Fic-Crossover-Supernatural:Aliens-Dean,Cas,Sam - (2/?)
Title: Supernatural: Aliens
Author: nicole9514
Chapter: 2/? (probably around 10-12)
Rating: R
Genre: AU/horror/action/crossover - Dean/Castiel pre-slash or friendship depending on preference
Characters: Dean Winchester,Castiel, Sam Winchester, and OC's
Warnings: Violence,language, gore, scary imagery, blood, death
Disclaimer: Only written for fun. I own nothing but the errors and OC's.
A/N: Goes AU after episode 5 X 18 - Team free will fic, but with a heavy focus on Dean/Cas friendship/strong bond, so if you don't like their dynamic you probably won't enjoy this fic.
Special Thanks: To my beta skylar_matthews. To jedakin for reading this fic and encouraging/motivating me to keep writing it.
Summary:Takes place after the events of Season five's Point of No return - Dean, Cas, and Sam investigate a case different than anything they've ever seen before in Gunnison, Colorado.
Wordcount: 3,334 (total so far 33,000)
Chapter 1
Cas looked down at his naked feet. The first thing he needed was clothes. He did a thorough search of his room and didn’t find his usual attire. Steeling himself he opened his room door a crack, peered out, saw it was clear, and crept out. He didn’t think they could stop him from leaving, however they may think it was in his best interests to stay considering his medical condition a few hours ago, and he couldn’t afford the delay.
He opened the room next to him; it held an elderly woman who waved at him. He smiled politely and apologized. The next was occupied by a young man, fast asleep, and about his size. Cas noticed the closet on the front wall and made a beeline for it. Inside hung a pair of jeans, a maroon t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. He grabbed everything, including the pair of black sneakers lying on the floor, and took them back to his bathroom.
Guilt gnawed at him. His first day as a human and he was already stealing. Not a good sign.
He was just about to get dressed when he heard footsteps. “Sir?” A soft, raspy voice called.
He suppressed a groan and shoved the clothes behind the toilet before coming out. “Yes.”
She smiled, it seemed forced, not reaching her eyes. “You should be resting,” she chided.
“I was relieving myself,” he replied before giving the illusion of cooperation by returning to the bed.
She fretted over him, once again taking his vitals, and informing him he’d been scheduled for an imaging test later in the day. The nurse who introduced herself as Jane Ross, asked him more questions about his memory, he still denied knowing anything. He knew his real name wouldn’t be in any files. Dean and Sam could help him procure the necessary paperwork to ensure this wouldn’t always be a problem. He was aware they had many assumed names that they used in various situations. For now, it was just easier to feign ignorance.
Nurse Ross also seemed very eager to get her hands on something called an insurance card. He wasn’t exactly sure what that was, but it must be important. He made a mental note to ask the Winchesters about that when they arrived.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity she left.
The moment her footsteps vanished, he went back to the restroom and retrieved the clothes.
It took him far longer to get dressed than he would ever care to admit. He’d worn the same thing for years, and had never actually had to put them on. Eventually he made himself presentable, and fled his room.
He kept his head down and walked at a leisurely pace, passing several staff who didn’t pay him any attention as they went about their duties, until he found a stairwell.
He entered it and kept going down, holding tightly to the banister, fearing he might have more problems with wooziness, but none came. He was feeling better, still sore, but nothing he couldn’t live with. Perhaps he had just enough grace left to help him mend more quickly.
He hit the bottom floor and pushed the door open, coming out in the main lobby. There was a gift shop, chairs, another desk with several staff, and giant windows that showed the outside world. Within seconds he located the door leading to freedom; he sighed mentally in relief, and headed for the exit.
****
They’d grabbed everything they needed, filled Bobby in, all in less than thirty minutes and had hit the road heading for Colorado.
Sam was driving; he’d had to fight Dean for it, but it had been a weak resistance. Dean was dead on his feet; he’d already crashed in the passenger seat, and was snoring lightly, his head resting against the glass.
Sam was relieved Cas was alive and kicking, even if he was almost human.
Relived because while they might not be quite as close as he and Dean, Cas had become his friend. Once they’d gotten past the demon blood, the angel had been there for both of them whenever they needed him.
It also meant Dean had finally started to climb out of the pool of misery he’d been wallowing in for the past few days. He wouldn’t talk about it; he bottled it inside. Sam hadn’t been able to mention Cas or Adam’s name without Dean’s eyes going hard, and his body tensing so tightly Sam thought he’d break in two.
Dean had dozed off a few times briefly prior to Cas’s call. Sam would hear him murmuring the angel’s name, grief heavy in his tone. Then his eyes would fly open, and he’d yell at Sam for hovering.
At least now his brother was sleeping for more than two minutes at a time.
Dean was so bogged down with guilt when it came to Castiel. He felt guilty for letting him down, for letting him walk into that warehouse and take on all those angels. Pile Adam on top of that, it made for a toxic stew of self loathing that would eat anyone alive inside.
Sam understood, he just wished Dean would talk about it.
Maybe he could force Dean and Cas into a little alone time, maybe he would open up, tell Cas how sorry he was - Sam snorted.
Yeah, Sam. And maybe your brother will start driving a mini-van.
Sam knew it was probably a lost cause, but Dean was his brother, he’d do anything to help him heal. He had to give it a shot.
****
Cas stood on the street corner and realized how truly out of his depth he was right now. He had no money, no weapons, and no car. As if he knew how to drive anyway; Cas cringed as a gust of wind sent his clothes whipping around him. That was probably another human skill he was going to need to acquire.
Cas did have one thing though.
A lead.
The man had been attacked in the woods. He just needed to find out its location, and get there.
Cas headed for a hardware store across the street. It displayed a picture of a man wielding a large hammer and smiling on the window. He pushed open the door and a small ding sounded.
A man with reddish brown hair, a round face, carrying a bit of extra weight was sitting on a stool reading a hunting magazine. He looked up and smiled. “What can I help you find today, sir?”
Cas approached the desk. Remember to lie, he thought while trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for why humans would want to enter such a location.
His eyes snapped to the magazine and he had his cover story. “I am interested in hunting. I‘d heard there was a good section of forest near beach street. How would I get there?”
The man sat up straighter, his green eyes warmer. “We have great hunting ground around here. Miles upon miles of it, beautiful scenery as well.”
Cas listened as the man raved about the countryside, never actually answering his question. He bragged about how Gunnison had the finest fishing and hunting in North America.
When the man had to pause a moment to breathe Cas interrupted by asking once again, about Beach Street. The man nodded, and explained that a lot of homeless liked to hang out near there because of the way the trees made a canopy over their heads. It protected them from the rain and other various weather conditions. The cops ran them out, but they’d always find their way back eventually.
Then he launched back into his sales pitch.
Twenty minutes later Castiel walked out of the shop with more information than he ever wanted on the killing of animals, but he also had finally gotten directions on where to head.
He looked down at the paper with detailed instructions, and walked briskly towards his destination.
*****
Two hours into the drive Sam’s phone rang, he fumbled for it, picking it up after two rings.
Dean didn’t even stir.
It was Bobby.
“Sam. I got some info for you.”
“What did you find out? Any signs of trouble in that town?”
Bobby sighed. “Not really. Average crime rate, no gruesome murders, nothing unexplainable. The only thing I could find that was even remotely interesting was a small plane crash near the area about two weeks ago in the surrounding forest. It was a few miles outside the town; some companies private charter plane.” Sam could hear paper’s rustling. “Wey…,” his voice trailed off, then Bobby grumbled something unintelligible before continuing, “Weyland Corporation. Rich and efficient bastards; they had their mess cleaned up real quick.”
Sam smacked his lips together. “That doesn’t sound like our kind of thing.”
“Nope. You think Cas just got spooked, waking up alone and without his angelic butt kicking ability?”
Sam glanced at Dean still fast asleep.
“I think that’s a possibility. Who wouldn’t be freaked out in those circumstances, but we’ll check it out when we get there.”
“Keep me in the loop, son.”
“I will.”
Sam hung up and focused on the road.
His thoughts kept coming back to Dean pretty much ordering Cas to sit around twiddling his thumbs until they got there. Sam thought about how much it pissed him off when Dean barked orders and treated him like he was still his baby brother. He knew Dean did it out of love, it was his nature to protect what he cared about, and he sometimes ended up protecting to the point you wanted to kill him for it.
He wasn’t sure Cas knew that though. Complex emotions and motivations seemed to elude him a lot of the time. Castiel probably didn’t get the love part; he only understood that Dean didn’t think he could handle anything on his own in his current condition.
And Sam knew that would tick Cas off, hell, it would tick him off. No one wanted to feel like they weren’t good enough, that they weren’t useful, and needed. Sam had felt that way many times himself.
It hurt.
Especially since Sam knew how much Cas valued Dean’s opinion of him; he wasn’t sure Dean did though. Sam muttered a few curses. It sucked being the only one capable of seeing all this shit, it meant he had to be the one to try and clean up the mess. Or in this case get two stubborn, idiots to admit how much their bizarre friendship meant to both of them.
Sam nibbled on his bottom lip. He really hoped there was nothing to Cas’s hunch, because he had an inkling of what Cas was probably up to right now.
The same thing he would be doing if Dean had ordered him to sit on his ass.
And if something happened to Cas, Dean would never forgive himself.
******
Castiel hit the tree line around Beach street and tried not to shudder; the forest was dense and dark. The tall trees towered above him, blocking a lot of the sun’s rays. Thick bushes and tall grass swallowed up the ground, coating it in a glistening, green layer.
It was the perfect place for something to ambush you.
His eyes scanned the shrubbery, his ears strained to listen. He noticed a few bottle wrappers, some cardboard, and a discarded pair of pants peeking out from a bush to his right.
Someone had been staying here; it was reasonable to assume he had the correct area.
A little voice in the back of his mind whispered he really should have obtained a weapon of some kind. Dean would be furious at him for taking a risk like this - a surge of annoyance rose up. He was not a child that needed to be babysat. He could take care of himself.
If he wanted to prove himself capable to Dean and Sam he had to do this; he wanted to have something to show them when they arrived.
A part of him knew he was being irrational, and reckless, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from pressing forward.
It must have rained recently. His feet sunk into the mud, making a squelching sound as he walked deeper into the trees. Damp leaves brushed against his exposed hands and neck, causing his skin to erupt with gooseflesh. The sensation reminded him of wet fingertips grasping and the ground seemed to be warning him back; each step requiring him to yank his foot free from the mud.
A silent plea to turn back.
Cas almost laughed at his own insanity. He was acting like a child. This was just a forest, not the depths of hell. He should know the difference, he’d been there.
Cas walked the perimeter of the area, searching. He walked in a straight line for about twenty feet, then turned, headed back, retracing his steps scanning the area near where the man from the hospital would have been staying. He then headed back, altering his course so that he was checking the next section of plants. He’d been walking in this manner for about twenty minutes, and getting further away from town when he noticed something light blue lying in the grass. He knelt down and touched it. Fabric, a strap.
Cas yanked, pulling it off the ground. A denim backpack, with several tear’s in it emerged, dangling in front of his face. Cas licked his lips, catching a metallic scent. He turned the pack, dried blood was splattered over it.
He leaned closer, noticing something else, another substance. Knowing it was stupid, he reached out and touched it, cringing when it clung to his finger as he pulled away. The strip of thick, mucous like material hung suspended between his fingertip and the fabric, he felt his stomach churn.
He had no idea what this was, but it made his blood run cold. He couldn’t stop images of drooling monsters that drug unsuspecting homeless people off into the darkness from rising up. He managed to take a few deep breaths, but his hand wouldn’t stop trembling.
He tried shaking it off; the stuff would not budge. He wiped his hand on the roots of a tree near him, and managed to remove most of it.
He stood, despite his shaky legs and hefted the pack. He opened it, peeking inside; it was filled with old clothes, various snacks, and toiletries. Someone had lived out of this bag, they never would have left it behind voluntarily. Perhaps it belonged to the man at the hospital, or his friend he’d claimed had been taken.
Cas scanned the area again, that prickle along his spine wouldn’t go away. There was definitely something not right with this town.
Ignoring all survival instinct, and Dean’s voice screaming at him via his subconscious to get the hell out of there, he moved deeper, something nagging at him, urging him to go just bit further.
He reached a clearing. A small stream passed through it, overflowing, more evidence of recent rainfall, flat ground, surrounded by an almost perfect circle of tall, trees. Judging by the blanket, and lawn chair, the squatters had moved deeper into the forest, probably trying to avoid the police. It was all quite lovely except the corpse lying in the middle of it. His mouth open in terror, his hands frozen, reaching for help, his eyes dead and staring, bones protruding from his chest which had a gaping hole in it.
Cas forced himself forward, taking slow, halting steps. As he got closer the smell was overwhelming. Rotting flesh had never affected him this way before; he’d smelled it many times.
Death.
He remembered Anna telling him that things were muted, dull when you were an angel. As a human you felt more. She hadn’t been wrong. The nausea had him doubled over, heaving before he even realized what was happening. It burned coming up, he’d never vomited before, it was incredibly unpleasant.
Everything was so much more powerful, the senses so much more sensitive, he’d had no idea how much his grace had been shielding him from the world.
Cas wiped his lips, and breathed through his mouth, but he could still taste it. Putrid and sour, coating his tongue with bitterness.
He was glad no one had been here to witness his loss of control.
His skin felt clammy, his stomach still queasy, but it was getting easier to bare.
Castiel pinched his nose, and took a closer look at the man who had died very badly lying near him.
He wasn’t a doctor, but he had seen a lot of dead bodies. He forced himself to detach to only see the details - not the human being.
He started with the head; no injury to the skull was visible. Cas didn’t have gloves, so he pulled the too long sleeves down on the jacket and gently lifted the man’s chin. He sucked in a breath.
The doctors words back at the hospital floated forward, and he grabbed onto them, knowing this meant something.
There’s bruising around his throat.
This man had marks around his as well.
It could not be a coincidence.
Now for the hard part.
He managed to keep himself under control even as his stomach protested while he examined the chest. As an angel, Castiel had, had the strength to drive his fist straight through flesh and bone; upon first glance some might think that’s what had happened here.
But there was a problem with that theory; this victim’s rib cage was protruding outward instead of being bent inward.
There was the possibility something had attacked him from behind. Cas cringed, but knew what he had to do. He rolled the stiff, cold body over.
The victim’s back was intact.
Cas realized what this meant and he couldn’t wrap his head around it.
The only way this injury could have occurred was if something had been inside this man, and burst out of his chest.
He knew of nothing that killed in this manner; there were parasites that people could ingest from eating or drinking certain things, but those organisms were not capable of this. Perhaps some kind of mutated tape worm. He almost laughed at the absurdity, but he was truly at a loss.
And what about the marks on the man‘s throat?
Cas growled. Frustration and fear whirled around inside of him. He stood up.
The man in the hospital had similar bruising. It could mean he was in danger, he’d said something about a creature on his face.
Cas had no idea what was going on, but he knew he needed to get back to the hospital. He had to try and do something.
Cas jogged back the way he’d come from, avoiding roots and branches. Mud spattered all over his jeans as he made his way back towards town.
A soft sound had him stopping in his tracks when he was about halfway there.
The hairs on the nape of his neck stood at attention. Cas froze, the feeling that someone was watching him hit him like a freight train.
He turned, eyes searching but finding nothing. He stretched out what was left of his other senses, a sick, wrongness tickled at the edges. He’d felt it before at the hospital.
Cas heard grass rustling.
He spun.
His heart thumped; his muscles tensed.
More rustling.
Cas regretted his decision not to seek out a form of weaponry before walking right onto the scene of a possible supernatural creatures lair.
A skittering sound, like an insect. A very large insect crawling across the ground.
Cas saw movement coming from straight ahead - the grass parted slightly.
It was the only warning he got before something flew straight at his face.
Next Chapter
Feel free to friend this journal for the insanity :)
Comments are always loved - it's nice to know if anyone is reading/enjoying :)
Author: nicole9514
Chapter: 2/? (probably around 10-12)
Rating: R
Genre: AU/horror/action/crossover - Dean/Castiel pre-slash or friendship depending on preference
Characters: Dean Winchester,Castiel, Sam Winchester, and OC's
Warnings: Violence,language, gore, scary imagery, blood, death
Disclaimer: Only written for fun. I own nothing but the errors and OC's.
A/N: Goes AU after episode 5 X 18 - Team free will fic, but with a heavy focus on Dean/Cas friendship/strong bond, so if you don't like their dynamic you probably won't enjoy this fic.
Special Thanks: To my beta skylar_matthews. To jedakin for reading this fic and encouraging/motivating me to keep writing it.
Summary:Takes place after the events of Season five's Point of No return - Dean, Cas, and Sam investigate a case different than anything they've ever seen before in Gunnison, Colorado.
Wordcount: 3,334 (total so far 33,000)
Chapter 1
Cas looked down at his naked feet. The first thing he needed was clothes. He did a thorough search of his room and didn’t find his usual attire. Steeling himself he opened his room door a crack, peered out, saw it was clear, and crept out. He didn’t think they could stop him from leaving, however they may think it was in his best interests to stay considering his medical condition a few hours ago, and he couldn’t afford the delay.
He opened the room next to him; it held an elderly woman who waved at him. He smiled politely and apologized. The next was occupied by a young man, fast asleep, and about his size. Cas noticed the closet on the front wall and made a beeline for it. Inside hung a pair of jeans, a maroon t-shirt, and a black leather jacket. He grabbed everything, including the pair of black sneakers lying on the floor, and took them back to his bathroom.
Guilt gnawed at him. His first day as a human and he was already stealing. Not a good sign.
He was just about to get dressed when he heard footsteps. “Sir?” A soft, raspy voice called.
He suppressed a groan and shoved the clothes behind the toilet before coming out. “Yes.”
She smiled, it seemed forced, not reaching her eyes. “You should be resting,” she chided.
“I was relieving myself,” he replied before giving the illusion of cooperation by returning to the bed.
She fretted over him, once again taking his vitals, and informing him he’d been scheduled for an imaging test later in the day. The nurse who introduced herself as Jane Ross, asked him more questions about his memory, he still denied knowing anything. He knew his real name wouldn’t be in any files. Dean and Sam could help him procure the necessary paperwork to ensure this wouldn’t always be a problem. He was aware they had many assumed names that they used in various situations. For now, it was just easier to feign ignorance.
Nurse Ross also seemed very eager to get her hands on something called an insurance card. He wasn’t exactly sure what that was, but it must be important. He made a mental note to ask the Winchesters about that when they arrived.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity she left.
The moment her footsteps vanished, he went back to the restroom and retrieved the clothes.
It took him far longer to get dressed than he would ever care to admit. He’d worn the same thing for years, and had never actually had to put them on. Eventually he made himself presentable, and fled his room.
He kept his head down and walked at a leisurely pace, passing several staff who didn’t pay him any attention as they went about their duties, until he found a stairwell.
He entered it and kept going down, holding tightly to the banister, fearing he might have more problems with wooziness, but none came. He was feeling better, still sore, but nothing he couldn’t live with. Perhaps he had just enough grace left to help him mend more quickly.
He hit the bottom floor and pushed the door open, coming out in the main lobby. There was a gift shop, chairs, another desk with several staff, and giant windows that showed the outside world. Within seconds he located the door leading to freedom; he sighed mentally in relief, and headed for the exit.
****
They’d grabbed everything they needed, filled Bobby in, all in less than thirty minutes and had hit the road heading for Colorado.
Sam was driving; he’d had to fight Dean for it, but it had been a weak resistance. Dean was dead on his feet; he’d already crashed in the passenger seat, and was snoring lightly, his head resting against the glass.
Sam was relieved Cas was alive and kicking, even if he was almost human.
Relived because while they might not be quite as close as he and Dean, Cas had become his friend. Once they’d gotten past the demon blood, the angel had been there for both of them whenever they needed him.
It also meant Dean had finally started to climb out of the pool of misery he’d been wallowing in for the past few days. He wouldn’t talk about it; he bottled it inside. Sam hadn’t been able to mention Cas or Adam’s name without Dean’s eyes going hard, and his body tensing so tightly Sam thought he’d break in two.
Dean had dozed off a few times briefly prior to Cas’s call. Sam would hear him murmuring the angel’s name, grief heavy in his tone. Then his eyes would fly open, and he’d yell at Sam for hovering.
At least now his brother was sleeping for more than two minutes at a time.
Dean was so bogged down with guilt when it came to Castiel. He felt guilty for letting him down, for letting him walk into that warehouse and take on all those angels. Pile Adam on top of that, it made for a toxic stew of self loathing that would eat anyone alive inside.
Sam understood, he just wished Dean would talk about it.
Maybe he could force Dean and Cas into a little alone time, maybe he would open up, tell Cas how sorry he was - Sam snorted.
Yeah, Sam. And maybe your brother will start driving a mini-van.
Sam knew it was probably a lost cause, but Dean was his brother, he’d do anything to help him heal. He had to give it a shot.
****
Cas stood on the street corner and realized how truly out of his depth he was right now. He had no money, no weapons, and no car. As if he knew how to drive anyway; Cas cringed as a gust of wind sent his clothes whipping around him. That was probably another human skill he was going to need to acquire.
Cas did have one thing though.
A lead.
The man had been attacked in the woods. He just needed to find out its location, and get there.
Cas headed for a hardware store across the street. It displayed a picture of a man wielding a large hammer and smiling on the window. He pushed open the door and a small ding sounded.
A man with reddish brown hair, a round face, carrying a bit of extra weight was sitting on a stool reading a hunting magazine. He looked up and smiled. “What can I help you find today, sir?”
Cas approached the desk. Remember to lie, he thought while trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for why humans would want to enter such a location.
His eyes snapped to the magazine and he had his cover story. “I am interested in hunting. I‘d heard there was a good section of forest near beach street. How would I get there?”
The man sat up straighter, his green eyes warmer. “We have great hunting ground around here. Miles upon miles of it, beautiful scenery as well.”
Cas listened as the man raved about the countryside, never actually answering his question. He bragged about how Gunnison had the finest fishing and hunting in North America.
When the man had to pause a moment to breathe Cas interrupted by asking once again, about Beach Street. The man nodded, and explained that a lot of homeless liked to hang out near there because of the way the trees made a canopy over their heads. It protected them from the rain and other various weather conditions. The cops ran them out, but they’d always find their way back eventually.
Then he launched back into his sales pitch.
Twenty minutes later Castiel walked out of the shop with more information than he ever wanted on the killing of animals, but he also had finally gotten directions on where to head.
He looked down at the paper with detailed instructions, and walked briskly towards his destination.
*****
Two hours into the drive Sam’s phone rang, he fumbled for it, picking it up after two rings.
Dean didn’t even stir.
It was Bobby.
“Sam. I got some info for you.”
“What did you find out? Any signs of trouble in that town?”
Bobby sighed. “Not really. Average crime rate, no gruesome murders, nothing unexplainable. The only thing I could find that was even remotely interesting was a small plane crash near the area about two weeks ago in the surrounding forest. It was a few miles outside the town; some companies private charter plane.” Sam could hear paper’s rustling. “Wey…,” his voice trailed off, then Bobby grumbled something unintelligible before continuing, “Weyland Corporation. Rich and efficient bastards; they had their mess cleaned up real quick.”
Sam smacked his lips together. “That doesn’t sound like our kind of thing.”
“Nope. You think Cas just got spooked, waking up alone and without his angelic butt kicking ability?”
Sam glanced at Dean still fast asleep.
“I think that’s a possibility. Who wouldn’t be freaked out in those circumstances, but we’ll check it out when we get there.”
“Keep me in the loop, son.”
“I will.”
Sam hung up and focused on the road.
His thoughts kept coming back to Dean pretty much ordering Cas to sit around twiddling his thumbs until they got there. Sam thought about how much it pissed him off when Dean barked orders and treated him like he was still his baby brother. He knew Dean did it out of love, it was his nature to protect what he cared about, and he sometimes ended up protecting to the point you wanted to kill him for it.
He wasn’t sure Cas knew that though. Complex emotions and motivations seemed to elude him a lot of the time. Castiel probably didn’t get the love part; he only understood that Dean didn’t think he could handle anything on his own in his current condition.
And Sam knew that would tick Cas off, hell, it would tick him off. No one wanted to feel like they weren’t good enough, that they weren’t useful, and needed. Sam had felt that way many times himself.
It hurt.
Especially since Sam knew how much Cas valued Dean’s opinion of him; he wasn’t sure Dean did though. Sam muttered a few curses. It sucked being the only one capable of seeing all this shit, it meant he had to be the one to try and clean up the mess. Or in this case get two stubborn, idiots to admit how much their bizarre friendship meant to both of them.
Sam nibbled on his bottom lip. He really hoped there was nothing to Cas’s hunch, because he had an inkling of what Cas was probably up to right now.
The same thing he would be doing if Dean had ordered him to sit on his ass.
And if something happened to Cas, Dean would never forgive himself.
******
Castiel hit the tree line around Beach street and tried not to shudder; the forest was dense and dark. The tall trees towered above him, blocking a lot of the sun’s rays. Thick bushes and tall grass swallowed up the ground, coating it in a glistening, green layer.
It was the perfect place for something to ambush you.
His eyes scanned the shrubbery, his ears strained to listen. He noticed a few bottle wrappers, some cardboard, and a discarded pair of pants peeking out from a bush to his right.
Someone had been staying here; it was reasonable to assume he had the correct area.
A little voice in the back of his mind whispered he really should have obtained a weapon of some kind. Dean would be furious at him for taking a risk like this - a surge of annoyance rose up. He was not a child that needed to be babysat. He could take care of himself.
If he wanted to prove himself capable to Dean and Sam he had to do this; he wanted to have something to show them when they arrived.
A part of him knew he was being irrational, and reckless, but it wasn’t enough to stop him from pressing forward.
It must have rained recently. His feet sunk into the mud, making a squelching sound as he walked deeper into the trees. Damp leaves brushed against his exposed hands and neck, causing his skin to erupt with gooseflesh. The sensation reminded him of wet fingertips grasping and the ground seemed to be warning him back; each step requiring him to yank his foot free from the mud.
A silent plea to turn back.
Cas almost laughed at his own insanity. He was acting like a child. This was just a forest, not the depths of hell. He should know the difference, he’d been there.
Cas walked the perimeter of the area, searching. He walked in a straight line for about twenty feet, then turned, headed back, retracing his steps scanning the area near where the man from the hospital would have been staying. He then headed back, altering his course so that he was checking the next section of plants. He’d been walking in this manner for about twenty minutes, and getting further away from town when he noticed something light blue lying in the grass. He knelt down and touched it. Fabric, a strap.
Cas yanked, pulling it off the ground. A denim backpack, with several tear’s in it emerged, dangling in front of his face. Cas licked his lips, catching a metallic scent. He turned the pack, dried blood was splattered over it.
He leaned closer, noticing something else, another substance. Knowing it was stupid, he reached out and touched it, cringing when it clung to his finger as he pulled away. The strip of thick, mucous like material hung suspended between his fingertip and the fabric, he felt his stomach churn.
He had no idea what this was, but it made his blood run cold. He couldn’t stop images of drooling monsters that drug unsuspecting homeless people off into the darkness from rising up. He managed to take a few deep breaths, but his hand wouldn’t stop trembling.
He tried shaking it off; the stuff would not budge. He wiped his hand on the roots of a tree near him, and managed to remove most of it.
He stood, despite his shaky legs and hefted the pack. He opened it, peeking inside; it was filled with old clothes, various snacks, and toiletries. Someone had lived out of this bag, they never would have left it behind voluntarily. Perhaps it belonged to the man at the hospital, or his friend he’d claimed had been taken.
Cas scanned the area again, that prickle along his spine wouldn’t go away. There was definitely something not right with this town.
Ignoring all survival instinct, and Dean’s voice screaming at him via his subconscious to get the hell out of there, he moved deeper, something nagging at him, urging him to go just bit further.
He reached a clearing. A small stream passed through it, overflowing, more evidence of recent rainfall, flat ground, surrounded by an almost perfect circle of tall, trees. Judging by the blanket, and lawn chair, the squatters had moved deeper into the forest, probably trying to avoid the police. It was all quite lovely except the corpse lying in the middle of it. His mouth open in terror, his hands frozen, reaching for help, his eyes dead and staring, bones protruding from his chest which had a gaping hole in it.
Cas forced himself forward, taking slow, halting steps. As he got closer the smell was overwhelming. Rotting flesh had never affected him this way before; he’d smelled it many times.
Death.
He remembered Anna telling him that things were muted, dull when you were an angel. As a human you felt more. She hadn’t been wrong. The nausea had him doubled over, heaving before he even realized what was happening. It burned coming up, he’d never vomited before, it was incredibly unpleasant.
Everything was so much more powerful, the senses so much more sensitive, he’d had no idea how much his grace had been shielding him from the world.
Cas wiped his lips, and breathed through his mouth, but he could still taste it. Putrid and sour, coating his tongue with bitterness.
He was glad no one had been here to witness his loss of control.
His skin felt clammy, his stomach still queasy, but it was getting easier to bare.
Castiel pinched his nose, and took a closer look at the man who had died very badly lying near him.
He wasn’t a doctor, but he had seen a lot of dead bodies. He forced himself to detach to only see the details - not the human being.
He started with the head; no injury to the skull was visible. Cas didn’t have gloves, so he pulled the too long sleeves down on the jacket and gently lifted the man’s chin. He sucked in a breath.
The doctors words back at the hospital floated forward, and he grabbed onto them, knowing this meant something.
There’s bruising around his throat.
This man had marks around his as well.
It could not be a coincidence.
Now for the hard part.
He managed to keep himself under control even as his stomach protested while he examined the chest. As an angel, Castiel had, had the strength to drive his fist straight through flesh and bone; upon first glance some might think that’s what had happened here.
But there was a problem with that theory; this victim’s rib cage was protruding outward instead of being bent inward.
There was the possibility something had attacked him from behind. Cas cringed, but knew what he had to do. He rolled the stiff, cold body over.
The victim’s back was intact.
Cas realized what this meant and he couldn’t wrap his head around it.
The only way this injury could have occurred was if something had been inside this man, and burst out of his chest.
He knew of nothing that killed in this manner; there were parasites that people could ingest from eating or drinking certain things, but those organisms were not capable of this. Perhaps some kind of mutated tape worm. He almost laughed at the absurdity, but he was truly at a loss.
And what about the marks on the man‘s throat?
Cas growled. Frustration and fear whirled around inside of him. He stood up.
The man in the hospital had similar bruising. It could mean he was in danger, he’d said something about a creature on his face.
Cas had no idea what was going on, but he knew he needed to get back to the hospital. He had to try and do something.
Cas jogged back the way he’d come from, avoiding roots and branches. Mud spattered all over his jeans as he made his way back towards town.
A soft sound had him stopping in his tracks when he was about halfway there.
The hairs on the nape of his neck stood at attention. Cas froze, the feeling that someone was watching him hit him like a freight train.
He turned, eyes searching but finding nothing. He stretched out what was left of his other senses, a sick, wrongness tickled at the edges. He’d felt it before at the hospital.
Cas heard grass rustling.
He spun.
His heart thumped; his muscles tensed.
More rustling.
Cas regretted his decision not to seek out a form of weaponry before walking right onto the scene of a possible supernatural creatures lair.
A skittering sound, like an insect. A very large insect crawling across the ground.
Cas saw movement coming from straight ahead - the grass parted slightly.
It was the only warning he got before something flew straight at his face.
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