Fic: Falling From Grace Isn't Pretty {3}
Title: Falling From Grace Isn't Pretty Ch.3 ( Ch.1| Ch.2)
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing(s): Destiel (develops later), mentions of past Sam/Jess and Dean/Many
Rating: M (eventually)
Warnings: Cursing, gore, vamp/vamphunter!fic, slash, loss of faith in God, no beta
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural and I am not making any profit from this story.
Summary: Father Castiel should have known that one day his do-good attitude would do him bad, but he didn't expect it to land him in this mess.
Word Count (for chapter): 3,767
Castiel could faintly recognise the rumbling of a car beneath his lap, and that they were stationary. He had been out of it for a long time, a thick blanket wrapped around him to keep out the sun's damaging rays, and his neck systematically injected with dead man's blood. The engine cut off. There was muffled conversation that he could just about hear through the damp cloth covering his mind, but not yet decipher. It slowly grew more and more audible, and smells started to become palpable. The first thing Father Novak could smell was blood. His teeth clicked out of his jaw and his pupils dilated, burning up and lighting so he could see the fibres of the blanket in front of him.
The hunger was unlike anything he had experienced before. It was all consuming and impossible to ignore or stave off. As soon as the dead man's blood wore away Castiel seemed to lose himself, tugging at the binds on his wrists and ankles and snapping his jaw, whining in a mixture of desperation and fear. The smell of blood pumping through the three live bodies in the car sent him into a frenzy. He would only settle at the prick of a needle, no matter how may times he tried to force himself to relax and find inner calmness, or how many times he tried to coax it to him with prayers and faith. Somehow this new, abominable thing that had overtaken him seemed to be unattached to his mind and his love for God. It would not accept that God loved him, either, and that with faith he would find peace. It was terrifying to be without what had acted as a sure safety net for so long.
The car rocked as people left it, car doors shutting loudly behind them. Castiel grunted and then whined, that too-familiar and uncomfortable hunger flying over him again. Bobby was wheeling himself away from the car, his smell growing distant. Dean was rummaging in the boot. Sam sat next to him, his jar and syringe at hand. He turned towards him as Castiel made another pathetic sound. How Castiel knew this without being able to see, hell, not even being fully conscious yet, was something alien that set snakes free through his stomach.
“We're here now.” Sam said beside him. “I'm going to dose you up until we can get you in and safe.”
“Sunlight?” Castiel slurred out, and his new layer of teeth scraped his lips clumsily.
Sam huffed out a small breath of laughter. “Sunlight will only give you pain, not kill you. And a stake through your heart will piss you off. And garlic will make your breath smell.” There was the ting of something tapping against the rim of the glass jar in Sam's hands. Dean was jogging in the same direction as Bobby. Sam peeled back a corner of cloth and slid the needle under Castiel's skin. The world fell out of focus, and only slid back into place a few minutes later.
The first thing he noticed was that he could see, the thick blanket removed from his face. The lights were doused, only a flickering warm light in the corner of Castiel's left eye remained. He followed it as a strange smell soon grew more and more potent in his nostrils, and faced Dean adding ground powder to a large flask of dark red liquid; thick and viscous. It ran down the glass sides in sticky sheets. There was a fizz and acrid smoke plumed above, dispersing in the air almost as quickly as it came. Sam pulled a sour face and cleared his throat, screwing his nose up in disgust.
“We're getting the cure ready.” Dean said, and his eyes flicked briefly to Castiel's face. He stirred the mess with a long metal rod. “It'll take a day to rest before you can take it.”
“A whole day?” Castiel asked, and then his teeth slid out and clicked into place. The sound of blood rushing through Sam and Dean's bodies was loud and tempting.
“We can't let you feed.” Sam said. “It'll stop the cure. You'll be stuck like that forever. And we'll have to kill you.”
“I don't want to feed.” Castiel lied, and the hunger deep inside of him throbbed and burned, a cold fever writhing beneath his skin.
Dean and Sam shared a dubious look before pouring in a small vial of clear liquid.
“Good.” Dean replied curtly, and then stirred twice, removed the stick from the cure, and wiped it on a cloth.
There was a long pause in which Castiel stared at the two men expectantly. He was mainly waiting for the moment at which they would put him under. When it didn't happen he had to ask why.
“You're not going to inject me?”
“No.” Sam said, and rubbed his palms together. “No, too much of the stuff and you won't be able to recover. You're new to this and it could overwhelm you.”
“Right.” Father Novak said, and then lay there in silence for another few moments. There were a million questions bouncing around his head but none of them seemed to materialise in words. Dean cleared his throat.
“You gonna tell us about yourself or just lie there?” He asked, and licked his lips, raising his eyebrows. His breath smelt of beer, and Castiel could smell it all the way over on his cot.
“Uh...” Castiel began, because honestly he was the last thing on his mind. He was much more interested in vampires, at the moment, and just how he became one. “My name is-”
“Castiel, you're a priest, yeah, but what were you doing skulking around a vamp nest?” Dean said, and rolled his eyes shortly.
“A young girl said that her brother was sick. I went to help them.” Castiel frowned, and his hunger gave a sharp throb.
“And you just followed them?” Dean asked, and it was clear from his tone that he really couldn't understand why anyone would do such a thing.
“I'm a vicar.” Castiel said, as if that answered everything and would somehow convey how he had been so quick to trust everyone. He was ashamed of it, now, and he knew that that was a bad thing. Something damaging to his faith.
“Right, and you see the good in everyone?” Dean probed.
“Yes.” He replied firmly, with mild irritation. The hunger roiled and brushed the surface of his conscience. He hissed something vile and cold into the air, body straining against his binds, before he managed to regain control, and fell limp. Sam and Dean looked at him with a mixture of concern and a stony indifference.
“The hunger is taking over him.” Sam said to Dean, his eyes not leaving Castiel.
“What is it?” Castiel croaked, breathless.
“You just said you were going to rip us apart.” Dean said, unamused and cold.
Confusion rushed through Castiel followed by panic. He had lost control. The hunger, this dark and pure monstrousness, was now beyond his governing. He sunk his teeth into his lips, drawing bitter and dark blood that his tongue flinched away from. He spat it onto the pillow under his face.
“You have a day, do you think you can make it?” Sam asked, and he had that sympathetic tone again.
“I'll have to, won't I?” Castiel replied with a firm determination set in his gut. He wouldn't allow himself to be this abomination. He wouldn't allow himself to be something so godless and impure. So evil. Besides, he was tied down pretty well, and he didn't have a death wish. Not yet, any way.
*
Sam and Dean left after another long pause of silence, Castiel wrapped up in his own thoughts. When they left, the heavy iron door closing after them with clanks and clicks and ticks and locks, he fell into prayer. For every line he whispered into the still air around him the coldness, alight with desperation, would shift and writhe, chocking him. Words would tumble from his lips in an uncontrollable hiss, violating the sacred and private thoughts and fears he spilt into the room.
He prayed non-stop for as long as he could, before he could no longer speak a word without crying out a plea for blood. He kept his mouth sealed, and tried his best to relax, as his body had been tense since he first awoke. With stilted breath he managed to lull himself into a semblance of calm. It would be a whole 24 hours until he could consume the cure, and he would have to be able to withstand the hunger as it gradually became worse. He took a deep shaky breath through his nose, and began to pray again, this time not voicing them out, but keeping them inside his mind. Hail Mary...
*
Dean came in hours later. Castiel smelt him before he entered, the door loudly opening, and then closing behind him. He snapped open his closed eyes.
“You should have some company.” Dean said, and dragged one of the stools he had been sitting on earlier closer to Castiel's bedside before perching on it, his arms immediately crossing.
“Sorry.” Castiel said, before the hunger rose within him and snarled something terrible.
“You aren't in the right state to be talking.” Dean said, and sighed heavily.
There was a pause as Castiel looked at the man with impassive eyes, knowing that was true. With another sigh, Dean took his silence as agreement, and began to talk.
“You can tell vampires are vampires only by their teeth.” He began, and Castiel decided that this was going to be a lesson. He tried to clear his mind of hunger to remember all he could. “As you know they are retractable. Fangs are another creation of Hollywood. As is garlic, stakes through the heart, seeing a crucifix, and it's impossible to turn into a bat. Oh, and sunlight won't set you on fire, just give you...a really bad sunburn.”
Castiel nodded once to show that he was listening, his eyes slipping from Dean's face, clear to see despite the darkness of the room, to his neck, and the blood that pulsed beneath it.
“They tend to reside in nests. That was what you saw. You have different kinds of nests, of course, but they always tend to be disgusting, smelly, and unwanted by humans. Somewhere they won't be found.” Castiel let the hunger slip from his control for a moment, and writhed on his cot, hissing. Dean took a deep breath through his nose and bit the inside of his cheek.
“And then they hunt. They coax people in through promises of sex and calls for help, and the less talented just attack. You wouldn't believe how annoying the current wave of popular vampire romance fiction has been. The intelligent ones tap into the market of desperate young teenage girls. It's a load of bullshit and makes our job incredibly hard. So many idiots believe that they're in love with those monsters, and that they love them back. Of course, the young girls always end up as dinner.
“You were probably targeted. Religious people are easy pickings. You trust too many people and do too many good things. It's foolish, really.” Dean's heart beat slightly faster. “I respect your beliefs, man, but for fucks sake have a sense of self-preservation. These are evil creatures and they won't do anything out of the kindness of their heart. They won't avoid you because you believe in God. They'll see it as a weakness. Just-” Dean took a deep calming breath.
“There is one fail-safe way to kill a vamp. You cut off their head. You saw for yourself how quick you guys heal.” The use of 'you guys' was a painful reminder that Castiel was a monster in the eyes of everyone around him. “Without the head they die immediately. The other thing that can kill them is the colt, but that's ours and no one is taking it from us. Dead man's blood is the thing we keep injecting you with. It weakens vampires so they can't fight us. It comes in handy should you want to interrogate.”
Dean fell quiet, his lesson obviously finished and words beyond his knowledge of vampires failing to come. Castiel took a deep breath and tried to keep the hunger suppressed as he blurted out a word. He was interested, after all, and maybe the company would make the hours go by quicker. The hours until he was human again.
“Cure.” He said, and then clamped his mouth shut, swallowing thickly as if to push the vamprism back into his stomach like it was bile.
“The cure?” Dean said, and then shrugged, his lips grimacing slightly. “We only found out about it recently, and it only works on vamps who haven't consumed human blood - living human blood, anyway.” He stopped talking, and Castiel looked at him unblinkingly trying to communicate that he wanted to know more without opening his mouth. It worked, apparently. “Trust me, you don't want to know more. You're drinking the stuff and we don't want you turning your nose up at it.”
In reply Castiel gave him a frown. It was incredibly unlikely that he were to turn up his nose at the stuff. It was his cure. It was his key back to life.
“Sorry, man, I'm not all that good at this talking thing unless it's with a chick. Sam's the one who's good at this stuff. Could talk your ear off.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck and stood from his stool, walking around the bed. Castiel found it much easier to look at him empty stool than the living, breathing, blood-filled man himself.
“Friend?” He managed to ask before arching away from the bed and wailing, jaws snapping at the air.
“Sam? He's my brother.” Dean said when Castiel had fallen to the bed, panting, a good few seconds later. “He's younger than me, too, despite being built like The Hulk.” There was a pause as Dean surveyed the back of Castiel's turned head. “You have family? You can nod or shake your head.”
Castiel nodded, his stubbly cheek rubbing against the pillow.
“Wife and kids?” Dean asked, and Castiel shook his head. The opportunity had never arisen. “Siblings?” Dean tried, and Castiel nodded. “How many?”
“Six.” Castiel mumbled. His brothers, Luc, Michael, Uriel, Gabe and Balthazar, and one sister, Anna.
“Six!?” Dean asked. “...Catholic?”
Castiel shook his head. He just had a large family. It was something his father had always wanted. He would have had the whole human population as his children if it were possible. He was a loving man.
“Man, having a family that big must be pretty hard. I mean, for all I love Sammy sometimes I want to just throttle him.” Dean paused, and then came to sit down on the stool again. “Keep thinking about them. They're your goal. Get back to humanity and you can get back to them.”
It was strange, actually, that Castiel didn't talk to his family much. The thought of them was accompanied by a sense of distance and nostalgia. He hadn't really spoken to them since he joined his church and moved away from Massachusetts and away from home. It wasn't that they necessarily disapproved of his faith, more that it reminded them too much of their parents, and of their father who left.
Gabriel had been the first to leave behind home and faith. Others had followed quite quickly, or had fallen away from their upbringing and into more extreme branches. When Castiel had decided to study the Bible and join a protestant church a discomfort had arisen between him and his siblings. They drifted apart.
In reply to Dean Castiel did his best to shrug, his arms pulled taut. It was nice for him to try to be helpful.
“Not a family man?” Dean asked, and Castiel eyed his as he thought over his answer, the hunger slowing his thoughts. He swallowed it back down and went to talk.
“Not really.” He said, and then coughed, thrashing, spitting. He fell back to the bed with a wave of exhaustion.
“Hm.”
Dean and Castiel stayed in silence for quarter of an hour, Father Novak almost falling back into his psuedo-calm. Then, with a clearing of his throat, Dean slapped his hands down on his jean-clad thighs and announced he was going to leave.
For hours more Castiel found himself straining against his binds, alone.
Sam came in later to check in on him. He told Castiel exactly what dean had only in a slower tone, as if truly teaching, and without any possible slurs on his faith. He also went into more depth on his relationship with Dean.
“He raised me, basically. A vampire got our mom when I was only six months old. Dad was...well, he became a hunter. Dean kept me safe. He...still keeps me safe.”
He left after a good hour and a half of surveying Castiel. During this time Castiel had approximately twenty ventures into his hunger. After some fourteen had passed Sam surprised Castiel b asking him how he felt, and if he was okay.
“I am dealing, thank you.” Castiel managed to wheeze,and then snapped his jaw thrice in quick succession. “How long?”
Sam checked the chunky watch on his wrist. “About thirteen hours longer.” He then looked Castiel right in his eyes. It was the same expression Castiel wore when he was consoling an upset parishioner.
He nodded into the air in reply. Thirteen more hours before he could become human again.
“Try to get some sleep.” Sam said.
With a great sigh Castiel nodded again, but he knew he would be unable to fall asleep with the hunger gnawing at him.
Instead, Father Novak thought his life. Broken by the sudden fevers of hunger, he painted a picture of all his accomplishments to date.
Then he painted a picture of Sam and Dean.
It was quite a bland picture. Castiel hardly knew anything about them, and he was never good at remember the details of someone's face. Bobby had morphed into a jolly, pudgy man in a wheelchair rather than his true form, for example. But he preferred their picture to his.
It took him a few moments until his sleep addled and hunger-racked mind figured out why. Then he realised that it was because they were dynamic.
Castiel was static. He stayed in his church, and on the off-chance he went somewhere else, his trip to Chicago being a perfect example, he would still be surrounded by people of faith. His touch only reached those already believing.
Sam and Dean, however, were active. They moved everywhere. They touched people of all types. They saved people who were not yet aware of the danger they faced. They were, odlly enough, real-life heroes. Something he wasn't sure existed any more.
It was enviable, and as Father Novak lay on his cot for the remaining, lonely hours of his torturous experience he decided that he was dissatisfied. He would much rather help many than help some. He decided that rather preach to people about the dangers on the world he would save them. Or at least help in some wider way.
It was an incredibly quick decision. And reckless. And it undermined everything he had done in life from the age of sixteen. But, he supposed that following that little girl was in the same vein. This was a night of life-changing experiences.
*
Twenty four hours had passed. Castiel sobbed quietly into the musty air of the room as hunger clawed at his whole being. He toes flexed in his shoes. He was starving. He was dying.
The door to his room opened. Sam and Dean came in. In Dean's hands was a whiskey bottle a quarter-full of a black liquid. With a struggle, Castiel gained control and lay limp on the bed. His teeth strained to stretch out even further so he could bite into the brothers' flesh.
“Hey, how are you holding up?” Sam asked, and came round to one side of Castiel's bed, dean staying by the door.
“I feel dreadful.” Castiel admitted in a low rumble, hoping it would mean they administered the cure quickly.
Dean raised his eyebrows and nodded shortly. “I bet. Now come on, we have the cure here.” He shook the cure in his hand and walked to Castiel's bedside.
Sam knelt and slid his hand under Castiel's head to hold it up. His smell filled Castiel's nostrils driving him crazy. The whiskey bottle neared his lips.
“Now, we don't know if this will work or not.” Sam said quite casually. “This is the first time we've ever done it.”
“What!?” Castiel spluttered.
“Bottoms up.” The rim of the whiskey bottle was thrust into his mouth an upturned. Thick, foul-tasting liquid spilt over his tongue, grainy in texture. He fought the temptation to retch and swallowed, all of his instincts telling him he just made a very big mistake.
It flooded down his throat and settled heavily, churning and tugging the hunger to centre in his gut. The glass was pulled away, knocking against his teeth. For one horrible moment Castiel was afraid that the vamprism would be evacuating himself in a purely downwards fashion.
“Well?” Dean asked.
Nothing had changed.
Castiel looked back at the two expectant faces looming in front of him as the seconds passed, and wondered if he would attack and eat them if the cure hadn't worked. Then in a sudden swirl a cascade of liquid rose up his gullet and gurgled in the back of his throat. He heaved, and black vomit spat over his chin, soaking into his already stained clothing. Dean swore and jumped back, and Sam pulled his hand away.
Castiel's head fell back, sick continuing to rise in his throat but not getting out of his mouth now that he was laying down. He couldn't breathe. He was going to drown in his own vomit. He retched strongly, his whole body shuddering.
Sam and Dean were cursing and panicking. Sam's large hand roughly pushed his head to the side. The icy cold blackness poured over his pillow, dribbling over his cheek. The acid stung his mouth. Dean was tugging at the cuffs on his wrists.
With one last large retch, Castiel could feel the icy cold sick under his cheek, and then passed out.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing(s): Destiel (develops later), mentions of past Sam/Jess and Dean/Many
Rating: M (eventually)
Warnings: Cursing, gore, vamp/vamphunter!fic, slash, loss of faith in God, no beta
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural and I am not making any profit from this story.
Summary: Father Castiel should have known that one day his do-good attitude would do him bad, but he didn't expect it to land him in this mess.
Word Count (for chapter): 3,767
Castiel could faintly recognise the rumbling of a car beneath his lap, and that they were stationary. He had been out of it for a long time, a thick blanket wrapped around him to keep out the sun's damaging rays, and his neck systematically injected with dead man's blood. The engine cut off. There was muffled conversation that he could just about hear through the damp cloth covering his mind, but not yet decipher. It slowly grew more and more audible, and smells started to become palpable. The first thing Father Novak could smell was blood. His teeth clicked out of his jaw and his pupils dilated, burning up and lighting so he could see the fibres of the blanket in front of him.
The hunger was unlike anything he had experienced before. It was all consuming and impossible to ignore or stave off. As soon as the dead man's blood wore away Castiel seemed to lose himself, tugging at the binds on his wrists and ankles and snapping his jaw, whining in a mixture of desperation and fear. The smell of blood pumping through the three live bodies in the car sent him into a frenzy. He would only settle at the prick of a needle, no matter how may times he tried to force himself to relax and find inner calmness, or how many times he tried to coax it to him with prayers and faith. Somehow this new, abominable thing that had overtaken him seemed to be unattached to his mind and his love for God. It would not accept that God loved him, either, and that with faith he would find peace. It was terrifying to be without what had acted as a sure safety net for so long.
The car rocked as people left it, car doors shutting loudly behind them. Castiel grunted and then whined, that too-familiar and uncomfortable hunger flying over him again. Bobby was wheeling himself away from the car, his smell growing distant. Dean was rummaging in the boot. Sam sat next to him, his jar and syringe at hand. He turned towards him as Castiel made another pathetic sound. How Castiel knew this without being able to see, hell, not even being fully conscious yet, was something alien that set snakes free through his stomach.
“We're here now.” Sam said beside him. “I'm going to dose you up until we can get you in and safe.”
“Sunlight?” Castiel slurred out, and his new layer of teeth scraped his lips clumsily.
Sam huffed out a small breath of laughter. “Sunlight will only give you pain, not kill you. And a stake through your heart will piss you off. And garlic will make your breath smell.” There was the ting of something tapping against the rim of the glass jar in Sam's hands. Dean was jogging in the same direction as Bobby. Sam peeled back a corner of cloth and slid the needle under Castiel's skin. The world fell out of focus, and only slid back into place a few minutes later.
The first thing he noticed was that he could see, the thick blanket removed from his face. The lights were doused, only a flickering warm light in the corner of Castiel's left eye remained. He followed it as a strange smell soon grew more and more potent in his nostrils, and faced Dean adding ground powder to a large flask of dark red liquid; thick and viscous. It ran down the glass sides in sticky sheets. There was a fizz and acrid smoke plumed above, dispersing in the air almost as quickly as it came. Sam pulled a sour face and cleared his throat, screwing his nose up in disgust.
“We're getting the cure ready.” Dean said, and his eyes flicked briefly to Castiel's face. He stirred the mess with a long metal rod. “It'll take a day to rest before you can take it.”
“A whole day?” Castiel asked, and then his teeth slid out and clicked into place. The sound of blood rushing through Sam and Dean's bodies was loud and tempting.
“We can't let you feed.” Sam said. “It'll stop the cure. You'll be stuck like that forever. And we'll have to kill you.”
“I don't want to feed.” Castiel lied, and the hunger deep inside of him throbbed and burned, a cold fever writhing beneath his skin.
Dean and Sam shared a dubious look before pouring in a small vial of clear liquid.
“Good.” Dean replied curtly, and then stirred twice, removed the stick from the cure, and wiped it on a cloth.
There was a long pause in which Castiel stared at the two men expectantly. He was mainly waiting for the moment at which they would put him under. When it didn't happen he had to ask why.
“You're not going to inject me?”
“No.” Sam said, and rubbed his palms together. “No, too much of the stuff and you won't be able to recover. You're new to this and it could overwhelm you.”
“Right.” Father Novak said, and then lay there in silence for another few moments. There were a million questions bouncing around his head but none of them seemed to materialise in words. Dean cleared his throat.
“You gonna tell us about yourself or just lie there?” He asked, and licked his lips, raising his eyebrows. His breath smelt of beer, and Castiel could smell it all the way over on his cot.
“Uh...” Castiel began, because honestly he was the last thing on his mind. He was much more interested in vampires, at the moment, and just how he became one. “My name is-”
“Castiel, you're a priest, yeah, but what were you doing skulking around a vamp nest?” Dean said, and rolled his eyes shortly.
“A young girl said that her brother was sick. I went to help them.” Castiel frowned, and his hunger gave a sharp throb.
“And you just followed them?” Dean asked, and it was clear from his tone that he really couldn't understand why anyone would do such a thing.
“I'm a vicar.” Castiel said, as if that answered everything and would somehow convey how he had been so quick to trust everyone. He was ashamed of it, now, and he knew that that was a bad thing. Something damaging to his faith.
“Right, and you see the good in everyone?” Dean probed.
“Yes.” He replied firmly, with mild irritation. The hunger roiled and brushed the surface of his conscience. He hissed something vile and cold into the air, body straining against his binds, before he managed to regain control, and fell limp. Sam and Dean looked at him with a mixture of concern and a stony indifference.
“The hunger is taking over him.” Sam said to Dean, his eyes not leaving Castiel.
“What is it?” Castiel croaked, breathless.
“You just said you were going to rip us apart.” Dean said, unamused and cold.
Confusion rushed through Castiel followed by panic. He had lost control. The hunger, this dark and pure monstrousness, was now beyond his governing. He sunk his teeth into his lips, drawing bitter and dark blood that his tongue flinched away from. He spat it onto the pillow under his face.
“You have a day, do you think you can make it?” Sam asked, and he had that sympathetic tone again.
“I'll have to, won't I?” Castiel replied with a firm determination set in his gut. He wouldn't allow himself to be this abomination. He wouldn't allow himself to be something so godless and impure. So evil. Besides, he was tied down pretty well, and he didn't have a death wish. Not yet, any way.
*
Sam and Dean left after another long pause of silence, Castiel wrapped up in his own thoughts. When they left, the heavy iron door closing after them with clanks and clicks and ticks and locks, he fell into prayer. For every line he whispered into the still air around him the coldness, alight with desperation, would shift and writhe, chocking him. Words would tumble from his lips in an uncontrollable hiss, violating the sacred and private thoughts and fears he spilt into the room.
He prayed non-stop for as long as he could, before he could no longer speak a word without crying out a plea for blood. He kept his mouth sealed, and tried his best to relax, as his body had been tense since he first awoke. With stilted breath he managed to lull himself into a semblance of calm. It would be a whole 24 hours until he could consume the cure, and he would have to be able to withstand the hunger as it gradually became worse. He took a deep shaky breath through his nose, and began to pray again, this time not voicing them out, but keeping them inside his mind. Hail Mary...
*
Dean came in hours later. Castiel smelt him before he entered, the door loudly opening, and then closing behind him. He snapped open his closed eyes.
“You should have some company.” Dean said, and dragged one of the stools he had been sitting on earlier closer to Castiel's bedside before perching on it, his arms immediately crossing.
“Sorry.” Castiel said, before the hunger rose within him and snarled something terrible.
“You aren't in the right state to be talking.” Dean said, and sighed heavily.
There was a pause as Castiel looked at the man with impassive eyes, knowing that was true. With another sigh, Dean took his silence as agreement, and began to talk.
“You can tell vampires are vampires only by their teeth.” He began, and Castiel decided that this was going to be a lesson. He tried to clear his mind of hunger to remember all he could. “As you know they are retractable. Fangs are another creation of Hollywood. As is garlic, stakes through the heart, seeing a crucifix, and it's impossible to turn into a bat. Oh, and sunlight won't set you on fire, just give you...a really bad sunburn.”
Castiel nodded once to show that he was listening, his eyes slipping from Dean's face, clear to see despite the darkness of the room, to his neck, and the blood that pulsed beneath it.
“They tend to reside in nests. That was what you saw. You have different kinds of nests, of course, but they always tend to be disgusting, smelly, and unwanted by humans. Somewhere they won't be found.” Castiel let the hunger slip from his control for a moment, and writhed on his cot, hissing. Dean took a deep breath through his nose and bit the inside of his cheek.
“And then they hunt. They coax people in through promises of sex and calls for help, and the less talented just attack. You wouldn't believe how annoying the current wave of popular vampire romance fiction has been. The intelligent ones tap into the market of desperate young teenage girls. It's a load of bullshit and makes our job incredibly hard. So many idiots believe that they're in love with those monsters, and that they love them back. Of course, the young girls always end up as dinner.
“You were probably targeted. Religious people are easy pickings. You trust too many people and do too many good things. It's foolish, really.” Dean's heart beat slightly faster. “I respect your beliefs, man, but for fucks sake have a sense of self-preservation. These are evil creatures and they won't do anything out of the kindness of their heart. They won't avoid you because you believe in God. They'll see it as a weakness. Just-” Dean took a deep calming breath.
“There is one fail-safe way to kill a vamp. You cut off their head. You saw for yourself how quick you guys heal.” The use of 'you guys' was a painful reminder that Castiel was a monster in the eyes of everyone around him. “Without the head they die immediately. The other thing that can kill them is the colt, but that's ours and no one is taking it from us. Dead man's blood is the thing we keep injecting you with. It weakens vampires so they can't fight us. It comes in handy should you want to interrogate.”
Dean fell quiet, his lesson obviously finished and words beyond his knowledge of vampires failing to come. Castiel took a deep breath and tried to keep the hunger suppressed as he blurted out a word. He was interested, after all, and maybe the company would make the hours go by quicker. The hours until he was human again.
“Cure.” He said, and then clamped his mouth shut, swallowing thickly as if to push the vamprism back into his stomach like it was bile.
“The cure?” Dean said, and then shrugged, his lips grimacing slightly. “We only found out about it recently, and it only works on vamps who haven't consumed human blood - living human blood, anyway.” He stopped talking, and Castiel looked at him unblinkingly trying to communicate that he wanted to know more without opening his mouth. It worked, apparently. “Trust me, you don't want to know more. You're drinking the stuff and we don't want you turning your nose up at it.”
In reply Castiel gave him a frown. It was incredibly unlikely that he were to turn up his nose at the stuff. It was his cure. It was his key back to life.
“Sorry, man, I'm not all that good at this talking thing unless it's with a chick. Sam's the one who's good at this stuff. Could talk your ear off.” Dean rubbed the back of his neck and stood from his stool, walking around the bed. Castiel found it much easier to look at him empty stool than the living, breathing, blood-filled man himself.
“Friend?” He managed to ask before arching away from the bed and wailing, jaws snapping at the air.
“Sam? He's my brother.” Dean said when Castiel had fallen to the bed, panting, a good few seconds later. “He's younger than me, too, despite being built like The Hulk.” There was a pause as Dean surveyed the back of Castiel's turned head. “You have family? You can nod or shake your head.”
Castiel nodded, his stubbly cheek rubbing against the pillow.
“Wife and kids?” Dean asked, and Castiel shook his head. The opportunity had never arisen. “Siblings?” Dean tried, and Castiel nodded. “How many?”
“Six.” Castiel mumbled. His brothers, Luc, Michael, Uriel, Gabe and Balthazar, and one sister, Anna.
“Six!?” Dean asked. “...Catholic?”
Castiel shook his head. He just had a large family. It was something his father had always wanted. He would have had the whole human population as his children if it were possible. He was a loving man.
“Man, having a family that big must be pretty hard. I mean, for all I love Sammy sometimes I want to just throttle him.” Dean paused, and then came to sit down on the stool again. “Keep thinking about them. They're your goal. Get back to humanity and you can get back to them.”
It was strange, actually, that Castiel didn't talk to his family much. The thought of them was accompanied by a sense of distance and nostalgia. He hadn't really spoken to them since he joined his church and moved away from Massachusetts and away from home. It wasn't that they necessarily disapproved of his faith, more that it reminded them too much of their parents, and of their father who left.
Gabriel had been the first to leave behind home and faith. Others had followed quite quickly, or had fallen away from their upbringing and into more extreme branches. When Castiel had decided to study the Bible and join a protestant church a discomfort had arisen between him and his siblings. They drifted apart.
In reply to Dean Castiel did his best to shrug, his arms pulled taut. It was nice for him to try to be helpful.
“Not a family man?” Dean asked, and Castiel eyed his as he thought over his answer, the hunger slowing his thoughts. He swallowed it back down and went to talk.
“Not really.” He said, and then coughed, thrashing, spitting. He fell back to the bed with a wave of exhaustion.
“Hm.”
Dean and Castiel stayed in silence for quarter of an hour, Father Novak almost falling back into his psuedo-calm. Then, with a clearing of his throat, Dean slapped his hands down on his jean-clad thighs and announced he was going to leave.
For hours more Castiel found himself straining against his binds, alone.
Sam came in later to check in on him. He told Castiel exactly what dean had only in a slower tone, as if truly teaching, and without any possible slurs on his faith. He also went into more depth on his relationship with Dean.
“He raised me, basically. A vampire got our mom when I was only six months old. Dad was...well, he became a hunter. Dean kept me safe. He...still keeps me safe.”
He left after a good hour and a half of surveying Castiel. During this time Castiel had approximately twenty ventures into his hunger. After some fourteen had passed Sam surprised Castiel b asking him how he felt, and if he was okay.
“I am dealing, thank you.” Castiel managed to wheeze,and then snapped his jaw thrice in quick succession. “How long?”
Sam checked the chunky watch on his wrist. “About thirteen hours longer.” He then looked Castiel right in his eyes. It was the same expression Castiel wore when he was consoling an upset parishioner.
He nodded into the air in reply. Thirteen more hours before he could become human again.
“Try to get some sleep.” Sam said.
With a great sigh Castiel nodded again, but he knew he would be unable to fall asleep with the hunger gnawing at him.
Instead, Father Novak thought his life. Broken by the sudden fevers of hunger, he painted a picture of all his accomplishments to date.
Then he painted a picture of Sam and Dean.
It was quite a bland picture. Castiel hardly knew anything about them, and he was never good at remember the details of someone's face. Bobby had morphed into a jolly, pudgy man in a wheelchair rather than his true form, for example. But he preferred their picture to his.
It took him a few moments until his sleep addled and hunger-racked mind figured out why. Then he realised that it was because they were dynamic.
Castiel was static. He stayed in his church, and on the off-chance he went somewhere else, his trip to Chicago being a perfect example, he would still be surrounded by people of faith. His touch only reached those already believing.
Sam and Dean, however, were active. They moved everywhere. They touched people of all types. They saved people who were not yet aware of the danger they faced. They were, odlly enough, real-life heroes. Something he wasn't sure existed any more.
It was enviable, and as Father Novak lay on his cot for the remaining, lonely hours of his torturous experience he decided that he was dissatisfied. He would much rather help many than help some. He decided that rather preach to people about the dangers on the world he would save them. Or at least help in some wider way.
It was an incredibly quick decision. And reckless. And it undermined everything he had done in life from the age of sixteen. But, he supposed that following that little girl was in the same vein. This was a night of life-changing experiences.
*
Twenty four hours had passed. Castiel sobbed quietly into the musty air of the room as hunger clawed at his whole being. He toes flexed in his shoes. He was starving. He was dying.
The door to his room opened. Sam and Dean came in. In Dean's hands was a whiskey bottle a quarter-full of a black liquid. With a struggle, Castiel gained control and lay limp on the bed. His teeth strained to stretch out even further so he could bite into the brothers' flesh.
“Hey, how are you holding up?” Sam asked, and came round to one side of Castiel's bed, dean staying by the door.
“I feel dreadful.” Castiel admitted in a low rumble, hoping it would mean they administered the cure quickly.
Dean raised his eyebrows and nodded shortly. “I bet. Now come on, we have the cure here.” He shook the cure in his hand and walked to Castiel's bedside.
Sam knelt and slid his hand under Castiel's head to hold it up. His smell filled Castiel's nostrils driving him crazy. The whiskey bottle neared his lips.
“Now, we don't know if this will work or not.” Sam said quite casually. “This is the first time we've ever done it.”
“What!?” Castiel spluttered.
“Bottoms up.” The rim of the whiskey bottle was thrust into his mouth an upturned. Thick, foul-tasting liquid spilt over his tongue, grainy in texture. He fought the temptation to retch and swallowed, all of his instincts telling him he just made a very big mistake.
It flooded down his throat and settled heavily, churning and tugging the hunger to centre in his gut. The glass was pulled away, knocking against his teeth. For one horrible moment Castiel was afraid that the vamprism would be evacuating himself in a purely downwards fashion.
“Well?” Dean asked.
Nothing had changed.
Castiel looked back at the two expectant faces looming in front of him as the seconds passed, and wondered if he would attack and eat them if the cure hadn't worked. Then in a sudden swirl a cascade of liquid rose up his gullet and gurgled in the back of his throat. He heaved, and black vomit spat over his chin, soaking into his already stained clothing. Dean swore and jumped back, and Sam pulled his hand away.
Castiel's head fell back, sick continuing to rise in his throat but not getting out of his mouth now that he was laying down. He couldn't breathe. He was going to drown in his own vomit. He retched strongly, his whole body shuddering.
Sam and Dean were cursing and panicking. Sam's large hand roughly pushed his head to the side. The icy cold blackness poured over his pillow, dribbling over his cheek. The acid stung his mouth. Dean was tugging at the cuffs on his wrists.
With one last large retch, Castiel could feel the icy cold sick under his cheek, and then passed out.