one. Besides, it's not like it made a huge difference, in the grand scheme of things. What did a few more or less demons matter when Lucifer was still out there, when they still had no idea what he was up to, when there was still nothing they could do about him even if they did find him?

Sam glanced up from packing his bags and pushed hair out of his eyes, saying, "I know it's tempting, but try not to get carried off like a damsel in distress again and make me come to your rescue, okay, Dean?"

Dean flipped him off and hefted his own already-packed bag onto his shoulder on his way out to the parking lot. It was almost cloudless outside; a good day to save people. Metallica was blasting loudly enough to wake half the motel's patrons by the time Sam finally got his girly ass out to the car.

When they got to Colorado, it was almost nightfall but they worked quickly. In less than half an hour, they had Molotov cocktails, flare guns, a nice fire going, a sturdy tent set up, and symbols drawn all around their campsite to keep the thing out. They were more than prepared to take on a Wendigo. They weren't prepared to take on a very old, very ugly, and very, very badass demon riding a Wendigo.

"Shit," Dean said, when it didn't even glance at his and Sam's painstakingly-drawn symbols as it stepped over the line of them. The beast came straight at him and he saw a flash of black eyes just before he lunged to the side to get out of the way of its claws. Dread settled suddenly and heavily in his stomach because all their salt was still tucked safely in the trunk, well out of reach, and Dean would never be able to get close enough to stab it with Ruby's knife because it moved with such inhuman speed. All he could do was yell at Sam, "It's a demon!"

It turned with a snarl and came after him again, but Sam darted in and managed to ward it off with a flare gun just long enough for Dean to get to his feet. Infuriated, the demon-Wendigo wrenched the flare guns and Molotov cocktails from their hands with its mind and sent them hurling out of reach. Then it sent Dean flying backwards until he hit a tree with so much force it knocked the wind from him, and advanced again.

"Dean!" Sam screamed, and he sounded so far away but still, his voice tethered Dean to reality as pain erupted in his back to spread throughout his body and rattle his frame.

Dazed as he was from the impact and unable to move because he was being pinned there, Dean looked over the monster's shoulder to see Sam raising his right hand, and he knew with a certain, sickening horror what his little brother was planning to do. It was almost enough to push the demon-Wendigo that was about to rip him to shreds from his mind, and he wheezed painfully, "Sam, no," because it mattered more to him that Sam should stay human than it did to stay alive himself. He'd promised, he'd promised, how could he break his promise to Dean already when Dean had trusted him again despite everything? The last time Sam had used his powers he'd raised the fucking devil, and now he was going to do it again and there was nothing Dean could do about it because Sam either didn't hear him or else didn't care. In his moment of desperation, Dean's mind came up with two choked words: "Cas, help!"

And then Castiel was there, suddenly, a formidable presence between Dean and the demon-Wendigo, and his voice was much stronger and more imperious when he repeated Dean's words. "Sam, no."

Sam paused in hesitation this time, but the demon-Wendigo didn't. It threw itself at Castiel and its claws tore through his chest so deeply that it sent blood spattering all over the ground.

Dean found his voice again and screamed, "Cas!" as Castiel staggered backwards. He managed to catch himself and then get in a solid punch to the thing's jaw, which sent it crashing to the ground several yards away. But it was on its feet again in less than a second and foaming at the mouth in rage, and it was bigger than Castiel was and a lot stronger. All Castiel could do was draw it off to one side, away from both Dean and Sam, before it lunged at him again. Castiel threw up his arms to shield himself, but it knocked them out of the way and gripped him by the neck to lift him off the ground, and even from this distance Dean could see Castiel's eyes widen and his nostrils flare in panic.

Castiel struggled wildly but futilely in the demon-Wendigo's grip, choking, and blood was getting everywhere and Sam was beginning to raise his hand again and Dean yelled automatically, "Sam!" But he didn't know if he could tell Sam to stop this time, because this time it was his angel who was about to die for him again and how could Dean ever be okay with that?

He could move now, though, and he still had Ruby's knife on him, so he ran forward and plunged it to the hilt into the demon-Wendigo's back. It snarled in pain and threw Castiel away like a rag doll, but it didn't die and when it turned on Dean again, he knew this was it.

But before he could do so much as figure out how he felt about that or take a last breath, the demon-Wendigo suddenly threw its head back and howled -- a deafening, unearthly sound of agony -- and was consumed in searing flames right where it stood. The whole thing ended just as quickly as it had begun, and Dean gasped for breath in the startling silence that followed, still half numb and reeling from pain and panic and shock. His eyes scanned around wildly to see who their savior was until they landed on the figure of a man standing on the edge of their campsite.

After a blink, though, Dean could tell he was no man. An aura of inconceivable power seemed to crackle around him, and he was the brightest thing in the entire forest although his skin gave off no glow. It was as if his very presence was enough to turn the air around him into light, and he was beautiful, there was no other word to describe it. He had dark hair and handsome, chiseled features, but that wasn't what made him beautiful. He just was, and Dean found himself staring in awe as those lips curved into an almost boyish smirk. His whole face softened into the expression, and Dean thought: archangel.

Castiel, crumpled and bloody on the ground at his feet, whispered: "Lucifer."

Part 4

Page 1 of 2 << [1] [2] >>

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

danse-amore.livejournal.com

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!

AAAAHHH!!

OH MAN.

I am far too excited about this. But. Just. Oh my god.
I love this so much.

I was on the edge of my seat the whole time. And it makes my heart ache but it's so perfectly CAS, that he needs Dean to be his God. And angels are tools, in so many ways.

From:

fancy a fuck?

Fic: And I Will Walk On Water (3/18)

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags