Fic: The Shattered One (8/?)
See the masterpost for disclaimer, summary, and previous parts.
The trip to Nepal must have zapped more of Castiel’s strength than he was willing to admit, but the fact that he spent the entire next day with the Winchester brothers without flitting off anywhere probably spoke volumes. Dean watched Castiel climb into the backseat of the Impala without a word, and he knew the bastard was holding something back. He was moving like he was sore, the way Dean felt after taking a real pounding from a demon. His fever from last night was gone, but it didn’t leave him looking any better for it.
Dean didn’t get a chance to tell Sam about how blatantly Castiel had avoided the question about falling (what with Castiel hanging around constantly), but it didn’t mean he couldn’t start really watching the angel’s every move. He noticed one thing right away. Castiel was getting worse. Whatever it was, it was steadily eating away at his power. What scared Dean was that he didn’t know where it would end. Would his powers keep fading away until he was just human, or did something else happen to a totally de-mojoed angel?
As if he didn’t have enough to worry about with the fucking Apocalypse hanging over their heads.
They stopped for dinner at a grease pit in Missouri, actually getting a free-standing table with a chair on each side instead of having to cram into a booth together. When their food arrived, Dean and Sam went to town (they’d missed lunch, because ‘lunchtime’ had coincided with passing near Lawrence, and no way in fuck was Dean stopping).
Dean was halfway through his burrito when he looked over at Castiel and saw the angel sitting there motionlessly, staring down at his untouched cheeseburger and fries.
“Yo, Cas… doesn’t get any prettier the longer you look at it,” Dean teased. Castiel glanced up at Dean, and there was a hint of genuine distress in his eyes that made Dean swallow. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
At that, Sam’s head came up and he turned his attention toward the angel.
Castiel looked back down at the food like it was moving. “I don’t think I can eat this.”
“Why, what’s wrong with it?” Dean leaned over to examine the food. Looked pretty good to him. He picked it up and took a bite to test it. The taste mingled oddly with the hint of burrito in his mouth, but otherwise it was damn tasty. “Seems fine to me.”
“Wow, Dean, checking to see if food’s bad by eating it,” Sam said, “that’s truly disgusting.”
Dean gave him a hot-sauce-coated middle finger and turned back to Castiel. “It’s fine, eat up.”
Castiel eyed the plate unsteadily. “I can’t eat it,” Castiel repeated. Except he’d upgraded from ‘don’t think I can’ to ‘definitely can’t’.”
Dean’s internal alarms were sounding. “You sick?” Without waiting for an answer, he reached over and pressed his hand to Castiel’s forehead. He felt normal. Castiel wriggled out of the touch, face contorting. He folded his arms over his chest, and Dean noticed it because Castiel didn’t cross his arms. And if he was trying to mimic the behavior now, he was doing it wrong. Instead of hands locking over elbows, his hands were holding his ribcage… it looked more like a self-hug than a petulant posture known to anyone who’d ever tried to make a finicky kid eat something.
Dean turned away from his burrito entirely then to turn in his chair to face the angel. “Okay, what’s wrong?”
Castiel shook his head, and Dean might get pissed at that, but fuck if the guy looked like he actually didn’t know.
“You going to puke?”
Castiel seemed to consider the possibility a moment. Then he shook his head. “No, I don’t think so… I just can’t eat.”
Dean glanced over at Sam, who looked just as worried. So now they’d upgraded from no-go on the cheeseburger to no-way on anything belonging to the food category. And how strange was that… once upon a time, it was weird for the angel to eat anything. Now they were all fretting over the fact that he wasn’t eating.
“Well, no one’s going to make you eat it,” Dean said, trying to make it sound like no big deal.
“But here,” Sam passed over his small side salad to Castiel. “Might want to nibble at this… frankly, I don’t blame you for not wanting to eat that grease bomb. Using Dean as a role model for what to eat is like taking tips from a heroin addict on how to be a pharmacist.”
“That’s it, see if I let you near the next In-N-Out Burger we see.”
“Well that’s not fair, you know there are exceptions to every rule!” Sam whined.
“Not for primpy bitches, there aren’t,” Dean countered, all the while watching Castiel out of the corner of his eye. He’d accepted the salad from Sam without much enthusiasm, and now instead of eating it he was playing with it, shredding the lettuce into tiny pieces with his fingers.
He might have said something, but Sam’s cell phone began to ring. He fished it out of his pocket, checked the caller ID, and answered. “Hey, Bobby. Whadaya got?”
Castiel leaned forward, heedless of any kind of phone etiquette, and asked over Bobby’s reply, “Has he learned of any means to steal an archangel’s sword?”
Sam shushed him, listened to Bobby a couple of minutes, then nodded. “Okay, we’re on it. Hey, any progress on the angel sword front? No? Okay, keep us posted.” He hung up and looked between Castiel and Dean. “Bobby still hasn’t found a way to disarm an archangel.”
Castiel frowned. “This is an urgent matter.”
“We agree, but not a whole lot we can do about it right now. What else did Bobby say?” Dean asked.
“Something freaky is going on in the woods of Tennessee. Animals are bugging out big time… we’re talking a mass exodus. So many animals are running scared from whatever is going down in the forest that bears, bobcats, deer, porcupines, you name it, they’re all sweeping through the suburbs trying to get away. Bobby says the electromagnetic field surrounding about a two mile radius is going batshit crazy. Add on top of that unseasonal storms, electrical power problems in the area… Bobby thinks it might be a Hellmouth opening up.”
Dean sat up. “What, like in Buffy?”
Sam slapped his hand over his face. “Oh my god, seriously, how am I related to you?”
“This is a very grave situation,” Castiel chimed in, finally looking interested in something other than turning his lettuce into confetti and heckling Sam about swords. “If Lucifer has found a way to open a Hellmouth, hundreds of his minions will be turned loose on the planet.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but hasn’t that happened already?” Dean asked. “I mean, at the convent when Lucifer…” he glanced awkwardly at Sam (who wouldn’t lift his eyes from his plate, like a repentant dog who’d made a mess on the rug), then forged on, “isn’t this closing the barn door after the horse got out?”
“That was one, yes,” Castiel agreed. “And Lucifer, along with many of his servants, escaped through it. But the divides between planes of existence are much like living things in their own right… when they are torn, they heal. Lucifer will have to open more Hellmouths to bolster his ranks on earth and replace those demons we have already dispatched…” Castiel paused, then thought aloud, “Or he could find a way to convert the souls of human beings still on earth into demons without the need for them to pass through the rigors of Hell.”
“Like I needed something else to worry about,” Dean grumbled. “Wait, doesn’t Rufus have a cabin in Tennessee? Why doesn’t he take care of this?”
“Yeah, he does… pretty much right in the epicenter of this weirdness. That’s how Bobby first heard about it; Rufus called him from his cabin about shit starting to hit the fan. That was a day ago. Bobby hasn’t been able to reach him since. So…” Sam shrugged fatalistically.
Dean groaned. “Fuck, we’re the cavalry. Which means there’s a pretty good chance Rufus is dead.” Dean felt the start of a headache prodding him behind the eyeballs. “All right, let’s go. Someone wave down the waiter and get us some doggie bags.”
*****************
Even driving straight through, taking turns behind the wheel, they still had to stop for gas. It was close to four in the morning when they pulled into a twenty-four hour gas station for a fill up. Sam bee-lined for the restrooms - he’d been campaigning for a pit stop for an hour before Dean gave in. Dean climbed sluggishly out of the car to fill up the gas tank. Castiel, having learned to capitalize on the opportunity to ‘stretch his legs’, climbed out after him and looked around.
He didn’t care for this gas station. It was isolated, a lone stop on a stretch of highway. The fluorescent lights above cast flesh tones in a deathly pallor and the dark colors in swallowing pits of black. Dean looked half corpse in the harsh lighting… though his weariness might have a great deal to do with that.
“What?” Dean asked when he caught the angel staring.
“I believe you look like someone from Night of the Living Dead.”
Dean blinked owlishly a moment, then he barked out a rough laugh. “Yeah, I feel it, too. Want to help with that?” When Castiel cocked his head in silent question, Dean handed him a folded bill. “Be an angel and go in and get us some coffee.”
Castiel regarded the money in his hand, then the station nearby. He liked the look of it even less than the lifeless surroundings. The lights were on inside, but there was no sign of any people through the windows. It reeked eerily of a cemetery… full of the idea of people but lacking any actual life.
But if Dean thought coffee would help… “Very well.”
“Thanks, man… and make sure it’s black! None of that vanilla mocha latte crap Sam would get. That shit wouldn’t keep you awake to save your life…” Castiel wandered off while Dean ranted about his brother’s choice of caffeinated beverages.
The bell triggered by the opening door chimed in false cheeriness as Castiel entered the establishment. Aisles of chips, candy, and jerky filled the miserable space, and somehow it all seemed frozen in time. His own footfalls taunted the perfect stillness he’d intruded upon. Castiel’s steps slowed and he stopped. He didn’t like this.
He was wondering how long it would take to procure coffee and leave when a wave of nausea slammed into him. It exploded from the center of his grace and rolled outward, filling him with a queasy sense of wrongness. The world seemed to cant to the side. Castiel reached out a hand to steady himself and ended up stumbling into one of the racks of chips. Small bags spilled on the floor. Castiel braced himself and still the sick feeling swarmed over him.
He had to get out. He turned to angle for the door…
… and walked right into a knife that impaled him in the stomach. Castiel sucked in a breath in surprise and looked at the person who had stabbed him. It was a middle-aged man, unremarkable to look at… until he sneered up at Castiel and his eyes went jet black.
Demon.
Reflex kicked in and Castiel grabbed the demon and flung him across the room. It landed against a cabinet of cigarettes behind the counter with a loud crash. The demon made an ungodly noise and scrambled back over the counter to launch itself at Castiel again. Castiel readied himself for a fight. He might be weakened, but he was still an angel. He could still combat a demon. Even if his stomach couldn’t decide between feeling pain or sickness.
In the end, the demon didn’t get a chance to mount a second assault on Castiel. It was deplorable enough that he’d managed to surprise Castiel in the first place. But in a flash of motion, the door burst open and both Winchesters were charging through. Dean was hurling holy water as he barreled toward the demon. It screamed hideously, preoccupied with its burning flesh, when Dean tackled it to the ground. The pair came to rest on the linoleum right in front of Castiel.
Sam was half a heartbeat behind his brother, already sliding onto his knees beside the struggling duo and reciting an exorcism in flawless Latin. Castiel knew he should kneel down and burn the demon out… but God, he did not want to get any closer to it than he already was. Something in him was telling him, screaming at him, to keep away from it.
Sam was digging into a bag Castiel hadn’t even noticed him carrying, fumbling for the demon knife while he continued the exorcism recitation, and finally the demon had had enough. Still pinned under Dean’s weight, face a patchwork of blisters from the holy water, the demon let out a scream, opened its mouth, and black smoke came pouring out. It rushed out toward Castiel before it arched upward. Castiel stepped back, but not quickly enough. A billow of black demon crawled over his leg, full of the essence of rot.
Castiel jerked back further, eyes wide. The roiling inside him became even more intense. It was a restless, poisoned sea raging within his vessel’s skin.
The man who’d been possessed was a lifeless corpse on the floor. Dean and Sam were checking on each other, then Dean was looking toward Castiel. “Cas, there’s a knife… Cas? Shit, dude, you look green, are you…”
Castiel couldn’t speak. He swallowed, and somehow it triggered another gulp. And another. But it wasn’t calming the unrest sweeping over him. He moved away another step, physically shaking.
Dean was scrambling up, moving toward him. “Cas… hey, come here…”
Castiel shook his head, trying to back away faster. Then his throat was full of something putrid, choking him. Castiel bent over to spit it out and it poured out of him in a disgusting rush. His stomach clenched and heaved, his eyes watered, his throat burned, and the vile sea kept splashing up and out of him.
It ended as abruptly as it began, and soon Castiel found himself hunched over, staring down at a puddle of vomit at his feet. He felt wobbly, and he wasn’t sure how he was staying upright until he realized an arm was wrapped around his shoulders, holding him up. Dean. Dean was murmuring to him slowly, “Easy… hands on your knees, Cas…”
Castiel did as he was told, braced himself in a doubled-over position with his own legs and arms, and Dean’s arm around his shoulders disappeared. Castiel felt like it was hardly an improvement (the touch had been calming and reassuring), but then Dean’s hand reappeared at Castiel’s back, rubbing soothing circles over his bowed spine. His second hand snaked around to Castiel’s stomach and pulled out the knife. Castiel hadn’t even realized it was still embedded in him. Dean tossed the weapon to the floor then his hand came up to clamp hard against the wound, quickly becoming as blood soaked as Castiel’s clothes. At the fresh pulse of blood, Dean’s hand pushed against his stomach harder. It was a sharp contrast to the gentleness of the hand on Castiel’s back.
Castiel thought he should probably thank Dean, or assure him he was okay, but standing there relearning how to breathe seemed to be all he was capable of doing at the moment.
Over Castiel’s back, he heard Dean say to Sam, “We need to find someplace to take care of this.”
Sam must have agreed, because the next thing Castiel knew, he was being put back in the car. Sam started to get in the backseat with him, but Dean waved him off. “I’m already covered in blood… you stay clean so you can go into the front office and get us a room.”
That was how Dean ended up in the backseat with Castiel, the hunter continually putting unpleasant pressure on his injury. Castiel wanted to push it away, but it seemed like too much effort to try.
The rest of the trip Castiel missed more than he caught.
*****************
Dean had had enough. It was almost dawn, and he and Sam were hauling a wounded angel into a filthy motel room to stitch up his knife wound from a demon attack none of them saw coming.
Dean was just as much worried as he was angry. For one, Castiel had been stabbed (without the angel just pulling it out and giving the demon a condescending look that Dean knew too well). Then he’d thrown up. Even more unsettling was that demons shouldn’t get the jump on Castiel like that. Unless he was that bad off, that far gone, and fuck it, they needed to know that shit. Soon as he’d stopped bleeding, Dean was getting answers.
“I’ll get the kit out,” Sam said as he hurried past Dean, who was half-carrying Castiel into the room, and laid one of their bags on the far bed.
“That won’t be necessary,” Castiel said gruffly, trying to shake off Dean’s help.
“Shut up,” Dean growled.
Castiel was pushing at Dean’s hand resolutely clamped over the angel’s stomach. “I’m not bleeding anymore, Dean.”
Dean wouldn’t take his word on that… he was going to see for himself. He lowered Castiel onto the edge of the nearest bed and promptly tore open the white button-down shirt. Castiel’s stomach and chest were smeared with blood, but the wound itself was gone.
Sam saw it too, and he just sort of froze, needle and thread in hand. He seemed at a loss for what to do when their stabbing victim was suddenly unscratched.
Castiel looked between them wearily. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine.”
Sam looked down dumbly at the stitching tools in his hands. Dean was just fuming. “You’re fine? You bleed all over my baby’s backseat and that’s all you have to say? You’re fine?”
Castiel was toying with the ripped buttons of his shirt, perhaps making a point that Dean had done some vandalizing, too. “I’ll clean up the blood, if that’s what you are concerned about.”
Sam had come back from the bathroom with a wet towel he handed to Dean. Dean set to wiping Castiel’s blood off his hands roughly. “What I’m concerned about is what is going on with you.” Castiel ducked his head. And that… Dean was having none of that. “Come on, Cas… time to come clean and let us in on whatever it is that’s wrong with you. Demons don’t get the drop on you like that, man. Knives don’t do that kind of damage to you. Now come on… what is it?”
Castiel was tensing, expression becoming distant. “I apologize for my inattention and allowing myself to be physically harmed - however temporarily.” Definite emphasis there. “Will that suffice?”
“Damnit, no! No, that will not suffice.” Dean threw down the towel, doubting even hotel bleaching could get all the blood out. He paced briefly, like a mad tiger. He scowled down at Castiel, then squatted on the ground in front of him. He forced Castiel to look at him. “You look me in the eye and tell me everything that’s been going on with you is because you’re falling.”
Castiel stiffened and stood up. Dean followed suit, crowding Castiel as he was so fond of doing himself. Castiel met his stare head-on, and for a minute neither one budged.
And Castiel conspicuously did not confirm Dean’s hypothesis.
The last straw was when Castiel cracked and looked away first.
“I’m sorry if you feel I’ve endangered you or Sam…” Castiel began, but Dean cut him off.
“Just stop it… we’re not looking for an apology from you. We just want the truth.”
“No, you don’t.”
Dean’s eyebrows twitched. That pretty much confirmed there was something wrong… but apparently, the humans weren’t worthy of knowing what that was.
“Well, see… now we have a problem.”
Castiel looked back at him, hesitant.
“Because whatever this thing is that you won’t tell us,” Dean said, “it’s compromised you. You’re not at full strength anymore. And that we can work with… we can manage your limits, whatever they might be. But the thing is that you don’t trust us. And the number one rule of hunting is you don’t hunt with someone who doesn’t trust you. That’s when people end up dying.”
Sam was looking at him over Castiel’s shoulder, wide-eyed at Dean’s ultimatum. Dean couldn’t afford to flinch, so he ignored his brother and kept his gaze locked on Castiel.
Slowly, Castiel nodded. “I understand… you no longer want me to hunt alongside you.” He looked kind of devastated by that, but he accepted it with grace. He took a breath. “Very well… I will leave.”
For a second, Sam looked about ready to pitch a fit to make any tantrum-prone princess blush. Dean forestalled it by reaching out and grabbing Castiel’s arm. “Shit, Cas, that is not what I’m asking you to do. I’m asking you to let us in. Let us help.”
“You can’t.”
Dean frowned, not quite ready to admit that defeat sight unseen, but his grip on Castiel loosened. “Then whatever this weight is… at least let us share it.”
Castiel looked torn as he searched Dean’s eyes for something.
Finally, Castiel’s barricades came down. He gently pulled out of Dean’s grasp and looked down forlornly at the floor. “It is… it concerns angel reproduction.”
Of all the things Dean had been bracing himself for, that hadn’t been one of them. “Uhhh… say that again?” Sam took a step closer to them, just itching to be morally supportive for someone.
“The loss of my powers is due to the drain on my grace caused by a… an unborn angel within me.”
Dean gaped. Sam looked just as dumbfounded. Castiel just seemed to be waiting for the fallout.
Dean did not disappoint. “Are you… dude, are you saying you’re pregnant?”
“That is a very crude approximation of the situation, yes.”
That ranked right up there with the wildest, weirdest-ass shit Dean had ever seen or heard in a lifetime full of wild, weird-ass shit. “How can you even… you’re a guy.”
“No, I’m not. I am no more male than you are angel,” Castiel countered. “This vessel is not me.”
Which Dean had always known, on an intellectual level, but it was still hard to stop his brain from associating, giving to Castiel all the identities and qualities that were Jimmy Novak. So he wrestled with that for a second, trying to wrap his head around angel-pregnant.
Then he was pissed all over again.
“What the fuck…? You… you pick now, of all times, to try out some of that cloud seeding? And what, it never occurred to you to protect against this happening? Jesus, Cas, do they not have angel condoms?”
In an instant, Castiel went from mild to indignant. “This was not my doing. I didn’t do anything to cause this. It happened unexpectedly, without warning, and no other angels were involved.”
“No other…” Dean paused. “So one day it was just bam, knocked up?”
“Essentially.”
That fairly blew Dean’s mind. “So you’re a tribble?”
Castiel sighed. “You know I don’t understand that reference.”
Sam finally got a word in. “Don’t pay attention to him, just… so all the problems you’ve been having lately, they’re all because of the…” Sam gestured awkwardly at Castiel.
The angel nodded. “It is taking from my grace in order to nurture its own.”
“Why, um… why didn’t you tell us?” Sam asked carefully.
“There seemed no reason to,” Castiel answered evenly. He slid a cautious look at Dean. “You claimed limitations could be managed within this group. Is that true for this, or do you still want me to leave?”
Dean blinked. “What, I… geez, Cas, I never wanted you to leave in the first place.” He moved away a few steps, thinking. “Look, this is… well, it’s weird, but I said we can handle it, and we can. We will. You’re not ditching us that easily.”
Castiel visibly relaxed.
Sam frowned. “You thought we’d kick you out for this?”
“You are human, and this is a very angelic condition. I wasn’t certain how you would react.”
“But the way you tell it, it’s not your fault.”
Castiel looked bemused. “I suspect that does little to alleviate the strangeness of this for either of you.”
Dean snorted. “No shit.” He looked at Castiel standing there, shirt covered in blood, and a sickening thought occurred to him. “Hey, the, uh… the knife didn’t hurt the baby, did it?”
Castiel blinked and looked down at his blood-covered midsection. “No… it’s not in my stomach. And it’s not technically a baby, either.”
“Angel tadpole, whatever… just as long as it’s okay,” Dean grumbled. He moved to a chair that had seen better days and flopped into it. “So, uh… how much worse is all your mojo-drain going to get? I mean, what kind of due date are we looking at?”
Castiel, perhaps copying Dean’s body language, sat back down on the edge of the mattress. “That is something I could not predict in terms of days - your way of understanding the passage of time has never been calculated in relation to this phenomenon. But…” Castiel looked resigned, “it will not be much longer. Perhaps within the week.”
Dean felt a knot of nerves twist up in his gut. Secretly, he’d been hoping for months. From the bloodless look on Sam’s face, he’d been thinking in trimesters, too.
“Crap, well… hell, this is a really inconvenient time,” at Castiel’s dejected look, Dean hastened to add, “which is not your fault! But still… I guess, I mean, there’s that Hellmouth to deal with, but maybe we could… maybe Bobby knows someone else that could deal with it?” He looked hopefully at Sam, who gave a feeble nod of agreement. Hell, they never planned to work around angel pregnancies in their war against Lucifer. “And maybe we could find some place to hole up until you… uh… you know. If we’re looking at a week at best, getting back to Bobby’s might be pushing it. And I don’t know how the hell we’re going to hunt afterward, with a baby in tow, but…”
“Dean…” Castiel interjected.
“Yeah?”
“I appreciate your attempts to accommodate me, but we shouldn’t stop what we are doing. It is crucial that we fight as long as we can.”
“Yeah, but Cas…” Sam hedged.
Castiel cast him a sharp look. “If you try to hold me back, I will continue on without the two of you.”
Dean and Sam exchanged looks.
“You serious?” Dean asked.
“I am… I intend to fight until I’m no longer able.”
Dean couldn’t help but smile. “Now that I can understand. Okay, if that’s how you feel about it, we’re going to get a few hours sleep, then we’re taking on a Hellmouth.” He watched Castiel intently, looking for any sign of reluctance. The first hint of anything, and Dean would call bullshit, dig in his heels despite Castiel’s protests, and they’d do a probably half-ass job of taking care of an angel set to give birth any day now.
Castiel showed no signs of hesitation. If anything, he looked determined.
So Dean gave a nod and got up out of the chair. “All right then… let’s all get some sleep, because tomorrow is probably going to suck.”
Dean had no idea how prophetic that statement would end up being.
Next
The trip to Nepal must have zapped more of Castiel’s strength than he was willing to admit, but the fact that he spent the entire next day with the Winchester brothers without flitting off anywhere probably spoke volumes. Dean watched Castiel climb into the backseat of the Impala without a word, and he knew the bastard was holding something back. He was moving like he was sore, the way Dean felt after taking a real pounding from a demon. His fever from last night was gone, but it didn’t leave him looking any better for it.
Dean didn’t get a chance to tell Sam about how blatantly Castiel had avoided the question about falling (what with Castiel hanging around constantly), but it didn’t mean he couldn’t start really watching the angel’s every move. He noticed one thing right away. Castiel was getting worse. Whatever it was, it was steadily eating away at his power. What scared Dean was that he didn’t know where it would end. Would his powers keep fading away until he was just human, or did something else happen to a totally de-mojoed angel?
As if he didn’t have enough to worry about with the fucking Apocalypse hanging over their heads.
They stopped for dinner at a grease pit in Missouri, actually getting a free-standing table with a chair on each side instead of having to cram into a booth together. When their food arrived, Dean and Sam went to town (they’d missed lunch, because ‘lunchtime’ had coincided with passing near Lawrence, and no way in fuck was Dean stopping).
Dean was halfway through his burrito when he looked over at Castiel and saw the angel sitting there motionlessly, staring down at his untouched cheeseburger and fries.
“Yo, Cas… doesn’t get any prettier the longer you look at it,” Dean teased. Castiel glanced up at Dean, and there was a hint of genuine distress in his eyes that made Dean swallow. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
At that, Sam’s head came up and he turned his attention toward the angel.
Castiel looked back down at the food like it was moving. “I don’t think I can eat this.”
“Why, what’s wrong with it?” Dean leaned over to examine the food. Looked pretty good to him. He picked it up and took a bite to test it. The taste mingled oddly with the hint of burrito in his mouth, but otherwise it was damn tasty. “Seems fine to me.”
“Wow, Dean, checking to see if food’s bad by eating it,” Sam said, “that’s truly disgusting.”
Dean gave him a hot-sauce-coated middle finger and turned back to Castiel. “It’s fine, eat up.”
Castiel eyed the plate unsteadily. “I can’t eat it,” Castiel repeated. Except he’d upgraded from ‘don’t think I can’ to ‘definitely can’t’.”
Dean’s internal alarms were sounding. “You sick?” Without waiting for an answer, he reached over and pressed his hand to Castiel’s forehead. He felt normal. Castiel wriggled out of the touch, face contorting. He folded his arms over his chest, and Dean noticed it because Castiel didn’t cross his arms. And if he was trying to mimic the behavior now, he was doing it wrong. Instead of hands locking over elbows, his hands were holding his ribcage… it looked more like a self-hug than a petulant posture known to anyone who’d ever tried to make a finicky kid eat something.
Dean turned away from his burrito entirely then to turn in his chair to face the angel. “Okay, what’s wrong?”
Castiel shook his head, and Dean might get pissed at that, but fuck if the guy looked like he actually didn’t know.
“You going to puke?”
Castiel seemed to consider the possibility a moment. Then he shook his head. “No, I don’t think so… I just can’t eat.”
Dean glanced over at Sam, who looked just as worried. So now they’d upgraded from no-go on the cheeseburger to no-way on anything belonging to the food category. And how strange was that… once upon a time, it was weird for the angel to eat anything. Now they were all fretting over the fact that he wasn’t eating.
“Well, no one’s going to make you eat it,” Dean said, trying to make it sound like no big deal.
“But here,” Sam passed over his small side salad to Castiel. “Might want to nibble at this… frankly, I don’t blame you for not wanting to eat that grease bomb. Using Dean as a role model for what to eat is like taking tips from a heroin addict on how to be a pharmacist.”
“That’s it, see if I let you near the next In-N-Out Burger we see.”
“Well that’s not fair, you know there are exceptions to every rule!” Sam whined.
“Not for primpy bitches, there aren’t,” Dean countered, all the while watching Castiel out of the corner of his eye. He’d accepted the salad from Sam without much enthusiasm, and now instead of eating it he was playing with it, shredding the lettuce into tiny pieces with his fingers.
He might have said something, but Sam’s cell phone began to ring. He fished it out of his pocket, checked the caller ID, and answered. “Hey, Bobby. Whadaya got?”
Castiel leaned forward, heedless of any kind of phone etiquette, and asked over Bobby’s reply, “Has he learned of any means to steal an archangel’s sword?”
Sam shushed him, listened to Bobby a couple of minutes, then nodded. “Okay, we’re on it. Hey, any progress on the angel sword front? No? Okay, keep us posted.” He hung up and looked between Castiel and Dean. “Bobby still hasn’t found a way to disarm an archangel.”
Castiel frowned. “This is an urgent matter.”
“We agree, but not a whole lot we can do about it right now. What else did Bobby say?” Dean asked.
“Something freaky is going on in the woods of Tennessee. Animals are bugging out big time… we’re talking a mass exodus. So many animals are running scared from whatever is going down in the forest that bears, bobcats, deer, porcupines, you name it, they’re all sweeping through the suburbs trying to get away. Bobby says the electromagnetic field surrounding about a two mile radius is going batshit crazy. Add on top of that unseasonal storms, electrical power problems in the area… Bobby thinks it might be a Hellmouth opening up.”
Dean sat up. “What, like in Buffy?”
Sam slapped his hand over his face. “Oh my god, seriously, how am I related to you?”
“This is a very grave situation,” Castiel chimed in, finally looking interested in something other than turning his lettuce into confetti and heckling Sam about swords. “If Lucifer has found a way to open a Hellmouth, hundreds of his minions will be turned loose on the planet.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but hasn’t that happened already?” Dean asked. “I mean, at the convent when Lucifer…” he glanced awkwardly at Sam (who wouldn’t lift his eyes from his plate, like a repentant dog who’d made a mess on the rug), then forged on, “isn’t this closing the barn door after the horse got out?”
“That was one, yes,” Castiel agreed. “And Lucifer, along with many of his servants, escaped through it. But the divides between planes of existence are much like living things in their own right… when they are torn, they heal. Lucifer will have to open more Hellmouths to bolster his ranks on earth and replace those demons we have already dispatched…” Castiel paused, then thought aloud, “Or he could find a way to convert the souls of human beings still on earth into demons without the need for them to pass through the rigors of Hell.”
“Like I needed something else to worry about,” Dean grumbled. “Wait, doesn’t Rufus have a cabin in Tennessee? Why doesn’t he take care of this?”
“Yeah, he does… pretty much right in the epicenter of this weirdness. That’s how Bobby first heard about it; Rufus called him from his cabin about shit starting to hit the fan. That was a day ago. Bobby hasn’t been able to reach him since. So…” Sam shrugged fatalistically.
Dean groaned. “Fuck, we’re the cavalry. Which means there’s a pretty good chance Rufus is dead.” Dean felt the start of a headache prodding him behind the eyeballs. “All right, let’s go. Someone wave down the waiter and get us some doggie bags.”
*****************
Even driving straight through, taking turns behind the wheel, they still had to stop for gas. It was close to four in the morning when they pulled into a twenty-four hour gas station for a fill up. Sam bee-lined for the restrooms - he’d been campaigning for a pit stop for an hour before Dean gave in. Dean climbed sluggishly out of the car to fill up the gas tank. Castiel, having learned to capitalize on the opportunity to ‘stretch his legs’, climbed out after him and looked around.
He didn’t care for this gas station. It was isolated, a lone stop on a stretch of highway. The fluorescent lights above cast flesh tones in a deathly pallor and the dark colors in swallowing pits of black. Dean looked half corpse in the harsh lighting… though his weariness might have a great deal to do with that.
“What?” Dean asked when he caught the angel staring.
“I believe you look like someone from Night of the Living Dead.”
Dean blinked owlishly a moment, then he barked out a rough laugh. “Yeah, I feel it, too. Want to help with that?” When Castiel cocked his head in silent question, Dean handed him a folded bill. “Be an angel and go in and get us some coffee.”
Castiel regarded the money in his hand, then the station nearby. He liked the look of it even less than the lifeless surroundings. The lights were on inside, but there was no sign of any people through the windows. It reeked eerily of a cemetery… full of the idea of people but lacking any actual life.
But if Dean thought coffee would help… “Very well.”
“Thanks, man… and make sure it’s black! None of that vanilla mocha latte crap Sam would get. That shit wouldn’t keep you awake to save your life…” Castiel wandered off while Dean ranted about his brother’s choice of caffeinated beverages.
The bell triggered by the opening door chimed in false cheeriness as Castiel entered the establishment. Aisles of chips, candy, and jerky filled the miserable space, and somehow it all seemed frozen in time. His own footfalls taunted the perfect stillness he’d intruded upon. Castiel’s steps slowed and he stopped. He didn’t like this.
He was wondering how long it would take to procure coffee and leave when a wave of nausea slammed into him. It exploded from the center of his grace and rolled outward, filling him with a queasy sense of wrongness. The world seemed to cant to the side. Castiel reached out a hand to steady himself and ended up stumbling into one of the racks of chips. Small bags spilled on the floor. Castiel braced himself and still the sick feeling swarmed over him.
He had to get out. He turned to angle for the door…
… and walked right into a knife that impaled him in the stomach. Castiel sucked in a breath in surprise and looked at the person who had stabbed him. It was a middle-aged man, unremarkable to look at… until he sneered up at Castiel and his eyes went jet black.
Demon.
Reflex kicked in and Castiel grabbed the demon and flung him across the room. It landed against a cabinet of cigarettes behind the counter with a loud crash. The demon made an ungodly noise and scrambled back over the counter to launch itself at Castiel again. Castiel readied himself for a fight. He might be weakened, but he was still an angel. He could still combat a demon. Even if his stomach couldn’t decide between feeling pain or sickness.
In the end, the demon didn’t get a chance to mount a second assault on Castiel. It was deplorable enough that he’d managed to surprise Castiel in the first place. But in a flash of motion, the door burst open and both Winchesters were charging through. Dean was hurling holy water as he barreled toward the demon. It screamed hideously, preoccupied with its burning flesh, when Dean tackled it to the ground. The pair came to rest on the linoleum right in front of Castiel.
Sam was half a heartbeat behind his brother, already sliding onto his knees beside the struggling duo and reciting an exorcism in flawless Latin. Castiel knew he should kneel down and burn the demon out… but God, he did not want to get any closer to it than he already was. Something in him was telling him, screaming at him, to keep away from it.
Sam was digging into a bag Castiel hadn’t even noticed him carrying, fumbling for the demon knife while he continued the exorcism recitation, and finally the demon had had enough. Still pinned under Dean’s weight, face a patchwork of blisters from the holy water, the demon let out a scream, opened its mouth, and black smoke came pouring out. It rushed out toward Castiel before it arched upward. Castiel stepped back, but not quickly enough. A billow of black demon crawled over his leg, full of the essence of rot.
Castiel jerked back further, eyes wide. The roiling inside him became even more intense. It was a restless, poisoned sea raging within his vessel’s skin.
The man who’d been possessed was a lifeless corpse on the floor. Dean and Sam were checking on each other, then Dean was looking toward Castiel. “Cas, there’s a knife… Cas? Shit, dude, you look green, are you…”
Castiel couldn’t speak. He swallowed, and somehow it triggered another gulp. And another. But it wasn’t calming the unrest sweeping over him. He moved away another step, physically shaking.
Dean was scrambling up, moving toward him. “Cas… hey, come here…”
Castiel shook his head, trying to back away faster. Then his throat was full of something putrid, choking him. Castiel bent over to spit it out and it poured out of him in a disgusting rush. His stomach clenched and heaved, his eyes watered, his throat burned, and the vile sea kept splashing up and out of him.
It ended as abruptly as it began, and soon Castiel found himself hunched over, staring down at a puddle of vomit at his feet. He felt wobbly, and he wasn’t sure how he was staying upright until he realized an arm was wrapped around his shoulders, holding him up. Dean. Dean was murmuring to him slowly, “Easy… hands on your knees, Cas…”
Castiel did as he was told, braced himself in a doubled-over position with his own legs and arms, and Dean’s arm around his shoulders disappeared. Castiel felt like it was hardly an improvement (the touch had been calming and reassuring), but then Dean’s hand reappeared at Castiel’s back, rubbing soothing circles over his bowed spine. His second hand snaked around to Castiel’s stomach and pulled out the knife. Castiel hadn’t even realized it was still embedded in him. Dean tossed the weapon to the floor then his hand came up to clamp hard against the wound, quickly becoming as blood soaked as Castiel’s clothes. At the fresh pulse of blood, Dean’s hand pushed against his stomach harder. It was a sharp contrast to the gentleness of the hand on Castiel’s back.
Castiel thought he should probably thank Dean, or assure him he was okay, but standing there relearning how to breathe seemed to be all he was capable of doing at the moment.
Over Castiel’s back, he heard Dean say to Sam, “We need to find someplace to take care of this.”
Sam must have agreed, because the next thing Castiel knew, he was being put back in the car. Sam started to get in the backseat with him, but Dean waved him off. “I’m already covered in blood… you stay clean so you can go into the front office and get us a room.”
That was how Dean ended up in the backseat with Castiel, the hunter continually putting unpleasant pressure on his injury. Castiel wanted to push it away, but it seemed like too much effort to try.
The rest of the trip Castiel missed more than he caught.
*****************
Dean had had enough. It was almost dawn, and he and Sam were hauling a wounded angel into a filthy motel room to stitch up his knife wound from a demon attack none of them saw coming.
Dean was just as much worried as he was angry. For one, Castiel had been stabbed (without the angel just pulling it out and giving the demon a condescending look that Dean knew too well). Then he’d thrown up. Even more unsettling was that demons shouldn’t get the jump on Castiel like that. Unless he was that bad off, that far gone, and fuck it, they needed to know that shit. Soon as he’d stopped bleeding, Dean was getting answers.
“I’ll get the kit out,” Sam said as he hurried past Dean, who was half-carrying Castiel into the room, and laid one of their bags on the far bed.
“That won’t be necessary,” Castiel said gruffly, trying to shake off Dean’s help.
“Shut up,” Dean growled.
Castiel was pushing at Dean’s hand resolutely clamped over the angel’s stomach. “I’m not bleeding anymore, Dean.”
Dean wouldn’t take his word on that… he was going to see for himself. He lowered Castiel onto the edge of the nearest bed and promptly tore open the white button-down shirt. Castiel’s stomach and chest were smeared with blood, but the wound itself was gone.
Sam saw it too, and he just sort of froze, needle and thread in hand. He seemed at a loss for what to do when their stabbing victim was suddenly unscratched.
Castiel looked between them wearily. “I appreciate your concern, but I’m fine.”
Sam looked down dumbly at the stitching tools in his hands. Dean was just fuming. “You’re fine? You bleed all over my baby’s backseat and that’s all you have to say? You’re fine?”
Castiel was toying with the ripped buttons of his shirt, perhaps making a point that Dean had done some vandalizing, too. “I’ll clean up the blood, if that’s what you are concerned about.”
Sam had come back from the bathroom with a wet towel he handed to Dean. Dean set to wiping Castiel’s blood off his hands roughly. “What I’m concerned about is what is going on with you.” Castiel ducked his head. And that… Dean was having none of that. “Come on, Cas… time to come clean and let us in on whatever it is that’s wrong with you. Demons don’t get the drop on you like that, man. Knives don’t do that kind of damage to you. Now come on… what is it?”
Castiel was tensing, expression becoming distant. “I apologize for my inattention and allowing myself to be physically harmed - however temporarily.” Definite emphasis there. “Will that suffice?”
“Damnit, no! No, that will not suffice.” Dean threw down the towel, doubting even hotel bleaching could get all the blood out. He paced briefly, like a mad tiger. He scowled down at Castiel, then squatted on the ground in front of him. He forced Castiel to look at him. “You look me in the eye and tell me everything that’s been going on with you is because you’re falling.”
Castiel stiffened and stood up. Dean followed suit, crowding Castiel as he was so fond of doing himself. Castiel met his stare head-on, and for a minute neither one budged.
And Castiel conspicuously did not confirm Dean’s hypothesis.
The last straw was when Castiel cracked and looked away first.
“I’m sorry if you feel I’ve endangered you or Sam…” Castiel began, but Dean cut him off.
“Just stop it… we’re not looking for an apology from you. We just want the truth.”
“No, you don’t.”
Dean’s eyebrows twitched. That pretty much confirmed there was something wrong… but apparently, the humans weren’t worthy of knowing what that was.
“Well, see… now we have a problem.”
Castiel looked back at him, hesitant.
“Because whatever this thing is that you won’t tell us,” Dean said, “it’s compromised you. You’re not at full strength anymore. And that we can work with… we can manage your limits, whatever they might be. But the thing is that you don’t trust us. And the number one rule of hunting is you don’t hunt with someone who doesn’t trust you. That’s when people end up dying.”
Sam was looking at him over Castiel’s shoulder, wide-eyed at Dean’s ultimatum. Dean couldn’t afford to flinch, so he ignored his brother and kept his gaze locked on Castiel.
Slowly, Castiel nodded. “I understand… you no longer want me to hunt alongside you.” He looked kind of devastated by that, but he accepted it with grace. He took a breath. “Very well… I will leave.”
For a second, Sam looked about ready to pitch a fit to make any tantrum-prone princess blush. Dean forestalled it by reaching out and grabbing Castiel’s arm. “Shit, Cas, that is not what I’m asking you to do. I’m asking you to let us in. Let us help.”
“You can’t.”
Dean frowned, not quite ready to admit that defeat sight unseen, but his grip on Castiel loosened. “Then whatever this weight is… at least let us share it.”
Castiel looked torn as he searched Dean’s eyes for something.
Finally, Castiel’s barricades came down. He gently pulled out of Dean’s grasp and looked down forlornly at the floor. “It is… it concerns angel reproduction.”
Of all the things Dean had been bracing himself for, that hadn’t been one of them. “Uhhh… say that again?” Sam took a step closer to them, just itching to be morally supportive for someone.
“The loss of my powers is due to the drain on my grace caused by a… an unborn angel within me.”
Dean gaped. Sam looked just as dumbfounded. Castiel just seemed to be waiting for the fallout.
Dean did not disappoint. “Are you… dude, are you saying you’re pregnant?”
“That is a very crude approximation of the situation, yes.”
That ranked right up there with the wildest, weirdest-ass shit Dean had ever seen or heard in a lifetime full of wild, weird-ass shit. “How can you even… you’re a guy.”
“No, I’m not. I am no more male than you are angel,” Castiel countered. “This vessel is not me.”
Which Dean had always known, on an intellectual level, but it was still hard to stop his brain from associating, giving to Castiel all the identities and qualities that were Jimmy Novak. So he wrestled with that for a second, trying to wrap his head around angel-pregnant.
Then he was pissed all over again.
“What the fuck…? You… you pick now, of all times, to try out some of that cloud seeding? And what, it never occurred to you to protect against this happening? Jesus, Cas, do they not have angel condoms?”
In an instant, Castiel went from mild to indignant. “This was not my doing. I didn’t do anything to cause this. It happened unexpectedly, without warning, and no other angels were involved.”
“No other…” Dean paused. “So one day it was just bam, knocked up?”
“Essentially.”
That fairly blew Dean’s mind. “So you’re a tribble?”
Castiel sighed. “You know I don’t understand that reference.”
Sam finally got a word in. “Don’t pay attention to him, just… so all the problems you’ve been having lately, they’re all because of the…” Sam gestured awkwardly at Castiel.
The angel nodded. “It is taking from my grace in order to nurture its own.”
“Why, um… why didn’t you tell us?” Sam asked carefully.
“There seemed no reason to,” Castiel answered evenly. He slid a cautious look at Dean. “You claimed limitations could be managed within this group. Is that true for this, or do you still want me to leave?”
Dean blinked. “What, I… geez, Cas, I never wanted you to leave in the first place.” He moved away a few steps, thinking. “Look, this is… well, it’s weird, but I said we can handle it, and we can. We will. You’re not ditching us that easily.”
Castiel visibly relaxed.
Sam frowned. “You thought we’d kick you out for this?”
“You are human, and this is a very angelic condition. I wasn’t certain how you would react.”
“But the way you tell it, it’s not your fault.”
Castiel looked bemused. “I suspect that does little to alleviate the strangeness of this for either of you.”
Dean snorted. “No shit.” He looked at Castiel standing there, shirt covered in blood, and a sickening thought occurred to him. “Hey, the, uh… the knife didn’t hurt the baby, did it?”
Castiel blinked and looked down at his blood-covered midsection. “No… it’s not in my stomach. And it’s not technically a baby, either.”
“Angel tadpole, whatever… just as long as it’s okay,” Dean grumbled. He moved to a chair that had seen better days and flopped into it. “So, uh… how much worse is all your mojo-drain going to get? I mean, what kind of due date are we looking at?”
Castiel, perhaps copying Dean’s body language, sat back down on the edge of the mattress. “That is something I could not predict in terms of days - your way of understanding the passage of time has never been calculated in relation to this phenomenon. But…” Castiel looked resigned, “it will not be much longer. Perhaps within the week.”
Dean felt a knot of nerves twist up in his gut. Secretly, he’d been hoping for months. From the bloodless look on Sam’s face, he’d been thinking in trimesters, too.
“Crap, well… hell, this is a really inconvenient time,” at Castiel’s dejected look, Dean hastened to add, “which is not your fault! But still… I guess, I mean, there’s that Hellmouth to deal with, but maybe we could… maybe Bobby knows someone else that could deal with it?” He looked hopefully at Sam, who gave a feeble nod of agreement. Hell, they never planned to work around angel pregnancies in their war against Lucifer. “And maybe we could find some place to hole up until you… uh… you know. If we’re looking at a week at best, getting back to Bobby’s might be pushing it. And I don’t know how the hell we’re going to hunt afterward, with a baby in tow, but…”
“Dean…” Castiel interjected.
“Yeah?”
“I appreciate your attempts to accommodate me, but we shouldn’t stop what we are doing. It is crucial that we fight as long as we can.”
“Yeah, but Cas…” Sam hedged.
Castiel cast him a sharp look. “If you try to hold me back, I will continue on without the two of you.”
Dean and Sam exchanged looks.
“You serious?” Dean asked.
“I am… I intend to fight until I’m no longer able.”
Dean couldn’t help but smile. “Now that I can understand. Okay, if that’s how you feel about it, we’re going to get a few hours sleep, then we’re taking on a Hellmouth.” He watched Castiel intently, looking for any sign of reluctance. The first hint of anything, and Dean would call bullshit, dig in his heels despite Castiel’s protests, and they’d do a probably half-ass job of taking care of an angel set to give birth any day now.
Castiel showed no signs of hesitation. If anything, he looked determined.
So Dean gave a nod and got up out of the chair. “All right then… let’s all get some sleep, because tomorrow is probably going to suck.”
Dean had no idea how prophetic that statement would end up being.
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