SPN FIC - I Am, and Ever Shall Be, Your Friend
A cold winter's night on Dearborn Street. Three travelers named Winchester have found brief shelter among the homeless -- and under the watchful eye of a stubborn and compassionate angel.
"This is a terrible place," Castiel said after a minute.
CHARACTERS: Castiel, OFC (Sarah), background John, wee!Dean, wee!Sam
GENRE: Gen
RATING: G
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 1000 words
I AM, AND EVER SHALL BE, YOUR FRIEND
By Carol Davis
"Again, Castiel?"
He didn't turn. There was no need to; he was both everywhere and nowhere, as was she. He acknowledged her presence with the respect she was due as his superior, then returned to what he had been doing for the past couple of hours: observing the small, towheaded boy who lay asleep on the cot in the corner, curled around the pillbug form of his younger brother. On the cot next to theirs, their father lay on his back, one arm flung over his eyes. A casual observer might have assumed he was asleep as well, but he was not.
"You must not interfere," Sarah said.
Again, Castiel gave her the acknowledgment she was due, and no more. Around them, people shifted and stirred. Moaned. Snorted and coughed.
"This is a terrible place," Castiel said after a minute.
"Shelter, for those who have no other place to go. Warm and dry."
"He could live as a prince. We could see to that."
"Castiel," Sarah warned.
"If he is Michael's true vessel -" Castiel challenged. "If he bears that responsibility - if he must ultimately play the role destiny demands of him, then -"
"We 'owe' him?"
"Yes."
"We are allowing his life to unfold in its own way, without interference. That is its own gift."
If he had taken a physical body, Castiel thought, he could have stalked around this room, taking full measure of its unpleasantness. True, it was a better option than sleeping on the street, or huddled in a car, on a night when the temperature had dipped below freezing. There was no sleet falling inside the Dearborn Street Shelter, through the place was poorly insulated and drafty; the people resting here were in no real danger of dying due to exposure to the elements, which was likely the reason John Winchester had chosen to bring his children here. They'd been fed a warm and filling, if uninspiring, dinner, and could rest for a few hours while they waited for the storm to pass.
There were worse places to be, certainly.
Or not.
"The demons watch them, everywhere they go," Castiel pointed out. "Like wolves stalking and circling their prey."
"They will not act. They've been warned not to."
"Sarah -"
"Castiel."
"He's only a boy. Look at him."
"As others are. And have been. And will be. He loves, and is loved, Castiel. Many endure their entire existence without that."
They stood silent for a good long while, listening to the snuffles and coughs and murmurs of a roomful of bedraggled humans, some of them well past understanding the point of having hope. There was a demon among them, stretched out on a cot some thirty feet away from John Winchester and his children. Like Castiel, he had done nothing but observe.
There was a chain around his neck, as there was around Castiel's. Sturdy, Castiel thought, but not unbreakable.
"I fear love is not enough," the angel murmured.
"It will be. It has to be."
"And what would it hurt? To make their lives more comfortable? Eliminate the need for them to cower in places like this?"
"What would it accomplish?"
He had an argument at hand. A less than eloquent one, certainly, but he had been standing here long enough to build up - as the mortals would describe it - a good head of steam. He was fully ready to deliver it, to rant at Sarah for as long as it took for her to bend in his direction. Not to agree with him; he wasn't fool enough to think that would happen. But she might at least see the validity of what he was saying. Might agree that this scruffy child deserved better than he had gotten.
Before he could say any of it, though, she asked, "What about his brother?"
"What about him?"
"You bear no sympathy for him?"
"Of course I do."
"For the true vessel of Lucifer."
"As I said. I -"
"You don't need to dissemble, Castiel. It's beneath you."
Her voice was mild. Uncritical. She had no more looked at him than he had at her; there was still no need for it, and that was freeing in a way, agonizingly restrictive in another. For a moment he thought of Anna, who had chosen to shed her grace and live among the mortals, only a short time ago.
"It's not wrong to feel compassion," he told Sarah.
"Unless it cripples you. There's a war coming, Castiel. We play a role in it, as do they."
She meant the Winchesters. All three of them.
And the demon, tucked inside the body of the elderly man who lay beneath a grayed blue blanket on the other side of the room.
"It's years away," Castiel pointed out.
"You would have him be weak? Coddled? Unprepared?"
"I would have him be -"
He was rarely insubordinate, and had never been so, to the point of being called on the carpet for it. He would not change that now.
Instead, he said softly, "We come from the light of Heaven. We are warriors, yes, but that does not mean we can't show kindness. That we cannot - or should not - offer succor to those in need. To those in particular need. Those who will be asked to give much, when the time arrives."
"To this boy."
Castiel was stubbornly silent for a moment. Then he murmured, "Yes." What he said next sounded like an afterthought, though it was not: "And his family."
"Compassion may be your undoing, Castiel."
"And it may not."
He could not see her smile. He could feel it, though; could feel the sympathy and regret and resignation (and, perhaps, the smallest bit of fondness) that lay behind it. She had no solid form - no hand with which to reach out to him - but she reached, nonetheless.
"Stand watch, if you like," she said.
We'll summon you if we need you.
She was gone, then, leaving the shabby room fractionally darker.
* * * * *
"This is a terrible place," Castiel said after a minute.
CHARACTERS: Castiel, OFC (Sarah), background John, wee!Dean, wee!Sam
GENRE: Gen
RATING: G
SPOILERS: None
LENGTH: 1000 words
I AM, AND EVER SHALL BE, YOUR FRIEND
By Carol Davis
"Again, Castiel?"
He didn't turn. There was no need to; he was both everywhere and nowhere, as was she. He acknowledged her presence with the respect she was due as his superior, then returned to what he had been doing for the past couple of hours: observing the small, towheaded boy who lay asleep on the cot in the corner, curled around the pillbug form of his younger brother. On the cot next to theirs, their father lay on his back, one arm flung over his eyes. A casual observer might have assumed he was asleep as well, but he was not.
"You must not interfere," Sarah said.
Again, Castiel gave her the acknowledgment she was due, and no more. Around them, people shifted and stirred. Moaned. Snorted and coughed.
"This is a terrible place," Castiel said after a minute.
"Shelter, for those who have no other place to go. Warm and dry."
"He could live as a prince. We could see to that."
"Castiel," Sarah warned.
"If he is Michael's true vessel -" Castiel challenged. "If he bears that responsibility - if he must ultimately play the role destiny demands of him, then -"
"We 'owe' him?"
"Yes."
"We are allowing his life to unfold in its own way, without interference. That is its own gift."
If he had taken a physical body, Castiel thought, he could have stalked around this room, taking full measure of its unpleasantness. True, it was a better option than sleeping on the street, or huddled in a car, on a night when the temperature had dipped below freezing. There was no sleet falling inside the Dearborn Street Shelter, through the place was poorly insulated and drafty; the people resting here were in no real danger of dying due to exposure to the elements, which was likely the reason John Winchester had chosen to bring his children here. They'd been fed a warm and filling, if uninspiring, dinner, and could rest for a few hours while they waited for the storm to pass.
There were worse places to be, certainly.
Or not.
"The demons watch them, everywhere they go," Castiel pointed out. "Like wolves stalking and circling their prey."
"They will not act. They've been warned not to."
"Sarah -"
"Castiel."
"He's only a boy. Look at him."
"As others are. And have been. And will be. He loves, and is loved, Castiel. Many endure their entire existence without that."
They stood silent for a good long while, listening to the snuffles and coughs and murmurs of a roomful of bedraggled humans, some of them well past understanding the point of having hope. There was a demon among them, stretched out on a cot some thirty feet away from John Winchester and his children. Like Castiel, he had done nothing but observe.
There was a chain around his neck, as there was around Castiel's. Sturdy, Castiel thought, but not unbreakable.
"I fear love is not enough," the angel murmured.
"It will be. It has to be."
"And what would it hurt? To make their lives more comfortable? Eliminate the need for them to cower in places like this?"
"What would it accomplish?"
He had an argument at hand. A less than eloquent one, certainly, but he had been standing here long enough to build up - as the mortals would describe it - a good head of steam. He was fully ready to deliver it, to rant at Sarah for as long as it took for her to bend in his direction. Not to agree with him; he wasn't fool enough to think that would happen. But she might at least see the validity of what he was saying. Might agree that this scruffy child deserved better than he had gotten.
Before he could say any of it, though, she asked, "What about his brother?"
"What about him?"
"You bear no sympathy for him?"
"Of course I do."
"For the true vessel of Lucifer."
"As I said. I -"
"You don't need to dissemble, Castiel. It's beneath you."
Her voice was mild. Uncritical. She had no more looked at him than he had at her; there was still no need for it, and that was freeing in a way, agonizingly restrictive in another. For a moment he thought of Anna, who had chosen to shed her grace and live among the mortals, only a short time ago.
"It's not wrong to feel compassion," he told Sarah.
"Unless it cripples you. There's a war coming, Castiel. We play a role in it, as do they."
She meant the Winchesters. All three of them.
And the demon, tucked inside the body of the elderly man who lay beneath a grayed blue blanket on the other side of the room.
"It's years away," Castiel pointed out.
"You would have him be weak? Coddled? Unprepared?"
"I would have him be -"
He was rarely insubordinate, and had never been so, to the point of being called on the carpet for it. He would not change that now.
Instead, he said softly, "We come from the light of Heaven. We are warriors, yes, but that does not mean we can't show kindness. That we cannot - or should not - offer succor to those in need. To those in particular need. Those who will be asked to give much, when the time arrives."
"To this boy."
Castiel was stubbornly silent for a moment. Then he murmured, "Yes." What he said next sounded like an afterthought, though it was not: "And his family."
"Compassion may be your undoing, Castiel."
"And it may not."
He could not see her smile. He could feel it, though; could feel the sympathy and regret and resignation (and, perhaps, the smallest bit of fondness) that lay behind it. She had no solid form - no hand with which to reach out to him - but she reached, nonetheless.
"Stand watch, if you like," she said.
We'll summon you if we need you.
She was gone, then, leaving the shabby room fractionally darker.
* * * * *